A/N: Sorry that this update is literal years after the last one. [insert shrug emoji here]

Many thanks to everyone reading and reviewing!

Chapter 7: December 16

On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…

"… So that's basically it," Remy finishes. Lance, Toad, Fred, and Pietro stare at him for a moment, frowning. They're in the basement of the mansion, illuminated by the thread light of the single bulb that dangles from a string above their heads. Kurt had teleported them down here after Remy stormed into the mansion with the bedraggled Brotherhood in tow, hollering about Ninjas.

"Are you saying that the X-Men are under attack from the Men-in-Black?" Lance asks finally.

"No," Remy rolls his eyes. "Don't y'all listen? They're just some kind of top secret government organization that wants to experiment on mutants."

"Which includes you guys, actually," Bobby points out. Pietro gives him a snarly sort of glare, which, for Pietro is probably a declaration of friendship and appreciation.

"So what are we going to do about it?" Freddy asks sensibly. Remy is glad that he invited them over for Christmas. No one in the X-Men is this blasé about potential threats, and they certainly aren't this practically minded.

"We?" Pietro exclaims in affront. He actually puts his hand on his chest like a Southern Belle in Gone with the Wind. Remy has never seen that movie, but it seems like the kind of movie where people do that a lot. When Remy was a kid, Henri had taught him the phrase, "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn," and told him to say it to Jean-Luc if Père started complaining about something. It hadn't gone over well, but it had given Remy a lot of practice at being scandalized in the most Southern way possible.

"Oui," Remy says shortly. Pietro shakes his head.

"No, I meant, us." He gestures to the Brotherhood boys, who mostly look confused. Kurt and Bobby look like this is the best thing that's happened all day. Piotr is pretending not to get the joke.

"Oui," Remy agrees.

Pietro sputters. "I mean the Brotherhood!"

"Oui."

Piotr steps in and ruins the fun before Pietro can spontaneously combust from sheer outrage. "Right," says Pete. "What do we do next?"

Remy hasn't actually thought that far yet, but he's willing to improvise. It's his best quality. Well, no, actually. It's not his best quality. Remy rather thinks his charming smile and his ability to pick a man's pocket from five feet away without being caught are tied for "Best Quality." But his improvisation skills are definitely in the running.

"We need to know exactly what the Grinch is planning," he says, slowly, like he's trying not to spook a horse. Not that Remy knows anything about horses. They aren't exactly common in the bayou. Now, gators, there Remy can confidently say he knows what he's talking about. Not that gators spook easily or anything like that, though, but –anyway, the point is, he's trying to ease Piotr into the idea because Petey is already guessing where Remy is going with this and he probably doesn't like it.

"I do not like this," Piotr says, becoming impossibly more Russian. "You want us let you go into compound by yourself."

That is exactly what Remy wants, but Piotr makes it sound like a bad idea. "Remy can sneak in better and find out more if he goes alone," he says. This is true. Remy is very good at sneaking. Champion. He won Best Sneaker three years running in Thief School. It may even be his Best Quality. The others… well, they may be okay as superheroes, but they can't sneak worth beans.

Pietro raises his hand. "That sounds good to me," he says. "Remy should go alone."

"Shut up," says Piotr, nicely. Pietro swallows hard and sits down quickly. "Remy, is too dangerous for you to be going alone," Piotr continues.

Remy grins a little. "Have some faith. Trust Remy, Pete, it'll be fine." Piotr does not look convinced, but he doesn't say no again, so Remy knows he's won.

"Tomorrow," Piotr insists. "You go tomorrow, after you rest."

Remy knows not to stare at a gator's teeth for too long. "Alright," he agrees. "Tomorrow."

The Brotherhood of Super-Secret Sub-level Ninjas agree to reconvene tomorrow night after Remy returns from the compound. "If he returns," Toad says gloomily. Kurt smacks him in the back of the head.

"You'll jinx it!" he exclaims. Remy waves it away as they all gather for Kurt to teleport them out of the basement.

"Nah, Remy don't believe in jinxes." Believing in stuff like that just gives them power. Remy doesn't have to believe in magic. He knows magic is real, and that he doesn't want anything to do with it.

Having Belladonna for a girlfriend will do that to a man.

"Everyone holding on?" Kurt asks. They're all pressed together, each of them touching at least one of the others. It's a bit too much like a group hug for Remy's taste. That was always more of an X-Men thing. Kurt and Bobby seem right at home. Lance looks uncomfortable. Pietro looks like he wants to be sick, which could be the hug, or it could be because his face is in Fred's armpit.

"Wait a minute," Remy says, but he's too late.

