A/N: Hahahaha stick to my self-imposed updating schedule? Who do you think I am?
Chapter 4: December 15 (Still)
On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…
It's not until Rogue is settled behind Remy on his motorcycle, long legs bracketing his, warm arms wrapped around his waist, that he starts to think maybe this isn't the best idea. She's so close.
He's not the only one to get nervous when Rogue gets close. Her skin is deadly after all. Or at least mildly toxic. Most people start to sweat when Rogue is within touching distance. Nobody wants to be sucked dry of energy.
Remy however, isn't sweating because of Rogue's skin. Or rather, he is, but it's not the toxicity that makes him nervous, it's the fact that this is Rogue's skin.
Remy has had detailed fantasies about Rogue's skin. Rogue's skin and Remy's fingers. Rogue's skin and silk scarves. Rogue's skin and chocolate syrup. Remy is a traditional man sometimes.
He might also be hyperventilating.
"Remy!" Rogue shouts in his ear. He winces.
"Roguey, Remy hear you just fine without the shouting." The helmet really doesn't block sound all that much.
"Oh," she says. "Well I just wanted to say that your phone is ringing."
Remy growls. "Lemme…" he reaches into his trench coat pocket and yanks out his phone.
Mercy. He debates for a moment, then hits ignore.
"Shouldn't you answer that?" Rogue asks. He wonders if she realizes that she's leaning on his shoulder. Remy certainly realizes it.
"Non," he says.
Rogue doesn't look convinced. "Isn't Mercy your sister-in-law?" she asks. "What if something's happened in the family?"
It warms Remy down to his fingertips. He actually checks for a moment to make sure they aren't blazing magenta. Rogue cares about his family. Oh, if only she could meet Mercy! And Henry would love her, of course. She's already met Père, but against all odds, that hasn't turned her off all LeBeaus in general. Tante has already told Remy that Rogue is the best thing that's ever happened to him and…
God help Remy, he even wants to introduce her to Belle.
The world will never be the same, of course, but Remy is confident that everyone will be accepting of their new Southern Belle overlords.
Remy wants… Remy wants to show her off to his family, to take her driving every Saturday, to dance with her to old jazz in firelight. He wants to see her in snow and in sun and in rain and in that weird hurricane weather that keeps happening all over the East Coast. Remy wants late nights, cuddling, laughing and fighting and for the love of all that is holy, Remy wants to be able to touch her.
God, he's got it bad.
Instead of that embarrassing sappiness, he says, "Mercy's been calling all week. La Famille… they all call at the same time, trying to get Remy to pick up."
On cue, his phone rings again. Père. Remy rolls his eyes and jams the phone back into his pocket.
"Let's ride, Roguey."
000
Riding a motorcycle with Rogue is An Experience. Remy is used to checking over and over to make sure his passengers are okay. Is he going too fast? Does he need to take turns more carefully? He would never want Rogue to be afraid of his driving. He reaches out, allowing the heavy shields he keeps over his mind to lift just enough to prod at Rogue with his empathy.
She's laughing.
Or, actually, her emotions are racing, flitting from extreme delight to sheer terror and then delight slides into and overlaps with terror. The resulting emotion spills into Remy's open mind rippling with mirth. And then Rogue notices, feels his presence and before he can stammer an apology and withdraw, she concentrates and unmistakable fondness floods through his empathy.
Remy is going to crash this motorcycle.
He wrenches his empathy under control and slows down just a hair. Strangely, this causes Rogue to tighten her arms around his ribcage, and she rests her head against his back. Remy is glad that his face isn't visible, because he's certain that he looks incredibly soppy and love struck. He's basically a pile of goo at this point. The only thing keeping him on the motorcycle is the thought that the explanation for why they crashed would be too embarrassing.
"Well, officer, I just found out that the woman I am madly, passionately in love with doesn't hate me, and it just made me a little dizzy."
That would go over well.
Against all odds, they reach the Bayville Mall in one piece. And then Rogue takes off her helmet and shakes out her hair and Remy is sure his heart is about to pound right out of his chest and die in a heap of adoration at Rogue's feet. Which is gross and not romantic at all, and Remy should really calm down before that happens.
Rogue is staring at him. He fumbles his helmet off of his head.
"Are you coming, Swamp Rat?"
