Chapter Seven - Broken Chains
Author's Note: My apologies. I've been out of it for a while, and as a result I haven't really done any writing. I'm very sorry. ...
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Kurt's Observations: "When you have a tail, it's a good idea to watch out for doors."
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"Oh my God!"
Bobby jolted off the couch as Lorna shrieked. "What happened? We under attack?" His combat training instinctively put him in a boxing position.
Trying to regain her wits, Lorna breathed deeply. "Fucking bed!"
"What did they do to the bed?" He looked around confusedly. Blinking against the darkness, he stumbled for the light switch.
"No, the damn bed fell in on me." The light revealed a very irate Lorna, sitting on the mattress, which was now resting on the floor. She blushed. She, Magneto's daughter, was supposed to be used to sudden shocks. Instead, a shaky bed had scared her half to death, in front of her boyfriend. "Goddammit!"
Bobby rubbed his eyes and checked the clock. Middle of the night. Perfect. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, just spooked."
"Is everything alright in there?" Scott's baritone came from behind the door. He didn't open it; he respected their privacy. If neither answered, then he'd break down the door.
Bobby sat down on the mattress. "Yeah, we're all fine."
"You scared the shit out of us, Drake."
The disapproving note in his voice was not lost on either of them. "We're fine, Scott." Lorna confirmed. "It was just the bed."
"The bed screamed?" A Southern drawl asked skeptically.
"No, the bed fell in." Bobby put an arm around Lorna's shoulder protectively, though he himself didn't know why. She leaned into him.
Rogue continued. "You scared the hell out of me."
Bobby rolled his eyes. "Yes, Rogue, we know we scared the hell out of you guys. We're sorry already."
Masked by the door, Rogue grumbled. "You better be. You woke me up."
"C'mon, Rogue." Scott took her hand - gloved, of course - and led her down the hall.
"Ah don't need to be mollycoddled, O Fearless." She growled at him. She was not a night person. "It's not like mah room is more than twenty feet away."
She yanked her hand from his grasp and retreated to her room. Scott ignored her behavior and returned to his bed, where Jean was trying to go back to sleep. The redhead scooted to her side of the bed for her husband.
What, now they had different sides of the bed? Scott slumped down and threw the covers onto himself. Pouting playfully, Jean stole the blanket and wrapped herself up in it. Scott scowled, but it was in jest.
No, he could never be mad at Jean. She batted her eyelashes and rolled over. Scott smiled behind her back.
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"You wanna...?"
Lorna looked at him curiously. "Sleep together?"
Bobby flushed red. "On the couch in a clean way, I mean."
"Oh." Lorna patted the mattress casually. "Good, because the damn bed busted my ass."
He grinned and twirled a lock of forest hair around his finger. She slapped his hand. "Stop that!"
"So are we just gonna stay up talking all night? We'll be zombies by morning."
"Either zombies or stiff as boards. Your feet are like skis." Lorna smirked and flopped down on the couch. "And I would know."
He looked down at her. She looked so childlike, so young and innocent. Her eyes gazed affectionately at him. "You gonna move your legs or am I going to have to sleep on top of them?"
"Your ugly butt? You'd break them." She tucked her legs beneath her. He sat down delicately.
Within the hour, Lorna was splayed peacefully across the edge of the couch. The armrest that had functioned as a pillow had seemingly migrated to her waist. Her hair brushed the floor softly. Bobby had curled up at the other end, avoiding her prodding toes. He'd swiped all the covers from her, but she didn't notice.
Bobby felt guilty about the bed. He thought he'd fixed it last time. He knew he'd be working at it again tomorrow. The idea of it falling out from under her again scared him. The idea of breaking her next time scared him.
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Remy woke up to a nasty combination of his alarm clock and a sound he recognized only as Hank singing opera in the shower. Even worse, he slammed his hand into the corner of the nightstand instead of the clock. Cursing, he sat up and knocked the offending item off the table.
He groaned. Hank was butchering some poor, innocent song. And where was Rogue? Rubbing his hand, he looked around the room, then at the clock on the floor. Almost noon. Had he really slept that late?
A quick shower helped him regain his senses. He sauntered downstairs, trying to appear as if he'd been up all morning. It was a vain attempt, since Jean shot him a chastising glare.
"Jean, chere, what's for breakfast?" He asked as charmingly as possible.
"You missed it." She smirked at the downfallen look on his face. "And it was nice, spicy chicken wings too."
She continued as he looked more and more dejected. "They were so good. Scott and Hank just wolfed them down. Rogue said they were the best she ever tasted."
"Even better den mine?" He asked sadly.
"I'm afraid so." Jean turned to the cabinet so he couldn't see her holding back laughter.
"Wait, you didn' have chicken wings for breakfast." He narrowed his eyes at her. "I'd smell 'em!"
Jean laughed. "You're right, you just missed oatmeal." She swept into the pantry and threw a box of graham crackers out at him. "Honestly, who eats chicken wings for breakfast?"
