Is This Love...?
Part 5
The 'Mooners Return
The month flew by at what seemed like lightning speed. Training, missions, working with the students...more training, even more missions, the end of the Summer was creeping in and the students started to return to the mansion as their vacations with parents ended and their studies would soon begin.
Those four weeks were tiring for Rogue and even after those weeks, it still felt to her like she was barely getting into the swing of being second-in-command. After that first week, Lance joined the team on a training basis only, and as far as training went, he was much more of a delight than he'd been before he had been when he'd joined the team years before. He had followed orders well, worked well with the others, and seemed to genuinely be intent on impressing Kitty by showing how willing he was to try.
But outside of training, things had been quite different. Outside of training, Lance was troubled; prone to bouts of depression where he rarely interacted with the team, prone to taking off for hours and no one could really figure out where he was going. There'd been three relapses on drink, he'd come home wrecked and be sent to sleep it off.
But the problems of Lance aside, things had been...tolerable. It'd been almost pleasant without having Jean around, although there were times during training and during missions when Rogue weirdly felt the lack of her presence. There were times she'd found herself thinking ' If Jean had been here, she'd have stopped that from happening' or ' If Jean had been here we'd have been finished in half the time'.
And as for not having Scott there...it'd made life feel almost bearable, to not feel so much heartbreak, not having to look at him, not needing to be reminded of how much she loved him and could never have him.
But still, now it was only one day until the honeymooners would return and everything would be back to normal.
Well...almost back to normal. Jean would be moving into Scott's room now that they were married and it was no longer inappropriate for the younger students to see their instructors sharing a room. Jean's moving out of her old room meant Rogue could take Jean's room which meant much large floor space, a double closet and a much larger and more luxurious bathroom.
It was a quiet Saturday night; Rogue had spent most of the afternoon and evening sorting through items in her room, preparing for the move to Jean's room and it was coming close to eleven pm when Rogue had decided to finally give up for the night and go downstairs to grab a bottle of water before going to bed. She had been coming down the grand staircase in the foyer when she'd heard the Professor and Kitty arguing in the hallway around the corner of the stairs, and she'd stopped herself, lingering quietly midway, hand on the railing, listening.
" Please, Professor," Kitty was begging, "you can't just give up on him now, I know he's gonna get it together...he just needs a chance..."
"Kitty, we've given him so many chances...four times in four weeks now. The students are back – I cannot have them seeing Lance waltzing in staggering into walls and barely able to see straight...barely able to utter a single decipherable word..." the Professor replied, his voice sharp, full of frustration.
"It's not his fault..." Kitty tried.
"He made a decision while sober to take those pills – I don't have the power to control him twenty-four hours a day and neither do you."
Rogue gaped as she lingered on the stairs. He took pills? What pills? Where did he get pills?
"Look...I'll monitor him all I can," Kitty decided.
"This shouldn't be your responsibility..." the Professor sighed, "Kitty, he needs a proper rehabilitation centre, where he can be isolated from everything, and can take the time to work on himself. I'm more than willing to pay for a very good program in Colorado."
"Professor, he's been to rehab before...he told me! And it doesn't work."
"It won't work if he leaves after a week, which is precisely what he has done twice now under Magneto's care. This is the last chance I'm giving him, Kitty. I have tried, Hank has tried and Magneto has tried. It's now time we leave it up to him..."
Rogue heard the Professor's wheelchair moving towards his office, she lingered on the stairs out of sight, listening to their voices getting further away.
"So what, you're just sending him alone to Colorado?"
"He has the option to go now, and come back in a different mindset after having worked on his problems, or he has the choice to leave here, and not be part of the team. I've been willing to help him, but he is not willing to help himself."
"But Professor..."
"Enough," the Professor's voice was loud, slightly strained. "I will not have him around students in that condition – this is a school, I have to make my students the number one priority."
Rogue heard a door closing down the hall, it seemed they'd gone into the Professor's office to continue the argument. She sighed and began down the stairs.
Poor Kitty, Rogue thought as she started making her way down stairs again; the front door opened and Remy appeared there, stepping in, pulling his rain splattered trenchcoat off.
She hadn't seen him since Friday morning training, he'd seemed to have been busy since. In fact, for the past month he rarely ever was home. He certainly did his share of whatever work he'd been asked to do as being part of the team, he never missed training or a team meeting, but outside of those things, she rarely saw him. Some mornings, he could be briefly spotted swimming in the pool, but most nights he didn't even make it to dinner.
There'd been times in the past weeks she'd been tempted to ask where Remy was spending most of his evenings, but she was certain he'd be evasive, avoid giving answers and knowing him, most likely just tease her about her curiosity.
He always teases me, it's like he's tryin' to put me on the spot, wants to embarrass me in front of the team, she thought dully as she watched him hanging the coat on the rack by the door, he swept his wet hair away from his face, and he turned towards the stairs about to go up, spying her there.
"Rainin' cats an' dogs out," he said.
Small talk. The weather? Really? That's the best you can do? She thought scoffing internally.
"Least you have a trenchcoat," she responded, taking the steps down and stopping on the last step. If you're going to be pathetic and small talk me, then fine, Ah'll shoot it right back at you.
"It los' it's ability t' repel rain long ago. I keep meanin' t' get it re-proofed but I f'get. Been so busy lately," he shrugged.
"Yeah, Ah know. You're barely home."
She winced inwardly. She'd held her tongue and done her best to avoid complaining at him about his absence for the past month but somehow it'd slipped out. His eyes quickly lit up; she could see the amusement there building on his face.
"That bother y'?"
"No, of course not," she replied, it partially being honest. It didn't bother her that he was out. Whatever he did with his life, that was his choice. But it did bother her that she never really knew where he was...or if she'd be able to reach him should the time arise.
He approached and leaned on the newel post at the bottom of the staircase, "Y' look kin' o' mad."
"Ah'm not mad," she replied, "Ah just think it'd be helpful if occasionally you gave me a rough idea of when you're goin' out or when you'd be back is all."
"Why?" he raised an eyebrow at her.
"So Ah know how to find you, and whether you're gonna be useful if Ah need you."
"Oh, I'm always gon' be useful if y' need me," he teased.
"Ah mean if we need to go out on a mission," she folded her arms stubbornly, frowning at him. "You're no good to me if you come home stinkin' drunk or havin' smoked a fatty with whatever weirdos you hang out with."
"I don' hang out wit' any weirdos," he chuckled, he propped his elbow on the newel post and let his cheek rest on his fist. "An' I don' smoke that stuff."
"Where do you go most nights?" she dared to finally ask.
"Wherever I wan'."
Rogue eyed him, noting a slight trace of red upon his cheek, "Not alone, by the looks of it," she rolled her eyes.
"Hmm?"
"There's lipstick on your face."
"Is there?" he frowned, he left the newel post and moved to the large mirror above the console table and stared at himself, "oh...what y' know."
Rogue couldn't explain the immediate anger she felt.
