Disclaimer: Characters are copyrighted to Marvel...blah, blah, blah...

A/N: Just wanna say thanks to Tammy for pointing out the mistake last chapter... :)

-xOx-

Mix 'n' Match

(18) Monday Blues

It was the average Monday from hell – well, almost.

After all, it wasn't every day that the self-professed hottest man in town was kicked to the curb by an equally gorgeous femme, even after providing her with his most excellent services in bed. So no, it wasn't really an average Monday from hell at all. In fact it was worse than usual.

Remy LeBeau had spent the entirety of Saturday and Sunday waiting for today so that he could corner Anna – not that he knew what he'd do once he cornered her. Maybe ask her out on a date or whatever else sensible people did these days. Not that it really mattered, since she was already taken. It didn't stop him from being fully prepared to act desperate and say stupid things to her, like 'I-care-about-you' and 'I'll-be-anything-you-want-if-you-drop-that-loser-for-me'.

Instead, to his frustration, she hadn't turned up for work at all. Not that he blamed her for not wanting to see him. It wasn't that he didn't mind taking another man's woman. He'd done it often enough. But for some irritating reason he just couldn't do it to Anna. It was a crushing blow to his male ego and the humiliation was making a bad day even worse. To top it all off Jean-Paul was now on his case, asking him why Anna had neglected to call before taking an impromptu day off.

"I've got a meeting scheduled with your creative team," his irate boss was ranting at him from the other side of his desk, "and she chooses today of all days to pull a sickie on me?"

Remy sighed. It wasn't enough to be proven a lovesick loser. JP had to be in a bad mood, and he was bearing the brunt of his boss' usually mild temper.

"Look, JP," he replied in an irritated tone, "Anna ain't sick. She's just upset. Friday night she got a phone call before she left. She had a row with someone. Probably her boyfriend." He pouted a little and pulled out a cigarette from his breast pocket.

"Well that's still no reason for her not to turn up for work," JP huffed. "And even if a row with her boyfriend was enough to have her bed-ridden, she could've at least phoned me and let me know that…" He paused mid-sentence, only just realizing the weight of Remy's words. "Wait a minute. She has a boyfriend?"

Remy lit his cigarette as casually as he could manage. "Oui."

"How do you know?"

"I just do, okay!" he exploded. He didn't mean to be prickly with Jean-Paul, but if this was going to turn into a game of twenty-questions… … Jean-Paul was silent a moment, wordlessly assessing the petulant downturn of Remy's lips.

"You didn't proposition her, did you?" he asked suspiciously.

"Of course I didn't," Remy scoffed, knowing his busybody friend wasn't going to buy it. True to form, he didn't.

"You did, didn't you!" JP exclaimed in delighted outrage.

"Non, I did not!"

"And she turned you down!"

"Absolutely, definitely not!"

By now Remy was glowering so heavily it would've been enough to bring rain clouds on. The ferocity of his expression was enough to tell JP that he'd obviously touched a sore spot. He wasn't surprised. In fact he felt a bit smug about it. He'd seen this coming a mile off, enough to even warn Remy about it beforehand. He'd been all geared up to gloat when the occasion arose, but seeing how upset the irrepressible Cajun really was about Ms. Raven's apparent non-single status, he decided it was best to back down.

"Okay, so she's spoken for," he stated jovially, trying to raise his friend's evidently dampened spirits. "So what? There're plenty of other girls round here, mon ami, and they're all falling over each other to get your attention. You've got a whole typing pool out there to play lucky-dip with."

"I don't want no 'lucky-dip'," Remy replied stubbornly. "I want Rogue."

"Rogue?" Jean-Paul raised an eyebrow. "What is this, you're calling her by pet-names now? Remy, I know you like playing cat and mouse, but you've really got to admit defeat on this one. You've had your fair share of beautiful women. Adding Anna Raven to the roster is just being plain greedy."

"Like hell!"

JP sighed, half-expecting Remy to stamp his foot and throw a tantrum. "Listen, Remy," he began reasonably. "I know you like Anna, and I can't say I blame you. If I was more AC than DC I'd be crazy about her myself. But she's already attached and she's just not interested. It's a waste of time. You're never going to get her in your bed, face it."