Remy wrinkled his nose at the box. "Remy used to."
Jean quirked her eyebrows and opened a window. "It's nice out today." She stated simply. "Very nice out. Not even that cold."
"Please, chere, don't try no psychotherapy on me." Remy looked at her with an expression between imploring and suspicion. Jean sighed and slammed the window a bit harder than she'd intended.
"Sorry." She sat down next to him. "It's just that you and Rogue-"
Remy glared. "Not your affair, petite."
"-You've been making her nervous." She finished softly. He looked away and started ripping open the graham cracker box. "She thinks something might be wrong."
"Cracker?" He passed one over his shoulder and glanced apologetically at her. "Dey're cinnamon."
Jean grabbed the cracker and crushed it in her fist. "Aren't you listening to a damn word I'm saying?"
It was his turn to sigh. "Rogue talk to you about this?"
Jean indicated to her head. "I don't intentionally sneak into people's heads, but sometimes they give off such strong thoughts..."
"Then don' try to go sneakin' about in our business either. Really, Jean, Remy's fine." Despite the accusing note in his voice, he tried to say it as politely and reassuringly as he could.
She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Just remember that we're here for you."
He held back the urge to shoot a sarcastic comment back. Then again, if she could pick up thoughts like she said, she could tell anyway.
"Merci, Jean." He placed his hand on hers for a second, then stood up. She knew he wasn't really thanking her, just looking for an excuse out of the uncomfortable situation.
"I'll make some coffee."
He walked out. "Nah, thanks, but I'm fine."
"Suit yourself." Jean grabbed a magazine and sat, legs daintily crossed, at the table. She wasn't actually reading it. She was thinking over the words that had gone unspoken, unheard, unwritten in the previous conversation. They still hung in the air like dust motes, visible but intangible. If they were always there for him, where had they been during the single time that he'd needed them most?
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Lorna woke up with her lips at veritable war. Cold sores and cankers had sprung up at the corners of her mouth. Running her fingers over her aching lower lip, she walked over to the bathroom for some much needed antibiotics.
From the crack down the center, she'd been picking them again, though she was damned if she could recall any exact instant. That was unusual. Normally she only picked at them during times of extreme stress. It brought her temporary, subconscious relief to cleanse and tear, to feel the blood running just beneath the pink surface. After Genosha, she'd torn at them with a vengeance. After learning the infamous Magneto was her father, she'd been in pleasurable agony for weeks. And after Alex had...she didn't want to think about Alex, but she'd nearly ripped herself a new mouth.
But nothing extreme had happened. So why were they in such a bad state?
She looked back at the couch, where Bobby was snoring. Was it him? Secretly, she harbored a slight resent that he might possibly have caused this pain. She knew it wasn't his fault; it was just her nerves, her problems, her imperfections.
Her flaws. She didn't want to think about them.
She reminded herself that snoring wasn't incredibly endearing either.
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Since when did people put a price on faith?
If there was anything that irritated Kurt, it was the Christian Self- Help section of the local bookstore. Handbooks titled "The Answers" and "Is Your Prayer the Right Prayer?" were organized neatly, aligned in all their scamming glory. Most cost more than a dictionary, and they were about the size of a Reader's Digest. He half-expected them to goose-step across the table, ordering him to change his type of worship and 'search for his deeper self', whatever that meant.
"Find anything?" Scott asked, pawing through a book of motorcycle know-how.
"Nein." Kurt said, nervously tapping his inducer-watch. Being in this large, crowded place made him instinctively anxious. "And you?"
Scott put his book down and grabbed another. "Nah."
Kurt leaned against the table and cast a few glances around. Despite the swirling mass of shoppers, he still could pinpoint his friends. Rogue was sitting on the floor, holding a group of romance novels hostage. Lorna and Bobby were paying more attention to irritating the cashier than to the small stack of merchandise they were purchasing. Hank was pouring over the pages of a book whose name Kurt couldn't even pronounce.
"Why does she always have to get them the instant they come out? Can't she wait for paperback?" Scott moaned as he looked at the books he'd gotten for his wife. "Jeez, why does she want this one?"
The German shrugged. "Should we go?" He wasn't comfortable being surrounded by so many people. Any second now his inducer might go off, and then God only knew what could follow.
Scott nodded. He didn't want any more little children pointing out his sunglasses. "I'll go get the two lovebirds and Hank. You get Rogue."
Rogue had seemingly immersed herself in number of novels simultaneously. Whether she was reading, skimming or just turning pages for the hell of it was beyond Kurt.
"Rogue? We're going." Kurt crouched down and looked at some of the books.
"'Kay, Ah'm comin'." She mumbled and shoved the books back onto the shelf haphazardly. He saw a flash of "Gone With the Wind" being tossed into the pile.
She looked over at Lorna and Bobby, faces bright like they were in high school. "Ah'll bet you ten bucks they don't last another week."
Kurt looked at her in surprise. "What makes you say that?"
