"Mmm, I love Tchaikovsky," Emma purred, fine blonde hairs splaying across Bobby's chest as she burrowed against him.
He'd been awake long before the alarm clock went off, the fluid notes of Piano Concerto No.1 First Movement wafting through the large room and enveloping the two young people like the thin white sheet draped over their nude bodies. Bobby sighed. "I hate him."
She scoffed, pulling herself up from him and yawning gracefully. She tucked the sheet under her arms as she scanned the room for her scattered artifacts of clothing.
Bobby didn't feel like rising just yet. Instead he lied with one arm under his head as he stared at the ceiling. Sighing loudly, he kicked his sheets off and rolled on his side to slam the alarm clock off. He really didn't like Tchaikovsky. The thought pulled his ice blue eyes to Emma as she buttoned a blouse over her bra and panties. Elegant, prestigious, refined- Emma would love Tchaikovsky.
It was the same every time, and it happened often. It'd usually be late, and the day uneventful, and he'd receive a knock at his door, or they'd run into each other somewhere, and once he even wandered over to her room. They'd talk a little, sometimes have a drink, but it always ended up the same way. Entangled limbs, frantic hands, insistent mouths, until they would finally just surrender to the inevitable on one or the other's bed.
It wasn't love. Sometimes it wasn't even like. But it was there, about once every week or so. Bobby wasn't sure what Emma's reasons were, why she played along with their little runaround, but he knew is. No, it wasn't love. It was just... need. He figured the feeling was mutual. And if Emma had no problem having sex- for that's precisely what it was: sex- with a guy that was almost five years younger than her, then who the hell was he to complain? Bobby yawned again, watching her head for his bedroom door.
He returned her weak smile before she slipped out of his room and the door clicked softly behind her slim, retreating form.
**
Warren tied the black silk robe at his waist while stumbling groggily down the wide staircase. His bare feet hit the cool tile with a light thud and he padded in to the kitchen. He paused in the doorway when he saw a crown of scarlet peeking from behind the counter. Her head popped up almost immediately, obviously having sensed him.
"Warren!" Jean exclaimed, setting down her frying pan on the stove. "What are you doing up so early? It's my Sunday to make breakfast."
He moved to the fridge and retrieved a carton of eggs, some slices of cheese, and a green pepper. "I know but I decided to make Ororo some breakfast instead and bring it up."
Jean's brows furrowed and she turned from mixing pancake batter. "Is she feeling alright?"
"She's fine." He chuckled lightly to himself. "Exhausted." He added, amused.
Jean perked an eyebrow. "Ah," she said, turning back to her creations on the stove. She scooted a few steps to the left to allot Warren some room. "Here, don't be shy. You can make whatever you're making right here." She flung the spatula at the stovetop to her right, specks of batter splattering on the counter. "Oops, I'll get that later." She smiled.
Warren hesitated but eventually stood beside her. An awkward silence was interrupted with the occasional sizzle of one of Jean's hot pancakes or the scrape of metal on metal as Warren expertly flipped his omelets. Between pancakes, Jean pulled her long strands into a ponytail and cleared her throat nervously.
"Angry with me, too, Warren?" She blurted.
He rested his hand on the counter for a second's thought before resuming flips. "Can't say I'm elated with the thought of any murderer. Nothing personal, it just... is." He shrugged, meeting her eyes.
She nodded. "That's all?"
Had she sensed there was more, Warren wondered. Can she read my mind right now? He shook off the uneasy edge and decided to just be frank with her. He leaned a narrow hip against the counter ledge and crossed his arms. "I admit, I think it bothered me more that Scott lied to us all that time. I understand that you confided in him and trusted him not to disclose your personal information, but as far as I'm concerned it affected the whole team and we had a right to know. How can I follow a man into battle and trust him with the right decisions to save my life if I can't even trust him to tell me when I'm rooming with..." his pitch lowered, "a killer."
Jean was quiet for a moment, taking the fork from him and flipping his forgotten omelet. That done, she set the utensil down and tightened her white robe around her tank top and pajama pants. Tilting her head to the side, she opened her mouth to speak, decided against it, and promptly closed it again. Fidgety now, she moved her hands from her robe to settle on her hips. She looked down at the floor and traced a tile with her toe, painted apple red. Head down and voice barely audible, she said, "When you say it like that, Warren, you make it sound so...." She lifted her eyes to meet his, "professional."
He cocked his head quizzically. "Go on."
She sighed, straightening with what appeared to be a swell of confidence. "Well, you're in love with Ororo, aren't you?"
He hadn't expected that. "Uh, wh..., yea." He coughed. "Yes. I love her." He admitted with a firm nod.
"You must know what it feels like when your lover asks a favor of you. When you love them, no task is too colossal. If Ororo asked you, if she looked at you with her big, swimming eyes and asked you to," Jean put a finger to her lips, "shhhh, keep a secret, you would without a second thought, wouldn't you?"
Warren stood dumbly.
"Wouldn't you?!"
"Yes! Yes, I would, I just... Jean, are you admitting to an affair between you and Cyclops?"
That devouring gaze again and large, innocent eyes. "All I'm saying, Warren, is that Scott... granted me a favor." Her finger pressed to her lips again. "He kept a secret. And I know *we're* not lovers, but I'm asking you to keep a secret, too... as a friend."
He held her gaze for a cool, unsure moment. He nodded finally. "Damn, all right."
Jean let out a breath she hadn't been conscious of holding. "Thank you so much." She grinned, going back to her frying pan. Warren did the same, shoveling his second omelet onto his plate and sinking the pan into the soapy dishwater.
"Oh and Jean," he added on the way out, "Do me a favor: wash this pan for me, would ya'? As a friend." He grinned when she stuck her tongue out and hurried back up the stairs to the woman *he* loved.
**
Jean was just finishing rinsing the fruit around ten a.m. when sleepy household members began stumbling into the room in scattered groups.
Professor, who had been awake for nearly two hours already, was the first to arrive, wheeling into the room already clad in a full suit and a pleasant, warm smile on his face. "Good morning, Jean."
"Good morning, Charles!" Jean chirped, placing a hot plate of eggs on the table. "Help yourself! I hope everything is still warm."
He accepted a cup of coffee. "It looks wonderful but I think I'll just start with some toast, thank you." He began buttering two pieces when Wolverine stalked in wearing jeans and a simple black tee shirt, plopping unceremoniously into a seat.
"Good morning, Logan."
He grunted a greeting of some sort before piling helpings on his plate. As an afterthought, he plucked a small green grape from the fruit platter in the table's center and popped it in his mouth. Jean slapped his hand.
"You will have some manners at my table, mister." She chastised, planting one hand on her hip and wagging the fruit tongs at him with the other.
He held her eyes firmly as a claw sliced from his knuckle and stabbed into a strawberry, bringing it back to follow the grape into his mouth. Her eyes opened to big blue circles and her jaw hung agape.
"You'll pay for that," she muttered as more people shuffled into the room.
"I hope I do," he retorted with a growl. She chose to ignore him, but he knew she heard.
Xavier smiled at his two students before welcoming the others to sit and eat. "Jean has provided a most appetizing breakfast for us this Sunday morning."
Rogue, in a sleeveless green nightshirt, sat down, rubbing bleary green eyes. Remy was not far behind and jumped at the opportunity to take a seat directly beside her. She pinned annoyed eyes on him and immediately stood, pushing back her chair and circling the table to sit somewhere else. Remy followed her movement with dark, smoldering eyes but made no attempts to follow.
"Where's Warren?" Bobby asked as Emma quietly took a seat beside him. "And Storm?"
"Your brother and 'Ro are upstairs. They won't be joining us this morning." Jean smiled at the thought of Warren slaving over a stove to cook her breakfast in bed. She had to hand it to the beautiful windrider; she had him whipped.
Scott and Wanda entered. He wore a fitting white tee shirt and long plaid pajama pants that Jean found simply adorable. But a pang of hurt stabbed through her at the patches of negligee peaking out from under Wanda's robe. Jean recognized it as the same item she'd helped Wanda pick out a few weeks ago. Had she made good use of it last night?
"Help yourself, everybody, there's plenty to go around!" Jean said, seating herself across from Scott and his wife for the sole purpose of tempting fate. She couldn't be sure, but she got the impression he was watching her from over the rim of his coffee mug.
Breakfast began basically quiet, the occasional "please" and "thank you"s for the salt, or the ketchup, or a refill on orange juice.
Rogue was the picture of laidback serenity on the outside, but inside she was fuming and more than a little confused. Was it not only a few days ago Jean was revealed to be a cold-blooded killer? And here they were, chatting and laughing it up and devouring her food without a second thought. They were the fuckin' Roman Republic! Rogue stabbed angrily at her defenseless French toast with her fork. She was angry at them for being so easily won over by a few hotcakes, angry at Jean for succeeding in her obvious plan, angry at herself for not being able to just laugh and enjoy it with them, angry because she couldn't get over it. Was she being irrational? No! No, I'm not. Jean's the Heartbreaker. Period.
