A/N: Rogue, Remy, Scott, and Jean in college.

Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 (You are here... just in case you got lost somehow.)

Rogue's best friend, Jean, has sown her seeds. Will anything grow out of it?

CHAPTER 5

Reverse

"She did not say that."

"Yes, she did," Remy confirmed, chucking an oversized bag of potato chips into their shopping cart. He made a spectacle of laying his right hand over his heart, stating solemnly, "I swear on the life of my Nana Mildred."

Scott abruptly halted in the middle of the aisle that they had been wandering down and turned to glare at the other man. "You don't have a Nana Mildred."

His friend was visibly appalled by this revelation. "Oh, shit… den who de hell have I been swearin' on all dese years?"

Scott shoved him in the shoulder, causing Remy to stumble a few steps before he was able to catch himself. "You know, I used to think you being an ass-hat was just a phase that you'd eventually grow out of someday. Now it's obvious that it's a permanent affliction."

The grin that spread across Remy's face extended from one ear to the other. It'd been a while since he had the chance to poke fun at his friend in person. He'd almost forgotten how entertaining it was.

"Non, non, mon ami, seriously t'ough. Dat's what Jeannie told me."

Navigating through the rest of the snack section, Scott couldn't help but feel more than a little bit skeptical at what the southerner was telling him. "That doesn't make any sense," he contemplated, grabbing a jar of salsa and two containers of flavored dip. "For the past couple of years, Jean has been setting Rogue up with nearly every single guy within a fifty-mile radius. And now all of a sudden, she isn't even going to bother fixing her up with you? When you're here and available?" He shook his head, mentally trying to fit the pieces together. "Something doesn't add up."

Looking for ways to keep himself entertained, Remy began tossing around a pack of snack cakes and idly catching it. "Who cares?" he groused in response. "Does it even matter? Rogue doesn't want t' date, an' I ain't lookin' f'r a date. So, what's de problem?" With his usual flamboyant style, he flung the snack cakes high up into the air, then executed a flawless front flip, before smoothly catching the package in his right hand. "Ta-da!" he boasted, throwing his arms out wide in a spectacular fashion.

Scott, who had been wordlessly observing the flashy display from the sidelines, inquired in a flat, subdued tone, "Dude, are you not getting enough attention back home?"

"Jealous," the Cajun retorted with a sneer, launching the snack pack at Scott, who deftly caught it and redirected it into their cart.

"Speaking of home…" Scott transitioned, changing the topic. "Are you gonna tell me what exactly inspired this spur-of-the-moment trek up north?" He dropped a box of microwave popcorn on the top of their food haul. "Not that I don't love it when you come to visit — " he faked a loud, obnoxious cough, muttering under his breath, " — counting the days until you get the hell out."

"Oh, dat's real nice, Summers." Smacking his open palm into the other man's gut, Remy quipped dramatically, "An' after I flew more dan a t'ousand miles jus' t' come up an' see you!"

Scott chuckled as he straightened back up. "No, really, man. Is everything okay with you? You sounded like something was on your mind when you called the other day."

Shaking his head as he moved further down the aisle, Remy mumbled over his shoulder, "No, not'in' really."

The vague reply and shifty body language told Scott a completely different story. It was evident that something was on his friend's mind — something that was stressful enough to make Remy want to get out of the hometown he loved, and shake his head clear. But as much as Scott wanted to hear exactly what was going on, he knew that pressuring Remy into talking would only backfire. The Cajun would most likely clam up even tighter than he already was. When he was ready to talk, he would open up. He always had in the past. Scott would just have to let him be for the meantime.

"I think that just about does it for snacks," Scott declared, swiftly scanning the items piled up in the shopping cart and nodding his approval. "You feel like getting anything else?"

"Nah, I'm good, homme." Remy fell back into step beside Scott as they made a trail to the check-out counters. "So, is dis movie marathon t'ing really such a good idea? Seein' as how Rogue an' Jeannie were basically hurlin' daggers at each other all t'roughout lunch yesterday."

After maneuvering the cart next to the closest available counter, Scott began transferring items onto the short conveyor belt. "Don't sweat it. Those two will be fine. They don't mean half of the insults they throw at each other anyway."

"If you say so, mon ami." Remy passed the last of the items to Scott, who was keeping an eye on the check-out monitor as the cashier rang up each product. The young Cajun extracted his wallet and handed two crisp hundred-dollar bills over to his friend.

Scott waved him off dismissively, reaching for his own wallet. "Put that away, Remy. You're my guest. I got it."

Remy defiantly moved around him and thrust the cash at the elderly woman operating the check-out. "Dis should cover it, chère," he stated, favoring her with a flirtatious smile. "Keep de change."

Their purchases, now encased in reusable shopping bags, were repositioned into the same cart, and within minutes, they were stepping out of the store's main entryway.

