BENEATH THE SURFACE
Part Eleven
Rogue was late getting to the dinner table; she'd been playing about with the new iPhone Remy had bought her, downloading music onto it, and had rather easily lost all track of time; she hadn't even thought to look at the time stamp at the top of the display. She'd been feeling almost in a strange sort of haze ever since the closet, hating to admit to herself that afterwards, once the initial shock of it happening at all had left her, that she felt a strange sort of blissful release that she hadn't experienced before.
Anxiety about her relationship with Remy, the strain his mood swings had put on her in the past month...it all had seemed to melt away, leaving her oddly content as she sat there playing music while reliving the moment over and over in her head. It didn't matter what song or album she downloaded, everything kept making her think of the closet, regardless if it was Morissey, Meatloaf or Metallica. Every lyric took her there, every beat and twang. It was the Afterglow she'd heard people talk about on television but she'd never truly believed in.
Until now, really.
When she finally got to the table, she felt slightly dismayed to find the only seat left was right beside Remy. She stood for a second examining him sitting there calmly, eating meatloaf, expression serene. She still had rather vivid paintings of him in her memory, his fevered expression and the look on his face at that last moment. She could still almost feel the exact way he had pressed against her. She drew her breath, cheeks flushing at the thought of being in close proximity with him again. Normally, she wouldn't sit so close to him with so many in the room, but there was little choice in this matter. If she didn't sit it would be far more suspicious than if she did.
"Where were you?" Scott asked. "Called your name three times."
"Ah had earphones in," Rogue replied feebly, she moved to take her seat, trying to act as natural as she could, "Sorry."
"Hank made his famous Meatloaf," Jean passed the serving dish over, there was very little of it left, but Rogue supposed it what was left would have to suffice. It was her own fault for being late. "It nearly all got claimed, but we managed to save you some."
"It's good," Remy admitted at Rogue's left, he chewed thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes never leaving his plate, "Not as good as yours though."
Rogue turned and stared at Remy, more blood rushed to her cheeks, she felt like she was on fire with it. She lowered her eyes to her plate as she served the food, trying to somehow act as if nothing was bothering her; she suddenly did not feel all that hungry.
"Rogue makes meatloaf?" Kitty gave a vague laugh, "I find that hard to believe."
Trying to act as natural as she could, Rogue spooned herself out some mashed potatoes, all the while resisting the urge to elbow her husband in the ribs. Or stab him with her fork.
"Oh, she make a good meatloaf," Remy commented, the way he said it was so general, but Rogue was afraid it was going to give something away all the same. "Nice moist sticky meatloaf..."
Rogue swallowed hard, she pushed her fork into the mashed potatoes, she felt slightly ill.
"Like all southern girls, she likes a lil' meat..." Remy continued.
Oh god, he's tryin' to embarrass me, Rogue realised in dismay.
"Anyone want some more carrots?" asked Kitty, she passed the dish after practically filling her plate with them. Her vegetarian platter didn't seem all that filling in Rogue's opinion.
"Don' mind if I do," Remy accepted the serving dish, he spooned a few out onto his plate, "how about you, chere?" he turned to Rogue, raising an eyebrow, "I know y' like carrots...although these may be a little overcooked..."
"They're not overcooked," Kitty said confusedly.
"Look a little limp t' me," Remy responded, "t' my knowledge, Rogue prefers 'em a little firmer..."
Bobby suddenly laughed, "I get it."
"You get what?" Jean asked carefully.
"Rogue can't cook vegetables...she serves stuff raw," Bobby shrugged.
Rogue turned and threw Remy a look as Bobby distracted them with his naïvete. She'd almost expected Bobby to get the innuendo. "Stop it!" she mouthed quietly to Remy.
Remy seemed to chuckle silently to himself and began digging into his meal.
Ah'm gonna kill him when this is over, Rogue thought angrily. She eyed the table, almost wondering why Logan hadn't said anything, then she realised he was not even present; the Professor was in the slot Logan usually sat at, the chair Logan usually sat in was pushed against the broom closet door.