"Something wrong with your food, Rogue?" Came the culprit's voice, small and tentative from across the table.
Rogue didn't look up from her plate. "Just being careful, is all."
Jean's face contorted, confused, while the rest of the table silenced as the air became thick and heated. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Rogue fell back in her chair, looking at Jean. "It means Ah'm makin' sure it ain't poisoned!" She snapped, regretting it immediately. She hadn't meant it, but it sure as hell struck a chord with the rest of the damned table. Aw, hell.
Jean's breath left her body sharply, disgusted and hurt all at once. "Go to hell," Jean hissed, bowing her head to her plate and continuing her nibbling on a melon slice.
Rogue's fork fell to her plate with a clatter. Scott's jaw clenched, hoping Xavier would intervene before he found himself defending Jean. "Ah just bet yah're waitin' to put me there," Rogue shot back, her tone climbing.
"Damn it Rogue, give it a rest," Scott's voice barked. He bit his tongue.
The southern beauty rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't even go there, Cyke. Ah don't know who the hell you think yah're foolin'." Her blazing green eyes shifted from Jean to him then back to Jean.
Wanda, for her part, pretended to look confused. Her heart pounded furiously. Oh God, no, no, no. Shut-up, Rogue. Shut-up. Not here. Not ever!
"That's enough. I wish to enjoy my breakfast in peace." Xavier's rich baritone floated across the table.
After a few seconds of silence, Jean slid back her chair, her head still bowed, swiping quickly at her eyes with the heel of her palms. She stood silently and quickly made her way from the kitchen as her teammates looked after her.
"Typical," Wanda scoffed. She briefly met her husband's eyes through the ruby visor, daring him to follow after her.
Rogue sighed, her stomach swimming sickeningly and her head throbbing with a dull ache. "Sorry, professah," she muttered, no longer in the least bit hungry.
**
"Don't sweat it 'Ro. They'll love you." Bobby stated, tapping the croquet ball with his mallet. "Look, if I know my parents, which I should, I know they're not interested in wealth or prestige or social background. They just want someone that'll make War happy, and believe me, *you* make him happy."
Ororo's loose pants billowed in the breeze as she dug a bare toe into the plush green grass. "Oh Bobby, of course it *sounds* easy. It seems with all that time and money and hard labor your parent's have put into you and Warren, they'd only want the very best- brains, beauty, *and* bank accounts."
The young blonde shook his head, swinging the mallet from side to side. "Come on, Ororo. My parents may not be perfect but give them a little credit. You make it sound like they're shallow, mindless snobs."
"I'm sorry, Bobby. Please don't think that's what I'm trying to say. I suppose I'm just...nervous." The African goddess felt foolish, which was a rarity on its own. She was simply worried of the impression she would make on Warren's parents. She knew it wasn't fair to assume they would only be interested in who she was and where she was from, but she wanted to be prepared for anything.
"Hey," Bobby piped, slinging an arm around her shoulder, "Don't you worry your pretty head off. You said my parents would want the very best for Warren; gorgeous, you *are* the best."
At that Ororo smiled. "Thank you, Bobby."
He shrugged. "What are shmucks for? Aw man, I just remembered... if you see Warren first, tell him it's his week to write Mom and Dad."
Ororo nodded. "Why do you do that? Write your parents?"
Bobby shrugged. "I dunno. I don't think it's a big deal but Warren hates it. He always thought he was too cool for stuff like that, even now at twenty-five. Hell, I'm only two years younger and I don't really care. It's just inconvenient, really." He peered up at the sun, shading his glittering blue eyes. "The way I see it: it's our dad's money that even got us here in the first place, and if he wants to know what's happening around the place, well, what do I care?"
"Do your parents know about the X-Men?"
"Nah, they just think Xavier's place is a school to teach mutants how to use their powers a little more. They're not privy to all the superhero junk." He grinned. "Our mother would flip her lid."
The pair headed back to the mansion, taking their considerable time to talk. They enjoyed each other's company, though neither could tell you when that little revelation came about. But every so often, they took time out with each other to catch up on any old thing- trading advice, providing helpful hints on the opposite sex, or just indulging in a good game of tennis, cards, or- in today's case- croquet.
"So how's Emma, Bobby?" The corners of Ororo's cherry lips turned up into a small smile.
He huffed, tearing a leaf from an extended branch as they walked on. "You just can't keep your nose out of it, huh?" He grinned. "She's alright, I guess."
"Just alright?"
"Geesh Ororo, we're not married. It's just..."
"Just sex." Ororo finished.
He spun to face her. "Oh c'mon. You've never had 'just sex?' Albeit good sex, but 'just sex', all the same."
Ororo's face fell a little. No, she didn't ever want to have 'just sex' again. She'd had enough of that shit growing up, from the tender and oh-so-goddamned naïve age of thirteen.
Bobby brushed a comforting hand against her mocha elbow. "Hey, sorry. I didn't mean any-"
"It's all right." She said quickly. "It's not your fault."
He halted, guiding her back with his hand. He held her shoulders until she met his eyes. "It's not yours, either. You know?" She blinked at him for an instant and nodded, smiling weakly to fend off the embarrassment. "You know?" He repeated, firmer this time.
She shrugged from his hold and continued forth. "I know, Robert!" She turned back to him again and grinned. "You're a trip."
"Trip? Trip?!" His eyes doubled and his mouth contorted. "Oh! Woaaahh! Woah!" His legs melted under him and he stumbled to the ground. "Oh Ororo! Tripped! Tripped!" He grinned up at her between cries. "Help me up!" He exclaimed, reaching a hand. "Help me! Tripped!"
She shook her head and continued forth. "Get yourself up, smartass," she chuckled.
"Oh, she leaves me here! La Belle Dame Sans Merci!" He wailed, beginning to army crawl to her, his belly sliding on the ground as his elbows dug into the soft earth.
She laughed again. "Robert Drake, you are this close from getting your dumb ass kicked!"
**
"We really gotta stop meeting like this, Red."
CLINK
"You followed me in here, cowboy."
CLINK
"I hope you weren't aiming for three ball corner pocket."
"Nope, two ball side pocket."
"Yeah right. Call it blind luck where I come from."
CLINK
"And where's that?"
He picks up a cue stick of his own. "Oh, are we playing 20 Questions, again?"
She leans over the table, not exactly dipping slow and sinful but he can't help but look just the same. She doesn't answer.
CLINK
"We gonna play for real this time? No more of that hustling shit you pulled on me before." He chalks his stick.
She stands, sliding a hand to her creamy cheek. "Why, whatever do you mean?" She grins wickedly and he can't help but match it. "Alright, Logan, no more games. I'll play for real if you play for real."
She immediately sank the one ball. Logan raised his bushy eyebrows.
"Impressive. But can she do it again?"
Jean scoffed. "Ha. Just watch me." A playful smile spread across her pretty features. She bent again and shot, swift and purposeful. Flawless. Four ball corner pocket. Seven ball side pocket. Six ball corner pocket.
"And now, Logan, I shall shoot the three ball, corner pocket." She steadied herself. It was at an awkward angle, forcing her to lean heavily into the table. Brows furrowed in concentration, she slid the cue smoothly back and forth.
She was unprepared for Logan's hot breath tickling her ear, his powerful chest grazing her back, when he whispered throatily, "Go for it."
Instead of jumping and slamming into the ball with her cue, as he had intended, she turned her face slowly until they were inches apart, staring deep and long into each other's eyes.
He could hear her heart thrash, feel her pulse quicken under her skin, taste her warm breath heavy on his own rough lips, see her hands gripping the edges of the pool table behind her.
He leaned in, clearly seeing himself pressing hard against her velvet red lips in a kiss he swore would leave them both weak. His lips brushed hers at first, savoring the weak gasp from her mouth.
She jerked her face away, his unprepared mouth diving into her neck. Surprised, Logan straightened and gave her a quizzical look. She shook her head apologetically. "I'm sorry, Logan." There was a beat's pause until she softly croaked. "I love him." Her voice was thick with emotion and Logan simply nodded, backing away from her.
Jean slid from her tight position between his strong body and the billiard table.
"You know," he said, his voice a dark contrast to the permeating silence. "A real man wouldn't hide you in the shadows." His words were quick and sharp, not meant to be cruel, just truthful. And they were. They both knew they were.
"I know." She swallowed. "He's going to tell her."
"When?"
"Soon. I don't know, but he will. I think we're both sick of creeping around."
He nodded, hanging his cue and making way towards the door. "As long as he's what you want. And he gives you what you want."
