New AN: Well, seeing as how this chapter is really where the revival began a few weeks ago, and I started using spell check again, there will be v. little changes from here on out.
Well, I decided to do something nice for this fic on its one-year anniversary. Like, give it an update. I know you'd like me to explain why it's taken so long, and I'd like to explain, but my lawyer says I'm not allowed to talk about it publicly until after the trial. All I can say is this: I fought the law, and the law won.
No, seriously I was having major computer problems. As in, I didn't have one. First it was broken, then it was fixed, then it was not really fixed and I had to wait until a new one made itself available. Which is, like, now.
Since it's been well over a year, if you don't wanna read it all, I'll give you the cliff notes version of the first four chapters:
Chapter One: 13-year old Rogue meets Remy at a train station. Sparks fly, they kiss, they part, they meet again years later.
Chapter Two: Recap from Remy's POV. Bella gets dumped.
Chapter Three: Carol, Lorna, and Betsy join the X-men. Play minor roles, don't worry. Remy convinces bad guys to rob a band so he can see Rogue. They both remember.
Chapter Four: Remy gets in trouble. Meets Rogue again anyway. Decide to make the meetings a regular deal, but ultra secret. Missing X-men find their way home late at night.
PLEASE REVIEW THIS STORY. Please? Pretty please?
We've Met Before
Chapter 5
The Next Morning...
Bobby Drake thought it terribly unfair that he should be expected to continue his chores so soon after the X-men had returned from their Camping Trip From Hell. His arms could barely hold the broom as he danced it down the long, long hallway, so sore were they from push-ups and pull-ups and every other exercise that wasn't so bad until it had to be done a million times in a row. Not that he dared to complain. If there was one thing he'd learned, it was that conforming was easier on the body than defiance.
He yawned, pausing at mirror that offered back the picture a sleep-looking, blonde-haired male. The guy looked terrible. At least, Bobby thought, he could straighten out a piece of hair that was sticking up. Logan couldn't fault him for taking the time to look almost presentable. After all, they did have new recruits around.
And speaking of new recruits, Bobby realized he could see their reflection in the mirror, as well as his own. He turned around and smiled at the sight they made, standing outside the conference room with their ears glued to the wall.
He hadn't been invited to the conference room, Bobby thought glumly. Why didn't they think him a real member of the X-men? But he didn't mention that to the girls as he approached them. Instead, he leaned against the door and smile.
"You're doing it all wrong," he informed them. "If you wanna hear what's going on, you gotta come over here. Come on, I'll show you..."
Inside the Conference Room...
There was someone new in the conference room for the first time in quite a while. The stranger with strong, confident posture, waves of lavender hair, and an innocent, bright-eyed face that hid a thousand secrets sat to Charles' right.
Elisabeth Braddock hadn't wanted to join the X-men. Though Warren had recommended the team a thousand times over, she hadn't been convinced that she needed a mentor, or a team. Already an able telepath and a rather skilled ninja, she had refused to even give Xavier her real name. "Call me Psylocke," she'd said. But eventually, after watching clips of the X-men in action, and after hearing about the Danger Room, she'd agreed.
Pity her new arrival wasn't the only reason Xavier needed to speak with the X-men. That would haven been a pleasant, light-hearted conversation. Instead, he had something else to share. News.
Work.
He felt Jean's mind, curious but cautious, as she noticed his mood and tried to learn more. He gently held her back. Just a moment, he sent her. We're almost ready. And they were. The seats had all been taken now; he was only waiting for the buzz of early morning mumblings to die down. After a few more complaints, yawns, and sleepy fits of laughter, all eyes settled on him and a kind of inquisitive quiet seized the room.
"Good morning," He said, smiling at them. "You're probably wondering why I've called this early morning meeting...why I've called you home in general."
"No sir," Kurt responded quickly. "I never question a miracle." Logan leaned forward on the table, and the young German moved away.
"Yes, well, be that as it may, there's a very important reason you must know. " Xavier went on. "I received a call yesterday afternoon from an old friend of mine, Dr. Johan Franklin. He's a brilliant man, one of the founders of GenCo...you are all familiar with the company?"
"That's Genes-R-Us, right?" Kitty asked, referring to the company's popular nickname. "They're like the cutting edge of all things genetic."
"Aren't they also the ones who've turned down like fifty thousand grant offers?" Rogue asked. "They may be a bunch o' geniuses, but that don't sound too smart ta me."
"Yes, they are famously selective in their acceptance of offers. It was formed many years ago, you see, by a group of men who sought to advance science but feared the social and political ramifications of their work. Even now, only a small portion of their research is ever made public. The majority is held in hidden archives. They don't want contributors to have influence or access to these archives."
"They don't another Hiroshima," Scott said.