The statement was more than Remy could bear. He stood up quickly and turned towards the window, attempting to hide the look of dismay on his face. He wished his friend would just leave him alone to brood in peace. You don' know de half of it, JP, he thought miserably. She ain't a waste of time at all. In my bed or out of it.

Behind him, Jean-Paul pulled a face, finally giving in and standing up. "Sorry, Remy, but I can't sit arguing with you about your would-be conquests all day. I've got things to do and so have you. You just think about what I said, d'accord? Let Anna Raven go, mon ami. She isn't worth it." He paused and moved to the door. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

Remy watched out of the corner of his eye as JP left, letting out a sigh of relief when his boss finally disappeared. Free at last, he delved into his pocket and brought out the small photograph he'd found in his lounge that Saturday morning. He didn't know why he'd kept it. If it had been someone else he would've ripped it up and thrown it away and thought no more about it. But when he looked at the photo…of her with her arms round her nameless lover… when he saw how truly happy and beautiful she looked he knew he couldn't let go of it. He'd never seen her looking like that. And if this man made her that happy, well, he just couldn't break them apart, because he knew in his heart that he couldn't give her that kind of happiness.

He pressed his forehead against the window and dragged hard on his cig. For so long he'd fought with himself over her, pursuing her with a single-mindedness, promising himself nothing more than just a taste of the goods. And now he'd tasted her it wasn't enough. She wasn't just a cheap fuck. And no woman had been more than just a cheap fuck since…

Since her…

He thought of the wedding invitation still stuck in his desk drawer, a dark cloud looming over him, and he'd left it there purposely, unable to let go. Unable to let go. Dozens of cheap fucks and he still wasn't able to let go. Because that had been the closest to real love he'd ever known, and he couldn't get it back.

Merde…

He knew what this meant. He knew where this was going. He didn't like it one bit.

He'd got what he wanted, that one night of fantastic sex, no questions asked. It was all he'd ever asked from her.

The only problem was, now he wanted more.

-oOo-

It was a familiar feeling, the gut-wrenching anticipation of standing in arrivals and waiting for your loved one to return.

Jean leant against the railings and sighed. It was only eleven O'clock and it was already what would qualify as a stressful day. Earlier that morning she'd dropped a nervous and uncertain Rogue at the airport for her last-minute flight, trying to reassure her that ringing Remy LeBeau and explaining things to him wasn't the best idea considering the circumstances. To Jean, Rogue had two quandaries to sort out and the best thing to do was sort them out one at a time. Her first loyalty was to Cody and his family, and whatever her feelings for the Cajun, right now he was her boss and not her boyfriend. She didn't owe him anything. When she came back, that would be the time to call him up and sort things out. Rogue had reluctantly agreed to the sense in this. She was scared and Jean couldn't blame her for that. She'd kissed her twice on the cheeks and hugged her hard for extra luck. The next moment, Rogue had gone, gone to face the demons of her past.

Leaving Jean here, waiting for Scott and demons of a different kind.

The first batch of flyers had started pouring into the terminal and Jean stood on tiptoes, craning her neck for a sign of her fiancé. All around her the same old drama was going on – families, friends, long-lost relatives and lovers throwing their arms round one another, kissing one another, smiling and laughing and embracing with sheer joy that they were finally back together. It was the kind of thing that Jean couldn't help but feel touched by every time she experienced it; and yet today it left her cold.

She didn't know whether, when Scott came out those gates, she'd be able to do the same for him without it being a farce.

And suddenly there he was, coming out from behind a family of holiday-makers, tired and a little travel-worn, but looking out for her like she was looking out for him. Feelings of both relief and dread crashed through her. In an instant she was raising her hand, waving to him, calling his name. He heard her, his eyes searching for her and finally catching her own. He smiled and suddenly she found herself rushing forward, an influx of conflicting emotions enveloping her, taking her all at once so that she didn't know whether she felt sad or happy, relieved or anxious to see him again. Maybe it was all of those and more. Before she knew it her arms were about him and his were about her, and she was clinging to him, clinging to him as if to keep him with her always, as if she wanted him to assure her that this wasn't a mistake. As if she knew she was going to lose him.

"I love you, Scott," she whispered desperately, more for herself than for him.

She felt his face in her hair.

"I love you too, Red."

