Nine to Five

by Goldylokz

Rogue is faced with an antimutant mob & somehow winds up getting a job at a music store. And with Magneto out of town, Bayville gets painted red and Rogue has some frequent visitors at the store. Romy, Jonda with a hint of Kiotr.

11. Love is in the Air

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the X-Men/Marvel/WB characters, some of these lines are not even mine but taken or paraphrased from various cartoons and comics I've read. What can I say, but I suck with dialogue. Just have some story in my head that won't go away so I'm writing it down. I don't get any money for this, only a mild break in boredom.

St. John is not, by any means, a typical Australian or even a representative of Australians, so please do not journey to Australia expecting to find a whole bunch of trouble-making people to play with matches with. Especially in the forests there 'cause if you burnt those down I would have to hunt you down and beat you with a stick (just kidding but I would be enraged beyond words).

---

thoughts

telepathy

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NINE TO FIVE: Chapter Eleven - Love is in the Air

Insert John lip sinking to Barry White here

Bayville, New York: 6:30 p.m.

A lone Australian walked through town kicking stones and muttering to himself: "Bloody pikers! Just who do they think they are to abandon me for the second time this week? They probably wanted to run around after their pretty little X-Geeks they can't even have. Pathetic. But don't fret, St. John," he addressed himself, "you shall have your revenge." John laughed maniacally. "Revenge is sweet."

John sorted through various slightly evil plots in his mind. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice the red convertible with the white stripe down the center until it was too late.

"Ouch! Bloody hell! Watch where you're going!" John shouted at the unoccupied parked car.

He looked around to where his feet had taken him: The newly reconstructed Bayville Mall.

A mischievous grin formed on the Aussie's face. "This is a perfect night for some consumer mayhem. But first." John looked back at the red convertible, which the owner had naively left the top down. "You need to be taught a lesson."

---

In a nearby pool hall, a strange teenage girl with auburn hair and white bangs entered with a young man dressed in jeans, a red baseball tee, a trench coat and sunglasses. The place was small, dark, and slightly smoky. There were cues lining the walls, twelve pool tables, only three of which were occupied, a couple old arcade games, two foosball tables, dartboards, a jukebox, and a small bar.

The bartender greeted Remy warmly. "Remy LeBeau, welcome back." He looked past Remy to see Rogue behind him. "Not here with the boys this evening, I see. Hello, I'm Louis, and this is my place." Louis extended his hand toward Rogue.

Rogue nonchalantly took it. "I'm Rogue."

"Rogue, that's a strange name. Run in your family?" Louis questioned. Rogue just shrugged.

"Well, she's certainly talkative," Louis sarcastically commented to Remy.

"You just gotta know what buttons to push. Right, chere?" Remy put his arm around her causing a face of discomfort to emerge across her face.

"Yah, Remy, an' ya're 'bout this close," Rogue held up her hand and held her index finger and thumb a centimeter apart, "ta pushin' mah self-destruct button." And with that she pulled herself out of Remy's embrace.

Louis laughed. "She's a feisty one, Remy. You sure you can handle her?"

Remy opened his mouth to comment, but Rogue beat him to it. "Handle meh? Handle meh where?"

"She's got an attitude, when you dig down there, don't she?" Louis again commented.

The Cajun agreed with a hint of pride in his voice. "She's got sass." He wished he could put his arm around her again, but from the death glares she was giving him, he decided against it. Maybe I'll try again later.

Rogue put her hands on her hips. "Will ya'll stop talkin' like ah ain't here!"

"Quite demanding too," Louis said as Remy turned back to Rogue.

"Sorry, chere," he apologized. "Do you want anthin' to drink?"

"A coke."

"Louis, I'll have a bud an' de poster child for designated drivers here would like a coke (1)," Remy teased. Rogue smacked him in the arm.

"Ow! Not so hard, chere, not 'til later anyway." Remy wiggled his eyebrows at her. Rogue hit him again in the same spot. "Ow!" Remy rubbed his bruising arm."Why'd you doin' dat?"

"Sorry, it's a reflex," Rogue told him.

"A reflex triggered by what?" he asked.

"Ya sayin' somethin' stupid," Rogue answered. "Ah have a feelin' mah arm will get a work out tonight."

Remy grabbed his drink off the counter and started to take a sip while Louis went to get a coke. "'Sides, Louis here might get in trouble if he serves meh. Ah am only seventeen," Rogue told him.

Remy violently spit his beer back into the mug. "Only seventeen. Really?"

"Yah, why? How old are ya?"

Remy glazed at her taking her in with his eyes. "Let's just say, if it weren't fo' your powers, I'd be breakin' several laws right now."

The seventeen year old snorted. "Like ah'd let ya near meh."

Wearing his player smile, Remy leaned up against the bar. "How long ya gonna resist the Cajun charm?"

"Charm? Is that what ya call those cheesy pick up lines ya memorize off the Internet?" Rogue shot back.

"You offend me, chere. Those lines be original, straight off de cuff," Remy insisted.

Rogue turned her head to the side and blew a stray white bang out of her face. "Sure, swamp rat. Anyway ya avoided mah question, swamp rat: How old are ya?"

"Twenty-two. Does that bother you?" Remy unknowingly held his breath. Rogue noticed.

"Not really. 'cept that ya certainly don't act your age," Rogue told the older man. Louis came back with Rogue's drink and she took it.

With his free hand, Remy grabbed Rogue's hand and led her to a pool table in the farthest back corner of Louis' Place.

"Why do we haveta play all the way back here?" Rogue asked.

"It's de best table in de joint." Remy put his drink down on a nearby table and got some quarters out of the change machine.

"Really? That so?" Rogue said skeptically with a raised eyebrow.

"Oui, de most secluded table is always de best table," Remy informed his date.

"An' why do we need a secluded table?" Rogue asked as they walked over to the wall and chose some cues.

A huge grin spread across Remy's face and he just winked at her. Rogue smacked him in the arm again.

"Ow! I didn' even say anythin' dat time!" Remy rubbed his arm again.

Rogue stared him down. "But ya were thinkin' stupid, dirty things."

"How do you know dat? You're friend Jeannie hidin' 'round here, readin' my mind?"

"No! An' Jean is not mah friend."

"But I'm your friend, right?"

"Haven't decided yet," she answered truthfully. She didn't know if he was trustworthy or what he was really after.

"What's your decision ridin' on?"

"Don't know," Rogue shrugged. Remy did not seem satisfied with her answer: He tried to start up with the puppy face again. Rogue rolled her eyes at his childish antics and decided to match them. "How 'bout how may times ah have ta hit ya. If it's under ten, ya can be mah friend."

Remy smiled. "Okay, ten starting now, right? D'ose first three don' count, right?"

Rogue didn't answer his question. "Just break swamp rat."

They played stripes and solids for several minutes. At first Remy had played down, thinking that Rogue was not very experienced in the game. This myth was cleared up on Rogue first shot when she hit three balls in before watching the ten-ball bounce around the corner pocket. Still, Remy felt no ambition to beat her so he decided to make a suggestion. "Let's say we make dis game a little more interestin'. Let's make a deal."

"Ah ain't bettin' money with ya, swamp rat," she said as she took aim.

"Non, how 'bout a different kind of bet." Remy licked his lips and put his million-dollar smile on. "Let's say de loser has to give de winner a kiss."

Rogue put down her cue and gave a Remy an annoyed look. "Sounds great. An' then ah get the pleasure o' carryin' your comatose ass home."

The Cajun shrugged. "Maybe it be worth it, non?' Rogue looked at him, but didn't verbally respond. She laid her cue down on the table and headed toward the door. Remy raced ahead and cut her off.

"Non, don' go chere, please," he begged her. "Remy wants you to stay. What does Remy have to do to get you to stay?"

The southern belle blew up. "Where do ya come off! Ya know what happens when ah touch somebody!"

Remy hung his head down and grabbed her hands loosely in his. "Oui, I know…I just…" he rolled his head so he was looking at the ceiling, trying to find the words. "You intoxicate me…"

"No, that was the beer," Rogue interrupted and tried to push past him. Remy blocked her escape.

"No! You just intrigue me. I don' understand a thin' 'bout you, but I feel that I will burst if I don'. Every time I make you smile, I melt inside." It was a line he had said before, but even Rogue could sense that there was some genuine feeling behind it.

Why is he doin' this? Why won't he just let meh be? Ah was content ta bein' alone. But now, it feels empty ta leave. He so stubborn an' arrogant. Ah should despise him, but then he gives meh a peak into this thoughtful side between his god-awful pick-up lines. He challenges mah way of life, the way ah decided ta live after ah manifest mah powers. Ah shoot all these sparks and daggers at him an' he just brushes them off. Why? Damn curiosity. Curiosity did kill the cat, but hopefully ah'm smarter than that. She looked at his sunglasses, trying to see through them into his enchanting eyes. What is the harm in getting' ta know him a little better?

After several moments of silence Remy quietly asked her again, "Please stay Rogue." She let go of one of his hands and squeezed the other one as she led him back to their game.

"Okay, new deal," Rogue announced. "The winner gets to ask the loser a question, which he has to -"

"You mean he or she, chere."

"- which he has ta answer -"

"No she, eh. Is dere somethin' you're not tellin' me, Roguey?"

