Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am to a spiritual level beyond material possessions. Therefore, I must borrow everyone else's.

thoughts
telepathy

THANKS EVERYONE FOR YOUR REVIEWS!


NINE TO FIVE: Chapter Eighteen - I'm a dead cat too!

The two men behind the counter didn't even move when a skunk haired Goth walked into Vinyl Vintage. The girl proceeded to set her bag behind the counter and go into the back room to clock in. All the while the two hadn't moved. Rogue stood behind them and leaned up against the counter, trying to figure out what they were doing. After a few seconds she spoke sarcastically, "Isn't it just a party in here." Neither responded.

Rogue shrugged and started to pull some stuff out of her bag. Abruptly Lucas shouted out, "HA, HA!! You blinked!!!" Sly grumbled, handed Lucas his Hostess cupcake and slid off his stool; Lucas followed suit. "Hey Rogue," the both greeted the newcomer. Sly went to the back room to clock out.

"Ya were both workin' this afternoon?" Rogue wondered as the afternoons, besides lunch hour, are pretty slow and Jamal only schedules more than one person some nights, weekends, and during inventory.

Sly he slung his messenger bag over his shoulder. "No one told you?" he asked.

"Told meh what?" she asked suspiciously.

"Since your attack there have been some new rules: Two people working at all times, at the end of your shift you leave the store together no matter what, and new close time is eight," Lucas informed her.

"And we got upgraded," Sly smiled as he pulled a cordless phone from his waistband. "You have to keep them on you at all times."

"Sly, of course, has abused the power by calling for bathroom assistance, but then we got into the staring contest," Lucas voice faded.

"Pretty slow then?" Rogue went to pull some books out of her bag.

"Deadly," Sly exaggerated. "I swear there was some sort of zombie monkey virus going around."

"So Ah get ta work with ya then or is Jamal coming in early?" Rogue asked Lucas who still hadn't punched out.

"No, not me and Jamal's still recovering," he calmly said but took a step away from the employee and continued until the counter was between them to continue. "Hey you're arm's all better already?"

His quick subject switching was not out of the ordinary so Rogue thought nothing of it and answered his question. "'I've always been a quick healer (1),'" Rogue said. Actually Logan's the healer, but no need to complicate things. Yesterday, the doctor was surprised of her quick recovery as well. Everyone in the mansion had figured it out, but they didn't know the terms of the gift. Nor did they try and question the duo about it after Ray's smart mouth got thrown down and his frozen underwear put on display in the mansion's front yard. "So who am ah workin' with again?" Rogue asked Lucas again.

"I'm disappointed that I didn't get to sign your sling." Lucas ignored the questioned and moved closer to the door. This put the shadow of suspicion in Rogue's mind.

".'.With?" Rogue asked one final time. The shifty eyes Lucas had told her. "No. . . "

"Sorry," Lucas winced. "You will be working with the new trainee Warren and her trainer."

Rogue' groaned and slouched. "No," she shook her head in self pity. Lucas did not have to tell her who the trainer was. The bells jingled and admitted another employee into the store with Warren shortly after her. A permanent scowl formed on Rogue's face.

"Greetings," Ashley waved and strutted to the counter. "How is everyone today?"

"Fine," Rogue grunted. Warren merely shrugged and went to punch in.

Sly's smile almost broke his face. "I feel fantastic since I will not be working with you today. Thanks for asking."

Lucas' response was much more amusing. "I do not know 'Everybody' nor I do feel collectively so I do not have the ability to answer that question."

"Go crawl back into your petri dish," Ashley told Lucas.

"That sounds like a great idea," Lucas told her with a straight face. "I was getting homesick; Hey Sly, you want to go back to the lab with me?"

"Nope, sorry man. Got a date," and as if on cue, Ania knocked on the window to the store and started to make faces at Sly. "Maybe I'll join you on Roots excursion some other time."

Rogue watched the boys leave the store. Then she looked at Ashley. The door slammed as Warren came out of the backroom. They stared at each other in silence. The gods must hate meh.

Alphabetizing. Ah never realized how much ah hated the alphabet until now. Ah only have ta do the one section, but then ah have Ashley's price changes ta do. "I'm too busy with training Warren." Rogue's thoughts mocked her. Ah wish she'd crawl back ta where she came from. Some hell dimension probably. Wonder if she has friends in that dimension Kurt ports through.

All of a sudden there was a tickling sensation on either side of torso. Rogue jumped up in the air and spun around, prepared to punch her assailant with her right fist. She never took the swing as she came face to face with none other than Remy LeBeau, who was grinning satisfactorily.

"What are ya tryin' ta do, Cajun?" Rogue asked. "Get yourself a broken nose?" Her arm fell back to her side, and she wiggled uncomfortably between his hands that were still lightly resting on her waist.

"Truthfully, I wanted a black eye, but if a broken nose is all you can do...," Remy joked and took off his sunglasses. "Can' have you breakin' these."

"If ya don't back off, ah will make your wish come true," she threatened. Remy tried to call her bluff, but her glare did not let up. She felt his breath on her face as he sighed deeply and let go, took a step back. "So what have you been doin' all week, chere?"

"Practically nothin'," Rogue unenthusiastically replied, turning back to her job trying to figure out whether AFI came before or after A Fine American Mess.

"Nothin' but dreamin' of moi, I'm sure," Remy flirted and leaned up against the table.

"How did ya know?" Rogue pretended to act surprised. "Ah been dreamin' 'bout ya so much this week, Ah'm kinda sick of ya now."

"You mean you never d'ought 'bout Remy once d'ese past couple days?" Remy inquired. I kept d'inkin' 'bout you, the pathetic creature dat I am.

"No," she lied. Then Rogue looked into his eyes and she thought she saw a brief expression of hurt in them before she turned away. "Well, there was that one dream..."

"Really?" Remy raised his eyebrows and turned toward her a little more, all of his body language showing she had his full attention. But the Goth, never one to divulge any information she didn't need to, remained silent and continued her work. Especially when she didn't have a dream about him. It wasn't that ah didn' think o' him. In truth, she had thought of him often. She called and talked to him on Wednesday while the others were at school, but didn't have another chance with her homework Kitty diligently brought home for her. She often found herself replaying that night in the pool hall and the concert in her head when she had stared at her textbooks for too long. She found herself actually excited when the phone rang, thinking it might be him. She knew it wasn't, because they decided him calling the Institute was not a good idea in case someone less approving answered, but that didn't stop her from holding her breath in anticipation before remembering their agreement. Afterwards she'd kick herself, why am ah gettin' all freaked out? We're just friends an' nothing more. He just understands meh more than anyone else ah know, that's why ah get excited. She'd then grin, an' ah LOVE crushing his ego.