-xXx-

Betsy was lounging in Neal's living room while her over-enthusiastic boyfriend was going off on some anecdote about his trip to Geneva. While she was sitting there looking a very picture of demure attentiveness, in fact her mind was completely and utterly devoid of all thoughts. Actually, not quite all thoughts. She was having a thoroughly nice time fantasizing about her kiss with Warren that Friday night, and how, if Neal hadn't so inconveniently turned up, he would've slowly divested her of all her completely unnecessary clothing, carried her over to the bed and used that delectable mouth of his in places she didn't dare to mention in respectable company…

Just when her fantasy was about to get to the juiciest part it was cruelly interrupted by her cell phone going off. Excusing herself from Neal's seemingly endless yarn, she reached for her phone and saw that she had an unknown caller. A little confused – and still a little flushed from her rather lewd thoughts – she answered the call anyway.

"Hello, Elisabeth Braddock speaking."

"Good afternoon," an unfamiliar and slightly accented female voice spoke down the line. "This is Ruth Seraph calling on behalf of Glamour Inc."

"Glamour Inc?" Betsy repeated, confused. Of course, she'd heard of Glamour Inc. Most people in the fashion industry had. It was owned by Millicent Collins, an ex-model from the fifties who'd gone on to start her own fashion house. She was renowned for liking things done the old-fashioned way – having garments cut and designed by her own personally chosen group of tailors, in her own backyard. She even had an exclusive store in Queens where one-of-a-kind garments were sold at fairly reasonable prices considering they were all homegrown. Of course Betsy knew about Glamour Inc. She just had no idea why they were calling her.

"First and foremost," Ruth Seraph continued in her sing-song accent, ignoring Betsy's question, "we at Glamour Inc. would like to thank you for your interest in purchasing our business."

Betsy was so surprised she nearly dropped the cell phone. What the fuckl?

"Purchasing?" she almost screeched. "Sorry, but there must be some mistake! I…I have no interest in purchasing Glamour Inc. I…I didn't even know it was for sale!"

"This is Ms. Elisabeth Braddock speaking, is it not?" the woman asked suspiciously.

"Well, yes, but…"

"Then there is no mistake," the woman replied efficiently. "And the purchasing of our business is by no means sealed or fixed by a legal contract, Ms. Braddock. Mr. Worthington merely informed us that you were interested in Glamour Inc and that we should speak to you first."

At the mentioning of the all too familiar name Betsy almost squealed out loud; but somehow she managed to hold her tongue. Glancing over at Neal she saw that he now had the TV on and was seemingly unconcerned by the call. Seeing she was safe, Betsy quickly dashed off into the hallway and whispered urgently into the phone: "Mr. Worthington? You mean Warren Worthington?"

"Uhhh…yes, that would be the Mr. Worthington in question," Ruth Seraph returned, nonplussed as to why Betsy would suddenly be whispering down the phone. "Has he not informed you of his interest in making a bid?"

"No…I mean, yes!" Betsy enthused as quietly as she could. "I mean… not exactly, you see, he hasn't really been forthcoming with the details," she blabbered, knowing she was sounding stupid and didn't make an ounce of sense.

"Oh…Good." The woman still sounded confused. "Well… I was simply calling to ask whether you would be interested in taking a tour of our facilities and joining us for an informal interview. Ms. Collins has heard all about your modeling career and would be very interested in keeping Glamour Inc in the family, so to speak. Would a meeting tomorrow afternoon sound satisfactory to you?"

Betsy's jaw almost dropped to the ground. She didn't know how or why this was happening, but it was beyond her wildest dreams. She didn't need a second thought.

"I'd love to!" she practically gasped.

"Very well," the woman replied, back to her efficient self again. "I'll put you in for a slot at three. Shall we see you then?"

"Absolutely!" she enthused.

"Good. We'll see you then, Ms. Braddock."

Betsy switched the call off and danced on the spot like a boisterous five-year-old. Then she managed to calm herself enough to sail back into the lounge as if nothing had happened – even though she couldn't quite wipe the smug grin from her face. She felt like she was walking on cloud nine.

"You look happy," Neal noted suspiciously, looking up from his wildlife program. "Who was that on the phone?"

"Oh, uhm… Just a firm calling about a job interview," Betsy replied airily, going to mirror and running a comb absently through her purple locks.

