NOTE: Okay, I've been totally horrible at updating. I'm really really sorry
(author asks for humble forgiveness from reviewers)..but I had finals, and
a very stressful time finishing up my first year at college. Now that I'm
finally at home, I managed to write 3 chapters to make for my total
laziness! Thanks to all your reviews that helped kick me out of my writing
funk and actually put up new chapters! Please keep reviewing, especially
for this chapter which took FOREVER to write. As I've said before, I really
suck at writing Rogue/Remy romance so I would please love feedback on what
worked and what didn't work in this chapter! Thanks!
Rogue sat in the laundry room, fanning her flushed face while she measured out detergent and poured it into the machine. Hopefully she could get rid of the stain on her favorite shirt before it became permanent. She looked down and winced as she remembered how close she had stood to Remy, how totally scrambled her thoughts became when she was around him. Rogue scowled, wondering why her face was still flushed from her encounter. He thinks he's so smooth, so charismatic, Rogue thought with indignation. "Sneaky Cajun," Rogue muttered.
"Someone call my name?" an amused voice said behind her. Rogue nearly dropped the detergent as she whirled around. She crossed her arms defiantly and stared at him, her vibrant hazel eyes flashing. She waited, but Remy just leaned against the doorway and smiled down at her in a way that made her even more flustered. How irritating, Rogue thought, as she brushed her hair away from her face.
"Can I HELP you with something?" Rogue asked tersely. "Or have you just taken to stalking me?"
Remy laughed. "Are you always this friendly or am I just a special case?"
"You're not wearing your sunglasses," Rouge blurted out, changing the subject. She flushed at how stupid her observation was. Remy raised his eyebrows, looking surprised. "I mean..not like, I really care or anything," Rogue added quickly, throwing him a look that dared him to imply otherwise.
"Of course not, chere," Remy said, a smile tugging at his lips as he glanced at her with an almost sinful smile. But his expression changed just as quickly to one of gentle understanding. "Remy isn't wearing his shades because..maybe it isn't good to hide forever."
Rogue stared at him. "What have you got to hide?"
Remy's red eyes darkened instantly, and his face instantly became closed off. He looked down for a few long moments before gazing up at her. "You first."
Rogue was frightened at the intensity of his gaze. She grasped desperately for the defenses she had mounted but she could not escape the searching look in his eyes. She swallowed, her eyes burning. She turned her back to him furiously. "I'm not hiding from anything," Rogue whispered fiercely, staring down at her gloved hands. The idea of this Cajun finding out bothered her worse than anything else. She didn't want Frenchy's inevitable pity, didn't want him to see her the way everyone else at the mansion, including Scott, did. As if she were nothing more than some poor, lethal mutant.
"You sure about that, Chere?" Remy asked gently. Rogue jumped when she realized he was right behind her. He turned her so that she was facing him. And with one fluid movement, slid her gloves off and put them in one of the pockets of his trench coat. Rogue gasped, and stared at him for a minute in pure outrage. Her hands felt naked and tingly.
"You- how dare you! Give them back!" Rogue sputtered out.
"Not until you tell me why you wear them," was Remy's firm response. Rogue was so angry she almost wanted to stomp her foot like a child. How dare he presume to ask her such a personal question?
"It's none of your business," Rogue bit out, refusing to meet his eyes. "Give em' back Cajun," Rogue ordered, trying to swallow the mysterious lump in her throat.
"No," Remy responded, his mysterious eyes never wavering from her face.
"NO?" Rogue said in disbelief. The nerve of the guy was unbelievable.
"No," Remy repeated firmly.
"Fine, you wanna know why I wear gloves, huh?" Rogue asked evenly. "Because I have to. People get hurt if I don't," Rogue continued fiercely, and clenched her hands into fists. A long silence proceeded. Rogue's stomach was a jumble of knots. She didn't even realize she was shaking until she felt Remy's hands placed firmly on her shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"But you don' have to wear dem' around me, chere. See?" Remy said tenderly, and held up hands that were encased in a pair of what looked to be very expensive gloves. For some unaccountable reason, the simple statement made Rogue want to throw her arms around him. Rogue immediately blushed at her thoughts. It's Scott you want, remember? Rogue told herself, shocked at the way she was reacting to the smooth-talking Cajun.