God, Ah can't even look at that door, Rogue thought, her body heating up, eyes quickly moving from the sight of it.
"Where's Logan?" she asked, trying to distract herself.
"He went to some poker game or something," Scott commented.
Rogue thought it was no wonder Remy seemed so relaxed at the table tonight more than usual, why he was so content to sit and make jokes that he normally wouldn't with Logan sitting right there.
"Professor," said Remy, "I...was thinkin' 'bout what we talked about a few weeks back..." he leaned back in his chair, picking up his glass of water.
"And what might that be?" the Professor asked, gazing up from his meal.
"About maybe goin' t' Bayville High."
Rogue turned and looked at Remy questioningly, somewhat surprised. He'd been so reluctant only three hours ago...what had changed?
"Fantastic," spoke up Hank from the other end of the table, "there's still time to enroll you before the start of school – and to get you all the appropriate supplies."
"And you should go clothes shopping," said Tabitha, looking over at Remy. Rogue couldn't help but feel there was almost the tiniest hint of a smug smile on the blonde's pretty face.
"Yeah," Kitty agreed, "You seem to have like...the same two or three shirts that you just wear over and over..."
Remy scoffed, "y' mean jus' like the same cotton candy coloured cardigan that seems t' be surgically attached t' y' back?"
"Burn!" called Jamie enthusiastically.
"Shut up! I have three cardigans this colour..."
"Yeah, and they're all the same," Tabitha teased.
"Yeah, if they suck so much why did you steal one of them?" Kitty raised an eyebrow at the blonde.
"I gave it back...its...in the laundry somewhere," Tabitha shrugged. By the sounds of it, Rogue wasn't particularly sure Tabitha knew at all where that cardigan had gone.
"Yeah well, you better find it and get it back where you found it," Kitty warned.
"Same with my jeans," Amara spoke up, "I haven't seen them back yet."
"I'll get to it," Tabitha assured.
Rogue felt something touch her thigh and she froze in her seat; Remy's fingers were tentatively sliding up the inside of her leg. She turned to frown at him but he was feigning perfect innocence. No one would have suspected as he sat there drinking his water, and then picking his fork to eat his carrots that his fingers were inching further up Rogue's left thigh.
Swiftly, when everyone at the table was busy arguing about Tabitha's habit of stealing and not returning their clothes, Rogue smacked his hand away roughly. She tried to force a normal unaffected expression, even when his hand just went right back again.
His hand got very close to the place just three hours ago it had been before. She grabbed his fingers quickly, curling them around his and holding them tightly to stop him from going any further, her chest thrumming anxiously at the thought he might touch her, that she might cry out or gasp at the table, that it might all come out right then.
He's playin' games, Rogue realised in fury. She kept eating, not even hungry, stomach flipping a little. She felt his thumb gently massaging her hand just over her suedette glove. She allowed a brief glance towards him in everyone's distraction as the dinner table topic turned to what show was on cable that night and who had priority to pick what they watched. Remy's eyes met with hers and softened, they were no longer quite as playful nor as teasing.
Swallowing her nerves, trying to ignore how his touch – even just his hand – suddenly left her feeling weak and defenceless, she spoke to him. "What changed your mind about school?" she asked quietly.
"Might be nice...havin' lunch wit' friends...bein' in class wit' friends..." he said low under his breath.
"And you can go to prom," pointed out Rahne.
"Prom is lame," Rogue muttered bitterly. She hadn't gone to the last prom, she hadn't been invited by anyone. And anyway, a mission had come up right around that time, there hadn't been any chance to go even if she had.
"Y' wouldn' wan' dress up all fancy?" Remy gazed to her questioningly, "ain' that every girl's dream?"
"Not mine."
"I can jus' picture it..." Remy snorted.
"Picture what?" Kurt asked, raising a furry eyebrow.