Logan gone and Jean frustrated, she sank the eight ball in one loud SMACK.
**
Don't get him wrong; Remy could drink. A man just needed something virgin every once in a while. The sensual Cajun sipped his apple juice.
He sat at the small kitchen table for snacks and quick lunches. Had he not been drowning his misery in something that was "a hundred percent juice for a hundred percent kid," or wallowing in his own self-pity, he might have heard Rogue at the doorway. Needless to say, he did not.
The southern pistol huffed upon seeing him as if he'd purposely placed himself in the kitchen so she would stumble across him. She turned on her heel to make an exit but he had noticed her arrival by now.
"Wait, wait! Get back 'ere." He placed his glass down on the table and turned fully in his seat to regard her. "Come. Sit. Stay a while."
She hesitated. Hell no, her brain said. But damn if her stupid heart didn't pipe up.
He grinned, clearly aware of her teetering response. "Hungry, aren't ya? I'll make ya' something. Come on. Sit down." The chair across from him scooted back as if by its own accord.
She sighed, shaking her head but sitting anyway. "I want fruit."
Remy stood, approaching the fruit bowl. "Peach." He stated simply before tossing it in her direction.
She caught it with one hand, her eyes never leaving his. He grinned. "Not bad, chere."
She fingered the fruit, feeling its soft fuzz under her sensitive fingertips.
Remy avoided a silent, awkward moment by immediately retrieving a pack of cards from an inside pocket of his trademark duster. He began to deal.
"How can you be sure there's fifty-two?" She asked, regarding that there was no case. He paused, a card hovering above the table facedown in his hand.
"You want to count 'em?"
Rogue rolled her eyes. "What are you playin'?"
"*We're* playing gin. I trust you know how to play."
"And win." She retorted, rising to fetch a knife from the silverware drawer. "And Ah don't have to cheat, eithah."
A shocked expression spread across his chiseled features. "I do not cheat." He continued dealing until she had eleven cards and he ten.
Rogue cut her peach into thick slices and laid them on a plate. "Then take yoah dustah off."
"My duster?" He asked, stealing a piece of her fruit. She smacked his hand and he dropped it on contact.
"Yeah, yoah dustah. Gawd only knows what you keep hidden up those sleeves!"
He shook his head, standing to shrug the jacket off his thin shoulders. He balled it up and tossed it to her. She caught it midair. "Happy?"
"Ecstatic," she replied, glancing down to fan her cards in her hands. It wasn't much, but it was enough to start with. She discarded an Ace of Hearts. Always start big and work your way down.
His eyes grew. "An ace! The Ace of Hearts!" He scarfed the card immediately. "You never, *ever* discard an ace- especially not the Ace of Hearts."
She stared blankly at him. "Yah done? Good, your discard."
Remy randomly plucked a card from his hand and discarded. "So, chere. When are we gonna run away from this silly place and get married?"
She scoffed. "The day Cyke finally gets the balls to tell Wanda he's fuckin' Jeannie."
"Dat a promise?"
"No. Yoah discard."
Remy blinked at his cards. What were they playing again? He threw down an eight, or something. "So what'll it take?"
Rogue eyed her cards somberly. "Fohget it, Cajun-boy. I don't marry men that stab me in the back."
"So knowing what you know now, you wouldn't marry dat Caleb boy if he came back tomorrow?" It was risky, he knew, but Remy was a professional at risky.
Rogue's jaw dropped a little but she quickly recovered. "He's not coming back. Jean made shoah of that."
"But if he did, Rogue. If he did. He lied to you all dat time, pretending to be an artist or whatever."
"He *was* an artist." She said coldly.
He shrugged. "Maybe. But dat's not all he was. He didn't tell you de rest of it and I t'ink dat hurts you more dan de fact dat Jean was de one dat killed him."
"I didn't ask you what you think. Discard."
Without looking at his hand, he dropped a card onto the pile. "Well what do you t'ink?"
She sighed, pinching her nose between thumb and forefinger. There was a silence before she finally raised her head and peered into his eyes. "Really wanna know?"
He nodded gravely. "I do."
"Ah want to get ovah it. Ah want to just fohgive Jean like everyone else. Ah know Ah don't have to like her, but Ah want to at least be civil towards her, at least in Xaviah's home. But Ah just can't. Ah can't. It makes me feel like Ah'd be betraying Caleb's memory if Ah did that." Remy didn't mention the nights he and Rogue shared each other's bed. He didn't have to. "Ah'm Ah being childish and stubborn because Ah don't fohgive her yet? Ah feel like Ah'm beating a dead horse sometimes."
Remy fingered the edges of his ten cards. "He was a killer. We know dat now. Maybe you're not angry wit' Jean for killing Caleb; maybe you're angry wit' her for shattering the image you had of him, non?" She was silent. "But don't t'ink you have to run and forgive her right away just because dose around you have no problem wit' her, just ask yourself: How much can I blame her? If it were my papa, would I have done de same t'ing? And Jeannie didn't even know you at de time, so you can't take it personally."
Rogue swallowed hard, her mind swimming in his words.
Remy avoided another uncomfortable silence. "Discard."
She shook her head, blinking at her cards as if wondering where they came from. "Oh," she said finally, and placed a card on the pile face down. "Gin."
He nodded. "Good game."
**
Jean sat up against her pillows. "What are you doing here?"
Scott shifted his weight onto the other foot. "Wanda's gone." He cleared his throat. "She, uh, is allowed one day of splurging every month with Daddy's money."
She cocked an eyebrow and remained silent as if waiting for further explanation. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "So... can I borrow your hairdryer?" He grinned and Jean went weak. She climbed to her knees on the bed and held out her arms. He rushed into her embrace and she pressed her mouth hungrily against his open lips.
Her head cradled in the crook of his arm an hour later, Jean toyed with his navel with pearl-lacquered fingernails. She felt his thick fingers tangle lazily in her hair as their breathing stabilized to a matching steady rhythm.
"Jean," he said suddenly, his voice husky and dry and low. "Do you have nightmares? About the murders, I mean."
His question caught her by surprise. She sighed, pulling herself off him and sitting up. He followed her, his hands resting on her hips from behind. She leaned into him, her back against the hard muscles of his chest. His mouth grazed her temple. "You don't have to." He stated.
She nodded against him. "Not just about the murders I committed. I have nightmares about a lot of murders." Jean paused, trying to reword her sentence eloquently but quickly realized that when discussing murder there really was no 'eloquent' wording. "I dream about my murders, but I also dream about the murders they committed. All those people *they* killed. I don't know if that's my guilt or my own way of rationalizing what I did. Sometimes I even dream about my father's murder." Jean became quiet and Scott squeezed her gently. "It felt like something I had to do," she continued. "Of course I knew I could go to the police, but that would get me nowhere. Not only would I have to rat my family out, but the likeliness of the Gestessi's paying for their crimes was slim to none. As powerful as that family was, I had no doubt that they were pulling strings in the police department. I had to take matters into my own hands, not only for my father, though that was always my driving force, but for the families of all the people they had killed before. And if I ever go before a judge to tell him what I just told you, I don't care if the jury doesn't believe my reasons and that they weren't entirely selfish, because it's the truth."
Scott wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his lips against her shoulder and neck. Jean tilted her head to the ministrations. "Scott," she breathed. He positioned her hair over one shoulder and his mouth traveled to the base of her neck. Jean felt him pressing into her back. She turned, framing his face with her hands.
"Scott, when are you going to tell Wanda?"
Untangling himself from her lovely limbs, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Soon," he sighed. "Soon."
Jean's arms encircled his neck. "When?"
He turned to face her until she saw her enlarged reflection in his glasses. "Today," he declared. "I promise."
**
Professor Charles Xavier shifted through various travel documents on his large oak desk. "Come in, Scott."
Cyclops swung the heavy door open and entered his mentor's office at a brisk walk. "You asked to see me?"
"Yes, please, sit. As you know, I'm to be away for the weekend for Bardley's Annual Genetics Conference."
In perfect honesty, Scott had forgotten about the conference but soon remembered that the professor did indeed leave every year around this time.
"This is just a very basic schedule that I require be followed Monday through Friday. And after calculating everyone's hours in the Danger Room, I have comprised this list of how many hours I expect each member to put in while I am away. Some more than other's as it depends on how many more they must put forth to achieve the optimal amount at the end of the month." Scott peered down the list of names and hour numbers. Having already clocked in the preferred number of hours- and then some- his had none.
"Alright, sir. Not a problem."
Xavier smiled. "I trust everything will go smoothly."
Scott nodded. "I have no doubt. Even if they don't, we'll handle it."
The professor nodded, gathering a few papers and slipping a paperclip on them. Scott rose to leave. "Sit down please, Scott. There's one more thing I wished to speak with you about."