"Okay, now!" Kurt shouts, and BAMF! They sprawl all over the dining room floor, bruising various parts of themselves and each other and narrowly avoiding the breakage of three chairs.

"Why," asks Remy, staring up at the ceiling contemplatively, "didn't we just take turns?"

000

Kitty flies into their bedroom already out of breath and talking a mile a minute. Rogue sort of tunes her out immediately.

"I'm serious, Rogue!" Kitty exclaims. "Remy and those boys are up to something!"

Rogue slowly drags her attention away from her book and tries to look like she's been listening for the past five minutes. "Uhh," she says eloquently.

Kitty gives her a look that can probably kill a man. Rogue shivers as it narrowly misses and shoots by her. "I said," Kitty says scathingly, "that Remy is being all secretive, and he's dragged Piotr into it, and they won't tell me what's going on!"

Rogue blinks. "Remy?" she asks weakly.

"What are you reading?" Kitty asks, exasperated. She grabs for the book, and because Rogue is an idiot who for some reason thought she'd be safe enough in her own bedroom to not wear gloves and worry about touching someone, she has to let go or risk her head filling up with whatever crazy is in Kitty's. But letting go doesn't mean she's not –

"The Roguish Rake's Revenge?" Kitty's delight almost strangles her as she cackles.

"Shut up," Rogue says, blushing quite obviously.

"I feel like 'roguish rake' is somewhat redundant," Kitty says thoughtfully.

"You're redundant," Rogue mutters, because she clearly spends too much time with fifteen year olds. "What was that about Remy?" she asks, steering the conversation away from one roguish rake to another.

"Oh, never mind," Kitty says blithely, which makes Rogue want to scream. "Figures that was the only part you listened to anyway," she teases, smirking like she thinks Rogue is just too precious. "Don't worry about it," she adds, calling over her shoulder on her way to the door. "Emma will be here soon; I'll ask her!"

Rogue drops her head back against the wall and groans. Kitty's gone and taken her book, too.

000

Tabby dips her finger into the pot and sucks the yellow-white liquid off of her skin. "Needs more nog," she announces.

"That's what you've said the last three tastes," Amara points out. "It's more nog than egg at this point."

Jubilee has already poured the rum into the mix. She stirs happily, smirking at Ray's amused expression. "Jean's going to be mad," he says.

"It'll be great," Tabby agrees cheerfully. Ray continues whisking eggs in a bowl and adding the cinnamon spiced yolks to the milk and rum. This is their third batch, each one more noggy than the last. After Bobby abandoned them yesterday, they had started adding random amounts of rum instead of even remotely following the proportions of the recipe.

Roberto wanders into the kitchen, moping. "Buck up," Tabby orders. "You're going home in two days."

"Yes," Roberto says, "and that will be nice when I get there. But now all I can think is that I'm gonna miss you guys so much."

A declaration like that deserves a hug, so they all leave off stirring and come to hug Roberto. He is a little squished, but this is pretty much what he wanted, so he doesn't mind. They fuss over him for awhile and then Tabby says, "Taste test the eggnog for us."

They have already taste tested the eggnog. They have taste tested the eggnog so much that they really need a new batch, because after five tests, there isn't much left. Roberto smacks his lips. "Mmm," he says. "Needs more nog."

"Thank you!" Tabby sings. She pours in the rum. Ray and Jubilee submit to this with grace. With Tabby, the path of least resistance is sometimes the best path, or possibly the only path, since Tabby has the ability to literally blow up all of the other paths.

"Hey!" Amara hisses. "Jean is coming!" She's the lookout, which was Ray's idea, and apparently a good and necessary one at that. Quick as a wink, they whisk away the rum and the botched batches of eggnog, hiding them under the sink. When Jean enters the kitchen, they are all standing around a perfectly innocent bowl of eggnog, arguing about nutmeg.

Jean gives them all a supremely suspicious look. "Are you all still working on that eggnog?" she asks.

"Jean!" Tabby exclaims, all affronted innocence. "We have to get it right! We can't have subpar eggnog at Christmas time!"

Jean rolls her eyes. "Well, figure it out later, okay? I need your help with finishing the decorating."

They all groan. It seems like they've been decorating for decades. Ray is certain he's hung about ten thousand wreaths, and yet there are still un-wreathed doors in this mansion.

"Now, now," Jean chides, herding them out of the kitchen and putting the bowl of un-nogged eggnog in the refrigerator. "You can come back and finish this later, but we really need to get everything set up, today. The last of the guests will be arriving by tomorrow, and I'd like us to be ready for our Christmas Eve party with time to spare, don't you?"

