AN-So I realized Ororo said something along the lines of, "You're birthday is coming up in July." I meant to fix that before I posted the last chapter but forgot. In a story like this the timing of things are important so I apologize for any confusion. Please continue to read and enjoy.

Also I have never had children so I'm hoping to make this as realistic as possible.

Ororo sat in the clinical room waiting for the doctor. She filled out a stack of forms requiring information on her medical background, last menstruation, any current and previous mediations and the list went out. She then was required to give blood and urine samples for testing. The whole experience was giving her a migraine. Now awaiting the doctor she wished more to herself that Remy had agreed to accompany her. When asked if he would he swiftly shook his head saying, "Fille doctahs give Remy da creeps."

A gentleman in about his forties entered the room. He was broad and burly. He extended an unusually large, densely hairy hand out to her and greeted, "Hello, Mrs. LeBeau. I'm Dr. McCoy." He was taken by her unique features, mostly her snowy locks. My, she is exquisite. That Mr. LeBeau is a lucky man. He pushed his square rim spectacles further back onto the bridge of his nose as he reviewed the sheets. "Well, for precaution we have to perform a complete physical exam to determine your general health. It's just a formality. Then we will look into how far along you are and when your due date will be," he supplied with a warm smile.

After invasive poking and prodding Ororo was informed she was eight weeks pregnant and appeared to be in excellent health as well as Baby LeBeau. She was glad when the whole procedure was over and she was free to leave.

She returned home to find Remy playing solitaire on the coffee table. He had cleared some of Ororo's decorative candles to make room to play. He didn't mind them. In fact, he thought they smelled rather nice and liked that they covered the scent of his cigarette smoke. Plus he enjoyed her feminine touches through out the house. It made the place feel homelier.

She sat down on the sofa next to him as he gave her a peck on her lips. "Hey Stormy, how'd dat doctah's visit go?" She crinkled her nose and narrowed her eyes, "You've been smoking." Remy guiltily shrugged, "I'm down ta a pack a day."

She leaned back on to the leather cushion and gave him a coy smile. He eyed her, wondering whatever it may be that was on her mind. Before he could ask she supplied, "June fifth." He looked at her quizzically. Reading his confusion her smile only grew wider and said, "That's when the baby is expected to be born."

Remy's smile matched hers. "A week befo'e ya's. Kinda like a early birthday gif' n'est-ce pas?"

She nodded yes and her smile slowly grew dimmer when she replied, "I want us to visit my father in New York next month for Thanksgiving." Remy gulped. Poutain! He ran a hand through his hair and desperately wished he could have a cigarette at that moment. He never met anyone's father before but was positive his kind was the reason fathers locked up their daughters. He was absolutely not the type to bring home to the folks and yet it seemed inevitable.

Cautiously he inquired, "Do ya pere know 'bout me?" Ororo silently nodded. "An' 'bout da bebe?" Her smile was bittersweet as she nodded once more. "He didn't take the news too kindly but I'm sure that he will be more receptive once we are there." Hopefully.

Remy thought of the older, bald man he had only seen in photos from Ororo's graduation and holidays through out the years. Maybe he would understand. Remy figured that like his own adoptive father Ororo's must be a good hearted man to take in a street kid like they were at one time. Perhaps she was right. Besides, he had a whole month to worry about it.

When he told Logan a week before the trip Logan gave a hearty chuckle, nearly chocking on his cigar smoke. "Ya better hope he's as nice as his daughter bub. Otherwise you'll end up with a shotgun blast to yer ass."

A month came faster than Remy would have expected and now he and Ororo sat in the first class cabin of a plane heading to New York City. Ororo had hoped that the more spacious accommodations would help ease some of her claustrophobia but it was for not. Between her nausea and fear the three-hour flight seemed never ending. She never been more relieved than when they arrived and her feet touched solid ground. She was grateful they only brought carrying on sized luggage. All she wanted as to catch a cab and relax… If relaxation was possible.