"Rogue...in a big poofy dress...lots of silk, toulle and sequins..." Remy looked Rogue up and down for a moment, "hair up in a tiara...makeup...not like it is now, but subtle...delicate...maybe a little fake tan jus' t' give her a glow..." he broke his hand away from hers to almost absently circle the tip of his finger around the rim of his drinking glass.
Rogue was immediately reminded of her wedding dress, of the tiara and veil she'd worn, of the makeup and the fake tan and the hair that had taken so long to curl and pin. She was almost certain it was exactly what Remy was picturing.
Tabitha laughed, Rogue hated that Tabitha sounded so thoroughly amused about it. She hated that the others laughed too. They could no more imagine it than Rogue had been able to herself until the day she'd found herself standing there looking at herself in the mirror dressed in that way.
"Prom is lame," Rogue repeated angrily, looking away from him, furious he was encouraging the subject.
"Aww..." Remy chuckled, "Y' see, she's only mad 'cause she ain' ever been invited..."
"Shut up," Rogue warned him, throwing him a look.
"Never had anyone pin a corsage on her, never had anyone rent her a limo, bring her punch..." Remy smirked.
"Stop it," Rogue frowned.
"That's enough, Gambit," Scott said commandingly, "You're making her uncomfortable."
"Sorry," Remy said, he gave a sigh, "I'm jus' playin'. He slung an arm around Rogue's shoulders almost the way a drunken man might throw his arm around a drinking buddy, "Don' worry, cherie, Remy will take y' t' y' prom, so y' don' got t' go stag."
"Wow, look at her face, it's goin' all red," Rahne chuckled from the far end of the table.
"That's enough, please quiet down and eat your dinner," the Professor said, his expression knitting in a slightly displeased frown.
Rogue pushed Remy's arm away from her, "don't do me any favours, Cajun."
"Ouch, shot down," Remy sighed, "what it is it about me that girls don' like?"
"Your lack of decorum?" Rogue supposed coldly.
"I'll go with you to prom, Gambit," Tabitha offered.
"Yeah, she'll go..." Amara snorted, "long as you're paying for her dress, shoes and the limo."
Tabitha threw a look to Amara, "shut up!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, is that supposed to be a secret how you could suddenly all those new clothes?" Amara asked snootily, "'cause one day you were taking all our stuff, and the next you had a two hundred dollar jacket...weirdly after the same day you and Gambit went shopping."
Tabitha's cheeks went red, Rogue hadn't expected the girl to look genuinely embarrassed or upset about some stupid accusation about something that Rogue doubted could be true. Remy wasn't about to go buying a two hundred dollar jacket for a girl he barely knew.
"And what about the pairs of fifty dollar jeans? And those Doc Martin boots you're wearing! I know they cost like a hundred bucks..."
"Enough," warned the Professor.
"I'm just saying-" Amara began.
"Enough," warned the Professor again, "where the money for Tabitha's clothing came from is not your concern, now quieten down and eat your dinner – or you can go to your room. The choice is yours."
Amara frowned but said nothing and went back to eating; her expression was foul all the same.
Rogue turned to Remy, expecting him to look back at her and try to give her some kind of indication this was a misunderstanding or a lie. Instead, he was looking at Tabitha, expression somewhat worried and guilty.
Tabitha sniffed, she seemed to compose herself, she sat up straight, took a large drink from her glass of water, burped unceremoniously (Rogue felt it was somewhat deliberately to alleviate the tension at the table) then said, "okay, you know what, I'll admit it. I borrowed money from Gambit. So what. I borrow money from everyone."
Remy dropped his eyes to his plate, he looked a little dismayed that she had admitted it. Rogue had to hide her absolute dismay at the revelation. Had this been some kind of secret? Why the hell was he buying Tabitha clothes? Why was he even associating himself with the girl? She was trouble...always had been.
"I'll pay everyone back...eventually, when I land on my feet," Tabitha said.
