Disclaimer: Marvel's characters, not ours.

A/N: Now wasn't that a quick update? ;) We're hoping to go back to the one update a week formula from now on, but we're not promising anything, so if we're late please don't flame us! Much as we'd love to spend our time writing about the Ragin' Cajun and his Mississippi Marauder, we do have real lives to live as well, dammit. ;) And just to set the record straight - we promise this fic will have a happy ending! So cool your boots, people!

In the meantime, read, review and enjoy! And thanks for your yummy-scrummy comments. :D

-Ludi x

This chapter is dedicated to the beautiful city of New Orleans and all those affected by Hurricane Katrina. Our thoughts and prayers go with you...

-xOx-

Mix 'n' Match

(17) Morning After

Remy woke up riding on an unusual sense of euphoria. It took a moment for the previous night to come back to him. Both him and the girl of his dreams – the girl he'd only just realized meant more to him than he'd ever imagined – making wild, passionate love. Several times. It was almost too good to be true.

He rolled onto his side, searching for her with his free arm, still wanting to hold her close, still wanting to whisper in her ear just how much she meant to him, that last night hadn't just been a one-night stand, that he found her perfect in almost every way; that she was his chere, she was his coeur, she was his one and only, she was his… …

She was gone.

Remy sat up, dazed and confused, only to find it was true. Next to him – where she'd been lying only a few hours before looking all tousled and gorgeous and sexy – was now an empty space. His heart sank into the soles of his feet and lower. She really was gone. All that remained of her was the traces of her perfume, lingering on the pillows and bed sheets, torturing him with the erotic memory of her presence. He got out of bed and slipped on his boxers, expecting to hear her suddenly turn on the shower, to hear her sultry voice singing the blues, to hear her call him from downstairs telling him the coffee was ready.

Dat must be it… she's downstairs...

He hurried down but somehow he knew she wouldn't be there. Every room was as empty and cold as his bed had been. He stood in the middle of the lounge, running his fingers through his hair in agitation.

What'd I do wrong, chere?

He'd tried to be good, just for her – really he had. He'd even asked her again and again whether sleeping with him was what she really wanted. They'd got as far as being both practically naked and he still would've been willing to stop if that's what she'd wanted. To his eternal gratitude she'd told him that she wanted it, that she wanted him, that she didn't want to leave. So why had she gone now?

It was then that he noticed it. A glossy sliver of paper that had somehow fluttered down under the coffee table. A photograph, passport sized. He bent over and picked it up. He stared at it, his breath catching painfully in his throat.

It was Anna, his Anna, smiling blissfully, green eyes sparkling, looking truly happy in a way he'd never seen her look before. She was beautiful, radiant, almost heartbreakingly so.

She also had her arms round a wholesome, good-looking, blond-haired, blue-eyed guy who appeared to be every inch as happy as she was.

They were the very image of the perfect couple.

Remy swallowed. If his heart could've sunk any further, it would have. Why had she left him? Why had she been fending him off for so long, and with such persistence? The reason was plain to see, and he was holding it in his hand at that very moment.

Rogue was another guy's gal.

-oOo-

The image was as dramatic and alluring as a close-up on the silverscreen.

Emma was pouting at herself in the mirror and reveling in her movie-star good-looks as she applied the final finishing touch of Max Factor Firebrand to her lips. One look at her corset and micro-mini-skirt enhanced body and you wouldn't have thought that less than 12 hours ago she was a cringing mess. The truth was it was Saturday and she had a date with an old acquaintance, Sebastian Shaw. And even if she was disinclined to go, there was no way she wasn't going to tackle this head on – especially not without looking her goddamn sexiest best.

Having applied her makeup, Emma blew herself a kiss and studied herself in the mirror. She looked exactly like a high-class escort girl on the rampage. It was precisely the look she wanted.

Turning on her stiletto heels, Emma marched down the stairs with the air of a woman on a mission, only to open the front door and find herself staring at Bobby Drake, his finger poised to ring the doorbell.