Rogue stifled a laugh and continued, "- has ta answer the question…" Remy smiled mischeviously. "…truthfully."

"Damn," Remy commented under his breath, but loud enough so Rogue could still hear.

"…an' ta the winner's satisfaction," she finished. Now maybe ah can figure out what he's up to.

"Can't be 'bout "work." Ya don' want me to get in trouble wit' de Magnet Man now, do you?" Remy stipulated.

"Sure, not about 'work,'" Rogue agreed.

Remy looked thoughtful for a second. "Can de question be an action or dare 'cause I know of a few t'ings you could do ta give meh satisfaction." Rogue hit him hard in the arm.

"One?" he questioned.

"No, four, swamp rat."

"Are you sure it's under ten punches an' not over?"

---

Peter stopped at the gate to Professor Xavior's School for Gifted Youngsters. I cannot do this. I should turn back now. Despite his hesitations, Peter pressed the intercom button. I hope she is home.

" seeks admittance to Xavior's Haunted Mansion?" Peter could hear some rustling in the background.

"Knock it off, Bobby," Amara's voice came on.

"OW! That hurt Amara!" Bobby exclaimed.

"Xavior's School. Please state your business," Amara said.

"I, uh, am here to see Kitty. This is Peter," the Russian stuttered into the com box.

"Kitty!" he heard Amara yell, "Some guy named Pete is here to see you!"

"Pete?" Peter heard Kitty say in the background, "Do I know a Pete?" Peter's heart sank. She does not remember me. I should go home.

"Hello?" Kitty's voice questioned from the intercom. Peter hesitated to answer. "Is anyone there?" Peter could hear Kitty's voice turn away from the intercom. "What are you guys up to? There's no one there!"

With a sudden burst of courage, Peter managed to push the intercom button again, "Uh, hello, Kitty? This is Peter from the other day at the park -"

Kitty rushed over to the intercom from interrogating Amara. "Hello, hello? This is Kitty. I'm here."

"Told you there was someone there," Amara grumbled in the background.

"Uh, I finished the painting of you in the park, and you said you would like to see it, but if now is not a good time…"

"OH! That Peter! Oh, no. Now is, like, great. Come right in." A buzzing sound was heard as the gates opened to let Peter drive up to the gate. Last change to turn back. The metal man took a deep breath and exhaled. Here goes nothing.

When Peter had pulled up to the mansion, Kitty was sitting on the front porch waiting. He stepped out of the car and started shaking slightly. Lucky for him the car was between him and Kitty so she couldn't see how nervous he was. He took a couple deep breaths and pulled his painting out of the back seat. It was a 18" by 24" watercolor that he worked practically nonstop all week on. Remy had to remind him to eat a couple of times. He just didn't want to do anything else. The sooner I get this done, the sooner I will get to see Kitty again. That's not to say that he did a slipshod job or anything. Actually it was one of his best works. Funny things happen when you are inspired. He glanced at the pretty little valley girl through the tinted windows of the car. I hope she likes it.

Peter walked around the front of the car toward Kitty on the porch steps. "Hello," Peter managed to get out as well as a nervous smile.

"Hey!" she cheerfully responded. Kitty pointed to the painting under his arm. "Is that it?"

"Yes," Peter responded and handed her the matted and framed watercolor.

Kitty took it and sat down. "WOW. This is amazing Peter!" Her fingers passed over the glass as she examined the painting. "This is the coolest this I have ever seen!"

Peter beamed. "I am glad you like it. It is yours if you want it."

"NO WAY! I couldn't take this away from you. Someday you're gonna have some gallery opening and be like, 'Damn, I wish I hadn't given away that painting, the Queen really would have liked it.'"

Peter loosened up a little and laughed. "The Queen?"

"Well, you know. Not necessarily the Queen of England, but someone important." Kitty looked back at the painting. "Wow."

"Well, then I would just have to remind myself that art is meant to be shared and I shared that piece a long time ago," Peter said.

"You are really giving this to me!" Kitty exclaimed.

"I do not know. Now that you say it, it is the Queen's taste. Maybe I should call her first," Peter teased.

Kitty laughed. "You're making fun of me." She pouted a little for dramatic effect.

Peter pretended to reconsider his statement. " I guess I will have to give the Queen something else, because this painting is yours."

"Thank you!" Kitty jumped up and hugged the Russian, who was a little surprised. He hugged back. The both let go a few seconds later, but their eyes remained locked in silence. It became a little awkward, but Kitty soon fixed that. She looked way and smoothed down her skirt. Then she thought of something to say and pointed at Peter. "Okay, I'll keep it, but you have do promise me one thing."

"What is that?" Peter asked.

"If the Queen, like, really comes to your gallery opening then you have to call me up and borrow it." Kitty smiled.

Peter smiled back. "Of course. It is a promise."

They stood around for a few minutes. Having run out of things to say, Peter announced his departure. "I should leave now." He turned toward his vehicle.

"Wait," Kitty called after him. He turned around. "Are you doing anything tonight?" Peter shook his head. "I mean, Amara and I were planning on going to a movie later, we were just working on some transportation, would you like to come with us, as friends," she added the last part quickly. "It's not a chick flick or anything," Kitty persuaded.

Peter considered her offer and despite his nervousness, rejoiced on the inside. "Sure, and if you like I can drive."

"Great!" Kitty bounced. "I'll go tell Amara." Kitty then had a realization. "Oh, and I didn't ask you just because you have a car. I mean, I really think it would be cool to hang out with you and all."

Peter nodded, glad that that was the case. Kitty bounded toward the front doors to the mansion with painting in hand. "You can come in if you want. We don't have to leave for the movie for another half-hour or so."

"Okay," Peter slowly followed Kitty into the mansion.

---

The Bayville Mall was quite busy. It was the first weekend it had been opened since the impromptu demolition. Practically everybody and their brother was there checking it out.

This many people will make it sssoooo easy for mayhem. John interlocked his fingers and stretched his arms out in front of him. Now let's see…who shall be my first victim? John looked around for a while. His eyes fell upon a large-franchised bookstore. Why don't I just start here and work my way to the other side of the mall. It's not like those blokes are going to come pick me up anytime soon.

He waltzed into the store, smiling at the cashier, who was flipping through Cosmopolitan looking bored out of her mind. She didn't pay much attention to the firebug, and by the looks of it, probably wouldn't care if he burnt down the store.

John decided not to be that mean, I mean, there could be a pet store nearby, and I couldn't bear it if any defenseless puppies got hurt. He wandered to the mystery section, conveniently out of direct sight of the cashier.

St. John started examining the titles of the novels. He pulled out one of the thickest ones. Perfect, Mary Higgins Clark. John flipped to the last chapter and pulled out his lighter. This thumb shot over the safety and a small flame appeared. John used his powers to maneuver the flame away from the lighter. Then he closed his weapon and slipped it safely back into his pocket. Gotta conserve the lighter fluid. He made the flame dance across page 256 until it was nothing but ash. Then he made his flame into a tiny dog and had it "rip" across the next few pages. This when on until all of the pages in the last chapter of the mystery novel were cinders. The pyromaniac closed the book, blew off a couple of stray ashes and placed it back on the shelf. John smiled impishly and had his fire make two little horns on his head. Who's next? He thought.

After his fifth novel, he was getting a little bored, but the thought of playing with fire sustained him. Maybe I should move onto self-help books. Before John could make up his mind, there was a loud commotion coming from outside the store.

"Wait up, doll face!" John recognized a familiar voice say. Seconds later there was a blur of red and black coming through the door and hiding behind a bookcase near John. John casually walked down to the end of the aisle.

"Trouble with your frog price, luv?" John asked Wanda, who was crouched on the floor, watching the door to make sure Todd did not follow her in.

Wanda grabbed John by the collar of his shirt and threw him against the bookshelf. "If you give away my position, you will be dead," she threatened.

"No need to worry, I won't." John looked at his predicament, pinned up against the shelf by a gorgeous girl, not that bad. He chuckled.

"What are you laughing at?" Wanda asked as she dropped him.

"Oh, nothing." John played it cool.

Wanda dropped it. He probably just got another good view down my shirt, the perv.

John brought up a different topic. "Why are you hiding from, Cane Toad, anyway? Why not just hex his ass?"

Wanda sighed. "I think he is building up an immunity to my hex bolts. He seems to recover much faster than he used to."

"Either that or you have just fried his brain cells so he can't feel any pain anymore," John hypothesized.

"Todd had brain cells?" Wanda questioned.

"Good point," John said and threw his theory out the window.

Wanda thought of something and looked at John again, this time surprised to find no visible damage or scars.

Now it was John's turn to act paranoid. "What are you looking at?" John examined himself to see if he had toilet paper stuck to his shoe or something.

"You are still alive and surprisingly unharmed," Wanda observed.

John gave her a funny look. "You didn't rough me up that much." He smiled mischievously. "But we could always rectify that."

Wanda rolled her eyes. "No, I figured Sabertooth would have made a new lucky charms marshmallow out of you by now."

"Ohhh, that," John realized what she was talking about and then went into an explanation, unasked. "See, as it turns out, Jason really likes that show -"

"Who's Jason?" Wanda asked.