"Can you land on your feet any time soon?" asked Bobby, trying to lighten the situation, "'cause I kind of need my twenty bucks back so I can afford to go bowling tomorrow."
Tabitha gave a vague laugh, "Yeah...that's...not gonna happen."
The dinner was tense after this, and although general conversation was made it felt somewhat static, never went anywhere, stunted by moments of dense silence and awkward glances. At the end of dinner, Rogue went to do the dishes as per her turn on the rota; she stood for some time sorting through dishes (plates first, always, pots and pans filled with water and left to soak and steep). Bobby was supposed to be helping her but had disappeared off somewhere, he'd said he was going to the bathroom, and that had been twenty minutes ago.
"Y' need a hand?"
Rogue looked over her shoulder awkwardly, arm deep in dishsoap, Remy was standing at the door looking strangely sheepish. The smart-mouthed jerk he'd been at dinner, the dirty-minded jerk he'd been in the closet – he'd gone again. It was if that guy had paid a flying visit and then swiftly left.
"Bobby is supposed to be helping me," she rubbed her shoulder against her cheek, feeling a little lather against it.
"Yeah, he's upstairs trying to fix the broken toilet."
"What broken toilet?" Rogue raised an eyebrow. "We don't have a broken toilet."
"We do now."
"What'd he do?"
"He froze the boys toilet on the second floor...him and Jamie are standin' over it with hairdryers tryin' t' thaw it out...y' really don' wan' see what's in the block of ice at the bottom of it right now...and y' definitely don' wan' be there when the hot air hits it," Remy walked over, he grabbed a dish towel from the counter, "I'll dry."
Rogue stared into the water, she tried to focus on scrubbing the dishes, trying to bite her tongue about Tabitha and the clothes. She almost made it through three entire minutes until she finally couldn't stand not knowing.
"I want to know-"
Remy interrupted before she could even finish the sentence, "she...didn' come with any clothes, I guess."
"You guess?"
"She had hardly anythin'...didn' have the money."
"That's sort of her problem, isn't it?" Rogue frowned.
"Y' don' get it," Remy shook his head, he picked up one of the wet soapy plates she'd removed from the sink and he began drying it.
"No, you don't get it," Rogue replied, "she does this sort of thing all the time, comes and goes, she never brings anything with her, she takes all our stuff, ruins it or just never returns it...she borrows money to buy shit...she never pays anythin' back."
"Rogue, she had nothin', what was I meant to do?"
"Let her go to the Professor."
"Maybe she didn' wan' go t' the Professor."
"But she went to you?" Rogue snapped.
"I asked her, alright?" Remy retorted, "She never asked me f' nothin'. Y' think I'm not observant enough t' be able t' tell when someone ain' got hardly nothin' of their own? Saw her wearin' the same t-shirt three days in a row...Kitty's cardigan, Amara's jeans. She had your shoes on – the ones I bought y'. I knew right then she didn' have nothin' of her own except what she had walked in wit'. So I brought it up...she didn' want anyone knowin'...she was embarrassed."
"That girl does not embarrass," Rogue muttered.
"Y' ever been that down and out, Rogue?" Remy frowned at her, "Y' ever had not two nickels t' rub t' gether and been wearin' the same clothes for a week? Y' know how fuckin' humiliatin' it is?"
Rogue blinked at him.
"She didn' want t' go to the Professor, simple as that. Maybe she wanted a lil' dignity, who knows. That's her business. I offered her the money, I took her, I bought the shit on my card – I got more than enough t' cover it."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Y' weren' even here," Remy pointed out, "Y' was away in godknowswhere, middle of fuckin' Germany or whatever...and besides which..." he stared down at her almost angrily, "why shoul' I have t' declare it?"
"You just should," Rogue retorted quickly.
"Why?" he asked flatly.
