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Remy cursed as he kicked the snow off of his boots before entering the blessedly warm interior at Xavier’s. It was as cold as a witch’s tit outside, and the temperature was only supposed to drop over the next few days. Even his mutation and coat didn’t keep the biting cold away.
“Oh hey, Gambit,” Bobby greeted with a grin. Behind Bobby, several of the younger mutants gathered, pulling on their coats and gloves, “We’re going out to have a snowball fight. Wanna join?”
Remy reached out and clapped the young man on the shoulder, “Literally never.”
Bobby’s face dropped but recovered a split-second later with a smirk and a snap of his fingers, “Oh, that’s right. Southerners don’t do cold. Guess you guys can’t handle a bit of chill in the air.”
Usually, Remy would have been happy to rise to the bait and banter with Bobby, but he was still freezing, and he had things to do today. Moving past the young man, Remy set down his bags long enough to hang his coat up to dry. “Say what you want, mon ami. At least our ancestors were smart enough t’ head South where it’s warm.”
“You got to be tough if you’re from the North.” Bobby shrugged.
“And have brain damage,” Remy tossed over his shoulder as he collected his bags and moved into the kitchen.
It wasn’t like the South didn’t get snow. It happened every few years, even in Louisiana, but it was a civilized inch or so of snow that respectfully melted away within a day. Not this godless chaos of multiple feet of snow that piled up and then stubbornly stuck around for a week or more.
Entering the kitchen, Remy stopped short at the sight before him. There sat the one reason that could drive him out into the frigid temperatures. Rogue was perched on a stool, sound asleep with her head cradled in her arms. Her novel and an untouched plate of food sat beside her.
Remy frowned at that.
A little over a month ago, he and Rogue had gone on their first date. One date had led to another and another and another. They were keeping things quiet for now, though Remy suspected some individuals were starting to catch on. Things were progressing well between them, but the physical side of their relationship required a bit of experimentation to get around her powers.
Not that Remy had any complaints about experimenting and had told her as much. Still, his reassurances hadn’t done anything to soothe Rogue’s anger with the limitations her powers placed on their growing relationship.
Things reached a boiling point one afternoon when a back massage resulted in him being knocked out for an hour and waking up in the med bay. Remy had immediately gone searching for Rogue, knowing she would be stewing about the accident. Sure enough, he had found her in the Danger Room, mercilessly beating a practice dummy.
Remy tried to shrug it off, but Rogue wasn’t having it. Instead, she exploded in frustration and told him in explicit detail all the things she wanted to be able to do to him. Hoo-boy, you could have knocked him over with a feather.
Hell, he was still having dreams about some of those little tidbits of information.
Since that day, Rogue had decided to get control of her powers, and like everything else she tackled, she focused on it to the near-exclusion of everything else. Including eating.
Rogue had never been heavy, and after more than a month of forgetting meals, her frame was starting to show it. Remy had made the mistake of talking to Hank about it, who had immediately launched into a lecture about how the brain burned twenty percent of the body’s total calories, and that was on top of the fact most mutants needed to eat more in general.
After twenty minutes, Remy gave up pretending to listen and started mentally running through a list of Tante Mattie’s best recipes.
Placing the bags of ingredients on the counter, Remy reached into a drawer for a knife and set to work prepping his ingredients. Celery, onions, green peppers, andouille sausage, chicken thighs.
Tonight, he was making Gumbo.
Pulling an extra large pot out—Tante Mattie always said there was no point in cooking if you weren’t gonna make enough to share—Remy dumped flour and oil into the bottom to start his roux.
As he stood by the stove stirring, Logan entered the room.
“Bonjour, Wolvie.” Remy greeted.
“I’m flying Chuck and Hank down to D.C. for a conference. I’ll drop them off, then head back,” Logan said before glancing at the sleeping woman still sitting on her stool, “Make sure Stripes takes it easy. She’s been pushing herself too hard.”
“Bien sûr.” Remy acknowledged as he flipped the sausage rounds in a hot pan to get them crispy.