"Oh, some new guy Magneto picked up before he left. He's some telepath who makes illusions. He was sleeping off a hangover by the time you came by," John answered then continued with his story. "Anyway, Jason really likes that pansy show Gilmore Girls (A/N: John's views do not represent the author's views) on the WB which happens to come on the same time as my favorite show Buffy The Vampire Slayer. Before I would just toast anyone's ass that interrupted my Buffy viewing, but I decided to make a deal with Jason. I would let him watch Gilmore Girls without any interruptions, and he would cloud Toothy's senses when we were both around so he couldn't smell me or see me or hear me. It's worked out great so far."

Wanda stopped paying attention halfway through his story and started looking at book titles. There was a silence between them for a few moments, which John took it upon himself to rectify: "So, did you ever find that etch-a-sketch conference?"

Wanda growled. "No. I couldn't find anything online. Damn etch-a-sketch people must be computer illiterate or something."

"Well, sorry 'bout that," was all John could think to say.

It was then that Wanda looked at him and noticed the book with the burnt pages in one hand and a ball of flame floating around John's head. "What are you doing?" Wanda looked at him bewildered.

His face broke out into a grin. "I was causing some of what I like to call: consumer mayhem," John explained. "I'm being slightly evil by burning the last chapter out of these mystery novels so that the people that buy them don't get to know how the story turned out."

Wanda snorted. "Amateur." She turned and walked to another part of the store. John couldn't believe she called him that. He followed her, though.

John found her in the romance section. Without saying a word, Wanda held up a trashy romance novel with a guy and girl barely dressed riding a horse on the cover in one hand. In her other hand she held up a Babysitter's Club book, which was about the same size and shape of the other novel. The witch hexed both books, causing the binding to lose its adhesiveness and the covers fell off. Then Wanda put the dirty romance novel pages into the Babysitter's Club cover and vice versa.

Only then did she speak. "Melt the glue again, fire boy."

John hesitated. "You do know that you are defiling the minds of children." Wanda smiled evilly in response. John shrugged. "As long as you are aware." He guided the flame over to the bridges of the books and lightly toasted them so that the glue would stick to their new insides.

Wanda and John soon grew tired of playing in the bookstore. "I'm bored," Wanda announced, replacing a Dragonlance book back on the shelf. Along with corrupting the youth, the twosome had also tortured those series readers by mixing up the insides of those books too.

"Yeah, so am I. What do you want to do now?" John asked.

"I have an idea. Are you up for more mayhem in one of the vilest stores in existence?"

John was offended. "You have to ask?" Puckish grins appeared on their faces, and John followed Wanda out of the bookstore.

---

"You got your truth hat on, chere?" Gambit asked as he lined up his final shot. "'cause de eight ball is gonna get real cozy in de left corner pocket." Rogue watched, leaning against her cue, as the eight ball did indeed fall into the pocket he indicated and the cue ball came to a peaceful stop on the table.

"Damn," Rogue muttered. She had won the first game and started out asking him a simple question: What is real full name was? Rogue chuckled when he announced Rembrandt Etienne LeBeau. She teased Rembrandt for a while until this game had heated up. If I hadn't scratched on that last shot. Rogue could kick herself for not paying that close attention. Damn swamp rat and his flirting. I gotta learn to ignore his advances better. She smiled evilly at her next thought: Or maybe I should play a little at his game. Rogue looked back at Remy. He was concentrating on her, brushing his pathetic goatee as if doing that would help him come up with a question.

Remy stopped stroking his facial hair and smiled: "Since you know my name, I want to know yours. What is your real name Rogue?"

"Rogue, I had it legally changed."

"No, what was your name before dat?"

"That's two questions, swamp rat," Rogue started to pull the balls out and put them back out on the table. "Ya're gonna have ta win another game for meh ta answer that one."

"No, no, no," Remy shook his finger at her, "If I recall correctly, you said dat the loser has ta answer de question to da winner's satisfaction an' I am not satisfied."

Rogue could have kicked herself for adding that stipulation. Ah thought ah was keepin' the swamp rat from weaseling out of answering mah questions, an' now ah got trapped. "Fine, it's Marie," she spat out the name she told anyone who got too curious. She always liked that name, very sweet sounding.

"An' your last name?" Remy pried.

No one had ever asked her for her last name before. "Uh…Addams. Yah, Marie Addams."

Remy looked quizzically at her. "Can I retract my last question an' ask another one?"

"No! Ah already answered the first one!" Rogue exclaimed.

"Oui, but you cheated. You didn' answer truthfully," Remy's statement made Rogue gasp.

"How did ya know…ah mean, yes ah did!" Rogue could not cover up her mistake.

"Non, you didn'. Since you made de rules for dis game, I'm surprised you aren't followin' dem." Remy chalked up his cue for the next game.

"How did ya know ah was lyin'?" Rogue asked.

"Non, I can' answer dat. You didn' win de game yet, chere." Remy smiled. "Now, for my new question: Why don' you wanna tell anyone your real name?"

Rogue sighed realizing that there was no way around this question. "Ah don't like it. I mean, they dumped meh in an orphanage when ah was just a toddler!"

"Dey who? Your parents?"

"Yes, my biological parents, anyways. Ah guess ah just feel that when ah use mah real name, the one they gave meh, in a way they're gettin' credit fo' mah accomplishments in life when all they did was abandon meh. They're not mah parents, aside from conceiving meh, an' ah don't owe them any respect o' acknowledgement."

"I understand. It hurts don' it," Remy sympathized. "My papa, Jean Luc, took me in when I was five, maybe. Don' remember much 'fore dat. Took me in, de child wit' de demon eyes, an' raised me like his own wit' his own son Henri. De are my famille, known non other. As far as I'm concerned, I don' have any other famille."

Rogue gapped at his revelation. No one else at the mansion would understand that. They'd all think ah'd secretly want ta meet mah real parents. Only to spit in their face, ah'd say. Sure, Scott was an orphan too, but his parents died. An' they loved him 'fore that. Kurt might, but with Mystique didn't mean to abandon him. I can still feel the tortured emptiness she felt when she dropped him into the river. She loved him, whether things could work 'tween them now o' not. But Remy havin' such a similar past. He must be pullin' mah chain.

"Ya lying, swamp rat?" she almost regretted asking, but she had to make sure.

Remy looked hurt. "NON!"

Rogue's eyes shot quickly to the floor. "Sorry, Remy. It's just that ah've been lied ta so many times, it's hard for meh ta tell when people are actually tellin' meh the truth o' just want to manipulate meh inta doin' somethin' for 'em." Rogue started to rack up the balls for another round.

Remy was still hurt at her question, but he knew she had no real reason to trust him. "Apology accepted. Now you ready to get your butt kicked again?" Remy took aim to break.

"Bring it on, Cajun." Rogue grinned ready to put her new plan into play.

---

Wanda and John stood outside the vile store. John looked up at the storefront and confessed. "I'm scared to go in there."

"Stop being such a baby." Wanda grabbed his hand and entered Abercrombie & Finch. When they entered the store it was as if the whole world stopped to look at the sight. A cough came from somewhere in the back. Wanda looked around as if everything was normal. She saw a table of men's sweaters one girl had just finished folding. She walked over to the table with John in tow behind. She started lifting up various sweaters, holding them up to John's chest then haphazardly tossing them back on the neat table.

"What are you doing?" John whispered in her ear.

"Playing mind games with the hired help," Wanda replied.

It wasn't long before a salesperson had come over to "help." It was the same girl who had just spent the last hour folding each and every sweater that Wanda had tossed aside. Through clenched teeth she asked the witch, "Can I help you?"

"Yes, my friend here needs a sweater, and I simply can't decide what color he looks best in," Wanda said in a very fake cheerful voice.

"Well why don't we pick a few out and he can try them on in the dressing room," the salesgirl said, trying to get Wanda as far away from the sweater table as possible.

John stood there uncomfortably and whispered to Wanda, "You didn't say anything about having to wear the clothes!"

Wanda pretended to be very interested in the sweater choosing, but was too busy trying not to laugh at her torturing of her companion. "Stop whining. I have a plan." Yeah, to laugh at you after I force you to wear Abercrombie & Finch clothes! Do I find too much enjoyment in other people's misery? Nah.

The salesgirl was extremely happy after she managed to stop Wanda from messing up her table. She led the pair to the back dressing rooms with six sweaters. "Be sure to find me if you need anything else," she was required to say but silently prayed that they would just leave. She hurried back to her table to clean up before her manager found her and yelled at her for not folding the sweaters like he asked.

Meanwhile in the dressing room, John was having to do a lot of convincing to get himself to try on the sweaters. He had managed to take off his ACDC shirt and actually touch one of the sweaters in the pile.

"What exactly is your insidious plan?" John called out to Wanda waiting outside the dressing room.

"Can't tell. It's a secret plot," Wanda replied.

Yeah, right. She probably just wants to see what she can make me do that I don't want to. John then concocted a plan of his own. I'll show her. John put his arms through the sweater and grunted. "Houston we have a problem," he announced to Wanda.

"What?"

"I can't get the sweater on," John lied.

"What do you mean, you can't get the sweater on? It's a sweater for goodness sake. I wore a straight jacket for six and a half years of my life, and I can figure out how to put a sweater on," Wanda was astounded at his incompetence.

"Nice speech, but I don't think the sweater understood it; it is still giving me difficulties," was the Aussie's response.