They all sort of mumble agreement, because Jean has that effect sometimes. Scott meets them in the foyer with an indulgent smile for Jean and an armful of greenery for Ray. He's been banished from the lights for all eternity apparently.

"One time!" he complains, accepting his wreathy fate with grumpy grace. "I short one string of lights, one time, and you all never trust me again? I see how it is."

"Good," Scott says, "you understand then." He grins at Ray's expression. "I'll help with the wreaths," he promises. "Just let me get the others set up, okay? Go on and wait for me on the second floor balcony." Ray goes, grumbling to himself about the existence of a balcony on the second floor and getting pine needles up his nose. Scott directs Amara and Roberto with the lights and Jean tries to organize the other decorations into something resembling purposeful, artistic chaos instead of just regular old chaos.

000

Emma Frost arrives in a flurry of boxes and rolling luggage and one extremely heartbroken paramour, who drops her off at the mansion door and piteously mourns the passing of their relationship.

"But, Emma! My queen!" he wails.

Kitty rather ruthlessly says, "Thank you, goodbye!" and then shuts the door in his face, hustling Emma into the foyer.

"Why Kitty," Emma purrs, delighted. "That was terrible." She kisses both of Kitty's cheeks and beams. "How marvelous!"

"They ought to know better than to get attached," Kitty says heartlessly. She grabs a bag. "Come on, I've got to talk to you about something."

The promise of juicy gossip is enough to curb Emma's natural disgust with being ordered around –even by Kitty –and once she's heard the whole story, she nods thoughtfully and says, "I do believe we will need allies, Kitty, darling. Where are the girls in this wretched pool of testosterone?"

000

There are too many red bows and not enough white bows because not even Professor Xavier's attic is immune to Christmas entropy. Jean is trying very hard to stay calm.

Does it really matter? Scott asks her. He doesn't "knock" before throwing his thoughts into her head, but over the years she's come to find this endearing rather than obnoxious.

Yes, Scott, she thinks back. It does.

Why don't we just reduce the number of bows entirely? He suggests. So the red and white are equal? We don't have to use all of the red ones.

This is a good suggestion and Jean has no idea why she wants to reject it so badly.

Scott does, luckily. Jean, it's not failing. We're not failing if we don't use all of the bows. It's okay.

What would she do without Scott?

Probably murder everyone, honestly.

She takes a deep breath and resolves to let the bow thing go. She can totally do that. Other problems have arisen anyway.

Someone made the mistake of allowing Rahne and Jamie to pick the location of the Christmas tree in the huge ballroom sized foyer, and now they're having an argument that looks like it's about to include mutant powers. Jamie has numbers on his side, but Rahne has more teeth and a killer instinct. Scott gives her a grateful look as she steps in.

At least it's not Jubilee and Ray this time, she tells him. Last Christmas, Jubilee and Ray had gotten into a knockdown drag-out that had shorted out half the block's power. Scott sends her a mental snapshot of Logan's usual grumpy face.

With Rahne and Jamie taking up Jean's attention, the other kids take the chance to sneak away.

Kitty catches them halfway into the kitchen. "Tabby, Amara, Jubilee!" she screeches. "I need you, now!"

They weigh the eggnog against whatever juicy gossip Kitty is about to deliver. "You go on," Roberto says staunchly. "Ray and I will finish the eggnog."

"Bless you, my child!" Tabby says, and the girls run after Kitty. Roberto looks at Ray. Ray looks at Roberto.

"I guess we start over?" Roberto says. Ray gets out the eggs and milk. Roberto goes for the rum.

000

Rahne and Jamie have been sorted finally, both parties agreeing to a compromise regarding the eventual position and location of the Christmas tree, which will be retrieved by the entire group tomorrow afternoon, as per mansion tradition. Jean looks around and almost screams with frustration. The lights are up, but that's pretty much it. The wreaths are all missing somehow, and the bows…

Well, the less said about the bows, the better.

Warren swooshes in from reacquainting himself with the extensive Institute grounds while stretching his wings and graciously offers his assistance. Between the bickering and complaining, they never really got much done with the decorating. Jean almost dies from embarrassment.

"I'll help with the garlands," he says.

"You don't have to!" Jean squeaks.

"Thank you!" Scott cheerfully dumps an armload of greenery into Warren's arms and ushers him off toward the second floor landing abandoned by Ray.

"Scott!" Jean hisses. "He's a guest!"

"He can still help decorate," Scott replies. "It won't hurt him any."

Jean sighs. "I just want things to already be nice when guests arrive," she says.

Scott puts his arm around her shoulders and squeezes. "Nobody thinks less of us because our decorating isn't finished yet."

"Emma," Jean sniffs.