"What if everyone had known, Remy?" Rogue demanded. "What then?! That kind of thing comes out at the table, suddenly everyone is wonderin' why you're buyin' this hot blonde all these nice things when you're supposed to be with me! God, if they had known about us, do you know how it would look?! How stupid Ah would look?"
"Y' care too much about what people think," Remy huffed.
Rogue squinted at him, "and you don't?"
"Right now, pretty much I don't give a fuck," Remy threw her a dirty look; his eyes moved behind her, he looked at something, his expression seemed to become angrier, more hurt. He tossed the dish towel away,"Y' know, fuck this, I don't need this right now."
"You're just gonna walk away?"
"Yes," Remy muttered, "until you apologise."
"Why should Ah apologise?" Rogue gaped at him.
"Because you are in the wrong here, and y' know it," he accused. "Where y' get off tellin' me how t' spend my money? I thought the whole thing about the X-Men was we were here t' help people...first selfless thing I do and y' on my back like fuckin' acne. I don' need it."
Rogue watched as he left the room practically stomping, she stared after him in dismay. The entire exchange had somehow felt strangely immature, and she'd been completely aware of it. At the same time, the entire situation stung too. It hurt that he had not told her, had not tried to warn her or tell her about it, it hurt that it had come out at the table, and it hurt that he seemed to think she had no right to be angry about it.
In her opinion she had every right to be angry. Her husband was gifting things to a pretty blonde who had a rather notable reputation at Bayville High as being rather easy.
That's why he didn't tell me, she realised, her stomach churning. He knew Ah would be mad, he deliberately kept it from me because he knew how it'd look. Maybe if he'd at least tried to be honest...
Rogue tried to calm herself down and focus on the dishes, she had piles to get through, and no help; Remy had walked out instead of doing as he'd offered. It didn't matter, she'd rather do this alone than have the icy tension thick between them through the chore. She'd rather do it alone than have him stand there waiting for an apology that she definitely wasn't intending to offer.
Remy stared at the walls of his bedroom, the half-finished paint job that he was steadily hating more and more. He couldn't bring himself to finish it because he didn't even want to see the end result and feel almost as if he would have to live with it. He didn't want to have to paint the room a third time and look at the mistake of it all.
Right there, in the corner, standing hovering, hands clasped in front of his belt, Jean-Luc stood, his expression dark and dangerous; there was a disturbing look in his eyes, the kind of look reserved for those particular nights when he was younger.
Remy shook his head, "No. Y' ain' there," he refused. "I buried y'...y' six feet fuckin' under, burnin' in hell."
Always there but never a word uttered. He'd been there in the kitchen with Rogue, standing watching the argument, looking almost amused, like he'd wanted that argument to happen. He was everywhere, every day, it didn't matter what was happening. He was always there.
Remy should have felt almost accustomed to seeing it by now, but each time it got worse. The vision seemed to get more and more distorted, decayed. The heaviness in the room got worse, Remy could feel it weighing him down like tar.
Quietly, he left the room, trying to be calm, trying to ignore the feeling of Jean-Luc's eyes following him. He crossed the hall and opened the linen closet pushed himself in to the tight space, he pulled the door shut and sat down upon the floor on top of a full basket of sheets. He cradled his head in his hands, afraid he really may be going insane. He sat there for what felt like an hour in the thick, stuffy darkness of the closet, there was only a crack of light beneath the door to cut through it and it wasn't even enough to see anything in the closet. If by some miracle Jean-Luc could fit in the closet, Remy wouldn't have seen him. He didn't feel the alcohol breath brushing against his face, couldn't smell the foul odour of whiskey and gin.
Sitting there, he tried to focus on nothing but the time in the closet with Rogue, the only time in weeks he'd felt anything remotely close to happy. It'd been the only time in weeks he supposed he'd been close to feeling anything other than hopelessness. Now Rogue was mad at him, but what was worse was that he felt she didn't even have the right to.
