Disclaimer: Characters belong to Marvel. For those of you who take exception to what Marvel are doing to those characters right now, think of this story as a refuge. A refuge where you know everything's going to turn out all right in the end. Where the writers know of the Romy fans needs. This is your sanctuary. Stop hyperventilating, stop gnawing on your comics, grab your nearest cup of whatever beverage you enjoy most, sit down and read on. We'll try not to disappoint. ;)

Ludi and angyxoxo xx

-xoxo-

Mix 'n' Match

(14) All Fall Down

The next morning dawned too bright and too early for Emma Frost. Usually she was up with the sunrise and bustling about the house like a miniature whirlwind. Only for some reason, the sunlight pouring in through her bedroom window was hurting her head, and her digital clock was reading 11:54.

She groaned and swiveled over onto her side, away from the sunshine. She had a beast of a headache, throbbing through her temples and right behind her eyes.

Wait a minute. A headache?

In one swift movement Emma was sitting up in bed, only to have her plush bedroom careen before her eyes like a carousel. She groaned again and placed a hand to her head. It took several moments for her vision to clear and she was finally able to take a good look around her. And what she saw disturbed her very much. Two empty wineglasses had fallen onto the floor beside her, along with two more bottles of her best Chardonnay, while one more stood on the bedside table next to the vase of orchids she'd received the night before. Her best lacy cream bra and panties were strewn across the floor, and the romantic pink nightlights were on. In the background, her 24 inch plasma screen TV still displayed the title screen of her Basic Instinct DVD.

But worse of all, under the covers of her bed and totally out for the count, lay a comatose Bobby Drake in nothing more than his birthday suit.

That was when Emma realized that she was completely starkers too.

Under the circumstances, there was only one thing she could do.

And that was to announce very loudly and emphatically: "Oh, shit."

-oOo-

It was lunchtime in a small but avant-garde New York cafe, a charming little hideaway where they played the familiar old jazz melodies that always brought a smile to Remy LeBeau's face. Today, however, the smile was due to more than just fond memories replayed to the softly accented strains of Ella Fitzgerald and Thelonius Monk. From where Jean-Paul Beaubier was sitting, it looked very much like the grin of a man who was indulging in daydreams of a more suggestive kind.

"So," Jean-Paul ventured to ask over the rim of his cafe latte with an extra sprinkling of cinnamon, "is it true what the tabloids are saying? Are you really dating Ororo Munroe?"

Remy idly stirred his cappuccino and gave a nonchalant shrug. "Well, I wouldn't call it dating… Dating is such a formal way to put it, don't you t'ink?"

"Oh, so it's like that, is it?" Jean-Paul replied sardonically. He paused a moment, weighing the statement in his mind before continuing: "So I take it you had a good time last night?"

"You know me, JP," Remy replied smoothly as he lifted the cup to his lips. "I always do." He placed the cup down and continued with a slight grimace: "Although, if I have to be honest, I was hopin' I'd be leavin' de party wit' a certain someone else…"

Jean-Paul gave him an eagle-eyed glance. "Who? That blonde in the red dress? I thought I saw you not-so-tactfully eyeing her up at the refreshment's table…"

Remy gave a short laugh. "What, her? JP, you are way off de mark."

"Oh really?" Jean-Paul arched an inquisitive eyebrow at his friend and employee, unable to conceal his probing glance any longer. Remy couldn't help but smile at his boss' suddenly ravenous expression. If there was anything JP adored, it was hearing all about his friend's love lives – and gossiping about them afterwards.

Now I know what he does when he goes down t' visit de ladies in de typing pool… He's jus' lookin' for a good ol' chin-wag…

"Let's jus' say I've been concentratin' my efforts in other areas much closer to home," he finally replied, a twinkle in his eye. He knew he couldn't hide things from his boss much longer. Where romance was concerned, nothing could be kept a secret from Jean-Paul Beaubier. He was like the proverbial greyhound, always sniffing out a love affair, however well concealed. So Remy wasn't surprised when he was able to guess the object of his desire with little hesitation at all.