As they walked to passenger pick up they noticed a man, obviously a chauffer holding a sign that read: ORORO MONROE. She turned to Remy who clearly looked a bit perturbed and shrugged, "He never asked what my new last name was."

Though unnecessary the chauffer took their bags and showed them to the black limousine. "Ya pere got taste," Remy complimented. Ororo snorted, "I told him we could take a taxi. A limo wasn't needed." "How long it take ta get ta ya pere's?" he asked with a slight anxious shake in his voice as he repeatedly ran his fingers through his hair. Ororo took his hands and held them in hers. The always cool Remy LeBeau was actually nervous. It would have been a humorous sight to her if she herself wasn't also weary of what bound to be discussed; their accidental pregnancy and impromptu marriage. She answered, "About an hour depending on traffic."

Remy pulled at his duster tighter. "Merde dis col' be horrible."

Ororo smiled then proceeded to turn the heat up. "Worse than Geneva?" she asked referring to a story he told her prior of an assignment that took him to Switzerland during the bitterly cold month of December while the owner was on a tropical vacation for the holidays to steal a Monet original. Ororo remembered reading of the theft in the New York Times a couple years back. The masterpiece was valued to be $3.5 million. She couldn't even phantom how much Remy's commission would have been. As the weeks went on he shared more of himself, including his most secretive of tales with her that he never thought he would reveal. She too recounted moments on the streets of Cairo she hadn't even with Jean or her adoptive father, Charles. The masks they often wore to hide the things they previously done that couldn't be redeemed were slipping away. Over the short time trusting one another became as easy and necessary as breathing. With a rueful smile he answered, "Non, Geneva be da wors'."

They were now a few miles away from approaching her adolescent home when a thought occurred to her. "My father is a telepath. So if you can block your thoughts as much as possible than I suggest you do so," she warned in a speedy jumble of words. Remy shook his head in disbelief of what he heard. "Telepath? Ya pere can read min's?!" he questioned in a nearly hysterical voice.

She urged, "Calm down! I just wanted to inform you before you met him. Dad is usually very respectful about listening to people's thoughts. It's just that given the circumstances-" "Dat I knocked up his bebe gir'!" he blurted then reached into mini refrigerator and opened up a travel sized bottle of Jack Daniels and proceeded to swallow the liquid whole. He fumbled through the pockets of his duster, ready to light up a cigarette until he saw Ororo watching him, her hand on her belly. Merde! Fuck I wan' a cigarette!

Ororo take the hand that once was in the duster pocket into hers and assured, "My father isn't a junkyard dog. He won't bite." "Non," he retorted, "He jus' gonna read my thoughts."

When they arrived to the house to say it was large was a bit of an understatement. Remy likened it a Yankee version of the plantation houses seen throughout Louisiana. "What did ya say ya pere do fo' a livin'?" Nonchalantly she said, "Professor of genetic mutation." They hadn't even rung the doorbell when the front door flew open and a petite older brunette woman pulled Ororo into a strong embrace. "Me gad lass! You still look as lovely as the day is long! It's good to see you!" she greeted then planted a smacking kiss on her face. "Moira, it's great to see you too! I've missed you," Ororo replied, hugging just as tightly. "Come in, come in. It's cold out." Moira ushered them in and instructed their maid, Ingrid to take her and Remy's belongings to Ororo's former bedroom before she directed her attention to Remy.

"Me gad, you're a looker aren't you lad. You must be my Ororo's husband. I'm Moira."

He bent over, bringing Moira's freckled hand to his lips as he replied, "Oui. Remy LeBeau atcha service."

Moira's eyes widen as well as her smile. "And a charmer too. Good going lass."

Ororo playfully shook her head. "Is Dad busy?"

"Nay, Charles is in the study. He should be coming out any-"

"Ororo, my child, give your father a hug!"

"Daddy!" she squealed like a small child in adult form.

She ran into the bald man's outstretched arms to embrace lovingly. Once she stood straight again her father's attention drifted to Remy. In his signature calm voice he said, "And this must be miscreant who impregnated my daughter."

