Demon In My View
Chapter Eight: Close Quarters
by
Libby Edwards
Disclaimer: Property of Marvel Comics. I do not own them. I sure-as-hell wish I did.
Author's note: I originally posted the first two chapters of another X-Men story of the same name on ff.net, as well as on a personal page I had created. After the second chapter, and despite some very nice reviews (thank you, those that gave me feedback!), I decided that I really wasn't happy with where the original story was going, although I was excited about the basic premise (which unfortunately was not made very clear in the initial posting). I took some time off, rethought my idea, and this story you are now reading is the result of that retooling process.
While I have tried to stick as close to canon as possible, I am a firm believer that canon is there to be a support, and not a stranglehold, so if there are a few departures from canon here and there it is because I truly did not feel that those elements were necessary. Also, as in all my Logan-centric stories, Wolverine is tall, because I don't like a short Wolverine. Call it artistic license, if you like. :)
Enjoy!
Remy stood on the edge of the Imperial Hotel's roof, the toes of his sneakers protruding just over the side of the bricks as he stretched happily and looked down at Manhattan sprawled beneath his feet. It was shortly after sunrise, and he was alone on the rooftop, the Blackbird brooding behind him as Remy faced the sun and grinned.
Damn. What a fine-ass day.
"Top of de world, Ma," he said under his breath, then he laughed aloud. He popped his fingers absently and strolled along the roof's edge without a thought, the brick dust gritting beneath his shoes as he looked down at all the life of the newly-woken city, still lost in the shadow of the buildings while he stood with his face in the sun like a cocky young god.
He loved cities. All cities...he loved their life, their noise, their smells. He loved the fact that at any given moment a thousand stories were being played out right beneath his feet, and the very fact that he was aware of them made him part of those stories as well.
Still, there was only one city that welcomed him into those stories. Remy ran a hand through his hair and turned his grin to the south, the sun throwing half his face into shadow as his thoughts turned toward the city of his birth. Lady New Orleans...now that was a city. The hush of hot afternoons. The lazy, far-off brass notes drifting from the Quarter. Food that made his mouth water just to think of it. And the women...those sexy back-street girls with their cafe au lait skin and come-hither smiles. There were no women like them in the world.
Except...maybe just one. The one that was walking toward him now, the sun gleaming on her skin, her white hair loose and blowing back from her face in the early morning wind as she crossed the roof, dressed in sexy-tight jeans and a white tank-top. Mam'selle Ororo Munroe, Remy thought, his grin widening as her blue eyes met his. De toast of Westchester herself.
"Good morning, Remy," Ororo said, stopping to watch as Remy jumped lightly off the roof's edge and approached her with a confident stride. "You look rather chipper for this hour."
"Slept good, chère," he replied. "Like a dead man. Where's ol' mean, dark, and hairy?"
Her lips quirked in a smile. "Are you referring to Logan?"
"Who else?"
"He was taking a shower when I left the room, I believe. Where is Rogue?"
Remy shrugged. "Aw, you know her. She takin' twenty years to do her hair an' put on some damn makeup. Act like we goin' to a damn party instead of jus' home."
"Well, she has not had the pleasure of meeting Dr. Shaw yet," Ororo replied, turning toward the Blackbird and putting the sun at her back. "Perhaps she just want to make a good impression."
"Did y'all meet him las' night?"
Ororo nodded, Remy falling into step beside her as they began to walk toward the jet. "Yes, but only briefly. Rebecca apparently was not feeling well, so Dr. Shaw and his daughter retired early."
Remy grunted a little. "Dat's too bad. She was fine yesterday afternoon."
They walked up the open gangway and into the jet, their footfalls echoing hollowly on the steel as both ducked and entered the passenger bay. "Logan said that you and Rogue spent the afternoon with Rebecca," Ororo said, speaking over her shoulder as she slipped past the seats and into the front cargo area just behind them. "What did you think of her?"
"She's a real nice kid," Remy said. He plopped down in one of the rear-facing seats and propped his feet on the seat in front of him, crossing his legs at the ankle and leaning back comfortably as he watched Ororo stow her overnight suitcase in the cargo bin next to his faded johnny-bag. "A li'l quiet, maybe, but real nice. An' Rogue seems to adore her."
"That's wonderful," Ororo said thoughtfully, and she shut the cargo bin with a firm push before turning to face Remy. She leaned against the back of the seat in front of her and gave him an odd smile.
"What?" he asked with a grin.
"Did she tell you how old she was?"
"Non, but I didn't ask."
"She is seventeen."
Remy's eyebrows lifted in disbelief. "Beggin' your pardon, but could you repeat dat?" he asked, sticking one finger in his ear and wiggling it as if to clear an obstruction. "I t'ought I heard you say dat she was seventeen."
"I did."
"You're kiddin', right?"