"You mean closer to home as in a green-eyed brunette whose desk is opposite your office door?" he asked without missing a beat. Remy's reply was to grin. Just the thought of Anna Raven made him want to smile to himself with glee, the kind of smile that a small child has when he thinks of unwrapping a long-awaited present. It was true he'd gone home with Ororo Munroe the night before, but nothing had happened between them – well, not a lot that counted anyway. He'd much rather have been with Anna, but she was going to take a lot more work before she succumbed to his charms. It almost surprised Remy that he was willing to invest so much in one woman, but he'd never been presented with a morsel as delicious as her before. For the best part of a week now she'd been occupying all his sordid fantasies, and if he didn't have her soon he was going to go crazy.

"C'mon, JP," he reasoned, seeing his boss' slightly disapproving look, "she's just about de hottest woman in de company. You t'ink I'm gonna let a chance like dat slip past?"

Jean-Paul rolled his eyes theatrically. "Oh yes, I forgot, here's the guy who just can't resist a challenge. The bigger it is, the less he can say no."

"Quoi? Don't you approve? I thought you always said I had excellent taste in women. Not dat you know much about taste in women… but you know I've always valued your opinion since you be de resident expert on relationships. Sometimes you know so much about dose flings de typing pool ladies have it scares me," he added, half joking and half shuddering at the thought.

JP shrugged good-naturedly. "Women like to talk about their men," he answered with a smile. "You should try talking to the girls some time, you might find it informative."

"No t'anks. When I go down to de typing pool, it ain't to do no talkin'."

"And Anna would approve of that?"

"Once I show Anna what I show de ladies down at de typing pool, she'll approve of anything I do," Remy boasted without batting an eyelid. JP shook his head hopelessly and gulped down the rest of his drink.

"Remy, you're really pushing it this time. Has it escaped your notice that she hates you?"

"Au contraire, mon ami," Remy assured him smugly, "I really t'ink I may be in wit' a chance dis time."

"Oh really? Here I was thinking you always had more than just a chance with the ladies, and now you're suddenly dealing in uncertainties? I don't know what happened between you two last night, but whatever it was, she's toying with you. If she'd really wanted you, you would've gone home with her, not Ms. Munroe. Remy, admit it. That girl has you wrapped round her little finger."

Remy chuckled, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Hopefully, within de next couple of days, I'll be wrapped round more den just her li'l finger," he quipped.

"Pfft. And what exactly brought on this tide of optimism anyway? Wasn't it only a couple of days ago that she was giving you the brush off?"

Remy gave an easy grin while Jean-Paul signaled for the bill. "All it took was workin' a lil' bit of de old mojo. Besides, you know what dese femmes are like. When dey say no dey mean yes an' all dat. And honestly, JP, she wants me so bad I can taste it. How much you wanna bet in de next two days she'll be mine?"

"Yours? You only want her in your bed," Jean-Paul remarked accusingly.

"Mebbe. So? Lookin' at de way dat lady cleaned up last night, what man wouldn't?" He gave a wistful smile.

"You're trying to convince the wrong guy, Remy," the older man pointed out wryly. "Although I will admit there's something rather distracting about our Ms. Raven – there has to be if she's kept your interest this long. And in a way, that's what worries me, Remy. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

Remy gave him a slightly offended look. "Why, JP, you doubtin' my prowess?"

Jean-Paul couldn't help but laugh. "Your 'prowess' has nothing to do with it! I just want to know you're sure you know what you're going to do once you've had your way with her." He paused, not knowing whether to venture his next question. "Or does your interest extend further than just a roll in the haystack?"

For the first time that morning, Remy looked flustered.

"Whaddya mean?" he inquired indignantly.

"I mean, if it does, you'd better be careful," Jean-Paul answered seriously. "Don't forget, it wasn't so long ago that you came here needing a job and a place to stay after what happened with –"

"I know," Remy cut in quickly and just as seriously. "And I t'ank you for dat, JP, but you ain't got not'ing to worry about. I got dis one under control."

"Alright. I'll take your word for it. And believe me, it's not that I don't approve of her. She's a great girl – looks, brains, personality. You know – the kind of girl a guy could easily fall head over heels for?"