"Do tell," Remy added after a few seconds of silence.

"Tell what?" Rogue was zapped back from her thoughts.

"Tell LeBeau your t'oughts, dreams, an' unconscious desires," the Cajun attempted to imitate a Freudian accent.

Rogue raised an eyebrow at him. "An' if ah don't?"

"D'en you will be doomed to live a life of unrequited sexual tension," Remy predicted. "An' you will develop an Oedipus complex," he added.

"Electra," Ashley butted in as she came over to Rogue with another clipboard.

"Huh?" Remy and Rogue expressed, unfamiliar with Freud's vague companion to the Oedipus complex.

"An Oedipus complex is when a son develops and attraction to his mother. Freud's companion to the Oedipus complex was the Electra complex, named after the Mycenaean Electra, daughter of King Agamemnon, whose wife beheaded him when he came back from the Trojan War," Ashley recapped the greek play. Drama was her thing.

"No," Remy shook his head. "I said it right. If Roguey here doesn' confess, she will develop an attraction to her mother." Warren snorted from her work station of sorting posters, and Ashley just rolled her eyes.

"You're sick," Rogue told him bluntly. Her thoughts wondered briefly to the strange woman that had been leaking into her memories of herself and Irene.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Ashley said under her breath. Before Rogue had a chance to retort, the girl handed the second clipboard to the employee. "Get on setting this display once you've finish up with what your doing." She turned to head back to the cashier's counter.

"An' what will ya be doin'?" Rogue was upset by the bossy queenly attitude of the punk princess.

"Paperwork that Jamal hasn't been able to," Ashley shot back at her insolent worker.

The Goth shut-up. The work he can't do 'cause he was beat up fo' hiring meh. She jumped a little lower on her happiness scale as she started to fill with guilt.

Remy noticed the new slump in her shoulders. "What's that about?"

"Nothing," Rogue lied and her mouth grew tight and she pretended to concentrate on her work.

Remy had known her long enough to know that he shouldn't pry any further when she was wearing that face unless he wanted an argument. So he changed the subject. "So in dis dream, what am I wearing?"

She continued to stare at her work. "White gloves," she started a story.

Remy paused for a second for her to continue. When she didn't he exclaimed, "Was dat all? Dis sounds like one dirty dream, chere."

The girl turned to the boy. "It sure was. You were a duck. You were dancing and singing the Hokey-Pokey in a pig pen."

Remy was speechless for about ten seconds, just for effect. "Dat is one freaky dream. You just might be kinkier d'an John and Wanda."

"You're tellin' meh. Ya wanna know who was in the pig pen with ya?" Rogue continued to tease. She smiled mischievously at the Cajun.

"After looking at your face, I'm goin' to say no," Remy answered. "But you're goin' to tell me anyway, aren't you?"

"Scott and Pietro."

Remy covered his ears and closed his eyes. When she didn't say anything more, Remy opened one eye and asked, "Were dey ducks too?"

"No, they were normal," Rogue said. "And you'd never believe what they were doin'."

"I didn' realize you were into bestiality," Remy stated, "Maybe I should be rethinkin' dis whole datin' thing. I have allergies."

"We are NOT datin' an' . . . " her comment trailed off as she felt a strange tingle at the back of her neck. Not like when Remy tickled her; this feeling was different. Urgent, demanding, defensive.

"Don' tell me you've run out of material already," Remy continued the banter, not felling the same bad vibration in the air.

"Get down!" Rogue yelled and tackled Remy to the ground. The window above them shattered and a rock the size of a bread box knocked over the shelf of CD's they were just standing in front of.

Rogue's cheek was dangerously close to Remy's chin as she moved herself a little farther away from his head. She felt glass slide out of her hair and squinted as it hit and bounced off the floor. When she opened her eyes she was starring straight into Remy's glowing red orbs. He was still a little shocked and didn't bother blinking; he almost forgot to breathe. Mesmerized and still a little shocked herself, Rogue found her poisoning lips unconsciously moving closer to the Cajun's. Seconds before they connected, reality hit. Or in other words, Ashley's lace less shoe.

"Hey! If I don't get any, no one does," the bitter salesclerk told the couple glaring at her. "I'm calling the cops; you clean this mess up." The goth growled but didn't move from atop of Remy.

"What just happened, chere?" Remy spoke first.

"Ah saved your sorry ass from bein' crushed by a boulder. Then ah was pelted by a shoe. How has your day been?" she irately answered. Remy smiled incorrigibly at Rogue. "What?!" she insisted after he didn't say anything else.

"You saved me. 'I always d'ought you had a soft spot fo' d'is Cajun,'" he declared, smirking.

Rogue grew red. "'Yeah, 'bout as soft as your big fat-head! Ya gonna shut-up or am ah gonna havta help ya (2)?!'"

The Cajun continued to smirk. Rogue put her hands on his chest and pushed herself up. Remy coughed after she knocked the wind out of him.

As Rogue when to pick up Ashley's shoe, the swamp rat stayed on the floor but turned to his side, propping his head on his elbow. "At least you d'ink my ass is worth savin'."

Ashley's shoe came flying at Remy's head once again.

"Okay, where too, Scarlet?" St. John Allerdyce turned to the girl in the passenger seat.

"Don't ask me, you're driving," she told him. She looked out the windshield. "And not very well."

"If these pots of petunias would stop dropping out of the sodden' sky and telling me about their deja voo (3), I'd be doin' a lot better." John jutted to the left as a slime covered plant crashed in front of the car. Then an earthquake cracked the street in front of the Brotherhood house; the asphalt jutted upwards like a half-pipe.

The pyromaniac took his foot off the accelerator. "Now what?"

Wanda Maximoff smiled. "Gun it." John looked at her like she was crazy, which she was, but crazy in a different way than she was.