He wished he could have explained about Tabitha, about the problems with her father, about why she'd had nothing. But he couldn't betray the girl...he knew how difficult it could be, how horrible it was to have people knowing. He knew how humiliating and soul destroying it was to have those secrets and constantly be on edge someone was going to find out. He knew how afraid Tabitha was that people would look at her differently, because he felt that way too. It was one of the reasons he still couldn't tell Rogue face to face about how bad things had been sometimes. She'd never look at him the same.
Sometimes he wondered if it'd be easier to break up than to ever tell her about it. If it would hurt less. Breaking up with her for any reason would destroy him, but it'd still be a thousand times less hurtful than telling her about the things that kept him up at night.
She already knows things happened, she jus' ain' had the elaboration, Remy reminded himself, he rubbed his head; all this thinking was giving him a headache and he felt tired enough to sleep in this small space. He was almost considering it up until the door opened, light spilling into the dark room so much that at first it almost blinded him.
"Gambit...what the heck-?"
Jean stood there with a laundry basket balanced on one hip, her expression rather dumbfounded to find him sitting in the closet tucked away beside the shelves of sheets, towels and the laundry baskets.
Remy was quick to find an excuse; his growing headache gave him the inspiration "I have a bit o' a headache. So much noise here since everyone got back from their vacations..." he rubbed his forehead, "Jus'...needed a bit o' darkness...no sound...quiet 'n' dark here..."
"I...see..." Jean watched him exit the closet, somehow he doubted she believed him. "You look a little upset..." she noted.
"Like I said...headache..."
Jean paused, he wondered for a moment if the redhead could sense any of his unhappiness, any of the strain. She'd said she couldn't read him, said it to Scott. What if she'd lied? What if she could see everything going on in his head right then? The pictures of things Jean-Luc had done.
"Remy?"
"Yeah?" he asked.
"You know if anything is wrong..." she began, he hated how kind, how patronizing she sounded.
"Nothin' is wrong," he said swiftly, he forced a dazzling smile, "Jus' a lil' headache. I'll take an Advil if I can find some."
"I have some I can give you," Jean said softly, "I get headaches all the time."
"I bet," he responded, realising it was probably the case with most telepaths.
"I have to go do some other things, but they're in my room if you want to go get them...you know where it is?"
"Yeah, I think so," he replied, "third floor..."
"Second door on the left," Jean nodded, "they're in my purse...there's not many in there and they're not very strong but you're welcome to them."
He eyed her tiredly, "Y' lettin' a man go through y' purse?" he asked, "that's kind o' no man's land ain' it?"
"There's nothing in there that's particularly embarrassing or important," she promised.
I guess that means there ain' nothin' remotely good t' steal either, he thought darkly.
"Thanks," he nodded. He supposed to make his excuse more believable he should at least go and get them – besides, it wasn't exactly as if he didn't have a headache. He headed upstairs, surprised that when he got to Jean's room, Tabitha Smith was in there going through Jean's dresser.
Remy stood at the door watching her raking through things. He cleared his throat to catch her attention; the blonde turned and gave a sheepish smirk.
"Oh, it's just you."
"Y' still takin' people's shit?" Remy asked, he moved over to where he saw Jean's purse hanging from her closet door.
"I...just needed a few things..."
"I thought I bought y' everythin' y' needed," Remy turned and looked at her.
"Not...everything," she responded.
"By the way...why y' have t' come out with that in front of everyone? Why didn' y' jus' lie?"
Tabitha paused after pulling the top drawer of the dresser open, "I...didn't see the point. A few of the others had figured it out. Why does it matter? It's your money anyway, right?" she sighed.
"Yeah, but...still..." he sighed.
"Unless you're embarrassed."
"No. I ain' embarrassed. Jus'...I don' see why it should be anyone else's business at all," he supposed, he retrieved the bottle of Advil from Jean's bag, it didn't sound like there were very many pills in the bottle.
"You okay?" Tabitha eyed up what he was taking.