Remy used one gloved finger to lift her chin so that it was level with his, which wasn't an easy task because even with him leaning over her he still was a good 5 inches taller. Rogue forced herself to snap out of it, ignoring the way her knees had gone mysteriously weak. Her stomach was doing strange flips and she nearly fainted when he took her hands in his. What the hell happened to her whenever she was around him? Rogue wondered, and took a deep breath before yanking her hands out of his silken grasp resolutely. "Now listen up Remy-er, I mean Frenchy," Rogue corrected herself, horrified at the blush that was heating her cheeks. Remy eyes glinted with humor.
"You had it right the first time," Remy remarked, his dimples flashing for a brief instant. Rogue gulped.
"Listen," Rogue said again in the most authoritative voice she could muster at the moment, "you've got to shed this annoying habit of following me, the last thing I need now is people getting the wrong idea."
"And what idea might that be?" Remy asked in the same amused voice that irritated Rogue to no end.
"Just that, you know..that we're, like-," Rogue blustered, racking her mind to find the least embarrassing word.
"Involved?" Remy suggested, his lips curved slightly as if enjoying a secret.
"Yes, involved. Which is a total joke, because I don't even like you," Rogue added hurriedly, looking up briefly.
"Of course," Remy agreed amiably.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I'd better practice before my Danger Room session or I'll look like a total fool in front of Sc-uh, somebody," Rogue amended, flushing under Remy's knowing gaze.
"And we can't have that can we?" Remy remarked wryly. Rogue frowned.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, I just thought that being yourself would be enough to impress Scott. Excuse me, I mean "somebody," Remy amended smoothly, his red- on-black eyes scrutinizing her once more. Rogue flushed with pleasure but she immediately grew defensive at his observation.
"It isn't enough if you're me. If you have untouchable skin and you're competing with Jean Grey, The Girl-Who-Can-Do-No-Wrong," Rogue retorted, her eyes flashing.
Remy's eyes looked almost fiery as he took in her words. "Well, you're a bigger fool than he is if you really believe that," Remy said, his normally smooth voice harsh. And without another word, left the laundry room, his trench coat billowing behind him.
Rogue stared after his retreating form, her eyes glinting with tears. "Stupid, jerk Cajun. He doesn't have any right to judge me," Rogue muttered, and took off for the Danger Room. It was only then that she realized that he still had her gloves.
Rogue sat in the laundry room, fanning her flushed face while she measured out detergent and poured it into the machine. Hopefully she could get rid of the stain on her favorite shirt before it became permanent. She looked down and winced as she remembered how close she had stood to Remy, how totally scrambled her thoughts became when she was around him. Rogue scowled, wondering why her face was still flushed from her encounter. He thinks he's so smooth, so charismatic, Rogue thought with indignation. "Sneaky Cajun," Rogue muttered.
"Someone call my name?" an amused voice said behind her. Rogue nearly dropped the detergent as she whirled around. She crossed her arms defiantly and stared at him, her vibrant hazel eyes flashing. She waited, but Remy just leaned against the doorway and smiled down at her in a way that made her even more flustered. How irritating, Rogue thought, as she brushed her hair away from her face.
"Can I HELP you with something?" Rogue asked tersely. "Or have you just taken to stalking me?"
Remy laughed. "Are you always this friendly or am I just a special case?"
"You're not wearing your sunglasses," Rouge blurted out, changing the subject. She flushed at how stupid her observation was. Remy raised his eyebrows, looking surprised. "I mean..not like, I really care or anything," Rogue added quickly, throwing him a look that dared him to imply otherwise.
"Of course not, chere," Remy said, a smile tugging at his lips as he glanced at her with an almost sinful smile. But his expression changed just as quickly to one of gentle understanding. "Remy isn't wearing his shades because..maybe it isn't good to hide forever."
Rogue stared at him. "What have you got to hide?"
Remy's red eyes darkened instantly, and his face instantly became closed off. He looked down for a few long moments before gazing up at her. "You first."