The driver checked his side mirrors and saw two scraggly teens, one hopping, one running, catching up with them. John shrugged and dropped his foot on the accelerator like a ton of bricks. Wanda was ready for it and her hands glowed in an ice blue energy. Just as they reached the precipice Todd Tolanski leapt onto the passenger side of the vehicle. His face appearing on the other side of the glass frightened Wanda, and she broke her concentration. The jeep jutted to an abrupt stop, flinging the amphibious mutant forward. John heard the pop and fizzle of the front tires.

He looked sincerely at Wanda. "How do you feel about public transportation?"

"Disgusting, disease ridden," she replied.

"Have you ever been on a bus?" he asked seriously.

"Yes, once -," she started.

"Well, you've never ridden a bus with me," John interrupted and opened his door, conveniently knocking down Todd who was trying for the drivers side this time. The firebug grabbed Wanda's hand and yanked her across the drivers seat out of the jeep. "We're off like prawns in the sun."

Wanda totally ignored his strange Aussie sayings and stubbornly replied, "Why can't we take the jeep, again?"

"We could, but the bus has this great feature called inflated tires," John retorted.

"You could always change the tire," Wanda continued to drag her feet despite the gaining Lance Alvers and recovering Todd. "There's a full sized spare on the back."

"Sure, we have enough time to push a jeep out of a rut, change its tire, and then pray it restarts. Hell, we'll have time to spare before I'll be covered in slime and sent down into a great Hadean abyss, do you want to have a picnic too?" he said sarcastically as he dragged her to the nearest bus stop.

They were ten seconds too late as the bus pulled away from the curb. John ran out into the street and let go of Wanda's hand to stop the oncoming bus.

Wanda watched with her hands across her chest as the bus was just going to swerve around the Australian. She sighed and dropped her hands. "I'll take care of this, you go slow down those bozos." Wanda nonchalantly walked out into the path of the bus, she glared at it and then threw out her arm. The bus driver looked really confused as his engine cut out and the bus glided to a stop just six inches from the witch.

Meanwhile, John left his position in the street to run back toward the Brotherhood house. He stopped when he could see both Todd and Lance. Slick as lightning, a lighter flew out of his pocket, and flame, untamed and unformed, grew in his open hand. John was thrown off balance by the quaking earth into a tree, but he didn't lose his fireball or his lighter.

"OW! That hurt," John stood up and smiled. "but not as much as this, ya wankers!"

Just after dodging Todd's slime ball, John's fire had grown big enough to divide. So he blew playfully across his hand and two fire trees headed toward the Brotherhood mutants. John backed up to where Wanda was still standing inches from the bus, his eyes never leaving the fire. The trees threw some fire apples at the two boys if they tried to veer off course. John laughed and continued to watch his fire creatures.

Wanda quickly grew tired of waiting, "Wizard of Oz, cute; now get on the bus, Scarecrow." She grabbed him back the back of his collar and dragged him to the bus door. Wanda, still not happy with riding the bus, set the fare collector to spew out the change it contained.

"Wanda, I think public transportation is scraping together money as it is. It doesn't need your help," John said as he tried to scoop up the change off the floor.

"Your mutants," the driver in a low voice asked John.

"Is that a problem?" he gritted his teeth and reached for his lighter. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wanda's eyes burning through the driver.

"Nope." The driver smiled and stretched his large hand over the spilt change. There was the sound of air rushing and all of the change and some gum wrappers were sucked up in the palm of his hand.

"Neat!" John exclaimed and continued on the bus.

"You still have to pay the fare," the driver told him.

John grumbled and dug into his pockets for change. "Can flatscans see the bus too? And does it go really fast and get skinny if you have to squeeze through traffic?"

"No." The driver turned his attention to the road, it was more comforting, "It's just a bus. You read too much Harry Potter."

John, disappointed, turned and sat down next to Wanda. "Are you enjoying your bus ride?"

"We wouldn't be here if you weren't for you," she sulked.

"Yes, that's right. We'd be in little slime cocoons underground next to some Tremor eggs," John told her.

"If you hadn't pissed off Todd again -" she started.

"Cane Toad, I could of handled. But you had the brilliant idea of stealing Lance's ute again," John pointed out.

"How was I supposed to know he was awake? He's been upstairs moping for the past few days. He didn't even notice I took it on Wednesday or Thursday," she rationalized.

"He noticed it was gone," John revealed. "He just thought some Tabby-Sheila stole it again, and I didn't tell him any different."

"When were you talking to Lance?" she asked.

"Last night, after supper. I asked him if I could borrow it to take you roller skating, and he gave me the keys," John told her. "I can't believe you'd never been roller skating."

"I can't believe he gave you the keys!" Wanda exclaimed. "That car is like a baby to him."

"I don't think he was right in the head," John theorized. "He keep mumbling about shoe sales, and he called me baby. For a second I thought he was going to slap my ass."

Wanda raised an eyebrow. "Should I be jealous?"

"No more than I should be of the sixth grader at the roller rink who tried to give you his prize from the quarter machine."

"You mean the one you were pulling pranks in the girls bathroom with?"

"That was the same one?!" John exclaimed. "They all look alike."

"Yes." Wanda turned to face forward as to not laugh at him. "So many sixth graders run around with a red scarf around his head claiming he is Raphael from the Ninja Turtles."

"Yes, American children are so alike," John said with a straight face.

"And they all have best friends who run around dressed as Zorro," she continued.

"Who doesn't?" John was on the point of breaking, but he wanted Wanda to laugh first. She thought the skating rink was so lame at first, buzzing with sixth grader drama, but he knew she was having a great time by the end. Wanda was silent for a bit, not knowing how to respond. Her "you're insane" look was getting really worn out the past few days. So John took the next line, "Were you Raphael or Zorro?"

Wanda's head fell to her hand. Then she looked over at St. John and smiled. "You have to ask?" she continued to play his game.

John slapped himself in the forehead. "Of course, Raphael. I should have known with all the brooding."

"I do not brood," she defended, a little insulted.

"Not with me you don't," John gloated. "But the minute I'm gone. . . "

"What are you talking about, you psycho? Even if I did 'brood', how would you know if you weren't there?"

"I have my ways," he grinned mischievously. She didn't trust that grin. Not for a second.

"Like what?" she asked.

"You know, the usual," John rambled. "Scyring bowls, crystal balls, nanny cams..."

Wanda look at him with laughter in her eyes although not yet on her lips. "You are so full of shit, I'm surprised farmers haven't approached you for fertilizer."