"Got t' fin' some way t' amuse mysel' on those col' lonely nights," he supposed, he glanced at her reflection on the stairs at his back as he rubbed his cheek to remove the red lipstick. "Anyway, I'm surprised y' even noticed I wasn' here".
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Y' always so busy y'self, what wit' trainin' the kids an' workin' on team stuff," he kept rubbing at the lipstick.
"You don't tell the women you're screwin' around with about this place or anythin, do you?" Rogue asked concernedly.
He snorted, "what make y' think it's jus' women?"
"Isn't it?" she tried not to be shocked by this suggestion. She was certain he had no attraction to men, he'd never shown any interest in all the time he'd been there. The wedding party alone had been packed with good looking men, and his gaze had never swayed. Besides, she'd absorbed him before, she'd never gotten a sense of that remotely from him.
"Who knows. I'm not that discernin'."
"Are you messin' with me?" she asked.
He smirked, "Maybe. Why? Is it workin'?" he looked over his shoulder at her.
Rogue looked away from him, "please in future just give me some kind of heads up if you're gonna be out drinkin' or..." she drew a breath, "Or...sleepin' over at women's places...whatever..." she shook her head.
He came back across, "fine, in future I'll be a bit more forthcomin'," he raised an eyebrow at her. "Since it bother y' so much."
"It doesn't bother me."
"Y' sure?"
"Yes."
Remy took a moment, "I was at a poker game in a back bar room..." he chuckled and he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a rolled up wad of cash with a rubber band tightly wound about it.
Rogue stared at the money, there must have been several thousand dollars there. "Where'd the lipstick come from?"
"I ask the waitress f' a kiss f' luck," he shrugged, "s' all."
"Ah see," she lowered her eyes down to the floor, feeling foolish for letting her emotions show too much, for letting him wind her up like a tinkertoy yet again.
He turned the roll of money around in his fingers thoughtfully, "Wan' help me spen' this?"
"Huh?"
"We go out on the town t'morrow, I buy y' a nice dinner."
"What, like McDonalds?" she rolled her eyes, sure he was teasing her again. She decided to forfeit whatever she'd come down for, she couldn't even remember. She turned and started up the stairs again.
"If McDonalds is what y' wan', then yeah," he followed her. "I'll even pay f' the apple pie."
She kept walking, aware of him following; the tension in her back beginning to grow.
"Or I'll take y' t' that real fancy Michelin star place where they serve a hundred dollar foam on a plate."
"Hundred dollar foam?" she looked over her shoulder. "What are you talkin' about?"
"I don' know, I see it in a TikTok video," he shrugged. "It's in the city. Y' wan' a hundred dollar plate o' foam, I don' care."
"Ah'd care about anyone wantin' to lay down a hundred smackaroonies for a plate of foam."
"My lady can have wha'ever she wan', ma cherie. Price no object."
My lady? She scoffed inwardly.
"Right," she rolled her eyes again and kept walking.
He chuckled as he followed her down the hall towards her room. "Where y' like t' go on dates, chere?"
It stung her that she really didn't have an answer to give him. She sighed quietly and crossed her room. Why had he even followed her? Did he really want to torment her? Was he really this bored?
She went to pick up the cardboard box of junk she'd left on top of her bed. "Jean and Scott are comin' back tomorrow. Ah'll be movin' out of this room soon as Jean gets hers cleared out. Tabitha has dibs on this room, you can have hers, Ah guess..."
"I don' care about livin' arrangemen's, chere. I'm askin' y' where y' like t' go when y' on a date."
Rogue decided to change the subject again as she put the box by the wall, intent on discarding the stuff in the morning, "Ah heard Kitty and the Professor arguin' about Lance again, you know. That's the second time this week Ah've heard them at it. Professor is talkin' about sendin' Lance to a rehab somewhere in Colorado..." she opened her window a little to let the heat in the room out, frowning at how hard the thing still was to open although the summer was beginning to cool down a little.
"What kin' o' restaurants y' like? Italian? Spanish? Indian? Greek? Chinese? French? Plain ol' steakhouse?" he reeled off.
"If he doesn't do the rehab, he's blown all his chances here, you really should have a wor—oh..." she turned back towards him but found he'd stepped up silently towards her and she almost bumped into him. She moved back, almost banging into the window frame. "A word with him," she finished her sentence.
"I coul' fly y' all the way t' France f' some real cuisine," he said. "Y' got a passpor', don' y'?"
"Yes, but-" she stammered.
"Wha's the name on y' passport?" He asked, intrigued.
"You'll never know," she remarked, looking away.
"Aw, c'mon, chere. We coul' have a real good time."
"Will you jus' stop these stupid games?" she begged, growing frustrated with this conversation.
"I ain' playin' games. Tell me where y' wan' go, we'll go..."
"Ah don't know," she replied.
"Where y' like t' go on dates?" he asked again, looking at her expectantly.
"Ah don't go on dates, Remy."
His expression twisted a little, his head tilted, "Y' don't?"
"In case you forgot, my skin is kind of toxic to people," she hissed.
"Oh, c'mon," he sighed.
"What's the point in tryin' to date? Men don't want girls who can't put out – girls they can't even kiss. Surely someone like you can figure that out," she moved past him and went to her dressing table and sat down to start to remove her makeup.
"I don' believe that f' a minute."
"Believe what you like," she plucked a makeup wipe from the packet on the table and began wiping away at her eye makeup. He paced for a moment around her room as she worked at clearing her eyelids. He hadn't been in there since the day after the wedding and the thought of that only reminded her of the hurt about the boathouse.
Now that he was in there, she could only think of the ass she kept making of herself every time he was in here. She supposed this would be another one of those examples right now.
He moved up behind her, she glanced at his reflection as she lowered the dirtied up wipe, "t'morrow nigh'."
"Tomorrow night?" she asked. Was he still determined to keep up this charade?
"Seven pm. Be ready."
"Remy, Ah don't have time to-"
"Cyclops be back. Y' jus' said so. He be able t' take over comman' an y' can relinquish all that responsibility. It's your turn t' have a nigh' off..." he squeezed her shoulders, "Wear somethin' nice. Not leggin's an' a t-shirt. No hoodies, no sneakers. Proper grown up clothes..."
"But-" she looked at his reflection worriedly.
He leaned down and breathed near her ear, "Seven pm. Meet me in the foyer."
She watched as he left her and she rolled her eyes a little. She was certain he was definitely setting her up to be stood up.
When Scott and Jean arrived back home that next day, they looked so happy and relaxed. Jean had cut almost all of her beautiful red hair away into a chic and edgy bob. Rogue might have been glad to see all that gorgeous hair go, but the haircut only emphasised Jean's heart-shaped face and her bright green eyes. Everyone complimented her on how much more striking she looked and once again, Rogue felt despair and diminished.
In the rec room, Jean and Scott told stories about their trip and Rogue hung around sitting on the edge of the pool table pretending to be vaguely interested but feeling miserable. Scott looked deeply tanned and handsome, and far less grim than usual, he seemed so relaxed that his confidence levels almost were on par with Remy.