"Job interview?" Neal echoed in amazement. "I didn't know you'd applied for a job!"

"Well, I did. I…I just wanted to keep it a surprise. You know, didn't want to get my hopes up too high… Glamour Inc are selling up and I was thinking of, you know…buying."

"What!" Neal turned to face her, outraged. "Glamour Inc! You're thinking of buying Glamor Inc! You mean to tell me you're going back to work with those fur-toting, skin-wearing stick-insects again! Betsy, I would've thought better from you by now!"

"Neal!" Betsy swung away from the mirror, shocked and hurt at his words. "If I do end up owning Glamour Inc, do you think that means I'll sell out on my beliefs! I can't believe you'd accuse me of such a thing! And you could at least be happy for me! Do you know how long I've been out of work? At least now I can get some self-esteem back! Or would you rather I was poor, inadequate little ex-model Betsy Braddock, the girlfriend you can push around?"

"Betsy, I'm sorry, that wasn't what I…" Neal began, but this time she wasn't having it.

"No, Neal! This is the last straw! I've had it with your constant guilt-tripping! I'm going to the interview tomorrow and there's nothing you can say or do to stop me!" She turned and grabbed her purse and keys from the nearby coffee table. "Don't worry," she added coldly. "I'll see myself out."

Once she'd said the words she didn't find it difficult anymore. She could stand up for herself. And as she left Neal gaping behind her she felt like she could challenge the world – yes, even her mother!

For the first time Betsy walked out that door feeling more satisfied than she had done in months.

-oOo-

"The car's running out of gas," Scott noted from his place in the passenger seat. Jean leaned over slightly to check the petrol gauge.

"Oh darnit," she groaned. "I forgot to fill-up yesterday." She cast her fiancé a sidelong glance. "Do you think we've got enough to make it home? We're nearly there."

"It's probably best to fill-up now, just incase we forget again," he reassured her. "There's a gas station just round the next couple of blocks."

"Right you are – as always." She gave him a little smile and they journeyed on a couple more minutes in silence before Scott finally spoke up uncomfortably.

"Jean…Did you get round to listening to my messages on the answer machine?"

Jean was quiet a moment, seemingly focusing on the road but actually trying to work out a suitable reply. The truth was, she'd deleted the messages because she hadn't wanted to hear his excuses. If he had any to give she wanted to hear them from him, standing right there in front of her, and not from some machine.

"You left me some messages?" she asked at last, feigning surprise. "I didn't get them. I guess that stupid answering machine must be broken – again. I'll call the repairman, get it fixed."

"Oh." Scott was silent a moment. "Why didn't you phone me then?"

"I…um… Well, the truth is," she began quickly, "Rogue was in a spot of trouble and I had to help her out and I just didn't have the time or energy to talk things over with you." She took in a deep breath, continued: "Cody passed away over the weekend."

She knew Scott had never approved of Rogue but nevertheless Jean detected a sincerely regretful look on his face. "Oh, Jean… That's awful… How's she taking it?"

"Not well at all," she replied, not wanting to go into any personal details. "But she left for the funeral this morning. Maybe facing up to her past will do her some good."

"Yeah… Let's hope so."

They fell into silence again as they stopped at some traffic lights. Jean blew a lock of red hair out of her face and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. She knew he wanted to talk. She just wasn't sure she was ready for it.

"Jean," he finally spoke up.

"Scott?" she replied.

"Look…I know what you're thinking."

"So what am I thinking?"

"You think… I'm having an affair."

Jean sucked in her lips and said nothing for a moment, wishing the lights would change so that she could have an excuse not to look into his face, not to concentrate on what he was going to say.

"Are you?" she asked at last.

"Jean," he began in an undertone, "after all this time together, do you really think I'm capable of hurting you like that?"

She was quiet, turning the weight of his words over in her mind. "So it was innocent then?" she asked desperately, finally turning to him. "This Madelyne woman being in your room?"

He looked her in the eyes, held her gaze in a way that told her that whatever he was going to say next wouldn't be a lie.

"It was far from innocent, Jean," he told her solemnly. "But not in the way you think. It was Madelyne who was coming onto me."