"Who says they haven't?" he asked rhetorically.

Wanda couldn't resist chuckling any longer. "I don't know how you do it, Johnny boy."

"Do what? Sheer obscene messages in sheep without getting bit by a spider or shot by the shepherd? It's not hard really, its the old wombat burrows you have to watch out for."

"No," she said, then replied seriously, "make me enjoy myself in spite of me. It's like... "

"COFFEE!" John stood up as he pulled the stop cable.

Wanda fell out of her seat at the sudden stop. She stood up and glared at John. He had no clue what her problem was. She was being honest and a little sentimental for once and he wasn't even paying attention. I should behead him where he stands. She settled for smacking him in the back of the head as he got off the bus.

"OW!" John rubbed his head and turned to face the red witch. "Did I deserve that?"

"Yes."

"Ya know, if ya don' have anythin' better ta do, ya could help," Rogue suggested to the Cajun sitting Indian style in the non glass covered front corner of the store. For the last thirty minutes he sat and watched as Rogue picked up all the CDs off the floor and sweep up the glass.

"Why? I'm not gettin' paid," he stated innocently.

She stopped sweeping and leaned up against her broom. "That didn' stop ya from chasin' down a shoplifter," Rogue retorted (4).

"D'at was different," Remy declared.

"How?"

"D'at was fun," he replied as if it were common knowledge. "Wasn' dat fun, Warren?" He called across the room to the trainee.

"Cleanin' can be fun," Rogue tried once again to get the Cajun to stop watching her and do something.

Remy laughed at the attempt. "In what world is d'at?"

"The one where ah kick your ass if ya don't help," Rogue threatened.

Remy smiled. "Now dis is the kind of world dat I like: Get rewarded for doin' nothin'."

"Ah didn't know ya were a masochist," Rogue stated and moved her eyes from Remy to the floor as she started to sweep again.

"D'ere are a lot of d'ings you don' know 'bout me, chere." Remy smirked. "If you come wit' me after work, I can show you more."

The goth laughed. "Ya make it sound like ah want ta know more."

"Course you do. You're too curious for your own good," he replied. "If you were a cat, you'd be long dead by now," Remy analyzed. "Don' deny it."

"Oh, ah won't," she said in a monotone. "Ah am a dead decayin' cat. Right outta Pet Sematary."

"I am surprised you don' smell more," he mused.

"Ah do, ya just can't tell 'cause o' the gym sock reek your emittin'."

"I do not." Remy tried to smell his shirt inconspicuously. "I smell manly and musky."

"Exactly," Rogue agreed. "Like dirty gym socks and over inflated ego."

"My ego is perfectly flated," he retorted.

"Then why do ah have ta keep beatin' it down?"

"'Cause other d'en being into beastiality, you are also a sadist," the "masochist" declared.

"Aren't you two just a match made in heaven?" Warren added as she walked by. "Or in hell, however you look at it."

"Dat's what I've been tryin' ta tell her!" Remy exclaimed. "See, da kid gets it. Why can' you?

"Do ya wanna know something real 'bout meh, Remy?" she asked before she knew it, not knowing what exactly she was going to tell him, but need to change the subject. Ah don't want ta be gettin' a reputation for bein' inta s & m.

"Yes," he quickly replied. "Do you practice yoga?"

"That wasn't an invitation ta ask a question," Rogue explained, a little relieved that she didn't have to come up with anything to share. "Ah was gonna voluntarily give ya some information ta the inner workin's of mah mind, but if ya aren't interested. . ." her sentence trailed off as she turned her attention back to sweeping.

"Oh, I'm interested!" Remy exclaimed. "I'm a dead cat too!" From across the room Warren send a confused glance toward Remy, then shrugged and continued taking down posters from the side windows.

Rogue smiled to herself as she grabbed a dust pan. "Sorry, swamp rat, the window of opportunity has closed."

"D'en it's a good thin' I have a proven window breaking rock here." Remy leaned over and picked up the small boulder that had shattered the window. When he picked it up he noticed that it was more than just a rock. There was a thin twine winding around the stone.

Rogue didn't notice Remy's discovery. "Breakin' a window seems a bit too inept fo' a 'master thief.'" When there was no quip response from her friend, Rogue looked over in his direction. The Cajun was still sitting on the floor with the rock in front of him and a crumpled piece of paper in his hands. The Goth wondered what had peaked the boy's interest, Naked women on Harley's? She swept up a dustpan full of glass and made a detour to Gambit's shoulder on her way to the trash can. She saw only a few lines written on the scrap, "Crawfish can read faster than you, swamp rat. Maybe Bucket Head should invest some money inta a tutor -" She only then started to actually read the words on the page. Rogue became as dazed as Remy.

"Abominations" was the first word to stand out. Then "traitor," "shot," "lynched," "or else," and other threats and derogatory remarks.

Remy was the first to snap out of the trance. "Fine readin' material, no?" He looked up at the stunned Rogue with her mouth parted slightly open. She didn't respond, but took the note from him and headed back to Jamal's office where Ashley was conversing with the cops.

"It was a hate crime," Rogue said and tossed the paper nonchalantly on Jamal's desk. She didn't say another word, turned and left the way she came.

Across the street from the music store a middle age hispanic woman sat on a bench. This was her last stop before she got on a plane for Mexico. She could not tell what was being said in the store, but the body language the past few minutes was not to her liking. I told that horny henchmen to stay away from my daughter. He will learn that my threats are not empty ones.

The woman stood up and walked casually down the street. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. After pressing a few buttons, the phone began to ring.

"I see you finally escaped from Area 51," said the man on the other end of the phone.

"You have never experienced the pain I will put you through for that, Erik," she told her former partner. "But that is a subject for another day. Right now I have some juicy info for you. Unfortunately, I had nothing to do with setting it up; although I wish I could see the shocked and appalled look on your face when you find out."

"What are you babbling on about, Raven?" Erik Lensherr grew annoyed. "I have a breakout session in ten minutes."

"Just get back to Bayville," Raven Darkholme snapped. "You'll be surprised to find your lackeys are keeping some pretty interesting liaisons."