Wanda let out an agitated sigh. "Moron. Does your mother still come by in the mornings to dress you? I'm coming in to help you out." An annoyed witch stomped over to John's dressing room and let herself in. Wanda saw St. John standing there with the sweater on his arms and his bare chest, which wasn't that poorly built. He even had a little two-pack.

"So what's the -" Wanda started to say before she was interrupted with a pair of genuine Australian lips. It was soft and moist, and the sensation was unlike anything Wanda had ever felt before. It sent shivers through her body as she leaned further into the kiss. The lights above the couple started to glow brighter and flicker on and off. There were some screams and yells heard from around the store when the lights would go out, but the couple in the dressing room was oblivious. Wanda wrapped her arms around John's neck and deepened the kiss.

John opened his eyes wide in surprise. Didn't think my plan would actually work. One point for the man from Oz. John wiggled one of his arms out of the dreadful sweater so he could put it around her waist.

John started to pull away for a breath, but Wanda still wanted more. She jumped onto John and kissed him again. But unfortunately John was not prepared for the added body weight, and they both fell backwards into some clothes that were hanging up on the wall and then onto the floor. Wanda pulled away this time. The lights came back on as if nothing had happened.

John was smirking underneath her in their little cave made of Abercrombie & Finch merchandise. Wanda returned the smile and started laughing. John joined her. It felt good to laugh together; it felt right. Their eyes locked again. They both leaned in.

An announcement came over the P.A. system in the store, breaking their moment. "Will the customers in dressing room six please exit the fitting area."

"Dressing room six, that sounds familiar." John tried to remember. "Wonder what they're doing in dressing room six."

Wanda rolled her eyes. "I think they're making out underneath a pile of Abercrombie clothes." Wanda then realized something. "Eww, I'm touching Abercrombie clothing." She sat up and threw the merchandise in the corner.

John propped his body up on his forearms. He didn't catch onto Wanda's allusion right away, "But that's what we're doing. Copycats…OH! I get it." He sheepishly smiled and started to get up.

Wanda stood in front of the mirror and smoothed out her shirt. "How did they know what we were doing?" she asked to no one in particular.

"Well they do have those cameras behind the mirrors in dressing rooms to deter shoplifters. We probably just gave a very good show to the security guards." John searched for his shirt and jean jacket in the mountain of clothes.

"Perverts," the witch stated. Wanda glanced over to where John was bent over still trying to find his clothes. Nice ass too. She shook her head to purge it of that thought. "I'll wait for you outside," she told John as she opened the door to the room.

Nearing the exit of the fitting rooms, Wanda heard the salesgirl that had "helped" them earlier: "And the girl had red and black hair. She was wearing a red tank top, black low-riders, and combat boots. She also had a lot of jewelry on. The guy was a little taller than she was and had a dark t-shirt on and jeans. They were acting real strange. I bet they're mutants or something. You had better get that billy club out, you might need it." Wanda was pressed flat up against the wall, out of view from the sales girl. She peaked around the corner to see six security guards with builds like Sabertooth. There were also about ten other men in uniform. Wanda grabbed her head. They look just like the asylum guards. She started shaking. They won't take me back! They won't take me back! The lights started flickering again.

"You were right to call us," one of the ten men in the uniforms said to the security guards. "The girl's description matches that of an uncontrollable mutant patient that escaped from our institution." He looked at the flickering lights. "And from what is going on here, I am sure it is her."

John came up behind Wanda and touched her quivering shoulder. "What's wrong?" he looked concerned. Wanda didn't say anything, but she had this scared look in her eyes. John peered around the corner for himself and saw the two sets of guards.

"I can't believe they called security on us!" John whispered. "It's not like I was trying to burn down the store or anything."

Wanda got a hold of herself and the lights stayed on. "They know who I am," she said. A few seconds later added, "I won't let them take me back!" The Scarlet Witch clenched her fist. There was a rumble throughout the store. John knew Wanda was the cause of it. He grabbed her by the shoulders and led her back to dressing room six.

"Calm down, girl," John made her sit on the small corner bench. "Now what's this about taking you back where?"

"They'll take me back to the asylum," Wanda shivered.

"Didn't they release you?" John asked, realizing he had no idea what Wanda had gone through the last six and a half years of her life.

"No, Mystique broke me out." Wanda clenched her teeth. "They will never take me back." The lights flickered again.

"Hey," John knelt down and looked her in the eyes. "I won't let them lay a hand on you."

John stood up and looked around. "Now we can't just walk out and trash the place or we will never be able to come back and wreak havok." John looked up at the ceiling, and an idea hit him. He stood Wanda up and whispered in her ear, "I'll set off the sprinklers. The whole store will be in chaos and the security won't see us slip out with the rest of the customers."

"But the salesgirl is out there and she gave them our descriptions," Wanda informed John.

"We'll just have to suffer and wear some of these clothes until we get out." John looked down at the mountain of discarded clothing. He picked an article up. "Hey, there is even a hat you can wear to disguise your abnormal hair."

"What's wrong with my hair?" Wanda's eyes narrowed.

"Nothing. I love it. It is just very distinctive, and that is not the look we are going for right now," John reassured her. She took the hat, but did not start to put on any other clothes.

"I am NOT wearing those clothes," she declared.

John, who had already thrown on some baggy khaki's over his jeans, looked around, "Here, wear my jacket over your shirt, that should be good." He handed her his jean jacket.

Wanda put on the jacket and examined herself in the mirror, "So there are really people watching us through these mirrors."

"Yep, that's what I hear. Hey, you wanna make these security ink things fall off," John said after he slipped on a striped long-sleeved shirt over his own. Wanda complied and off fell the security tags.

John pulled out his lighter and made a fireball. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah, all set," Wanda said still facing the mirror. John sent the fire up to the sensor. He glanced back at the red witch for a second and noticed that she was buttoning up her tank top.

"What'd you do?" John exclaimed. The alarms started going off and the sprinklers sprayed water down throughout the store.

Wanda fixed the ball cap on her head. "I distracted the surveillance people."

"You flashed them!" John exclaimed again. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to do that? I would have liked to watch the show!"

Wanda grabbed John, who was still stunned, and ran out of the fitting room area. As John had predicted, the guards were busy ushering the screaming, frightened customers out of the store to notice the two slip out with the other screaming people.

Once outside the store the two watched the spectacle. Alarms were going off and people were getting inked, because they forgot to put down their future purchases as they ran to the exit. About fifty very wet people were getting very angry. The store managers and salespeople were also angry as they would have to clean the mess up. John and Wanda laughed and started to walk away after the fire department arrived.

"So where to next?" A soaked John put his arm around and equally wet Wanda. Unfortunately she did not get a chance to respond as they were recognized by two people they did not expect.

A woman with very long, wet, and heavy red hair glared at them. Her companion looked even less thrilled as he had just got finished wiping the water marks off his sunglasses with his eyes shut.

"You two are behind this, aren't you!" Scott accused.

John played dumb. "Hey, don't point that finger at us. We were just in there looking for a sweater for my brother when the place when kamikaze. Right, Red," John looked at Wanda, she wasn't paying any attention to the conversation. She kept peering at the asylum guards from under her ball cap. One of them caught her doing it. She started shivering again, the lights were flickering, and the building started groaning. Please avoid a scene, we can't have the guards recognizing us, John prayed. Wait… John looked Jean and Scott up and down. That day Jean did not happen to be wearing her character outfit but a pair of low-riding black flares and a red T-shirt. Scott was out of form too as he had a pair of jeans and a navy blue long sleeve shirt on. This is too easy. They practically match the description of us the salesgirl gave security.

"Would you excuse me for a moment," John interrupted Scott's ranting. He reassuringly squeezed Wanda's hand and winked at her. Wanda watched with confusion when he wondered over the closest security guard.

"I couldn't help but overhear earlier that you were looking for the couple in dressing room six," John said to the burly man. "After the sprinklers came on, I came out of room seven and saw those two come out of room six." He pointed to Jean and Scott. The guard followed his gaze.

Meanwhile, with John gone, Jean and Scott started directly lecturing Wanda: "You think just because you're so powerful, you don't have to play by the rules everyone else does." Jean got in Wanda's face so she could not ignore her anymore. "Well, it doesn't work that way! Look at what you've done! Just because you are miserable doesn't mean you have to make everyone else miserable too!"

Wanda's fear turned to anger, "Are you my new psychiatrist?" The lights had stopped flickering but the ceiling continued to groan.

"I don't have to be a psycologist to understand someone like you," Jean snapped.

"Let's get one thing straight, Red! You don't know me so don't even pretend to. And as for my power goes," the ceiling groaned even louder, "you keep it up and you will be getting a first hand taste of it."

"You don't scare me," Jean said, "You're just a frightened little girl whose daddy locked her away."

That was it. Wanda caused the steel beam above them to snap and fall. Jean put her hands to her temples and pushed the beam away from her and Scott, toward Wanda. She ran and jumped out of the way.