As the couple told a tale about scuba diving, Rogue glanced around the room absently, her eyes eventually happening on Remy who was leaning on the window sill, his eyes focused on outside, his expression in profile seemed slightly distant. It was clear to Rogue he had little to practically zero interest in listening to Scott and Jean talk about their honeymoon.
Ah don't either, Rogue supposed. But Ah have to be here because it's expected of me, because if Ah don't show some interest, people will think Ah'm takin' up bad attitudes again like when Ah was in my teens, she thought dully.
Rogue watched Remy's slight movements, the way he'd shift from foot to foot every now and then, the way his back curved as he leaned, and then the beautiful line of his spine showing through his black tanktop when he straightened. His arms were so incredibly tanned and well-formed and he liked to show them off. He was proud of his body, and he never failed to find opportunity to show off how great his physique was.
It was almost as if Remy sensed her gaze upon him; he slowly turned to where she was and looked at her over his shoulder. He licked his bottom lip slightly, then bit down on it, looking at her, weighing her with his eyes, there was a darkly intense and almost smouldering look playing around his eyes. She quickly looked away from him, her stomach flipping.
As the discussion about the honeymoon died down, Jean excused herself to go upstairs to her room and start packing up her items from there so she could move into Scott's room (the biggest and best room in the place if one didn't count the guest suite).
Rogue slid down from the pool table and was about to leave the room but Scott caught up with her.
"Hey."
"Oh, hey," she said.
"We've not had a chance to talk since the wedding."
"Ah have a phone, Scott. You could have called at any time," she pointed out, hating how bitter it sounded. She swallowed back some of the resentment and tried to recompose herself.
"You're mad at me," Scott realised as he followed her to the kitchen.
She decided to be partially honest, but shift the blame into something else, "what do you expect. You left and didn't even tell me Ah was going to be left as second-in-command. Who does somethin' like that?" she threw him a look before she entered the kitchen and moved to the fridge to find a can of soda.
"Everything was crazy. I kept meaning to, but so much was going on," Scott tried to explain, sounding guilty.
"You found time for Jean, Scott. You found time to take her for dinner two nights before the weddin'. You found time to take her out to buy her shoes for the 'moon. You found time to go luggage shoppin' and to a movie. You even found time to go for drinks with the boys. But you couldn't find five minutes to come and tell me you were going to unload your burden on to my back?"
"Is that how you think of the team? A burden?" Scott asked, sounding a little upset.
"No, but it was a burden all the same. Ah've never properly led before, and everyone questioned my authority. Ah had to make hard decisions and Ah wasn't prepared to."
"Everyone said you've been a fantastic leader..."
"Everyone?" Rogue asked, "when did they say that? You've been back all of two hours and we've all been in the same room since..." she took a can from the fridge and put it down on the counter, she went to find herself a glass.
"When I've called home..." he started.
Rogue stopped herself from opening the cabinet, feeling as if she'd been stabbed right in the heart. "You...called home before...?" she blinked. "You called the others..." she realised. "Just...not me."
"Rogue..." Scott sighed.
She shared a look with him, fighting the hurt of that. It was bad enough he'd chosen Jean over her, but he couldn't even attempt to maintain the friendship now that he was married? She'd been Jean's bridesmaid, if even Jean could try to maintain the friendship despite she had always known how Rogue had felt about him, why couldn't Scott?
"There y' are. Wondered where y' got t'..."
Rogue felt her stomach sinking at Remy's intrusion. She wouldn't even be able to confront Scott now. Not with Remy hanging around.
Remy approached and came up incredibly close to her, "Jus' wan' remin' y' about t'nigh'," he said enthusiastically, looking at her straight in the eyes.
"Tonight?" she asked, confused.
"Our date, ma cherie..." he put his arm around her waist and pulled her into him. The gesture confused her and she tried to recompose herself. She briefly turned to look at Scott and saw the immediate look of disapproval on his face. She was sure if she could see his eyes they'd have been squinting.
Scott's mad...he doesn't like Remy and never did. Use it, she quickly told herself.
"Y' haven't forgotten, have y'?" Remy asked.
"Ah didn't forget," she turned her attention back to Remy. Ah totally forgot, she confessed to herself. By the time she'd gotten into her bed the night before she'd been sure Remy probably would have forgotten about the date too. He'd made jokes about taking her out before, but nothing had ever come of it.
Remy smiled, his eyes twinkling with the kind of impish glee she'd expect a child to have. His hand squeezed her ass, which caught her completely by surprise. Her immediate instinct was to be offended, to smack him but she fought it. Remy's sudden familiarity she was certain was his taking an opportunity he normally didn't have. He'd have never gotten away with grabbing her ass like that any other time without being smacked hard, and she was sure he knew it, too. She wasn't about to smack him in front of Scott when she could use it instead.
"Ah can't wait," she decided to speak up, "Ah'm lookin' forward to that Michellin star meal..." she touched his chest tentatively, feeling so incredibly odd and awkward about it.
"I've made reservations. Got t' be there at leas' before eigh' ," he squeezed her ass again, and his mouth twitched with amusement. He knew what he was getting away with and he was going to take full advantage of it too.
Let him, it's pissin' off Scott and we both know it.
"Ah'll be ready," she said. She'd originally assumed the date would be forgotten, but since it was clear it was going to annoy Scott, she supposed she may as well take advantage of that meal.
"I can' wait," Remy reached up and brushed her hair from her face, his familiarity unnerved her a little and she had to fight herself from smacking his hand away instinctively.
Rogue heard Scott clearing his throat, he was standing with his arms folded, leading against the island counter.
"I got t' go, got some stuff t' do before the date," Remy said, his face close to hers; she tried to refrain from pushing him away irritably. He was going way too far, she decided. "I see y' later, ma cherie," he let go of her. "Until seven – meet me in the foyer, mind."
"Ah'll be there, Sugar," she promised. She watched Remy leaving the room, her eyes falling upon his perfect backside; it'd been inadvertent but she was certain that it would infuriate Scott all the more if she showed some interest.
"You and him?" Scott asked once he was sure Remy was out of earshot.
Rogue kept her eyes on the doorway for a bit longer, pretending to be almost wistful and distracted. "Hmm?"
"You and Gambit are going on a date ?" Scott asked, this time a little more forcefully.
She turned to look at Scott's grim face. He didn't seem that relaxed any more, and she felt almost smug about it. "He...asked me out last night," she admitted.
"And you're going?"
"Well...yeah," she gave a shrug, trying to maintain as blasé a demeanour as she could. "Why not?"
"He's a crook."
"So?" she asked, "everyone has their foibles," she supposed.
"He's a dick, Rogue.."
"Hardly," Rogue laughed as she got a glass for her soda.
"He'll hurt you."
"If he does, that's my issue," she took her glass and can of soda and headed for the door, "Ah'm not your problem, Scott. Never was."
Rogue stared at herself in the full length mirror on the inside of her closet door. She felt an uneasy fluttering jumping around her stomach at the sight of herself; she'd chosen to wear something she'd never usually wear; something she'd bought three years before and never even tried on.