"What? Gambit?" Erik guessed. "That's nothing new. As long as his girls stay away from the Lucky Charms -"

"I'm not concerned about your home decor!" she interrupted the megalomaniac. She massaged the bridge of her nose and said in an irritated tone, "Just get back to Bayville and get them in line, with their pants up preferably." Mystique pulled the cell phone away from her face and pressed the red end key.

She stared at the screen and pressed a few buttons. Dragoness-Tamara, Erik Lensherr, Essex, she scrolled down her phone book. Her thumb hesitated to press call. If I contact him, he will come to Bayville and might even come to contact with Rogue. Is keeping that scoundrel away from her worth the risk? Mystique glanced back at the store only to witness Remy trying to make a very obvious grab at Rogue's behind. She pressed the send button without any further hesitation.

When Rogue returned to the scene of the crime, Remy had moved from the floor and was holding up the roll of thick opaque plastic over the empty window frame. "Care to give Remy a hand wit' this?"

"What are ya doin'?" the employee asked her friend.

"I decided to stop bein' an evil henchmen for a while an' try bein' a nice guy," Remy declared.

Rogue couldn't help but smile a little. "Ah didn' know ya knew what nice meant," she teased. "'Sides, ya were never an evil henchmen. More like incompetent."

Remy didn't take it to heart. "Hey, I'm very competent when I want to be. I just lack motivation. I need a muse. Do you want to apply for de job?"

Rogue grabbed the staple gun from the box of tools and walked over to the window. "If it means Ah have ta spend more time with you an' your ego, Ah'd rather wear Kitty's pink hot pants." She climbed up onto the step ladder Remy had set up next to the hole.

Remy leaned back and took a very long and noticeable stare at her backside. "Your ass would look good in pink hot pants." Remy tried to inconspicuously remove one hand from the roll of plastic, but Rogue noticed the hand and its intentions.

"Ah wouldn't inappropriately fondle the girl with the staple gun if ah were ya," she warned, not looking up from her work. Remy grinned mischievously.

The witch and the pyromaniac stood outside the entrance to the infamous chain coffee shop, Starmucks.

"Come on," John grabbed Wanda's hand once again but her feet remained cemented to the sidewalk. Her lack of any slack sent him recoiling backwards to the ground. "Now what?" He said irately from his sitting position on the sidewalk.

"I'm not going in there," Wanda stated.

"Why, aren't you in a stubborn mood today," John pointed out. "'I won't get on the bus; I won't eat my cereal dry, but I won't pour the sour milk on it,'" he mocked. "Oh let me fetch your red carpet and bunny slippers, your majesty."

"Yes, go and stop pissing me off," she remarked and turned her back to the boy.

As she walked away, John called after her, "But the caffine is in there!" He pointed to Starbucks.

"I know where they have better coffee," Wanda called back.

"But they don't have just any coffee in there," John yelled then jumped up to catch up with the witch. "They have 'mocha chocolate caramel swirl-a-chino with extra whipped cream! (5)'"

"'That sounds disgusting.'"

"'It is!'" John jumped up and down excitedly. "'And if it was physically possible to make love to a hot beverage, this would be the one! (5)'"

"I wish you two the best in life, because I'm still not going in there with you." Wanda started walking again.

John quickly ran out in front of her. "'No, no, no. It's just a fling. I'll finally spend the night with it, but then when I see it in the morning with the caramel unswirled and the whip cream unwhipped, huh! Bye-bye! (5)'"

The girl blinked hard, amazed at the thought processes of her companion. "Did we just have a conversation about a one-night stand with a specialized coffee?"

"Yes, is it that unusual?"

"Not coming from you." Wanda turned the corner with John at her side. "Here it is."

"Izzy 39?" John read the large letters etched in the window. "Doesn't sound like a coffee shop." Wanda opened the door and lead the way in. "But at least it smells like one."

The coffee shop was filled with outcasts of society as well as college students and hep-cats. The front room was bright, full of tables, couches and laptops utilizing the wireless access. There was an iron spiral staircase in the back that lead up to the darker, hazy, smokers balcony.

They walked up to the counter and the Aussie read the chalkboard full of drinks behind the cashier. "Wanda!" John started poking the girl in the arm excitedly.

"What?" she said in an annoyed tone.

"Does that say 'Osama bin latte?'"

"Yes, are you all of a sudden illiterate?"

John could not suppress the excited laughter. "That's great! Better than a mocha chocolate caramel swirl-a-chino with extra whipped cream!"

"Are you going to leave me for a latte?" Wanda said jokingly before telling the emo kid behind the counter her order.

"Can't I have you both? Ooooo...Americano Idol...Panama Canal-o-mel..." John playfully pleaded before he ordered his new favorite coffee drink.

Wanda rolled her eyes and turned away. She looked around and took in her surroundings. "I don't know how I stand hanging out with you, St. John Allerdyce."

John was not modest. "Sure you do. I'm cute, funny, and I have an adorable accent. I don't know how anyone can get enough of me. We tried to spend a day apart and look what happened. You lasted, what fourteen hours before you were knocking on my door. What day was that? Wednesday? What day is today?"

"Friday. And I'll have you know that I was just fine having a day to myself, but Piotr called and said if I wanted to ever see you alive again, I had to come and take you away," she told him.

"Petey's in denial," John declared. "He thinks I'm cute, funny, and adorable too."

Wanda doubted John's declaration. "I don't know. You didn't hear what he was going to do with your body. And he's Russian, so they make sure you are dead." Wanda paid for her drink and took it into her hands.

"Huh? What does being Russian have to do with loving me?" John paid for his drink and they both started to head toward the furniture in the front of Izzy's.

"You've never heard of Rasputin?"

"Yeah, that's Petey's last name."

"Really?!" Wanda exclaimed. "I hope it is no relation."

"Relation to what?"

Wanda sat down on a loveseat facing the window and looked up at her companion. "Rasputin was this crazy, evil Russian monk. He was poisoned, shot, thrown from a height, drown, and then decapitated just to make sure (6)."

"Why in the world would you know that?" John asked as he settled down beside her, putting his non-coffee holding arm around the back of the couch.

The Witch took a sip of her coffee. "I came across it doing research."

"For what?" John wondered since she wasn't exactly going to school like she was required to by law.

"Methods of homicide and torture," Wanda said matter-of-factly. "I wanted to determine which ones were most painful, times taking, most rewarding, et cetera."

John shook his head. "What was the verdict?" Afterwards taking a sip of his coffee.