"Bobby!" she exclaimed, her heart suddenly going into off-road gear.

"Emma!" He dropped his hand to his side and dug his hands nervously into his pockets, unable to help his cheeks from going beet-red – or his eyes from wandering the length of her barely-clad body. "You look…fantastic," he finished.

"What are you doing here?" she retorted stiffly, deliberately ignoring the compliment. If it were possible, he reddened even more.

"I, uh, have work today…" he replied. "Don't you remember? Saturday's I do the pool…"

"Well, the pool's out back and the shed's that way," she pointed out rudely, waiting for him to take the hint and leave her alone. He didn't.

"Actually, Emma…" he began awkwardly instead. "I wanted to talk to you before I started work. You know, about the other night?"

Emma's guts turned to ice at this, but there was no way in hell she was going to let him know that the thought of talking to him about the other night scared her witless.

"Sorry, Robert," she replied coolly, glancing down at her watch impatiently, "but I'm rather busy. This will have to wait until another time."

"Busy?" He looked confused. "You mean…you're going out?"

"Well, what does it look like?" she snapped, losing her temper. "As it happens I'm going out on a date, with a very nice, respectable man named Sebastian Shaw. We're having dinner together."

Bobby stared, unable to conceal the hurt and bewilderment in his eyes. Emma wanted to physically cringe for being so cruel, but the bitch within her was already smiling in wicked triumph as another man fell victim to her tortures.

"Dinner?" he finally repeated, his tone wounded. He looked her over once, twice, his expression a very picture of dismay. "You look like…" He trailed off, not wanting to hurt her feelings, but she knew what he meant to say anyway.

"A hoe?" she couldn't help finishing for him sharply. "You think I look like a hoe, right? Is that what you meant to say?"

"I never said – " he tried to defend himself, but she was quicker.

"But you were thinking it, weren't you?" she spat angrily. "You think I'm cheap and disgusting and a whore, don't you?"

"Emma!" he exclaimed, truly shocked at her words. "Geez, Emma, how could you believe I would even think that? God… I know I'm a doofus and I talk out of my butt sometimes… well, most of the time probably… But I am definitely not talkin' out of my butt when I say you're the most amazing woman I've ever met and I'd never ever think that of you!"

Under any normal circumstances she would've caved into his puppy dog eagerness to please her. But now she was so mad that she could find nothing endearing in his words. If anything she was madder at herself than at him.

"Oh really?" she seethed sarcastically, her pale blue eyes glinting. "Well, if that's the case then why did you take advantage of me the other night, huh? Isn't it because you'd seen me taken advantage of before? Isn't it because you thought I deserved it? Isn't it because you knew I'd be an easy lay?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!" He held his hands up in self-defense, his eyes so wide with shock and hurt he looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. "Emma, you have this totally wrong! Okay, I admit, the other night was a mistake – you were upset and vulnerable and we both got a bit drunk and we shouldn't have…you know… I mean, we should've waited…"

"Oh, so you mean you've had designs on me from the very beginning?" she immediately goaded him, unable to help herself.

"What? No!" She'd never seen a man look so scared and bewildered in her life, and part of her hated herself for tormenting him but it was the only way left to save her pride. "I mean yes… In a way…"

"So you admit it?" she pounced on the admission like a hungry jaguar.

"Not like that! I would never have touched you unless I thought…" He faltered, embarrassed, and she couldn't resist probing for more.

"Unless what? Unless you thought what exactly?" she persisted, cornering him even further against the porch wall. He was literally sweating by now.

"Well…unless I thought you felt the same way about me as I feel about you…" he explained in an appeasing tone. Emma stared at him. Here it came. She could feel it coming – everything she'd ever wanted – a guy admitting he cared for her, that he never wanted to hurt her, that he wanted to protect her… And the child in her was already running away, screaming. Without a thought she found herself snapping: "Well, I guess you thought wrong, didn't you!"

