Title: Laundry Day
Summary: Laundry day at the mansion!
Warnings: None
Rating: G-general
Setting: Non-specific
Characters: Rogue/Remy, also featuring Jean, Ororo, Scott, Jubilee, Hank, Logan, Betsy, Warren, and Bobby
Laundry DayJean hefted her heavy laundry basket and descended the steps to the basement, where the two washers and dryers sat side by side. Jubilee was already there, sorting out Logan's and her own laundry; Ororo was sorting hers and Hank's laundry, and Betsy was sorting hers and Warren's. Rogue was sitting at the table set out by the machines measuring out detergent.
"Done sorting yours and Remy's already?" Jean asked her, setting her basket in the corner and picking up the blue and red baskets.
It was laundry day at the mansion. Jean had started it when she'd tried for two days in a row to get hers and Scott's laundry done, and found the machines in use. So she and the other girls had gotten together and worked out a schedule whereby they all got together and did their laundry in turns on one day during the week. The guys would cook the meals for that day while the girls did laundry.
There was an agreement between the girls and the guys about who would be doing whose laundry. Jean did hers, Scott, and Charles's clothes; Ororo did Hank's and her own; Betsy did Warren's clothing with her own; and Rogue usually did Remy's. When Jubilee was younger, Bobby and Logan had slipped their laundry in with hers; the younger girl had complained, but not much. Now, though, she was older, and had more self-confidence. Self-confidence to tell Bobby to go do his own stuff.
Jean had a blue basket in her room for hers and Scott's stuff. Xavier had a red one. There were matching baskets down here for the clothes. She put the red basket on the table, sorted Charles' white shirts, socks, and underclothes into the spare basket, left the colors in the original, then put them aside as she did the same to hers and Scott's in the spare blue basket.
Ororo had two white baskets and two navy-blue baskets in front of her; the white baskets held her clothes, and the navy-blue ones held Hank's extra large shirts and pants. Betsy had a yellow basket in front of her, sorting Warren's. Her two purple baskets were already neatly set off to the side. Jubilee had her own yellow basket (a different shape than Warren's, to prevent the 'you have my basket' argument) filled, and was in the process of hefting Logan's black basket onto the table to sort his clothes.
Rogue dumped her green basket of colored laundry into the first machine and added detergent, then set the machine and sat down at the table as it started its wash cycle. "Nah. The swamp rat's gonna do his own stuff with Bobby tomorrow." There was a snicker from somewhere behind her, and she spun, but both Jubilee and Betsy were sorting their clothes with perfectly straight, innocent faces, and she couldn't identify who had laughed.
Jean had to fight to keep hers straight. Jubilee had come home the week before to find Bobby and Remy's clothes added to her own and Logan's laundry. They had all heard the explosion of temper that afternoon. "What did he do this time?"
Rogue made a face, and went to the small fridge in the corner where the girls kept their snacks for laundry day. She pulled out a soda, popped it open, and took a sip. "Goin' on about that new girlfriend of his," she snapped. "Elise this. Elise that. Ah dunno what he sees in her. Jubilee told me what it was like double datin' with her and Remy. I'd'a probably thrown popcorn at her, too…or maybe sumthin' heavier."
Ororo was the one grinning this time, but she made no sound. Jean finished with her clothes and went to the second washer, loaded her bed sheets and a blanket into it, and sat down at the table. Jubilee went to the fridge and took out a soda, grabbing one for Jean. Jean took it, opened it, and took a drink as she said to Rogue, "He's pissed you off before, but you kept doing his stuff anyway."
"It's differ'nt this time," Rogue said. "Ah doan' lahk the girl, but from what Ah been hearin', she don't deserve him. She's totally self-cennert, an' he can't even see that, the swamp rat!"
Jean grinned behind the bottle of soda.
Ororo and Betsy finished sorting their laundry, and got sodas from the fridge. They sat down at the table, and Betsy opened a bag of chips as she changed the subject. "What do we want to do today, girls?" she asked them.
Jubilee said, "Monopoly."
Jean said, "Poker."
Rogue chimed in with, "Monopoly."
Ororo said, "Monopoly."
Jean looked huffy. "How come nobody wants to play poker?"
"Cause you're too damn good at it!" the others said in unison. Ororo said, "Though that's hardly your fault. If you were not good at poker you would have spent most of your first few months here wearing a bathing suit and nothing else."
Jean's face went pink. "I would not!"
"Yes you would," Ororo said, getting up to fetch the Monopoly board. "Hank told me about the poker games and the bets. He also told me about the time Bobby won that bet and you had to wear a wet T-shirt for the whole picnic the boys threw for Charles's birthday--"
"Okay, okay," Jean gave an embarrassed wave, seeing the others perk up. "You don't have to go into details, I remember fine. Monopoly it is."
Betsy raised an eyebrow. Jubilee looked back at her, and they both said, "Ororo, we haven't heard that one before…"
"Oh, yeah," Rogue sat back, smiling sweetly at Jean's uncomfortable look, "Jean an' Bobby was playin' poker. Y'all know Charles don't allow playin' fer money, so they bet instead. Jean lost the game, an' she had to wear a wet T-shirt 'cause that's what Bobby had said she hadda do. And she hadda wear the shirt without a bra."