"Don't t'ink m'heart's wired that way anymore, JP," Remy returned soberly.

"So you say. But she's not the one going all starry eyed over you, is she? Come on, admit it. You like her, LeBeau – I can tell from a mile away."

"I –" Remy began, but Jean-Paul cut him off quickly.

"Save it, loverboy. She's more than just a choice piece of ass to you, I know it even if you don't. You just better be careful she doesn't find out before you do." He stood up and slapped his tip on the table, ignoring the childish pout on Remy's face. "Otherwise," he continued, "I give you two my blessing. Just please keep the hanky-panky outside of the office for a change, d'accord? You want some action, take it outside."

"Okay," Remy replied petulantly.

"Bon. Now I simply must get back to the office. I have some important business that just can't wait."

"Like dat new delivery boy?" Remy interjected slyly, glad to finally get his own back.

"Now, now, Remy, do behave," Jean-Paul replied innocently. "My 'prowess' isn't nearly as legendary as yours."

"Riiight. And by the way… one day you're gonna have to tell me exactly what de ladies at de typing pool say about me."

Jean-Paul laughed. "Such vanity, Remy! You'd better be careful what you ask for – you might just get it! And let me tell you, what you hear just might make your ears burn."

"All the more reason to know," Remy chuckled.

"I should've known you'd say that. Okay, I'll oblige you sometime, I promise."

"Can't wait. Later, JP."

"Later, Remy."

-xXx-

The piercing ring of the alarm clock going off jolted Bobby Drake from his feverish slumber. To say he was surprised to find himself naked and in an unfamiliar bed would be an understatement. Confused and suffering from a raging hangover, it was all he could do to get himself to sit upright.

"What the hell is going on here…" he murmured to himself, shooting a red-eyed glance at the clock on the elegant mahogany bedside table. It was one in the afternoon. He was supposed to be in class in an hour. Which wouldn't be so bad if he was actually in his own house and…

Ohmigod I'm in Emma Frost's bedroom!

Bobby literally leapt out of the plush king-sized bed and stepped right onto his missing boxer shorts. Very much perplexed, he slid into them, silently scanning the room for any evidence that could help him piece together why exactly he was there. Emma herself was absent – obviously she'd gone to work, so he couldn't ask her what the hell was going on. But there were other clues lying about the room. Wineglasses, Chardonnay bottles… women's underwear…

Bobby put a hand to his head and winced. He seemed to recall Emma inviting him up to her bedroom the night before… Her slipping a DVD on, pouring them both a glass of wine while they sat on the bed and laughed and joked and chatted… then pouring another… and another… And then the notion crossing his mind that maybe he could steal a kiss from her and get away with it…

And after that everything else was a big, unfortunate blank.

"Oh my God," Bobby mumbled to himself in disbelief. "I think I just scored."

-oOo-

It had been a hectic day at work and Jean arrived home to be welcomed by a lonely and cold apartment. Having divested herself of coat, keys, purse and heels, she flopped onto her couch and stared up at the ceiling for a long while. On the mantelpiece the clock was ticking the monotonous tune of hours and minutes bleeding away. She closed her eyes and gave a heavy sigh.

What I wouldn't do for a distraction tonight…

Her mind involuntarily wandered over to the Hideaway, and more specifically to Logan. Tired and lonely, she felt too weak to continue denying that she found him attractive. And yet she didn't know why. What was it? His passion, his sensitivity, his worldliness? She wanted to talk to him again. She wanted to ask him about the things he had done and the places he'd seen, about the people he'd known and the loves he'd lost. She barely knew a thing about him, and yet somehow she knew he had so much to tell, so much to show her.

And I do have his phone number…

Her eyes fluttered open, and she found herself staring into the white expanse of her ceiling. Almost unconsciously she reached inside her pocket for the ragged piece of paper. She lifted it up to her face and scrutinized the numbers, one by one. It was stupid really – she didn't know why she'd wanted to keep this stupid bit of notepaper so close to her person, even while she'd been at work. Silly as it sounded, it was a comfort to her, knowing someone was willing to look out for her. And, maybe, share some time with her.