She shrugged. "Just a hunch."
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Thanking God for SUV's, Scott clambered into the driver's seat. At least the three rows kept them reasonably parted, and if he had any more of Lorna and Bobby clamping to each other like limpets he'd feel nauseous. Had he really been that bad when he was flirting with Jean? Bobby had irately pointed that out earlier.
"Why aren't you like that anymore?" Lorna had said accusingly. Scott hadn't had an answer. He didn't know himself. He couldn't answer why his precious, redheaded darling wasn't the center of his life anymore.
Nor could he answer when she had stopped being his every other thought. Sometime, but he couldn't pinpoint an exact day or even year.
Rogue was busy chatting to Lorna about the latest movies (none of which Scott had seen or even intended to see). The two fuzzy blues were involved in a playful debate of which was better, claws or a tail. Bobby was simultaneously trying to sneak his hand over to Lorna's rear end and open a CD case at the same time.
Rogue blew his cover. "Face it, Bobby, men can't multi-task."
Kurt rooted through one of their grocery bags. "The clerk, he didn't think it odd that we bought eight bottles of shampoo?"
"Nah." Bobby said nonchalantly, his hand barely an inch from Lorna's behind. "Just tell them your roommate has a teenage daughter."
At that moment, Lorna shrieked and slapped the intrusive appendage. Bobby recoiled and rubbed life back into his stinging hand. She glared.
Scott had looked back to see what the racket was about. He glared at Drake too. Nobody was supposed to do that to a lady. He'd never do that to Jean. When was the last time he'd done anything even close to that to Jean?
Midlife crisis. That had to be it. He'd get over it. He still loved her, devoted himself to her, worshipped her in her divine grace and beauty. There was just glass between them for the while.
He'd talk to her.
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"We make a good team." Remy leaned back in his chair, surveying their work. Rolls, chicken, artichokes and soup, enough for the entire group and then some. Wouldn't they be happy when they found that dinner had already been made? Especially Rogue. Roguie would be glad he hadn't wasted the day.
"Saves them a load of trouble. Stick it in the oven." His 'partner in crime', Jean, wiped flour from her hands. "You wouldn't mind if I skipped dinner, would you?"
He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Por quoi?"
A mischievous glint came into her eyes, but it was only masking a bit lip. "I think Scotty and I will just take it up to our room. Have some fun, you know?" She lied.
"It'll be awful. You'll miss playing Trivial Pursuit with Hank." He remarked wryly, placing the concoctions in the oven. A friendly crinkle emerged between her eyebrows as she laughed. The sound of a car pulling into the driveway reached their ears.
"And God knows that will be fascinating." She grinned. In another room, a door opened.
"Hey y'all, we're home!" Rogue called and walked in, a plastic bag with eight shampoo bottles slung over her shoulder. "You didn't miss us too much, did y- do Ah smell somethin'?"
The rest filed in, parcels and packages abundant, and sniffed the air. The scent of food was unmistakable. Kurt looked about curiously. "Did you two make something?"
"We were going to say surprise, but you figured it out first." Jean shrugged and pulled dinner out of the oven. Hank visibly licked his lips and Rogue's eyes lit up like a city block on a power surge. The rest all smiled and spread thanks to their two 'chefs'.
Rogue took control. "Instead o' standin' here, why don't we actually eat it? Wash your hands, y'all!"
A matter of minutes later they were all getting seated around the table, though Rogue used a wet towel as a whip to keep Remy from swiping food early.
"But, chere, Remy made it, doesn't he get to eat it?"
Scott was about to sit down when Jean grabbed him by shoulder. He looked at her in surprise. Telepathically filling him in, she led him upstairs, carrying some of the food with her.
"Ah'll give you this, lover-boy, you know how t' surprise a girl." Rogue grinned.
"Yeah, Rogue was betting that you'd still be asleep!" Lorna called.
Kurt lay his fork down. "Grace, everybody." Though less than half of the room was Christian, the bowed their heads and closed their eyes. As usual, Kurt started them off. Thanks for the food, thanks for friends and family, the usual.
One eye open, Remy watched quietly. Family? Next to him, Rogue fidgeted. He figured that she qualified as more than that.
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"Scott..." Jean sighed as she sat cross-legged on the bed. He stood at the closed door, hand still on the knob. "Scott, lately..."
"Must be a winter thing, huh?" His shoulders hung.
"Lately you and I have been distant." She concluded, putting a plate on the nightstand.
Scott sighed this time. "Yeah."
Jean's eyes seemed to burn a hold right through him and the door beyond. "Can you tell me why?"
He twitched his finger nervously. "Why don't you just reach into my head-"
"I don't want to-"
"-And just listen for a bit, Jean?"
The slight tickle behind his ears told him she had obliged.
A tear started to form in her deep green eye. She bit her lip, and the crinkle from laughter came, but not out of mirth. "You know I would never do that."