The dress was a very delicate looking skin-hugging black lace number with a low cut v-neck collar; it was deceptively sheer due to a lining beneath that was skin-toned, and even on her very pale skin, it still almost looked like it was completely see through. She'd bought it the week before she'd turned eighteen, to be worn the moment when the Professor and Logan could no longer dictate how she dressed. The moment she could properly dress like a woman.
It had been foolish at the time to order the thing, it was nothing like the kind of style she liked, and she lacked the confidence to wear such things. Yet, in her head she'd had some kind of teenaged fantasy of wearing the dress to her eighteenth birthday party; she'd imagined that Scott wouldn't be able to take his eyes off of her, and that he'd be interested in her, and that it'd cause a falling out with Jean, or that it'd make him realise what he was missing. But that eighteenth birthday party had never really happened, a mission had interrupted the plans. She'd planned to wear it every birthday since but something always came up.
It's time it saw some action, she supposed, as she eyed herself. But she shook her head at it all the same, feeling it was definitely wrong. She'd never tried it on before, never realised just how obscene it was going to look.
The lace stretched and hugged her toned physique like it'd been painted on. She sighed and adjusted the bust a little trying to cover up her breasts as best she could but the V cut neckline still exposed a portion of them. Ah can't wear this out, what if they pop out? She thought anxiously as she moved her arms a little and examined how much cleavage it gave her. The cut of the collar was literally a few inches above her naval. This was the kind of dress she couldn't wear a bra with and she felt very self-conscious about that. She'd tried one of those stick on bras but it'd shown and made the front of the dress sit oddly, and really didn't do anything to hide the fact her breasts were still on show and so she'd tossed it aside and decided to forgo it.
Her eyes caught the clock, she had seven minutes to change if she was going to.
What else could Ah wear? She eyed her closet quickly, lace tops and silky camisoles hung from the rail. A simple pinafore dress that looked good with platform Mary Jane shoes.
No...they're not good date wear, she thought as she ran her fingers along the items on the rail. There was nothing that was remotely provocative or that attractive other than the bridesmaids dress and corset, which still hung within. The thing needed dry cleaning. Every time she looked at both the dress and corset, all she could think of was how she'd made a complete fool of herself in front of Remy.
And yet...he had still asked her out nonetheless.
Wear it, she turned to the side and examined herself again. She wished she had Jean's body, Jean's larger more rounded breasts, her bigger hips and backside. As it was, she was slim, toned and her breasts were slightly firmer, more pointed than round.
Her eyes were dusted with purples and greys, the look was smoky but less gothic than she usually aimed for. Her hair was loose, she'd curled it just a little. She hoped she looked good enough. Hoped she looked sultry enough. Hoped she looked just enough of something to make Scott feel somewhat jealous.
She picked up her phone and quickly snapped a mirror selfie and examined the photo of herself. She looked reasonably attractive in her own opinion. Almost convincingly confident, too. With her stomach jittering with nerves, she posted the thing to Facebook setting it so only that close friends could see; at least she'd always have the option to delete it later. She knew without a doubt, Scott would see that photo. She hoped it'd infuriate him that she'd go out like that with a cad like Gambit.
No...Ah don't want the others seein' me like that, she decided, immediately deleting the photo, shaking her head at herself, feeling like an idiot for having posted it at all. She hoped no one had looked at the damn photo yet.
She picked a black velvet wrap from the closet and hung it over her arm so she'd at least have something to cover herself up with once they got out of the mansion. She wasn't sure she wanted to wear something like this around Remy, even if he had seen her almost completely nude before when she'd been very drunk.
She slipped on a pair of plain black stilettos and picked up a small black satin clutch bag.
Hope Tabitha won't mind me borrowin' these while she's visitin' Sam, Rogue thought as she put her items in the clutch - it only fit her phone, a lipstick and an extra pair of gloves. She hadn't wanted to call Tabitha and ask to borrow the items, knowing Tabitha would ask why she was borrowing them. She didn't feel much like having to explain she was going on a date with Remy. She didn't want any assumptions being made.
After telling herself she looked fine, she left her room and for a moment, hovered in the hallway outside, considering going back, changing into pants and a simple top. Ah can't go out like this. Ah can't do this.
Her stomach flipped.
Come on, Rogue. Your bikinis show more skin than this. This is nothin'. This is fine.
She took a deep breath and pressed a nervous hand against her fluttering stomach. Cancel. Text Remy, say you're cancellin'. Lie and say you have cramps. He won't question cramps.
Fighting her anxiety as desperately as she could, she forced herself to go down the hall, down the side stairs and turned to go down the foyer's grand staircase.
She hadn't really expected Scott to be in the foyer right then; she was certain he and Jean would have been clearing out her bedroom to move into his. As it was, there he was in the foyer talking with Logan.
No...not Logan. Why did he have to be there? She thought, feeling slightly humiliated at the thought of Logan seeing so much of her breasts and so much of her legs.
The two men were talking about something, Logan talking in his usual grunts and growls, Scott's voice low and respectful. Logan must have caught the scent of her Chanel perfume, because he turned to look up the stairs, and then, so did Scott. She hadn't even had time to pull the wrap over herself to hide the low cut front of the dress and she fought the urge to cringe.
As she descended slowly down the stairs in her heels, Logan's eyes darkened; she could read the complete dismay in his face right away at what she was wearing. "You're not goin' out like that," he immediately disapproved.
"Yeah, why?" she asked, trying to feign curiosity and innocence. She felt her cheeks growing red hot with embarrassment and hoped it wasn't showing through her makeup.
"It's obscene," Logan remarked. Logan was a lot of things, but he'd never liked the provocative way women dressed, especially when they were women he knew and even more so when they were his students. He definitely looked deeply uncomfortable, his eyes averted from her, his expression growing angrier and angrier. She wondered if it were his age, his morals harkening back to a slightly different time when women were a little more...respectable.
"What's wrong with it?" she feigned innocence, trying to maintain some level of confidence. There was no going back now.
"I can see your...look, just go change," Logan commanded, gesturing up the stairs, his eyes wild.
"Kim Kardashian wears dresses like this," Rogue commented as she got to the bottom of the stairs. "This is the style now..." she pointed out.
"You hate the Kardashians," Scott muttered.
He's not lyin', she supposed.
"The Kardashians are TV prostitutes," Logan decided. Rogue thought this a little judgemental but she supposed she couldn't blame him.
"Over-exaggeratin' a little," Rogue rolled her eyes and she laughed inwardly.
"Go up and change. Gumbo can wait," Logan urged.
"Ah don't have time for that. We have a reservation at somewhere really exclusive," Rogue pointed out, "Where is he anyway?"
"Outside, smoking. Where else?" Scott muttered.
"Since when are you and him a thing anyway?" Logan asked. Rogue was more than aware Logan had seen her rejecting every flirtatious comment Remy had thrown her way for the past month. She'd never given Remy any proper attention since the wedding; she could definitely understand why this would surprise him.