"I think crushing slowing with a large rock was -" Wanda was interrupted by John spitting his coffee all over the table in front of them.

"That was disgusting!"

Wanda blinked and grabbed some nearby napkins. "The coffee or my preferred method of slaying?"

"The coffee," John answered. "Your morbid fantasies don't frighten me. This coffee on the other hand..." The Aussie used one finger to slide the cup on the coffee table farther away from him. "There is only one thing you can do with coffee that bad," he reached into his pocket.

Wanda knew what was going to happen next. She shook her head and leaned back into the sofa. POOF, a little fire popped on the top of the drink. "HEY! Put that out or take it to the smoking section!" yelled the cashier. John looked up at the kid with a pitiful puppy dog face. It didn't work, not that John was surprised. It barely worked on Wanda. He let it burn for as long as he could get away with before he sighed and waved his hand and extinguished the flame. "I never get to have any fun," he pouted. Then a light bulb when on in his head. "I could put out all of the cigarettes upstairs!"

"Sure, abruptly taking away the nicotine from a room full of addicts sounds like fun," Wanda said sarcastically.

"Well, your highness, what's your great idea?"

Wanda sat in thought, then reached down and pulled out a few sugar packets from the table. "Conversation starters." She was, of course, referring to the random questions printed on the back of that brand of sugar packets.

John looked confused for a second, then he got it. "Oh!" He reached down and grabbed three packets, ripped off the tops and poured them directly into his mouth. "Di lobe shugar dthots!"

With eyebrow raised she answered, "Not what I had in mind."

The sugar-fiend swallowed and resalivated his mouth before responding, "Good, if you were in my mind I'd be scared."

"You and me both." The Scarlet Witch was never so happy that she was not a telepath. She instead went with her original plan and read the packet. "'What three words best describe you?'"

"Uh, fire, fire, and..." John looked up and rubbed his chin, "fire." He nodded.

"'What do people often misunderstand about you?'" she read next. Wanda didn't give John a chance to respond. "Skip that one, we don't have all day."

"Your turn." He swiped a packet form her hands. "'How important is kissing to you in a relationship?' What kind of a question is that? If a girl is a bad kisser and slobbers all over my face, there is no relationship!"

"How would you rate me?" she asked.

A normal man would gulp, start sweating, and have a rapid onslaught in his mind about how to address this question, especially given the powerful and angry nature of the woman. But, as we all know, John is not a normal man and answered instantly. "More skilled than I would think, given your inexperience. Unless they had snogging (7) classes in the joint, although I'd be frightened that I'd get the crazy one that would want to break my legs like Annie Wilkes. Could use some more teasing, more variation with the tongue, but if you touch that lip nibbling thing you do, it's over."

"You like that?" Wanda smiled proudly and mischievously.

"A mocha chocolate caramel swirl-a-chino with extra whipped cream can't do that," he said matter-of-factly.

Wanda re-situated herself confidently on the couch, "One problem with your Misery scenario: You're not a writer."

John was insulted. "Shows how much you know."

"What are you talking about?" She raised a questionable eyebrow.

"I am an author," he announced dramatically.

"Of what? I've never seen you write. Madlibs don't count," she told him.

"I write stuff," he defended. "I write stuff all the time."

"Filling in crossword puzzles with obscene words is not writing."

"Yes, it is, but that is not what I'm talking about."

"Then show me," she challenged.

"No, you're being mean to me." John folded his arms across his chest and looked away.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine." Wanda pulled out another sugar packet. "'If you could only eat one food, and nothing else, for three days in a row, what would it be?'"

"VEGEMITE SANDWICHES!" he exclaimed. John hunched over his hands and moved his fingers in a Montgomery Burns fashion. "I've finally found the stuff the states." He giggled maniacally. "I've ordered three cases on Mags credit card!" He continued to laugh for several minutes.

The Witch stared at him in wonder. Wanda had no idea what vegemite was, but didn't ask him fearing that he might start that giggling again if she did. So she asked him one final question from the sugar god/ "'Do you get along well with you family?'"

John sobered up and slouched back into the couch. "Good, I guess. However good you can get along with dead people." John actually became silent. He stopped fidgeting; he wasn't looking all over the room; he was just sitting.

Wanda's eyes grew wide, I didn't realize. I've been spending every day with the guy and I know almost nothing about his life before her joined up with my father. Except that Remy found him in juvie. And he developed some childhood trauma with purple peeps. "I'm sorry," she finally mumbled. "I didn't mean to bring some like that up."

John shrugged. "You didn't know. I don't go wearing it on my sleeve or anything. I live by my grandpa's motto: 'Live life like it's unidentifiable leftovers in the icebox.'"

At once Wanda thought she knew where his craziness came from. "You're grandfather?"

"Yep, lived with him since I was seven. And let me tell you, nothing gets old man smell out."

"You're parents died when you were seven." Wanda sympathized, "That must have been hard." She knew what it was like to have one parent die, although she barely remembered her mother nowadays. My father and brother were all I had left, and look how they treated me. The anger swelled up inside. She quickly swallowed it, it was not her tragedy they were talking about today.

Again John shrugged and looked at his clasped hands. "When your mum kills your dad while you're at camp, then shoots herself, what are you gonna do?"

Wanda's eyes grew wide. "What?!" she exclaimed.

John sighed and quoted his religious text: "'Anything that happens, happens. Anything in happening, causes something else to happen, causes something else to happen. Anything that in happening, causes itself to happen again, happens again. It doesn't necessarily do it in chronological order, though (8).'"

"Could you be more vague?" Wanda asked.

"Yes, if I tried really hard." The pyromaniac sighed and looked her straight in the eye.

Wanda broke the glaze from his turquoise eyes and looked to her hands. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"Makes no difference to me," he said in a tone that made Wanda believe it wasn't the truth. "'A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away' aka Australia, there was a young boy named St. John Allerdyce. A fun loving boy, he joyfully filled his days the way most little boys from Oz do: causing mischief and getting dirty. One day he came home and found that his dad had packed up all of his stuff. He was moving out; his parents were getting a divorce. His daddy promised him that he would still visit often and spend as much time with him as possible. Devastated, the boy was, but despite his mum's grumbling comments and curses, his dad kept his promise and they still went swimming and camping, just like the old days.