"That is what she told Logan and I at dinner last night." Ororo came around the back of the seat and sat down, folding her hands in her lap. "I can see by your expression that you are as surprised as we were. I placed her age at closer to thirteen."
"Same here, chère." Remy scratched his chin thoughtfully. "It's not de body or anyt'ing, you know...I guess if you look hard enough t'rough all dem loose-fittin' clothes she wears, you can tell she's got, you know..." Remy grinned sheepishly at Ororo. "You know...woman t'ings."
Ororo arched her eyebrow. "Woman things?"
Remy chuckled and sketched a curvaceous figure in the air, leaving Ororo to roll her eyes in amused exasperation. "Why am I not surprised that you would make it your business to notice that?" she asked.
"Because you know me, an' dat's jus' de way I'm wired," he laughed.
"I was referring more to her behavior," Ororo continued, gratified to see Remy's face become serious once more. "But I cannot seem to put my finger on what it is," she mused.
"I know what you mean, though," Remy replied. "But maybe she jus' shy. Rogue likes her, though...maybe Rogue can draw her outta her shell a bit. Whatcha think?"
Ororo smiled a little. "Maybe so."
"Well..." Remy sat up and removed his feet to the floor, glancing carelessly at his wristwatch as he did so. "It's 'bout dat time. You be all right here? I'm gon' go see if I can help Rebecca an' her père bring deir stuff down to de plane."
"I'll be fine." Ororo stood up again and moved past the row of seats, running her fingers through Remy's hair affectionately as she passed him on her way to the cockpit. "I will see to getting the Blackbird prepped for takeoff."
Remy turned a little as she walked by, leaning over the armrest of his seat as he watched the sensual sway of Ororo's walk down the aisle and through the door of the cockpit. He grinned like a satyr, allowing his eyes to linger over her long legs until she disappeared from view...then he shook his head and sighed, hoisting himself out of his seat and ducking out the hatchway and into the bright light of morning once more.
* * * * *
"Go-o-o-o-o-od mornin', Logan!" Rogue chirped a greeting as she strolled out of her bedroom and into the sitting room of the hotel suite...drawing out the word good as if it had ninety-six syllables. She looked particularly gorgeous, wearing a lemon-yellow blouson over faded jeans.
"Mornin', Rogue," Logan replied.
Her green eyes sparkled with awfully good humor as she stopped in the middle of the room, her hands (clad in a pair of short kid gloves) on her hips and a saucy grin on her face. "Sleep good last night?" she asked.
Logan looked up at her from beneath his brows, then glanced back down at his hands as he lit his cigar and shook out the match. "Good enough, darlin'," he replied. His eyes roamed over the smooth expanse of her bare arms between the edge of her sleeves and the short wrist of her gloves. "Playin' it a bit dangerously today, ain't we? What's with the short sleeves?"
"It's gonna be hot today."
"That never mattered before."
She walked toward him slowly, her hands still on her hips and that same cocky, go-to-hell grin on her face. "What's it to you, sugah?" she asked, reaching up with one hand to cup Logan's chin lightly. Her eyes registered her approval when he didn't flinch or stiffen...Logan and Remy were the only ones who never did. "Maybe Ah'm just feelin' a little daring today...that's all."
Logan's face showed a flicker of amusement. "I see."
"So, y'all ready to go yet?" she asked, walking away from him toward the door where her suitcase lay waiting, already packed. Her eyes fell on Logan's bag as well, tossed beside the door carelessly.
"Just waitin' on you."
"L'il ol' me?" Rogue asked coquettishly.
"L'il ol' you."
"Ah'm touched."
"You should be." Logan grinned at her and stuck his cigar in his mouth before crossing the room and picking up his bag. "'Ro and the Cajun have already gone to the Blackbird."
He opened the door to the hall and held it for Rogue as she walked past him, then he picked up her bag as well and followed after her, patting his jeans pocket to make sure the keys were there as the door swung shut silently behind them.
"So, what did you an' Ororo talk about last night?" Rogue asked, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm as she fell into step beside him.
"Nothin' much."
"Well, what did you do?"
"We just went to the dinner," Logan said.
"And then?"
"Then we had a few drinks and came back to the room."
"Ah was talkin' about aftah you came back to the room," Rogue said, turning her head slightly and giving him a wide-eyed, innocent smile.
Logan shrugged. "We went to bed."
"Did you now?"
Logan narrowed his eyes, glancing at her briefly as they paused at the door to the roof stairs. "All right, what are you dancin' around, Rogue?" he asked.
"Well..." She slipped her hand off his arm and clasped her hands behind her back, looking everywhere but his face as she continued to smile coyly. "Ah was in 'Ro's room last night, lookin' for some nail polish, an', well, Ah just happened tah see her comin' outta your room..."