He shakes off the vision of his heart oozing all over Rogue's grey leather ankle boots and says, "Uh, yeah."
Smooth, Remy, real smooth.
Rogue doesn't seem to notice though, or if she does, she doesn't say anything. She walks next to him, swinging her arms back and forth like she's marching into battle. Which, Remy guesses she sort of is. Christmas shopping in December is nothing to sneeze at.
Usually, Remy is more on top of things and gets his shopping done the week after Thanksgiving, but this year he's been a little distracted. What with Rogue, and then Todd needing help, and the younger X-men needing training, and Père calling all the time about jobs that Remy may or may not do, and Rogue's hair and Rogue's eyes and that little bit of Rogue's skin Remy can see when she raises her arms and her shirt rides up…
Anyway, Remy's been busy.
"Where we going first, chere?" he asks, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets. He always puts his hands in his pockets when he goes shopping. Not, as Kitty teases, to avoid the temptation of stealing, but rather to create the illusion that his hands never leave his pockets, so naturally it's impossible that anyone's wallet could have ended up in Remy's trench coat.
"Jean and Scott," Rogue says grimly. "They've already bought everyone's presents and you know that they're gonna be frickin' amazing, so we've gotta step up our game this year." Jean and Scott give notoriously good presents. Remy has always thought it's sort of nice, but apparently it's infuriating to Rogue.
Remy gives her a dubious look. "The words you're saying sound like you wanna a give the lovebirds a nice present, but your voice sounds like you're out for blood, chere."
"Oh," says Rogue, smiling a plum-lipsticked Grin of Evil, "I am." She reaches into her pocket and whips out a list. Remy has never seen Rogue make a list before. She goes grocery shopping by wandering through the aisles and playing eeny-meeny-miney-mo as far as Remy can tell. Rogue is the reason the Institute was at one point eating nothing but hash brown casserole and granola for two weeks. And now she has a list and a Grin of Evil.
It's kind of hot.
"Uh," says Remy.
"Come on," says Rogue. "We're going to Macy's."
000
It takes about three minutes in Macy's for Remy to realize that Christmas shopping with Rogue is a much different experience than grocery shopping with Rogue. She takes shopping for presents very seriously.
"Kitty next," she tells him firmly once she's picked out the present she's giving Jean and Scott. It's a smoothie machine that will make three different smoothies at once, with three speeds and a chrome finish.
"Jean likes smoothies," she'd explained, "but she hates when Scott uses the blender before she does in the mornings because he puts pineapple in his and she hates pineapple, but the juice gets into her smoothie. She swears she can taste it, even though that's stupid. So now they'll be able to make their smoothies at the same time in the mornings and there won't be any pineapple in Jean's." She'd looked really proud of herself.
"How d'ya know all that stuff, Roguey?" Remy had asked. He'd gotten Jean and Scott matching sweaters with reindeer on them. Rogue had given him a weird look.
"Uh, because Jean won't shut up about it every single morning? Seriously, Swamp Rat, they've been doing this for years. How have you not noticed?"
Remy maybe should start getting up early enough for family breakfast.
"Uh, right," he mutters. "So, Kit-Kat, next?"
They go to Barnes and Noble for that one, somewhat to Remy's surprise, until he discovers the comics section, which Rogue makes a beeline for.
"Batman?" he asks knowingly.
"There's a new volume out of her favorite arc or whatever it's called," Rogue says, scanning the shelves with freakish speed. Remy grinned and started looking for his own gift for Kitty. She liked that one comic with the girl dressed like a ladybug, and the cat boy, right? He finds the first five volumes, one after another on the shelf, and hesitates only a second before grabbing all of them.
Not that he's giving Kitty all five of them now, but her birthday is in March, so Remy is just being efficient by buying them all now. She can have three volumes for Hanukkah… and a pair of red and black spotted earrings he swiped from Macy's earlier.
Some might say this is overkill for a girl Remy isn't even dating (or trying to date) but he figures it's the least she deserves for having to celebrate Hanukkah two weeks late.
Rogue smirks at him when she sees the pile he's collected for Kitty, but he simply raises an eyebrow right back at her for the thick boxed set of graphic novels she's holding.
"She won't shut up about that Gotham Academy or whatever," Rogue mutters. Remy wonders if anyone else knows that his Roguey is a big ol' softy. He suspects not.
