Disclaimer: "And we arrived late To the wake Stole the urn while they looked away And drove to the beach 'Cause we knew you'd want it that way"
(An: In my experience, funerals are the most awkward things in the world. I'll try not to let that viewpoint show through, though. And mind the "Love Actually" reference in this chapter. I've been watching it a lot lately... There's also a 'Nutter ref. -coughcough-Thankyoufortheacroynm-coughcough-nospoilershere-coughcough-seemyDAjournal-coughcough-)
There were only two coffins at the funeral home. Rogue had spoken for Remy- he'd wanted to be cremated. Neither of them were open, which was a good thing, probably, Kurt thought.
There weren't that many people there. Bobby's parents were present. As Kurt understood, they'd had a falling out with Bobby. He could see the guilt on his father's face, and hear it in his mother's crying.
Erik and Pietro were talking quietly, each avoiding the other's eyes as they spoke of Wanda. Doubtless, they were feeling guilty too.
No family was present for Remy.
The aura of death and depression was cloying in the room. Kurt couldn't shake the feeling that Remy wouldn't have wanted his funeral to be like this- quiet, somber, sad. More than likely Kurt thought, smiling a little, he would've preferred a more cheerful place, with some oddball song playing in the background- "Bye Bye Baby" by the Bay City Rollers, perhaps?
No, he wouldn't have liked this- Kurt quiet, Piotr somber, and especially not Rogue sad.
Then Kurt got a completely mad idea. As he'd noticed, no one was paying much attention to the lonely urn on the table beside the coffins. Most people were paying as little attention to it as possible, really. And there was a similar vase holding some flowers beside the visitor's book. A little sleight of hand and- What am I thinking? Kurt asked himself. Sure, this isn't Remy at all, but that's just nuts!
Kurt looked around the room again. But everyone knew Remy wanted to die in New Orleans... he missed that chance... but I could at least bring him down there...
Kurt facepalmed, muttered something, and then looked around. No one was paying any attention to him. No one was looking at the coffins.
A few minutes later he was walking out, Remy's urn tucked under his arm, singing "Bye bye baby, baby goodbye..."
&&&
Rogue and Piotr had been sitting in adjacent seats for over a half-hour before either of them spoke. Rogue had her chin propped on her fists. She was staring off into space, lost in her own thoughts again. Then, out of the blue, she spoke. "I hate funerals."
Piotr glanced at her, then around to make sure she wasn't talking to someone else. "...Why?"
"Just look at this," said Rogue, gesturing around. "Nobody's talking, nobody's smiling, nobody's doing anything. It's so goddamn depressing!"
"That's the general mood at funerals," Piotr replied.
"Not in the South, it ain't," Rogue replied, sinking into her seat and crossing her arms. She still looked somewhat glad of the distraction, though. "At least at home, people talked!"
"I would not know," Piotr replied. "Remy never told us anything about his home, and I never went to a funeral in Russia."
Rogue replied with a one-armed shrug. "I've been to a lot. But I don't think I've ever felt as sorry for myself as I have at this one." She pressed her palms against her eyes, taking in a hitching breath.
Piotr paused a moment, then put an arm around her shoulders. "Please, don't cry."
"I'm not gonna let myself," she responded, taking slow, deep breaths. "Rem wouldn't have wanted me to."
Piotr bit his lip and tightened his grip on Rogue.
&&&
Sam sighed, running his hands through his hair. The funeral mood was really starting to get to him. Nobody wanted to talk. He seemed to be the only one who did. Bobby had been pretty much his best friend, as well as his roommate- he'd sat up awake all night, because it was damn near impossible for him to sleep without Bobby's snoring in the background.
It was funny, in a "life sucks" kind of way. The one time he actually wanted to talk to Ray or Rob and both of them were as silent as- Sam didn't let himself finish that particular adage. It held too much bearing on the moment.
He groaned (one of the only sounds that wasn't crying) and got up. He left the room, aiming to get some fresh air.
On the way, he passed the coatroom. The door was open a crack, and otherwise, he would've walked right past it. But because it was ajar, he could see Rahne crying inside.