"Aw, Christ." Logan rolled his eyes, then took his cigar out of his mouth, his lips curling with a trace of contempt. "Always lookin' to stir up some trouble, ain't ya, kid?"
She looked stung. "Ah'm not a kid..."
"Then don't go actin' like one," Logan retorted. He opened the door to the stairs, waiting for Rogue to flounce through it snippily before shaking his head and following after her. "Jesus, between you and Gumbo..." he muttered, climbing the stairs to the roof behind her.
"An' what's that supposed tah mean?" Rogue flung at him over her shoulder.
"Not a damn thing, darlin'," he replied.
"So what were y'all doin' in your room last night?" Rogue persisted.
"We were talking," Logan said in exasperation.
"Ororo looked awfully excited when she came outta your room," Rogue said, the teasing lilt back in her voice. "It must have been a real interestin' talk you two had."
Logan glanced up at Rogue's back as she climbed the stairs in front of him, a curious, thoughtful expression stealing across his face. 'Ro looked excited, eh? he thought to himself...then he dropped his eyes to the stair risers, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Well, you weren't exactly blasè for a moment there yourself, ol' buddy. A few more seconds of 'Ro kissing you like that, and a certain part of you would have been standin' up and whistlin' Dixie.
"We were just talking," Logan said again, this time more to himself that to Rogue, but she only laughed gaily and pushed the door open at the top of the stairs, spilling morning light over her face and down the stairwell...making him scowl and squint against the brightness as he followed her up and into the sun.
* * * * *
Remy found Dr. Shaw's room with little trouble, and he knocked on it quickly, stepping back with his hands in his jeans pockets as he waited for someone to answer. There were several minutes of silence, and he was just beginning to think that maybe he should knock again...when he heard the faint snick of the handle being turned, and the door opened, revealing a man that could only be the good doctor himself.
"Dr. Shaw?" Remy asked, grinning a little at the brawny blond man that had answered the door. "I'm Remy LeBeau...from Xavier's school?"
Dr. Shaw's suspicious, startled expression faded smoothly into a warm smile. "Oh, yes...Mr. LeBeau. I apologize..." He opened the door wide and extended a hand. "Forgive me, but I didn't know who you were, and...well..." His smile faltered a bit, and he shrugged with what appeared to be embarrassment.
Remy laughed and shook the doctor's hand warmly. "Hey, don' worry 'bout it. It's the eyes, eh?"
Dr. Shaw grinned in return, although he still appeared to be a tad shamefaced. "Well, yes...perhaps a bit. I am afraid that my experiences with mutants are rather limited, and I have not yet met any that had more...physical...differences." His other hand clasped over Remy's, and he held it there for a minute, his expression friendly. "I didn't just offend you all over again with what I said, did I?"
"Non, don' worry 'bout it," Remy said again, waving his other hand negligently. "You t'ink my eyes are weird...you ain't seen not'in' yet, Doctor. We got people on de teachin' staff at Xavier's what make me look positively normal." Jus' wait 'til dis guy gets an eyeful of Kurt, he thought...but he did not voice this aloud. "I t'ought I'd come an' see if I could give you a hand gettin' your stuff up to the jet," he said.
"Why, thank you, Mr. LeBeau," Dr. Shaw said. He stepped aside, still holding the door, and gestured for Remy to come inside. "I appreciate the offer."
"Call me Remy."
"And please, call me Jeremiah."
Remy stepped past the doctor and into the hotel suite's sitting room...noting there was little difference between their room and the Shaw's, except for the number of bedrooms off the main room, and the addition of a spectacular picture window on the far side of the small parlor. "Hey, cool view, mon ami," Remy said, walking toward the window casually. "Bet dis looks nice when de sun is settin', non?"
"Indeed." Jeremiah crossed to the bedroom on the left and disappeared inside for a moment, his voice floating back to Remy as he continued to talk. "Your accent is unusual," he called. "Do you mind me asking where you are from?"
"I'm from New Orleans," Remy replied...although with his drawl it came out sounding more like Nawlins. "Cajun boy born an' bred."
"I see."
Remy turned around, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked around curiously. "By de way, homme...where's 'Becca?"
"In her room, finishing her packing, I hope." Jeremiah came out of his room, carrying two suitcases in his hands. He set them down on the floor with a small grunt. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, Remy," he said, straightening up. "I have to go down to the desk for a moment. I want to pay up any charges now, so when we are ready to leave I can just go."
"Dat's cool. You mind if I hang here 'til you get back?"
"No, not at all. You did meet Rebecca yesterday afternoon, correct?" At Remy's answering nod, Jeremiah smiled. "Good. Then she won't be shocked when she comes out of her room and finds a strange man standing here."
Remy grinned back. "Non, don' t'ink so."
"Good." Jeremiah opened the door. "Be back in a moment."