To her amazement, his response was not what she'd expected. She'd expected groveling and foot-kissing and any number of self-debasing acts. But not the way his eyes hardened, nor the scorn which suddenly filled his face.

"Wait a minute!" he began indignantly, "you mean to say that all those times you flirted with me, it wasn't because you liked me? Are you saying that you were actually leading me on?"

Now it was Emma's turn to bristle with outrage. This was definitely not what she had been expecting. "Excuse me? I was not flirting with you!"

"What! You mean that time you kissed me on the doorstep… All those sexy innuendoes… Not to mention, telling me I could stare at your breasts anytime I wanted to… None of that was what you'd call 'flirting'?"

She gasped, furious that he, of all people, should be challenging her.

"How dare you…!" she began hotly, but for once he wasn't going to stand for it.

"Save it, Ms. Frost," he cut in coldly, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him look so serious. "You've made yourself perfectly clear. Okay, so I may be a nerd and a total loser, but you know what? I don't deserve to be used like that. And I don't believe you have the nerve to accuse me of taking advantage of you the other night when I was obviously nothing more than a plaything to you." He shook his head in sudden disgust. "You know," he added, "I was going to apologize to you about that night because I'd really hoped that if a night like that was ever going to happen between us, it was going to be nice and respectable and not a drunken fling. I was going to ask you whether you wanted to start over, but obviously you're going to be moving onto your next conquest tonight. I don't know what it is with you, Emma. Do you enjoy torturing poor, defenseless guys like me or something? 'Cos if you do, you should really go and get yourself a life – no guy's gonna waste his time waiting to be…to be whipped into submission by you." He looked at her again, but this time it was a look of such disdain and disapproval that even though she'd been boiling with anger all the way through his speech, she was now temporarily shocked into silence. He'd been planning to apologize, to talk things over! He'd really wanted to be with her, to make a fresh start! He'd wanted them to be serious! But now it hardly mattered because she'd finally done it. She'd chased him away, just like she did every man in her life. Yet paradoxically she wanted nothing more than to have him close.

"I'll leave you to your 'date', Ms. Frost," he added cuttingly. "I hope sleeping with him turns out to be more worthwhile than sleeping with the low-down gardener."

He brushed roughly past her and stalked off back to his bicycle, leaving Emma simmering with rage at his parting comment.

"Robert Drake!" she stammered after him, her left eye twitching maniacally. "You are so fired!"

"I already quit!" he threw back over his shoulder before jumping onto his bike and pedaling away with as much dignity as one could manage on a bike. Normally Emma would have found the whole picture comical, but now she was definitely not laughing. For the first time Bobby Drake had grown a backbone and told her exactly what he thought of her – and for some reason she found that very exciting indeed. Without thinking she raced to the end of the driveway, but all she caught of him was a final glimpse of his perfectly-formed tush as it finally disappeared round the corner.

"Darn you, Bobby Drake!" she wailed at no one in particular, childishly flinging her purse to the sidewalk in a temper. "Why do you have to be so goddamn cute!"

-xXx-

Warren had been sitting in the same dingy diner the last hour and a half, most of which he'd spent staring at the coffee dregs in the bottom of his cup. He'd been sandwiched between the window and a homeless bum, and while the homeless bum had been ranting on about how stuffing newspaper into your underwear was the best way of keeping warm in winter, Warren had been staring into his cup and seeing only one thing.

Betsy Braddock's face in the coffee dregs.

Either he was hallucinating or he drastically needed to go home and get some sleep.

Instead he ordered himself another crap coffee while the homeless guy began comparing the intrinsic thermal qualities of the National Enquirer as opposed to the New York Times. Warren said nothing and pretended to listen. It wasn't that he minded at all. He was a rich man with rich man's tastes, true, but in his present mood slumming it didn't seem entirely unnatural. He even felt quite wistful about it, as if no man's life was truly complete unless he'd been rejected by a beautiful woman and had spent the following morning sulking in a trashy diner in the rough part of town.

Yup – this was real, pure and unadulterated life as it should be.

Now if only he had Betsy by his side right now, he'd be complete.