"After spending fun times with his dad, he would go home to his slobbering drunk and depressed mum. She never hurt him physically, just ignored and neglected him except when he was an ear for her vengeful comments and lies about his dad. After a few months she seemed to be doing better: she drank a lot less and started reading again, and working on a very secret project. The boy didn't know anything about the project; for it was a secret, and his mum would not break when he unrelentlessly asked about it.

"When school let out that year, he came home to find out his mum had signed him up for camp. He was very excited, and didn't even think it was suspicious that it was his mum, not his dad that sent him to camp. He had forgotten about all the fights they had about him going away to camp: Dad for, mum against.

"When he came home from camp, he found his mum drunk staring at the telly even though it was off. She didn't say hello, or hug him, or anything. Just sat there. So he went to his dad's but he wasn't there. The next couple days he fended for himself. He never saw his mum move. He tried calling his dad everyday, but no one ever answered. The little boy started school again. Upon returning from his second day of school, he found his bloody mum with a gun in her hand. She was still sitting in that same spot on the couch.

"The police officers told the boy that his mum had killed his dad, cut up his body, put it in a trunk, and dumped it down an old well. The police officers dropped the boy off at his senile grandfather's house. The police said that she felt guilty about it and that was why she shot herself, but they lied. She killed herself because she focused so much of her life on her revenge that she felt empty after it was done. I wasn't even important enough to keep her around." John switched from third to first person at the end of his story.

"I'm sure that's not true," Wanda tried to reassure her boyfriend.

He looked her in the eye for the first time since he started the story. "Oh, it is. That's what the note said. Wanna see?" John leaned forward and reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He flipped through the receipts until he pulled out a piece of worn crumpled creme paper.

Wanda took it hesitantly and unfolded it. There were cute kittens hanging from the border of the suicide note. Wanda could not deny what it said. After reading the note it hit her. This is why John was being so weird the other night. He doesn't want me to end up like his mother. "Do I remind you of your mother?" she blurted out without thinking.

The Aussie was taken aback. He squinted and looked at her funny. "No...she was blonde and chubbier."

Wanda tilted her head and looked at him from the top of her eyes. "You know what I mean. Is this why you freaked out in the car the other day? When you asked me what I was doing after I killed Magneto? Are you afraid I'll end up like your mom?"

"Are you trying to analyze my actions?"

Wanda thought about the absurdity of it all. "Surprisingly yes, and I think I'm right on."

"You think you have entered the mind of a crazed pyromaniac?"

"Yes."

"Good for you," he said over-enthusiastically. "Now that our coffee house bonding is over, what do you want to do?"

The Witch noticed his avoidance of the issue and his change of subject, but didn't push it. "Who said our coffee house adventure was over?" she smiled wickedly.

John returned the look. "What do you have in mine, my devious witch?"

Wanda stood up and left Izzy's without saying a word. John lept up to follow her. She headed back the way they had come, back to the bus stop. When she had gotten to the door to the Starbucks, she paused for John to catch up. He was really confused about what was going on, but the mischievous smile on his girlfriend's face told him it was going to be good. She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the franchise.

"Can I have a single mocha chocolate caramel swirl-a-chino with extra whipped cream?" she told the coffee girl before winking at the confounded John.

"What size would you like?" she asked with extra pep.

"Uh, a single, small," Wanda responded and illustrated the size with her hands.

"We don't have small. We have tall, grande, and ven-tee," explained the girl (9).

"But since your tall is your smallest cup, wouldn't that be your small?" she asked.

The coffee girl blinked hard. "Would you like your mocha chocolate caramel swirl-a-chino with extra whipped cream in tall, grande, or ven-tee?"

"This is why I don't come to these places," Wanda whispered to her companion. "I'll have a tall."

Wanda picked up the finished drink and dragged a still mystified John to a booth by the front window. After setting down the drink on the table she leaned over and whispered her plan into John's ear. He then smiled and went to work.

Several minutes later, a new customer came into Starmucks. He paused at John and Wanda's table for a second before continuing to the counter. "Hey what is in this stuff?" he asked.

"Why?" said the perky coffee girl.

"'Cause that guy's is on fire," the new customer told the employee (10). Her eyes grew wide. Pop, pop, pop! All of the drinks in the room formed little fires on top of them. People started screaming and running toward the nearest exits.

In the nearly vacant Starmucks, John laughed hysterically and Wanda smiled. "Great idea!" John praised her.

"You expanded it quite well," she complimented the pyromaniac across from her. "I'm hungry," she stated.

"What do you want to eat?" John gestured to the bagels and cookies behind the counter. "Looks like we have free reign."

Wanda smiled seductively. "I was thinking more along the lines of lips. I just want a nibble."

John took the hint. "Really?" He smiled and leaned across the table.

A total of two customers had come into the store all night. One didn't buy anything. The other annoyed the hell out of Rogue, but at least he picked up two records and a CD. Having been excused from putting up the display since the window incident, Rogue was in her last half hour of work, counting down the minutes until she was able to leave. She had even counted her drawer already for quick removal at the end of the night. Currently she was lying on her back on the front counter, struggling with Hemmingway and listening to some band Lucas recommended to her called Gwar (11). Rogue sighed into her book and turned back a page to torture herself all over again.

"I'm sure dat you would have an easier time wit' dat book if d'ere was some nice jazz playin'." Remy moved over toward the player with a CD of John Coltrane. Suddenly a staple gun was pointed at him, the possessor of the gun hadn't even torn her eyes away from her horrid novel. "How about some Zeppelin?" Rogue gestured with her staple gun. Remy put up his hands and backed away from audio system. "I can' believe you're still holdin' onta dat t'ing."

"A girl has gotta protect herself," she replied. "Right, Warren?"

The girl sat in a chair facing the main street, rolling up posters. She shrugged. "Sure, whatever. I'll agree with whatever you say as long as you tell me before you shoot him again, so I can stop my cop lookout and watch." Warren had been on cop lookout since the officers left. The policemen had promised to send a patrol car by every hour for the rest of the night in case of another attack. Ashley doubted his follow-through, so she assigned Warren the job of looking out for the car to make sure they did. After two and a half hours of no marked cars, she called Bayville Police Station and gave them and earful. Now Warren could report seeing a car every thirty to forty-five minutes.