Remy watched as Jeremiah disappeared into the hall, the door shutting silently behind him, then he looked around at a loss, sighed, and sank down on the sofa before the picture window, folding his hands behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling. The door had barely closed behind the doctor, though, when Remy heard the distinct sound of another door opening...and he looked up curiously as the door to what had to be Rebecca's room opened slowly.
"Remy?"
"Hey, chère, dat you?" Remy sat up, leaning forward on his knees as he tried to see into the dusky gloom of the next room. There was a soft step, then another...then he was finally able to make out Rebecca's slight, skinny frame as she stepped just over the threshold of the door. She was carrying something bulky in her arms...maybe a suitcase?"
"Hi, Remy," she said. "Is my father gone?"
"Oui, chère. He went down to de lobby for a minute."
"Good. I...I have something of yours," she said timidly.
He grinned. "Oui, I know...my coat. I'm sorry I forgot to get it from you before..." His voice trailed off as Rebecca came quietly into the room, the sunlight from the window behind him falling full on his heavy trenchcoat in her arms...and on her face. "Sacré bleu! What in de hell happened to you?"
Rebecca ducked her head a little, her limp brown hair falling over her face and partially obscuring the split, swollen lip, and the black and blue, feathered bruise that lay across her cheek like a crow's wing. "I fell in the shower last night," she said, her words coming out in a breathless little rush. "It looks worse that it is...I just bruise easily."
"You got dat right, chère," Remy said, getting up from his seat on the couch and approaching her quickly. He didn't miss the way Rebecca recoiled just the tiniest bit from him as he came closer, but she didn't move away, and he gently took the coat from her arms before lifting a hand to her face and brushing her hair away from the bruises. "What were you doin' in de shower to make you fall so hard?" he asked wonderingly. "De mashed potato?"
Rebecca smiled, then surprised herself by giggling a little, her eyes glancing nervously from Remy's face to the carpet between his sneakers. One hand stole up to her face and covered her mouth self-consciously.
"Here, an' why you do dat all de time?" Remy asked.
"Do what?"
"Coverin' your mouth when you smile. You were doin' it all yesterday afternoon." Remy pulled her hand away from her mouth with a grin. "You got bad teeth or somet'in'?"
Rebecca giggled again, her cheeks flushing a little. "No..."
"Den don' cover your mouth when you smile. Dere, look at you." Remy stepped back, surveying her with a teasing grin. "Not too bad, chère. You keep smilin' like dat, an' dose little boys at Xavier's ain't gon' know what hit 'em." He reached forward and gave a lock of her hair a friendly tug. "Need some help gettin' your suitcases together?"
"Well, if you want to..."
"Oui, dat's what I'm here for," he said. He dropped her a wink. "An' we better hurry, too...Logan don' like to wait, an' de sooner we get back to Xavier's, de better. You need to let ol' Hank take a look at dat bruise."
"Who's Hank?"
"Aw, you'll meet him soon enough, chère," he replied, following Rebecca back into her room. "An' just wait until your père meets him, an' Kurt." He grinned devilishly to himself. "Dat I can't wait to see."
* * * * *
Ororo settled herself into her customary chair in the cockpit of the Blackbird, adjusting the headset on her head just as the sound of feet coming up the gangway reached her ears. She glanced curiously over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of Rogue as she ducked a little and entered the plane...then Logan came in behind her, his dark eyes falling briefly on Ororo before turning away without a flicker of expression.
"Mornin', 'Ro," Rogue chirped sweetly. She made her way up the aisle toward the low, rounded arch of the cockpit entrance, running the tips of her gloved fingers lightly over the backs of the seats as she approached. "Where's Remy?"
"He went to see if he could help Dr. Shaw and Rebecca bring their luggage up," Ororo replied.
Rogue slipped into the cockpit and sat down in the pilot's chair beside Ororo. "Did you sleep well last night?' she asked casually, twining a strand of her hair around one satin-clad finger as she watched Ororo's face for a reaction.
Ororo glanced up briefly, then flipped an even briefer glance behind her, looking to see where Logan was. He had disappeared into the rear of the jet, however, and Ororo turned her cool blue gaze back to Rogue's face, one eyebrow lifted delicately as she pondered the other woman's unspoken question.
"Well, did you?" Rogue asked again, her cheeks dimpling as an amused little grin tugged at her lips.
"Did I what?"
"Sleep well, silly."
Ororo smiled guilelessly. "After I went to bed...yes."
Rogue groaned and rolled her eyes. "Ohhh...you're just as bad as Logan!" she said, her voice dropping to a husky, conspiratorial whisper. "C'mon, Ororo...you can tell me," she wheedled, her green eyes dancing. "Somethin' happened last night, or else you wouldn't have come out of Logan's room lookin' like he just buttered your muffin."
"What?!"