He stared at the bottom of his cup to find she was still there. Shit. He really needed to go home and sleep.

Warren sighed and dug in his pocket for some change before getting up to leave. The bum had given up and left at some point during Warren's reverie, obviously finding him a less than engaging companion. He'd also left several of his newspapers lying around, strewn on the seat. Warren half considered doing a good turn and returning them to him – they were doubling up as thermal underwear for the guy after all – when something on one of the advertisement pages caught his eye. Reaching for the scraps of paper, he took it and read it over a couple of times.

"Fashion house and associated textiles workshop for sale," he murmured out loud to himself. "Millicent Collins, 1950's model and current owner of the Glamour fashion house, has retired and is selling her business to the highest bidder. Prospective buyers will need a working knowledge of and/or interest in the fashion industry. Hmmm."

Warren tore the advert off the page and folded it neatly before slipping it into his coat pocket. He paid the bill and left the diner, this time with a small, self-satisfied smile on his face.

He didn't care if Betsy didn't want him. Even if she pushed him away again and again, he was going to show her how much he really cared anyway.

And he knew exactly how he was going to do it.

-oOo-

Jean was lying in bed, staring at the clock.

It was Saturday afternoon, and the previous night felt like a lifetime ago, so near and yet so far. She wondered what Logan was doing – lying in bed, staring at the clock, same as she was? Staring at the clock and thinking about her, the way she was thinking about him? She closed her eyes and rubbed her face with the heels of both hands, exhausted. She'd barely slept for thinking about what could've happened last night and didn't. She could've woken up this morning in his bed. They could've kissed and talked about anything and everything from their favorite colors to the different countries they'd traveled to. They could've showered together and gotten dressed together and laughed and joked over breakfast.

She could've embarked on her first affair.

Oh God…

What had she been thinking?

She opened her eyes and looked at the clock again. Scott would be back in two days. She'd have to pick him up at the airport and ask him about Madelyne Pryor and what they'd been up to. She was completely dreading it.

Next to the clock the red light of the answer machine was flashing. Somehow she just knew it was Scott. He'd promised he'd phone her back but she didn't want to know what he had to say. She was just too scared.

But what if he'd been telling the truth? What if he hadn't been having an affair? What if that was what he was going to tell her? Jean clung desperately to this hope. It gave her enough courage to reach for the 'play' button and give her fiancé a second chance…

…Before the doorbell went off.

Jean jerked upright at the sound, her heart racing. Feeling half relieved and somewhat ashamed with herself for doing so, she jumped out of bed, went to the door and threw it open.

To her horror, on the other side stood Rogue, her face white and drawn, her eyes haunted and red.

"Rogue!" Immediate and instinctive concern washed over Jean, replacing any self-pity she'd felt before. She knew the look on Rogue's face. She'd seen it before – four years ago. She didn't even waste time thinking on what that meant. Reaching out, she placed an arm round her friend's shoulder, feeling her shudder beneath her touch, and quickly drew her into the apartment. "Let's get you inside, hun," she spoke soothingly, closing the door behind them.

Rogue said nothing as Jean led her to a nearby couch and helped her sit down. She knew better than to push Rogue for information. Still holding her arm comfortingly round her friend, she sat down next to her. "Is there anything you want, Rogue?" she asked gently. "Shall I make you a cup of tea? I'll get you a cup of tea and when you feel ready you can talk about it."

The words of kindness seemed to send Rogue over the edge. Jean had been just about to get up when Anna clutched onto her sleeves so tightly that she was alarmed and had to sit back down again. Before she could get any words out Rogue buried her face into Jean's shoulder and suddenly – and violently – began to cry.

Jean was shocked. She'd seen Rogue cry on numerous occasions, but she'd never seen her bawl the way she was now. It was a few moments before her natural mothering instinct finally won through and she was able to hold the Southerner comfortingly in her embrace. For several minutes Rogue clung to the redhead, weeping and hiccuping into her shoulder before her tears finally subsided a little. All Jean could do was pat her soothingly on the back. The look she'd seen on Rogue's face was so desperate, so familiar that she had little doubt as to what it meant. And for the first time the caring mother figure that was Jean Grey didn't know what to say to comfort her.

