DISCLAIMER: I don't own any characters, places or anything else you might see here, all I own is the raw material of the fiction, the rest is just borrowed.
(To Laceylou76 - girl, you're freakin' amazing and my Remy says ciao and thanks for appraciating his general studliness^^ anon goddess thank you so much for your lovely reviews! Bloodypassion you've been so kind and I really hope you enjoy this chapter! You lot make me proud of what I've written and inspire me to try harder and be better without making me sound like I've been the victim of some sort of pep rally - I hate those, I'd make Pyro grill them if I were ever forced to attend one^^)
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~Scarlet Letter ~
Acceptable Excuses...
He shook him by the shoulder, not hard, but insistently, but all he got for his troubles were a few mumbled words of what seemed to be gibberish and half a snore. His own fault for disturbing what was clearly a much-needed afternoon nap.
"... pudding'll burn... bloody... geroff..." He shook him again. This time he was rewarded by one blue eye cracking open slightly, looking straight at him, and apparently deciding it wasn't worth the effort. It closed again.
"John! Merde, homme! Get up!" he snapped, standing up and casting about him for something that would have the desired effect. There was a lighter on the floor next to a sock, and he picked it up and flicked it open, putting the tiny flame to the section of orangey hair visible at the edge of the covers. It barely had time to catch before Pyro had sat up, pulled it into his hand, and was holding it like you might hold a small, frightened mammal. His fingers stroked it and Remy could have sworn it purred if that hadn't been completely impossible. The distress had to be getting to him. That was it. Fire didn't purr.
"You're a sick man, makin' 'er rebel agains' me," he said, his voice sounding harsh, and Remy shrugged.
"'M on de run, mon ami." John just snuffed the little fire and rolled his eyes.
"Then run," he said flatly, looking pointedly at the door. Remy sat down on the corner of his bed instead, and the Aussie sighed and turned his face to the ceiling in the realisation that he would have to roll out his friend act. Technically, it was no act, he actually cared deeply and wanted Remy to be safe and happy – even if the prospect of him being safe and happy with that Rogue Sheila was a little scary. And that was clearly why he seemed so down, after all, she'd become as much of an obsession to the Cajun as writing was to John himself.
"What do ya wan' from me, mate? Sympathy? Drinking buddy? How are we workin' this?" he asked seriously, and Remy sighed, shaking his head.
"Would ya come an' get in a fight wit me? Fer ol' times sake?" John just looked at him.
"What the 'ell 'appened? And none o' that 'it's nothin' bad' crap, I see righ' through ya. If ya wan' me ta go bang up random people with you it's always bad." The flat tone he employed conjured a guilt-ridden grimace from his friend and he nurtured the spark of satisfaction the voice sent his way.
"Remy got caught again... His ego ain' doin' so great..." John just chuckled.
"Wolverine kick you out again mate? Got caught sniffin' round 'is little girl, did we? Y' bloody tosser..." The tone was airy but mocking and Remy made a face at him that was a cross between petulance and the promise of murder.
"Was jus' comfortin' ma chere since y' wen' an' got all friendly wit de petite friponne an' she was so worried y' migh' be plannin' t' kill de damn femme she cried," he said defensively, and John raised an eyebrow. That was actually offensive. Was that what they all thought of him?
"I'm not that unstable." Remy sighed, throwing his hands up in a melodramatic gesture that others just couldn't pull off.
"Dat's what Remy tol' de femme! But would she listen? Non! An' den dat Cyclops comes runnin' in yellin' fer de Wolverine an' before Remy knows it ma chere be cryin' again an' Remy be runnin' fer his life because dey tink she cryin' because o' sometin' he did! It's not fair!" John had to sympathise with that. He and Remy shared the view that women just were not meant to cry and that anyone who made them so should be sent to hell on an express ticket, no returns available. It was preposterous to enter a room with Remy and a crying woman and draw the conclusion that it was his fault. At least it was if you knew the guy.
"I see how they could make the mistake but didn' they even give you a chance ta explain?" Remy shook his head miserably.
"Non... An' now ma chere is under 24 hour surveillance an' dat petit chat is under orders t' keep her company... Ma Rogue will be goin' mad..."