The others giggled, and Jean threw a chip at Rogue. "Well, he didn't see much, because I put bandaids on," she said.
Jubilee snickered as she counted out her money. "But that wasn't any fun," she giggled. "The guys didn't get a look at what they really wanted to see."
"No," Jean said. "That was my intention." She pushed the money tray at Jubilee. "You suggested it. You're the banker this time."
* * *
Up in the kitchen, Scott was sticking the beef roast in the oven while Hank and Warren tended various boiling pots on top of the stove. Logan sat at the table, using his claws to peel and slice potatoes.
"Logan," Scott said, exasperated, "How many times do I have to tell you to use a regular knife? Claws are hardly the most sanitary."
Logan picked up the unused knife beside the potato basket and started peeling. As soon as Scott turned his back, he put the knife down and started peeling with his claw again. The middle one this time.
The back kitchen door opened, and Remy stumbled inside, looking rather the worse for wear. "Where have you been?" Scott took in the disheveled clothes, wild hair and bleary eyes, and lowered his voice a bit. Remy was obviously deep in the throes of a really wicked hangover. "It's almost lunchtime, Remy. Where have you been?"
Remy didn't answer, instead going to the coffeemaker and checking it for coffee. When he saw the pot was empty, he groaned and reached for the cabinet where the filters and canister was kept.
"No, Remy," Hank said, taking Remy's hand away from the knob. "Sit down and I shall prepare your morning brew for you." He commenced to set the coffeemaker. "If I am not intruding, my friend, " he said as Remy took a seat at the kitchen table and stared morosely at the pile of peeled potatoes, "What brought on this sudden bout of depression?"
Scott tossed the towel over his shoulder and turned around, so intent on Remy's answer that he forgot to chide Logan on his use of his claws on the potatoes.
"Elise broke up wit' me," Remy stared despondently at the table. "She jus' got back from a tour in Europe. She said las' night she met dis male dancer in Russia an' he was goin' to be comin' here to de States to study an' she wanted to clear her social calendar for him. So jus' like dat it be over. Remy gone drinkin' las' night after she broke up wit' me."
None of them noticed Bobby standing in the door to the kitchen. He grinned, turned, and left.
Downstairs, Ororo was serenely collecting rent from Betsy for landing on the Boardwalk when Bobby came clattering down the stairs. His eyes goggled a bit at the empty soda bottles, chip bags, and snack foods lying scattered around the table, but was too full of his news to complain that the girls were hiding snack foods from the guys. "Hey, Rogue," he said excitedly. "Remy just came in. His ballerina girlfriend dumped him. He spent the whole night drinking. He just came in. Man, he looks awful. Can't even stand up straight."
Rogue went white, got up from her place at the table, and ran up the stairs without a word to anyone else.
* * *
Remy hung onto the banisters, taking each step slowly as what was left of his brain sloshed around noisily in his head. He didn't usually drink like this; what had he drunk, now that he was thinking about it, to put himself in this condition? He didn't remember; and right now, it hurt too much to try to remember. He groaned and hauled himself and his aching head up another step.
Strong arms wrapped around his middle, and a deft hand swept the coffee from his hand. "Come on, sugah," came a comfortingly low voice in his ear. "Let's get yah into bed 'fore yah fall over."
"Rogue?" he turned, ignoring the pain that bloomed in his head at the sudden movement. "What are you doin' here, p'tite?"
"Takin' care'a yoah sorry ass," Rogue said, her voice gentle despite the harsh word. "Come on, Remy. Let's get yah inta bed." She slid an arm across his back and helped him up the rest of the stairs. "Come on, one more step…okay, theah we are, yah got up here…now jus' a few more steps ta yer room…"
She finally let him fall into his bed with a groan, and sat down and unlaced his boots. "Yeugh, Remy, those're some smelly socks!" She pulled the socks off and fumbled with the zipper on his pants. "Come on, big boy, off wit' the pants. And the shirt." She unbuttoned the shirt, gathered the pants and socks and his alcohol-scented jacket, and went to drop them in the green hamper in the corner of his room. It was so full his clothes were spilling out of it. Rogue sniffed. "Guess yer girlfriend couldn't be spared the time to do clothes, huh? Some girl." She turned back to the bed, but Remy was out like a light, snoring slightly, his mouth open. She returned to the bed and reached out to him, touching the whisker stubble that darkened his chin, then placed her hand over his lips and kissed the back of her hand. "Sleep tight, Remy." She pulled the sheets up around his chin, covering the white tank and boxers, and pulled the curtain down.
She gathered all of his clothes onto the pile in the basket, wrinkling her nose at the smell of unwashed clothes, then left his room.
"Not a word," she said severely to Jean's smirk as she descended the steps to the basement carrying Remy's clothes. She picked up the last basket in the corner and began to sort the colors.