The security guards eyes widened at the site of a red haired woman, in a red top, and black bottoms, next to a guy a little taller than she, dressed in a dark top and jeans. His eyes grew even wider when he saw the steal beam fall and it unnaturally move away from the couple, toward a tomboy in a jean jacket. "Thanks, kid." The man instantly picked up his radio and started relying the message to the other guards. "I have sited the two suspects from dressing room six outside in the corridor near the set of four fake palms…"

To finish the effect, John took out his lighter from behind his back. He sent a fire puppy running toward Scott and Jean, who then elevated them away from the flames. This supplied more proof to the guards that Jean was their girl. John slipped away, walked past Jean and Scott, took Wanda by the arm and led her away. "Be good kids!" he called back to them. Jean and Scott stared after them, not noticing several security guards coming up behind them. After they were jumped, John turned around and started to walk a little faster.

"What did you do?" Wanda asked between chuckles at the site of the X-men team leaders being apprehended by mall security and the asylum guards.

"I told the guy that I recognized the couple from dressing room six." John and Wanda rounded a corner toward the food court.

Wanda stopped and pulled John to a stop at her side. "Thank you," she said sincerely for once in her life. Then she kissed him and pushed him into the side hallway towards the lockers and restrooms.

---

"Bye everybody!" Kitty yelled as she, Amara, and Piotr exited the mansion. Piotr had pretty much followed Kitty around for the last half hour. First, they wandered around looking for Amara.

"You better not be memorizing the layout of the new mansion for future attacks," Kitty teased Piotr, knowing that he wasn't just by the look on his face.

"No, that is Remy's job. I am more of the brute force. And John supplies the crazy," Piotr looked around at his surroundings, having no idea which door they had come in and absolutely no sense of direction as to where the exit would be. He told Kitty of his thoughts. "I think that if you were to disappear, I would be wondering around here for several days before I found the entrance again."

"Disappear like this?" Kitty phased through the floor.

Piotr stepped around and looked at the floor, "Where did you go? Come back, please." His last sentence was filled with a little fear.

Kitty popped up behind him and giggled. He spun around. "That was not funny."

"I thought so." Kitty giggled, but then noticed that Piotr was less than comfortable. "Sorry, I just wanted you to, like, loosen up a little." Kitty grabbed his hand and held up the other, palm facing outward: "I promise not to do it again." She then let go of Peter's hand, picked up her painting and continued searching for Amara. They eventually found her playing Sorry with Jamie and Sam in Jamie's room. After informing Amara of the plan for that night, Kitty and Peter spend the next twenty minutes hanging up her painting in her room and talking.

You know, this guy isn't half bad, Kitty thought during their conversations about art, music, and ballets.

"Yes, my family did not have a lot of money, but once for my mother's birthday, my father got the family tickets to the Russian ballet," Peter reminisced. "It was so beautiful. Although not everyone in my family could say so. My older brother fell asleep before the first intermission, and my sister Illyana was so young, she does not remember much."

Peter is such a sweetie; how in the world did he end up working for Magneto? "You have brothers and sisters? I don't," Kitty said. "I used to wish for a little brother or sister. I thought it would be so much fun. Then I moved here and realized that I had it good being an only child. No sharing the bathroom. No hostile roommates. No waking up with whipped cream, like, all over your face." Kitty then realized she was talking a little too much about herself. "Where is your family now?"

Peter sighed sadly. "What is left of it is back in Russia, in a small town near St. Petersburg."

"What do you mean what is left of it? What happened?" Kitty inquired sincerely.

An extremely sad and painful look came over Peter's face. He was silent for a while, then looked at his watch. "Is it not about time we left for the movie?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Kitty answered quietly. They both stood up and headed for the door. Kitty put her hand on the knob but did not turn it right away. "I'm sorry if I upset you. I didn't mean to," Kitty apologized.

"It is okay. I do not like to talk about it," Peter responded.

"Well if you ever do, feel free to call me. I may talk be able to 'talk a leg off a horse,' like Logan says, but I'm a good listener too." Kitty smiled warmly at Peter.

"Thank you," was all Peter could think to say. Before Kitty could open the door, Amara bust in. In a split reaction, Kitty phased through the door, but Peter was not so lucky and it hit him in the nose.

"Ouch!" Peter's hand instantly flew to his nose. He didn't feel any blood, it just hurt like nothing else.

"Sorry," Amara apologized meekly, making sure she kept the door between her and the Russian giant.

"Hey let me see," Kitty tried to move Peter's hand away from his nose. "Like, hold still." This time, he did as the Kitty said and she pried his hand away for his face. "It just looks bruised, not broken or anything. Do you want any ice or anything?" she asked.

"Uh…no thank you." Peter inhaled through his nose. It hurt, but he's live. "I think I will be all right."

"Great!" Amara shouted and opened the door fast and wide again. This time Kitty was ready and phased both her and Peter through it. "Oh, yeah, sorry," Amara apologized again.

"Like, don't worry about it," Kitty reassured Amara. "Let's get going before we miss the movie." Kitty grabbed Peter's hand and they followed Amara out the front door. "Bye, everybody!" Kitty called as they exited.

---

Rogue blew a stray white hair out of her face as the cue ball she just hit skimmed the wrong side of the eight ball sending it away from pocket.

"You ready to answer a question truthfully this time, chere?" Remy boasted, "'cause it looks like de Cajun is gonna win again."

"Looks like is right, swamp rat," Rogue doubted his ability. But just in case… Rogue stood at the opposite end of the table as Remy. She leaned over and put her elbows on the table, then rested her head in them. This gave Remy a perfect view of Rogue's cleavage while he was aiming. Remy looked to where he was shooting one last time before he took the shot and was a little distracted. The cue flew forward uncontrollably, hit the cue ball on the side, then sent a blue streak of chalk across the table.

"Ya better be more careful, Remy." Rogue stood up and walked around the table to line up her shot. "Ya almost nicked the table."

"Dat was low," Remy said.

"What do ya mean?" Rogue innocently asked.

"You know what I mean; you doin' dat while I was tryin' to take a shot." Remy could not form the words to make his statement anymore specific. He was still too shocked that Rogue would actually do that, and that it caused him to loose his concentration.

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Is it that different from ya runnin' your finger across the small o' mah back o' brushin' against my arm, o' conveniently bending down ta pick up a quarter when ah'm takin' aim."

"Hey, dat quarter paid for dis game," Remy objected.

"Remy, ah watched ya drop the thing two turns before ya picked it up," Rogue stated. "Ya didn't think ah saw ya, did ya? Ya're not as good o' a thief as ya thought."

"Really?" Remy said sarcastically. "Den how did I get dese?" It was the keys to the X-Jeep.

Although she knew they were not there, Rogue still felt her right pocket for the keys. She snatched them from his hand and put them back in her pocket. She gave him an evil glare.

Remy continued to smile. "An' dis?" This time Remy pulled a necklace out of his coat, which was hanging on a nearby chair. Again Rogue's hand when to her neck to confirm it was her necklace.

"What else are ya hidin' in there?" Rogue exclaimed and started looking at his trench coat. Remy grabbed her arm and pulled her away.

He shook his finger at her. "Nah, nah, nah. I d'ink dat's a question, an' you have yet to win the game."

Rogue walked back over to the table. She lined up her shot. Remy walked up beside her and whispered in her ear, "I'm sorry."

Rogue put her cue down. "Sorry 'bout what?"

"I'm sorry if my reaction discouraged any possible repeat o' your 'distractions.'" Remy cocked his head and smiled. "I did enjoy it."

Rogue punched him in the arm. "Seven."

Remy rolled up his sleeve to exam his beautiful blue bruise. "You know, I should file fo' spousal abuse o' somethin'."

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Ah think that would be a little hard bein' that we aren't married."

"Not yet, chere." Remy grinned.

"What would a swamp rat like ya know 'bout marriage, anyways?" Rogue went to line up her winning shot again.

"A lot more den you."

"How do ya figure that?"

"Did you win de game yet?" Remy asked.

"Eight ball, right corner," Rogue agitatedly said. The cue ball hit the eight, which skimmed the table to the right corner pocket. "Now, what in the world does a swamp rat like ya know 'bout marriage?"

Remy tried to be mysterious. "I know a lot o' things."

Rogue wasn't buying. "Not satisfied."

The Cajun sighed. "Had one once. Even made it all de way to de altar."

"Ya kiddin', right?"

"How come you gotta question everythin' I say?"

"Ah don't! Ah just don't see ya as the marryin' type," Rogue told him her reasoning behind her comment. Your more o'

the love 'em an' leave 'em type.

Rogue stood there expectantly, although Remy clearly wished to end the discussion of his almost marriage. Rogue broke the silence. "Ah'm not satisfied with your answer yet."

Remy sighed. "Suppose you wanna hear de long version too?" Rogue smiled and nodded. Remy sat down at a small table nearby. Rogue joined him. "Okay. My famille is de head of a guild in New Orleans, de thieves' guild. We be a family o' thieves. No big surprise there." Rogue nodded and inconspicuously felt for her keys again. "Dere is another big guild in New Orleans: De assassins. Now, de assassins and de thieves don' get along too well. They have been warrin' against each other for longer than anyone can remember. Now 'bout ten years ago, my papa an' de head o' assassians met for talks. De last couple years had been real bloody an' was takin' a toll on both guilds. During dese discussions dey decided to unite de guilds through marriage. De only daughter o' de head o' de assassians would marry one of Jean Luc's boys: Me or Henri. Now, Henri was 'bout sixteen at de time an' de idea o' an arranged marriage did not sit well wit' him. I was de same age o' Belladonna, de assassin's daughter, so it was logical dat we be betrothed."