Sam's heart had cracked when she'd snapped at him the day before. The crack deepened as he watched her cry and knew she'd hate him if he went in there.
Sam took in a deep breath and walked outside, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes for the first time since the professor's announcement.
&&&
Before the funeral had even started, someone else had been trying to deal with Bobby's death. Jubilation Lee sat on a rock in the middle of the forest. It was a lovely, flat rock, in the middle of what Kurt referred to as his "open-air chapel."
Jubilee had never been a religious girl, but lying on that sun-warmed rock in the clearing with tears streaming down her face was enough to make anyone reflective.
She sat up, wiped her eyes, and stretched back out on the rock, taking in a deep breath. It was late September- indian summer, in other words. The little clearing was bright and warm. So why did she feel so cold inside?
"I figured you'd come out here, kid," said a voice.
Jubilee didn't open her eyes or acknowledge Logan in any way.
This seemed to suit him fine. He sat down next to her. "Ever since Kurt found this place, I always thought it was a good spot for thinking."
Jubilee said nothing.
"How close were you two, kid?"
Jubilee took in another deep breath. She'd known this was coming. But she still didn't have anything to say.
"It's not good to keep quiet about it, kid," Logan said, after a moment of no response. "And I would know."
Jubilee sighed. "I don't want to keep quiet. I've always wanted to shout to the rooftops how I felt about Bobby. I just... never did..."
"So it's that way, huh."
Jubilee sat up and hugged her knees. "Yeah..." She rested her head on her knees and stared off into space a moment. "He- he was the reason I came back."
"And you never said anything about it."
"I always thought... that there would be some 'perfect moment' to tell him, when, like, the birds would be singing and he'd have kissed me and then I'd be able to say it... but there wasn't. And I never did." She buried her face and her shoulders shook.
Now it was Logan's turn to say nothing. Not that he'd ever said anything about it, but Jubilee was his favorite student. She had spunk, moreso than Kitty, and less angst than Rogue. And she wasn't the type to cry easy. You just don't talk when someone's like that.
After a while, Jubilee calmed. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes, looking cross with herself for succumbing to tears in front of him. "We went out for almost a year," she murmured, "and not once did we say anything of what we felt. I don't think it ever struck Bobby as important... and I just was too shy... I've never been like that before, not around anyone... and now he's... gone."
"I wish there was something I could say to make you feel better, kid," said Logan, "but there isn't." He turned to leave.
Jubilee looked up. "Please," she whispered. "Don't go. I... I don't really wanna be alone right now."
Logan sat down.
&&&
Hours after the funeral had ended, Pietro was still standing at his sister's fresh grave. It was understandable, Lance thought, since he'd never gotten any real closure with his sister. Sure, she'd forgotten the rift between them, but he hadn't, and you could see the guilt he felt in the way he was standing.
"We're leaving now, 'Tro," said Lance, standing a good distance away.
"I know," Pietro replied, not taking his eyes off Wanda's headstone. "Go ahead."
"Sure you wanna stay here?" Lance asked, rocking back on his heels.
"Yeah..." Pietro traced the letters on the marker. "I... nobody'd get it."
"What?" Lance had never thought of himself and Pietro as particularly close, but he was in obvious pain, and no one else was willing to speak with him. Leaving him there alone would have been cruel.
"I know it sounds cliched," Pietro murmured, "but I literally feel as if half of me is missing now. Wanda and I... we never talked much... but there was always that bond... that twin thing." He glanced at Lance, who had a bit of a "huh?" expression. "I said you wouldn't get it."
"But you needed to say it," Lance replied.
"Why are you listening to me, anyway?" Pietro asked, now downright staring at Lance. "You hate me. You can't stand my guts, my womanizing, any of it."
"I don't hate you, 'Tro," Lance replied, fidgeting a little under the other boy's intense gaze. "But it does annoy me when people don't act like what they really are."
Pietro frowned and turned back to his sister's headstone, as if that was easier to look at than Lance. "How would you know what I really am?"
"Maybe I don't," Lance replied. After a moment, he said, "Sure you don't want a ride?"
Pietro shook his head and Lance left without a word.
(GOD, if there were any more angst in this story it could practically be a comic.)