The lights changed. Jean stared at him for what felt like a long time as this new revelation seeped into her skin. So Scott hadn't been cheating. He'd remained faithful to her. She'd been willing to think the worst of him and she knew why. Because she'd been thinking the worst of herself. She'd been contemplating an affair and so it made it easier to think Scott was doing the same. She felt terrible. If she'd felt guilty before she felt a million times worse now.

"Scott…maybe we should talk about this when we get home," she breathed.

A car honked them loudly from behind.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Now's definitely not the time."

Jean quickly shifted the car into gear and sped off towards the gas station. Even when they got there the both of them were quiet, but in a way Jean was glad for the silence – it gave her time to think. She filled up the gas tank while contemplating on the inevitable discussion they'd have when she got home. She would have to do it. She would have to confess her transgressions to Scott, her attraction to Logan and the fact that in the end, her good sense had won out. After all, he'd been honest with her and he deserved no less. She was going to be good. She was going to be brave and confess everything!

The resolution now firmly in her mind, Jean went to pay her receipt. As she entered the store she brushed against another customer who was coming out.

It was Logan.

She nearly dropped her purse.

"Logan!" she cried.

He was dressed in a T-shirt and leathers, his face clean-shaven and his unruly hair slicked back. He looked good. He looked as if nothing had happened between them, as if he was moving on with his life. He looked so good it made her stomach churn with sudden need.

"Jean," he replied, quietly, with that same undercurrent of passion he'd spoken with that last Friday night. When she heard it, she knew. She knew her feelings hadn't changed at all. It made her heart ache, her flesh burn where they had touched. She found herself unable to move away from him, unable to say a word – but it was already too late. He was looking over her shoulder, looking at Scott waiting in the car, oblivious. And Scott's presence said it all. With calm resignation Logan moved his eyes to hers, not resenting her, not blaming her, letting her go. Jean held her breath.

"Bye, Red," he murmured.

Nothing more needed to be said.

She watched him leave knowing all she wanted was to have him back.

-xXx-

For a minute or so – maybe two – it'd been like heaven.

I'd woken up Saturday morning to find someone's arms around me, holding me close, his body spooning gently against mine. It was the way Cody had held me, back in the day, when my life had been so much simpler and happier, when I'd thought I was one of those lucky girls who'd managed to get things right first time round. Except it wasn't Cody. He wasn't Cody. And that was half the problem, and half the solution. I didn't want him to be Cody. I wanted him the way he was. But at the same time, I felt guilty, that if he wasn't Cody I shouldn't have been with him.

I have no illusions about what happened that night. Half of it was most certainly down to a need for comfort sex. But the other half – that's the half that worries me. He'd been so kind, so gentle, going out of his way to be nice to me, making it feel like something more and I can't get that out of my head. I know now why all those gals are so hung up on him. Because being with him makes them feel incredible and wanted and sexy and special, makes them feel like they're the only woman alive.

I keep on thinking that if I hadn't pretended to be asleep that night things may have been different. I can't forget how he'd come back to me, how he'd touched me and kissed me and whispered my name, how I couldn't help thinking maybe he'd say those words just like Cody had before…

But of course, they'd never come.

It hadn't stopped me from hoping that he meant to say them, because the look in his eyes when he'd gazed at me, I knew that look, I knew what it meant…

I'd woken up the next morning realizing I'd been kidding myself. I knew he'd never say those words, because he didn't feel them for me. He wanted me – perhaps he wanted me more than most women he'd wanted before, but it still didn't change the fact that it'd been nothing more than a one night stand. I couldn't really blame him for it entirely – I'd wanted it too, and so I'd let him take advantage of me. But I'd wanted it for different reasons. To him it was just sex. And to me, I now knew, it was something more.

I was falling in love with him.

It'd been too much to take in, to even admit. As soon as I'd woken up and knew what I was feeling, I knew I couldn't stay. If I stayed a moment more, if I waited for him to wake up and whisper those sweet-nothings into my ear, I never would've been able to break myself away. And I know I deserved more than that. I deserve more than being taken advantage of. I deserve more than spoiling Cody's memory with a cheap and nasty fling.

It's been two days and now I'm on the plane, flying home to Mississippi, running this mantra desperately over and over in my head. It doesn't, however, change one important factor.

Cheap and nasty fling it may have been, but it would've been a cheap and nasty fling with a man I love.

And it's been a long time since I loved anyone.