"'Exactly. Now, they've existed for some time this way. But, according to Dr. Franklin, problems started with the death of fellow founder Ahab Arch in June of last year. The Board realized he was the fifth member they'd lost... and voted to go through an extensive, rigorous, and extremely careful process to elect new Board Members. They hoped to find younger men, who shared their ideals. All went well, and they believed they were successful. Until, that is, yesterday when Franklin overheard a conversation between one of the new men and Senator Kerrigan -a known anti-mutant sympathizer. Now, Franklin fears for his work on mutant genes.
So, this afternoon, he will be arriving here under the guise of Christopher Clark, a reporter, and he and his work will remain under our care until the issue has been resolved. I don't need to remind you that this is a serious issue. No one is to know about Mr. Clark's true identity, not even the other students. You will be put on constant call, so be ready to respond, if need be."
"Do you have any idea how long it'll take to have this resolved, Professor?" questioned Scott, who was already formatting a schedule in his mind. Scott loved schedules the way other teenagers liked video games and sugary sweets. Xavier was sorry to disappoint the young man.
"At the moment, no. But we may learn more once Mr. Clark arrives." They all gave him solemn nods. They didn't like having restrictions placed on their summertime, he could tell, but they seemed determined to tough it out. Or at least save the complaints until he was out of earshot.
He sighed quietly, and then folded his hands across the table. "Perhaps it's time for some better news? I'm sure all of you have noticed Miss Braddock joining us at the table today. She's come to us, care of England, to learn and teach. She'll be joining you in the classroom, Ororo, until she feels ready to handle her own. She'll also become a regular on the team, if that's all right with the rest of you."
"We'd love to have her." Jean said, ever the eager diplomat.
"You're telling me," Kurt said with a wink in the Brit's direction.
"Like he's even got a chance." Kitty scoffed. "He's younger, and a poor man compared to Warren Worthington III."
"Hey."
"And no where near as attractive." Rogue added.
"Vhat?"
"Or dashing."
"Hey, I've got a sword. Zat's a classic sign of dashingness."
Elisabeth leaned over towards them. "I hate to intrude on a conversation where I only know 1/3 of the speakers, but perhaps I feel inclined to point out that Warren's quite the swordsman himself. In fact, it was his beautiful armory that first attracted my attention. He has the most amazing suit of white metal. It is absolutely stunning. Shines like the sun itself."
"Gee Kurt," Kitty said. "He's older, richer, better looking, and could actually be described as a white knight in shinning armor. You've totally got a chance." Everyone but Kurt laughed at that.
Xavier pushed himself a slightly away from the table, casting Logan a glance, and nodded towards the wall behind him. Logan stood up and stepped out of the room. Then, Xavier addressed the group one final time. "Now that we've gotten through the big news, I'd also like to add that I've given Scott the authority to throw a few unplanned Danger Room sessions, to test our ability to react in emergency situations. Please respond accordingly. And, you may all have a very pleasant morning."
As everyone stood up to leave, they were passed by Logan, who was reentering with Bobby Drake, Lorna Dane, and Carol Danvers in tow. None of them made eye contact, except for Bobby, who shrugged helplessly and called out, "Does someone want to finish sweeping the floor for a dollar?"
Outside the conference room, the mansion had come alive at last. Rogue groaned inwardly as she heard a blast of music pounding against the walls as she neared the living room. Chances at peace were so rare, and thanks to the surprising longevity of the meeting, hers had been torn away like a lion's first bite into a newly caught carcass.
"Hey, Rogue. The meeting finally ended, huh?" Tabitha called as they crossed paths in the hall. The blonde smirked, "Its times like these, when you guys are woken up in middle of the night to listen to some boring lecture that I'm reminded there are benefits to not being a member of the X-men."
"Really? That's funny, Tabs, 'cause it's times like these, when you're standin' there so still and so damn full o' yoahself that I'm reminded how easy it would be ta hide yoah body from the authorities. If he happened ta find out, Xavier couldn't turn me in; it'd be bad mutant press at a crucial time."
"Interesting. I wonder if empty threats always come from people with empty heads." Tabitha teased, pausing in her walk.
"Why don't we give you a lobotomy an' find out."
Tabitha's feet moved back and she sighed. "Can't you ever let me win Verbal Chicken, Rogue?"
"No."
The blonde rolled her eyes. "I eagerly wait the day when someone dares to challenge you, and wins, Rogue. There will be such grand celebrations. Festive parties as far as the eye can see."
"Ah'll bet. Do ya even live here?"
"Blah, blah, whatever. I don't deal in details," Tabitha said, waving off her question. "Hey, where are you going, anyway? You're not going to place an order for Italian food, too, are you? Remember: there are good carbs and bad carbs, and pasta makes Santa's naughty list."
Rogue raised an eyebrow. "Why would Ah be goin' ta order pasta this early in th' mornin'?"
Tabitha shrugged. "'Cause there's a restaurant open right now. We found the menu stapled onto our front door this morning when Jubes went out to get the paper. It's some new place...um...Antonia's, or something. Fine cuisine at any time of the day. You know the guys. Once they realized they could have food delivered right now, they had it delivered."
"'Figures."
"Of course."
"An' yet, now Ah've got a cravin' for lasagna."