"Charles!" Moira exclaimed angrily.

Ororo drew in a breath. "Father," she said evenly though it was a term she referred to him as only when furious, "This is my husband, Remy LeBeau. Remy this is my father Charles Xavier."

Remy extended a slightly trembling hand out to Charles. "Pleasure ta make ya acquaintance Monsieur Xavier." His grip however when their hands clasped was firm. Remy believed in the importance of a strong handshake spoke silently of the kind of man you were.

"LeBeau? So that's your new surname."

"Well, I think it sounds lovely deary, Ororo LeBeau," Moira supplied with a sincere smile. The tension was becoming so thick you'd need a butcher's knife to cut through it.

"Why don't Remy and I converse in my study while you help Moira with last moment Thanksgiving preparations."

Ororo flashed a concerned look in Remy's direction. He instead flashed his renowned boyish smirk. "Go 'head chere. Me an' ya pere jus' gonna get ta know one anothah bettah." She reluctantly gave a stiff nod and smile and followed Moira into the kitchen but not without brushing a wisp of hair behind her ear and subtly double tapping her head as a reminder to him to guard his thoughts.

Remy followed behind Charles' motorized wheelchair through a labyrinth of corridors to Charles' study. Three walls of the study were covered in shelves that held stacks upon stacks of rotund books. Charles gestured to a posh leather armchair for Remy to sit in as he began to pour to aged Scotch into two tumblers.

A canary yellow Faberge egg caught Remy's eye. Though he had no intention to fence the item he estimated how much it would go for, remembering pocketing an emerald green one similar to the one that stood on Charles' mahogany desk. "I presume all will be where they stand before you leave," Charles said as he handed the glass to Remy. He gulped and nodded to the older man. He always took pride in carefully hiding his expressions. Was his mind just read?

"So Remy, I assume you plan to play an active role in my grandchild's life," Charles said in his signature collective, eloquent voice that Remy had often heard traces of in Ororo's.

"Oui. Dat's why I married ya daughtah sir. I wan' ta make an honest woman outta her an' support her an' dat bebe da bes' I can."

"I know like Ororo you were without a loving home for much of your childhood. I find it commendable that you do not wish the same for your child when you could have easily excused yourself from the situation. But tell me, do you think your best will be sufficient?"

"Excusez-moi?" Remy willed his voice with all his might to remain still though he felt the flash of anger slowly burning within him. He typically couldn't give two drops of piss about whatever others may say or think of him but now his wife's father whom he just met was questioning his right to parent his child. The audacity this man had to sit there and look him in his eyes, search his inner most thoughts…

"I apologize. I understand why you are upset and I do not mean to pry into your mind. It's just that your thoughts are quite loud."

Remy sipped his Scotch. His dark eyes remained on his father in law and he continued, "You have to understand. I only want what's best for Ororo and her child." "As do I," Remy replied, attempting to disguise the scowl that threatened to mar his features.

"You want what for me?" she called as she entered the study then occupied the vacant armchair next to Remy. "We both want what's best for you and your little one, my child," Charles answered with a softer tone. "Oui, but ya pere don' dink I'm wha' bes' fo' ya," Remy said with his arms folded over his chest.

"Is this true, Dad?" she asked with pleading eyes. She believed Remy was truthful but needed confirmation from her father. He simply nodded somberly. The boom of thunder instantly was heard in the distance. Her words were measured. "What gives you the right to come to such a conclusion?"

Charles' voice faltered a bit when replying, "You're my child, and as your father-" He never finished. Ororo's hand rose, halting his response and countered with her own, "I am your daughter, not your child. I am an adult who is fully capable of making her own decisions."

Another boom of thunder sounded. "Maybe I should go," Remy suggested but was denied by her.

"No Remy. Sit." He did as he was told. His usually tranquil Ororo now stood up being the embodiment of the word livid. Her voice was level as she continued, "I shall remind you since you have clearly forgotten that Remy is my husband and the father of the child I am carrying, your grandchild. This did not happen under ideal circumstances but you will accept him and respect him. And I do not wish to have this conversation again."