I sigh and try to stop thinking about him. Saturday, the morning after, had to have been one of the worst days of my life. I'd gone to Jean, confessed everything to her. I'd felt awful, nothing short of a scheming adulteress who'd done her man wrong. It made it worse knowing I'd enjoyed every second in the Cajun's bed. I just had to get away. I just had to go back to Mississippi and face Cody one last time, even if it was the only way to get that night out of my mind.

And here I am, and I'm still thinking about it.

Him and me and one amazing night between us… one terrible, horrible mistake, one huge big mess.

It seems as if it's fate. Ever since the moment Cody ended up in that coma, everything seems to have gone wrong with my life. At first, the doctors had said he'd pull through. Then they'd said if he ever woke up, he'd be unable to walk, talk, fend for himself. Finally they came back with the inevitable – he'd never recover. He'd never wake up. Slowly, day by day, week by week, he'd degenerate, waste away until there was no more Cody left. He was going to die.

Nevertheless his parents had refused to let go of him. His lifeless, listless presence continued to fill me with guilt and shame. Every time I went back to see him, the past would just keep flooding back, and I couldn't let it go because I was to blame. And so, I tried to draw a line under the both of us. I knew I couldn't carry on hurting – I had to get on with my life.

I tried to draw that line, really I did.

I ignored the letters and phone-calls from the hospital. I stopped going back home to Caldecott. I even hid away my engagement ring, knowing I'd never get to marry the man I'd always wanted to marry, so what was the use in holding onto that part of us?

And then I met someone else. I think I knew from the beginning that he was going to be that someone else. The moment he'd walked into that interview room and all those fireworks had gone off? Yup, that would've been the moment. I figure a part of me was still holding onto Cody. The guilt-ridden, shame-filled part of me, telling me I shouldn't fall in love again. So I'd gone out of my way to hate Remy LeBeau, and the fact that he was an utter asshole had made the process all the easier. But what gal can deny her true feelings? I deserve to be happy. I deserve to find love again. It's what Cody would've wanted for me, right?

And yet again fate conspires to bring everything crashing down around me.

And so I'm going back home, to say goodbye to all the good times I had, all the good times I'm beginning to think I'll ever have.

-oOo-

It was three in the morning and the bar was practically empty. Even the regulars, Logan's personal friends and patrons, had all trundled home long ago.

Logan stood behind the bar and absently wiped a few empty glasses clean. It was about the fifth time he'd cleaned the same glass, but he didn't want to go home, because he knew that if he went to bed he wouldn't be sleeping anyway. He'd be wondering why, when everything had been going so right, the beautiful redhead named Jean Grey had rejected him. Okay, so she was about to be married to some po-faced executive who had a good job, money, security and a red Ferrari over Logan. But the truth was plain to see – she was just too good for the jerk.

Logan sighed and placed the glass neatly back down on the bar. He stared at it, smirking at his twisted reflection. He was the kind of guy that didn't let many people get close to him, least of all women. It was kind of ironic that after all that pushing away, he was finally willing to take a chance on someone, only to be discarded. Life just wasn't fair sometimes.

There was someone else in the Hideaway who didn't look like he was doing too good either. That arrogant Cajun asshole, Remy LeBeau, was sitting at the other end of the bar, smoking his tenth cigarette of the evening and drinking his eighth vodka on the rocks. He'd been sitting there since nine last night. Logan didn't like the guy. He never had. He was a slimy, good-for-nothing, lecherous toad. But even he had to feel sorry for the poor bastard, given the state he was in.

"Look, Gumbo," Logan called across the length of the bar. "Yer really need t' get yerself home. How 'bout I call yah a cab, huh? Think you've had enough drinks t' last yerself a lifetime of hangovers there."

Remy scowled at him. "Shuddup an' bring me another one," he drawled miserably. Logan half considered grabbing him by the scruff of his collar and dragging him outside to sleep it off in the streets. But then, he thought, if he had half a chance right now, he'd be doing the same. So he poured out two drinks – one for Remy, one for himself – and went over to the other end of the bar.

"Where's your lady?" Logan asked gruffly, setting the glass down in front of him. "Ain't never seen you in here without one."