She sat up and reached for the cordless phone, but as soon as it was in her hands she found her fingers dialing Scott's cell phone number. The ringing tone sounded for a long time, longer than usual. She gritted her teeth, begging to hear her fiancé's voice again, hoping in her heart that she'd no longer have an excuse to phone Logan.

Pick up, Scott, please pick up, please don't let me be alone now, please pick –

"Jean?"

She almost jumped in her seat, her heart beating wildly.

"Scott! Ohmigod, you are there, thank God!"

"Jean?" His voice was a mixture of concern, of trepidation. "Jean, are you okay?"

"I-I'm fine." She paused, hearing the odd note in his voice, puzzled at its presence. "I just… Well, you took so long to answer, and I really needed to speak to you –"

"Is this about the wedding arrangements, Jean?" he cut in. "Because I already told you, Monday is the latest I can –"

"What? No, of course it's not anything to do with that!" she retorted with sudden exasperation. "What, can't a girl phone her fiancé just to hear his voice once in a while?"

"Oh, my God…I- I'm sorry, Jean." For once, he really did sound contrite. "It's just…I dunno, it's been such a hectic week and I wasn't thinking and…"

He was suddenly interrupted by someone talking in the background. The words weren't clear to Jean, but the tone of voice was. It was female, low, unmistakably seductive. Jean's brow furrowed as she heard Scott place a hand over the mouthpiece and say something muffled. It was a moment or so before he returned.

"Jean, I've got to go, this isn't a good time…"

"Who's that?" she inquired sharply. "Who's there with you? Are you in the hotel?"

"Yes, I'm in the hotel," he replied, his tone suddenly flustered. "Look, honey, it's not what you're thinking. Her name's Madelyne Pryor and she's a work colleague from our sister company."

"What, and she just happens to be in your hotel room with you?" Jean cried shrilly, her heart thudding wildly against the wall of her chest. "Scott Summers, you are some bad liar!"

"Jean, please! You're sounding hysterical now!"

"Well, excuse me, but how to you expect me to react when I find my fiancé has a strange woman in his room!"

His voice wavered as he attempted to remain calm without much success. "It's nothing, I swear it, Jean."

"Alright." She tried to level her breathing, tried to tell herself she was overreacting and that this was all just a misunderstanding… "So what is this Madelyne Pryor doing in your room then? Are you discussing some important business proposal or something?"

"Jean, do you know how goddamn jealous you're sounding?"

"Right now, Scott, I don't care how I'm sounding. Just tell me. Why is that woman in your room?"

He paused, let out a ruffled sigh, began: "Jean… Look. There's nothing going on. Please believe me, honey. Listen, I can't really talk about this now. But I swear I'll phone you back later, tell you what's going on. I swear it."

"If it was so innocent between you two, then why can't you tell me now!" Jean practically exploded again, unable to control her temper any longer, hard though she had tried.

"Because I can't," he replied peremptorily, also beginning to lose his temper. "Look Jean. This really is a bad time. I have something to sort out here, something really important. I'll phone you tomorrow, okay? Trust me."

"Don't you dare put the phone down on me, Scott Summers – " she began, but it was too late. The next moment she was talking to the dialing tone.

Jean stared at the handset in a daze, feeling an abrupt wave of nausea envelop her. She could hardly believe it, and yet it seemed that it was true.

Could it be…could it be that Scott's been having an affair?

The thought made her sick to the stomach. It wasn't true. She couldn't believe it. But then why had he put the phone down on her so quickly? And why had that woman been in his hotel room with him?

Jean placed the phone back in its cradle, hot tears springing to her eyes and trickling deliberately down her cheeks. What was it that Scott had said before he'd hung up?

Trust me.

She almost smiled at the irony of it. How could he believe she'd ever be able to trust him now?

-xXx-

I'm alone at work and it's 6 O'clock. I should've gone home an hour ago.

It's been like this a lot recently. I've been spending more and more nights at work, toiling over my project. At first Pete and Kitty would stay and help me, but recently they've started spending more and more time together God knows where. So I sit here at my desk and do the work by myself. I don't mind it. In fact I kind of like it. For one thing, I'm actually doing something I enjoy.