Scott shuddered. He couldn't help thinking it; just the memory of her flirting with Logan, the thoughts of her separating herself, the very idea that she wasn't a possession of his - it shook his very foundation.
She continued. "You honestly think I would be like that?" Her cheeks flushed to the softest rose hue.
He turned slowly, to see her sitting on the bed, fighting tears, bathed in the lamp light. So emotional. So much deeper than he was. "Jean, it's just that I...you're so perfect and I...Goddammit, I..."
"You think you aren't worthy? How can you say that, Scotty? How can you even think for a second that you aren't enough?"
He didn't show any feeling besides the light tremble of his lip. "Jean, you could have anyone you ever wanted! Why did you choose a-"
"What Logan calls you doesn't mean anything." She said softly. The tear glazed her eye, but didn't fall. She had more control than that.
Scott moaned. He was crazy, that was what she was telling him. Psychiatrists probably had some psycho-babble that described, "inferiority complex" or something to that effect. Strange, he though he'd been the sane one on the team.
"Jean." He whispered, crawling onto the bed. "Jean, you mean you never-"
"Only you, Scotty." She whispered back. "Only you."
She was driving him crazy and she was making him sane. "It's been a while, then?"
She laughed quietly and wiped her eyes. "You men are so horny." She lay down beside him. "You think it's going to be all better then? That I can forgive you for even thinking that about me?"
He didn't know her at all. He had to admit that. He shook his head in defeat.
"It's a start." She soothed and played with the buttons on his collar until each one was undone. His hand roved to her blouse, and she accepted his invitation. A motion turned the lamp off, and the room receded into slick darkness.
Her fingers played unheard music across his jaw line, along his cheeks, his neck, his chest. His hands explored the forgotten territories of her shoulders, her hips, her waist and her perfect breasts. In the dark, two flowers bloomed, open and receiving to each other.
The sweat was almost sickeningly sweet, but still a nectar of the gods. Smiling in the dark, where nobody saw and nobody told, they met. Both sacred, hidden, forgotten, locked with their respective keys. But she had opened the gates and let him in again.
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Later, on their entwined hands, two bands of gold glistened. They shone brightly, no longer obligations or responsibilities, but symbiotic partners.
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Bobby wasn't sure why he even bothered anymore. He should have just gotten up and left when the words left her lips.
Her sleeping, though, was too innocent to condemn. She hadn't meant the words she'd said. She had no idea she'd even said them.
So he stayed, her head resting quietly on his chest, her hand pressed against his heart as if in any second she could plunge her nails into it. Her delicate body lay on top of him. Her weight didn't even bother him. It was that on every other exhalation, he could have sworn he heard a name.
Why didn't he just leave? Why did every second she was thinking of Alex seem like it triggered these awful thoughts about her, about that bastard, about himself?
He should have just slept on the goddamn bed, broken or not. Then he wouldn't be hearing her whisper names out to the secretive night. He wouldn't be thinking about it in the first place.
Next time he had the chance, he'd ask Hank for some sleeping drugs.
"Alex..." She moaned softly, yet unmistakably. He grimaced. And for a few days he'd thought he'd had it good, hadn't he?
For a few blissfully ignorant days, he'd had it good.
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Steinbeck. Guaranteed tearjerker. "Of Mice and Men" especially.
Remy didn't complain. Rogue certainly didn't want to watch anything with hula-dancing, grass-skirted blonde pygmy ninjas, and he'd have to be tied to a chair with his eyelids glued open to sit through "Gone With the Wind". At the end, they'd chosen randomly.
She had curled up against his arm, occasionally commenting on the film. His eyelids fluttered with drowsiness. She was far more interested than he was. Hadn't they seen this movie last week?
He did, however, pay special attention to her. Her butterfly breaths tickled the edge of his sleeve. When she spoke, her eyebrows usually raised just a little. She was beautiful. Had he been able, he'd take her face, cup it lovingly in his hands, and give her a kiss to end all kisses.
Alas, it was not so. He put a protective arm around her as the end approached. Though he was eagerly waiting for the movie to be over, he was never immune to the ending.
She almost giggled. Ever since she'd made that comment about how handsome Gary Sinise looked, he'd been inching closer and closer to her, almost possessively. It made her feel warmer inside, but she'd never admit it to him. Half the fun was keeping him guessing.
Watching the ending, her tears began to roll. There was no shame in admitting weakness about a movie, especially such a heartbreaking one. She could have sworn she heard him sniff, and he moved his hand up to his face and wiped his eyes.
When it was over and credits began to roll, they went up to bed. As was usual, Remy piled the blankets on top of himself and burrowed beneath them. Rogue sat on top of hers, looking out the window. A single star - the north one, she figured - was glittering. Stars didn't feel pain, did they? Then why did everyone look up to them? Because they didn't?
Wish she may, wish she might. She wished he could get over his fear of the cold. She wished it hadn't been her doing. She wished she wasn't the guilty one anymore. She wished she could take him out there and share the winter with him.
She sighed. She must have been wishing on the wrong star.