They spend some more time in the bookstore because Piotr is easy for anything with a Barnes and Noble Classics cover and Remy has been trying to find as many full collections as possible. Piotr's been receiving the fully-illustrated works of Alexandre Dumas for birthdays and Christmas for two years now. Soon it will be time to move on to Jane Austen or something.
Remy pulls his phone out to check the time at one point and winces at the number of missed calls blinking angrily from the screen. Belle and Père have each called him seven times. Mercy has tried twenty-three. There are twenty-nine voicemails.
Tante Mattie only called once, and Remy shudders to think of what that message might say.
Of course, she might not have left a message at all, but Remy kind of thinks that might be worse. He follows Rogue from store to store in a terrified haze imagining Tante's wrath.
They're in some kind of weird store that sells table lamps because Rogue overheard Storm complaining about the lack of good lighting in the family room and decided that lamps made good Christmas presents. Remy privately thinks that table lamps are sort of lame presents, but he's not about to say so to Rogue, who has started bouncing up and down on her toes in the excitement of Christmas shopping.
She's so adorable. Remy can feel himself turning into goo again.
His phone rings in the check-out, buzzing against his hip. Rogue must hear it, because she turns to him and raises an expectant eyebrow.
"What," says Remy.
"You should answer that," she says back, taking her bag stuffed with Storm's weird lamp and a throw blanket for Kurt. She hands it to Remy and shoos him out of the store. Being shooed by Rogue is very strange, because she doesn't so much wave her hand at him as she puts it between his shoulder blades and shoves.
Remy has an IOU gift for Kurt, a promise to treat him to any of his choice of the best German-run restaurants in New York State, wherever the kid wants to go. Rogue had given him a beaming smile when he mentioned it.
"That's real nice, Remy," she'd said. "Kurt will really love that. He's not going home until the New Year, so he'll be missing his parents. This will cheer him up a lot."
Remy kind of hopes no one knows how much of a softy he is.
He fishes his phone out of his pocket and sighs heavily when he sees his father's number again. He hits ignore. Rogue hits his shoulder.
"Ow!" He pouts, rubbing his arm with the bags. "What the–"
"You should answer!" she hisses at him. He glares, but Rogue has been perfecting the Angry Goth persona for her entire life, and Remy's glare just isn't up to snuff.
"Fine!" He caves. "I'll call them back." Rogue takes this as her cue to drop bags and herself down on the closest mall bench and cross her arms over her chest. She raises her eyebrows at him.
"Well, go on," she says.
Growling, Remy drops his own packages and paces a couple of feet away. He pulls out his phone and calls Père back.
It only rings once before Jean-Luc picks it up. "Remy?" he almost shouts. "About time you picked up, boy!"
"Désolé, Père," Remy says. "Remy was–"
"Hold on, you can explain to everyone. Tante! Mercy! Belle! Remy's on the phone!"
"Oh no," Remy says. Rogue looks up and smirks at him.
"Remy LeBeau!" Mercy's voice is so loud that Remy jerks the phone away from his ear. "Why you ignoring me?"
"Ignoring all of us," Belle drawls, sending a shiver up Remy's spine. He's completely gone on Rogue now, has been for months, but there was a time when that voice could twist him into knots in the best possible way. He and Belladonna are just friends now, but he can't help the skin reaction.
He clears his throat. "Uh, Remy been busy, y'all. Didn't mean to ignore you."
He hears her snort before her voice echoes over the airwaves. "Boy," Tante Mattie says, "y'know we all ain't stupid, right? Tante knows when you're ignoring her, don't argue with me." She doesn't sound mad, but Remy gulps anyway, 'cause that doesn't mean anything at all in his family.
"Je suis désolé," he says again. "Remy just… been trying to settle," he finishes lamely.
"For six months?" Mercy exclaims exasperatedly.
Remy stares helplessly at Rogue, who simply raises her eyebrows at him, probably because she can't hear whatever is causing Remy to look like he's being hunted. "It's a big house," he says.
He can almost hear Belle's eyes rolling. "It isn't like you've never seen a big house before, Remy."
