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“Don’ like the man,” he grumbles under his breath, the steps carrying him to a familiar place. “Don’ like ‘im at all.”

“Whom do you don’t like dear one?” a honey sweet voice answers him this time.

“No one that you need to trouble yo’r pretty little head over, Stormy,” he tries to sweep the matter away. This is his downtime…he has come to replenish his soul.

“Hmmm,” she arches a snow colored eyebrow, her arms crossing in front of her silk covered chest. “How many times have I told you….”
“….not to call y’ Stormy,” he completes it for her as he draws near enough to breathe in her vanilla and sandalwood scent.

That close he also catches a whiff of something else…..something that he did not watch to catch….something that he tries to remove from his olfactory sensors.

He catches the fading scent of cigar smoke.

“And yet you still continue to do that,” she shakes her head in exasperation.

“Sorry mon padnat,” he bends to apologize, lifts and kisses the back of her hand.

-----

“So,” she turns back to the plants she was tending to before he entered her *attic* sanctuary. “Who were you grumbling about on the way up?”
“No one babe,” he flops down on the bed, his hands automatically caressing the velvet like fabric covering it, momentarily imagining how it feels like on naked skin….naked skin of the goddess standing in front of him.

‘No,’ he aggressively shakes his head to clear that thought. ‘T’ink about yor’ cherie, not your padnat. She is yor’ sister…..sister…sister,’ he mentally chants to remove the arousing and *almost* unwanted picture.

“What happened brother?” she catches his actions. “You seem preoccupied. What is going on in that handsome little head of yours?” She diplomatically tosses his words back at him.

“Notin’ padnat,” he tries to avoid voicing his thoughts again. Especially the last one. He knows that the goddess standing in front of him would be hurt by that thought…..not only because she doesn’t think the same way, but also because she *does* think like that, but NOT with him.

She thinks about *HIM*.

-----

“Remy….” She sits down next to him, a slender hand resting on his gloved one. “What is the matter? Did something happen with Rogue?”
“Non,” his head shake instantly deflects that thought. “Rogue cherie be great…..great with ‘im,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Oh,” she is able to catch is words. “This is about Logan?”

“Hmmph,” arms cross in front of his chest.

She chuckles at his childish but endearing action. “You are jealous of Logan,” it’s a clear statement.

“Remy not be jealous of that fuzzball,” he tries to rise above the occasion….and fails miserably, given the present company.

Giving the clock a glance, she instantly infers the probable and correct reason for this outburst.

“She is with him, isn’t she,” another self evident statement.
“Hmmph,” another grunted answer.

-----

“Remy,” her arm moves to drape over his shoulder, her nose scrunching at the lingering smell of cigarettes ingrained in the fabric of his ever present overcoat. “You know about us. Right?”
“Hmm,” he tilts his head towards her, red-black eyes narrowing in confusion. ‘Which *us* is she talking about?’ he doesn’t voice this question.

“You and me,” she clarifies as she begins her explanation. “We are so close. We are more than just teammates….more than friends. We are practically family. You know that don’t you?’
“Do y’ even need t’ ask that?” his arm snake across her slim waist, all previous *un-familial* thoughts forgotten.

“No I don’t,” she smiles serenely. “But I asked to help you understand something.”
“What?”

“We share a bond….you and me,” that gets her his patent *killer* grin. “Just as….”
“….Rogue and ‘im,” he is fast to catch on.

“Yes,” she pats his shoulder. “Except their bond wasn’t shared by love and understanding…..it was shared by blood and tears. You DO know about it don’t you?”
“Yes,” his head hangs in spite itself.

“Logan is the reason Rogue is with us today,” a shudder runs through her as she recalls that night on Liberty Island. “And she is the reason he came back here.”
“What do you mean?” he looks up at her, his perceptive eyes not missing the wistful look in her twin sapphire jewels.

He subconsciously cringes at that look. That look is another reason he does not like the feral mutant known as Wolverine. It used to be him, Remy Lebeau who used to bring that look in his Stormy’s eyes…..not any backwater Canadian growl monster.

“Logan had promised Rogue that he would come back. He had also promised that he would take care of her.” She informs him of the Wolverine’s vow. “She is his *first* family. She comes before anyone else….even the X-Men.”

“Even before you?” he slips in the question, flinching at the slight coloring of her cheeks.

-----

“Today is Monday Night,” she states the obvious and craftily avoids answering his last question. “That means, unless there is a mission, school or either one or both of them not being here…..it is Hockey night. Everyone knows that. That is why the recreation room is vacated the minute Logan enters it.”
“That be the case everywhere,” he states dryly. “Remy t’ink it be a part of Wolvie’s mutation….scaring the children and psyching out Cycke.”

“It is a possibility,” she chuckles at his remark. “Maybe we should have Hank conduct some tests.”

“Y’ like ‘im,” his statement carries it own question.
“I didn’t at first,” she smiles as another memory lights up her eyes. “The first time we *actually* met face to face, I fired him off.”
“That be like the Sto….” He stops at the rumble of thunder. “….like the Ororo Remy know and love.”

“But after Jean was lost,” her sigh is sad. “After that he stayed back and helped us all. The school had to be repaired, the students, classes…everything. Scott was grieving. It was then that we all came to know what Rogue already knew.”
“What?”

“The *man* behind the Wolverine.”

----

“Y’ like ‘im,” he questions again.
“Yes,” she smiles easily at her admission as she rests her head against his shoulder. “He is a teammate and a good friend.”

“Just a good friend,” his tone expects an explanation.

“What are you getting at Lebeau?” her expression reminds him of the man in question. His eyes and his empathic abilities tell him what she hasn’t admitted yet.

“Notin’ cherie,” he tries to look unconcerned. “Except that y’ have been hangin’ out with the Wolfman. Rogue said that y’ both went to that bar he goes to….where he hasn’t taken anyone from the mansion. Not even Rogue.”

“Rogue is too young to drink,” her first clarification is about the young woman. “As for *hanging* out with him, I was just returning the favor for when he accompanied me to the opera, that no one else was ready to go to.”

“Y’ didn’t ask Remy,” he tries to appear hurt, knowing fully well that she wouldn’t have asked him in the first place. She knows him too well and knows about his aversion to opera and theater.

“Did I even need to?” that gives him his answer.

------

“Next time y’ go out with wild-boy there,” he tosses another name. “Tell Remy before y’ go. Remy has some business wit’ ‘im.”

“What sort of business?”

“’e is always showin’ Remy the claws when Remy take out his cherie,” the conversation has taken a lighter tone now. “Remy also want t’ show him th’ cards when y’ go out wit’ ‘im.”

“REMY,” she slapped her hand against her forehead. “Do you all need to have a testosterone competition. If its not Scott and Logan, its you and him. Why can not you guys let things be?”
“Where is the fun in…

*Wrrroommm*

…that?”

The start of a motorcycle interrupts their conversation. Its deep thump echoing in the silent night.

“Looks like the game is over,” she smiles as the sound first grows louder and then fainter as Wolverine rides out of the mansion gates.

“Which game padnat?” he wiggles his eyebrows at her, his heart calmed by talking to her.

“Which game? What do you….” She notices the glint in his eyes. “Oh, I am not even going to answer that.”

----

“’Roro,” his voice is soft now. “Take care huhn. Remy don’ want y’ to get hurt.”

“Thank you brother,” she gentles caress his cheek, placing a chaste kiss on the other.

“An’ don’ forget,” the mischief is back in his eyes.

“I STILL don’ like ‘im.”