First off I apologise for taking so long in posting this chapter---my computer seriously fked up and I lost everything (apart from this chapter thankfully, I had it saved on floppy) so I haven't been able to connect to the internet for quite some time. I hope you haven't all lost interest, I'm still committed to the story!
Sincere thanks to all who reviewed (nope, I don't work for Marvel, Roberta...honest! I seriously wish I did though, lol!) and welcome aboard to turtle doves' sister---hope you enjoy the rest of the story as much :)
Unfortunately Mary Dianna, I can't send you the rest of the story as even though it has been thoroughly plotted since the beginning I'm never more than one chapter ahead of what has already been posted (which is a good bloody job in light of what happened to my computer!). But thank-you for the request anyway---I did try to e-mail you to let you know after I received your review but it kept on getting returned as undelivered.
Once again, thanks for your patience, M'iko, xx
Translation
Chienne--- bitch
Chapter. 17.
The Rec Room, 8.50am ...
"Listen up everybody," Scott's stern yet somehow more casual-than-usual voice cut through the ambling conversations and dull T.V. murmur of the rec room that by now had become the unofficial staff room for the Institute 'employees', if one could call them such, "ten minutes—everyone in the War Room."
"We know Scott," Jean said as she looked up from the latest Westchester Post she held aloft, with a hint of humour at her husband's incurable proclivity for reminding people when meetings were due—as if any of them were likely to forget. Warren, Hank and the newly returned trio of Emma, Jean-Paul and Alex from a talking tour of East-coast schools and colleges, paid him no mind at all. Arrogance and, or, familiarity, depending on the X-Man, had made them immune to it.
"Okay," he replied from the doorway with a gruff clearing of his throat; a slightly fidgety, disconcerted air to his manner at being reminded of his habitualness. Emma's cool glacial look bore into him from the table behind the sofa where she was enjoying a quiet coffee with his younger brother and Northstar, making her smile slyly; ice diamond lips sparkling. But he was thankful that there was no characteristically pithy or deadpanned comment to follow.
He was about to continue on down the hallway, intending to remind the remaining members, Kurt and Bobby, refereeing yet another school basketball match—now seeming to have superseded the former X-choice of baseball—when Jean called to grab his attention, "Oh Scott."
He ducked back into the alcove of the doorway, gripping at the moulded side, "What?"
"Has anyone told Kurt about what's happened yet?" she asked as she turned around to practically kneel on the sofa in order to face him properly, snagging down her jade cotton skirt.
Scott reluctantly shook his head as he came into the room, stopping just before the place where his wife sat, right next to a completely oblivious Hank McCoy; his sapphire feline eyes fixed on a Discovery Channel documentary about advanced biomedical engineering whilst he sipped at what was already his third cup of Peruvian black-been coffee of the day, only three hours past dawn.
"No," he finally verbalised, "Not that I know of, unless Charles has already talked with him."
Jean's sharp ruby eyebrows creased as she lowered her eyes; not relishing the thought of telling him if no-one else had mustered the courage too, as Ororo had suggested last night. Then again, perhaps Storm already had informed him; as one of the closest members of the team to him now present at the mansion, and being as Logan wasn't around right now. And seen as she knew all of the details about what had happened, perhaps it would have been best for her to break the unhappy news, "Maybe Ororo's told him," she hypothesised with a sturdy if vaguely uncertain nod.
"Maybe Ororo has told who what?"
Both husband and wife froze for a moment; that trade mark German accent only corporeally accompanied when they both turned sharply to the doorway to see the furry blue elf stood; non-descript purple and red basketball shirt hanging from his chest, the rough orange ball tucked in complementary contrast to his colouring underneath his left arm and a small gaggle of exhausted students hanging around behind him. Some Jean recognised from her classes, some Scott could place from his; the others like Angel and Beak, infamous around the entire school. There were so many of them around these days, it would be impossible to know them all individually.
Scott and Jean simply looked at each other, searching for an answer in jade and guarded eyes.
"Kurt," the red-head eventually said through a suddenly dry throat, "...there's something you should know..."
The Attic, twenty minutes earlier ...
The first thing Ororo was aware of was the smile upon her lips, then the warming bright rays of the sun casting down on her face, bathing her with glorious rejuvenation. She could feel the dip in the bed; the alien sense of somebody else between her sheets...alien, but pleasant... She smiled even more, her heart pounded that little bit faster, a fluctuation of panic...Opening her eyes slowly she began to turn, feeling herself falling into the subtle groove, but as she turned she was surprised to see the other side of the bed empty, just a body shaped hollow there to great her. Hitching herself onto her elbows, Ororo pulled the sheet up to cover her as her brow knitted softly in confusion.