Author's Note: My apologies. I've been out of it for a while, and as a result I haven't really done any writing. I'm very sorry. ...
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Kurt's Observations: "When you have a tail, it's a good idea to watch out for doors."
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"Oh my God!"
Bobby jolted off the couch as Lorna shrieked. "What happened? We under attack?" His combat training instinctively put him in a boxing position.
Trying to regain her wits, Lorna breathed deeply. "Fucking bed!"
"What did they do to the bed?" He looked around confusedly. Blinking against the darkness, he stumbled for the light switch.
"No, the damn bed fell in on me." The light revealed a very irate Lorna, sitting on the mattress, which was now resting on the floor. She blushed. She, Magneto's daughter, was supposed to be used to sudden shocks. Instead, a shaky bed had scared her half to death, in front of her boyfriend. "Goddammit!"
Bobby rubbed his eyes and checked the clock. Middle of the night. Perfect. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, just spooked."
"Is everything alright in there?" Scott's baritone came from behind the door. He didn't open it; he respected their privacy. If neither answered, then he'd break down the door.
Bobby sat down on the mattress. "Yeah, we're all fine."
"You scared the shit out of us, Drake."
The disapproving note in his voice was not lost on either of them. "We're fine, Scott." Lorna confirmed. "It was just the bed."
"The bed screamed?" A Southern drawl asked skeptically.
"No, the bed fell in." Bobby put an arm around Lorna's shoulder protectively, though he himself didn't know why. She leaned into him.
Rogue continued. "You scared the hell out of me."
Bobby rolled his eyes. "Yes, Rogue, we know we scared the hell out of you guys. We're sorry already."
Masked by the door, Rogue grumbled. "You better be. You woke me up."
"C'mon, Rogue." Scott took her hand - gloved, of course - and led her down the hall.
"Ah don't need to be mollycoddled, O Fearless." She growled at him. She was not a night person. "It's not like mah room is more than twenty feet away."
She yanked her hand from his grasp and retreated to her room. Scott ignored her behavior and returned to his bed, where Jean was trying to go back to sleep. The redhead scooted to her side of the bed for her husband.
What, now they had different sides of the bed? Scott slumped down and threw the covers onto himself. Pouting playfully, Jean stole the blanket and wrapped herself up in it. Scott scowled, but it was in jest.
No, he could never be mad at Jean. She batted her eyelashes and rolled over. Scott smiled behind her back.
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"You wanna...?"
Lorna looked at him curiously. "Sleep together?"
Bobby flushed red. "On the couch in a clean way, I mean."
"Oh." Lorna patted the mattress casually. "Good, because the damn bed busted my ass."
He grinned and twirled a lock of forest hair around his finger. She slapped his hand. "Stop that!"
"So are we just gonna stay up talking all night? We'll be zombies by morning."
"Either zombies or stiff as boards. Your feet are like skis." Lorna smirked and flopped down on the couch. "And I would know."
He looked down at her. She looked so childlike, so young and innocent. Her eyes gazed affectionately at him. "You gonna move your legs or am I going to have to sleep on top of them?"
"Your ugly butt? You'd break them." She tucked her legs beneath her. He sat down delicately.
Within the hour, Lorna was splayed peacefully across the edge of the couch. The armrest that had functioned as a pillow had seemingly migrated to her waist. Her hair brushed the floor softly. Bobby had curled up at the other end, avoiding her prodding toes. He'd swiped all the covers from her, but she didn't notice.
Bobby felt guilty about the bed. He thought he'd fixed it last time. He knew he'd be working at it again tomorrow. The idea of it falling out from under her again scared him. The idea of breaking her next time scared him.
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Remy woke up to a nasty combination of his alarm clock and a sound he recognized only as Hank singing opera in the shower. Even worse, he slammed his hand into the corner of the nightstand instead of the clock. Cursing, he sat up and knocked the offending item off the table.
He groaned. Hank was butchering some poor, innocent song. And where was Rogue? Rubbing his hand, he looked around the room, then at the clock on the floor. Almost noon. Had he really slept that late?
A quick shower helped him regain his senses. He sauntered downstairs, trying to appear as if he'd been up all morning. It was a vain attempt, since Jean shot him a chastising glare.
"Jean, chere, what's for breakfast?" He asked as charmingly as possible.
"You missed it." She smirked at the downfallen look on his face. "And it was nice, spicy chicken wings too."
She continued as he looked more and more dejected. "They were so good. Scott and Hank just wolfed them down. Rogue said they were the best she ever tasted."
"Even better den mine?" He asked sadly.
"I'm afraid so." Jean turned to the cabinet so he couldn't see her holding back laughter.
"Wait, you didn' have chicken wings for breakfast." He narrowed his eyes at her. "I'd smell 'em!"
Jean laughed. "You're right, you just missed oatmeal." She swept into the pantry and threw a box of graham crackers out at him. "Honestly, who eats chicken wings for breakfast?"