Scott blinked behind ruby quartz, his mind already reeling as he slowly returned to his seat. "What is it, Professor? Is everything all right?"
Charles opened his mouth but closed it, deciding again how to word his sentence. "I understand that a heart has a right to its own decisions, and I understand that she is very beautiful and I have no doubt that you'll be very happy together."
Scott's breath escaped his body as fast as air leaves a balloon. "Professor, I'm sor-"
"But I will not tolerate adultery in my home." His voice was still warm, assuring his surrogate son that he was not angry with him but simply requesting that he make a decision.
Scott nodded. "I understand. I apologize, professor, it was never my intention to insult you or disregard your morals."
"It's alright, Scott. The hardest part has yet to come for you, I fear."
Scott's face was grim.
**
"So you made up yoah mind yet about meeting Warren's parents or what?"
Ororo and Rogue indulged in an evening run around the estate as the sun slipped from her mighty position in the sky. "Yes, I have. I've decided to meet them. Warren has been nothing but kind to me and if he asks this favor of me, I will not refuse."
Rogue swallowed hard, nodding her head as her high ponytail bobbed behind her. "Guh. Tha's good," she panted.
"And what of you? Have you been making any decisions as of late?" Ororo regarded her with a small smile and sidelong glance.
Rogue shrugged, becoming air-bound for a few steps. Ororo shook her head. "Eh-eh, Rogue. That's cheating!" Rogue huffed, her feet making contact with the earth again and pounding on the dirt.
"Yeah, Ah've been doing some thinking," she said, referring to Storm's previous question.
"And?"
"And Ah think Ah'm gonna give the swamp rat anothah chance."
"What brought you to this decision?" Ororo asked, mildly amused.
"Ah dunno. Ah guess Ah figured that if you could fohgive him, Ah could shoahly fohgive him, ya know? Besides, I kinda miss him, Ah think. *And*, he didn't freak out or anything when he found out about my powahs." Rogue shrugged, slowing near the main entrance. "And that's always a plus."
Ororo grinned. "Look at us, gossiping like a bunch of schoolgirls."
Rogue sighed, shaking her head. She cocked a russet brow. "Race ya' to the door?"
"You're on."
They took off at a furious speed, both eventually using their power of flight by the time they finally reached the door.
"Ah win."
"I win."
**
"Wanda? Home already?"
His wife spun from the full-length mirror. "Already? Goodness, Scott, I've been gone almost six hours!"
He grinned, rolling a shoulder. "Heh, lost track of time I guess." He stared at her in the mirror. She met his eyes slowly.
"What is it?" She asked smoothly.
He removed his hands from his pockets and held her arms. She turned, startled. "God Scott, what's gotten into you?"
He didn't release her. "We need to talk. I have to tell you something, actually." He guided her to their bed where he sat her down. "This is important, Wanda, so you might want to sit down."
She shot up from her position. Oh my God. He's actually thinking about going through with it. The nerve of the bastard!
"Wanda, please, sit down."
"No." She said shortly. He paused, his arms still grasping her shoulders.
"What?"
"No," she repeated. "I don't want to hear it."
He shook his head quickly. "You don't understand, Wanda. We have to0"
"No," she wrenched form his hold. "Get off me!"
"Wanda for God's sake! Listen!"
"I don't want to hear it!" She shouted. He stopped, shocked. "I never want to hear it! Just don't. Don't ever!" She stormed from their room. Scott considered following her but decided against it.
What the hell was that?
**
Dear Mom and Dad,
Let's see; Bobby wrote last week, so guess whose honor and privilege it is this week? I'm only kidding (mostly).
How are you two? Did you get that whole affair with Rosella straightened out? Xavier left for a genetics conference or some such thing last night. Scott says he'll be gone all weekend. Other than that, things are fairly quiet. So far there's been no accounts of burglaries, kidnappings, murders, or anything of that sort. Ha Ha. Why would there be? Nope; fairly quiet- like I said.
Bobby and I are fine. Since he's taken it upon himself to so graciously inform you of my significant other, I feel it is not only my luxury but my duty to inform you that he too has developed an interest in someone. Her name is Emma Frost. Dad, you might have even heard of her father. He owns Frost Enterprises. I thought she was one of Robert's many "conquests" as he so elegantly termed it once, but apparently they're seeing more and more of each other. Uh-oh, watch out, Mother. That's both of your boys slowly sailing away from you.
Which reminds me, Ororo has agreed to visit next weekend. I'm not sure if Bobby is coming yet or not. I don't even think he knows.
I'm sorry this is so short but I really must run.
Love to Both of You,
~Warren
P.S. I don't think I have to tell you that Ororo means a lot to me and she's very nervous about meeting you two, so please be on your best behavior. Mom, I think you're finally going to meet the one worthy of your firstborn. Ha Ha. Love you.
**
Wanda contemplated going all out: a bottle, pills, lipstick on the mirror- the works. But she just couldn't. Admittedly, she was dramatic, but she wasn't stupid. Suicide was weak. Period.
So she opted for the other way out. She packed her bags.
Tossing the last of her make-up into her cosmetic bag and throwing it into her toiletry suitcase, she picked up the phone at her bedside and dialed 411. "A cab service, please." She said coolly into the receiver. "I don't care which one."
Five minutes later, she gathered her suitcases at her door and turned to peer over the room one last time, triple-checking that not one article of her being remained. Scott wanted to leave her for Super Tramp, fine. He'd never have to think about her again. Damned if she cared. Damned if she did. Damn. Damn. Damn.
Who the hell did he think he was, anyway, trying to break the news to her this morning? But she'd show him. She'd beat him at his own game. No, he wasn't leaving her, god damn it. *She* was leaving *him*. There was no way in hell she'd let herself be made the laughing stock of the mansion. Or worse, the pity dog. She could see it now- everyone shaking their head and giving her sympathetic eyes. She quivered at the thought. Disgusting.
She did leave Scott a note, and as much as the shade Hungarian Rose tempted her, it wasn't scrawled across the bathroom mirror in red lipstick. It was a short, to the point letter, stating that she no longer loved him the way she used to and that he should make attempts to move on without her. This time apart is well needed, you'll see.
Deciding that the cab should be arriving any moment, Wanda picked up her three suitcases and hauled them downstairs. She noted absently that it was raining heavy buckets outside the mansion. She wondered idly if that was Ororo's doing, or Mother Nature's.
She made it to the front door un-intercepted.
It was past the door that she had problems. Or really just one. Scott. Standing under the front patio's marble ceiling while the rain gushed from heaven behind him. He jerked his chin to the yellow cab behind him.
"Yours?"
She shifted her suitcases. "Yes. I'm sorry, Scott, but it's just not working out."
He shook his head. "Cut the crap, Wanda. I know what you're doing. I'm sorry it *couldn't* work out, but you don't have to leave like you're walking out of a damned epic drama."
She blinked and set her suitcases down beside her. She took a seat on one of them. "What happened? We used to be so... cute together." She said grimly, rubbing her temples.
He too sat on the suitcase adjacent to her. "We just... grew up." He shrugged. "We were young, you know? Maybe in love at one point, but we're not now. Not anymore."
She nodded, strands of golden red dipping over her forehead. "We played one hell of a game of pretend there for awhile, though." She cocked a grin.
He mirrored her expression. "Yeah we did. But it's not for us, anymore." He slid a knuckle across her cheek. "And not for you, either. Go. You've got the money. Go wherever you want. Make yourself happy, Wanda. Don't stay anywhere you don't want to, and don't play pretend anymore."
She met his eyes, or where she imagined them to be hidden behind a ruby prison. Wordlessly, she wrapped her arms around him in a long hug. "Thanks, Scott."
He returned the embrace, thankful he was able to reach the sensible side of Wanda he always knew dwelled behind the superficial façade. He smiled. "I'll finalize everything over here. Just let me know where oyu are so I can send you things to sign and stuff."
She nodded. "I can do that." They released each other and the cab honked behind them. Scott turned to her, still holding her shoulders. "Just one thing."
"Hmm?"
"Don't tell my parents where I am."
He laughed out loud, hugging her quick once more. "Your secret's safe with me. So where ya' headed?"
She but her lip and shrugged shortly. Gathering her suitcases, she made her way to the car in the pouring rain. She walked slow, shaking her long hair and smiling as the fat raindrops splashed her eyelids and cheeks. Once at the open car door, the driver exited to throw her bags into the trunk. Before sliding inside, she turned. "What's Hawaii like this time of year?"
He grinned. "Good all year long, baby!"
She laughed, piling into the car and riding off.
Hi Hi Hi There! (I like this reference so much better than plain ole "A/N")
Like the long chapter? Me too!