"Remember the carbs." Tabitha warned. "The menu's on the kitchen table. Next to the phone, naturally."
She disappeared around the corner before Rogue could mention that she'd been joking. In fact, she was on a strict diet. It was part of her self-imposed training program. But then again, as she made her way towards the kitchen, Rogue realized she probably wouldn't have told Tabitha that, anyway. Though she was very determined to improve her combat skills, it was something that she preferred to do in private. If everyone knew, then Xavier would ask if she was feeling inadequate and want her to go through counseling; Kitty would ask if she was lonely since losing Risty, and wanted to 'hang out' more; Scott would ask if she was not being challenged enough during regular DR sessions, and want her to try out some of his harder programs.
And she definitely did not want any of those things.
Fallen clusters of fruity flakes crunched beneath her shoes as she entered the kitchen. Some one had left the orange juice out on the table, to grow warm and hospitable to germs, apparently. Despite this, Rogue sought out a clear glass from the cupboard and poured herself some. And as she flooded her mouth with sweet, tepid, orange-yellow liquid, her eyes fell on the flier Tabitha had been speaking of.
It was a red, laminated sheet, with the words: Antonia's, Italy's Finest printed across in big bold letters. For a limited time only, we will be open 24 hours a day. We are located on 45 Duringham Rd, and are available at 786-987-452. Drop by or pick up the phone anytime!
She ignored it, but Jean entered the room moments, carrying a several boxes. "Hey, Rogue, there you are." She exclaimed, as though she didn't have the ability to scan the entire mansion and know where any given person was at, at any given moment. "I've got your order from Antonia's."
"Ah didn't place an order," Rogue answered.
"Yeah, neither did I. But the guys went on a crazy food spree while we were in the conference room, and picked something out for everyone. I'm helping them pass out the orders now." Jean stared down at the boxes, and using telekinesis, slid out one of the bottom ones, carefully rearranging the others so they wouldn't fall. "Here you go," She said, as the isolated contained levitated towards Rogue's waiting hands.
"Thanks." With that, Jean was gone.
Rogue sighed and wondered what she ought to do with the meal. Save it for later? Perhaps. Sell it to the highest bidder? Better. But first, she would have to know what it was. She unfolded the first flap and took a glance inside.
Immediately, she knew something was awry. In the box, which held her name on one side, sat another box, this one not white cardboard, but black and plastic. She set both of them down on the counter and removed her gloves, not wanting to ruin them with red marinara sauce. Then, carefully, she pulled out the plastic container.
There was a latch on one side, which she flipped open with the edge of her fingernail. The container sprang apart, revealing a piece of paper, folded into the shape of a dove. She set the paper bird down on her palm and sighed. Her name was written again on the dove's wing, this time in elegant, curved letters. The other side said, 'open me'.
She did just that, and the riddle was easily solved.
It's Five O' Clock Somewhere, including Antonia's two days from now. Will you miss me 'til then?
Rogue smiled.
The Next Day...
Pietro knew he was impatient, and he never cared. How did everyone else expect him to feel, when they were so incredibly, insufferably slow? It was like someone had pressed the slow motion button on the whole world. As he waited for Magneto's call, he tapped his anxious fingers along the wooden table, and thought back to the last time he'd seen the Acolytes.
They thought they were so good. As if one of them were Magneto's son, his heir. He'd have to have a talk with them; he'd have to let them know their place. Especially that Gambit. The guy was a professional thief, how could his loyalty possibly be confirmed? He half-expected Peter to burst through his door one day, complaining that Gambit had deserted, and taken half their belongings with him.
It wouldn't surprise him in the least if that were exactly what happened. The Cajun was always setting his sights on things that belonged to others -like Rogue. No sooner had Pietro decided that if anyone suited him well, it was the Goth, than Gambit burst into the scene and made a move for her himself!
He was like a pest; Pietro wished he could just swash him under his foot like an ant. Just thinking about it cheered him up a little more. Maybe he'd even show Ant-Gambit a little mercy and only lock him up in a little plastic container, where the bug could enviously watch him and Rogue enjoy a romantic relationship.
He sighed.
Of course, there were other ways to hurt the Cajun. Which brought his attention back to his current task, waiting for Magneto to call, so he could offer his input on Gambit's punishment. Magneto had been in talks with some shape-shifting mutant, trying to pull him over to Acolytes. Gambit was to show this person around.
But Pietro had someone else in mind, someone who might help Magneto's cause -it was a little uncertain how much- but was sure to lock a chain around Gambit's neck. He smiled, deviously.
His phone rang.
The Day After...
Someone had once told Gambit that cooking was for women or for silly men with tall white hats and large bellies. Of course, this man hadn't known he was speaking to the Prince of Thieves, a master chef, who preformed as well in the kitchen as he did at the card table.
If the man had known, he would've guarded his tongue -and gold- a little better.
