Everyone loves a good kitchen scene.
True to her word, Rogue did not reappear for the rest of the day.
Jubilee, Kitty, and Betsy all tried to coax her out of the room around lunch and dinner time, but a few harsh words and heavy object later, they decided it was best to just give her some time alone.
Under the cloak of darkness and silence that had fallen over the mansion, she crept out of her room, led by the grumbling of her stomach. After an entire day of idle brooding, she decided that just munching was not enough, she was going to physically make food for herself… which was a problem because her cooking skills were limited.
She was wearing a nightgown Jubilee had forced her into buying that she had protested loudly against, but secretly admired. It's just… so much skin was exposed…
The dark green fabric cut off at about mid thigh, about an inch of that was lace trimming. The same fabric that made up the straps and framed neckline that swooped low, but stopped short of anything obscene. It was pretty. Wearing it made her feel pretty. And, seeing as how it was a nightgown, to be worn at 'night', as specified in the description, when there was no one else around her, she even allowed herself to feel a little dangerous by not being completely covered. Night time was always her time of revolution. Pajama shorts, short sleeved shirts, and now night gowns.
She smiled to herself, her second smile of the day, as she caught a glimpse of her leggy reflection in one of the windows in her ascent down the staircase.
The cool air brushed against her skin and she thrived in it. She was never allowed to feel the chill of the air. Always covered. Always wary.
Seeing her own bare skin was an odd experience, even for her.
"Quit starin' at yourself, girl." She chastised once she realized she had stopped walking just to stare at her own bare hands. "Get some food and go back to bed."
She set her shoulders and started back out on her journey to the kitchen, firmly resolved not to even think about looking at her own skin again.
After all, it was only poison.
Remy stared at the ceiling, sprawled out on his bed, occasionally shifting around uncomfortably as the creaks and soreness finally started setting into all of his bruises and wounds with his lack of action.
He growled out some curses as he attempted to turn onto his side, causing his shoulder to send out shrill screams of pain.
With a very poetic "Screw this." Remy rolled out of bed, groaning in pain as he hit the floor, and decided some ice was probably in order.
He stood up after a few moments of struggling to get his muscles to cooperate with his will and looked around for the suitcase full of clothes he had Storm keep for him in case of 'emergencies'. (Heists gone bad, crazy katana wielding mercenaries after his hide, the regular katana wielding mercenaries… stuff like that.)
And at this particular moment he was faced with a new question- to put on a shirt or not to put to a shirt?
The action of actually putting a shirt on would require to much jostling of his shoulder to justify actually raising his arms above his head, but on the other hand, it was cold as anything outside of the comfort of pillows and mattress (which was actually not that comfortable, surprisingly.)
Remy decided in that instant that it was his obligation as a man to grit through the pain and put on a damn sweater.
It was cold.
Grunting out a colorful string of French curses, he pulled out a black and grey sweater out of the pile of clothes and over his head with gritted teeth, grinning with success.
With a flamboyant gesture to the chilly air, he swept out of the room and down the hall without making a sound, the familiarity of the night telling him to be cautious.
It was a helpful trait, silent foot falls and enhanced sensitivity to the air around him. Especially now, or he wouldn't have heard what he had when he had.
Humming.
A sweetly seductive sound that thrummed through the air and coiled around him, causing him to stand still, entranced for a moment by the crooning. Suddenly not in control of his own body, he stumbled along, following the melody, not caring where it took him, though it took him exactly where he wanted to go.
Right to Rogue.
He watched for a moment as she tapped her fingers on the counter in the kitchen with her back to him, so far unaware of his presence. The sweet tune still radiated from her throat and sealed lips.
For a moment he was taken with the sight of her, or really of her skin. The forbidden fruit. Poison.
Would it be sweet- like anti freeze? Bitter- like arsenic? Maybe no sensation at all- like cyanide?
She seemed to reach some executive decision on what her goal was here in the kitchen and stood on her toes to observe the items in the top of the pantry, her humming staying constant.
He smirked to himself and wasn't at all shocked to discover a deck of cards being shuffled in his hands. He plucked off the card on top, half suspecting what it was going to be.
The King of Hearts. With the blade pressed against his head, the card struck Remy as slightly humorous when he was pining for nothing but poison.
Rogue hummed one of the haunting lullabies her mother had sung to her when she was a child. It was a nameless, wordless tune that always had made her skin crawl with pleasurable . It filled up the darkness and the loneliness in much the same way the voices inside of her head did.
She caught sight of the flour she was looking for and stood on her toes to try and reach it. No good. I was on the top shelf.
"Just a little higher…" She mumbled to herself, breaking off her humming to try and promote herself.
Promotion or no promotion, she wasn't getting any taller.
Waving her hand around, her fingers grazed the side of the bag, pushing it farther back on the shelf.
Damn, damn, damn! Who the hell put the flour on the top shelf?
"Need a hand," A cool purr sounded from directly behind her and her muscles seized up. She became hyper aware of every inch of tantalizing skin that was exposed on her body that could kill the man behind her if he got too close. "Chere?"
Not waiting for an answer, Remy placed himself so that he was almost touching her, placing his hand on the frame of the pantry and reaching above her to grab the bag she had been fighting to obtain, she was very nearly trapped.
Rogue didn't dare move as he pressed himself close to her when he reached over her head to grab the bag she had been aiming for. Unnecessarily close, one might add.
"You know it's bad luck to get this close to me, sugar." She mumbled, knowing he was close enough to hear her whisper because of the warmth of his breath that was a sharp contrast from the cool night air that graced the rest of her skin.
"Know? Yes." She could feel him smile and his hands slid around her waist. "Care? No."