If you've got anything to say regarding anything at all, drop a review in the dime box and it will be savored like strawberries. (Mmmm, LOVE strawberries!)
What am I doing wrong, right, or not doing at all? Tell me and I promise to at least try to make everyone comfy.
He'd been awake long before the alarm clock went off, the fluid notes of Piano Concerto No.1 First Movement wafting through the large room and enveloping the two young people like the thin white sheet draped over their nude bodies. Bobby sighed. "I hate him."
She scoffed, pulling herself up from him and yawning gracefully. She tucked the sheet under her arms as she scanned the room for her scattered artifacts of clothing.
Bobby didn't feel like rising just yet. Instead he lied with one arm under his head as he stared at the ceiling. Sighing loudly, he kicked his sheets off and rolled on his side to slam the alarm clock off. He really didn't like Tchaikovsky. The thought pulled his ice blue eyes to Emma as she buttoned a blouse over her bra and panties. Elegant, prestigious, refined- Emma would love Tchaikovsky.
It was the same every time, and it happened often. It'd usually be late, and the day uneventful, and he'd receive a knock at his door, or they'd run into each other somewhere, and once he even wandered over to her room. They'd talk a little, sometimes have a drink, but it always ended up the same way. Entangled limbs, frantic hands, insistent mouths, until they would finally just surrender to the inevitable on one or the other's bed.
It wasn't love. Sometimes it wasn't even like. But it was there, about once every week or so. Bobby wasn't sure what Emma's reasons were, why she played along with their little runaround, but he knew is. No, it wasn't love. It was just... need. He figured the feeling was mutual. And if Emma had no problem having sex- for that's precisely what it was: sex- with a guy that was almost five years younger than her, then who the hell was he to complain? Bobby yawned again, watching her head for his bedroom door.
He returned her weak smile before she slipped out of his room and the door clicked softly behind her slim, retreating form.
**
Warren tied the black silk robe at his waist while stumbling groggily down the wide staircase. His bare feet hit the cool tile with a light thud and he padded in to the kitchen. He paused in the doorway when he saw a crown of scarlet peeking from behind the counter. Her head popped up almost immediately, obviously having sensed him.
"Warren!" Jean exclaimed, setting down her frying pan on the stove. "What are you doing up so early? It's my Sunday to make breakfast."
He moved to the fridge and retrieved a carton of eggs, some slices of cheese, and a green pepper. "I know but I decided to make Ororo some breakfast instead and bring it up."
Jean's brows furrowed and she turned from mixing pancake batter. "Is she feeling alright?"
"She's fine." He chuckled lightly to himself. "Exhausted." He added, amused.
Jean perked an eyebrow. "Ah," she said, turning back to her creations on the stove. She scooted a few steps to the left to allot Warren some room. "Here, don't be shy. You can make whatever you're making right here." She flung the spatula at the stovetop to her right, specks of batter splattering on the counter. "Oops, I'll get that later." She smiled.
Warren hesitated but eventually stood beside her. An awkward silence was interrupted with the occasional sizzle of one of Jean's hot pancakes or the scrape of metal on metal as Warren expertly flipped his omelets. Between pancakes, Jean pulled her long strands into a ponytail and cleared her throat nervously.
"Angry with me, too, Warren?" She blurted.
He rested his hand on the counter for a second's thought before resuming flips. "Can't say I'm elated with the thought of any murderer. Nothing personal, it just... is." He shrugged, meeting her eyes.
She nodded. "That's all?"
Had she sensed there was more, Warren wondered. Can she read my mind right now? He shook off the uneasy edge and decided to just be frank with her. He leaned a narrow hip against the counter ledge and crossed his arms. "I admit, I think it bothered me more that Scott lied to us all that time. I understand that you confided in him and trusted him not to disclose your personal information, but as far as I'm concerned it affected the whole team and we had a right to know. How can I follow a man into battle and trust him with the right decisions to save my life if I can't even trust him to tell me when I'm rooming with..." his pitch lowered, "a killer."
Jean was quiet for a moment, taking the fork from him and flipping his forgotten omelet. That done, she set the utensil down and tightened her white robe around her tank top and pajama pants. Tilting her head to the side, she opened her mouth to speak, decided against it, and promptly closed it again. Fidgety now, she moved her hands from her robe to settle on her hips. She looked down at the floor and traced a tile with her toe, painted apple red. Head down and voice barely audible, she said, "When you say it like that, Warren, you make it sound so...." She lifted her eyes to meet his, "professional."
He cocked his head quizzically. "Go on."
She sighed, straightening with what appeared to be a swell of confidence. "Well, you're in love with Ororo, aren't you?"
He hadn't expected that. "Uh, wh..., yea." He coughed. "Yes. I love her." He admitted with a firm nod.
"You must know what it feels like when your lover asks a favor of you. When you love them, no task is too colossal. If Ororo asked you, if she looked at you with her big, swimming eyes and asked you to," Jean put a finger to her lips, "shhhh, keep a secret, you would without a second thought, wouldn't you?"
Warren stood dumbly.
"Wouldn't you?!"
"Yes! Yes, I would, I just... Jean, are you admitting to an affair between you and Cyclops?"
That devouring gaze again and large, innocent eyes. "All I'm saying, Warren, is that Scott... granted me a favor." Her finger pressed to her lips again. "He kept a secret. And I know *we're* not lovers, but I'm asking you to keep a secret, too... as a friend."
He held her gaze for a cool, unsure moment. He nodded finally. "Damn, all right."
Jean let out a breath she hadn't been conscious of holding. "Thank you so much." She grinned, going back to her frying pan. Warren did the same, shoveling his second omelet onto his plate and sinking the pan into the soapy dishwater.
"Oh and Jean," he added on the way out, "Do me a favor: wash this pan for me, would ya'? As a friend." He grinned when she stuck her tongue out and hurried back up the stairs to the woman *he* loved.
**
Jean was just finishing rinsing the fruit around ten a.m. when sleepy household members began stumbling into the room in scattered groups.
Professor, who had been awake for nearly two hours already, was the first to arrive, wheeling into the room already clad in a full suit and a pleasant, warm smile on his face. "Good morning, Jean."
"Good morning, Charles!" Jean chirped, placing a hot plate of eggs on the table. "Help yourself! I hope everything is still warm."
He accepted a cup of coffee. "It looks wonderful but I think I'll just start with some toast, thank you." He began buttering two pieces when Wolverine stalked in wearing jeans and a simple black tee shirt, plopping unceremoniously into a seat.
"Good morning, Logan."
He grunted a greeting of some sort before piling helpings on his plate. As an afterthought, he plucked a small green grape from the fruit platter in the table's center and popped it in his mouth. Jean slapped his hand.
"You will have some manners at my table, mister." She chastised, planting one hand on her hip and wagging the fruit tongs at him with the other.
He held her eyes firmly as a claw sliced from his knuckle and stabbed into a strawberry, bringing it back to follow the grape into his mouth. Her eyes opened to big blue circles and her jaw hung agape.
"You'll pay for that," she muttered as more people shuffled into the room.
"I hope I do," he retorted with a growl. She chose to ignore him, but he knew she heard.
Xavier smiled at his two students before welcoming the others to sit and eat. "Jean has provided a most appetizing breakfast for us this Sunday morning."
Rogue, in a sleeveless green nightshirt, sat down, rubbing bleary green eyes. Remy was not far behind and jumped at the opportunity to take a seat directly beside her. She pinned annoyed eyes on him and immediately stood, pushing back her chair and circling the table to sit somewhere else. Remy followed her movement with dark, smoldering eyes but made no attempts to follow.
"Where's Warren?" Bobby asked as Emma quietly took a seat beside him. "And Storm?"
"Your brother and 'Ro are upstairs. They won't be joining us this morning." Jean smiled at the thought of Warren slaving over a stove to cook her breakfast in bed. She had to hand it to the beautiful windrider; she had him whipped.
Scott and Wanda entered. He wore a fitting white tee shirt and long plaid pajama pants that Jean found simply adorable. But a pang of hurt stabbed through her at the patches of negligee peaking out from under Wanda's robe. Jean recognized it as the same item she'd helped Wanda pick out a few weeks ago. Had she made good use of it last night?
"Help yourself, everybody, there's plenty to go around!" Jean said, seating herself across from Scott and his wife for the sole purpose of tempting fate. She couldn't be sure, but she got the impression he was watching her from over the rim of his coffee mug.
Breakfast began basically quiet, the occasional "please" and "thank you"s for the salt, or the ketchup, or a refill on orange juice.
