* * *
Th' bodega was small an' crowded with things. Ah sifted through a pile o' brightly colored beach towels while Remy squinted critically at a ripenin' bunch o' plantains. There was a smell in th' air like coconut oil an' heat. It made me drowsy.
Ah sat back on my heels, lost my balance an' spilled over onto th' floor. All o' which happened without Remy noticin' a thing. He'd moved on ta th' spice aisle. Ah stood an' dusted myself off, feelin' sheepish.
There was a girl behind th' counter. She'd seen my little performance an' she smiled at me shyly. Somethin' about her felt familiar. Not that Ah'd ever met her before, but sometimes there are those people. Th' ones ya just feel real comfortable with right off. Mebbe there'd been less o' those in my life than most people's, but that doesn't mean it never happened ta me.
Th' girl leaned forward over th' counter. "Hola."
"Hi," Ah returned.
"Your boyfriend is very handsome." Ah know Ah should've been surprised by that, but it was hard ta muster up any kind o' fierce emotion in the lazy heat. An' besides, Ah already knew he was handsome. No need ta get all anxious 'bout people statin' th' obvious.
"Thank you."
Th' girl blushed faintly, flicking her eyes down. "I...I'm sorry. I should not have..." Her voice was pretty, pitched low.
"It's okay," Ah said quickly. "Ah'm Rogue."
"Teresa." From th' back o' th' store there was a scratchin' shufflin' sound, like giant mouse noises. Teresa's forehead wrinkled. "What is he doing?"
Ah shrugged. "Better not ta know." She laughed softly.
"He needs your help, maybe?"
"Yeah, but needin' an' acceptin' are two different things." Ah shrugged. "This is his thing. Th' food thing. Th' kitchen thing. Ah just try ta stay outta th' way."
"Maybe." Teresa looked real skeptical. Right about then, there was this giant crash. Ah didn't think it was possible ta move so fast, even if Ah nearly tripped over piles o' cans an' a disintegrating box full o' dishtowels. Remy was sittin' flat on th' floor, his legs splayed out.
"What happened?"
He looked at me sheepishly an' held up a dinged can o' black beans. "Dey got de drop on me."
Ah did my best ta cover my laughin' with my hands, although Ah know he still could tell exactly what was goin' on. Teresa hadn't even bothered ta follow me back. Ah guess she was used ta th' organizational system gettin' th' better o' people from time ta time.
Remy drew his brows together. "Funny cher."
"Oh, yes," Ah giggled. "Ah'm glad we agree."
With a growl, he tackled me ta th' floor. An' Ah had something pokin' against my spine, but Ah didn't care because his mouth was findin' its way along my neck. He sucked gently, grazin' th' big artery there with his teeth. Ah shivered an' wrapped my legs around his waist. Cans skittered around us, headin' for darker corners. He angled his hips into mine. With difficulty, Ah broke away from under his mouth an' slipped my tongue between his lips. Ah cain't explain it. Or defend it. Felt a pang o' guilt that John should be doin' so poorly an we should...not be. Outside th' little store, everythin' was waitin' for us just like always. Inside, the biggest disaster had ta be a dented can o' beans.
"We should get back," Ah finally murmured breathlessly. "Your grandparents are probably worried. Not ta mention we're makin' a mess."
He pulled back, smoothin' his hair. "Yeah."
We gathered the rest o' th' things on Rochelle's list as quick as we could, barely lookin' at what we were buyin' except ta toss it into our shoppin' basket. Teresa winked at me when we were leavin'. Ah think, mebbe, Ah saw her sigh.
Ah slipped my hand into Remy's. "We're lucky, ya know?"
He nodded. Ah could tell his head was about a million miles away by then.
Ah didn't bother ta say anythin' else. Even though Ah could've easily. Nothin' Ah could think of woulda been any different than things he already knew. Th' sun was high overhead, glarin' down. Ah could hear th' breeze stirrin' leaves together, makin' 'em rattle, but th' air never touched my skin.
* * *
Dropped de groceries wit' Rochelle in de kitchen. Put dem away while she supervised, giving me stray comments here and dere. She looked tired, especially 'round de eyes, like she was looking but not seeing. Reached down and squeezed her hand and she smiled faintly.
"Don't worry 'bout dinner. I'll take care o' dat."
"Thank you," she said. "Your friend's better. He should sleep most of it off now. D'you want t' go see him?"
"Later." Patted her hand. "Rogue's in wit' him now. Where's Jacques?"
"Had t' see a man about a boat."
"He's buying a boat?"
She nodded. "He's always wanted one. Somet'ing 'bout de sea he likes." She yawned, untangling her hand from mine. "I'm not making any sense."
Looked at her seriously. "No working, hein?"
"No working." She moved t' leave de kitchen. "Y' can finish de rest?"
"Of course." When de sinking light split across her back, I could see de faint outlines of her shoulder blades pressing against her shirt. Dey were delicate, just like de narrow edges of seashells.
"Good. Because I don't t'ink I could lift another finger."
"I'll call y' when it's done."
Was nice dere in de kitchen, wit' only de hiss of water from de tap. Quiet. A fullness of air. Rubbed de vegetable scrubber absently against a mushroom. Sparks of light on de water. I could barely see a dark figure blotted in all dat brightness. De person seemed so much at home in de water. Made me a little homesick just t' see it. But den I wondered what home I felt sick for.