“If she’s doing this for you—”
“She’s not.” Remy cut the older man off. There was no way Remy would ever push Rogue this hard. His Cherie was her own worst critic. “She’s doing this for her.”
“Good.” Logan nodded and left without another word. Remy rolled his eyes. The grouchy old man could say what he wanted, but he was the biggest Papa Bear Remy had ever seen.
Dumping everything in the pot and setting it to simmer. Remy moved to the spice cabinet. Selecting the ones he needed, Remy heard Rogue shift her weight behind him on her stool.
“Bonjour, Cher. Have a good nap?” Remy asked as he moved back towards the stove. Rogue stretched her arms overhead before giving him a sleepy smile.
“Mm-hmm. Smells great in here. Whatcha making Sugah?”
“Tante’s gumbo.”
“Any chance I can get some of that? I didn’t eat my sandwich earlier.”
“Made it just for ya, Cher.”
“Aww, you’re sweet.”
“Why don’t ya go cue up a movie? I’ll dish everything up, and we can eat in front of de TV.”
Rogue hesitated, “I’d love to Sugah, but I was hoping to meet with the Professor again tonight and squeeze in an extra meditation session.”
“Sorry, Cher. ’fraid he and Hank are headed for D.C.”
“Oh, maybe I should work on—”
“Cher,” Remy set the ladle down and took a breath, counting to ten. Snapping at her wasn’t going to get him anywhere. After a moment, Remy tried again in a softer tone, “Cher, ya haven’t eaten lunch. I didn’t see ya eat breakfast, and ya only picked at your dinner last night.”
Remy paused, waiting for Rogue to deny it, but she stayed silent, tracing the seams on her gloves.
Remy walked around the counter and reached to cup her cheek, turning her face up to his. He needed to know she was listening to him.
“I know ya want to get control, Rogue,” Remy said, dropping his normal endearments in order to use her name, “And I will do everything I can t’ help ya, but not at de expense of yourself, ya hear me, girl?”
Rogue blushed but didn’t look away. Instead, she turned her face further into his palm and brought her own hand up to cup the back of his. After a moment, she tugged their hands away from her face but didn’t let go, letting their fingers lace together.
“Sorry, Remy. You’re right. I know I’ve been pushing myself pretty hard.” Rogue apologized.
“Can I get that in writing, Cher?” Remy grinned down at her.
“Don’t push it, Swamp Rat,” Rogue rolled her eyes good-naturedly then returned his smile.
“All right, here’s what we’re going to do,” Remy turned back to the stove and began ladling out Gumbo. “You’re going t’ take these into de living room and find some mindless TV trash for us t’ watch, and I am going t’ go find every blanket I can beg, borrow, and steal in this place. Then we settle in and don’t move until the Spring thaw.”
“Remy.”
“D’accord. D’accord. For de rest of de night then,” Remy raised his hands in surrender.
Rogue thought for a moment, then nodded. “Sounds good, Sugah, but maybe not every blanket you can steal. We’ll be swimming in them.”
“Cher, there’s over a foot of snow out there. At this point, there’s no such thing as too many blankets,” Remy assured her, gesturing for Rogue to look out the window. Rogue glanced out at the snow-covered world beyond the glass and shuddered.
“I hate the snow,” Rogue groused, then paused, “Wait a minute, you didn’t go out to the store in that, did ya?”
“Ouais, we needed sausage and green pepper for de gumbo.” Remy scooped the rice into the bowls and set the bowls on a tray for Rogue to take to the living room.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Non, mais, I wanted to,” Remy firmly pressed the tray into Rogue’s arms and plopped a kiss on her white bangs before herding her towards the kitchen door, “Now then…Couch. Trash TV. Gumbo. Go.”
“Okay, Sugah. I’m going. I’m going.” Rogue laughed, pausing at the door, and smiled back over her shoulder. “Hey, Remy?”
“Oui.”
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure, mon cœur.”
XOXOXOXOX
Southerners Ain’t Built for This