Remy wrinkled his nose at the box. "Remy used to."
Jean quirked her eyebrows and opened a window. "It's nice out today." She stated simply. "Very nice out. Not even that cold."
"Please, chere, don't try no psychotherapy on me." Remy looked at her with an expression between imploring and suspicion. Jean sighed and slammed the window a bit harder than she'd intended.
"Sorry." She sat down next to him. "It's just that you and Rogue-"
Remy glared. "Not your affair, petite."
"-You've been making her nervous." She finished softly. He looked away and started ripping open the graham cracker box. "She thinks something might be wrong."
"Cracker?" He passed one over his shoulder and glanced apologetically at her. "Dey're cinnamon."
Jean grabbed the cracker and crushed it in her fist. "Aren't you listening to a damn word I'm saying?"
It was his turn to sigh. "Rogue talk to you about this?"
Jean indicated to her head. "I don't intentionally sneak into people's heads, but sometimes they give off such strong thoughts..."
"Then don' try to go sneakin' about in our business either. Really, Jean, Remy's fine." Despite the accusing note in his voice, he tried to say it as politely and reassuringly as he could.
She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Just remember that we're here for you."
He held back the urge to shoot a sarcastic comment back. Then again, if she could pick up thoughts like she said, she could tell anyway.
"Merci, Jean." He placed his hand on hers for a second, then stood up. She knew he wasn't really thanking her, just looking for an excuse out of the uncomfortable situation.
"I'll make some coffee."
He walked out. "Nah, thanks, but I'm fine."
"Suit yourself." Jean grabbed a magazine and sat, legs daintily crossed, at the table. She wasn't actually reading it. She was thinking over the words that had gone unspoken, unheard, unwritten in the previous conversation. They still hung in the air like dust motes, visible but intangible. If they were always there for him, where had they been during the single time that he'd needed them most?
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Lorna woke up with her lips at veritable war. Cold sores and cankers had sprung up at the corners of her mouth. Running her fingers over her aching lower lip, she walked over to the bathroom for some much needed antibiotics.
From the crack down the center, she'd been picking them again, though she was damned if she could recall any exact instant. That was unusual. Normally she only picked at them during times of extreme stress. It brought her temporary, subconscious relief to cleanse and tear, to feel the blood running just beneath the pink surface. After Genosha, she'd torn at them with a vengeance. After learning the infamous Magneto was her father, she'd been in pleasurable agony for weeks. And after Alex had...she didn't want to think about Alex, but she'd nearly ripped herself a new mouth.
But nothing extreme had happened. So why were they in such a bad state?
She looked back at the couch, where Bobby was snoring. Was it him? Secretly, she harbored a slight resent that he might possibly have caused this pain. She knew it wasn't his fault; it was just her nerves, her problems, her imperfections.
Her flaws. She didn't want to think about them.
She reminded herself that snoring wasn't incredibly endearing either.
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Since when did people put a price on faith?
If there was anything that irritated Kurt, it was the Christian Self- Help section of the local bookstore. Handbooks titled "The Answers" and "Is Your Prayer the Right Prayer?" were organized neatly, aligned in all their scamming glory. Most cost more than a dictionary, and they were about the size of a Reader's Digest. He half-expected them to goose-step across the table, ordering him to change his type of worship and 'search for his deeper self', whatever that meant.
"Find anything?" Scott asked, pawing through a book of motorcycle know-how.
"Nein." Kurt said, nervously tapping his inducer-watch. Being in this large, crowded place made him instinctively anxious. "And you?"
Scott put his book down and grabbed another. "Nah."
Kurt leaned against the table and cast a few glances around. Despite the swirling mass of shoppers, he still could pinpoint his friends. Rogue was sitting on the floor, holding a group of romance novels hostage. Lorna and Bobby were paying more attention to irritating the cashier than to the small stack of merchandise they were purchasing. Hank was pouring over the pages of a book whose name Kurt couldn't even pronounce.
"Why does she always have to get them the instant they come out? Can't she wait for paperback?" Scott moaned as he looked at the books he'd gotten for his wife. "Jeez, why does she want this one?"
The German shrugged. "Should we go?" He wasn't comfortable being surrounded by so many people. Any second now his inducer might go off, and then God only knew what could follow.
Scott nodded. He didn't want any more little children pointing out his sunglasses. "I'll go get the two lovebirds and Hank. You get Rogue."
Rogue had seemingly immersed herself in number of novels simultaneously. Whether she was reading, skimming or just turning pages for the hell of it was beyond Kurt.
"Rogue? We're going." Kurt crouched down and looked at some of the books.
"'Kay, Ah'm comin'." She mumbled and shoved the books back onto the shelf haphazardly. He saw a flash of "Gone With the Wind" being tossed into the pile.
She looked over at Lorna and Bobby, faces bright like they were in high school. "Ah'll bet you ten bucks they don't last another week."
Kurt looked at her in surprise. "What makes you say that?"
She shrugged. "Just a hunch."
...
...