"Ssshhh!" Rogue glanced back at the rear of the plane again. "He'll hear you!"
"Rogue..." Ororo began.
"So, tell me what happened."
Ororo sighed, glanced toward the back of the jet, then looked back to the instrument panel. "He kissed me. That's all." She paused, then gave Rogue a quick, secretive smile. "Logan kissed me, and then I went to bed."
The sudden, disgusted disappointment on Rogue's face was almost comical. "That's it?"
"Yes, I'm afraid so."
"Well, hell," Rogue sighed, flopping back into the pilot's seat in exasperation. "Logan's kissed you tons of times...hell, he even kissed me before, like a dummy." She rolled her eyes a bit. "An' here Ah thought somethin' interestin' was goin' on."
Ororo laughed quietly. "I am sorry to disappoint you."
"Ugh." Rogue snorted and stood up again. "Well, if that's all...Ah'm goin' tah see if Ah can find Remy an' Rebecca an' her dad." She flounced away, her brown and white ponytail bouncing on her shoulders as she headed for the hatchway.
Ororo turned in her chair, watching as Rogue disappeared outside...then Logan's slow, heavy footfalls could be heard as he came back from the rear of the plane and entered the main hold once more. He paused for a moment, almost warily as he caught her turned around in her seat, watching him in expectant silence...then he walked slowly up the aisle between the seats and sat down in the front-most row directly behind her.
"Hey," he said gruffly.
"Hello." Ororo offered nothing else, her blue eyes wide and questioning as she waited for Logan to speak. Logan was equally silent...then he sighed and dropped his head, looking up at her from beneath his black hair with a lopsided grin.
"Look, about last night..." he began.
Ororo matched his grin with a slow one of her own. "What about it?"
Logan blinked, then leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest with a curious expression. "You mean, you're not freaked out about it?"
"About the kiss, you mean?"
"Well, yeah."
Ororo's smile widened, and she touched the tip of her tongue to her upper teeth thoughtfully. "Actually, I rather enjoyed it...so if you are planning on apologizing, you are really going to ruin my day."
Logan stared at her incredulously, his smile actually seeming nervous as he ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Ororo's smile softened, and she turned back to the instrument panel. "In all seriousness, though...do not let your reaction trouble you. I am not concerned.
"What reaction was that?" Logan asked.
"You were lonely last night," Ororo continued in as clinical a voice as she could muster. "And I was a warm body of the feminine persuasion...your reaction was perfectly normal."
"You make it sound like the equivalent of a sneeze."
"Perhaps." She glanced at him over her shoulder and smiled.
Logan studied her for a moment longer, his eyes tracing the curve of her hip, just visible to him as she sat in her seat before the cockpit controls. She wasn't completely wrong, he knew...one way or the other, his reaction to her the night before had been purely instinctual. He had been grieving, true, and somehow holding Ororo in his arms, his senses lost in the scent of her exotic fragrance and the feel of her hair brushing against his skin...it was like a narcotic, dulling the pain of Mariko's absence and somehow making him feel whole again...alive again.
Narcotic or no, however, didn't change how damn good it had felt to kiss her and feel her kiss him back. And sitting here now, watching her as she powered up the computers for the return home, he let his eyes roam over the fullness of her lips and he wondered just how damn addictive this particular drug might be.
* * * * *
Rebecca had just finished zipping up the last of her suitcases when a brisk little knock came to the door of the suite. She looked up at Remy, her brows furrowed in question, then glanced at the door. "Who could that be?"
"Hang on an' I'll check," Remy replied. He picked up her last two suitcases and carried them to the door, then set them down and peeked quickly through the peephole in the door. "Eh, hello," he said, turning back to grin at Rebecca. "It's Rogue."
"Oh, okay."
Remy opened the door, and Rogue walked in, all smiles and as breathtakingly pretty as the day before. "Hi there, sugah!" she said upon seeing Rebecca. Then she stopped mid-stride, staring at Rebecca's face as Remy shut the door behind her. "Girl! What in the world happened tah you?!"
Rebecca's hand stole self-consciously to her face, and she forced what she hoped was a casual smile. "Oh, I'm all right. I just fell in the shower."
"Jiminy Crickets! What were you doin'?" Rogue hurried forward and circled Rebecca's narrow shoulders with her arm, guiding the girl gently but forcefully to the couch. "Sit down an' let me look at you."
"No, really...I'm fine, Miss Rogue..."
"Hush now," Rogue ordered, and she sat down on the sofa and pulled Rebecca down beside her with one firm tug. "Now let me look at this..."
Rebecca glanced at Remy helplessly, but he only grinned and shrugged at her from where he stood by the door. "Better do as she says, chère," he said. "Rogue's got a temper."