He sees through this, Rogue thought dully. She was about to make up an answer, but before she could, the front door opened and Remy stepped in. He seemed to be taken aback by the sight of her. She'd expected Scott to be taken aback, but not someone like Remy. He was used to women looking this way, she was sure.
"Mon dieu..." he said under his breath as he looked at her. Rogue took a moment to observe him in his grey suit, his pressed shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He looked dapper but far less uncomfortable than he had at the wedding.
Rogue tried to compose herself, straightening her back, making sure her breasts stood out, tried to find her confidence and poise as she held her arms out, "is this acceptable enough?" she asked.
"Acceptable?" he breathed, "I feel like all my chris'masses an' birt'days jus' came at once..." Remy eyed her up and down, his mouth was hanging open; for a moment he seemed to want to say something but stopped himself and he straightened his posture, "Y' ready t' go?"
"Yeah..." she said, she pulled her wrap around her shoulders. "Ah'm ready."
"Then lets go, shall we?"
"Be respectful," Logan warned him.
"Yes, Daddy," Remy mocked as he took Rogue by the elbow and led her to the door and outside.
"Whose car is that?" Rogue asked, eyeing the black Mercedes out front.
"Mine..." he said, "f' t' night, anyway. I rented it," he grinned as he moved to the passengers side door and opened it for her.
Rogue looked at him, "We could have just borrowed the van..." she pointed out.
"An' have y' goin' t' a date in a van wit' that dress?" he asked with a chuckle.
She felt herself smirking just a little, "you didn't need to put in all this effort..."
"Y' deserve the bes'. Besides, where we're goin'...it's a place rich people dine, an' the people who dine there don' roll up in an adapted black Ford transit van."
"It's not a Ford transit, it's a Beamer," she said.
"Even so," he held her car door open for her. "We're playin' the part t'night..." he explained, he eyed her, "you...definitely are..." his eyes fell upon her body and she adjusted her wrap a little around her shoulders and chest.
She got into the car and he shut the door behind her. She drew a breath watching as he walked around the car to get to the drivers side, her heart was hammering so hard she was sure her unsupported breasts were probably jiggling like jello fresh out of a mould. He hovered for a minute outside the car, as if he were thinking, his expression momentarily distant. He came to the car, got into the drivers seat, and pulled his belt on, "seatbelts."
"So..." she said as she pulled her seatbelt on, glancing towards him uneasily, "where is this place?"
"In the city. Very exclusive."
"If it's so exclusive, how did you get reservations?" she asked, gazing out of the side window, she adjusted her wrap a little more over herself. She wished she hadn't worn this damn dress at all now. Remy's reaction should have made her feel confident and beautiful but instead, she only felt foolish and anxious.
"That's my business. Your business is enjoyin' y'self an' samplin' their very special menu."
"Is it really expensive?" she asked. She supposed it was a very stupid question. If a place was exclusive and had Michellin stars, she supposed it was going to be extravagant.
"Don' matter. I'm payin'. Wit' my winnin's," he pulled the car onto the main road. "So...this the firs' time we've really been alone."
"We've been alone before," she pointed out.
"Not completely," his hand was resting comfortably on the top of the wheel. "Always someone near. We either on a mission, or on the Xavier grounds. Never completely by ourselves wit' intent."
"We were alone the day before the weddin' – when you went to rent the tux."
"That don' count."
"How doesn't it count? We were alone."
"We were runnin' errands an' we split when we got t' town. We was only t'gether in the van. It's not the same..."
"Why not?"
"'Cause you weren' dressed like that."
"What's wrong with it?" she asked disdainfully, she tried to swallow the nerves she felt rising in her throat.
"I jus'..." he sighed, "nothin' usually surprises me..." he turned to look at her as he stopped the car at a light. "But you lookin' like that...that did."
"What's wrong with it?" she asked.
"Nothin'...it's fine."
"It's clearly not," she mumbled.
"It's jus'..." he frowned a little, "it's obviously f' him, not f' me."
"Huh?"
"Jus' be straigh'. Y' only here t' night t' piss Cyclops off. Y' playin' games."
"Ah'm not..." she tried. "And Ah'm not the one here that's playin' games," she reminded pointedly.
He sighed, "okay, I admit it...in the kitchen this afternoon...yeah, I played a game. Knew how y' fel' about him...I knew y' woul' hop on any opportunity jus' t' make him a lil' jealous..." he snorted. "T' be hone's, I was sure it was the only way y' were gon' actually show up t'nigh' if I brough' it up in fron' o' him."
Rogue let her elbow rest on the door of the car and she propped her cheek up on her gloved hand, "Why do you even want me out on a date? There's nothin' in it for you."
"Does there got t' be?" he asked.
"Well, yeah, or what's the point?" she sighed.
"Well, there is," he said.
"Like?"
He grunted, clearly growing agitated with the conversation. "Chere, can we jus' stop arguin'? We circlin' roun' each other like a couple o' boxers waitin' for opportunity t' throw a punch...this ain' what I had in min' f' t'nigh'."
"Then what did you have in mind?" she dared to ask. "Come on, swamp rat...what's in this for you?"
"The pleasure o' y' company," he turned and glanced towards her. "I never expected anythin' beyon' that."
"Right."
Dinner had been more extravagant than she had actually even imagined it would be. Courses upon courses of tiny morsels, the most amazing flavours and several glasses of the most incredible wine she'd ever tasted. Remy barely had half a glass, wanting to remain the designated driver although she'd been more than willing to get a cab back if he'd wished so he could indulge.
He was an interesting conversationalist. Despite he was only twenty-four years old, he'd travelled extensively during his young life, and he had so many interesting and captivating tales of adventure. They talked for hours about their lives; the first half hour, things had felt awkward and tense (especially after the discussion in the car), but the more they'd talked, the more all of Rogue's insecurities she always felt around Remy started to melt away with each new tale he told.
Or maybe it was the very expensive wine.
Remy tried to coax her to talk and she made half-hearted attempts but she learned rather quickly that the best way to keep the conversation flowing comfortably was to speak less and let him do most of the talking. She'd only spent time with him briefly when they were teens – she only vaguely remembered how funny and charming he'd been. He'd since really honed those two things and listening to him talking and joking, she now realised just why he was so good with women.
He's jus' an interestin' person, a little...mysterious too, she supposed. Throughout all his stories and tales of adventure, she'd noted there were very few personal things he revealed about himself, and somehow, it intrigued her more about him.
After dinner, Rogue didn't quite see what the bill had been, but she'd definitely seen a four figure number, she just hadn't been able to tell exactly what the four figures were. How can anyone pay that much for food? That much would pay for food for a few days for the school, she thought as she watched Remy paying by a credit card.
"Why you payin' by card when you have all that cold hard cash from that poker game?" Rogue asked when the waiter left to get Remy a receipt.
"Y' don' pay cash in a place like this, cherie," he explained, "it's uncouth."