Remy recalled this man with a warm smile as he drizzled syrup over the dessert he'd prepared. It was funny, how prone people were to saying all sorts of odd, and untrue things. Like when he'd promised loyalty to Magneto.
Once finished with the meal, he turned his attention to the table. Tony had left out the really nice dishes, the ones he called 'Family China'. Only for special occasions. Remy smiled again as he fingered the soft napkins. Antonia's had such a warm, welcoming atmosphere; it was like coming home. The perfect place to seduce Rogue into... friendship.
He sat down at the table and imagined her sitting across from him, her dark, brooding eyes staring back with a look of perfect indifference. Well, not perfect indifference, because everybody had to care about something. The real question was what interested Rogue? Was she a zealot for mutant rights like that Professor Xavier? Did she worry about school and plan to spend the better part of her future away at college?
It would be interesting to talk to her. Just talking would be a nice change of pace, since there certainly wasn't an awful lot of intelligent discourse going on at the Acolytes' House.
Remy folded his arms on the table and grinned at his imaginary Rogue. He would unfold her like a birthday present, carefully, slowly, but purposefully, determinedly. He'd abandoned his old life because of her, he reminded himself. He had to know that he'd done it for an exceptionally good reason.
"Look's like yoah havin' fun without me. Maybe Ah should just go on home, then." He heard Rogue say all of a sudden, and he turned his neck around to see her hanging in the doorframe. She was covered in a long black coat that extended down to her calves, worn out blue jeans, sandals, and a pair of bright green gloves. Of course, he thought, the best thing she was wearing was a half-smile that just barely curved her lips.
"Yo' early," He remarked, glancing back at the table he hadn't completely cleared. "Bbut that's all right, I can understand you wantin' ta see me as soon as possible. I am awfully hard t' resist." He pointed to the clock hanging from the wall.
"Am early?" Rogue asked in such a way as to make him believe that she'd been hoping to come a little late. He didn't tell her that the clock on the wall was eighteen minutes fast.
"Sit down, Chere," He said, standing up and inviting her towards the chair he'd intended for her. "I made y' somet'in'."
"Is it a Cajun repellent?" She asked.
"Non."
"Too bad."
"Mebbe you like dis just as much." Gambit set down the dish, and took an incredible amount of satisfaction away from the fact that her eyes sparked, and she sighed, quietly.
"Pecan pie."
"Not just any pecan pie. Dis is da LeBeau Pecan Pie, Chere, I guarantee you it's da best t'ing you ever tasted. Except f'r me, dat is."
She blushed faintly, but reached for the pie all the same. "There isn't a bakery in Bayville that makes this right."
"Didn't you ever learn t' cook?"
"Not this. It was a special thing at our house. Irene was the only one allowed ta cook it, an'only on special occasions. Usually that meant whenever Momma was comin' home, but she did it when Ah got good grades in school, or things like that."
"Dis is kinda a special occasion, ain't it? So I guess, I'm almost fittin' in wit' Darkholme traditions, non?"
Rogue laughed. "Don't let Mystique hear ya say that." Then she dropped into abrupt silence, and Remy remembered what he'd heard about Mystique and her teenage alter ego, Risty.
Reaching forward, he covered her hand in his. "I can understand it, y' know, her wantin' t' be close t' you."
"She didn't want ta be close ta me, she wanted ta be close ta our database. She used me."
"But she could've used anyone, Chere. I've seen day Pryde girl, she's awful friendly. Wouldn't Mystique have gained access to da mansion a whole lot quicker wit' her? Or what about da younger kids, they don't t'ink twice 'fore invitin' in friends. But she spent time wit' you."
"Wow." Rogue said, "Ah oughta be happy that she decided she could kill two birds with one stone. Yee-haw."
He removed his hand and shrugged. "It's better than not carin' at all. Now, why don't y' drown whatever troubles y' got left in that pie, y' still haven't tasted it."
"Ah'll remedy that real quick," She said, plunging a spoon into the dish and raising it in this air. As if toasting, she added, "To the possibility o' friendship."
"I'll eat t' that."
The pie was gone, but neither of them had gotten up. "So," Remy said, "We can't talk about home stuff... o' work stuff... o' mutant stuff...what exactly is safe territory for us, fille?"
"Maybe th' weather?"
"Right." Gambit agreed, sarcastically, "Cause we be borin', average people. C'mon Chere, can't we do better n' dat?"
"What would you suggest?" Rogue wondered. Her eyes drifted down to the stack of magazines that lay on the table between them. Teenage girls and pastel colors stared back at her. "We could read in depth articles: how much rouge is too much? Have long have y'all been in the habit o' readin' teeny bopper books, anyway?"
Gambit followed her gaze and smiled. "M' buddy Tony, da one who owns dis place, has a lil' girl named Angela -prettiest t'ing under the age o' 12. These are probably hers. Although," he picked up an issue of Teen Girl and flipped the pages randomly, "we could take one o' these tests. Here's one dat seems especially appropriate: what kind o' friend are you?"
"Sounds like Pulitzer material."