"Yeah, well," he mutters, which isn't any kind of comeback at all, but is all he can manage with Belle in his ear and Rogue pretending not to be watching him pace and fidget with his gloves. She's got her head tipped back, staring at the ceiling and she's… is she humming? She's humming, and bopping her head to music only she can hear. She's smiling, watching her own reflection in the mirrored mall ceiling and laughing at herself.
That's so cute.
Remy is practically made of syrup at this point, that's how sappy he's become. This woman has turned him into maple tree.
"Are you even listening, Remy?" Jean-Luc demands.
"Sorry!" he yelps. "Sorry, Remy got distracted, sorry!" What is it about his father that turns Remy into a little kid again?
And now Rogue is staring at him, looking concerned. She gets up and walks over to him to lay her hand on his arm. "Uh," he says into the phone. His eyes must be as big as saucers, but how is he supposed to not react to Rogue's hand on his arm and Rogue's face peering up into his…
"Why you been calling so much?" he interrupts whatever Jean-Luc had been saying. "You coulda called anytime, but you didn't, so why now?"
Silence for a moment, and then they all start talking at once.
"Gotta job for you–"
"Nobody will listen to me when I need to talk about–"
"Just wanted to see how you were doing–"
"That girl–"
It's that last one that makes him say, "What? Hold on, one at a time!"
And now they're all quiet. He resists the urge to drum his hand into his own forehead and says wearily. "Uh, Père?"
"Gotta job you might be interested in, Remy," his father says immediately. "It's up near you, close to Bayville, low risk."
"Remy's not doing jobs right now," Remy says sharply, mindful of how Rogue's eyes narrow at the inflection on jobs. "Got X-Men stuff to do. Don't have the time, and doubt the Professor would be too happy about Remy getting involved with Guild stuff under his roof." He stares down at Rogue, hoping that she'll understand that just because Remy's objections have more to do with politeness to his host than with any moral dilemmas, doesn't mean he's a bad person.
Remy's never exactly thought of himself as a good person either, but he's pretty sure he isn't a really bad one at least.
To his surprise, his father only puts up a token resistance to his refusal. "Alright, alright," Jean-Luc says. "I was only asking 'cause I know you've done work like it in the past. You don't have to take it."
"Oh. Well. Good," Remy says, kind of awkwardly. He hadn't been expecting it to be as easy as that. "Uh, Mercy?" he asks next.
"I need to ask you for advice about Henri's Christmas present," she says sweetly. Remy pulls the phone away from his ear and gives it an incredulous look as though Mercy can see it through the line.
"Why you asking Remy?" he demands.
"Because you're the only one I can think of who won't just say 'gift card' or 'steal him something nice.' It's like everyone in this family is incapable of figuring out how to give presents that aren't stolen!"
Remy doesn't point out that this is the same family that raised him, so how exactly is he supposed to have a different point of view on gift giving? He eyes the various bags and boxes around him and considers what he's been doing all afternoon.
Maybe Mercy has a point.
"Uhh, pictures? Scrapbooking material? Henri loves sentimental crap like that," he says finally. It sounds lame to him, like most of his gift ideas when he has to come up with something that has real meaningful value. Henri is hard to shop for, always has been. Luckily, he is also incredibly patient with his younger brother's fumbling attempts at giving real presents.
If only everyone in Remy's life were as easy to gift as Kitty and Piotr. Why can't he just buy books for everyone on the list and be done with it?
But Mercy exclaims in delight. "Oh, Remy!" she says. "That's perfect! You're the best, I knew I could count on you!"
He blinks. "Uh, welcome, Mercy." Rogue looks very interested, which is why he's wincing a little when he says, "Belle?" Rogue's eyebrows arch up her forehead and he gets distracted for just a second wondering if they're as soft as her hair, which is probably a very creepy thing to think about, but it's too late, Remy already went there.
"I just wanna see how you been doing, Remy," Belle is saying.
"Oh, uh, Remy, Remy been fine," he says, stammering over his words and breaking gazes with Rogue to rub his hand over his chin.
"How's being a superhero?" Belle teases. Remy smiles a little, glancing back to Rogue and letting her in on the joke.
"Oh, you know, superheroing is pretty hard work. We do a lot of saving people. Kissing babies."
"Sure you ain't kissing babes?" Belle asks slyly. Remy flushes and scowls.
"Non."
"Belle!" Tante scolds, butting into the conversation in that way she has that makes you feel like she's just been waiting to be polite and this is actually her conversation from the start. "Y'know our Remy isn't out kissing no girls! He's got his heart set on someone!"