"Remy?" she called out quietly, met only by an undetermined silence, backed by a soft twitter from beyond the room. Unthinkingly she ran her hand over the area of the bed he had occupied. Still warm... "Remy?" she tried again, waiting for just a moment before pulling her self out of bed and slipping into the silk dressing gown that matched her discarded chemise, dressing her nakedness as she headed for the door. Stealthily she moved off the narrow attic stair case and swiftly down the hallway; just a minute to get to where she was going. And as she came to his room she did not bother to knock, but instead entered quickly---the slight shift of her robe whispering down the corridor like an apparition there and then gone as quickly---the door closed silently behind her...
The smoke hissed from his lips, billowing against the window before it rose...He leaned against the cold pane as it gradually began to warm up under the primary stars heat. His strange eyes did not observe the quite landscape that sprawled out before him, nor did he register the dull click of the door...The last twenty-four hours had been terrible yet so wonderful too. But distinguishing the gradation between the two had Remy's mind scrambled. What constituted the exemplary parts? He took another drag and sighed his exhale; by now his whole form cloaked in an ethereal-like veil.
He tried his best not to think of everything they'd left behind in New Orleans---he felt so powerless to do anything about it and that angered him. He'd gone there, against his better judgement to help and only proceeded to help in making things worse. Same old, same old, the cynic in him chanted. The times in the past when he'd gotten involved---every one had ended badly. This had been no exception. They had been all but chased out of town when the dust had settled---the disparate factions of both Clans swearing vengeance for another day, too badly hit to settle the score where they stood. If he'd been alone he would have stayed, faced it out. He was tired of running from these people when the going got tough, but with Ororo there, injured as she was, it was impossible. The one thing he'd sworn solemnly to himself from the start was that he wouldn't let Ororo get hurt...and that was exactly what had happened. Ororo... to her his thoughts turned surreptitiously, achingly...
"Merde," he whispered covertly, "What mess you get yaw'self int' dis time Remy LeBeau?" The chastisement was accompanied by a shake and bow of his head as he thought over everything as rationally as he could. He loved her...he'd fallen in love with his Stormy. And no matter how much he wanted to believe, did she feel the same? He thought, he hoped, he prayed she did. But more paramount than that was one other question, nagging at him, refusing him any semblance of peace. Did he deserve her?...All he knew now was that he wanted to make her happy, if he could. And he was damn sure that he was going to try...if she let him. But what did trying matter? What did it matter if he wasn't sure she was committed to anything?...Yes, they had slept together, but that stood for nothing in the great scheme of things...the heartache passed, the expression in the tunnel back at Yolocan-Uato, what had flowed from he to she...In truth he could be certain of nothing, for nothing had been truly declared. It was the most odd thing for him too feel. Had he ever been so uncertain, with anyone? He doubted it. And the uncertainty had nothing to do with reluctance...more fear. He inhaled and exhaled again with a deep exhausted sigh. Clouded.
"Something on your mind?"
Remy's heart all but jumped out of his chest but he managed not to let it show; remaining perfectly still, not even turning his head to look at her. He simply listened, carefully, astutely to the tread of her coming closer to him; the drum of his heart not letting up, indeed speeding up until he felt it truly would burst as she laid her hands upon him. Easily they glided up his smooth chest as she pushed her body to his; just tall enough to rest her chin upon his shoulder to look out over the mist-kissed rolling fields. "Up to your old tricks again, I see," she murmured playfully into his ear.
"Hum?"
"Making yourself conspicuously scarce."
He laughed warmly along with her, taking hold of her hands that clasped loosely over his heart with his free one. "Jus' t'ought you mighta wan'ed some space, dat's all."
"Space?" she asked lightly as she tilted her head around to try and gauge his expression, but he looked steadfastly ahead. "What made you think that?"
He shrugged gently, but didn't answer---he didn't know how to answer that without giving the game away. And that's exactly what it was he thought to him self with a slight hint of anger...a game. It was all a game. Had he the guts to cut the bullshit and stop playing?
Ororo was confused by his reluctance to answer; a tendril of dread snaking through her, a slow creeping vine... Then a thought came to her, "Are you worried about your father?" As she said the words she felt him flinch slightly; his rough hand squeezing hers a little tighter.