Remy unscrewed the cap and popped two of the pills (out of the four that had been within) into his mouth, he swallowed them dry, "Headache. Inevitable in this place, I reckon."
"True," Tabitha grabbed a handful of items from the top drawer.
"What are you-?" Remy leaned to the side to try and see what she'd stolen, he grabbed a hold of her arm and held her hand up so he could examine what was dangling from her fingers. A handful of Jean Grey's bras. He wouldn't have bargained on the two girls being remotely the same size, not that he'd paid much attention to those matters since he'd married Rogue. "Oh."
Tabitha laughed a little, her cheeks going pink. She tried to shrug off the embarrassment all the same, "We...didn't hit any of that stuff when we were out...and I didn't want to say and put you in the spot or anything..."
"Do I even dare ask whose panties y' been stealin'?" he asked, he was certain after he'd asked he probably shouldn't have.
"Kitty gets like four or five packs of panties from her parents at Hanukkah and birthdays," Tabitha admitted, "she hasn't even noticed I took two of the packs. They'd never even been opened."
"I suppose that's somethin' t' be thankful for," Remy eyed the bras, "you and Jean ain' remotely got the same size, by the way," he remarked, unable to keep himself from saying it.
"You think?" Tabitha glanced down to her bosom and sighed, "anyway, Jean has the nicest ones," Tabitha shrugged, "Rogue's bras are all like...cheap nylon and they show through everything I own. Plus she only owns like four...she'd go nuts if one of them disappeared."
Remy had noticed that Rogue had very few bras. She'd only packed two for their trip to Las Vegas and Louisiana, she'd had to buy some later. He was certain she had a few more now; he'd helped her pick some during their time in Louisiana. Tabitha most definitely had not seen those, he reckoned. Probably hidin' them 'cause they're more risque than what she previously had, Remy thought.
Remy grabbed the bras back from Tabitha, "Put them back. If y' need money t' buy bras, jus' say."
"I don't want any more money," Tabitha shook her head, "she probably won't even miss these anyway..."
"They're in the top drawer," Remy noted, he put the bras back into the drawers, feeling a little iffy about touching the articles of clothing. He was certain Rogue would be quite unamused by the thought of him handling Jean Grey's underwear.
"So?"
"When y' use somethin' a lot, it tends t' go in the drawer that's easiest t' get t'...like the top. If those were somethin' she didn' wear much or even at all, they'd be in the bottom drawer along with all the other crap she most likely never wears..."
Tabitha knelt down and slid open the bottom drawer, "wow...you're right..." she admitted, "there's bras in here...they're kind of...old lady-ish though."
"Yeah most likely they the ones she don' wear," Remy replied dully.
"How do you know this?"
"Obvious," Remy supposed.
"Sorry but there's no way I'm wearing bras that look like they came from my great grandma's unmentionables drawer."
"Then y' gon' have t' buy new ones..." Remy headed for the door, "a hundred bucks be enough t' get y' what y' need?" he asked. For bras, he wasn't going to go over that. A hundred was reasonable and easily overlooked; if he went over that and Rogue found out again, he was certain it was only going to cause more drama and he didn't need it.
"Yeah..." Tabitha replied, "but I can't pay you back...at least not for like...a thousand years. I owe so much cash out to everyone, and they're all on my back about it as it is..."
"It's my turn t' clean the toilets tomorrow. Y' can do that in my place. Next few times I'm on the rota, y' do it, we're square, okay? I'd rather pay a hundred bucks f' someone else t' do it than put my hand down a toilet."
"Deal," Tabitha agreed. Remy supposed to her it was a fair deal because she'd probably find a way to con someone else into doing it for her. They walked along the hall towards Tabitha's room, it being on the way to the staircase. Tabitha stopped outside her room door, "You know, you're not as bad as they said you are..."
"Y' mean Cyclops...Jean...those guys," Remy chewed the inside of his cheek, he absently ran a finger over the slightly flaking paint of the door frame.