Scott glanced at his friend from the corner of his eye, pointing out, "You know you just gave that lady more than a seventy-dollar tip, right?"

Remy shrugged indifferently, but didn't reply. He leaned against the side of Scott's SUV as his friend fished the keys out of his pants pocket. Scott used the key fob to disengage the alarm and unlock the car doors. Raising the rear hatch, both of them loaded the bags into the vehicle.

Just as they were closing up, Scott's cell phone began to ring. Removing it from his pocket, he peeked at the caller ID. He tossed the keys to Remy, and said, "Here. Why don't you drive us back home? Let me just take this real quick. It's Jean."

Remy nodded and moved around to the driver's side. He had the engine started and warming up a moment later.

"Hey, beautiful," Scott greeted warmly once he had answered the call. "Remy and I are just leaving the grocery store. Are you on your way to my place already?"

He heard a heavy sign echo over the line. "Not just yet, I'm afraid," Jean told him. "Professor Browning added another topic to our clinical psychology paper, so the group and I have to research some more. It'll probably be another hour or so. I'm really sorry, honey."

"Hey, no, it's okay," he answered, making sure that she could hear the smile in his voice. "Get your school stuff out of the way, and then come hang out with us. It's Remy's turn to pick the movies anyway, so I'm sure you won't be missing out on anything major."

"I'm really sorry about this, hon," Jean apologized again. "Did you hear from Anna today? Is she coming over?"

"Yeah, she said she'll drop by after her philosophy class ends." He consulted his watch. "Which should actually be around now. We better get back home before she beats us there."

"Okay. I'll try to be there as soon as I can."

Scott paused a moment. He hastily glimpsed over his shoulder to make sure the southerner wouldn't overhear him, before venturing to ask, "So, Remy mentioned earlier that you said you weren't going to set him and Rogue up on any dates."

"Yeah, that's what I told him," Jean confirmed.

"But…" He dragged out the syllable and let it hang in the air, so that his girlfriend could complete the sentence.

"Is there a specific answer you're looking for, Mr. Summers?"

Scott shifted his eyes upward, toward the sky. "Probably whichever answer will cause me the least amount of pain." He could hear Jean snickering at the weary tone creeping into his voice.

"Well, of course I told him that I wasn't planning anything, Scott. More than anyone else, you should know what a stubborn mule Remy can be. He steers clear of anything you actually want him to do, and then does everything you don't want him to do at least four times over." She paused to take a deep breath, and Scott could imagine Jean silently snorting as she recalled his friend's behavior. "I'm just experimenting with a little bit of reverse psychology, hon. That's all. I bet as soon as I told Remy what a horrible person Anna is, his brain started coming up with different ways to win her over."

"You really think it's that easy, huh?"

"Hmmm… let's call it woman's intuition." Scott could hear someone next to Jean speaking to her. A moment later, she said into the phone, "I have to go, sweetie. I'll head on over to your place when I'm done here at the library, okay? I love you."

"I love you too," replied Scott, ending the call and pocketing his phone. He tugged open the passenger side door of his SUV and was immediately assaulted by loud, thumping rock music. Raising his voice in order to be heard, he commented, "I thought you were more of a jazz kind of guy."

"I'm an all-sorts-o'-ev'ryt'in' kind o' guy, Scooter." Remy smirked, effortlessly backing the vehicle out of the parking space and heading for the exit. It wasn't long before he made a right turn onto the main thoroughfare and was driving along at a velocity just a smidgen over the speed limit.

"You're going to make me regret letting you drive my car, aren't you?" Scott dryly questioned, warily glancing at the other man from the corner of his eye.

Remy laughed, nonchalantly resting his left arm on the door. "You mean you don' regret it already, homme?"

- oOo -

"She here already?" Rogue demanded without preamble, standing at the threshold of Scott's apartment.

The corners of his mouth twitched into a knowing smile. "I assume you're talking about Jean." Scott opened the door wider, allowing her to enter, and then closed it once she had sashayed into the living room. He noticed her nod in greeting at Remy, who was lounging on the couch and idly flipping through the movie selection. "And the answer is no. She's still working on a paper at the library." He nodded toward the two large paper bags she had set down on the coffee table. "You didn't have to bring anything, you know. I told you Remy and I would do the munchie run today."

She waved her hand about indifferently, rummaging in the first bag and handing him a shiny, foil-wrapped package. "Roast beef sub on white bread, mayo an' mustard, with all th' veggies." She dug in again and withdrew a second sandwich, making a disgusted face as she handed it over to Scott as well. "Jean's ham an' cheese on wheat, with jus' a dab o' mayo. God forbid, that girl tries somethin' excitin' fo' a change."