"Well... That Cyclops bloke is an arse an' I don' care fer his Sheila either – smarmy little git and 'is Disney Princess ought ta be relocated to the bloody sun if y' ask me – " Remy nodded, a smile peeking through his misery " – But don' worry, I'm sure we'll work somethin' out so y' can see your Sheila again.
"So will y' come blow off some steam wit' an ole Cajun fer friendship's sake?" Remy's eyes pleaded with him and John heaved a heavy sigh.
"Guess it might make m' feel better seeing as how I never got ta pound that speedy nuisance properly an' I still wan' to... Yeah, fine, let's go. See you outside."
Remy sprang up, a joyous grin on his face and fairly skipped out as John found a pair of jeans and raked a hand through his hair. Cathartic while it would be, he didn't really fancy getting in a bar fight tonight. He'd had such a peaceful morning with Wanda, overdosing on Tetley's, toasting marshmallows over the fire he'd made in the shamefully disused fireplace the living room sported, sticking them on toast, watching Blackadder... Hell, he'd almost forgotten he was supposed to be isolating himself from the rest of the Brotherhood mutants. Not that he wasn't by nature a social person, but because he honestly didn't want to put up with them and after the dissolution of the Acolytes he hadn't been able to go home to Oz without risking being nabbed at the airport and thrown in some dark, dank hole until they deemed him sane enough to be let loose on some poor, hapless group home officials who would then deal with him for the rest of his natural lifespan which he'd have to cut short. Drastically short, if they did that to him. He didn't want to rot in some cell, cold and black and –
"John..? Gambit's downstairs... John?" He looked up to see his door open again and Wanda standing in it, looking at him with concern on her face. She'd dressed since he'd last seen her, and looked if possible even more fetching although he'd always been a fan of worn-out metal T-shirts on a Sheila.
"Yeah – yeah, I know, I'll be down in a minute," he said, too quickly, and she cottoned on to the 'fine' and decided it was bullshit.
"You were talking to yourself," she told him, and he shrugged.
"Mental. That's me." He smiled at her but it didn't reach his eyes, and she took a tentative step into the room, clearly struggling to say something the right way. He knew how that felt.
"I – I don't really know what's... normal, for you – "
"There is no normal and if you just take it from there it'll be a lot easier," he said evasively, picking up his coat and slinging it on in an attempt to ease the leaving process but she was in the way. In so many ways... Just run, you ponce! Shut up, you don't know what it's like – I know you're making an arse of yaself now run! Shut up, shut up!
"I – I'm sorry – " she didn't look hurt so much as startled and he shook his head, trying to make the voices go away, knowing that he'd probably told her to shut it out loud.
"No, it's not – I didn' mean you, luv – I'm not all there righ' now an' I really shouldn' be talkin' to ya when I'm not all there. I'll just say something silly an' upset you an' I don' wanna be doing that," he tried to salvage the situation but her face just fell even further.
"You're afraid of me too, then?" she asked quietly, and he stared at her. She didn't mean that, surely?
"Is that the wors' thing I could be? Afraid of y'?" She just looked helpless, and he sighed and smiled at her, genuinely this time.
"No, luv, I'm not afraid of ya." She looked reassured but said,
"But you're afraid of the cold. You said so. You were saying something about cold and dark and things like that..." He shook his head. There was no reason for her to know any of that, no reason at all.
"I'm a pyro, luv. I don' like anythin' cold or dark, it's jus' not me. Y' alrigh', aren't ya?" The question was more an afterthought than anything else, and she just nodded and turned to go. He followed her, closing his door behind him and making his way down the hall to the staircase, when she called after him.
"When will you be home?"
"When I can enter the country withou' bein' arrested," he muttered darkly, but he turned to grin at her.
"I know you'll be bored stiff withou' me but I won't be gone all night. If ya get lonely I'll be flattered!" She laughed and shook her head at him.
"You're supposed to say if I get lonely I should call you," she said disapprovingly and he shrugged.
"If you get that lonely, I wouldn' mind." And he left her there on the landing, opening the front door to a scowling, chain-smoking Cajun who rolled his eyes at him.
"Y' took y' time."
"Didn' take anything."