"She's gone," Remy slurred, giving a dramatic gesture with his glass and sloshing half the contents onto Logan's well-polished bar. "Oth'wise I wouldn' be sittin' here drinkin' wit' you, would I, homme. Instead of talkin' t' a hairy li'l runt such as y'self… I'd be havin' mind-blowin' sex wit' de most gorgeous woman dis side o' de universe. If I had a choice, which one you t'ink I'd rather choose?"

"If I had a choice," Logan began dolefully, swigging down a mouthful of alcohol, "between standin' in this shit-hole talkin' to a randy li'l punk like you, and makin' out with a beautiful redhead, what d'you think I'd be doin' right now?"

Remy set down his glass – wonkily – and peered at Logan from behind his bangs.

"You too, huh?"

"Uh-huh." Logan downed his drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and poured another. "Women. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em… an' all that crap."

"Yeah," Remy sighed, his eyes going wistful. "Sometimes I wonder why de Good Lord made 'em… Dose gorgeous bodies… Dose luscious lips an' long, long legs… An' dose breasts…" he made a somewhat obscene gesture with his hands, "an' all dat long, silky hair…"

Logan gave a cold, humorless laugh. "Sounds like you've got it bad, Gumbo," he remarked. "Thought you had every broad round here wrapped round your li'l finger."

"Shuddup," Remy glowered, holding out his glass for a refill. Logan obliged him. "You don' know dis femme. She gorgeous, homme. Like everyt'ing you'd t'ink Botecelli's Venus was supposed to be an' more."

"Ain't never seen this 'Botecelli's Venus', kid," Logan grunted. Remy started rummaging round in his pocket and finally pulled out a worn, dog-eared, passport sized photograph. He handed it to Logan.

The girl with her arms around the all-American pretty-boy was beautiful alright, but Logan had seen plenty of beautiful girls in his time and nowadays he only found a certain type attractive, someone with a certain something in them. The most appealing thing about this girl, he had to admit, was her eyes.

His mind involuntarily wandered back to his fiery-headed, green-eyed doctor again.

Logan frowned and dropped the photo back on the bar. "She looks happy," he said softly. He was beginning to feel sorry for the guy. The two of them actually had more in common than he thought.

"Yeah," Remy nodded plaintively, crushing the butt of his cigarette in a nearby ashtray and lighting another. "She happy. Dey both happy. An' what femme'd ever be happy wit' me? All I do is play fast an' loose an' break dere hearts."

"Hey," Logan leaned in towards him, "You gotta pull yerself t'gether Gumbo. Okay, so she's happy with some other loser. So what? There're plenty more moths gonna flock round your little flame. Forget about her. Let her go."

Remy frowned, took a drag on his cigarette and said: "Would you say the same 'bout your redhead?"

Logan paused a moment. For the sake of the argument, he would've said yes. But he knew, deep down that given a chance he'd be beating the crap out of Mr. Perfect, sweeping Jean off her feet and whisking her off to some desert island in the sun somewhere.

"Yeah, you're right," he replied at last. "If I had a chance, Red'd call off the weddin' and be runnin' off with me." Remy looked up, shooting him an expression that clearly said, you poor bastard. But Logan took no notice of it. He had little enough time feeling sorry for himself, let alone others feeling sorry for him. "But if that's the way you feel 'bout Green Eyes there, then you're in luck," he continued. "Think she's gettin' hitched, Gumbo? You ever seen a ring on her finger?"

A look of enlightenment lit Remy's face.

"You want her, you go get her," Logan added. "If she feels half the way you do 'bout her, I guarantee she'll come runnin' straight to you. But if not…" he shrugged, "at least you'll know where you stand. You ain't got nothin' t' lose, kid."

"But de photograph…" Remy protested.

"Is just that. A photograph. For all you know, trouble could be in paradise. Maybe the lady's bored and needs a little extra spice in her life." He smirked, shrugged. "That's where you step in."

Despite himself, Remy began to grin. "Extra spice is one o' my specialties, frere," he joked. "You're right – dis Cajun ain't got nothin' t' lose. If de femme's really happy wit' dat jock down dere, den at least I'd've tried. But if she ain't…"

"Then you can be spending more time havin' fun with her than stayin' here talkin' t' me," Logan finished for him. "But for now," he added, "I think you should curb your knight-in-shinin'-armor routine and get some rest. I'm calling you a cab home, alright, Gumbo?"

-xXx-

To be continued...