Remy paused for a moment; being pushed back to his former train of thought about his father and the mess that they'd left behind. The mess they'd had no other choice than to leave behind. "Yah, bu' he'll be okay," he turned around, enveloping her in his arms as he had last night, her sheer beauty overwhelming..."Physically at least...he'll be okay. Dat chienne didn' hit nuhddin vital, thank fuck. But as for de Guild...," he shook his head, "I dunno chère."
When Storm noted the genuine concern evident in his face and tone her heart went out to him completely. No matter what happened or what he voiced to the contrary, he'd always love the man who raised him, he wasn't cold hearted enough to cut him off completely. Everything they'd been through over the past couple of weeks had shown her that. Not that she didn't already know that..."What will happen now?" she asked, "With the Guilds, I mean."
He tilted his head back and drew in a deep breath before looking down at her with a bereft shake, "I dunno, but dis is bad, real bad...I got de distinct feelin' dis could lead t' an' all-out war between de Clans. Someone's gonna have t' take de fall fo' dis cock-up."
Ororo nodded, her face falling into the same concerned expression as Gambit's, "And Jean-Luc's Clan is the one most likely to pay for it, I suppose."
Remy shrugged, "Mebbe," he said, "Remy t'inks it gonna be much worse dan dat. De Santiago Guild is gonna 'ave t' answer to de uddahs dey were in cahoots wit'...man, Mystique fucked dem over big time. She knew exactly what she was doin'...dis wasn't a run o' de mill job fo' her." His brow creased as he thought things over, trying desperately to understand her motivation, her grudge perhaps. But why a grudge, unless... "She wanted t' destroy de Guilds...she wuz workin' by design."
"But why would she go to so much trouble?" Ororo asked, "What would she have had to gain by destroying the Thieves Guild?"
Remy raised an eyebrow as he fixed her in a steady gaze, "You fo'get chère---de woman's fo' hire," he huffed a wry laugh as he looked off into the middle distance, "Or at leas' she was." Now that time had passed he was in two minds about his earlier assumption. Could she really be dead after all? Was that possible?
"So you except that she's gone then?" Ororo said with a knowing smile.
"Mebbe," he replied begrudgingly, "But it's at times like dis I wish you'd o' let me get rid of her in dat hospital," he looked completely serious; a grave air about him as he spoke with utter conviction, "After what she did t' Rogue an' Moira." The dark fall of his angular features was almost frightening.
Storm stood up tall automatically, her natural grace telling as she unconsciously pushed her shoulders back, "But that would have made you a cold-blooded murderer," she told him with the clarity of crystal, "and I was not about to stand around and let that happen...not to somebody I care so deeply about."
Remy smiled down at her softly, pulling her into a snug embrace, the tenderness of her against him like this sending him to seventh heaven. It took all his will power not to simply throw her to the ground and take her again. Instead he settled for some heartfelt words, "Yo' mah Angel, you know dat?" She simply gazed at him with the utmost modesty. "I wouldn' be half de man if it weren't fo' you petit. I hate t' t'ink where I'd be, an who I'd be if you hadn' come int' mah life when you did."
"You give me too much credit Remy," she said softly as she cupped his face, running her hand along his strong jaw line in wonder, "You are a better man than you think you are. Look at what you have just done for your 'family'?" she said, amazed that he still retained so low an opinion, "Did they deserve it?" she said rhetorically, "No, but you did what you felt was right regardless."
"I guess..." he said reluctantly.
"You made sure that Mattie was okay, you helped your father," she insisted gently, "you did everything you could to make things right amongst bad men, when it was not your responsibility."
"I may 'ave, but I doubt it's done much good in de long run---dey're still gonna tare dem selves apart over dis, an' if I hadn't o' tried t' run wit' it---."
"Mystique would have done what she did no matter what course of action we took. Whether we knew it or not, the whole thing was out of our hands before---."
"An' den we're back t' where we started," he interrupted in turn, "If I'd done what needed t' be done in de firs' place," he reiterated, referring again to his attempt to assassinate the assassin, "none o' dis woulda 'appened."
Ororo looked down and shook her head in dismay, "And then you would have been a killer and the Guilds would have gotten their hands on an object that could have caused worldwide devastation simply to destroy the Assassins. Would that have been preferable?" She broke away from his hold on her, her irritation building despite her notorious calm.
"Dis was a no-win situation, Remy realises dat chère," he tried to appease, re-establishing his contact with by holding steadily to her arms. The last thing he wanted now was to start an argument with her. The situation was fragile enough... "Let's not fight abou' dis girl," he pleaded as he drew her to him again, dropping his neglected cigarette into an old beer can that sat idly on the windowsill behind him; bent like a cripple and rusting around the silver top.