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When you were a drunken Aussie with weird hair and a rampant accent accompanied by a Cajun with an equally weird accent and red-and-black eyes out drinking at shitty pubs, finding trouble was hardly difficult. And what should find them but a group of organised anti-mutant activists who had actually gone so far as to clothe themselves in a fashion reminiscent of the neo-nazis and had their own salute. Sad really, John thought to himself as he licked the blood off his lip and glanced over at Remy who was looking smug and rumpled in that 'I am a sexy motherfucker and you wish you'd screwed my hair up like this' way that he did so well. Yes, the objective had been to perk him up and he seemed perked. Fantastic. Cracking his knuckles, John found himself wondering if Wanda would notice the bruised lip and whether she'd hate him if she knew he'd gone out looking for someone to beat the crap out of for sport to cheer up a mate. Hopefully he'd never have to find out.
Why do you care? You silly wanker, girl's just as messed up as you and you want nothing to do with her.
What if I do? he asked the voice, which had remained quiet for most of the actual brawling but was now back in full flow.
Forget it. The minute that Sheila's memory comes back we're running to the hills and never looking back. Apocalypse won't have a thing on her. Armageddon will be shakin' in his boots. We're leaving the minute she starts remembering just how nasty the dark and the cold is.
"Who the hell asked you?" he said angrily, and Remy looked at him quizzically.
"Quoi?"
"Nothin', never mind... Y' had enough or do ya have any more angst in there ya want ta get rid of?" he snapped, and Remy wisely bowed out. John in a bad mood wasn't ever a good thing, not least because one could never predict the outcome.
"Easy, mon ami, it sounds t' Remy like y're de one wit unresolved issues here... Y' wanna talk about it?" The Cajun was making an effort to be diplomatic and John had to suppress the urge to shout.
"It's nothin' mate. Think I jus' need ta put me feet up fer a while an' ferget the world. You goin' back ta see 'er tonight or..?"
"Non... She was not happy – Remy leave it t' de petit chat an' hope t' see 'er around soon." John scoffed at him.
"You'll see 'er whether or not she knows you're there – ya want ta see an' be seen, mate. I know ol' habits die hard but Jesus, you ain' half cracked if ya think she'll fall fer a bloke who spends half his time sneakin' round buildings and jumpin' inta trees when she's around!" Remy shrugged.
"Y' do what y' have t' do when de femme's family hates y'," he said philosophically, and John rolled his eyes and tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat. He knew damn well there was more to all this than Remy was telling him and he hated when so-called friends held back. Hated when anyone held back at all. It was the same as saying 'you don't deserve to know this/I don't think you can deal with this so I won't let you in on it' to him. Like a huge vote of absolutely no confidence in a bloke.
"Fine... Let me know if you need me, yeah?" Remy nodded with a pleasant smile and said,
"Y' do de same, mon ami. Promise Remy y' will. Dem Brotherhood kids give y' grief remy wanna be de firs' one y' call!"
"Only because you hate them about as much as I do mate!" John shouted over his shoulder as he walked away, soon swallowed up by the night and the gloom that spawned in on itself over and over every night in the narrow alleyways of even the nicest city. Remy watched him leave just to make sure he was gone. Something wasn't right at all.
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"I just don't think she's responsible enough if she can't even keep that Gambit out of our home!" Jean rolled her eyes at her fiancée and set her hands firmly on her hips.
"That was uncalled for, Scott. The guy's the best thief in the world, you think the Institute's security could ever keep him out in a million years? And as for being in Rogue's room, you think she needed your help? If she needed anything she'd have projected and I'd have been one of the first people to know and then I would have gone up there with you. There was no projection. I don't think she was in trouble at all and I certainly don't think he was hurting her. Rogue can take care of herself!" Scott looked at her, his anger fading until it could be folded up and put in a very small place.
"But Jean, she was crying – "
"But nothing Scott. If Rogue was crying that's her business. If she wanted to talk she would. You should know that by now." Her green eyes narrowed as he opened his mouth to protest again, and he hung his head.
"Yes, Jean."
"Good. Now are you done? It's late and I want to get some sleep before session tomorrow." He nodded and flicked off the lights while his telepathic fiancée got into their shared bed and snuggled in, a blissful smile on her face.
I still think –
"Scott! We're not discussing this anymore!"
"Yes Jean..."
"Now come to bed."
"Yes Jean..." Complying with her wishes aside, they were happy, weren't they?
"I'm happy," she sighed into his chest, and he grinned cheesily. Then he could be as well.
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