I glance at my watch, just as a shadow in the office opposite catches my eye. It's Remy. I place my pen down slowly and watch him cross the room before sitting at his desk to work.

He's the second reason I like staying over after-hours.

Yup. I've done this before, sat here late in the evening, watching his shadow, feeling foolish and childish for doing so. But tonight's different. Yesterday, at the party, when I was standing so close to him, gazing up into those beautiful eyes of his, I realized something. I like him. I like Remy LeBeau.

Okay, okay. I more than just like him. I fancy him something rotten. In fact, I can't remember the last time I felt this way about anybody. Sure, he's an exasperating skirt-chaser, but there's something about him I just can't help but be drawn to. His eyes, his voice, his smile, his body…

I exhale a longing sigh.

Sometimes I wonder if he's looking out for me the way I look out for him, if he knows I'm sitting here waiting for him. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be with someone like him, someone so passionate and sexy and breathtakingly masculine, and sometimes I wonder what he'd do to me if I ever gave him the chance to show me just how masculine he really is, if I'd ever be good enough for him to say he wants something more than just a fling… …

Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever gonna stop sitting here, waiting for something that's never going to happen.

Rule 8: STOP FANTASIZING ABOUT BOSS!

I sigh, gather up my papers, slip on my coat and grab my purse. I'm being a total idiot. He's not going to come out. He's not going to sweep me off my feet and profess his undying love for me. Last night was all just a bunch of sweet nothings. I'm better off without him.

So why can't I stop thinking about the way he'd kissed me, the way he'd held me so close, the way he'd touched me and left me wanting more every night since?

I shake my head violently as I walk off down the corridor. Rogue, it was only a moment of pure lust! Get over it!

Because after all, it's all well and good admitting I find him attractive, but when nothing can come of us, what's the use in even brooding about it?

I'm about to turn the corner when someone calls me from behind. I turn and see Lila Cheney, Remy's secretary, beckoning me over with a frantic gesture.

"What is it?" I ask, approaching her.

"Phone call for you." She looks flustered. Looks like she'd just been ready to go home before the phone had gone off and interrupted her.

"For me? Who is it?"

"Didn't say. Must be your folks though, since they've got the Southern accent and all. Sounded pretty urgent." She pauses, heaving one of her bags over her shoulder. "Listen, could you lock up with the spare key once you're done? I've gotta go. Got an important date to keep."

"Sure," I reply. My insides are churning. Ever since she'd mentioned the word 'folks' I'd stood rooted to the ground like ice. My mind instinctively goes back over the letter I'd ripped up and thrown away without a second glance, the one from Caldecott County General Hospital. Please don't let it be…

I watch Lila walk off and slide into her room with my heart thudding ominously in my chest. The phone handset is lying haphazardly on her desk. I pick it up slowly, dreading the moment, and place the receiver to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Anna Raven?" The woman's accent is Southern alright, but the voice is unfamiliar.

"Yes?"

There's a slight pause, one that tells me that the news I've been dreading has finally come true. I steel myself, knowing full well that it's too little, too late.

"Anna Raven, this is the Caldecott County General Hospital." She stops and I know what's coming, and a lump forms in my throat and I try to speak but I can't say a thing.

"Ms. Raven, we regret to inform you that your fiancé, Cody Robbins, passed away peacefully just a few minutes ago."

-oOo-

Remy looked up from his paperwork to find that Rogue had disappeared.

For the best part of an hour he'd been watching her silhouette through his office window as she'd been working on her project. The past few nights or so she'd been doing the same thing – staying over late, sitting in the same place, always keeping in his sights. It was a strange form of comfort to him, as if she were sitting there, all alone late in evening, just for him.

Jean-Paul was right. He was crazy. He was crazy for her. He was losing his head over one woman, and he'd done that once and got burned. Never again. He'd promised himself that. It didn't have to be any different with Anna. He swore that once he'd sampled the goods he'd let her go, forget her, move on. But he had to have her first.

That was why he'd been sitting here, trying to figure out the best way to catch a lady who was obviously playing hard to get. Sometimes he'd watch her until she left. He'd screw up the courage to stop her once she got to the corridor, but he'd always chicken out and she'd leave before he could change his mind. The sad truth was, he didn't really know what he'd say to her once he stopped her.