Thanking God for SUV's, Scott clambered into the driver's seat. At least the three rows kept them reasonably parted, and if he had any more of Lorna and Bobby clamping to each other like limpets he'd feel nauseous. Had he really been that bad when he was flirting with Jean? Bobby had irately pointed that out earlier.
"Why aren't you like that anymore?" Lorna had said accusingly. Scott hadn't had an answer. He didn't know himself. He couldn't answer why his precious, redheaded darling wasn't the center of his life anymore.
Nor could he answer when she had stopped being his every other thought. Sometime, but he couldn't pinpoint an exact day or even year.
Rogue was busy chatting to Lorna about the latest movies (none of which Scott had seen or even intended to see). The two fuzzy blues were involved in a playful debate of which was better, claws or a tail. Bobby was simultaneously trying to sneak his hand over to Lorna's rear end and open a CD case at the same time.
Rogue blew his cover. "Face it, Bobby, men can't multi-task."
Kurt rooted through one of their grocery bags. "The clerk, he didn't think it odd that we bought eight bottles of shampoo?"
"Nah." Bobby said nonchalantly, his hand barely an inch from Lorna's behind. "Just tell them your roommate has a teenage daughter."
At that moment, Lorna shrieked and slapped the intrusive appendage. Bobby recoiled and rubbed life back into his stinging hand. She glared.
Scott had looked back to see what the racket was about. He glared at Drake too. Nobody was supposed to do that to a lady. He'd never do that to Jean. When was the last time he'd done anything even close to that to Jean?
Midlife crisis. That had to be it. He'd get over it. He still loved her, devoted himself to her, worshipped her in her divine grace and beauty. There was just glass between them for the while.
He'd talk to her.
...
...
"We make a good team." Remy leaned back in his chair, surveying their work. Rolls, chicken, artichokes and soup, enough for the entire group and then some. Wouldn't they be happy when they found that dinner had already been made? Especially Rogue. Roguie would be glad he hadn't wasted the day.
"Saves them a load of trouble. Stick it in the oven." His 'partner in crime', Jean, wiped flour from her hands. "You wouldn't mind if I skipped dinner, would you?"
He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Por quoi?"
A mischievous glint came into her eyes, but it was only masking a bit lip. "I think Scotty and I will just take it up to our room. Have some fun, you know?" She lied.
"It'll be awful. You'll miss playing Trivial Pursuit with Hank." He remarked wryly, placing the concoctions in the oven. A friendly crinkle emerged between her eyebrows as she laughed. The sound of a car pulling into the driveway reached their ears.
"And God knows that will be fascinating." She grinned. In another room, a door opened.
"Hey y'all, we're home!" Rogue called and walked in, a plastic bag with eight shampoo bottles slung over her shoulder. "You didn't miss us too much, did y- do Ah smell somethin'?"
The rest filed in, parcels and packages abundant, and sniffed the air. The scent of food was unmistakable. Kurt looked about curiously. "Did you two make something?"
"We were going to say surprise, but you figured it out first." Jean shrugged and pulled dinner out of the oven. Hank visibly licked his lips and Rogue's eyes lit up like a city block on a power surge. The rest all smiled and spread thanks to their two 'chefs'.
Rogue took control. "Instead o' standin' here, why don't we actually eat it? Wash your hands, y'all!"
A matter of minutes later they were all getting seated around the table, though Rogue used a wet towel as a whip to keep Remy from swiping food early.
"But, chere, Remy made it, doesn't he get to eat it?"
Scott was about to sit down when Jean grabbed him by shoulder. He looked at her in surprise. Telepathically filling him in, she led him upstairs, carrying some of the food with her.
"Ah'll give you this, lover-boy, you know how t' surprise a girl." Rogue grinned.
"Yeah, Rogue was betting that you'd still be asleep!" Lorna called.
Kurt lay his fork down. "Grace, everybody." Though less than half of the room was Christian, the bowed their heads and closed their eyes. As usual, Kurt started them off. Thanks for the food, thanks for friends and family, the usual.
One eye open, Remy watched quietly. Family? Next to him, Rogue fidgeted. He figured that she qualified as more than that.
...
...
"Scott..." Jean sighed as she sat cross-legged on the bed. He stood at the closed door, hand still on the knob. "Scott, lately..."
"Must be a winter thing, huh?" His shoulders hung.
"Lately you and I have been distant." She concluded, putting a plate on the nightstand.
Scott sighed this time. "Yeah."
Jean's eyes seemed to burn a hold right through him and the door beyond. "Can you tell me why?"
He twitched his finger nervously. "Why don't you just reach into my head-"
"I don't want to-"
"-And just listen for a bit, Jean?"
The slight tickle behind his ears told him she had obliged.
A tear started to form in her deep green eye. She bit her lip, and the crinkle from laughter came, but not out of mirth. "You know I would never do that."
Scott shuddered. He couldn't help thinking it; just the memory of her flirting with Logan, the thoughts of her separating herself, the very idea that she wasn't a possession of his - it shook his very foundation.
