Whispers

 
 

Les Filles et le Chocolat

Day Two, 3rd Hour, 1st Minute

Remy LeBeau had never met a fille as good as this one at killing sleep. He'd tossed and turned after midnight when Rogue called him, wishing there was something he could do for her. Well, without being her shoulder to cry on.

The clock mockingly blinked 1:00 AM at him, then 2:00 AM, and now 3:01 AM.

Life was simply cruel.

He groaned and launched out of bed to get dressed. He might as well give in and realize that now, he couldn't sleep.

"Est-ce que je pourrais dormir?" he grumbled to himself as he pulled on a t-shirt over his jeans.

And what did someone do to cheer up an untouchable romantic that preferred to pound all comforters into the dust rather than admit she might be feeling bad? Considering his recent rounds of sleepless hours due to the tasks she had set him and her rather uncanny knack for figuring out how to get under his skin, he figured it was entirely likely that if he tried to comfort her when she hadn't asked, she'd kill him. Or at least try.

Remy lit up and sat on the corner of his desk pondering his dilemma. The first thing he had done when receiving this room was disable his smoke detectors. Safety and liability and all that. So he aimed neatly toward it in an unconscious test of his handiwork as he smoked.

He was a thief. He could certainly use those skills to help him now.

Who could he frame?

Day Two, 3rd Hour, 31st Minute

Remy had always prided himself on his photographic and kinesthetic memory. Unfortunately, he discovered nearly 36 hours of not sleeping meant that didn't seem to apply to making sense out of his convoluted plan to cheer up Rogue. He was having difficulty concentrating. So he decided to write down notes. He could always charge them to destroy the evidence.

The Prince of Thieves wandered his fingers through a drawer, drew out a pad of paper, and started to scribble down his thoughts.

The words swam in front of his eyes, and finally, he gave up in disgust.

"Café!"

He slipped off of his perch on his desk, hid the pad in a location nobody would ever think of, and left the room en route to the kitchen. Naturally, the halls were empty, and he made no sound in his passage.

Remy was almost to the kitchen when he heard it and froze. Somebody was humming--in the kitchen! He slid his body up against the corner and peered around.

Firecracker.

The little Asian mall rat was humming the theme to Mission Impossible, dancing around the kitchen in her new silky black nightwear (he was glad to note it didn't advertise sex, seeing as Logan would kill him if it did), and waving around an ice-cream scooper while sipping on steaming hot coffee that smelled like...chocolate?

He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. The firecracker didn't vanish and he was forced to realize this was not an insomnia-induced nightmare. Well, no help for it.

Bracing himself, he entered the kitchen.

"Oh! Hi, Remy!"

He winced at the high-volume squeal and shushed her with his hands. "Keep it down, petite. It's 3:30 in the morning."

Jubilee furrowed her brows, then shrugged. "Couldn't sleep." She turned back to the other counter, opened up what was left of the gallon of rocky road ice cream he'd bought the girls last night, and counted out three scoops into her sickeningly chocolatey coffee. "How do you take it?" She gestured toward the nearly full pot.

"Noir." He sank gratefully into a seat at the counter. "Black."

She handed him a mug of black coffee. He downed it in a gulp. Then took to staring at her concoction.

"Jubilee."

The girl startled, turned, and stared at him. "Did you...did you like, really...Whoa, man! You called me by my name!"

"Keep it down!" Remy glanced both ways, but no one seemed to have heard. "It's 3:30 in the morning," he whispered fiercely.

"So what does the master want, that he would actually call me by my actual name?" Jubilee grinned, still swinging her coffee.

Remy winced, at her choice of words, and at what he was about to say. He pointed at the atrocity in her right hand.

"One of those."

Day Two, 4th Hour, 10th Minute

After finally convincing the girl that he was neither crazy nor high, and then finally being forced to fill her in on his plan with the hopes that he could impress her with the urgent need for secrecy, and most of all enduring all the high-pitched squeaks and squeals that were necessary per dealing with Firecracker, Remy finally felt comfortably that he could leave it all in her capable hands.

So, weary with a job well done, he trudged up to bed and collapsed across the covers.

Maybe every girl liked chocolate, but he shuddered at the thought of what he'd had to go through because of it. But he smiled. It was worth it if it would cheer up the fille. He'd plotted on coffee, chocolate, ice cream, and a good Cajun breakfast to follow up for a start. There was more but those were secret things, and secrets were his treasure.

Finally, finally, he began to feel his eyelids grow heavy. His thoughts stilled. Sleep, so close.

The phone rang.

"Merde!"

He viciously yanked open the cell phone cover and held the thing to his ear. "Gambit!"

Rogue's sexy voice flitted breezily over the phone. "Got out with Emma early. Wake me up at 5:30 sharp."

Remy counted to a hundred in French in his head. She needed comfort? Cheering up? 5:30!

"Oui, chère," he said sarcastically. "A pleasure to serve."

A pause.

"Good. Bye." The call ended with a sharp click.

He grumbled to himself, set the alarm, and on a whim, got a piece of chocolate out the drawer of his nightstand and chewed on it before falling asleep.
 


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