Fish again and de sweet young mussels from just along de tide pools. My hands hovered over dem. Knowing what I did 'bout de levels of mercury in de water, it was hard t' feel right 'bout serving certain t'ings. I rinsed de mussels, but left dem alone for de time being. Chopped vegetables, stir-fried in wine sauce. Cooked wild rice. Licked a few stray, nutty grains from my fingers and considered de mussels again. Jacques would be upset if I didn't cook dem. Sighed and pulled de big skillet out from over de sink.
Was just collecting de last of de ingredients from de refrigerator when Rogue padded in behind me and slid her arms around my waist. Leaned back into her and I could feel de sharp point of her chin against my back. Felt her hot breath t'rough my shirt.
"How's John?"
"Sleepin'." Her lips moved against my back. "He seems a lot better. How's dinner?"
"Getting dere."
"Not ta butt in..."
"Y' can set de table outside."
"Do ya want ta light th' torches first?"
"True." Citronella wasn't just a luxury. Was a certifiable necessity. Never seen bugs dat big. Like hummingbirds. Like B-52s. "Have t' dig dem out of de shed. Here." Handed her de plastic bucket filled wit' cleaned mussels. Dere wet shells glowed faintly.
She looked pleased and panicked at de same time. "Wait. What? What do Ah do?"
Pointed at t'ings as I explained. "Mince de garlic. Sauté in de pan wit' butter. Put enough of these t' mostly cover de bottom and stir dem around. Pour in a fourth cup of white wine and cover it wit' de lid. De steam opens de shells."
"Okay." She still looked skeptical, but less nervous. "Ya sure ya want me ta..."
Touched each cheek lightly wit' my palms. Spread my fingers so I was cradling her face. "Much as de insecurity is adorable, beb, I t'ink y' can do dis."
"Think," she muttered. "Okay." A smile.
Outside, de air was cooling fast. De shed where Jacques kept de torches was tucked into a shadowy corner. De sky looked bruised. Reached de door and was fumbling wit' de lock when a soft cry off beyond brought me instantly t' attention. If I had t' guess, I would've said dat someone's larger noise was being muffled by hands.
De task at hand forgotten, I eased around de back of de shed. Was hard t' move wit'out making noise. But it was dat old familiarity. De thrum of every nerve ending dat propelled me along as quiet as if I hadn't been dere in de first place.
Not quiet enough.
I staggered back, tangled, wit' one hand jammed into my hip just shy of my pocket. De other wrapped tightly around de wrist of de person holding me. Took me a moment t' recognize Nita's snarled face. Her black eyes.
She was incredibly strong. My whole body shook wit' de strain of holding her. Somet'ing brushed my ankles and den my feet were dangling inches above de ground.
"Nita?" De girl'd gone coo yon (crazy), no doubt. She twisted my wrist until I could feel de tendons straining. I braced my feet against her thighs and pushed. A tearing sensation and pain in my wrist. Sprained at least. Tumbled, gasping, t' de ground. "What're y' doing, petit?"
She shuddered, den seemed t' see me truly for de first time. Her face relaxed. "Remy?" Lowered t' de ground. Dere were small wings at her ankles dat tucked in.
I cradled my wrist loosely. "T'ink we need t' talk, cher."
She nodded numbly. From de house, I could hear Rogue calling me, asking if I needed any help. Nita wound her fists into de front of my shirt, lifting me t' my feet. Her voice was a rusty growl. "If you tell anyone about this, I'll kill you."
* * *
aro: and by soon, you meant "not for a few weeks" right? [hangs head] I am the worst person ever. The worst, hella busy, person ever.
ishandahalf: and the parade of people/things to feel sorry for continues. Poor Remy for getting the stuffing knocked out of him. Poor Nita for being crazier than all get out. Poor Teresa for finding other people's boyfriends cute...
Caliente: thanks for the info re: J&Q. Perhaps things are becoming clearer to you now? Jenny, in the comics: -- more than you ever wanted to know, right?
Seven Sunningdale: you heard me -- it's all the positioning and really humorous faces people make and the odd noises, plus the sweat and hair and skin. Weird and funny and it's a very good thing that my brain isn't usually going at the time. And you did understand what I was getting at after all with the mercury. Because I am not even vaguely a scientist... Nita gets freakier, Jacques isn't even on the scene and Remy and Rogue make out in the canned bean aisle. Does it get better than that?
kitsu black: I have a feeling we'll find out way more about Nita next chapter.
Jeanne Marie: Some action here. I want into Kitty's head too! Next chapter, I think. The interesting thing about all these non-touching teenagers is that it's such the weird perversion of puberty -- like there's stuff you really WANT to do, only there's the self-consciousness that can be quite limiting. At least that's kind of what I remember my teen years being like. The ravages of puberty weren't pretty AT ALL. But, y'know, once Remy and Rogue figured out how to have a functional relationship, those problems went away. Did I just create an unintentional parallel? Eek. There were definitely parts of "Cajun Spice" that felt slightly familiar to me. Funny old world. And I suppose, now, there isn't going to be any source material anymore. [sobs uncontrollably] Ahem. But about the Institute -- I'd never unconditionally rule things out. I think it could be...interesting to say the least if they were to go back at some point after living so independently. Hmmm...
Letanica: Gah. I'm sucking with the updates lately. Really really a lot. I'm flattered that you like my snogging sequences! That's awesome! Snogging for everyone! I think I've made me a St. John fan. When I started writing him I never meant for him to become a principle. I love writing his dialogue. I think that the Guild is pretty much staying out of this one, except insofar as Jacques is a former Guild-member. But I just write where the story takes me, which sounds like a lot of bullshit, but it's really quite true.