"Hey, it might actually work. We are tryin' t' be friends, non? Don't you wanna know if I'm a Selfish Sally, There-For-Y' Thelma, or True-Blue Trudy?"
The corners of Rogue's mouth twitched, as if she were caught between a smile and a scowl, amusement and annoyance. In the end, she settled for apathy. "Those writers are perfect judges of character, Ah'm sure."
He looked at the printed questions. "Let's see da criteria. Question one: yo' best friend's dog dies and she looks t'you for support. Do you a, pat her on da shoulder and advise her t' keep a stiff upper lip, b, spend all yo' savin's buyin' flowers for Cotton Nose an' insist on speakin' at da funeral, c, shrug an' walk away. That dog was always wakin' you up in the middle o' da night anyway." Remy sighed. "Obviously, da only possible answer is B. There's always ways t' get more money, and maybe you've had a crush on y' best friend's sister. By helpin' out da friend, you come across as considerate, kind, an' wealthy."
"Remy, the test is warped enough, without you twistin' it more."
"I be answerin' honestly, Chere."
"Ah'll bet."
He grinned. "Fine. You answer da next one in a perfectly honest, sensible way. Y' find out da guy yo' best friend likes is now single an' free. You a, call up yo' friend immediately before someone else snatches da boy. B, decide you'll tell her at lunch -she's waited t'ree months, what's t'ree hours. C, forget y' friend; you like da boy too an' dis is yo' big chance."
"There's no fun way outta that scenario." Rogue said, calmly. "If Ah choose myself, Ah lose m' friends. Ah don't know if a boy's worth that much. But Ah ain't interested in playin' a minor role in the love life of a boy Ah like again."
"Again?" Remy frowned. Was there someone that she liked? One of her friends? He hadn't considered it before, but it was perfectly plausible. But who? Not the blue one -they were legally siblings, and she didn't strike him as the Jerry Springer type. Spike? No, reports said she hadn't been too broken up about his leaving the team. Scott Summers,then? Or Logan, who had to be at least fifty. Or that Warren Worthington, who'd been seen around the mansion more and more lately...
"Ah didn't say again." Rogue said.
"Yes you did." Remy responded.
"No, Ah didn't."
"I heard it wit' m' own two ears."
"Well, then Ah meant-"
"T' lie better?" Remy offered.
"Th' situation between you an' Bella," Rogue finished with a glare. "Ah liked ya a lot back then."
"Oh..." He wasn't sure if she was lying; the girl had walls almost worthy of a telepath. But she was definitely eager to change the subject. With a chivalrous sigh, he did just that. "Do you know how t' play poker?" He wondered, already reaching into his pockets for a deck.
"Yeah."
"Good." Remy grinned. "How 'bout a little Texas Hold 'Em. Winner gets t' pick our next meetin' place."
"Let's do it."
"Okay, but what about cards after?" Remy teased.
Rogue rolled her eyes. "Shuffle the damn deck, Gumbo."
"Oh, an' don't feel bad if I win. I don't t'ink I've ever lost."
She scoffed, like it was an exaggeration. "Tell ya what, Remy, let's up the stakes. Winner gets ta choose th' next meetin' place, an' th' outfit the loser wears ta said place."
Rogue stared down at her hand. Her losing hand. Her stupid, awful, what-are-the-chances, now-there'd-be-no-peace hand. The Ace of Spades and it's partner in crime, the Ace of Diamonds, seemed to be gloating, with that ridiculous, annoying, curled up smile, and those knowing eyes, as if they'd been purposely leading her astray all along. She heard Remy clear his throat.
"Chere? Dis is da part where y' put yo' hand down an' show me what ya got." Of course Remy was eager for the hand to be laid down, he sported a flush: all hearts from ten to ace.
She had three queens as well, but they did her no good. The one that was missing was what hurt her; the Queen of Hearts was on the table, neatly tucked between Gambit's King and Jack.
Her eyes traveled to the stack of M&M's in the center of the table, then to Remy, then back again to her own cards. Her lips remained firmly closed, not betraying any of the dismay she was feeling.
"C'mon, Rogue. Suck it up an' put down da cards." Remy called. "I tol' y' I never lose." Somehow, his arrogant words failed to comfort her. It didn't help to know she was part of a long line of losers.
Had he cheated? He was a bad guy; of course he'd cheated. What else had she been expecting? Honesty?
"I didn't cheat," Remy said, as if reading her thoughts. He only made her more suspicious.
Was there a way to back out of the bet?
"C'mon, Chere."
Why had she been so overconfident?
"Roguey."
He wouldn't make her wear anything embarrassing, right?
"Before I'm an' old man, please?"
Maybe, if she retained a little bit of that telekinesis of Jean's, she could cheat herself, levitating some good cards in her direction when he wasn't looking. It would be hard, though, the way he was staring at her.
As it turned out, she never got the chance to try to plan. In a rather shocking move, Remy made a dive for her cards. She tried to slip out of his way, but he was too fast; they collided, sending the candies sailing in one direction, and themselves in the other.