Tabitha seemed worried for a moment, Remy remembered that perhaps the fact the others had been talking about him wasn't supposed to be something he knew about. They wouldn't have realised he was busy in the closet still able to overhear while they bad mouthed him in the kitchen. "I mean Lance and Pietro..."
"Yeah, well...they bad mouth everyone," Remy supposed, "easier t' hide their own shortcomin's when they makin' fun of other people constantly."
"I guess," Tabitha shrugged.
"I'll get the money t' y' tomorrow mornin'."
"Thank you," she said quietly, she smiled faintly, "It's...it's the nicest thing anyone's done for me in a long time."
"Don' thank me," Remy replied. "It's a deal, not a gift...y' still got t' clean toilets in my place."
"It's still nice," Tabitha replied, "everyone grudges it when it comes to helping me out, you know? But not you..." she admitted.
Remy supposed if he wasn't so affluent in comparison to the others, he might grudge it just as much. The money he'd spent on Tabitha...it was a drop in the ocean, he didn't care if he got it back or not.
"Don't worry 'bout it, okay?" he asked, "it's...jus'...I know what it's like...how hard it can be when y' got nothin'. Wouldn' wish it on anyone."
Tabitha took a hold of the front of his t-shirt and leaned up, standing on her tip toes, she went to press a kiss against his lips, it struck him as slightly surprising but he anticipated it at the last moment and turned his face, she caught his cheek instead, her tacky fuschia lipstick left a mark on his face, he felt it.
"Good night," she said, and she shut the door on him immediately and almost unceremoniously. Remy shook his head at himself, he wished he'd anticipated that situation much faster, been able to move out of the way entirely. He hoped the girl didn't have the wrong idea about him. As he turned to go down the stairs, he saw Kitty Pryde standing there, she'd seen the entire exchange.
Remy wiped his cheek swiftly, "that...wasn't what it looked like," he said, trying to sound cool and composed, afraid it might come out as nervous and guilty. He wondered when it had been that he had suddenly become that guy.
"None of my business," commented Kitty, she moved on by him and went towards her room.
Remy caught Kitty's arm hastily, stopping her from going inside, "don'...say anythin'."
Kitty turned to look at him, her sapphire eyes were wild and childlike, hugely curious, "pardon?"
"I know how things work 'round here, I catch on fast, rumours get around here faster than crabs at a hobo orgy..."
The smaller girl seemed quite dismayed at the accusation and the phrasing, "I-"
"Look, no one needs t' know about that..."
"Yeah...like...whatever," Kitty pulled her arm away from him by phasing it through his fingers, threw him the oddest look and then went into her bedroom, phasing through the door.
Remy swept his hand through his hair frustratedly. Smooth, Remy. Real smooth.
End of Part Eleven
Thanks to all for the amazing reviews, I got some really thoughtful ones this week, and it's always nice to hear what people think.
Again, I'm yet again confused by the accusation from "clothes" I'm "stereotyping" Rogue's gothic style...half the time in my stories I rarely bother specifying what colours her blouses or tops are, etc. In the past few stories she's worn a lot of different things that weren't altogether gothic at all (white dress, plain hoodies, classic blouses, etc). As for the shoes in chapter seven, I deliberately wrote those shoes as having laces with skulls on them so that they would be UNIQUE and somewhat quirky enough, so that it would be likely something Remy would notice someone else was wearing Rogue's shoes (I thought this would be rather obvious). I think twice in all the stories I've written about her so far, has she ever worn anything with a "skull" pattern, and both times it's been used as an indicator to Remy that the item "belongs" to Rogue. I don't see how I'm to be again accused of stereotyping Rogue, and yet hilariously no one complains at me for at for stereotyping Kitty Pryde for always wearing pink cardigans (which she has in EVERY story I've written) flipflops and saying the word "like" a lot...lol.
Totally, like, Boggles the, like, mind.
Hope everyone has a fantastic weekend, love you all :)