"So ya didn't really love her?" Rogue asked.

"Non, I didn't say dat." Remy looked up and thought for a moment. "I did, back then. We were always together, 'cause o' our families, and she was very beautiful and strong, as an assassin's daughter should be. We were childhood sweethearts. Not dat she returned my feelin's, but dat is another story. So, we were plannin' dis wedding for years an' years. Big event, everybody who was anybody was there on Belle's birthday, when we were gonna get married. Well, everyone knew I was some kinda mutant 'cause o' da eyes, but everyone figured it ended there. I certainly thought so…"

Rogue saw a little of where this story was heading.

"Well, imagine marryin' what you d'ought was the girl o' your dreams, who didn' love you, an' de added pressure o' makin' it work so your families would stop killing each other. I was not in de best o' shape dat day. So, I was standin' up at de altar, waitin' fo' de party to start, playin' with Belle's wedding band. "Here comes de Bride" starts playin' an' den I remember dat de best man is suppose to be holdin' de ring. So I quickly handed it to de best man, who just happened to be Belle's only brother. Well, apparently while I was playin' wit' de ring, I had charged it. An' I don' mean a little charge like de card I gave you. Remember dat?"

Rogue groaned. "I'd rather forget." She had come around the corner of the crate to met the glaze of one sweet looking Cajun. He smiled and she couldn't just touch that unsuspecting soul. It was like she was in a trance when he handed her the King of Hearts, bowed and left. She felt so stupid to have her head turned like that for a pretty face. If Beast hadn't been knocked out, she would have followed that Cajun and kicked his ass.

"Why's dat?"

"Ya didn't win the game, Cajun. It's mah turn to ask the question," she rightfully avoided the question. "Now continue with your story. Ya charged the ring…"

"Oh, yah. I charged de ring so much dat it spread to Jillian's hand and up his arm. Kinda blew it clean off. He was screamin', everyone was screamin', I got so scared dat I lost any control I may have had an' could feel everythin' chargin' up around me, even the air. There were explosions everywhere an' eventually de whole roof blew up." Remy looked down at his empty drink. Rogue had convinced him to get a coke the last round. Actually all she said was that it made her sick when he breathed on her, his breath smelt so vile.

Rogue surprised him and herself when she reached across the table and squeezed his hand. He looked up, and Rogue stared at her own reflection in his glasses. Damn glasses, ah can' read his eyes with them on. An' ah kinda miss his weird eyes too. After a few moments, Rogue spoke, "Ya know, ya don't have ta finish. Ah didn't realize…"

"Non, I will. Huh, it kinda feels good to tell someone," Remy interrupted. "Let's see. Yes, the church was still burnin' when my papa found me. He had just had an argument with Belle's father. Seems de weddin' was off, now an' forever an' dat in order to keep a war from breakin' out again, my papa would have to 'Banish dat good for nothin' mutant pity case of a son from New Orleans an' de guild.' My papa wanted to fight for me to stay, but I was already gone. O' I woulda been if the assassin's hadn' jumped me. De beat me up pretty good before I lost control again. Dis time I charged up one guy's whole body. I remember watchin' him standin' dere, lookin' like he was on fire, but not feelin' any burnin'. Den boom."

"Ah'm sorry, Remy. An' ah thought mah powers manifested horribly. Ah couldn't 'magine dealin' with mah powers an' havin' ta leave everyone ah ever knew behind an' facin' it alone," Rogue sympathized. "What did ya do after that?"

Den probably de most evil man in de world found me, fixed me so I wouldn' blow up anymore people, and used me fo' things I'd rather forget. Remy decided to leave that part of his past a mystery. "I ran. Wandered around the streets of whatever big city I felt like. Prayin' I didn' charge up anyone else. I somehow got control o' it, den Magneto found me an' introduced me into de most amazing girl I ever did meet." Remy added and smiled to lighten the mood.

"What 'bout Belladonna?" Rogue asked.

"Belladonna is old news. Never loved me anyway. 'sides she isn't nearly as bright and talented as you." Remy tried to flatter her. It didn't work.

"If ah'm that bright, then why am ah datin' you?" she sparked back.

Remy raised one eyebrow. "Non, dat's not de question you should be askin' yourself. You should be wonderin' 'If I'm dat bright, den why am I not utilizing de most secluded table in de joint?'"

Rogue kicked him under the table. "Eight."

"Now dat's not how you play footsy, chere." Remy then proceeded to show her by rubbing his foot up and down her leg. Rogue instantly pushed back from the table and stood up. "Non, you're not suppose to get up. You're suppose to return de favor."

"The only favor ya're gonna get from meh is a black eye, if ya keep it up," Rogue threatened.

"Can ya at least make it match my blue arm?" Remy said, telling her that he had no intention of stopping. He stood up and walked over to their secluded pool table. "Another game, chere?"

"Your on, swamp rat," Rogue smiled evilly.

---

Back at the mall, one young couple was sitting on a bench in the center of the mall and occasionally chuckling. John had ditched his Abercrombie clothes in an empty locker after claiming they were giving him a mental rash. They had wondered into the dollar store and purchased new hats and sunglasses. John wanted to get the kind with the fake nose and mustache, but Wanda told him that if he did, not to expect her company the rest of the night. So John relented. So now Pyro and the Scarlet Witch were sitting on the bench in their hats and sunglasses, with Wanda still in the Aussie's jacket, sipping a big gulp and eating ice cream, respectively.

"What about that one?" John pointed to a middle age man with a Victoria Secret's bag.

"Briefs," Wanda guessed.

"Really? I'm gonna have to go with boxers on this one," John challenged. Wanda dropped her spoon and waved her hand toward the unsuspecting shopper. Two steps later his pants were around his ankles to reveal a pair of whitie tighties.

"Told you," Wanda said and shoveled another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.

"I gotta get one right sooner or later," John exclaimed.

"Why don't you try that one?" Wanda pointed to another man, late twenties, long hair, definitely an old Gen Xer.

"Boxers," John guessed again.

"Boxer briefs," Wanda sighed and predicted. She again worked her mojo but this time was surprised to see that the man wore no underwear at all.

"Ew, commando!" John grimaced and looked away.

Wanda continued to look. "Wow."

"What are you doing?" John asked. "You're too young to see that." St. John attempted to cover her eyes with his hands.

"Oh yes, and you have the maturity of a man a whole three years older than I am," Wanda commented and brought his hands down. To her disappointment, the guy had already pulled up his pants and gotten lost in the crowd.

John looked at his watch: It was twenty to ten. "The mall will be closing soon, you wanna get get going?" he asked.

"Once more," Wanda said as an impish grin formed on her face. She had just noticed one couple in the crowd she wanted to torture. "How about those two? The ones with the sour expressions on their faces?" Wanda nodded in their direction.

An equally evil grin appeared on John's face. "I gotta say briefs on the guy, 'cause he's one uptight bugger. And the girl," he thought for a second, "I'd say bikini cut."

"Really?" Wanda questioned. "I agree with you on the guy but I'd say the girl has old granny panties for sure."

"I beg to disagree," John stuck with his first choice. "I think deep down she wishes she was a wild one and has the panties to prove it."

"Let's find out," Wanda shot two hex bolts from her hand toward the couple. Contact! John and Wanda's mouths gaped open: John was right about Jean, she had on a pair of metallic green bikini cut underwear. But for Scott they were oh so very wrong. He was wearing a red thong!

"Well, now we know it isn't a stick shoved up his ass," John remarked. "It's his underwear." The troublemakers tried to sneak away, but the team leaders of the X-men spotted them.

"You're gonna pay for this!" Jean screamed as she pulled up her pants. Scott was still in shock.

"What are you gonna do? You're precious Xavier wouldn't be happy if you used your powers in public to beat up a couple of people, now would he," John taunted them.

Jean grew as red as her hair. Scott woke himself up and fixed his bottoms in time to hear John's last remark. Scott was going out for blood after reviling to the Bayville world that he wore thongs. "You'll have to leave the mall eventually." Scott's eyes glowed from behind his ruby-quartz glasses.

Oh shit, John thought. Wanda knew she couldn't use her full powers without attracting the asylum guards again so she hexed the couple to the floor, grabbed John's hand and headed toward the nearest exit. Jean and Scott were not far behind them. The pranksters hurried out the doors and across the parking lot on foot.

"Hurry, we'll follow them in my car," Scott called to Jean. They headed for red and white striped convertible. They jumped in without using the doors and Scott soon had it started up. He pressed on the clutch, slammed the car in reverse, and loud popping noises like a machine gun going off was heard. Scott ducked and slammed on the brakes. That action was met with the car's horn until Scott took his foot off the brake and pressed the clutch instead.

"What the!" he exclaimed. They hadn't heard any more gunshots so Scott tried to pull out again. The "machine gun" started up again once the car started moving. Only Scott ducked this time; Jean knew something was up. The car again honked when Scott slammed on the brakes. The red head got out of the car and examined the tires. They were incased in bubble wrap.

They were nearly out of the parking lot when John heard the successive "machine gun" and honking. He stopped abruptly, practically pulling Wanda's arm out of her socket.

"What are you stopping for!" Wanda yelled at the laughing Aussie.

"I didn't know it was his car!" John laughed hysterically. "This is great!"