Hands grabbed onto her wrists and the cards, but she refused to give up them up. She clung them to her chest and tried to spin away, but he managed to get a good grasp over her waist.
She took advantage of Remy's momentary closeness and pushed him hard in the stomach. Perhaps too hard, because he ended up tripping over some bags of flour that had been stacked neatly on the floor, and a light cloud of white powdery substance instantly filled the air.
Rogue froze, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oops."
"Oops?" Came the reply. "Oops?" Slowly, deliberately, Remy sat up, and grabbed a bag, this one unopened, and charged it. He tossed it at her.
But she blocked it like it was volleyball, and the bag ended up hitting Remy. It exploded, sending white powder snowing down on Remy and much of the room. It covered his auburn hair, coated his face, and dusted all of his clothes. He ran a hand down his face, so that he could clear the mess away from his eyes and actually see, making it seem as if he were wearing a mask of dough.
Rogue laughed. "It's th' Pillsbury dough boy," she teased.
"Ha ha." Remy sighed. "Dis is all yo' fault. Y' such a Selfish Sally."
"Whatever, Gumbo. All I know is Ah'm the one who's actually clean, while you're... not so much."
"I can't believe you did dat."
"Ah can't believe ya wanted it ta explode in mah face!"
"Not yo' face," Remy said, "Just... just around yo' clothes."
"Right. So everyone back at th' mansion could be askin' questions?"
He pouted. "We could've taken 'em off you an' washed 'em in da sink. I wouldn't have minded."
"Takin' off mah clothes or washin' 'em?" She asked, dryly.
"Either, or." They were quiet for a moment more. "It's still all yo' fault."
"If you hadn't made a dive for m' cards, none of it would've happened." She reminded him.
"If you had put yo' cards down, I wouldn't have needed t' dive," he countered. "As it is, I win anyway, since you forfeited."
She was quiet.
Five minutes later, Remy was standing and they were both staring at the mess. Remy shook his head, sending tiny clouds of flour into the air; it would take him a long time to clean up the entire kitchen. The scattering of the cards, the flour, and the tiny M&M's was so thorough it seemed almost a deliberate attempt on their part. There was no other reasonable explanation. If Tony were to talk in and see it, well, there'd be no joy in Bayville.
Rogue leaned back into the counter. "Ah am really sorry 'bout my part." They were nice words, to be sure, but somehow the Cajun had trouble accepting them as sincere. Perhaps because she gave the impression of being a volcano, ready to open her mouth and spew out a sea of laughter.
"Dis," He sighed, turning so that he could look at her and wag a disapproving finger, "is all yo' fault."
"You still sayin' that? Besides, it ain't that bad." She argued, using the toe of her shoe to nudge one unspoiled bag of flour.
"An' I'm sure you believe dat too." Remy said. "Since dis ain't yo' friend's place."
"Come on, Remy. Ah'll help ya clean an' in a few short hours, it'll be like new." But the bag of flour she'd touched plopped over unceremoniously, and more flour spilled onto the floor.
"Go," Remy said, pointing in the direction of the exit. "I'll do it m'self."
"'All alone?" Rogue asked, doubtfully glancing across the room. "Ah don't know, Remy. It looks like it'd take hours for a whole group o' people ta straighten this out, Ah can't imagine how long it'd take a slow movin' Cajun boy like you."
"If you don't leave right now, I'm gonna use yo' head t' mop it all up."
She frowned at him, but turned to go. Then, she stopped and looked back in his direction. "Ah did have a nice time, Remy." She walked closer, reaching up to ruffle his hair. While she was so close, she whispered quiety, "An' Ah'll give ya this: you do wear flour awfully well." Then, she darted out of the room, as if to avoid seeing his expression.
Remy saw the mess and thought: it was worth it.
Later...
There was an old, thin, redheaded man sitting at the dining room table when Rogue finally got home. He looked up and smiled as she passed him, and extended a pale hand. "Chris Clark." He said, pleasantly.
Rogue looked down at his hand, and then at her gloveless palms. Her gloves were stuffed in her pocket, covered in flour that wouldn't brush off. "Sorry." She responded.
"You must be Rogue." Clark answered with an understanding nod. "Xavier explained you all in detail. It's an honor to meet you, Miss Darkholme."
"Miss Darkholme?" Someone giggled. They both glanced curiously towards the far wall, where Kitty had begun phasing through. "Miss Darkholme." She repeated, shaking her head. "I haven't heard Rogue called that in a long time." The brunette flashed them a grin as she approached, her ponytail bobbing behind her like the wagging tail of a joyful puppy.
"Well, Hello, Miss Pryde."
"Thank you, Sir. And you." Kitty turned her full attention to Rogue. "You have been gone for quite a while. You missed our monthly Chess tournament."
"We don't have a monthly Chess tournament."
"Yes, we do. We started it today. Scott came away champion, of course, but Kurt put up a battle. It was neck and neck until Kurt lost his bishop and then it just fell apart for our fuzzy blue elfin friend."