Turning her attention to Remy, she announced, "Ah didn' know what you'd like, sugah, so Ah took th' liberty o' gettin' you a couple o' choices: either a roast beef sub like Scott's or a spicy shrimp po-boy."

Remy's ears immediately perked up at the second option. "Did you say 'po-boy'?" He seized the proffered sandwich and unwrapped a part of the foil covering. Using his index finger, he swiped some of the zesty remoulade sauce off the baguette and brought it to his mouth. Sighing in blissful contentment at the familiar taste, he pulled off more of the wrapper and sunk his teeth into a generous bite of fried shrimp, lettuce, tomatoes, and pickles. "You tryin' t' get me t' fall in love wit' you or somet'in', chère?" he quipped with a sly wink and a grin in her direction.

Rogue scoffed, retrieving her own pulled pork sub from the first bag and sinking into the plush armchair next to the couch. "As if Ah would need a sandwich ta make that happen, Cajun," she mumbled smugly in response.

Taking the time to let his gaze leisurely slide up and down her body, and then back up again, Remy answered, "No, petite, you def'nitely would not need it."

She arched an eyebrow in challenge, before scowling briefly and then addressing Scott. "So, what's th' latest word, Summers? Jeannie ready ta give up th' fight yet or what?"

Scott returned to his seat on the couch next to Remy, unwrapping and digging into his own sub. "That's what she says. And that's what she told Remy yesterday at lunch."

Rogue looked thoughtful for a minute, chewing quietly on her food. Without offering a response, she stood up and moved toward the kitchen. "Ah'm thirsty. Y'all want anythin'?" She disappeared into the other room before they had a chance to answer her.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Remy gestured to the sandwich in his hand, already half gone. "Hard t' believe all dose t'ings Jeannie was sayin' 'bout Rogue, when here she is bringin' us delicious treats t' munch on."

"Well, she's not all bad," Scott countered, trying to paint a fair picture of Rogue without trampling over the narrative Jean had previously given Remy. "In her defense, Rogue goes all out to take care of the people she loves. Picking up lunch and remembering everyone's preferences is a pretty normal thing for her to do." He reached for a paper napkin to wipe his mouth with. "She's pretty protective too. Whenever Jean gets sick, Rogue's like a drill sergeant on a mission — medicine needs to be taken on the dot, drink plenty of fluids, and nothing but full bedrest. And if Jean's not feeling better after a few days, Rogue drags her kicking and screaming to the doctor for a complete check-up. And they argue like cats and dogs every step of the way."

"Must be nice havin' someone take care o' you like dat," Remy mused, finishing off his sandwich. "So, tell me, homme, jus' curious — de three o' you been in a ménage à trois yet?"

Scott crumpled up the foil wrapping of his sub and threw it at his friend, hitting him squarely on the forehead. "Will you please get your mind out of the gutter, you pervert?"

Remy smirked and casually tossed Scott's wrapper onto the coffee table, just as Rogue was coming back into the living room carrying three cans of soda. "As if de t'ought never crossed ya mind," he accused, reaching for his drink.

"What're we talkin' about?" Rogue inquired, popping open her soda and taking a long gulp.

Scott shot his friend a look of stern warning, to which Remy snickered and focused his attention back on choosing their first movie. "Just wondering if you and Jean are okay now," replied Scott, recovering swiftly. "No more world wars breaking out between the two of you?"

Rogue snorted, taking the last bite of her sandwich. She shoved all of the foil wrappings and soiled paper napkins into the paper bags they had originally come from, and moved them off to one side of the coffee table. "She was tryin' ta not so subtly suggest what Ah should wear ta this here movie marathon thing. As if Ah can't dress mahself properly at all."

Scott quickly skimmed his eyes over Rogue's faded denim shorts and dark gray Metallica t-shirt. He didn't necessarily notice anything wrong with her choice of attire, but at the same time, knew it wouldn't be on Jean's list of acceptable 'date-wear.' Not that Rogue was out on a date at all, he mentally reminded himself. But if she was…

"Ah should try ta be more 'eye-catchin,' she tells me," Rogue continued ranting, draping her legs over one of the armrests and then leaning back against the opposite side. "That's th' same nonsense she was spoutin' on about when we picked Remy up from th' airport. She wouldn't shut up about it fo' twenty minutes straight!" She twisted around to get the Cajun's opinion. "Would you have given a rat's ass if Ah'd been wearin' a mini dress yesterday or not?"

Sparing a moment from his movie-selecting process to ponder her question, Remy scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Guess dat all depends, chère. Does dis mini dress ya talkin' 'bout have a slit on de side o' it — an' if so, how far up does it go?"

Curling her lip scornfully, Rogue turned back to face Scott. "So, th' other day when we were talkin' 'bout yoah acquaintances," she jeered, jabbing a thumb behind her and pointing in Remy's direction, "was he one o' those complete idiots you mentioned?"