"Ah suppose places with no prices on the menu don't really have a place for people who have to count dollar bills out," she finished her last glass of wine. She felt a little giddy but nowhere near as drunk as she had at the wedding. "How much did it cost?" she asked, keeping her voice low so the other (obviously very wealthy) diners didn't hear.
"Don' you worry y' self about that. I ain' hurtin' f' money, an' you deserve t' be wined an' dined in style, chere."
"Ah'm not so sure about that," she admitted, she straightened her back a little as the waiter returned with the receipt, he placed it down on the table on a small plate and Remy quickly grabbed it before Rogue could even attempt to look at it.
"Mon ami," Remy said to the waiter, beckoning him closer.
The waiter leaned down a little to hear Remy saying something under his breath and Rogue gazed over the table, watching Remy slyly hand the man what looked like quite a generous tip in cash. She saw the young waiter trying to remain stoic, trying to refrain from immediately checking what had been pushed into his hand.
The waiter left and Remy stood, pushing his chair in. "Shall we, ma cherie?" he moved around to pull her chair out for her.
"That was nice of you," she said, "how much did you give him?" she queried quietly under her breath.
"Y' always so concerned about money?" he asked.
"Just curious..." she tightened her shawl around herself so her breasts weren't on display. She'd been constantly checking all night to make sure they weren't and she had to admit, Remy had been fairly controlled in not checking for the same thing despite she'd somehow expected him to. He'd been...admittedly respectful more than she'd actually imagined he would be. They left the restaurant together, looking past the awning with all it's fairy lights and vines to gaze across the parking lot. It had started to rain.
"Weather sure turned," he said.
"You're gonna weather-talk me now?" she asked, clutching her purse.
"Hey, I gave y' at leas' two hours o' sparklin' conversation. I had t' run dry sooner or later," he chuckled, the lights of the awning reflected in the sunglasses he was wearing to hide his mutant eyes.
Rogue gave a soft laugh and they left the awning together, crossing and turning the corner to where the parking lot was at the side of the restaurant building. Just as they'd turned, and Remy had stepped a little ahead of her to hit the sensor button on the car's key and so he could go open the car door for her, Rogue felt something cold hit her neck.
"Don't fucking move."
Standing still, she turned her eyes as much as she could to try and see who was there; all she could see was mostly shadow, and the cold thing against her neck felt like a gun. She'd had enough guns pointed at her and slammed into her through the past few years, she knew that feeling well.
"Money and the car keys...now, or I'm gonna pop this bitch."
We're bein' robbed, Rogue thought in disbelief. This is why I never come to the city any more. Her eyes swung towards Remy who had his hand on the passengers side door of the car.
"Y' really don' wan' do that, mon ami."
"Money, now!" the unknown male snapped, Rogue felt the freezing metal thing push harder into the side of her neck; she was capable of taking him down, she knew that, but she also didn't know if this gun was loaded or not, and if it was loaded, she didn't know if the safety was off, or if he had an itchy trigger finger that would pull if she tried any of the number of manoeuvres Logan had taught her in self-defence classes when she'd been sixteen.
Even Logan would say Ah should play it cool, stay still, she told herself. Logan would tell me not to make a stupid decision when a gun is involved. Ah'm not so sure about Remy though...
Remy's expression told her everything she needed to know; she knew him just enough to recognise when he was playing a stoic game. He leaned on the car, looking at them both and Rogue might have mistaken his behaviour for genuine apathy but she knew he must have had a card up his sleeve. She looked at him, wishing she could read him properly to predict what he was going to do.
"Money and keys, now!" the robber yelled. Rogue heard a click, she had to admit her stomach flipped and she felt a lump in her throat as she realised the safety had just come off on the gun. "Tell your boyfriend to do as he's told."
She was tempted to retort with He's not my boyfriend, but she just swallowed the nerves; she felt the guy's left arm tighten around her body, push her wrap aside and his hand groped her breast just over the delicate lace of her dress. If his fingers had grazed her skin, he'd have dropped like a ton of bricks but she realised it might also cause him to pull the trigger and she closed her eyes tightly for a moment hoping to god he wouldn't push his lucky any further. When she opened her eyes again, Rogue saw the expression on Remy changing, his cheek was twitching.
"Tell him...or I'll do worse..." the guy warned her, his voice angry and cold.
"Leave her alone..." Remy said; the tone of his voice had changed and he sounded almost...upset, he opened the passengers side door and tossed the keys to the car in, "there y' go...take the car, just...jus' let her go..." he stepped back from the car, holding his hands up.
He's not surrenderin', Rogue told herself as she felt the cold metal leave her neck and saw the guy running for the car. He was dressed in all black, a balaclava covering his head.
Rogue supposed it shouldn't have surprised her that Remy had brought his quarter-staff to a restaurant. She saw the flash of the silver of the telescopic staff extending in the floodlight above the parking lot. It spun with deadly speed in Remy's expert hand and she heard the five clunks it made as it hit the guy in the knee, the shoulder, the back, the ankle and the head. Remy spun it around and then brought it down on the guys wrist and Rogue heard a definite cracking sound as it impacted and his cry almost split her ears, the gun clattered on the cement.
Remy grabbed the guy's injured wrist with his right hand, and twisted it behind his back, used the staff by wedging it between the guys legs somewhat hooking it against the guy's left shin and pressed it into his back using his left hand to control him; he swung him towards the side wall of the restaurant and pinned him there like that.
"Pieces o' shit like you don' deserve t' breathe the same air as people like her," Remy spat near the guy's ear.
The guy howled in agony as Remy twisted his injured wrist – it was clear to her the impact of the staff must have broken a bone, or at the very least fractured it. "Fuuuuuck!" the guy screamed.
Remy slammed the guy's head against the wall and Rogue let out a little cry of shock at the violence of it; she watched the guy crumple to the ground like he was a sack of cement. Remy hovered for a moment, eyes pointed down at the guy, he circled him a little, pushing him at the shoulder and arm with his staff to check for movement.
Rogue hugged herself, swallowing the lump of stress that had started to gather hard in her throat. "Is he dead?"
"No. Jus' out f' the coun'," Remy bent down to pick up the gun using the handkerchief that had been in his breast pocket, he opened the chamber and checked it, even from where Rogue stood, she could see the thing was loaded. "He's gon' wish he was when he wakes up," he said angrily and he swung the chamber of the revolver back placed the gun back down beside the guy's hand and he headed for the car, "c'mon."
"You're just leavin' him like that?" Rogue gaped.
"Come on," he said, this time more forcefully, he gestured to the open door of the passengers side.
Rogue got into the car and Remy shut the door after her, got in at the drivers side and started it, pulling away from the parking lot rather quickly, he took his phone from his pocket, and started dialling while driving.
"Remy, you're not supposed to make phone calls and drive, it's against the law."
"Yeah, so is holdin' two people up at gunpoin'," he said. He raised the phone to his ear and Rogue listened as he made an anonymous call to the police to say he'd just seen a violent fight in the parking lot of the restaurant, and that a man with a gun was lying unconscious right there on the ground.
She swallowed hard, "they're gonna check the security, you know..." she admitted once he'd hung up his phone.