The Windrider let her self be pulled back into their former embrace, enjoying the tighter hold he made. "Alright, we will not fight about this," she acquiesced, but a somewhat mischievous look lit her pretty features, "So long as you agree to something for me?"
Remy gave her a playfully sceptical look, narrowing his dark eyes at her, "Oh yeah, an' what would dat be, mon chère?" He gave her a playful squeeze, jerking her against him and making her laugh as his hands slyly set about gathering up her skill dressing gown.
"That," she replied as she reached behind her for his exploring hands, pushing up her garment until it exposed her buttocks, which he took great pleasure in fondling, "...would be you," she continued quietly, brushing her lips against his mouth teasingly, "going back to the medi-lab later, so that Hank can check you over properly." He grumbled half-seriously but was soon sated by Ororo's deep and longing kiss, prompting him to grope at her as she hooked her arms about his neck, enjoying the tender pleasure. His large hands ran down her bare thighs before clasping again at her rear. She rocked her hips towards him in response, hooking her leg over his to allow him closer to her. Remy took the invitation with gusto, grasping at her hair with a raised hand, delving his tongue with true zeal whilst holding firmly to her raised leg. Hoisting her up from the ground, the Cajun carried her over to his bed not more than five yards away. After everything, he couldn't resist. He laid her down on the ruffled sheets of his bed, his doubts melting like the polar ice cap... But still, his thief's keen awareness soon told him that there was a sense of apprehension in the way she clutched at his neck, a creeping demur in her kiss as he settled between her legs, resting on his elbows and cupping her head in his hands.
"Somet'in' wrong?" he asked quietly, pecking softly at her lips, not yet daring to hold her sapphire eye.
She simply shook her head at first as her fingers took up occupation with a stray lock of auburn hanging down from the rest safely tucking behind his ear, "No..." she fairly breathed with the whisper of the breeze, before looking him straight in the eye.
"You sure? 'Cause you seem a li'll...I dunno...edgy."
"I am not edgy," she answered plainly as she swallowed down, focusing on her slim dark fingers letting his straight hair run through their gaps like water over rocks; twirling it around, down, over and back in again, snagging slightly on the chipped ends of ruined fingernails. The distracted action didn't inspire the greatest of confidence.
"'Roro," he began hesitantly, dropping his gaze down to the length of her neck before daring himself to look back. Under the intense pressure of his stare she finally looked away from her playful engagement, thrown by the seriousness of his bearing, "... 'Roro, if...if you t'ink dis is a mistake," his heart was racing, all of his courage poured into such uncharacteristic openness, "if you be havin' second t'oughts 'bout dis—'bout us—den Remy'd understand." He fought not to bite his lip at the blatant lie, regretting the words even as they tumbled darkly from his mouth. Hoping she'd be able to see straight through him, like she always did.
Ororo's fingers stopped, frozen...slowly dropping back down to a gentle clasp about his neck as she felt his hands ridged against her waist and left thigh. She sucked in a breath, "Remy—."
knock knock knock
They both looked across the room over to the door, but didn't move to disestablish their compromising embrace. "Remy?" It was Bobby. "You up yet, you slacker?"
"Yah," he shouted back, focusing back onto Ororo, "Jus' give me a min'ue, mon frère."
"Alright, but Scott wanted everyone in the War Room, like, yesterday," his dulled voice began to recede as his muffled footfall carried on down the hallway. "I'd make it snappy if I were you, he seems real pissed about somethin'..." His words trailed of as the high-pitched ping of the lift door sounded and the shifting of it opening and closing concluded the conversation with a succinctness.
"We should go," Ororo said quickly as she made to sit up, confident that there was now no-one to hear her presence in Remy's room.
Remy rocked himself back onto his feet in order to let her get up but then quickly sat down again; plonking himself on the edge of the bed whilst he watched her frantically straightening herself up, needlessly pulling the creases from her loose silk gown.
Lightly clasping his hands between his parted knees he waited until she'd finished; running her hands quickly through her hair to flatten its ruffled back, making him remember with a smile and a pang the way she'd looked as she lay on his chest with endearing bedroom hair... It had only been hours but it felt to him a lifetime ago. "'Roro—."
"We will talk later," she pre-empted as she headed for the door as if intent to leave a burning room as swiftly as she could. But then she stopped at the door and finally looked back at him, "I promise." And with that, she left; closing the door as quietly as possible behind her.