"You be quiet too, swamp rat," Rogue snapped goodnaturedly. She turned Rebecca's face towards her, then smoothed her limp hair away from her face with gentle hands. The feel of her satin-covered fingers felt nice on Rebecca's cheeks...the younger girl turned her head obediently and allowed Rogue to peer at her bruises intently.
Her green eyes flicked over Rebecca's face, and Rebecca looked back, watching as the expression on Rogue's face changed slowly from concern to something a little more unreadable. "That's one hell of a bruise, sweetpea," Rogue said. Her eyes locked with Rebecca's briefly. "You must have taken quite a fall in the shower, huh?"
"I hit the side of the tub," Rebecca lied quickly...and suddenly she felt herself flushing. The way Rogue was looking at her was making her feel uncomfortable.
"Well, it could be worse, Ah guess," Rogue said thoughtfully. "Do you know you split your lip,. too?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Don't call me ma'am, sugah," Rogue said kindly. She glanced over Rebecca's bruises a moment longer, then looked straight at Rebecca's eyes again, holding her gaze with that same strange expression. Rebecca swallowed a bit...the look in Rogue's eyes seemed to be some weird mishmash of compassion and...and...well, something that looked like anger. But surely Rogue wasn't mad at her?
"Ah think a little makeup will cover that right up," Rogue said at last, releasing Rebecca's face from her hands and giving her a sunny smile. "Ah've got my makeup bag on the jet...when we get onboard, Ah'll see what Ah can do tah cover that up."
"My...my daddy doesn't let me wear makeup," Rebecca said.
Rogue flapped her hand in a pshaw gesture. "Don't you worry about that, sweetie. Let me talk to your daddy...he's not gonna let his little girl show up at a new school lookin' like she's been hit with a Mack truck."
Rebecca blinked, then started to giggle, and Rogue joined her, slipping one arm about her shoulders again and giving her a quick little hug. "So, Remy," she said, looking up at the tall Cajun, her eyes sparkling with something indefinable. "Did you get a chance tah talk tah 'Ro this mornin'?"
"Oui. Why?" he asked.
"Did she say anything about last night?" When Remy shrugged and shook his head, Rogue flashed a grin and glanced over at Rebecca, giving the girl a conspiratorial wink that thoroughly confused her. "Well, guess what Ah saw last night," Rogue continued, looking back at Remy with a devilish expression. "You'll nevah believe it, Ah promise you."
"Whatever it is, spit it out already," Remy drawled.
"Well...last night Ah went into 'Ro's room, tah get some nail polish," Rogue said.
"And?"
"An' here comes 'Ro outta Logan's room, just as easy as you please." Rogue's smile grew wider. "All outta breath and blushin'..."
For a brief second, it seemed to Rebecca that a hard expression flickered across Remy's face...but then he shrugged and smiled. "So?"
"What do you mean, so?"
Remy shook his head and laughed. "Rogue, why you gotta always make everyt'in' out to be bigger dan it is?"
"Ah do not," Rogue retorted.
"They were probably jus' talkin' anyway."
"'Ro already told me what they were doin' in there. She says Logan kissed her."
Remy paused, his eyes narrowing a bit...then he shrugged, his lips drawing together in a scowl. "So what if he did?" he said. "It ain't none of your business anyway, chère. You're actin' like a twelve-year-old, gossipin' in de little girls room."
It was Rogue's turn to scowl. "Ah just thought it was interestin', that's all," she snapped. "You don't have to be nasty about it. God, you're actin' like you're jealous or somethin'."
Remy opened his mouth to retort, but then he happened to glance at Rebecca, and the distraught expression creeping over her face.
"Hey, petite, what's wrong?"
"Why...why are you arguing?" she asked timidly.
Rogue and Remy looked at each other, then Rogue burst out laughing. "Oh, sugah, don't you worry about me an' this here idiot," she said, giving Rebecca another quick hug. "You'll learn soon enough...me an' Remy fight like cats an' dogs half the time, but it don't mean anythin'."
"Although nine times outta ten, Rogue here is de one dat starts it," Remy added, sidestepping quickly as Rogue picked up one of the sofa's throw pillows and chucked it at him. "Missed me, chère."
"Yeah, amazin', ain't it?" Rogue replied with a grin. "Considerin' the size of your big head."
"You were talking about Miss Munroe and Logan," Rebecca said, trying to nudge the conversation back to something that had piqued her curiosity. She was a hopeless romantic at heart, although it wasn't something that anyone really knew about her, and something that in truth she did not really know about herself. But the thought that the beautiful, graceful Miss Munroe might have actually kissed gruff, hard-faced Logan...
"Dere's not'ing to talk about, petite," Remy replied. He looked at Rogue and gave her a disgusted look, then smiled apologetically. "Rogue here can't resist stirrin' up a li'l bit of trouble now an' again."