"Anna…" was all she could get out before the disconsolate Southerner raised her head and volunteered the information herself.

"It's…it's Cody," she stumbled through her tears. "He…he's gone, Jean. Cody's gone…"

She burst into fresh tears and Jean pulled her back into her embrace, shocked beyond words at the news. Of course she and Betsy and Emma had known that it was an eventuality that was bound to happen sometime, but now that it had happened it had come so suddenly…

"Oh God," she breathed, knowing anything she said would be painfully inadequate. "Rogue, I'm so sorry…"

She felt Rogue bury her face into her shoulder, the sobs that racked her body. "Oh Jean, you don't know how glad Ah am you're here!" she exclaimed, her voice muffled. "Ah just didn't know who else to turn to…"

Jean shushed her softly, rocking her gently in her embrace.

"When did this happen?" she asked in a low voice.

"Yesterday…yesterday evenin'," Rogue replied tearfully. At the words Jean pulled back, taking her friend by the shoulders and looking at her sternly. "Yesterday? And you didn't even tell any of us! Rogue, you should've phoned instead of staying at home and bottling this all up inside yourself! You know we would've been there for you, any time of the day or night!"

Rogue said nothing for a long moment, scrubbing her eyes with an already worn tissue, her mouth suddenly crumpling in agony.

"Oh, Jean," she said in a broken whisper, "Ah've done somethin' terrible! Ah…Ah just don't know what t' do!"

Jean was by now truly upset to see the terrible pain her friend was in. She swallowed hard on the lump in her throat, wondering what to say as she stroked Rogue's hair softly, knowing she was unable to console her but wishing desperately that she could. Suddenly all her own troubles paled into insignificance.

"What is it?" she asked, as gently and encouragingly as she could.

"You're goin' t' hate meh!" Rogue wailed plaintively, her shoulders quaking.

"Now you know that's not true. What could you possibly have done that's so terrible? I promise you, I won't think anything bad of you. How could I?"

Rogue looked away, sniffing miserably, her voice wavering in despair.

"Ah…Ah spent the night with Remy LeBeau," she finally confessed, on the verge of tears once more. "And Ah don't think Ah can ever f'give mahself!"

If Jean had been shocked before she simply didn't know what she was now. All she could do was stare at her friend in disbelief.

"See, Ah knew you'd look at me like that," Rogue muttered accusingly, turning away again. "And Ah don't blame yah! Ah feel like Ah've spit all over Cody's mem'ry!"

She dissolved into tears again and Jean, now out of her temporary shock, hastened to put her arms round her friend once more.

"Tell me about it," she murmured soothingly. "I promised you I wouldn't judge you and I'm not about to start now. You know you can tell me anything, Rogue. Anything."

Rogue sniffled and wiped her nose with the now-tattered tissue, replied: "Oh Jean – Ah'm not even sure how it happened. Y'see, the hospital phoned me while Ah was at work… an' Remy just happened t' come across me when Ah'd just received the news. He was so kind, Jean… Takin' me back to his place, treatin' me decent, givin' me mah space… And then Ah was just feelin' upset and vulnerable, and just so incredibly lonely, and somehow… it just happened."

"And you think he was taking advantage of you?" Jean asked quietly, gravely. "You think he knew you were feeling vulnerable and he used that to bait you?" If that's the case, I'll head over to that guy's place right now and rip his head off for hurting Rogue! Jean added mentally to herself, gritting her teeth viciously with uncharacteristic violence.