Remy watched the vacant space of her departure for a moment, not knowing what to feel or what to make of that little display. He'd had a lot of women in his time and considered himself something of an expert in the international language of mixed signals. But with Storm? For once this Casanova was well and truly stumped.
"Women," he grumbled to him self as he flopped back onto his bed, flinging his arms over his head and let out a bemused sigh.
The War Room, 9.20am...
"... and that is about the long and short of it," Ororo finished, explaining as accurately as she could the events of the previous night; their apprehension at Mattie's shack, the explosive events at the Notre Dame Cemetery. Without the antagonism of their return to interrupt, Storm managed to fill in the rest of the team with swift ease. The windowless subterranean room was filled with a contemplative hush, only interrupted by the soft swish of the parting entrance doors as the final X-Man deigned the rest with his presence, twenty minutes late.
"Okay, so everyone's finally here," Scott said from the centre edge of the circular table as he kept a stolid eye on Remy sauntering casually in, a cigarette hanging from the curved corner of his mouth. Everyone looked briefly up as he sat down, but he ignored them, making contact with only one; the white-haired Goddess. She managed a small smile from where she sat next to Scott, almost directly opposite the Cajun. But that was all---she appeared in every other respect as business like as ever; calm and concentrated.
Scott took to his seat, satisfied enough to relax a little. The Professor flanked his other side, looking more than happy to let his designated X-leader and next in line to take over the Principles role at the Institute, take charge of the situation. It was as if he was there to observe and no more, Remy noted in his more lax demeanour.
"Now we got de 'Dr Strangelove' love set-up," Remy deadpanned as he plucked out his cigarette and pointed lazily at the over head lighting of the round table, shooting down a conical brightness over the arranged gathering, "is dis de part were de interrogation starts, hien? Shouldn' me an' Stormy be in shackles or somet'in'?" he smirked and mimicked having his hands tied to the chair behind his back, "lights shinin' in our faces, all dat?" He flicked off the bending column of ash onto the floor and brought the mottled filter back to his eager lips; earning him nothing more than a icy look from Emma---but he was used to that, just like everyone else was accustomed to her glacial 'charms'. He flashed her a lascivious grin, guaranteed to get the haughty toff on her uppers, but in a rare show of restraint she simply turned away from him, albeit with a flourish of golden hair and a petulant folding of her arms over her uncharacteristically modest white polo top.
Scott exhaled audibly with tired annoyance, laying his hands on the edge of his chairs arms, gripping their edges lightly, "There won't be any need for interrogations LeBeau. In your---absence," he stated rather sarcastically, "Ororo has kindly brought us up to speed."
"Goodie," Remy replied petulantly through a cloud of smoke, "So what's de problem?"
"The problem," Emma spoke up, not even bothering to bestow Remy with a spare glance as she addressed him, "is that as much as it sickens us, we may have to agree with you on something. A terribly rare situation, so I wouldn't get too used to it if I were you."
"No kiddin', he replied with a self-satisfied smile regardless as he turned pointedly in his swivel chair, interlinking his fingers and leaning his elbows out on his chair with a cocky air as his smoke hung from the upturned corner of his mouth once more, "What's dis den, mon chèrie?"
"Mystique," she said the name of the vaunted foe begrudgingly. "From what Miss Munroe here has told us," she made a particular accentuation of the singularity... "most of us would agree with your point of view---we doubt very much that the proverbial 'pain in the arse' is gone for good. Intergalactic warfare, assassinated by a Shi'ar Gladiator, taken down by one of the pitiful crop we dare call X-Men at this moment, but a car crash? A mere accident?" The White Queen coolly arched a perfectly plucked blonde eyebrow, ignoring her comrades' indignant yet unsurprised looks at being labelled a 'pitiful crop', "I'm afraid that fate would not have us be so fortuitous. We've been caught off-guard by this kind of thing too many times before. " Somewhere in the back ground Jean muttered the collective pronoun 'we've' under her breath with more than a little bitterness. She was not the only one present that still retained issues with Frost's presence on the team and her presumptuousness, as if she'd always been a part of them.
"Hmph," he cocked his head as he looked across the table at Ororo, "at leas' someone agrees wit' me."
"I thought you said I was probably right," Storm countered with a steely gaze cutting swathes across the table, "about Mystique."
Remy shrugged and drew again on his cigarette; three quick draws in succession. "Like I said chère...mebbe."
"Any chance we could leave the lover's tiff until afterwards?" Frost couldn't help but take the opportunity. A telepath as skilled as she was could hardly miss it, just as the Phoenix hadn't. Phosphorous flared dynamite.