"I'll give Ashley one thing," Rogue commented about the assistant manager doing paperwork in the office, "she can make things happen." She glanced over at Remy as he mysteriously ducked behind an aisle.

The unfamiliar sound of bells tinkling sent Rogue sitting upright. When she saw who it was she slouched, "Hey."

"Hello," greeted Jean Grey without her usual smile. "I got your message about the time change."

"Really? So you forgot how to tell time," Rogue remarked about Jean's earliness.

"No, I couldn't stay at the Institute any longer," Jean told her as she leaned against the counter Rogue was sitting on. The redhead turned to her left. "I'm psychic; I know you're there, Remy. You don't have to hide."

The Cajun's head popped up from behind the aisle. "I wasn' hidin'. I lost my contact." Jean rolled her eyes.

"So where is your siamese twin?" the employee asked.

"Siamese twin?" Jean raised her eyebrows questionably.

Remy knew what she was talking about. "De guy attached to you at de mouth."

"Oh, Scott went to go pick up his brother in Mexico," Jean informed them. "What kind of idiot gets stranded in another country? And what kind of guy goes after him?" she exclaimed.

"A surfer and a gullible brother," the Rogue answered. She had a feeling about what was coming next. She turned on her "Kitty listening ear." What about meh makes everyone want ta confess? Some days ah think ah should start wearing a white collar. Maybe ah should start a roadside psychiatric booth like Lucy from the Peanuts.

Remy noticed a change in the atmosphere. "You two are goin' start talkin' girl talk, non?"

"Ah don' talk girl talk," Rogue told him.

Remy didn't believe her. "You are," he groaned. He started backing up to the door. "I'll be leavin' now. I should probably find John. He's been AWOL fo' a couple days now."

"Check the Brotherhood?" Rogue figured he'd be with Wanda.

"My first stop," he answered. "Hopefully I won' find anything compromising. I forgot de camera. De morgue is my second guess. So you'll be here tomorrow?"

Rogue nodded. "Why?"

"I might have to come by and imagine some pink hot pants," he smiled coyly.

"You really want more staples in your -" Rogue started.

"You don't have any more staples," he interrupted, grinned and left.

Rogue instantly checked her gun: Empty. "Damn him."

"He was here all afternoon, wasn't he?" Jean asked her.

"What if he was?" was Rogue's non-committal response.

"Nothing. I don't want to get into it tonight. You know what I think of him."

There was silence in the store aside from Warren's rolling. Rogue didn't bother saying anything. She knew Jean's thoughts were focussed too much on her own problems tonight. Rogue knew all too well from living with Kitty that Jean would start confessing again in a minute.

Sure enough: "I have this feeling that Scott's in danger."

"Uh-huh."

"No it's more than just a feeling," Jean restated. "I had this dream, but it felt more real than that. I think that something bad is happening to him."

Rogue didn't understand why her teammate was telling her this. "What do ya want meh ta do 'bout it?"

"Nothing. There's nothing you can do about it." Jean sighed.

"So, why are ya tellin' meh this again? Shouldn't ya be talkin' to Storm or the Professor?" she asked.

"I already told the Professor," Jean confessed. "He didn't believe me. He said that Scott is out of range of his powers, much less mine."

"But ya don't agree with 'im," the Goth complete Jean's thought.

"It felt so real and urgent," the telepath pleaded. She looked down at her hands. "But the Professor is probably right. I'm overreacting. If the Professor can't reach Scott telepathically, then how can I?"

Rogue, always one to follow her instincts, didn't agree with Jean's downplay. "Ah remember when your powers went all crazy. I siphoned off some o' your power, but there was so much raw energy behind it, ah wouldn't cut your powers short."

"You think I could be right?"

"Anything is possible," Rogue said. "An' if you're wrong, what's the worst thing that can happen? You're embarrassed fo' ten minutes."

"You're right." Jean's confidence was raised for an instant before self-doubt kicked back in. "But how do I find out? I don't even know where in Mexico he went?" Rogue had nothing to add to that, but luckily Jean continued. "I guess I have to wait until I can call him at his brother's house in Hawaii tomorrow morning," she sighed. "Thanks for listening anyway, Rogue. Anyone else at the Institute would tell me I was being crazy or overreacting and that I'd feel so silly when Scott gets back safe and sound. I knew you wouldn't."

"Of course ya did, you're a psychic."

The door to the office crashed open against the wall. "That's it, I'm done. There is nothing going on here, we're leaving early," Ashley announced. She ran to the front door and locked it. "Count down the drawer, Rogue."

"Already done." Rogue popped open the drawer and took it to the backroom to copy the numbers to the official paperwork.

"Great, thinking ahead," Ashley actually complemented. "Warren, clean up your mess and let's get the hell out of here." In five minutes the shop was cleaned, darkened, and closed for the night.

(1) Quote from The Princess Bride.
(2) Last two lines adjusted from X-Men: The Animated Series. Except they were said by Wolverine and Rogue.
(3) Read The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy series by Douglas Adams.

(4) See Chapter 13: Something Like Rex Manning Day
(5) Inspired by first scene of Gilmore Girls episode "Pulp Fiction."
(6) The legend was that two cousins of the Czar Nicholas invited Rasputin to dinner. They poisoned both his wine and his cakes but he didn't die. Then one of them shot Rasputin in the head and left him for dead. When he came back a little later he found Rasputin consious and trying to escape. The monk tried to choke the guy then ran. He was then shot several times. To be sure they tied him up and tossed him in a river. When they found his body downstream, Rasputin's bonds were untied but his arms and legs were broken from the fall so he couldn't swim. The Russians then decapatated him to be sure. Supposedly the autopsy revealed that he had a shitload of water in his lungs and had died by drowning. But recent investigations(2004) into Rasputin's murder show that British Intellegance was pulling the strings and a British Secret Serviceman actually shot Rasputin fatally square in the forehead. For more info check out BBC.
(7) Snogging = kissing/making out. Snogging is actually british slang. I'm not sure if they use it in Australia or not, but I love the word so I used the word.

(8) From Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy series by Douglas Adams.
(9) For the older audience with a sense of humor, to hear more "coffee-house propaganda" go to illwillpress and watch Foamy the Squirrel's "Small, Medium, and Large."
(10) Taken from randomnimity's review of the last chapter.
(11) Artist of Sasdam-a-go-go played in Empire Records but not on the soundtrack.