"Speak for yourself, Cajun," she rapped back. She stood up, putting her hands on her hips and glancing at the small, elegant clock atop the sitting room mantel. "You about ready, sugah?" she asked Rebecca. "'Cause it ain't gettin' any earlier, an' Logan's gonna be chompin' at the bit if we don't hurry up and get topside."
"My...my father was supposed to be coming back to the room to get me," Rebecca said.
"Remy, why don't you go on down to the lobby and meet Dr. Shaw," Rogue said. She slipped her arm around Rebecca's shoulders and led her toward the door. "Ah'll go ahead an' take Rebecca to the plane," she called over her shoulder...then she tipped her head toward Rebecca and gave her a little wink. "We can get started on that makeup...what do ya say?"
Rebecca gave her a tiny smile. "Okay."
* * * * *
A few minutes later, and Rebecca was following Rogue across the roof of the Imperial, her head tilting back in awe as she got closer and closer to the sleek ebony lines of the Blackbird. Rogue had told her that Logan and Miss Munroe were already aboard, and apparently one of them had started the engines, for the air as she approached was filled with a deep, solid throb that she could feel echoed in her chest...the engines were cycling, rising steadily to a low, pulsing whine, and Rebecca felt a huge, almost giddy smile on her face as she followed behind Rogue, the wind off the rooftop blowing her hair behind her and whipping her long skirt against her legs.
"This way!" Rogue shouted above the roar of the engines, and Rebecca hurried after her, watching as Rogue jogged lightly up the gangway of the jet, Rebecca's luggage carried easily in her gloved hands as if they weighed nothing more than a pair of paper sacks. Rebecca ran up the gangway behind her, feeling the vibrations of the jet beneath her feet, then she was ducking her head and entering the shadowy interior of the plane itself, pausing just inside the door as her eyes adjusted and blinking happily as she took her first look at the vehicle into her new life.
"Ah've got Rebecca!" Rogue said.
Rebecca turned her head to the right and saw Ororo and Logan, sitting side-by-side in a pair of captain's chairs just through the rounded opening of what must be the cockpit. A bank of gleaming, flashing controls was spread out before them, and just beyond that was glass and the brilliant blue of a New York summer's morning. Ororo had a small headset on her head, and she took it off as she turned in her seat to smile at Rebecca warmly.
"Hello there, Rebecca," she said. "Is your father coming?"
"Remy went to get him," Rogue said. "He went down to the lobby tah get checked out an' everythin'."
Logan turned and glanced briefly at Rebecca, nodded, then made as if to turn back to the control panel...when he suddenly frowned and snapped his head back in Rebecca's direction. "What in the hell happened to your face, kid?" he asked.
Ororo squinted her eyes a little, studying Rebecca's face in concern...and Rebecca realized that Ororo couldn't see her clearly in the Blackbird's dim interior, but Logan could. She ducked her head, feeling the blood rush into her face, and she found her hand fluttering up to cover her mouth again.
Rogue's hand came down on her shoulder and squeezed a little. "It's nothin', Logan. Not to worry...Rebecca just fell down in the shower last night."
"Are you all right, Rebecca?" Ororo asked.
"That's a bad knock, kid, for just falling in the shower," Logan said in a low rumble.
"Ah told Rebecca Ah would help her put on a little makeup," Rogue said smoothly. "It's really nothin', Logan."
Rebecca watched as Logan flicked his dark eyes to Rogue's face, the two of them holding each other's gaze in silence. It was as if something cautionary and unspoken passed between them. Rebecca glanced at Ororo and saw the same curious look on Ororo's face that was probably on hers as well...but then Logan nodded thoughtfully and turned back to the control panel without another word.
"C'mon, Rebecca," Rogue said, steering the girl by her shoulder toward the back of the jet. "Let's go back here an' get my makeup bag out, 'kay?"
"Okay."
She allowed Rogue to lead her back toward the rear, slipping clumsily past the rows of seats and through a low, open hatchway just behind the luggage bin. Rogue slapped her hand against a switch on the wall, and the room beyond lit up with a hum of fluorescents, bathing the small, pristine area in an antiseptic white glow.
"Wait in here," Rogue directed with a smile, indicating a stool bolted the floor a short distance from the hatchway. "Ah'll be right back...Ah've got tah dig my cosmetic bag outta my suitcase."
Rebecca nodded and sat down as Rogue left the room. She looked about curiously...it seemed to be a storage room of some kind, or maybe some sort of utilitarian dressing room...the wall to her right was lined with lockers, painted black to match the curved fuselage of the jet's sides, and the stool she sat on was one of three butted up against a stainless steel counter that hugged the wall on the opposite side, directly below a large mirror that ran the entire length of the counter and stretched to the low ceiling above her head. Other than that, the room was empty...and silent, too, unless one counted the steady throb of the jet's engines, muffled in here but still audible as they made her seat tremor slightly beneath her.