"Cut it out Emma," Jean cut in resolutely, glaring at the woman who had been doing her best to destroy her marriage with all the fiery distain she could muster; a task that came unsurprisingly easy. A tension burdened silence purveyed for a moment, with the blond and the redhead holding duelling looks from their opposite ends; a deadlock of wills that was only interrupted by the ever-present voice of reason.
"This can be easily settled, my X-Men." Scott, Ororo, Remy, Bobby, Emma, Alex, Jean, Hank, Warren, Jean-Paul and Kurt all turned to their mentor. He looked strangely formidable under the blackened shadow cast by the over head spot-lighting, night black hollows for deeply bagged eyes, liquid darkness creeping down the thick gullies about his mouth and cheeks; but with no more oozing gravitas than usual, no more than was expected.
"How?"
"Cerebra," he stated assuredly.
The White Queen scoffed with light derision, "I thought you always told us the shape-shifter was impossible to trace---even with that contraption."
Xavier smiled, somewhat slyly, "Almost, my dear, almost."
"So you could find her?" The hope in the German's voice was evident, despite everything. He simply could not disguise it. He'd been sat there the whole time, silent as a mute, shell-shocked...a balled hand over his mouth, a distant land in his vacant sallow eyes beneath his deeply folded brow. He'd held the look ever since Jean had told him. The woman was a monster, yes—a thief, a murderer, a fiend, a gun-for-hire...but she was his mother. One with such compassion as his could not abandon her to a condemned existence, no matter how much she may have deserved it. He refused to believe, for very much other reasons than his colleagues currently held onto, that she was really gone. "If she's not..." The young European couldn't bring him self to say the word.
Charles turned to Kurt, all the sympathy of a father in his eyes, "If she is not dead, then I will find her," he reassured him, "it is in all of our interests to locate her...for if she is not dead, then that means the Carcoccia is not gone either. And god knows what that would precipitate."
"A fuckin' shit-storm, dat's what, mon braves," Remy said darkly, swivelling back and forth in his chair by virtue of his long outstretched legs, crossed casually at the ankle; his manner deceptively easy, as always, "'ow long do you t'ink it would take t' find 'er, homme?"
Xavier took his 'prayer-joined' hands from his mouth to answer, leaning back from the table, "Usually?...two or three days---four at most."
"Then for want of any better plan, that's what should happen," Scott consolidated as he stood from his chair, signalling an unexpectedly swift end to the meeting. "Charles will search for Mystique and in the meanwhile everything continues as normal, okay?" he glanced over the gathering, "Or as normal as it gets around here," he added under his breath.
Remy was silently surprised by Scott's sudden casualness considering his agitation on the previous night---but then again that was simply the Summers up-tightness personified; you could never be quite sure which way it would swing.
"Is that all then?" Jean-Paul asked with barely disguised irritation, "Is that all we were called here for?" An impatient man as he was, he had better things to be doing with his time than wasting it here.
"Yes, I guess," Scott replied lightly, "If there are any developments, the Professor or I will let you know."
Remy couldn't help but grin as he exhaled the last of his cigarette and stumped it out on the edge of the gleaning metalic table, a blossom of orange sparks spurting underneath the black dead crushed stump; again much to the disgust of Emma. "Den we're adjourned from dis li'll...meetin'?"
After a hardened pause Cyclops answered, "Yeah," albeit begrudgingly so.
"But what about the Guilds," Iceman asked, always loving the act of throwing a spanner in the works when things appeared to be going too smoothly, "Aren't they kinda pissed at how this has all turned out?"
Remy had gotten up from his chair, already heading for the door with steady strides, but he soon span sharply on his right foot to face his questioner. "If so, den dat will be mah problem t' deal wit'," the ebony of his eyes seemed to darken, if such a thing were possible, the treacly husk of his voice dropping an octave or several, "...won' it?"
The previously cocky X-original suddenly took a sheepish turn, shrinking back into the leather bound seat that seemed at that point to overwhelm him, "Yeah man, whatever." He splayed his hands up as a functionary sign of defeat as Gambit turned on his heal and walked out of the War Room, muttering something in Cajun under his breath and feeling the whole meeting had been a complete waste of time; more an exercise in Scott Summers proving a point than anything else.
"Jeez," Bobby whispered as he shifted to the side, leaning into Hank, "What crawled up his ass and died?"
Hank shook his head, pinching the thumb and digit of his paw-like hands to the bridge of his nose beneath the joining arch of his glasses, "Ah Robert," he sighed, "you are the very definition of tact and urbanity, as always." He looked down at his close friend with a sarcastically arched brow.