"What are you blabbering about?" Wanda demanded to know.

"On the way in I saw this red and white convertible with the top down. I decided to have a little fun and wrapped the tires in bubble wrap to make that popping sound and then I popped the hood and wired the horn to the brakes," John managed to get out between laughs.

They then heard some tires squealing along with an occasionally honk. "Must figured out the bubble wrap already. Looks like it's time to scram." John and Wanda joined hands and started running through the downtown Bayville area.

They were just about to cross a street when a blur of red and the sound of a car horn warned them that Jean and Scott had picked up their trail. They decided to try running through the crowds on the streets to lose them. Wanda also happened to make every light turn red after they passed. Scott ran through the first two but was forced to stop at the third. They knew Scott had stopped because his horn was still wired to his brakes. Scott slouched down in his seat so he could not see all of the angry glares he was getting from passerbys. John and Wanda raced through a crowd of people who had just exited a movie theater.

"That movie totally rocked!" Kitty exclaimed. Piotr nodded in agreement before John crashed into him.

"Oh hey Petey! How's it going?" John stopped to chat. But before Peter could open his mouth in response, Scott's car had stopped honking, signaling it was time to go. Wanda grabbed John's hand and they took off. "See ya later, Petey!"

Kitty, Amara, and even Peter were befuddled at the sudden arrival and departure of Pyro and the Witch.

"Hey, isn't that Jean and Scott," Amara pointed to the convertible speeding by with the couple with the crazed look in their eyes.

"Yeah, Scott looks angry," Kitty observed. "I haven't seen him that angry since I walked in on him in the bathroom when he was wearing his thong underwear."

"What!" Amara exclaimed. "I always pictured him as a briefs guy." She shrugged. "Thongs, huh. No wonder he's so pissy all the time."

Piotr did not know how to comment on the discussion about Scott's underwear so he changed the subject. "Did you girls want to go home now?" he asked.

"You're not sick of us already, are you Peter?" Kitty teased.

"No," Piotr blushed, "I do not think that I could grow tired of two lovely ladies."

Amara and Kitty smiled graciously, "Well, we don't have to be back home 'til like, eleven. I'm hungry. Let's go grab a bite to eat." The rest of the group agreed and they walked to the nearest pizza parlor.

---

A young sexy Canadian walked past Vinyl Vintage near closing time. Between licks of her chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, she causally glanced into the store after she passed the doors. She did a double take. As if the story was put into reverse she walked backwards to the entrance and the bells rang as she entered.

Sly did not look up from counting the money in the register. "Just a warning, we're closing soon so when all the lights shut off, don't scream, just leave calmly out of the closest exit." The girl didn't respond and instead headed straight for the counter. Sly looked up and his jaw dropped. "Of course, if there is anything I can help you with, it would be my pleasure."

Ashley was just sweeping up when she felt the stranger intruding on her domain. She walked up next to her. "That's okay, Sly," she said sweetly, "I can help her." The Canadian didn't even look at her. Her eyes were locked with Sly's.

Sly waved Ashley off without even glancing in her direction. "That's okay, Ash. I can handle it. Now what are you looking for?"

The stranger's brow scrunched in concentration. "Do you believe in soul mates?"

The question threw Sly off. "Uh, I do now."

The Canadian girl smiled. "Awesome possum."

(A/N: That one's for you ishandahalf!)

---

Wanda rounded a corner and pressed her back up against the wall of the alley, out of breath. John came up right next to her and put his hands on his knees and started panting.

"Did we lose them?" the witch asked. A car honk was heard from the vehicle nearby.

"Don't think so. It's time we brought this chase to a close don't you think?" John asked Wanda as he pulled out his lighter for the umpteenth time that day. Wanda watched as a fireball grew in his hands. He then glanced around the corner and saw the convertible approaching. He sent out the fireball toward the front driver's side tire of the car. With the sudden increase of temperature, the air in the tire expanded and blew.

Scott's expletives were covered by the horn going on and off as he struggled to regain control. The car eventually skidded to the left side of the road and came to a stop, barely missing some parked cars and a mailbox.

"Where are you two hiding!" Scott yelled as he saw his blown front tire.

Jean put her hands to her temples and concentrated. "There, down that alley," Jean pointed to their location. The two ran towards the ally way; Scott's hand was already on his glasses. When they got there, it looked abandoned. There was just some crates and a dumpster.

"They're here, I can sense it," Jean told Scott. He went to look behind some crates. Jean surveyed her surroundings a bit longer and started toward the dumpster. All of a sudden the green dumpster started rolling toward them, the top of it opening and closing like a monster going to devour them. Jean tried to stop it with her telekinesis, but was hit by one of Scott's eyebeams which the dumpster reflected. Into the dumpster, the Scarlet Witch threw them and melted the lid shut.

"Shall we?" John held out his arm for Wanda to take. She did and they started a long moonlit stroll through Bayville.

---

Rogue was getting frustrated. Her brilliant plan to shamelessly flirt with the Cajun when he was shooting failed miserably after her first success. He not only fed off her degrading attempts to distract him, but he won the last three games! He asked her about when her powers first manifested, how she got to joining the X-men, and why in the world did she have a crush on Scott.

"Ah don't know," was her reply. "Ah guess he was the first person really ta reach out ta meh an' not be afraid o' what might happen if ah touched him." Remy nodded, seeing that as a reasonable excuse. Then Rogue smiled and added, "Plus he has a nice ass."

Remy's face dropped. "But mine's nicer right?" He craned his neck over his shoulder. Rogue laughed.

It was now game seven and the game was tensing up. Remy was leading with only three balls left out while Rogue had five. Rogue glanced at the table, noting the position of every ball. She smiled inwardly and formed a new plan in her head. Two of the striped balls were huddled around one corner pocket next to the eight ball, which was teetering in the edge. Rogue took aim but it wasn't for one of her solids. She lightly tapped Remy's last striped ball toward the other two so that the eight ball was completely surrounded by solids and threatening to fall in the hole.

Remy swore. Rogue smirked. "Ya're up," Rogue told the Cajun.

He looked at the table again and sighed. He might as well take a gambit; it was his codename, after all. He tried to put a light backspin on the cue ball and then try and use one of his balls to hit the eight ball away from the pocket. PLOP. It didn't work, and Rogue was the new winner.

"Finally," Rogue said. "Now, swamp rat, ya ready ta tell all?"

Remy plopped down on a chair. "Oui."

"Okay, now," Rogue was proud of her question, "What was the first thing ya thought of when ya saw meh for the first time."

Remy's eyes shifted under his shades. His memory went back to New York and watching the freaky girl take on Magneto. "I thought: That is one beautiful, fiery girl. She fights wit' all her heart, but remains alone, like me. She cuts herself off so people don' get hurt, just like I did for a while. But even though I have control now, I'm still alone. Never let anyone in after what happened in New Orleans. She's had some great pains in her life too, I can see it behind her bright eyes. Maybe I could start over again wit' her."

Rogue could not believe the emotion in his answer. "Ya go from bein' impressed and wantin' ta get ta know me better ta tryin' ta blow mah hand off?"

Remy smiled, "Non, I did dat ta get your attention. Make sure you knew the ragin' Cajun was there an' dat you wanted him."

"Mah god," Rogue rolled her eyes. "One o' these days someone has gotta pop your ego."

Remy stood up. "You ready for another game?" Rogue nodded and started to rack the balls again.

---

Kitty plopped down on her bed and glanced at the clock. 10:59 Just made curfew. She then looked over at her new painting, hanging on the wall. Tonight was such a nice break from those mundane dates with Lance. And Peter is such a sweetie. Kitty then furrowed her brow in thought. I didn't just, like, cheat on Lance, did I? No, Amara was there. Besides I made it clear that we were just going as friends.

Then why did you keep grabbing his hand and hugging him, another part of her mind asked.

I couldn't help it. He's so shy; I just wanted to make him feel welcome and comfortable.

That's all? Her mind pressed for a greater confession.

Well, maybe I do like him, like that, but that doesn't matter. I'm with Lance.

But do you still want to be? Her mind reminded her that her and Lance were not bound for life.

I don't know! She tried to smoother her thoughts in her pillow.

She glanced over at her roommate's empty bed. That's strange. Rogue's usually home by now, reading her freaky books. It was already a quarter after eleven. She's probably just in the library. Jamie will know.

Kitty hopped up off her bed and went to the library: empty. She then headed towards the boys wing to find Jamie. On her way there she was confronted by a horrible stench. Jean and Scott were heading up the stairs. They had stains all over their clothes and smelt like moldy Chinese food.

"Like, what happened to you guys?" the valley-girl asked.

Jean growled, Scott answered, "Car got a flat tire and then we got thrown in a dumpster."

"Bummer. Was that, like, after you sped threw the intersection like a mad man? You looked about as angry as when I walked in on you in the bathroom that one time…" Kitty stopped when she noticed the anger darts coming from his eyes.

"Have you guys seen Rogue around?"

"No, if she isn't in her room, she's probably in the library," Jean guessed.

"I was just there, no Rogue," Kitty said.

Jean's eyes widened. "Scott, you don't think she actually when out with that guy who was in the store yesterday, do you? Gambler or whatever."

Scott shook his head. "She wouldn't. You remember. She said she didn't think it was a good time."

