DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of this, unfortunately.
(Bloodypassion, Laceylou76, Agata93, anon goddess, you guys rock arse with socks on and this one's for you.)
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~Scarlet Letter ~
Mute of Malice?
Waking up took longer than usual, but it got done after he reminded himself that he'd done something worth remembering the night before. But what? Dressing was slightly more fiddly than usual, but he ignored the fact that all his clothing seemed to want to fight him, and just pulled on a black T-shirt and the closest, least fiddly jeans he could find. How he'd managed to spread all his belongings over his floor when it had only been his floor for the better part of 24 hours was a bit of a stretch for him but once again, he put it in the box in the back of his head labelled 'Who Cares?' where all such things were filed. It couldn't possibly be important.
He vaguely remembered the whereabouts of the kitchen and managed to find it without incident although halfway down the stairs he managed to convince himself he'd gone blind before he realised it was just a blink that hadn't quite caught up with the rest of the program yet. Thus satisfied that all of his basic functions were still in working order, he proceeded to find their kettle which wasn't a kettle and, once he'd decided it didn't work which was easily found out since it likely did and he was simply too lazy to find a power outlet into which it could be plugged, he found a clean mug that read 'This will be thrown at you if you speak while it is in use' and filled it with water which he blitzed in the microwave until it was boiling, then procured a crumpled teabag out of nowhere and popped it in, settling down to wait for it to spread it's goodness. It was still before noon and the whole house was silent as a tomb which was what it was when everyone was still asleep, so he had peace and quiet to nurse his gritty eyes and the odd stabbing someone was doing inside his left temple.
When he was satisfied the teabag had done it's very best, he removed it and choked the liquid with milk he'd made certain was still good – you could never tell with American milk – and threw the bag away. Picking up the mug with both hands and steering towards the living room utilising the part of his brain generally reserved for benign take-overs when the rest was occupied with balancing something warm and talking his mild hangover into submission. It worked well and he backed into the room successfully, closing the door behind him with an elbow dextrous enough to have done similar things before. Curling in on himself in a plushy armchair covered with red velvet, he murmured sweet things into his tea, sipping it as though it was the elixir of youth and relishing the warmth that spread through him. He despised the cold. It ate away at his soul.
"Oh – I'm sorry, I'll just go back up..."
He looked up to see Wanda, resplendent in a faded Black Sabbath T-shirt and black silk hotpants stood in the door with a steaming mug in one hand and a plate with what appeared to be a tower of buttery toast on it. He cleared his throat to get rid of any inappropriate comments that might have been lurking about there and said,
"No, no it's your living room," he made to stand up but she shook her head with a little smile.
"Guess it's big enough for both of us... I don't usually get up this early, I just couldn't sleep and my room was cold, so..." she trailed off for the second time and he noticed that peachy flush in her cheeks.
"You lot don' have central heatin'? My room was bloody freezing," he said with a roll of his eyes that could have been put off if the sharp stab behind one of them was anything to go by, and a smile that made her look away.
She walked over to the settee and perched on it, arranging her things on the coffee table while humming to herself quietly, and it sounded familiar to him. Trying to place it, he noticed the way she moved, deliberately not looking at him, her fingers curved tightly around her mug, which he noticed read something-something-'Nostradamus knew it first'. He smiled.
"How did we get this far apart? We used to be so close together - how did we get this far apart? I thought this love would last forever..." he sang softly, and she looked up at him, startled.
"The Cure, Apart... You were humming it," he explained, and she nodded, too quickly, her hair dipping into the little crevice by her eye.
"Right, sorry, I wasn't thinking," she said, and he laughed. And then winced.
"Luv, I do about a thousand things every day I shoulda' thought through before I did 'em but didn' bother to – ya can sing or dance or scream fer all I care – I ain' one ta judge," he said kindly, and she smiled at him properly.
"Things you don't think through – like last night?" she asked sarcastically, and he racked his brains for what he might have done. Singing with Remy, check. Dancing with her brother, check. Quoting a passage from the most romantic scene of that book that came right before that scene... Oh Gods no. Why? Oh, she'd been upset. But still, why'd ya do it St. John, you bloody dimwit?! He blinked to clear his head of the voices – they could argue later – and looked at her seriously.
"I didn' mean ta tease ya luv, I'm sorry. Ya know what they say about Australians who drink?" She shook her head, wrinkling her nose.
"I've no idea but they should come up with somethin' insultin' because we shouldn' be allowed ta do it." She giggled at him.
"I'm not mad. I just... I thought it was kind of... it's not a problem so there's no awkwardness, okay? Me and Rogue bought that book before I knew who you really were and I was just surprised to find out it was you... This isn't going to be weird." He nodded, taking a fortifying sip of his tea. Ah. Tetley's. Nectar of the Gods, Rebuilder of Souls, Warmer of Cockles, how – the Sheila's talking you dingbat, pay a-bloody-ttention!
"It's that good, is it?" she was looking at him with a smile twisting her full red lips, and he focused on her eyes instead and pointed to his mug.
"This?" she nodded in the affirmative. "Luv, this is Tetley's. There's no finer beverage anywhere and I'd stake my powers on that. Not that that's a very clever idea if you're playing poker with Remy an' the Tabby-tooth, mind you, but that's neither here nor somewhere up a tree." He realised she was actually smiling at his ramblings, and the voice in his head started doing the Full Monty, which he had to pause for, if only to work out how a disembodied, unclothed internal voice could even perform that particular dance.