Bobby laughed. "Hey man, that's me---the picture of civility!"
As individual conversations sprung up around the group, it didn't take long for Storm to follow Remy from the room, her own concerns spurring her, but not before an affectionate inquiry. "Are you okay Kurt?" She laid a firm hand on his shoulder as she stopped beside him.
"Ja, Ororo." Nightcrawler stared blankly ahead whilst he answered her, lost in his own world, "Danke."
"If you need to talk, then you know where to find me."
"Ja...danke," he repeated; his countenance was that of a zombie. Storm wasn't sure that he'd truly taken everything in. He'd looked ghastly from the moment he came into the room. So much had happened to him in recent months, so many revelations. This was the last thing he needed to deal with right now. But for all her true and genuine concern for her dearly loved friend as she looked up and caught sight of Remy's retreating back disappearing into the artificial brightness of the hallway her mind turned to other things.
"I will come to see you later Kurt," she told him absently as she moved off from the table, ignoring the resumption of idle chatter around her as she followed Gambit into the corridor.
"Remy," she called as she came through the doors, "wait."
The tall X-Man stopped abruptly, his sneaker squeaking against the white tiled flooring with a high-pitched echo. "What is it, chère?" He didn't bother to turn.
Ororo's words froze for a moment, cast arctic by the tone of his voice. "What was that all about?"
"What was what?" He poked his tongue into his cheek, begrudgingly turning to face her.
"That in there---goading Scott," she said manifestly as she flung a finger towards the War Room before folding her arms over her chest, leaning her weight easily into her right hip. "Why were you being so...?"
"So wha'?" He walked towards her determinedly, halting a foot or two away, unconsciously mirroring the folding of her arms; the posture somewhat defensive. His bangs fell down heavily, casting his face in shadow.
Ororo suddenly laughed with bitter resignation, touching a hand to her forehead as if she were struck by some ailment, "By the Goddess..." she muttered towards the ground before flinging her head up to catch him rock hard eyes, the shift in her demeanour throwing him momentarily off guard. "What is wrong with you Remy?" she asked coldly, genuinely, "Do you always have to do this?"
Remy pulled his head back in confusion, "What de hell are you---?"
"---trying to get on the wrong side of people, just for the hell of it!" her voice began to rise despite her attempts to stem it; the tide unstoppable, "Strolling in there like you had not a care in the world!" She stopped suddenly, taking stock of her self with a deep calming breath. At this point Remy just watched, a little too stunned to say anything. Half turning away from him, the Windrider shook her head slightly as she continued in a more sedate manner, almost at a whisper, "Quite frankly Remy, the whole thing is getting rather old. I mean it---it---," she stammered over her words in her rapidly returning ire, "---ever since you returned to the mansion your flippant and rather baffling attitude has gotten worse." She turned back to face him fully, met by an unflinching stone wall. "At first...at first I thought it was because of your powers---that you felt lost without them, and I could sympathise with that. But now...now I am not so sure. From the moment we came back, to that 'charming' display in there---things have not changed..." Her diatribe finally petered out and oddly, she felt a wave of relief, as if the stress of everything that had happened to them had poured out in one direction; the release of a damn fit to bursting point. The corridor seemed empty without the weighty force of her words to fill it.
"You finished?"
Ororo glared at him...
"You sure?"
She almost cracked a smile...
"Aw, now, come on chère, you know dat's no' fair," he tilted his head to her, playing the wounded puppy for all its worth, "Scott was actin' like a dick las' nigh', an you know it."
Ororo looked at him square and simply sighed, "That as may be, but how does that explain the way you were behaving just then, hmm?" She paused, genuinely waiting for an answer, at least for him to other some semblance of explanation; her patience tested. This had been the last thing she'd expected to explode from her when she'd rushed out after him and now the sprawling embarrassment of the outburst was crawling over her like the smothering ivy that embraced the house. Perhaps all this had gotten to her more than she'd bargained; bad memories, bad experience...
Remy huffed a laugh and turned out his palms to profess innocence, "Remy was jus' havin' some fun Stormy," he reached down, fidgeting about in the pockets of his thread-bare cut off jeans, trying to get a quick handle on the rectangle bulge that strained against his left thigh, "it won' nuhddin' serious. Jésus! Ain't a guy allowed t' 'ave a sense o' humour around 'ere no more?" he finished somewhere between light irritation and nervous laughter as he pulled the red Marlborough packet from his jeans and yanked out a smoke with an overbearing gesture.