"Nobody normal and not a total snob thinks less of us," Scott amends smoothly. He presses a kiss to Jean's forehead. "Try to have fun, okay? Decorating for Christmas is supposed to be fun."

"… Alright," she says, carefully loosening the tension in her shoulders. Scott kneads at her neck and makes a mental note to schedule her for a massage.

I heard that, she says.

Good, he says back. You need one.

"Done!" Warren drops down from the second to the first floor without even bothering to unfurl his wings. He glides to a stop between them, beaming.

Scott closes his eyes. "Do you know," he says, "that seven young people of varying athletic and super-powered abilities couldn't complete in three days what you just finished in ten minutes?"

Warren grins. "You're welcome. What's next?"

They're in the family room, elbow-deep in tinsel, when Rogue finds them.

"Rogue!" Warren sits back on his heels and smiles at her. "Come to help?"

She hesitates. "Actually, I was looking for Remy," she says. "Have y'all seen him?"

"Not since this morning," Jean says. "He took the Brotherhood boys out, didn't he?" She's definitely calmed down about that.

"Yeah," Scott says, "and good thing, too." He's calm, but in that sarcastic way he has sometimes. Jean likes it.

"Oh, right," Rogue smiles a little. "Um. Has anyone seen him since then?"

"Why are you looking for him?" Warren asks, rising to his feet and looking like, well, an angel. "Did you need help with something?"

Rogue looks confused, practically cross-eyed. Jean rolls her eyes at Scott. Honestly, Warren, take a hint. Scott's laughter in her head sounds just like it does out loud.

"No?" Rogue answers. "I just wanted to talk to him. He's been running around all over the place for weeks now. I've barely seen him."

Jean wonders if Rogue knows that she's pouting. About missing Remy. Out loud.

Warren seems just as confused about this as Rogue was about his question. "Oh," he says, frowning. "Well, I don't know where he is. Do you want help looking for him?"

Jean doesn't mean to sigh so loudly.

Rogue shakes her head quickly. "Oh, no, you're busy. That's alright. Um." She frowns and then sits down next to Jean and Scott on the floor. "Actually, I'll help y'all finish this. He's probably… busy anyway."

Rogue being helpful isn't entirely unprecedented, but it is unusual, so Jean doesn't feel too guilty about taking a quick peek inside her mind to see what's going on in there.

Not a lot, as it turns out. Rogue's mind tends to buzz from all of the different people she's absorbed over the years, but repetitive tasks are meditative, as Jean well knows, and at the moment Rogue's head is quiet, concentrating on the task of untangling tinsel. And behind that there's just the oddly soothing mantra of don't touch don't touch don't touch don't touch. Jean withdraws feeling like she's been in deep meditation.

Rogue and Warren are better helpers than the kids, by far. They finish the tinsel in less than half an hour.

Jean mentally and visually surveys the house. Every door has a wreath. Garlands cover the staircases and banisters. Bows and lights and tinsel bedeck every deckable surface. All that's left is the tree. And that, thankfully, is not Jean's problem.

One could argue that none of it is Jean's problem, but if she doesn't do it, no one will, because Jean lives with heathens.

She gives them all a happy smile and is about to say, "Excellent work, team!" when Kitty bursts into the room.

"Rogue, come ooooooon. We're all waiting for you. We're having a meeting. Don't you even want to find out what Remy is up to?"

Remy?

I knew it.

"I certainly do," Jean says, maybe a little too forcefully, as Kitty and Rogue both look alarmed. She sweetens. "I want to help."

"Come on then." Kitty regains her fervor. "Emma is already losing interest, and let me tell you, we're going to need all the help we can get. Girls only," she then tells Scott, who steps back, bemused, as Kitty hustles Jean and Rogue out of the family room.

"So," Warren says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Does Rogue ever ask about me when I'm not around here?"

Scott highly doubts that Rogue even remembers Warren exists when he's not around here, but he doesn't say that. "Sometimes," he lies, vaguely.

"Yeah?" Warren looks pleased.

Oops.

000

Remy runs into Emma in the hallway and they enjoy a nice moment of mutual loathing.

"Remy LeBeau," Emma says, because she's actually the villain from a James Bond film now that Remy thinks about it.

"Hello," he says, because he's waited too long to say anything else and still have it sound cool. Emma smirks because she wins.

"What are you and that gang of acne-ridden adolescents up to?" she asks. Apparently they're skipping the usual banter today.

Still… "Acne-ridden?" Remy reproves.

Emma pauses. "Alright, that may be a bit harsh. The state of their skin has nothing to do with their relative stupidity and general uselessness."

Remy's not sure why she thinks this is any nicer to say, but she's already moved on, and it's keep up or shut up with Emma Frost.