Rogue was the picture of laidback serenity on the outside, but inside she was fuming and more than a little confused. Was it not only a few days ago Jean was revealed to be a cold-blooded killer? And here they were, chatting and laughing it up and devouring her food without a second thought. They were the fuckin' Roman Republic! Rogue stabbed angrily at her defenseless French toast with her fork. She was angry at them for being so easily won over by a few hotcakes, angry at Jean for succeeding in her obvious plan, angry at herself for not being able to just laugh and enjoy it with them, angry because she couldn't get over it. Was she being irrational? No! No, I'm not. Jean's the Heartbreaker. Period.
"Something wrong with your food, Rogue?" Came the culprit's voice, small and tentative from across the table.
Rogue didn't look up from her plate. "Just being careful, is all."
Jean's face contorted, confused, while the rest of the table silenced as the air became thick and heated. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Rogue fell back in her chair, looking at Jean. "It means Ah'm makin' sure it ain't poisoned!" She snapped, regretting it immediately. She hadn't meant it, but it sure as hell struck a chord with the rest of the damned table. Aw, hell.
Jean's breath left her body sharply, disgusted and hurt all at once. "Go to hell," Jean hissed, bowing her head to her plate and continuing her nibbling on a melon slice.
Rogue's fork fell to her plate with a clatter. Scott's jaw clenched, hoping Xavier would intervene before he found himself defending Jean. "Ah just bet yah're waitin' to put me there," Rogue shot back, her tone climbing.
"Damn it Rogue, give it a rest," Scott's voice barked. He bit his tongue.
The southern beauty rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't even go there, Cyke. Ah don't know who the hell you think yah're foolin'." Her blazing green eyes shifted from Jean to him then back to Jean.
Wanda, for her part, pretended to look confused. Her heart pounded furiously. Oh God, no, no, no. Shut-up, Rogue. Shut-up. Not here. Not ever!
"That's enough. I wish to enjoy my breakfast in peace." Xavier's rich baritone floated across the table.
After a few seconds of silence, Jean slid back her chair, her head still bowed, swiping quickly at her eyes with the heel of her palms. She stood silently and quickly made her way from the kitchen as her teammates looked after her.
"Typical," Wanda scoffed. She briefly met her husband's eyes through the ruby visor, daring him to follow after her.
Rogue sighed, her stomach swimming sickeningly and her head throbbing with a dull ache. "Sorry, professah," she muttered, no longer in the least bit hungry.
**
"Don't sweat it 'Ro. They'll love you." Bobby stated, tapping the croquet ball with his mallet. "Look, if I know my parents, which I should, I know they're not interested in wealth or prestige or social background. They just want someone that'll make War happy, and believe me, *you* make him happy."
Ororo's loose pants billowed in the breeze as she dug a bare toe into the plush green grass. "Oh Bobby, of course it *sounds* easy. It seems with all that time and money and hard labor your parent's have put into you and Warren, they'd only want the very best- brains, beauty, *and* bank accounts."
The young blonde shook his head, swinging the mallet from side to side. "Come on, Ororo. My parents may not be perfect but give them a little credit. You make it sound like they're shallow, mindless snobs."
"I'm sorry, Bobby. Please don't think that's what I'm trying to say. I suppose I'm just...nervous." The African goddess felt foolish, which was a rarity on its own. She was simply worried of the impression she would make on Warren's parents. She knew it wasn't fair to assume they would only be interested in who she was and where she was from, but she wanted to be prepared for anything.
"Hey," Bobby piped, slinging an arm around her shoulder, "Don't you worry your pretty head off. You said my parents would want the very best for Warren; gorgeous, you *are* the best."
At that Ororo smiled. "Thank you, Bobby."
He shrugged. "What are shmucks for? Aw man, I just remembered... if you see Warren first, tell him it's his week to write Mom and Dad."
Ororo nodded. "Why do you do that? Write your parents?"
Bobby shrugged. "I dunno. I don't think it's a big deal but Warren hates it. He always thought he was too cool for stuff like that, even now at twenty-five. Hell, I'm only two years younger and I don't really care. It's just inconvenient, really." He peered up at the sun, shading his glittering blue eyes. "The way I see it: it's our dad's money that even got us here in the first place, and if he wants to know what's happening around the place, well, what do I care?"
"Do your parents know about the X-Men?"
"Nah, they just think Xavier's place is a school to teach mutants how to use their powers a little more. They're not privy to all the superhero junk." He grinned. "Our mother would flip her lid."
The pair headed back to the mansion, taking their considerable time to talk. They enjoyed each other's company, though neither could tell you when that little revelation came about. But every so often, they took time out with each other to catch up on any old thing- trading advice, providing helpful hints on the opposite sex, or just indulging in a good game of tennis, cards, or- in today's case- croquet.
"So how's Emma, Bobby?" The corners of Ororo's cherry lips turned up into a small smile.
He huffed, tearing a leaf from an extended branch as they walked on. "You just can't keep your nose out of it, huh?" He grinned. "She's alright, I guess."
"Just alright?"
"Geesh Ororo, we're not married. It's just..."
"Just sex." Ororo finished.
He spun to face her. "Oh c'mon. You've never had 'just sex?' Albeit good sex, but 'just sex', all the same."
Ororo's face fell a little. No, she didn't ever want to have 'just sex' again. She'd had enough of that shit growing up, from the tender and oh-so-goddamned naïve age of thirteen.
Bobby brushed a comforting hand against her mocha elbow. "Hey, sorry. I didn't mean any-"
"It's all right." She said quickly. "It's not your fault."
He halted, guiding her back with his hand. He held her shoulders until she met his eyes. "It's not yours, either. You know?" She blinked at him for an instant and nodded, smiling weakly to fend off the embarrassment. "You know?" He repeated, firmer this time.
She shrugged from his hold and continued forth. "I know, Robert!" She turned back to him again and grinned. "You're a trip."
"Trip? Trip?!" His eyes doubled and his mouth contorted. "Oh! Woaaahh! Woah!" His legs melted under him and he stumbled to the ground. "Oh Ororo! Tripped! Tripped!" He grinned up at her between cries. "Help me up!" He exclaimed, reaching a hand. "Help me! Tripped!"
She shook her head and continued forth. "Get yourself up, smartass," she chuckled.
"Oh, she leaves me here! La Belle Dame Sans Merci!" He wailed, beginning to army crawl to her, his belly sliding on the ground as his elbows dug into the soft earth.
She laughed again. "Robert Drake, you are this close from getting your dumb ass kicked!"
**
"We really gotta stop meeting like this, Red."
CLINK
"You followed me in here, cowboy."
CLINK
"I hope you weren't aiming for three ball corner pocket."
"Nope, two ball side pocket."
"Yeah right. Call it blind luck where I come from."
CLINK
"And where's that?"
He picks up a cue stick of his own. "Oh, are we playing 20 Questions, again?"
She leans over the table, not exactly dipping slow and sinful but he can't help but look just the same. She doesn't answer.
CLINK
"We gonna play for real this time? No more of that hustling shit you pulled on me before." He chalks his stick.
She stands, sliding a hand to her creamy cheek. "Why, whatever do you mean?" She grins wickedly and he can't help but match it. "Alright, Logan, no more games. I'll play for real if you play for real."
She immediately sank the one ball. Logan raised his bushy eyebrows.
"Impressive. But can she do it again?"
Jean scoffed. "Ha. Just watch me." A playful smile spread across her pretty features. She bent again and shot, swift and purposeful. Flawless. Four ball corner pocket. Seven ball side pocket. Six ball corner pocket.
"And now, Logan, I shall shoot the three ball, corner pocket." She steadied herself. It was at an awkward angle, forcing her to lean heavily into the table. Brows furrowed in concentration, she slid the cue smoothly back and forth.
She was unprepared for Logan's hot breath tickling her ear, his powerful chest grazing her back, when he whispered throatily, "Go for it."
Instead of jumping and slamming into the ball with her cue, as he had intended, she turned her face slowly until they were inches apart, staring deep and long into each other's eyes.
He could hear her heart thrash, feel her pulse quicken under her skin, taste her warm breath heavy on his own rough lips, see her hands gripping the edges of the pool table behind her.
He leaned in, clearly seeing himself pressing hard against her velvet red lips in a kiss he swore would leave them both weak. His lips brushed hers at first, savoring the weak gasp from her mouth.
She jerked her face away, his unprepared mouth diving into her neck. Surprised, Logan straightened and gave her a quizzical look. She shook her head apologetically. "I'm sorry, Logan." There was a beat's pause until she softly croaked. "I love him." Her voice was thick with emotion and Logan simply nodded, backing away from her.
Jean slid from her tight position between his strong body and the billiard table.
"You know," he said, his voice a dark contrast to the permeating silence. "A real man wouldn't hide you in the shadows." His words were quick and sharp, not meant to be cruel, just truthful. And they were. They both knew they were.
"I know." She swallowed. "He's going to tell her."
"When?"
"Soon. I don't know, but he will. I think we're both sick of creeping around."