She continued. "You honestly think I would be like that?" Her cheeks flushed to the softest rose hue.
He turned slowly, to see her sitting on the bed, fighting tears, bathed in the lamp light. So emotional. So much deeper than he was. "Jean, it's just that I...you're so perfect and I...Goddammit, I..."
"You think you aren't worthy? How can you say that, Scotty? How can you even think for a second that you aren't enough?"
He didn't show any feeling besides the light tremble of his lip. "Jean, you could have anyone you ever wanted! Why did you choose a-"
"What Logan calls you doesn't mean anything." She said softly. The tear glazed her eye, but didn't fall. She had more control than that.
Scott moaned. He was crazy, that was what she was telling him. Psychiatrists probably had some psycho-babble that described, "inferiority complex" or something to that effect. Strange, he though he'd been the sane one on the team.
"Jean." He whispered, crawling onto the bed. "Jean, you mean you never-"
"Only you, Scotty." She whispered back. "Only you."
She was driving him crazy and she was making him sane. "It's been a while, then?"
She laughed quietly and wiped her eyes. "You men are so horny." She lay down beside him. "You think it's going to be all better then? That I can forgive you for even thinking that about me?"
He didn't know her at all. He had to admit that. He shook his head in defeat.
"It's a start." She soothed and played with the buttons on his collar until each one was undone. His hand roved to her blouse, and she accepted his invitation. A motion turned the lamp off, and the room receded into slick darkness.
Her fingers played unheard music across his jaw line, along his cheeks, his neck, his chest. His hands explored the forgotten territories of her shoulders, her hips, her waist and her perfect breasts. In the dark, two flowers bloomed, open and receiving to each other.
The sweat was almost sickeningly sweet, but still a nectar of the gods. Smiling in the dark, where nobody saw and nobody told, they met. Both sacred, hidden, forgotten, locked with their respective keys. But she had opened the gates and let him in again.
...
...
Later, on their entwined hands, two bands of gold glistened. They shone brightly, no longer obligations or responsibilities, but symbiotic partners.
...
...
Bobby wasn't sure why he even bothered anymore. He should have just gotten up and left when the words left her lips.
Her sleeping, though, was too innocent to condemn. She hadn't meant the words she'd said. She had no idea she'd even said them.
So he stayed, her head resting quietly on his chest, her hand pressed against his heart as if in any second she could plunge her nails into it. Her delicate body lay on top of him. Her weight didn't even bother him. It was that on every other exhalation, he could have sworn he heard a name.
Why didn't he just leave? Why did every second she was thinking of Alex seem like it triggered these awful thoughts about her, about that bastard, about himself?
He should have just slept on the goddamn bed, broken or not. Then he wouldn't be hearing her whisper names out to the secretive night. He wouldn't be thinking about it in the first place.
Next time he had the chance, he'd ask Hank for some sleeping drugs.
"Alex..." She moaned softly, yet unmistakably. He grimaced. And for a few days he'd thought he'd had it good, hadn't he?
For a few blissfully ignorant days, he'd had it good.
...
...
Steinbeck. Guaranteed tearjerker. "Of Mice and Men" especially.
Remy didn't complain. Rogue certainly didn't want to watch anything with hula-dancing, grass-skirted blonde pygmy ninjas, and he'd have to be tied to a chair with his eyelids glued open to sit through "Gone With the Wind". At the end, they'd chosen randomly.
She had curled up against his arm, occasionally commenting on the film. His eyelids fluttered with drowsiness. She was far more interested than he was. Hadn't they seen this movie last week?
He did, however, pay special attention to her. Her butterfly breaths tickled the edge of his sleeve. When she spoke, her eyebrows usually raised just a little. She was beautiful. Had he been able, he'd take her face, cup it lovingly in his hands, and give her a kiss to end all kisses.
Alas, it was not so. He put a protective arm around her as the end approached. Though he was eagerly waiting for the movie to be over, he was never immune to the ending.
She almost giggled. Ever since she'd made that comment about how handsome Gary Sinise looked, he'd been inching closer and closer to her, almost possessively. It made her feel warmer inside, but she'd never admit it to him. Half the fun was keeping him guessing.
Watching the ending, her tears began to roll. There was no shame in admitting weakness about a movie, especially such a heartbreaking one. She could have sworn she heard him sniff, and he moved his hand up to his face and wiped his eyes.
When it was over and credits began to roll, they went up to bed. As was usual, Remy piled the blankets on top of himself and burrowed beneath them. Rogue sat on top of hers, looking out the window. A single star - the north one, she figured - was glittering. Stars didn't feel pain, did they? Then why did everyone look up to them? Because they didn't?
Wish she may, wish she might. She wished he could get over his fear of the cold. She wished it hadn't been her doing. She wished she wasn't the guilty one anymore. She wished she could take him out there and share the winter with him.
She sighed. She must have been wishing on the wrong star.