"Oh my… Uh," they heard from the doorway causing everyone to turn around and stare at a frazzled Moira. "Um, I figured since it's the day before Thanksgiving we could order Chinese takeout perhaps."

Shaking her head Ororo tried to convey her characteristic collected tone as she said, "It's quite all right. Remy and I will order a pizza and eat it in my room. Now if you'll excuse us." Remy followed uncertainly behind her up to her bedroom.

When they entered her previous bedroom Remy took in the surroundings. It remained the same as it was before she left college. Stencils of various flowers and plants occupied the wall above the bed. A print of Monet's Water Lilies hung on one side of the room. "It's not the original so don't steal it," Ororo teased, trying her best to be in better spirits. With a humored smile he took her into his arms and looked into her soft blue eyes. "Ya dink maybe ya was a lil' harsh on ya pere?"

She shook no. "Not at all. He has to realize that insulting you insults me too. I just wish he would understand…"she trailed off as she threw herself back onto her bed. The lavender goose feather comforter beckoned for her to crawl underneath and curl up until it was time to leave for New Orleans again. Remy kicked off his boots and lied down next to her.

"Ya gon' hafta make him undahstan'. Talk ta him til ya blue in da face or dink really loudly."

Ororo giggled softly, feeling less weighed down with stress and anger thanks to her husband. She rolled on to her stomach to face Remy. She ran a fingertip lightly over his sculpted lips then granted him a chaste kiss. "I have a feeling you may be a great dad, Remy."

A genuine smile appeared on his handsome face. "An' I dink ya gonna be a good mama."

"It just dawned on me that I never changed a diaper before or made a bottle. I've can't even remember ever holding a baby." She gave a nervous chuckle at the absurdity of having a child yet having no experience with them. "Me neithah. But we got time ta learn all dat and when da moment comes I'm sho' we gonna be ready," he reassured. "When does T'anksgivin' dinnah start?" he pondered aloud. "Usually around two. So we can eat all day," she answered. With a glint of mischief in his eyes he replied, "So dat mean we got time ta sleep in," then rolled over atop of her. His lips met hers with a passionate kiss as his hands began to explore her body. She turned away mid kiss.

"Remy, we can't. We're in my dad's house!"

A devilish grin tugged at the corner of his lips. "Why? Ya 'fraid dat ya pere gonna hear ya callin' me papa, huh Stormy?" he asked wickedly as he began to assault her neck with more kisses. She pressed her hands against his muscular chest. "Really Remy. Our thoughts could be boisterous and I may lose control and manipulate the weather. He'll know what we're doing if that happens. And stop calling me Stormy," she chastised.

Remy sighed begrudgingly and rolled over onto his back. " Wha'evah ya say, ma nuage arageux.*"

The day's events of traveling and disagreeing with her father depleted Ororo's energy. After three slices of meatball pizza she speedily fell into a dreamless slumber.

They had awoken minutes before one. Ororo was exhausted more than she estimated. But before they retreated downstairs she persuaded Remy to forgo his contacts for the day. "They won't judge. Besides, your eyes are far too beautiful to hide," she charmed. At that moment she could have convinced him to climb the Empire State building and jump. No woman previously ever had any kind of pull on him but slowly he felt himself being sucked into her abyss. And yet oddly enough he didn't want to struggle against it. It felt right. She felt right.

"Good day to you two sleepy heads," Moira chimed cheerfully. "Remy, dear do you think you could help me set the table?" Ororo offered her assistance but he interjected, "Non, Remy'll do it. Ya should spen' mo'e time wit' ya pere befo'e we hafta go."

Ororo treaded lightly into the study. She always found the idea of sneaking up on a telepath to be a comical challenge. She had only take a few strides in before Charles lifted his head from the book he was reading. Looking up to her with a smile he supplied, "Voltaire." "Prejudice is opinion without judgment," she quoted somewhat smugly as she sat in an armchair before him. Charles knew why his daughter chose that quote out of all by the philosopher. He didn't always have to use his mutation to understand her thinking.