"But what are you up to, Remy?" she pouts. Emma's pout had been known to slay lesser men, but rumor has it that the power of true love can protect you, and it must be true, because all Remy feels is a vague twinge of unease. He shakes his head at Emma.

"Not telling, belle," he says.

"Not even for me?" she asks, pouting harder.

Remy rolls his eyes. "Non. Read Remy's mind if you want to know so bad."

Emma scowls. Better telepaths than Emma Frost have given themselves migraines trying to read Remy's mind. Come to think of it, maybe that's why Jean always seems annoyed with Remy.

Anyway, Remy thinks that having a mind hard for telepaths to spy into is probably one of his Best Qualities.

Emma narrows her eyes at him, cold and hard. "We'll find out, Remy LeBeau. We will find out." She whirls away in a spiral of white, fur cape dramatically drifting as much as fur can drift. She sweeps down the hall, but curiously not down the stairs to the family room where the rest of the X-Men and their various friends and not-friends-but-it's-Christmas acquaintances are gathered to literally roast chestnuts and sing Christmas carols.

Honestly, the X-Men hardly even seem like real people a lot of the time.

Emma sweeps off down another hallway instead of joining the family. "We?" Remy asks the walls.

Oui, his brain snickers in agreement.

You don't have time to deal with Emma, he tells himself sternly. You're breaking into the commando base and finding a present for Rogue tomorrow. You're swamped.

Rogue… what to get Rogue? He makes a list in his head of all the things he knows for certain Rogue likes.

Black. See-through shirts. Chocolate. Leather. Leather boots. Books with half-naked men on the cover. Angry music that hurts Remy's head. Kitty. Kurt. Sometimes Jean. Warren Worthington III. Baking cookies. Not Remy.

Okay, so he's not entirely sure about that last one, but all the signs are pointing that way. Rogue has hardly spoken to Remy at all in the past few weeks. Even more so since that seagull arrived.

Remy's not paranoid, but coincidences are things that happen to other people. He is aware that Warren is the most conventionally attractive man in any given room at least 95% of the time. And Warren isn't a thief. Or painfully suspicious of people who are supposed to be his teammates. Or unhealthily attached to his trench coat.

Also, as far as Remy knows, Warren has never kidnapped Rogue and taken her to Louisiana in the cargo car of a train.

Warren is pretty boring, honestly. Remy doesn't know what Rogue sees in him.

He glumly shuffles his third-to-last deck of cards with one hand and plods on down the stairs for another of Xavier's "bonding times." He can already hear the singing.

It's terrible. They're all terrible. Not a single one of them can carry a tune in a basket, not even Rogue, who Remy would follow to hell and back. Except if she's singing.

He's in the middle of inventing an excuse for holing up in his room with cotton stuffed in his ears –should Scott come looking for him all "concerned" again –when the singing breaks off and Rogue's voice cuts through the rest, shrieking, "LOGAN!"

Aw, dang it. Logan's home.

Okay, so the thing is, Remy likes Logan. Logan is probably the one of the only sane people in this mansion half the time, and Remy can appreciate that in a man. Especially when the other Only Sane Person is Remy himself. Added to the fact that Logan is funny and growly and has kicked Sabertooth all up and down the tri-state area on more than one occasion since Remy met them both, and he's got a few reasons to be quite fond of Wolvie.

The sentiment does not go both ways. Most days, Logan seems to just barely tolerate Remy's presence in the mansion. And whenever he sees Remy with Rogue he gets all growly and snarly. You'd think it would be hard to tell the difference, but trust Remy, this is a very particular kind of snarly.

If Remy didn't know better, he'd think Wolvie is still holding a grudge about that little field trip Remy and Roguey took to Louisiana two years ago.

Remy's given up on trying to make Logan like him, but he's not giving up on winning over Rogue, so Logan is just going to have to lump it this year. If that means that Remy's gotta find some way to keep Logan distracted for the entire holiday season, then, well.

Remy is great at distractions.

He might even say it's his Best Quality.

000

Roberto is maaaaaaaaybe a leeeeeetle tipsy. "More nog!" he cheers.

"No," says Ray, who is not a happy imbiber. "There is enough nog." He speaks very precisely, which is how Roberto knows he's utterly smashed.

Jean is going to be furious.

…seven swans a swimming, six geese a laying, FIVE GOLDEN RINGS! four calling birds, three French hens, two turtledoves, and a partridge in a pear tree!

A/N: I sincerely hope the timeline isn't screwed up because to be honest, I can't even tell anymore.

Additional, No-Longer-A-Spoiler Disclaimer: Still don't own Men-in-Black.