"Tante!" he protests, trying to lean away from Rogue without looking like he's leaning away from Rogue. It doesn't work, so he just gives her an apologetic grimace and steps away. "Tante!" he hisses. "You can't just say–"
Well, of course telling Tante Mattie she can't do something means absolutely nothing if she's of the mind to do it, and anyway, don't Remy know what's good for him?
"Yes'm," he says, and shuts up.
"Now Remy," Tante says, "have you actually told the girl you like her?"
"Remy didn't even tell you I like her," he mutters under his breath. Sometimes he wonders if Tante is a mutant, with all her knowing things nobody tells her, but mostly he thinks it's just some kind of old Cajun woman magic.
"You gonna tell her," Tante orders sternly. "It's not fair to her for you not to let her know how you feel."
"How does that make sense?" Remy complains. "If Remy don't say anything, then she never has to find out at all, so how would she know?"
"She deserves to know," Tante says.
"Well what if she already does?" Remy exclaims, louder than he wanted to. Rogue looks over at him and he lowers his voice instantly. Tante and the others have become very quiet on the other end. "She does know," he says. "She… I don't see how she couldn't know. I haven't exactly been subtle about it. But she hasn't said anything about it, so dunno what Remy can do more."
He must sound really miserable, because Mercy comes on the line the next second. "Remy," she says gently.
"What," he says, too flat.
"Fils," and there's Père. Remy can just see the look Jean-Luc is probably wearing: part exasperation, part fondness, some amusement mixed in with what-are-we-gon'-do-with-this-kid. Remy's real familiar with that particular look.
He sighs, homesick and lovesick and starting to feel regular sick from the smell of mall food all around him. "Look," he says, "can we. Let's talk later, okay? Rem–I'm in the middle of a mall here, and this… It's too much okay? Sorry, it's just too much, to be talking to y'all, but not able to see you, and I really don't want to talk about this anyway, okay? Sorry, just, bye, for now, okay? Bye. Love y'all," he adds at the end, because he does, and because the thought of not saying it makes him feel awful. He says it again to be sure and then hangs up and turns off his phone.
Rogue is at his side the next second. "Are you okay?" she asks, green eyes wide and worried. "If I'd known it was gonna get that serious I never would have insisted you call them right here and now, Remy, I swear."
She's got her hand on his arm again, a glove and his coat and his long-sleeved shirt between her skin and his, and yet he feels like they're closer than they've been since that trip to New Orleans that started this whole thing.
"Remy fine, chere," he says, and he doesn't even have to force the smile. Not for her. "It's just," he waves his hand expansively, still holding the cell phone. "Y'know. Family stuff."
The eyebrow arches again. Remy tries not to swoon. "Family, or Family?" she asks knowingly.
Remy rolls his eyes. "Bit of both," he concedes.
Rogue nods sympathetically and thankfully changes the subject. "I think we're almost done," she says, indicating their various bags. "Just the gift cards for the young 'uns and something alcoholic for Logan and the Professor." She gives Remy a sly smile and he feels his mood lifting.
"Oh, okay, that's how it is," he says. "You just wanted Remy along 'cause you need someone with a legal ID to buy you alcohol."
She pouts. "Are you saying you won't?"
Remy winks. "Aw, chere, you know Remy'll do anything for you. Might cost you though," he says thoughtfully, tapping his finger against his chin and giving her a playful smirk.
She rolls her eyes and elbows him in the side. "Keep that up, Swamp Rat, and I might just give you what you're asking for."
Has his heart stopped? He can't breathe; she's standing so close to him. "Promise?" he says hopefully.
Rogue laughs, giving him a shove. "Come on, Cajun, let's go."
000
It's not until they get out of the fancy wine and alcohol shop that they come to an awful realization. Actually, it's not until they get out to the parking lot.
"Oh no," Rogue says, stopping short right behind Remy.
"What?" he says, "what's wrong?"
"Oh. No!" She looks up at him in horror, holding out her arms full of packages and bags. "The motorcycle!"
Remy's eyes widen and they stare at each other for a moment, surrounded by bags and boxes and at least four bottles of very expensive Scotch, with no way of transporting it all home.
"We maybe shoulda thought this through better," Remy says.