She didn't wait for him to light up, only wanting to walk away from that place right now---gain some space and perspective on the stupidity of it all. As she began to move away from him she wanted to kick herself, wishing she'd left it a little longer, regretting everything she'd just said to him...regretting them for their truth, if nothing else.
"Hey, hey," he crushed the slim white stick into the palm of his hand, reaching out for her with the other, "I'm sorry, okay?" he turned her to him, "Remy's sorry. Fo'give me fo' still bein' pissed wit' de guy." He gazed at her with unfeigned remorse as he held onto both her arms, lightly, affectionately, "Come on," he almost whispered, "let's no' play no more games, hien? Don' play dumb girl...you know exactly why I'm a bit off righ' now. I mean, what de hell was dat back dere?"
"I am sorry too," she admitted, "I think things have affected us both much more than we would care too---."
"No, no, I didn' mean dat 'Ro," he countered, urging her not to hide behind façades anymore, making his distain for it obvious. Could she not see how much he was putting him self on the line here or did she genuinely have no idea? "Back in mah room...I mean, I know you got more temperature settin's dan a goddamn central heatin' system, but damn 'Ro...dat was jus' cold. What's ol' Remy suppose' t' t'ink, huh? One minu'e you're all over me, de next, you couldn' wait t' get outta dere quick enough. It's no' like I asked you t' be dere---you came down yo'self... 'cause you wan'ed to..."
"No Remy, it was not like that---."
"An' after las' nigh'..." he continued, a little softer now, "jus'...jus' help me out here. I've been pushed from pillar t' post enough 'Ro...I don' need dat from you too."
Ororo felt a rare tear prick her eye but willed it back as she slipped her arms around him, resting her hands on his back, "Oh Goddess..." he held her tighter, encouraging her to respond, "I am sorry Remy---understand, that is the last thing I wanted to do. Believe me," she said gravely, "the absolute last. But still, we can not simply pretend that everything is completely normal. Perhaps we would have done better to talk last night, instead of..." she looked up at him and laughed quietly under her breath, as did he before taking her chin gently into his fingers. He could have sworn he'd seen the slight pique of a blush in her dark cheeks.
"Bu' let's face it," he said, his drawl dropping deep as he lowered his mouth close to hers, "de second option wuz by far de mo'e fun choice chère."
"Stop it..." she chided with a dulcet laugh, quieted by the warm pressure of his lips against hers. She instantly yielded to a kiss that deepened unexpectedly; her stomach fluttering and pulse racing with all the force of a flash flood as he embraced her harder, an unruly hand finding its way into her hair. It was as if the fact that they were stood in the middle of a corridor with all their team mates just the other side of the wall had vanished from both of their minds; their want now took precedence. They didn't even take note of the hissing hydraulics and the neat sound of the War Room door sliding open.
"To be honest Hank, I don't think Emma's ever had a sympathetic bone in---oh!" Jean stopped dead just outside the door---the look of surprise quickly replaced by the goofiest grin one was ever likely to see.
"Jean, Hank," Ororo said; so cordial, so unflustered that it was almost amusing as she unlinked her self from Remy with minimal fuss and faced her colleagues. Smoothing down her ruffled hair, she glanced at Remy, uttering, "We will talk later," then carried on to the lift around the corner that would take her to the upper levels without another word.
A moment of awkward silence prevailed; Hank and Jean looking anywhere but at Remy; he gazing boldly at them, waiting for the requisite comment.
"I'll---umm---I'll just be going now," Jean stuttered, struggling to suppress the smirk as she whisked past Remy, taking Ororo's path. Oh how she had known she had been right! The increasingly rapid clicking of her heels faded off down the corridor, echoing back fainter to the two men left, culminating in an eager request for Storm to hold the lift door for her.
"Well, hmm, what to say?" Beast comically tipped back and forth onto the heel and ball of his massive feet, his hands clasped behind his back as silent seconds ticked by. He cleared his throat brusquely, "Fancy a trip to the medi-lab? Those powers need checking y'know."
Remy fought a groan of despair at the slue of innuendo that was sure to come. But then he thought, why not get it over with, and trooped off in the other direction from where the girls had gone, followed by a not too discreetly amused Beast.
"Soooo....since when---."
Remy lifted a sharp finger as he carried on forwards, "Shut it homme," he said wearily, "Jus' shut it." Hank just laughed.
-TBC-
I will try to get the next chapter out quicker to make up for the delay that I can't apologise enough for, but I can't promise anything ;)