"Perhaps I was a bit too hasty to be opinionated."

"A bit? Perhaps? I know our marriage isn't a traditional but millions of marriages started for this same reason."

Charles sighed an exasperated one as he maneuvered his wheelchair to be next to her. "I am just unsure on if he is suitable husband and father. You're both only twenty-four, so young. This isn't just about you anymore. This also is about your child."

Ororo took her father's wrinkled hands into hers. "I know it is. Remy has not given me reason to complain. Although we may be young we are at least going about this as responsibly as possible. I want my child to have the both of us with them. The least I can do is attempt to provide that. Do you remember shortly after adopting me I had my first menstruation? Moira had to speak to me. You became so flustered you couldn't make eye contact with me for a week without blushing." Together they chuckled at the memory then she proceeded, "Now you see why Remy being a part of our lives is important to me."

"Yes, my child. I do. I apologize for my transgressions. Can you find it in yourself to forgive me?"

Ororo laughed at her father, finding it silly that he thought she could possibly say no.

Remy sat at the dinning table with Ororo to his right and the Professor across from him. They had just begun to enjoy the feast that was prepared when he caught Charles looking intensely at him. "Your eyes are different today. I assume you wore contacts yesterday?" he asked. "Oui. Stormy prefer I don' wear dem," Remy answered.

"Stormy?" Charles asked, cocking his left brow.

Picking at a mound of mashed potatoes with his fork Remy shrugged, "It jus' be a nickname." He then baited the older man into his thoughts. Devious images of Ororo sprouted. Images of her body, the kind of body that should be on the cover of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition pressed against his and how splendid it felt on the tips of his fingers, on the tip of his… Charles' glare caused him to abruptly stop. Remy swallowed a forkful of mashed potatoes and said with a smirk, "Taste delicious." A ruddy Charles gulped nearly half a glass of his Shiraz to contain himself.

Clearing his throat Charles started once again asking about Remy's mutation, taking quite an interest in it as he had never encountered anyone with his form of mutation before. Moira murmured, "Leave it to Charles think of work on a holiday." Ororo smiled in agreement.

It was now Moira who resumed the questioning. Seeing as she was the only one of the four that didn't what he did for a living she asked, "Remy what did you say was your profession?"

"He's a broker," Ororo answered, casting a slight glance to her left to Remy. They're eyes met with their lips curved upwards ever so subtly with knowing smiles. This did no go unnoticed by neither Moira nor Charles. Thanksgiving dinner went on with relative ease. Turkey, herb stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, butternut squash, cranberry sauce, buttered cornbread and pecan pie for dessert could make anyone feel comfortable.

They were in the midst of coffee and pie when Ororo suddenly dropped her fork causing it to cling against the china plate. She clutched Remy's shoulder and exclaimed, "Snow!" She hulled him up to his feet and nearly dragged him out of the front door. He almost didn't get to grab his duster at the rate she was pulling him.

The first flakes fluttered aimlessly through the crisp night air, landing on Remy and Ororo. She laughed an airy child like giggle as the frigid flakes caressed her cheeks. Though there were many winters with snow and sleet through out her teenage years in Westchester she always found it be fascinating.

Charles and Moira watched from the living room window within the comfort of the toasty home. "You know dear," Moira started, "I've seen the way they look at eachother. I know you don't think much of the lad but I can tell they care for one another even if they don't know it yet."

Remy observed Ororo's merriment, happy to see her so happy. His gaze caught Ororo. She stepped to him and with the softness she was blessed with brushed away snowflakes that fell on his auburn hair. He brought her hand down to his lips. The warmth from his lips transferred through her fingertips and radiated throughout her body. Her fingertips were then replaced with her lips, causing a tiny buzz of electricity to surge through her to him, sizzling any snow that landed on them.

*ma nuage arageux- my storm cloud