"But then she pulled that 42 nonsense out," Jean remembered. KURT! she called to him telepathically.

Vhat? Vhat! Kurt was in the kitchen making a late night snack with the food Ororo had specifically said not to eat, because it was for dinner tomorrow. Kurt thought he had been caught red…er… blue? Purple? Handed.

Come here a minute, I have to ask you a question. Jean answered.

Kurt bamfed over to the stairwell Jean, Scott, and Kitty were on.

"Ja? Pee yoo, and everyone says my smoke smells bad!" Kurt waved his three fingered hand in front of his nose.

Jean ignored that comment, "Kurt was does 42 mean?"

"Sorry, you have to read the book," Kurt turned to head back to the kitchen. Scott grabbed his shoulder and turned him back around.

"No, we don't have time. We think Rogue might be out with one of Magneto's men and we need to figure it out," Scott said.

"Vhat does that have to do with 42?"

"That is what she told him her answer was, then she let him borrow your book," Jean told him.

Kurt rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Vell, 42 is the answer to life, universe, and everything. Don't know how much help it is. It wasn't much help to the mice in the book. Vait! She let one of Magneto's lackeys borrow my copy of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy?"

Jean had an idea. "Did Rogue give you back the book, Kurt?"

"Ja, this morning before she left with the newbies," Kurt responded. Then he realized what Jean was hinting at. He bamfed to his room, grabbed the book off his desk and bamfed back to the stairwell. He flipped through the pages until he came upon the Deep Thought chapter. There written in pencil was "Yes, VV, 7pm." He showed it to Scott, Jean, and Kitty.

"Like, what's that suppose to mean?" Kitty asked.

"Yes, I will go out with you. Meet me at Vinyl Vintage at 7pm," Jean translated.

"We have to tell the Professor," Scott said as he marched his stinky self to the Professor's study.

---

Logan was dispatched within the hour. He stood in the back lot of Vinyl Vintage staring at the mutilated X-Jeep. Well, that would help explain why Stripes didn't drive home, but where is she now? Logan sniffed the air and the ground. There was another person here with her. Bub smells like gumbo. I wonder if that is why she smelt like Creole the other day. Logan caught the sent of the two and headed off in the direction of the pool hall.

---

Remy won the next game. "Okay, Roguey, what is the one thing in your life you regret the most?"

Rogue thought for a minute. "It'd have ta be not kickin' your ass after ya tried to blow mah hand off."

"No, seriously," Remy said.

"Okay, probably not talkin' ta mah foster mom Irene after ah left the Brotherhood. She trusted meh in Mysique's care, they were old friends, an' ah didn't feel right callin' her after ah joined the X-men. She was the closest thin' ta a real mom ah ever had."

"You could always do it now, mend old bridges," Remy suggested.

Rogue shook her head. "Feels too late now. 'sides what if she asks 'bout Mystique. What am ah supposed to tell her. 'My friend Scott was angry at her an' left her ta be experimented on in Area 51'?"

"Sometimes you can' let de what ifs stop you. You just gotta do it," Remy said.

Rogue gave him a funny look. "Where did ya get that inspirational comment?"

"Oprah," Remy answered. "And Nike." Rogue laughed at the thought of Remy watching Oprah.

"Do ya know where the restrooms are in this place?" Rogue asked.

Remy pointed to a couple doors not far off. "Don' be long, chere. Remy might get real lonely." At that he made a puppy-dog face at her.

With an eye roll from Rogue, she entered the restrooms. Remy started to set up the table for another game when a stocky fellow with a gruff voice stormed in. Remy didn't recognize him, so he turned back to setting up solids and stripes.

Two strong hand grabbed Remy by the back of the shirt and threw him against the wall. Remy's sunglasses broke to reveal his glowing red on black eyes. Before the Cajun had time to grab a few cards, he was picked up off his feet and pinned up against the wall. One of the man's hands was holding him up by the front of his shirt and the other was prepped and ready for a punch in the face; or so Remy thought. Instead three claws popped out of the man's knuckles, two on either side of his neck and the center one stopping just before his jugular.

"Mutants!" "We gotta get outta here!" he heard the various shouts from around the pool hall, which had filled up within the last few hours.

Louis pulled out his shotgun from underneath the bar. "You two better get out of my bar."

Logan ignored him and growled. "Where's the girl, Gumbo? What have you done with her?"

"Nothin', I swear," Remy gulped. At that moment Rogue emerged from the restroom to see a vacant bar, a bartender with a gun, and Logan about to slit Remy's neck.

"Logan! What are ya doin' here?" Rogue exclaimed.

"Just takin' out some trash, darlin'. You all right?" Logan didn't take his eyes off the slippery Cajun.

"No! Put Remy down!" she ordered. "Don't make meh hurt ya, Logan." Logan glanced over at Rogue. She had her feet planted, ready to fight. One of her gloves was off. Logan and withdrawn his clawed hand a little farther away from Remy's neck. Before Logan demand to know what was going on, Remy brought up his legs and kicked him in the gut, causing Logan to smash into the pool table and Remy to land on the floor. Remy pulled out three cards from his back pocket and charged them. Logan shot out the claws from his other hand.

They're gonna kill each other if ah don't do something. Rogue grabbed a pool cue and ran between them. "Ya'll back off!" She was prepared to play lion tamer with the two. "Now Logan, what are ya doin' here?"

"Do you have any idea what time it is!" Logan yelled.

A blank look spread across Rogue's face. She looked around the bar for a clock, and found a dusty one above the door: five after midnight. "Oops," Rogue said after she realized she broke curfew.

"No, not 'oops'! You had the whole mansion worried. Scott said one of Magneto's goons had been hangin' around you, and you had been kidnapped," Logan reprimanded her. Remy growled at the mention of Scott and kidnapping. Dat boy needs to stick his head out o' his box once in a while.

"Sorry, what do you want meh ta say? Ah just lost track o' time, that's all," Rogue apologized.

"What about Gumbo, over there?" Logan pointed to Remy.

"What, Remy? He wanted ta cheer meh up after a lousy day at work, so we came here to play pool for a while. It's no big deal," she explained.

"No, it is a big deal, Stripes. You breakin' curfew with one of Magneto's henchmen is not smart. I'd expect you to have

more sense than that," Logan scolded her.

Logan's disappointment in her struck deep. Rogue hung her head low. She brought her head up for a second to look Logan in the eye. "He's not evil, ya know." Remy smiled at Rogue's comment, which caused Logan to growl again.

"Time to go, Stripes." Logan turned his back and headed out the door.

Rogue looked at Remy. "Ah'm sorry 'bout that. Ah'll see ya later." She scooped up her bag and followed Logan out.

Just before Rogue shut the door behind her, Remy called out. "You only hit me nine times; does dat mean we're friends?"

Rogue's smile revealed her answer. "See ya later, swamp rat."

Remy looked around the empty bar. He started to walk toward Louis, but Louis jumped back and pointed his shotgun at the demon-eyed boy. "Don't take another step closer, freak!"

"But Louis," Remy pleaded, "It's me, Remy. I'm sorry 'bout what happened tonight, but I promise it won't happen again."

"You bet it won't! 'Cause you and your friends aren't welcome here anymore, now get out!" Louis yelled, but you could sense the fear behind his voice.

"But Louis -" Remy tried to reason with him again.

"I said get out and never come back!"

Remy looked at him with sad eyes. He picked up his trench coat off the chair, pulled a wad of cash from its pocket. Remy flipped through it, counting it. He tossed it on the bar and walked out of Louis' place for the last time without saying a word.

Remy wandered around for a bit before heading to park to meet up with John and Piotr. Wonder what John ended up doing. Remy approached the bench where he tossed John out of the car. There were three people sitting on it. Piotr was on one end, reading a book by the street light; John and Wanda were on the other end. Wanda had her legs over John's lap and her head on his shoulder, sleeping. John was stroking her hair.

Remy came up behind them. "Looks like you guys had a good night."

"And you, Remy?" Piotr marked his spot and asked.

"Great, amazing even," Remy reminisced. "At least until one of her teachers came by an' tried to beat me up fo' keepin' Rogue out after curfew. Oh, and I got us kicked outta Louis' place."

"What is that, the fifth place in this town we're blacklisted on?" John asked no one in particular.

"I got Kitty and Amara home one minute before curfew," Piotr said.

Remy raised his eyebrows. "Two X-girls? You de new X-man pimp, Petey?"

Piotr scrunched his forehead in confusion, "What is a pimp?" Remy laughed. So did John, which woke Wanda up.

She stretched and yawned. "Oh, Santa finally arrived. What are we doing now?" Wanda looked around.

"I think it is time to call it a night," Piotr said. The four piled into the Acolytes vehicle and stopped to drop Wanda off before heading back to base.

---

(1) Line from the movie Playing by Heart. Ryan Phillippe with blue hair drools

A/N: Okay, I have an announcement to make that most of you are not going to like, but I will not be updating for several months. I unexpectedly got an internship, surveying vegetation in Washington and am going to have very limited internet access. If I'm lucky I will have free time to write the old fashioned way, but by the looks of it, don't count on it. I would like to thank all of those who have been reading my story and a special thanks and hugs to those who give me feedback. I do not plan on abandoning my story; it will just go dormant for a while. The thing is still banging around in my head, screaming to get out, so out it will come eventually.