She swung her legs idly, her face lighting up again as Rogue ducked back inside, a small bag covered in riotously brilliant flowers clutched in one gloved hand. "Here we go, sugah!" Rogue said. She plunked the bag down on the counter with a rattle of the oddments inside, then she sat down on the stool opposite Rebecca and opened the bag with a grin and a wink. "Ready? We're gonna make you bee-yoo-tiful!"
Rebecca giggled, even as her heart sped up at the thought of defying her father in regards to his dictates on makeup. Rogue gave her a glance as she pulled a bottle of liquid foundation out of the bag, and it seemed that her sparkling eyes softened just a bit, as if she had read Rebecca's mind.
"Don't you worry about your daddy, Rebecca," Rogue said, still smiling a little. "Ah'll talk to him, okay? He won't be mad, Ah promise." She studied the foundation critically, then put it down and began rummaging in the bag again. "Ah think we need some concealer first, don't you?"
"I don't know," Rebecca said with a shake of her head. "I've never worn makeup before...I wouldn't even know where to start." She watched as Rogue pulled out a compact of powder, a lipstick pencil, then a tube of concealer with a small crow of triumph...but Rebecca only shook her head again timidly. "I appreciate you doing this, Miss Rogue, but you don't know my father. Maybe you shouldn't..."
"You just hush," Rogue said, not unkindly. She unscrewed the tube of makeup, squeezing a small dollop onto a square of foam applicator she had also extricated from the depths of her bag. "Now hold still."
Rebecca obeyed, remaining motionless as Rogue began to dab the makeup on her face with sure hands. It felt cold as it touched her skin...Rogue swabbed carefully over the livid bruise on her cheek, concentrating on the task at hand, and a comfortable silence fell between them as Rogue continued to work, so at ease in her gloves that it was like she applied the makeup with bare fingers.
"What color lipstick you want?" Rogue asked.
"I don't know," Rebecca replied with a shy smile. "What do you think?"
"How about fire-engine red?" Rogue asked with a teasing grin.
Rebecca giggled in spite of herself. "Ummm...I don't think so," she said...liking the way Rogue's warm laughter mingled with her own before they fell into silence once more. Rogue smoothed the concealer gently over her bruise, then she glanced up at Rebecca with a new expression...one that looked a lot like compassion.
"How long has your daddy been hittin' you, sugah?" she asked quietly.
Rebecca jumped. "W-what?"
"Ah think you heard me just fine the first time, sweetie."
Rebecca's eyes widened a bit as she looked back at Rogue. "I...I..." she faltered, and she dropped her eyes to her hands where they lay clasped in her lap. "I told you...I fell in the shower."
"Yeah, Ah know what you told me." Rogue's mouth set itself in a firm line. "But Ah also know the difference between a fall in the shower an' a punch in the face. Somebody whacked you a good one...an' since you were just fine the last time Ah saw you, an' Ah know Logan didn't hit you, then the only person left is your daddy." She continued to apply the makeup carefully. "Am Ah right?"
"He...he didn't..." Rebecca began...but then she saw Rogue looking at her quietly, and instead she felt tears start to well in her eyes.
"My daddy used to beat on me, too," Rogue said softly, her eyes releasing Rebecca's as she began to apply the makeup once more. "Ah never told anybody that, except Professor Xavier. But Ah know what it's like, sugah." She smiled at Rebecca gently. "Ah know you don't know me that well, but you can talk tah me, okay? You don't have tah lie."
Rebecca stifled a choked sob against the back of her hand, the simple kindness in Rogue's voice making her heart feel like it was breaking. "It was my fault anyway...I was disrespectful," she murmured, bowing her head in shame as her hands clasped and unclasped in her lap. "Please...please don't say anything..."
"That's not fair to ask of me, sugah," Rogue replied. She touched Rebecca's chin with one finger and forced the girl to look at her. "Ah think Logan knows anyway...Ah could tell by the way he looked at you when you came onboard."
Rebecca's thin shoulders hitched, and Rogue watched as the girl's face crumpled in on itself with a combination of deep shame and misery. "Will he...?"
"Ah don't think so." Rogue looked at her for a moment longer, watching those dark eyes fill and spill over with huge tears that ran down her face and left clean tracks in the makeup she had just applied...then with a sigh she leaned forward and gathered the girl into her arms. Rebecca stiffened at first...then she laid her cheek against the shoulder of Rogue's blouse and began to cry silently...the exhausted weeping of a child that has been lost for a long time and has finally found an adult it can trust.
"Ssh, now," Rogue said, stroking the girl's hair gently. "Ah won't tell anyone, okay?"
"Promise?"
"Promise. But Ah can promise you one other thing, sweetpea," she added. "You an' me are gonna have a lo-o-o-ng talk once we get back to the mansion."
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