"I know..." he said.
"They'll know it's us. Jesus, Remy, you used a credit card. You're usin' a rented car..."
"I know," he said.
"Are you tryin' to get arrested?" she demanded.
"Credit card is un'er an alias. All they fin' if they try t' link it t' the address its listed under is an empty apar'men' in Manhattan."
"What if they trace the car?"
"Don' worry. I'll cover it," he muttered, his brow furrowing, "did he hurt you?"
"No."
Remy let out an odd shudder, "I saw what he did," He uttered in disdain.
"It's fine," she muttered.
"No it isn't fuckin' fine," Remy slammed the steering wheel, he turned to glance at her briefly, "it's so not fuckin' fine. How many women he did that t', before, chere? What coul' he have done? If y' had been alone, if I not there...what woul' happen?"
Rogue stared ahead at the windscreen, it was starting to rain heavily. "Ah suppose he'd have gone down like a sack of potatoes if he touched my skin properly..."
"It ain' funny."
"It wasn't supposed to be."
"He could have-"
"Not with me he couldn't," she reminded, "And he didn't...and it's fine. Just a stupid asshole robber who didn't know who he was dealin' with."
Remy had floored the car a little and cut off an Audi; Rogue heard the sound of the horn breach the night and the skidding of wheels as it swerved to avoid them.
"Calm down," she told him, turning to look at him. She could see the tension all over his face; his sunglasses had been discarded; he almost ran a red light but slammed the brakes in time, the glasses which had been on the dash fell with a clattering sound onto the spot between her feet.
"Sorry," he managed after a moment, his voice was slightly thick.
"You weren't even the one in danger," she reminded.
"If it were me, I woul'n' have cared," he retorted, "I woul' have gotten control o' that situation fast. You jus' stood there an' let him grab you like that."
"Logan taught me to never make a sudden move when someone has a gun...especially not in the city. Doesn't matter how fast you are, how clever you are or how strong you think you are...you're never faster than a bullet. Assess the situation before you make the move..." she drew a breath.
"An' what y' assess when y' jus' stood there an' let him grab y' fuckin' breast like that?" Remy asked furiously.
Rogue swallowed the lump growing in her throat, she examined him, "Ah assessed that Ah could trust you to get me out of it..."
His eyes were on the light, waiting for amber, his mouth was twitching, he didn't seem to know what to say.
"Ah knew you wouldn't let him hurt me."
"But he did."
"Ah came out without a scratch."
"He touched you..."
"Ah'm fine," she promised. It honestly hadn't bothered her, it'd been barely a brief grope, a squeeze that hadn't remotely frightened her. She wondered if she'd been a regular human woman, whether that same grope would bother her the same way. "It's not the first time Ah've been groped by some creep before and Ah'm sure it won't be the last," she huffed. In high school, she'd been groped a few times by football players...they'd received a punch in the face in retaliation. After that, the guys in school had learned to leave her alone.
The light changed to amber, then green and he moved the car through the traffic, this time not flooring it quite as much. He was silent, his mouth and face still twitching slightly; it was clear to her that what had happened bothered him more than it bothered her. Was it that he'd been caught off guard by a robber, that he hadn't been prepared for it? Was it that she'd just stood there and done absolutely nothing? Or was it that the guy had touched her like that with him standing there watching?
"Hey..." she said, "it's okay...just a stupid bit of excitement on an otherwise normal night. For us, that's pretty decent..." she forced a smile, forced herself to sound upbeat for his benefit.
His brows were still furrowed, his lips pursed, cheek still twitching. It was clear he wanted to say something, clear he wanted to vent but was holding back because he knew she didn't want him to keep going over it.
Deciding to give in a little and play the maiden, as his hand was poised on the gear stick of the car, she reached down and placed her gloved hand on his. He took a moment, and as he slowed at the next stop light, he turned and looked at her, his expression softening a little. She tried to convey with a single look that she was fine, that it really didn't bother her. In fact, what had bothered her more about the whole incident was more the way he'd hurt the guy's arm and knocked him out rather than the fact she'd been mildly touched up a little.
He gave something of a sigh of what seemed to be some kind of defeat, and he stared ahead at the traffic, "sorry, chere...I try not t' let it get t' me."
"It's fine," she said, "Listen...there's a Starbucks drive through about half a mile from here...Ah could really go for a hot chocolate."
Remy thought about this for a moment and he gave a small nod, and without saying anything else, he took her directions and they went through the Starbucks drive through and ordered two large indulgent hot chocolates. Rogue held the two very hot cups in the holder on her lap as Remy drove for a little bit trying to find somewhere quiet to park where they could enjoy them. There was a spot on the road halfway to the estate that had a good view of the other side of the lake, and Remy chose that spot. The rain was hammering down on the car by that point, and the windscreen wipers worked hard to try and keep the glass clear for their view but it was an exercise in futility.
She passed him his hot chocolate cup and he pulled the lid off, gazing down into it, his expression a little dark.
Rogue took a sip of her hot chocolate through the small drinking hole instead of removing the lid, her eyes watching the windscreen wipers waving back and forth, water flying from the screen, more pelting at the glass like tiny diamonds, glimmering orange in the street lights nearby.
"I'm sorry I ruined the night, chere," he admitted, he raised the drink to his lips and took a sip, he gave a deep and unhappy sigh.
"It's not your fault."
"I mus' have walked righ' by the guy an' not clocked him, chere...he mus' have been standin' in that recess in the wall an'...I didn' see it. I was so...wrapped up in t' nigh' I let my guard down an'-"
"And it's fine to let your guard down. We're not X-Men tonight, sugar," she reminded. She gazed over at him, turning in her seat a little, "we have to let our guards down some time or we'd never sleep...never enjoy ourselves, never have a single moment's peace..."
He stared down into his drink. "I jus' wanted y' t' have a good time, that's all. But this – it jus'...it fucked everythin' up."
"Hey, Ah'm more than used to random attacks. Ah'm a mutant after all," she teased, but her smile faded when she realised how serious he was. He'd been joking and confident and mysterious for the past month; she'd never gotten a proper feel for him.
But right then, right there in the car, as he sat looking at her with whipped cream on his top lip, there was a different look in his eyes, something she'd never seen before. She'd always heard that eyes were to the windows to the soul but every time she'd looked at Remy LeBeau, it'd been like looking through dirty stained glass...she'd only been able to ever see surface patterns, never really see what was properly beyond them. And now...as she looked at him, for a split second, looking into his eyes she almost felt like she were staring through crystal clear glass and right into him.
He wasn't lying. He had let his guard down, for the first time since she'd properly known him, she could really see into him, really see the person there, the person that was more than just the confidence and the jokes and the showboating.
She reached over and with the tips of her leather clad fingers, she brushed away the whipped cream from his mouth, her index finger brushed his bottom lip and he kissed it lightly and she chewed the inside of her cheek, looking at him, feeling the intensity and intimacy of the moment in ways she'd never expected.
Shyly, she looked away from him, dropping her eyes to the top of her cup, not really knowing how to handle the situation.