"Maybe," Rogue allows, starting to snicker. She glances to the side just as Remy is doing the same and they catch each other's eyes.
Within seconds they're both laughing. Rogue snorts when she laughs hard enough, and her head is thrown back so far Remy can see the white line of her throat disappearing into her scarf. Suddenly, he's warm all over.
"What –what are we gonna do?" Rogue gasps finally. "We can't call anybody; we've got all their presents in these bags!"
Remy honestly doesn't have an answer, but he's about to come up with a plan on the fly when the worst thing possible happens.
Well, okay, so not the very worst thing, because Remy has been through some pretty rough stuff in the past few years, notably the Guild Feud, Apocalypse, and well. The entirety of the thing with Magneto, really. So, it's really just a terrible, no good, very bad thing that happens.
Warren Worthington III pushes open the door of the Starbucks, conveniently located next to the mall entrance, and ambles out into the winter sunshine. He's dressed in a long wool coat that hides his wings, and his stupid shiny blond hair is covered by a dark blue cap with earmuffs. He should look ridiculous. Instead he just looks like a model.
God, Remy hates this guy.
"Oh!" says Warren, like he just now noticed them standing in the middle of a sea of bags, taking up the whole sidewalk. "You doing your Christmas shopping, Rogue?" He smiles at Roguey, which Remy understands completely, but which also makes Remy want to punch him in the throat.
"Yeah," Rogue smiles back at Warren, not noticing the way Remy has involuntarily started bristling beside her. "Remy and I were just finishing up." She laughs a self-deprecating little chuckle. "We just completely forgot that we'd need to take everything home!"
"No car?" Warren asks, grinning at Remy. Remy doesn't scowl at him, but it's close.
"Naw," Rogue says, "we just brought a motorcycle instead of something with storage space." She nudges Remy with her shoulder, invites him to join in the joke again. So maybe she does notice the tension.
"Oh, well if that's the trouble," Warren says, shrugging, "I have plenty of room in my car. You can both put your bags in the trunk, since I'm heading back to the mansion anyway."
"That'd be great, Warren!" Rogue says warmly. She starts gathering up her bags and says, "Come on, Remy! We'll follow you," she says to the Angel, who beams and sweeps up the rest of Rogue's packages. Remy grabs his own before Warren can try to show off his strength anymore than he already has. Rogue is probably admiring his gallantry as well as his fancy cut coat. Remy's coat is made of canvas and cotton and it belonged to at least two other Thieves before it reached him.
It's a good coat, and Remy wouldn't trade it. Warren Worthington III is a snob anyway.
They load their bags into the trunk of Warren's Ferrari. It's a literal Ferrari, which is so pretentious that Remy almost can't stand it.
"Well, I'll see you back at the Institute then," Warren says, clapping his gloved hands together. He glances at Rogue. "Unless you'd care for a ride?"
"Oh, we have Remy's motorcycle," Rogue said, looking back at Remy, who suddenly realizes that it's not only freezing, but that it's started to snow.
"I'll bring you back tomorrow to pick it up," Warren offers.
"That sounds–"
"Non," Remy interrupts Rogue, giving her an apologetic smile. "Remy will take the motorcycle. You ride in the car, in the warm," he says to Rogue.
"Remy are you sure?" Rogue says. She steps closer to him and he grins, one last charming smile to finish off this day, and waves her off.
"Go on, chere. Remy see you at the Institute."
"Home," Rogue says, oddly insistent. This is one of the things Rogue gets hung up on. Calling the Institute "home" is very important to her. Kind of weird, if you ask Remy, but he really isn't one to talk about weird quirks.
"Yeah," he says. "Home."
"Well then, Miss Rogue," says Warren Worthington III, "shall we?" He holds open the passenger door to his Ferrari. Remy pulls his coat around himself tighter and turns out into the parking lot to head to his motorcycle. He doesn't see Rogue looking at his back before she slides into the car.
… four calling birds, three French hens, two turtledoves, and a partridge in a pear tree!
A/N: Come say hi on tumblr, y'all! (indigo-night-wisp dot tumblr dot com)
Additional, No-Longer-A-Spoiler Disclaimer: I do not own Macy's or Barnes and Noble. Or Gotham Academy. Or Miraculous Ladybug. Or Starbucks.