He nodded, hanging his cue and making way towards the door. "As long as he's what you want. And he gives you what you want."
Logan gone and Jean frustrated, she sank the eight ball in one loud SMACK.
**
Don't get him wrong; Remy could drink. A man just needed something virgin every once in a while. The sensual Cajun sipped his apple juice.
He sat at the small kitchen table for snacks and quick lunches. Had he not been drowning his misery in something that was "a hundred percent juice for a hundred percent kid," or wallowing in his own self-pity, he might have heard Rogue at the doorway. Needless to say, he did not.
The southern pistol huffed upon seeing him as if he'd purposely placed himself in the kitchen so she would stumble across him. She turned on her heel to make an exit but he had noticed her arrival by now.
"Wait, wait! Get back 'ere." He placed his glass down on the table and turned fully in his seat to regard her. "Come. Sit. Stay a while."
She hesitated. Hell no, her brain said. But damn if her stupid heart didn't pipe up.
He grinned, clearly aware of her teetering response. "Hungry, aren't ya? I'll make ya' something. Come on. Sit down." The chair across from him scooted back as if by its own accord.
She sighed, shaking her head but sitting anyway. "I want fruit."
Remy stood, approaching the fruit bowl. "Peach." He stated simply before tossing it in her direction.
She caught it with one hand, her eyes never leaving his. He grinned. "Not bad, chere."
She fingered the fruit, feeling its soft fuzz under her sensitive fingertips.
Remy avoided a silent, awkward moment by immediately retrieving a pack of cards from an inside pocket of his trademark duster. He began to deal.
"How can you be sure there's fifty-two?" She asked, regarding that there was no case. He paused, a card hovering above the table facedown in his hand.
"You want to count 'em?"
Rogue rolled her eyes. "What are you playin'?"
"*We're* playing gin. I trust you know how to play."
"And win." She retorted, rising to fetch a knife from the silverware drawer. "And Ah don't have to cheat, eithah."
A shocked expression spread across his chiseled features. "I do not cheat." He continued dealing until she had eleven cards and he ten.
Rogue cut her peach into thick slices and laid them on a plate. "Then take yoah dustah off."
"My duster?" He asked, stealing a piece of her fruit. She smacked his hand and he dropped it on contact.
"Yeah, yoah dustah. Gawd only knows what you keep hidden up those sleeves!"
He shook his head, standing to shrug the jacket off his thin shoulders. He balled it up and tossed it to her. She caught it midair. "Happy?"
"Ecstatic," she replied, glancing down to fan her cards in her hands. It wasn't much, but it was enough to start with. She discarded an Ace of Hearts. Always start big and work your way down.
His eyes grew. "An ace! The Ace of Hearts!" He scarfed the card immediately. "You never, *ever* discard an ace- especially not the Ace of Hearts."
She stared blankly at him. "Yah done? Good, your discard."
Remy randomly plucked a card from his hand and discarded. "So, chere. When are we gonna run away from this silly place and get married?"
She scoffed. "The day Cyke finally gets the balls to tell Wanda he's fuckin' Jeannie."
"Dat a promise?"
"No. Yoah discard."
Remy blinked at his cards. What were they playing again? He threw down an eight, or something. "So what'll it take?"
Rogue eyed her cards somberly. "Fohget it, Cajun-boy. I don't marry men that stab me in the back."
"So knowing what you know now, you wouldn't marry dat Caleb boy if he came back tomorrow?" It was risky, he knew, but Remy was a professional at risky.
Rogue's jaw dropped a little but she quickly recovered. "He's not coming back. Jean made shoah of that."
"But if he did, Rogue. If he did. He lied to you all dat time, pretending to be an artist or whatever."
"He *was* an artist." She said coldly.
He shrugged. "Maybe. But dat's not all he was. He didn't tell you de rest of it and I t'ink dat hurts you more dan de fact dat Jean was de one dat killed him."
"I didn't ask you what you think. Discard."
Without looking at his hand, he dropped a card onto the pile. "Well what do you t'ink?"
She sighed, pinching her nose between thumb and forefinger. There was a silence before she finally raised her head and peered into his eyes. "Really wanna know?"
He nodded gravely. "I do."
"Ah want to get ovah it. Ah want to just fohgive Jean like everyone else. Ah know Ah don't have to like her, but Ah want to at least be civil towards her, at least in Xaviah's home. But Ah just can't. Ah can't. It makes me feel like Ah'd be betraying Caleb's memory if Ah did that." Remy didn't mention the nights he and Rogue shared each other's bed. He didn't have to. "Ah'm Ah being childish and stubborn because Ah don't fohgive her yet? Ah feel like Ah'm beating a dead horse sometimes."
Remy fingered the edges of his ten cards. "He was a killer. We know dat now. Maybe you're not angry wit' Jean for killing Caleb; maybe you're angry wit' her for shattering the image you had of him, non?" She was silent. "But don't t'ink you have to run and forgive her right away just because dose around you have no problem wit' her, just ask yourself: How much can I blame her? If it were my papa, would I have done de same t'ing? And Jeannie didn't even know you at de time, so you can't take it personally."
Rogue swallowed hard, her mind swimming in his words.
Remy avoided another uncomfortable silence. "Discard."
She shook her head, blinking at her cards as if wondering where they came from. "Oh," she said finally, and placed a card on the pile face down. "Gin."
He nodded. "Good game."
**
Jean sat up against her pillows. "What are you doing here?"
Scott shifted his weight onto the other foot. "Wanda's gone." He cleared his throat. "She, uh, is allowed one day of splurging every month with Daddy's money."
She cocked an eyebrow and remained silent as if waiting for further explanation. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "So... can I borrow your hairdryer?" He grinned and Jean went weak. She climbed to her knees on the bed and held out her arms. He rushed into her embrace and she pressed her mouth hungrily against his open lips.
Her head cradled in the crook of his arm an hour later, Jean toyed with his navel with pearl-lacquered fingernails. She felt his thick fingers tangle lazily in her hair as their breathing stabilized to a matching steady rhythm.
"Jean," he said suddenly, his voice husky and dry and low. "Do you have nightmares? About the murders, I mean."
His question caught her by surprise. She sighed, pulling herself off him and sitting up. He followed her, his hands resting on her hips from behind. She leaned into him, her back against the hard muscles of his chest. His mouth grazed her temple. "You don't have to." He stated.
She nodded against him. "Not just about the murders I committed. I have nightmares about a lot of murders." Jean paused, trying to reword her sentence eloquently but quickly realized that when discussing murder there really was no 'eloquent' wording. "I dream about my murders, but I also dream about the murders they committed. All those people *they* killed. I don't know if that's my guilt or my own way of rationalizing what I did. Sometimes I even dream about my father's murder." Jean became quiet and Scott squeezed her gently. "It felt like something I had to do," she continued. "Of course I knew I could go to the police, but that would get me nowhere. Not only would I have to rat my family out, but the likeliness of the Gestessi's paying for their crimes was slim to none. As powerful as that family was, I had no doubt that they were pulling strings in the police department. I had to take matters into my own hands, not only for my father, though that was always my driving force, but for the families of all the people they had killed before. And if I ever go before a judge to tell him what I just told you, I don't care if the jury doesn't believe my reasons and that they weren't entirely selfish, because it's the truth."
Scott wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his lips against her shoulder and neck. Jean tilted her head to the ministrations. "Scott," she breathed. He positioned her hair over one shoulder and his mouth traveled to the base of her neck. Jean felt him pressing into her back. She turned, framing his face with her hands.
"Scott, when are you going to tell Wanda?"
Untangling himself from her lovely limbs, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Soon," he sighed. "Soon."
Jean's arms encircled his neck. "When?"
He turned to face her until she saw her enlarged reflection in his glasses. "Today," he declared. "I promise."
**
Professor Charles Xavier shifted through various travel documents on his large oak desk. "Come in, Scott."
Cyclops swung the heavy door open and entered his mentor's office at a brisk walk. "You asked to see me?"
"Yes, please, sit. As you know, I'm to be away for the weekend for Bardley's Annual Genetics Conference."
In perfect honesty, Scott had forgotten about the conference but soon remembered that the professor did indeed leave every year around this time.
"This is just a very basic schedule that I require be followed Monday through Friday. And after calculating everyone's hours in the Danger Room, I have comprised this list of how many hours I expect each member to put in while I am away. Some more than other's as it depends on how many more they must put forth to achieve the optimal amount at the end of the month." Scott peered down the list of names and hour numbers. Having already clocked in the preferred number of hours- and then some- his had none.
"Alright, sir. Not a problem."
Xavier smiled. "I trust everything will go smoothly."
Scott nodded. "I have no doubt. Even if they don't, we'll handle it."