"N-No," Rogue replied dejectedly, her tears subsiding somewhat. "An' that's the crazy part. Ah was the one who started it all." She turned, looking at Jean with wide, timorous eyes. "Ah know you won't understand – Ah barely understand it mahself since Ah just ain't that kinda gal, but… Ah just wanted – Ah just really needed – to feel that somebody wanted and loved meh just like Cody had. And Remy… He's been such a jerk… but so wonderful at the same time, and… and it was so nice, Jean, like it was more than just comfort sex…" She faltered, dropping her head into her hands, and Jean couldn't have expected in her wildest dreams what she heard next. "Ah think… Jean, Ah really think that Ah might be fallin' in love with him…"

It was the last in a long line of shocks Jean had received in the past 24 hours, and even as she tried to say something soothing and comforting to her dear friend, the gravity of Rogue's dilemma began to dawn on her and she could say nothing. She could barely even begin to comprehend how Rogue felt, let alone take it all in.

"But what if," she began after a moment, trying wildly to make some sense out of it all, something good and worth holding onto, "Rogue, what if he feels the same way? Couldn't there be a chance that his kindness was down to something more than just mere concern or even deception? Could it be he really cares for you too?"

Rogue shook her head fiercely in answer.

"No. The guy just ain't capable of love, Jeannie. He wouldn't know what it looked like even if it came up and bit him on the ass!" She paused and sighed with frustration. "Look, Jean, Ah don't doubt for a minute that his kindness was genuine. But love – no way, it ain't possible. He just saw a chance t' score and took it. And Ah let him. That's what hurts." She looked away, her voice lowering slightly. "And y'know what's even crazier? It felt so special when Ah was with him. Ah hate him, Jean, but Ah can't help thinkin' how wonderful he is, and it's so wrong but when Ah'm around him he makes me feel like a million dollars, mah stomach turns somersaults every time Ah think about him…" Even through her tears, her pale face was flushed and she couldn't help smiling. "If only he wasn't such a goddamn whore…!" she finally cried in frustration.

By now, Jean didn't doubt just how strong Rogue's feelings for the wayward Cajun were, even if Rogue herself did. So she squeezed her friend's shoulder encouragingly and said: "Maybe you should go back and talk to him…" But Rogue brushed aside the suggestion firmly, shaking her head with typical stubborn resolution.

"No, Ah just can't face him again Jean, not so soon after the fact. Besides," she added in a lower tone, "the fact is, my fiancé's just passed, and Ah've just gone and betrayed him by sleepin' with another man. It doesn't matter how or why it happened, it was just wrong."

Jean couldn't help but silently agree. Of course – Cody had only just passed away, and Rogue had him and his family to think of. Even Jean knew the guilt Rogue must be feeling at the moment and it far surpassed her own. Wordlessly she took her friend's hands in her own and held them tightly, trying to will any strength she had left into her.

"Rogue," she began gently, not wanting to bring up the painful memories but unable to find any other way of bringing things home to her friend, "we all know Cody would only ever have wanted your happiness. Even you said so yourself. That's why we supported you when you were with Erik and Joe and all those other guys. We wanted you to find happiness again. And if you really care about Remy, then I'm sure Cody would be glad to know you were finally happy once more. Isn't that right?"

Rogue was silent, ruminating on the redhead's words a moment before shaking her head regretfully.

"Ah know Cody would want me to be happy," she agreed softly. "But the question is: can Remy LeBeau give me that kinda happiness? To him, makin' me happy would probably just amount to how long he could keep it up in bed. And that ain't what Ah want from a relationship, Jean, not now, not never."

Jean gave a small, wry smile, glad to see that despite everything Rogue's usual canny sense of humor was still intact. Still, they both knew that for now it was a hopeless case. Rogue's first duty was to her dead fiancé, the man who'd always held that first and most important space in her heart.

"Jean," Anna spoke up quietly, "Ah need t' use your phone."

Puzzled, Jean reached for the cordless phone on her coffee table, her eye catching the flashing red light again of the answer machine again. But now Scott and Logan were the furthest things from her mind, replaced only with concern for her bereaved friend.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"Ah haveta say goodbye t' Cody," Rogue replied in an undertone. "Ah haveta book a flight down to Mississippi right away."

-xXx-

To be continued...