"Do you have narcolepsy by any chance?" she asked dryly, and he shook his head.
"Not that I'm aware, luv. Just a mild hangover and voices in my head that take their clothes off." He regretted that last part for more than one reason.
"Do they tell you to kill people?" she asked with interest, and he grinned.
"Only myself and not often enough ta take seriously," he teased, and she laughed again.
"Then I wouldn't worry... Can I taste it?" she pointed to his tea, and he debated with the voice. She wants it. She can't have it, it's ours. Yes, I know that, but she asked nicely – If she tastes it she'll want it all! Well... Fine!
"Sorry about that luv, was I gone long?" she shook her head and he grinned.
"Right-o then! Have a go at this," he said, handing over the mug which she took with both hands. She looked at him over the rim, steady-eyed, and he saw the minute motion of her neck when she swallowed. Her eyes widened.
"Oh my Gods..." Her voice was breathy and awed and he looked at her triumphantly.
"John... How much more of this do you have...?" she asked, eyes heavily-lidded, and he totted up on his fingers. The voice told him not to but the voice wasn't called John, and Wanda had said John in that fabulously sensual way, not upsetting disembodied voice that lives in John's head. So the voice could eff off.
"Six – no, I'm fibbin', seven packs. Why luv?" Her eyes shone.
"Can I borrow some?" His smile rivalled hers.
"Have, luv, you can have as much as y' like." She licked her lips and held his mug closer to her, possessively.
"Now..?"
"Certainly. Come with me."
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She was by now very concerned for Wanda's safety. Pyro was clearly not in his right mind – thank God he wasn't a telepath! – and Wanda needed to be on her guard. So she did the only thing a good friend could. Reached for her mobile and pressed speed-dial three. It answered after six rings, and Wanda's voice sounded entirely too languid for Rogue's taste.
"Rogue? What's up? Done with my book yet?" She asked, and Rogue began to pace her room.
"Sugah, Kitty told me all about what happened yesterday when you weren't there, Ah wan' ya ta be careful with Pyro, he's not – "
"He's right here!"
"Yeah, honey, Ah know – "
"We're drinking tea!"
"Well sugah that's nahce, but – "
"Oh, and I have things to tell you, I'll call you later, the marshmallows are done!" And Wanda hung up on her.
"Oh. Mah. Gawd. Argh!" Rogue stuffed her mobile into the front pocket of her torn cargos and pulled on a hoodie. She was halfway through the garment when a muffled voice said,
"Bonjour, ma belle." And she stumbled and fell in a heap on the floor, one wrist through the armhole of her hoodie, the rest of her torso somewhere inside it. The only thing that actually managed escape from the clutches of the nefarious hoodie was the shriek she emitted before impact with the floor. Large, warm hands lifted her onto her feet gently and helped her find the right holes for the right limbs and once her head popped out of the top, the ranting began.
"Remy LeBeau, y'all are gonna get it so bad, d'ya have any ah-dea what your friend's doin' with Wanda?! That psycho's in her house, and he's convinced her ta have some kinda sick tea-party with him what the hell were you thinking, don' you guys have some kinda help that comes in ta keep him in lahne?!" Her finger was so close to his nose he was going cross-eyed so he took a step back. She followed him. He had to push hr arm to the side.
"Chere, y' not gonna like dis but Pyro ain' dere ta hurt anyone – Wanda's jackass brother did dat t' himself an' Remy swears he knows Pyro ain' dere t' do anythin' bad, please don' go anywhere wit an axe – "
"What now?" the look she gave him was classic, the oddest mixture of fury and confusion and wrinkled nose he'd ever seen but he didn't dare laugh. Or do anything else.
"Remy didn' say notin'. Anyhow, y' gotta calm down ma chere, Wanda's alrigh', Remy promesse de firs' one t' gut de firebug if he does sometin' bad will be Remy himself, hein? Jus' take a deep breath, belle. Dat's it." Rogue took a deep breath. And resumed shouting.
"Why'd ya let that lunatic loose on Wanda? Ya know how fragile she is! Ya know she's been through enough shit! What did'ya go an' do that for?!"
"Pyro wanted ta move in dere fer personal reasons, Remy didn' ask! He swore he wasn' gonna do notin' bad, chere – we even wen' out las' nigh' an' he was une ange parfait, Remy swears – if Wanda wants ta talk to him den we can' do notin'!"
"But she won' talk ta me!" The break in Rogue's voice and the shine that came to her eyes were simultaneous with the turning of her head and then her whole body so she wasn't facing him. And he understood, suddenly.
"Oh, ma chere..." he put his arms around her waist, giving her a sort of backwards hug. It had to be better than the convulsive one she'd fashioned for herself by putting her hands on her shoulders. She was even trembling.
"Je comprende... Y' wan' 'er t' be safe, don' y'? Y' really love de petite friponne... She'll be okay, chere, Pyro won' let notin' happen to her, je promesse..." Rogue turned in his arms.
"Ya better be damn sure, Remy, or ya friend won' live ta see tomorrow," she said with a scowl, but it wasn't very intimidating when her makeup was smudged unintentionally in the corners of her eyes. He nodded solemnly.
"Remy sure, ma belle chere..." she nodded to indicate that she believed him, breathed a deep, shuddering breath, and stepped away from him, fingers darting to correct the aforementioned smudges so quickly he almost couldn't be sure she'd done so if he didn't know women as well as he did.
"Good... Uh, Remy?" She looked around her.
"Oui, ma chere?"
"Why are ya in mah room..?"