The professor nodded, gathering a few papers and slipping a paperclip on them. Scott rose to leave. "Sit down please, Scott. There's one more thing I wished to speak with you about."
Scott blinked behind ruby quartz, his mind already reeling as he slowly returned to his seat. "What is it, Professor? Is everything all right?"
Charles opened his mouth but closed it, deciding again how to word his sentence. "I understand that a heart has a right to its own decisions, and I understand that she is very beautiful and I have no doubt that you'll be very happy together."
Scott's breath escaped his body as fast as air leaves a balloon. "Professor, I'm sor-"
"But I will not tolerate adultery in my home." His voice was still warm, assuring his surrogate son that he was not angry with him but simply requesting that he make a decision.
Scott nodded. "I understand. I apologize, professor, it was never my intention to insult you or disregard your morals."
"It's alright, Scott. The hardest part has yet to come for you, I fear."
Scott's face was grim.
**
"So you made up yoah mind yet about meeting Warren's parents or what?"
Ororo and Rogue indulged in an evening run around the estate as the sun slipped from her mighty position in the sky. "Yes, I have. I've decided to meet them. Warren has been nothing but kind to me and if he asks this favor of me, I will not refuse."
Rogue swallowed hard, nodding her head as her high ponytail bobbed behind her. "Guh. Tha's good," she panted.
"And what of you? Have you been making any decisions as of late?" Ororo regarded her with a small smile and sidelong glance.
Rogue shrugged, becoming air-bound for a few steps. Ororo shook her head. "Eh-eh, Rogue. That's cheating!" Rogue huffed, her feet making contact with the earth again and pounding on the dirt.
"Yeah, Ah've been doing some thinking," she said, referring to Storm's previous question.
"And?"
"And Ah think Ah'm gonna give the swamp rat anothah chance."
"What brought you to this decision?" Ororo asked, mildly amused.
"Ah dunno. Ah guess Ah figured that if you could fohgive him, Ah could shoahly fohgive him, ya know? Besides, I kinda miss him, Ah think. *And*, he didn't freak out or anything when he found out about my powahs." Rogue shrugged, slowing near the main entrance. "And that's always a plus."
Ororo grinned. "Look at us, gossiping like a bunch of schoolgirls."
Rogue sighed, shaking her head. She cocked a russet brow. "Race ya' to the door?"
"You're on."
They took off at a furious speed, both eventually using their power of flight by the time they finally reached the door.
"Ah win."
"I win."
**
"Wanda? Home already?"
His wife spun from the full-length mirror. "Already? Goodness, Scott, I've been gone almost six hours!"
He grinned, rolling a shoulder. "Heh, lost track of time I guess." He stared at her in the mirror. She met his eyes slowly.
"What is it?" She asked smoothly.
He removed his hands from his pockets and held her arms. She turned, startled. "God Scott, what's gotten into you?"
He didn't release her. "We need to talk. I have to tell you something, actually." He guided her to their bed where he sat her down. "This is important, Wanda, so you might want to sit down."
She shot up from her position. Oh my God. He's actually thinking about going through with it. The nerve of the bastard!
"Wanda, please, sit down."
"No." She said shortly. He paused, his arms still grasping her shoulders.
"What?"
"No," she repeated. "I don't want to hear it."
He shook his head quickly. "You don't understand, Wanda. We have to0"
"No," she wrenched form his hold. "Get off me!"
"Wanda for God's sake! Listen!"
"I don't want to hear it!" She shouted. He stopped, shocked. "I never want to hear it! Just don't. Don't ever!" She stormed from their room. Scott considered following her but decided against it.
What the hell was that?
**
Dear Mom and Dad,
Let's see; Bobby wrote last week, so guess whose honor and privilege it is this week? I'm only kidding (mostly).
How are you two? Did you get that whole affair with Rosella straightened out? Xavier left for a genetics conference or some such thing last night. Scott says he'll be gone all weekend. Other than that, things are fairly quiet. So far there's been no accounts of burglaries, kidnappings, murders, or anything of that sort. Ha Ha. Why would there be? Nope; fairly quiet- like I said.
Bobby and I are fine. Since he's taken it upon himself to so graciously inform you of my significant other, I feel it is not only my luxury but my duty to inform you that he too has developed an interest in someone. Her name is Emma Frost. Dad, you might have even heard of her father. He owns Frost Enterprises. I thought she was one of Robert's many "conquests" as he so elegantly termed it once, but apparently they're seeing more and more of each other. Uh-oh, watch out, Mother. That's both of your boys slowly sailing away from you.
Which reminds me, Ororo has agreed to visit next weekend. I'm not sure if Bobby is coming yet or not. I don't even think he knows.
I'm sorry this is so short but I really must run.
Love to Both of You,
~Warren
P.S. I don't think I have to tell you that Ororo means a lot to me and she's very nervous about meeting you two, so please be on your best behavior. Mom, I think you're finally going to meet the one worthy of your firstborn. Ha Ha. Love you.
**
Wanda contemplated going all out: a bottle, pills, lipstick on the mirror- the works. But she just couldn't. Admittedly, she was dramatic, but she wasn't stupid. Suicide was weak. Period.
So she opted for the other way out. She packed her bags.
Tossing the last of her make-up into her cosmetic bag and throwing it into her toiletry suitcase, she picked up the phone at her bedside and dialed 411. "A cab service, please." She said coolly into the receiver. "I don't care which one."
Five minutes later, she gathered her suitcases at her door and turned to peer over the room one last time, triple-checking that not one article of her being remained. Scott wanted to leave her for Super Tramp, fine. He'd never have to think about her again. Damned if she cared. Damned if she did. Damn. Damn. Damn.
Who the hell did he think he was, anyway, trying to break the news to her this morning? But she'd show him. She'd beat him at his own game. No, he wasn't leaving her, god damn it. *She* was leaving *him*. There was no way in hell she'd let herself be made the laughing stock of the mansion. Or worse, the pity dog. She could see it now- everyone shaking their head and giving her sympathetic eyes. She quivered at the thought. Disgusting.
She did leave Scott a note, and as much as the shade Hungarian Rose tempted her, it wasn't scrawled across the bathroom mirror in red lipstick. It was a short, to the point letter, stating that she no longer loved him the way she used to and that he should make attempts to move on without her. This time apart is well needed, you'll see.
Deciding that the cab should be arriving any moment, Wanda picked up her three suitcases and hauled them downstairs. She noted absently that it was raining heavy buckets outside the mansion. She wondered idly if that was Ororo's doing, or Mother Nature's.
She made it to the front door un-intercepted.
It was past the door that she had problems. Or really just one. Scott. Standing under the front patio's marble ceiling while the rain gushed from heaven behind him. He jerked his chin to the yellow cab behind him.
"Yours?"
She shifted her suitcases. "Yes. I'm sorry, Scott, but it's just not working out."
He shook his head. "Cut the crap, Wanda. I know what you're doing. I'm sorry it *couldn't* work out, but you don't have to leave like you're walking out of a damned epic drama."
She blinked and set her suitcases down beside her. She took a seat on one of them. "What happened? We used to be so... cute together." She said grimly, rubbing her temples.
He too sat on the suitcase adjacent to her. "We just... grew up." He shrugged. "We were young, you know? Maybe in love at one point, but we're not now. Not anymore."
She nodded, strands of golden red dipping over her forehead. "We played one hell of a game of pretend there for awhile, though." She cocked a grin.
He mirrored her expression. "Yeah we did. But it's not for us, anymore." He slid a knuckle across her cheek. "And not for you, either. Go. You've got the money. Go wherever you want. Make yourself happy, Wanda. Don't stay anywhere you don't want to, and don't play pretend anymore."
She met his eyes, or where she imagined them to be hidden behind a ruby prison. Wordlessly, she wrapped her arms around him in a long hug. "Thanks, Scott."
He returned the embrace, thankful he was able to reach the sensible side of Wanda he always knew dwelled behind the superficial façade. He smiled. "I'll finalize everything over here. Just let me know where oyu are so I can send you things to sign and stuff."
She nodded. "I can do that." They released each other and the cab honked behind them. Scott turned to her, still holding her shoulders. "Just one thing."
"Hmm?"
"Don't tell my parents where I am."
He laughed out loud, hugging her quick once more. "Your secret's safe with me. So where ya' headed?"
She but her lip and shrugged shortly. Gathering her suitcases, she made her way to the car in the pouring rain. She walked slow, shaking her long hair and smiling as the fat raindrops splashed her eyelids and cheeks. Once at the open car door, the driver exited to throw her bags into the trunk. Before sliding inside, she turned. "What's Hawaii like this time of year?"
He grinned. "Good all year long, baby!"
She laughed, piling into the car and riding off.
Hi Hi Hi There! (I like this reference so much better than plain ole "A/N")
Like the long chapter? Me too!
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