Anna, what happened de other day in my office… it was great, it really was somethin' else, an' I've been thinkin'…maybe you'd like t' come back t' my place for a coffee t'night?

Remy shook his head. Way too cheap for a classy lady like her…

Anna… I really care about you and I was thinkin', maybe I could take you out t' dinner some time…

This sounded much better to Remy's expert ears, but it did involve the distinct disadvantage of having to admit – horror of horrors – that he actually cared about a girl… which wasn't so bad in itself, since he'd said it plenty of times before, only those times, they'd been lies. And this time he was half scared to admit that it just might be the truth.

Dammit, Remy, it don't matter what you say, if you're just gonna sit here all day an' avoid de femme, you're never gonna stand a chance in hell anyway!

He resolved right then and there that, no matter how certain he was she was going to reject him, he'd be darned if he wasn't going to try his hardest to make her his. He stood up. He was ready. He was going to tackle her whether she liked it or not.

Then he looked outside the window to find her silhouette had disappeared. She'd gone.

Panic gripped him. He rushed outside to catch her before she got to the elevators; but just as he ran past Lila's room, he heard her unmistakable voice. Only it sounded different. It was thin and wavering.

"Alright. Thanks for lettin' meh know. Yes, Ah'll be down in the next coupla days. Thanks again. Bye."

He stopped and poked his head round the door, just to see her putting the phone receiver back into its cradle. Her head was bent and her hand was shaking. She raised it to her face and a sob shuddered through her body.

Immediate and instinctive concern washed over him. He stepped into the room without thinking, wondering what had upset her so much.

"Anna?" he called. She jumped when she heard his voice and turned to face him quickly. He was shocked to see tears gathering in her eyes.

"Oh… Mr. LeBeau… Ah'm sorry." She wiped at her eyes fiercely but it didn't do much good as the tears began to spill almost of their own accord. "Ah…Ah didn't see yah there…"

"Are you okay?" he asked, distressed to see her tears. "What happened?"

"Oh, uh, nothin'…it's nothin', really. Ah'll be fine in a…in a…" He got nothing more from her, however, because she broke down completely and began to weep without restraint. Instinct got the better of him and he went over to her quickly, wrapping his arms around her and rocking her gently in his embrace, running his hand through her hair. For several minutes neither said anything and then her tears subsided. Slowly, reluctantly, he unwrapped his arms from her and she slumped, wordless into a nearby chair, her face haggard, her eyes glazed. He knelt beside her, watching her for some sign, but she said nothing for a further minute or so and he began to become concerned again. He was confused, bewildered. He simply didn't know what to do with a reaction so extreme as hers.

"We need to get y' home," he finally said. No reaction. "Anna, y' can't stay here. Y'gotta go home, get some rest. C'mon, chere, I'll drive you home."

Her only answer was to drop her face into her hands and begin crying again. He swallowed. Now he was really becoming worried.

"Anna, I ain't gon' leave you here. Lemme get you home, chere. At least lemme call you a cab." He couldn't leave her, not in that state. The more she cried the more concerned he became for her. Whatever she'd heard, whatever the person on the phone had told her, it was tearing her up. He knew he wouldn't get another coherent word out of her, not for some time yet. "You wan' cry den fine," he finally said decidedly, standing up. "But I ain't gon' let you cry here all by your lonesome." He tugged on her coat gently, trying to get her to stand up. "I take you back wit' me, okay? We get you all nice an' comfortable, get you somethin' to drink, an' b'fore you know it you'll be right as rain. 'Kay?"

He didn't think he'd get a reaction from her, but she gave a nod, a slight one, and he helped her to her feet and escorted her out of the building. By the time they'd got to his car she was calmer but still dazed. Remy kept an eye on her all the way back to his place, but she remained silent, her hands nervously clutching the tissues between her fingers.

Remy turned his eyes back onto the road, grimaced. Whatever she'd learnt had shocked her, he knew that – but there was no way he was going to let anyone get to her again, not if he could help it.

-xXx-

To be continued...