"Sounds exciting." Clark threw in.
"Oh, it so was." Kitty said. "Anyway, I signed you for the first battle with Scott next month, Rogue. I just thought I'd tell you that now, so you could, you know, throw in a few practice games over the next few weeks. He's tough competition."
"Thank ya, for that." Rogue sighed.
Kitty turned toward Chris Clark. "Rogue's our resident complainer," she informed him. "If you're ever bored, just tell her something stupid or dorky or whatever, and she'll do that whole rolling her eyes, scowling, frowning, I'm-too-good-for this thing. It's so predictable, it's almost fun. For example," Kitty smiled sweetly at the Southerner.
"Rogue," Kitty said.
"Yeah?" Rogue answered, annoyed at with Kitty's ruse, but desperate to not do anything of the things the brunette had accused her of. She kept her face still, almost nice, almost giving the impression of amusement, as though laughter could come bubbling up at any moment.
"I think I'm going to go shell hunting in the middle of the night...in New York."
Chris Clark raised his brow, obviously realizing the absurdity of such a statement.
And Rogue, who recognized the words all too well, bit her tongue. She really should have come up with a better excuse. At the time, of course, she'd been speaking to a distracted Dr. McCoy -he would have nodded and accepted any story she threw out at him- so she hadn't worked very hard on her excuse. Had she known the X-men would all come home, and McCoy would share her story with everyone...well, she would have made sure it considerably more plausible.
"I think we better talk." Kitty said when Rogue failed to react. "Will you excuse us, Mr. Clark?"
"Absolutely." The old gentleman said.
Together, the two girls departed the kitchen. They entered the empty living room, where Kitty Pryde promptly dropped her petite body onto the couch and sighed. "Our old couches were so much more comfortable. Why does everything nice we have wind up on the wrong side of a huge explosion?"
"We're lucky, is all."
"Well... I guess you're not too far off, really. I mean, sure all of our precious belongings are regularly destroyed in battles, accidents, and the occasional temper tantrum, but at least we can afford to always get them replaced."
"Yeah." Rogue sat down at the end of a chair, wondering what Kitty would ask and how much she should tell. Was her concern showing on her face?
"Yeah." Kitty repeated. "So, as I'm sure you realize by now, your excuse was pretty lame. I mean, I pretended to buy it so other people wouldn't start asking questions, but come on. Shell hunting, Rogue? Where exactly does one shell hunt in Bayville?"
"Ah was distracted," Rogue mumbled. "Ah can't even remember sayin' it."
"Right. I understand that. Sure." The brunette twirled the ends of her hair. "So... what was so distracting?"
Of all the people Rogue could tell the truth to, Kitty would have to be among the more understanding. Rogue knew this to be a fact; after all, the girl was constantly carrying on her love/hate affair with Lance. And she was nice. Rogue had seen her interacting with a lot of different kinds of people, and the younger girl had a side sweeter than Pixie Sticks. Plus, she would be drawn to the romantic angle -how many times had the brunette been seen absently phasing through walls, her eyes glued to the pages of a cheesy romance novel?
On the other hand, few people had a bigger mouth. Kitty loved her gossip, and she so terrible at keeping secrets. Once, they'd bought a present for Logan for his unbirthday -Kitty's idea, since no one was sure when Logan's actual birthday was. It'd taken an awful lot of secrecy to get the present inside the mansion unnoticed... and the girl had blabbed to Jubilee the next day, not noticing that Logan himself was in hearing range.
And this situation wasn't like a ruined present. There wouldn't be a round of sighs, a few rolled eyes, a couple of laughs, and then a happy ending. If the X-men found out Rogue had lied about her whereabouts, especially during a time of potential crisis, there'd be a lot of inquires. Possibly punishments for her, and news would spread to Magneto's charges, where Remy would get in trouble as well. She had more than herself to consider.
And she couldn't take that kind of the risk. "Ah just needed ta clear mah head, Kitty. Ah needed ta be alone."
"And...today?"
"Ah just found out mah best friend was actually mah evil mother. Ah may be from Mississippi, but Ah ain't used ta this talk show garbage. So if Ah need ta get away, an' be on mah own... Can't ya just let me?"
Kitty looked so regretful, Rogue wished she hadn't been so convincing. The younger girl bit her nail and looked down at the ground. "Gee, Rogue. I didn't even think about that. I almost forgot about Risty. I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Rogue sighed. "Ah'm sorry too. Ah think Ah made it sound worse than it was."
"No. You're totally right." Kitty answered back. "I'm always complaining about my lack of privacy but here I am being all nosy. But... if you ever need back up, you know, someone who saw you shell hunting... you can always count on me."
Rogue smiled. "Thanks. Ah appreciate that." She stood up and yawned. "Ah'm really hungry now. Ah think Ah'll go back an' get somethin' ta eat."
"There's the number for Tony's on the refrigerator. He delivers." Kitty suggested, as Rogue started to walk away.