Rogue was frightened at the intensity of his gaze. She grasped desperately for the defenses she had mounted but she could not escape the searching look in his eyes. She swallowed, her eyes burning. She turned her back to him furiously. "I'm not hiding from anything," Rogue whispered fiercely, staring down at her gloved hands. The idea of this Cajun finding out bothered her worse than anything else. She didn't want Frenchy's inevitable pity, didn't want him to see her the way everyone else at the mansion, including Scott, did. As if she were nothing more than some poor, lethal mutant.
"You sure about that, Chere?" Remy asked gently. Rogue jumped when she realized he was right behind her. He turned her so that she was facing him. And with one fluid movement, slid her gloves off and put them in one of the pockets of his trench coat. Rogue gasped, and stared at him for a minute in pure outrage. Her hands felt naked and tingly.
"You- how dare you! Give them back!" Rogue sputtered out.
"Not until you tell me why you wear them," was Remy's firm response. Rogue was so angry she almost wanted to stomp her foot like a child. How dare he presume to ask her such a personal question?
"It's none of your business," Rogue bit out, refusing to meet his eyes. "Give em' back Cajun," Rogue ordered, trying to swallow the mysterious lump in her throat.
"No," Remy responded, his mysterious eyes never wavering from her face.
"NO?" Rogue said in disbelief. The nerve of the guy was unbelievable.
"No," Remy repeated firmly.
"Fine, you wanna know why I wear gloves, huh?" Rogue asked evenly. "Because I have to. People get hurt if I don't," Rogue continued fiercely, and clenched her hands into fists. A long silence proceeded. Rogue's stomach was a jumble of knots. She didn't even realize she was shaking until she felt Remy's hands placed firmly on her shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"But you don' have to wear dem' around me, chere. See?" Remy said tenderly, and held up hands that were encased in a pair of what looked to be very expensive gloves. For some unaccountable reason, the simple statement made Rogue want to throw her arms around him. Rogue immediately blushed at her thoughts. It's Scott you want, remember? Rogue told herself, shocked at the way she was reacting to the smooth-talking Cajun.
Remy used one gloved finger to lift her chin so that it was level with his, which wasn't an easy task because even with him leaning over her he still was a good 5 inches taller. Rogue forced herself to snap out of it, ignoring the way her knees had gone mysteriously weak. Her stomach was doing strange flips and she nearly fainted when he took her hands in his. What the hell happened to her whenever she was around him? Rogue wondered, and took a deep breath before yanking her hands out of his silken grasp resolutely. "Now listen up Remy-er, I mean Frenchy," Rogue corrected herself, horrified at the blush that was heating her cheeks. Remy eyes glinted with humor.
"You had it right the first time," Remy remarked, his dimples flashing for a brief instant. Rogue gulped.
"Listen," Rogue said again in the most authoritative voice she could muster at the moment, "you've got to shed this annoying habit of following me, the last thing I need now is people getting the wrong idea."
"And what idea might that be?" Remy asked in the same amused voice that irritated Rogue to no end.
"Just that, you know..that we're, like-," Rogue blustered, racking her mind to find the least embarrassing word.
"Involved?" Remy suggested, his lips curved slightly as if enjoying a secret.
"Yes, involved. Which is a total joke, because I don't even like you," Rogue added hurriedly, looking up briefly.
"Of course," Remy agreed amiably.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I'd better practice before my Danger Room session or I'll look like a total fool in front of Sc-uh, somebody," Rogue amended, flushing under Remy's knowing gaze.
"And we can't have that can we?" Remy remarked wryly. Rogue frowned.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, I just thought that being yourself would be enough to impress Scott. Excuse me, I mean "somebody," Remy amended smoothly, his red- on-black eyes scrutinizing her once more. Rogue flushed with pleasure but she immediately grew defensive at his observation.
"It isn't enough if you're me. If you have untouchable skin and you're competing with Jean Grey, The Girl-Who-Can-Do-No-Wrong," Rogue retorted, her eyes flashing.
Remy's eyes looked almost fiery as he took in her words. "Well, you're a bigger fool than he is if you really believe that," Remy said, his normally smooth voice harsh. And without another word, left the laundry room, his trench coat billowing behind him.
Rogue stared after his retreating form, her eyes glinting with tears. "Stupid, jerk Cajun. He doesn't have any right to judge me," Rogue muttered, and took off for the Danger Room. It was only then that she realized that he still had her gloves.