She laughed and leaned back into him when she saw the sleeves of what was very obviously a thick sweater.
"I said it once and I'll say it again- you're ten kinds of stupid, swamp rat." She chuckled and shoved him away.
"Well, I'd consider being eleven for you." He winked at her.
She rolled her eyes and pulled some eggs out of the fridge.
"What are ya makin'?" He inquired, pulling himself up to sit on the counter right next to where she was cultivating ingredients.
"I can make two things- cereal and cookies." Rogue said simply as she reached up into the pantry again and pulled out some chocolate chips.
"So- you haven't eaten anything all day and now you're just going to make cookies?" He peered over her shoulder as she pulled out a cookbook.
"Yes."
He gave out a longsuffering sigh, hopping down from the counter, and started rooting through cabinets.
"What are you doing, swamp rat?" Rogue put her hands on her hips as he emerged from the cabinet holding a pot.
"I ain't gonna let you eat nothin' but unhealthy cookies." He gave her a mockingly stern look.
Now it was Rogue's turn to sigh as he started humming the same tune she had just finished while going through the contents of the fridge.
"And what is it you plan to do about it?" She raised an eyebrow as he pulled out some chicken, sausage, and celery.
"I plan t' make jambalaya." He said matter-of-factly.
"You cook?" Rogue really couldn't help but be stunned.
"And I'm house-broken." Remy laughed.
She crinkled up her nose and turned back to her cookie ingredients, completely determined to finish her cookies before he was done with his jambalaya. She picked up the bag of flour and braced it against her chest as she read over the list of proportions she would need to successfully render cookies.
"Remy, could you hand me the cup measur-" Rogue started to ask as she turned around.
That happened to be the very same moment Remy had turned around to retrieve green peppers from where he had placed them on the counter. His chest crashed into her arms, sending an explosion of flour up into his face.
Rogue gasped, hand flying up to her mouth to choke back her laughter at the now snowy white appearance of the man in front of her.
Remy opened his eyes to glare at her.
"Right." He growled and reached out to pluck an egg out of the carton.
The outer shell of the egg started to glow pink.
"Oh, no." Rogue put and hand on her hip. "Remy LeBeau, you will put down that egg right-."
The egg exploded.
Rogue's face was a frozen mask of shock and egg yolk, and Remy did absolutely nothing to curb his laughter.
"You jerk!" She wiped egg whites off of her night dress and quickly turned around to grab a fist full of dark brown sugar, which she promptly chucked at him.
Remy ducked underneath the flying clump of sugar, which hit the wall with a soft thud behind him, and reacted instantly by grabbing the vanilla and uncapping it over Rogue's head.
"Ah!" Rogue screeched as the vanilla poured down her hair. She smacked the bottled out of his hand and hurled the vegetable oil he had gotten out at him.
Remy attempted to duck the open bottle as well, but it had been aimed dead center of his chest and poured down his front.
At this point, the chicken was burning and the recipe book was ruined.
The two southerners looked around wildly for something else to throw, not to be outdone, but all that was left was raw poultry, burnt poultry, celery, frozen butter, and chocolate chips.
Rogue went for the celery while Remy grabbed the chocolate chips.
"Surrender!" Rogue demanded, brandishing the celery stalks like a sword.
"Never!" Remy cried, charging the chocolate in his hands.
They locked eyes, glare on glare.
Rogue's hair was slicked back with vanilla and egg yolk that had leaked down her face and arms and all over her night gown. Remy's hair was white with flour and his shirt was sticky mess of vegetable oil and flour that had made a plaster-like substance that would probably never come out of the material.
"Please?" Rogue tried after a moment or two of silence.
They both burst out into laughter to the point where they had to brace themselves up against each other to keep from falling down to the floor that was covered with the various items that had been hurled over the last few moments.
When the laughter died down, all that was left was one Remy LeBeau with a Rogue in his arms.
"Well… uh…" Rogue shifted awkwardly around, not trying to make it obvious that she was uncomfortable being completely covered in food, almost scandalously exposed by her standards, and in the arms of an extremely good looking man who had made it abundantly obvious that he didn't give a damn about her poison skin.
She didn't want to hurt him.
Remy's lips curled into a wolfish grin.
Rogue felt her face get hot.
"What the hell is going on here?" Someone growled from the doorway.
Remy looked over his shoulder coolly, not releasing a wriggling Rogue from his grip just yet, to see the Wolverine standing in the doorway.
"'S nothing'." Remy grinned.
"Because I really believe that, Gumbo." Logan rolled his eyes and cut the heat to the burnt chicken because the smell was starting to make his head hurt. All he could really do was look over the mess that had probably once been a kitchen and sigh. A heavy, deep sigh of a man who knew he was fighting the losing battle of keeping his 'kid' away from a jackass.
"If there's no problem here, I was kinda busy." Remy smirked, simultaneously winding Logan up and making Rogue blush a more furious shade of red.
Logan barely restrained a growl. "Kid," he looked to Rogue. "Detangle yourself from the Cajun and go take a shower."
"Oh, can Remy help wit' the showering, chere?" Remy turned back to Rogue.
Logan flexed his fingers and contemplated, if only for a moment, where he was going to hide the body, but quickly decided he had a better punishment.
"Actually Gumbo," Logan smiled. "You get to clean the kitchen."
The pad of dark brown sugar that had been stuck to the wall flopped to the ground amidst the destruction of the kitchen.
'One day more 'til revolution- We shall nip it in the bud.- I shall fight with these little schoolboys,- They will wet themselves with blood!' -Javert.
BAHAHA! Hope you liked the cutesy, because it's the last you'll see of it until the very end. AND NOW for the gore, the heartbreak, and the fudge muffins!