"No. Ah don't think they'll be open the rest o' the night."
Notes, Unpersonal:
1. I've got no idea what telephone numbers are like in New York. Considered looking it up, felt too lazy. Sorry.
2. I've tried desperately hard to keep the continuity between this chapter and the previous four. Forgive mistakes, please?
3. Five O' Clock Somewhere is a song. I didn't write it. I didn't sing it. Thus, I do not own it.
4. Sorry it's been a year.
5. Really, really sorry.
6. Please review? PLEASE REVIEW? As I mentioned, Five O' Clock Somewhere is a song. As a (not so) clever ploy to bring in reviews, I'm offering this: First person who tells me who sings the song gets to pick out the place where they meet in the next chapter (which will be coming soon! Not because I've become trustworthier, but because I wrote one really, really long chapter and split in half. All that's missing is the Rogue/ Remy meeting). You can fill in as much detail as you like. And hey, offer your suggestions anyway, and you'll probably see them soon enough. I need ideas!
Notes, Individual (a.k.a., Eileen reminds people that they once left her reviews and begs them to come back):
yagirl123, Yumiko, Rogue Warrior Spirit, Makura Konekocool-chick-rae, nessie6, Lady Dragon, IloveJamesK, Ashes Forgotten, samson, Kanshisha Tenshi, Rogue77, Weeble Wobble Chic, Aro, coldqueen, GambitsAceCard, Your Worshipfulness, Gothic Cajunno, .58forbluemornings, Steph Silverstar: I love you all. I mean, I wouldn't marry you or anything (I'm saving that for the Gambit clone I'm working on in the lab) but certainly you have my everlasting gratitude and loyalty. Thank you so much!
ME: thank you for the food! And the review!
Ish: I know you thought the shell-hunting thing was lame. Hell, I thought the shell-hunting thing was lame (hence, the explanation in this chapter about the odd excuse). It's been confirmed, I am alive, and you (sadly) can't write uber mushy endings to all my fics. Although I've seen your writing, and your taking over might be an upgrade, though not entirely an ubermushy one! You like angst! I like angst too; it's just difficult for me to write angst well. I struggle. Oh, and he didn't just deliver the note! It was hidden, ha HA! Just don't ask me how it's gonna happen next time. Oh, and yay! I love my spiffiest redezvous note award. I'll treasure it always.
Flyby Stardancer: Read the fic! It was cool, thanks a bunch for the review.
Jean, Ororo, Rogue, and Kurt: As do I.
Mic Mic: You probably know this by now, but Remy LeBeau is Gambit's real name. Peter (Piotr) is Collosus. Thanks!
Rogue Star: Um...do you call a year a long time between updates? Thanks!
Neurotic Temptress: I hate you. You haven't updated your story! Glad you liked Besty, my greatest fear is that people will hate the fic because I brought in non-Evo characters! Well, it's not my greatest fear, but certainly, it's high on the list. Thanks!
Z: I'm always honored that people take the time to review my story, and even more honored that they actually find something they like. People like you make the world (or at least my world) go 'round. Thank you.
Anda: Thank you! I love your reviews.
Leena LeBeau: why thank you, I like the coconuts. :)
Geminidragon: Will the Guild make an appearance? I dunno yet... what do you think, should they?
fallenangel99: You know, some times I wonder if I should let Rogue and Remy be together... I mean, obviously there's something to be said about tearing them apart in vicious, mean ways, or else the comic book people wouldn't do it so often. What's that you say? That's just stupid of them? Oh. Well, then I guess I'll have to let myself be the judge. And you guys! Review! Thanks!
Goddess Evie: You suggested a young psychotic morph? Hmm... Well, we'll have to see. All kinds of things could happen. If you review, that is. No review, no promises! Please review again! Thank you!
Rogue4787: I glad you like my ideas. I try to make situations that could actually happen. Well, in this fic, any way. And maybe the pasta thing was a stretch, I dunno. What do you think? Thanks for the review!
Kazzeh Sodapop, Roguie89, me, Dinniam, Solitaire3, Valthraema: You all had questions, comments, accusations, pitchforks to throw at me, and compliments for my last chapter and I have only two things to say in response: One, if I told you everything that's gonna happen, would you still come back? And two, please have all those things for me again!
Lady Farevay, PomegranateQueen: Why do people keep telling me it's been so long since I've last updated? it's only been a few weeks, hasn't it? Wait a minute, what's that tiny writing at the bottom of my calendar... that doesn't say 2003, does it? Oh my God! It's been a whole year? No one changed the calender page? My goodness, that sure explains a lot. Will you come back and review again anyway?
Tigerjade: Trust me on this: I know what computer problems are like. I actually had a version of this story on the computer that went kaput. It was like, halfway done and suddenly I'd lost everything, including my other WIP. Thank you for your review!
If I forgot your name, just tell me and you'll get a prize.
Forget sharing! Reviewing is Caring! Questions? Comments? Coconuts? You know where to find me.