"Do we tell the Professor?" she asked, trying to break the tension of the moment, "Ah mean...we...did run into a fight so..." she trailed off. She raised the cup to her lips and took a sip of the sweet creamy liquid, she stared off into space.
"I don' think we need t'," Remy grunted, "I'll handle it, make sure it don' get out. Police ain' gon' be that set on puttin' it under investigation t'nigh'. They'll check him over an' then get him int' custody f' the gun. Waste o' their time anyway."
"What if they try to trace you with the car?"
"Fake ID. Linked t' the same empty apartmen' in Manhattan."
"What about GPS?" she asked, "Surely they have GPS trackin' – and the car was at the mansion...and we're gonna have to take it back there."
"I'll make sure they 'lose' that info," he decided, he took a large drink from the hot chocolate, "this is shitty hot chocolate by the way. I can make way better."
"Sure you can," she scoffed, she sipped her drink, staring at the rain on the windscreen.
"Get me some full fat milk an' some real Belgian dark chocolate an' whip cream...some vanilla pods, nutmeg an' cinnamon. I make y' the mos' divine an' decaden' hot chocolate y' ever had..."
Rogue turned and looked at him, seeing a little of him returning. "Maybe you can make it at Christmas. That's if you'll still be slummin' it with us, by then."
"Oh, I'll be here," he assured, he put his half cup of hot chocolate in the cupholder on his door. "Migh' as well check righ' now, see what y' wan' for Chris'mas...in case it's somethin' I got t' save up for..." he leaned on the door and looked at her, his eyes were soft.
"Ah don't want anythin'," she shrugged, she sipped her drink again. Now that he'd told her thought the hot chocolate wasn't that nice, she couldn't help but notice he was right. She wasn't enjoying it remotely. But she supposed it was something to fill her silences with.
"Y' like Tiffany?" he asked. "I get y' somethin' from Tiffany...somethin' wit' diamonds."
"Do Ah seem like the kind of girl who wears Tiffany jewellery?" she laughed at him, she took one last sip from the cup and she put it in the cupholder on her side.
"Well...no..." he supposed, he eyed her, drinking her in more than he had his hot chocolate, "but then...y' didn' seem like the kin' o' girl who wears a dress like that either...an'...there y' are. Jus' when I think I know who y' are...y' surprise me a lil'."
"Oh hush," she rolled her eyes at him.
"I s'ppose I better get y' home...I know y' doin' a trainin' session early in the mornin'...y' gon' need y' sleep."
"There aren't enough hours in the night," she chuckled.
They listened to the radio on the way home; Remy had chosen some 1980's station and songs by Foreigner, INXS and Whitesnake were drifting from the speakers. As he drove, she watched him, he seemed slightly more relaxed, his posture had changed, his expression was softer. She felt almost relieved.
"Home swee' home," he broke their comfortable silence finally as he drove the rented Mercedes through the gates of the mansion's grounds.
Rogue turned to examine him, the lights sporadically lining the drive cut beams of light and shadow over his handsome face as the car journeyed up. "You say that like you actually think it's home."
"Gettin' there," he supposed. His expression clouded for a moment. "Like y' said t' me the nigh' o' the weddin', chere. It's not this place...it's..."
"The people," they said in unison.
Rogue gave a surprised but silent laugh and she looked down the drive.
He parked the car out front, and switched the engine off. "Well?"
"Well?" she asked, confused.
"How was it f' a firs' date?" he asked, he unbuckled his seat.
She smiled a little, "it was...okay."
"Jus' okay?" he raised an eyebrow at her.
She unbuckled her belt and opened the car door and got out. He followed suit.
"Jus' okay?" he asked again.
"A little...expensive for my tastes," she supposed as she headed up the steps, clutching her purse. She heard him follow at her back.
"Well if you'd picked, we'd be burnin' our mouths on McDonal's apple pie..." he pointed out, she felt him poke her back playfully.
"Nothin' wrong with McDonalds," she rolled her eyes at him but smirked as she opened the door and stepped through, she felt him touching the small of her back still as they entered together. The foyer was quiet and the lights had been dimmed for the night. It wasn't excessively late, perhaps only eleven pm. But by now, she realised, everyone would probably be in their rooms for the night.
"Maybe nex' time I let you pick, see where it takes us."
"After all that, you would even actually want to go out again?" she asked in surprise as she stepped out of her borrowed stilettos and picked them up and began padding up the carpeted stairs in her stockinged feet.
"Feel like I barely scratch the surface wit' you," he admitted, keeping up with her.
"How'd you mean?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him.
"I followed y' f' a while back in the day, got a sense o' who y' might be...but I never really feel like I truly figure out who y' really are..."
She got to the top of the grand staircase and turned to go up the side staircase to her room, he continued to follow.
"Kin' o' wan' know..." he continued up with her and followed her down the hall to her room.
"You'd be disappointed," she admitted as she opened her door and made her way in, she tossed her stilettos into the pile of unsorted shoes in her closet. "Ah'm really not all that interestin'..."
"An' yet..." he entered her room and closed the door behind himself, "I'm definitely interested all the same."
"Interested in what exactly?" she glanced at her reflection in the full length mirror on her closet door, she noted a little hot chocolate at the corners of her mouth and she wiped it away with her gloved fingers.
"Everythin'..." he said, he moved behind her, examining her reflection himself. "I wan' know who y' are..."
"This is it," she shrugged.
"There's lot's more t' you than meets the eye, ma cherie," he put his hands on her shoulders and moved the wrap from her body, it slid from the front of her where it'd been concealing the revealing cut of her dress all night. "Ja veux tout savoir."
She saw him admiring her from the reflection, his eyes following the shape of her body, of her hips, her legs, her breasts, her throat. It surprised her that just briefly, she saw the lust in his eyes, it surprised her he could have that for someone like her. And then his expression was clouded, his right hand fingers slid down her back and brushed her waist then slid around to her stomach, sitting there with such a light touch.
He brushed the hair from her ear with his left fingers, so delicate, so careful to not touch her skin and he murmured, "J'ai envie d'être avec toi, ma cherie."
She wasn't sure what he'd said in French, but he had a knack for making everything sound seductive and romantic. It made her ache in ways she hadn't expected it to. It was no surprise to her he was always so good with women; he could sell anything to a woman with that kind of a tone.
"Et je vais attendre..." he said, his expression almost decisive as he let go of her.
"Remy?" she asked, watching as he backed away and headed towards the door, "Wait..."
He stopped there and looked at her.
"Thanks...for...a really nice evenin'."
"De rien..."
Her stomach quivered, her groin throbbed, she drew a breath, "don't...go yet."
"Think I better, chere," he turned his eyes away from her, "it's...gettin' late."
She walked over to him slowly, "Not that late."
"Certaines choses valent la peine d'attendre," he gave the faintest of smiles and his eyes twinkled a little as he opened the door, "see y' in the mornin'."
End of Part 5
Notes: Yes, I used google translate for the French, it's all I have at this stage.
