TITLE: I Get By

SUMMARY: After being rescued by an unlikely classmate, things get complicated.

CHARACTERS: Marie, Remy, Bobby

RATING: T

WARNINGS: None, for this chapter. Beware of some language to come.

DISCLAIMER: I, LithiumAddict, a.k.a. Percy O'Leary, am not in any way shape or form connected to Marvel Comics, Fox Entertainment, or any other related group. I therefore do not own any of the characters represented here. This is fan-fiction, and a labour of love on my part and in no way an intention to undermine the previously mentioned organizations or their intellectual property.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This was originally a oneshot entitled "Oral Fixation", spawned by listening to the Hawksley Workman song "I'm Jealous Of Your Cigarette" too many times. Thanks to some gentle prodding by some fabulous readers, it grew from there in to the story you see before you.

What you're looking at is "I Get By", a work that remains in progress at this date of May 22nd, 2010. With every chapter update, I upload cleaned up versions of previous chapters. The only difference is (and will ever be) mild editorial work, nothing more. It's a lot of messing with the wordings of sentences, correcting grammar, evening Remy's accent, and making the story flow better. No plot gets changed, and you certainly don't need to re-read the whole story each time a new chapter comes up. The adjustments are more for my own satisfaction than anything else.

Thanks for giving this a chance. Above all, I ask only this – and I'm sure that those of you who know me by now will be able to guess what it is -- enjoy.

Well, this was just peachy.

What had started out as a great day was quickly becoming grounds for violent action. Against who, Marie had yet to decide, but she was certain that someone was going to be hurt for this.

"Can you say that again?" she asked, barely keeping a rein on the scream that had been building up at the back of her throat for the past ten minutes. The man behind the counter, whose nametag identified him as Aaron, nodded sympathetically.

"Your car's in no shape to get you home. We can fix it, but it's gonna take some time."

Breathe, she ordered herself. In, out. In, out.

"How much time?"

"A couple days."

"A couple days?"

Disbelief (and more than a little frustration) tainted her echo of his statement. Aaron shrugged, apologetic.

"Your motor's officially toasted. If anyone can resurrect that beast, it's Lucas. He's not in until tomorrow afternoon though." A small smile tugged at his mouth, one of those wouldn't-you-just-know-it sort of grins. "Lucky stiff's on his honeymoon right now."

She sighed resignedly, rubbing at her forehead to ward off the steadily rising tension that had settled there.

"But he can fix it?"

He nodded before handing her a clipboard and pen that he seemed to produce from thin air.

"No doubt about it. Just fill this out, and we'll call you once we've got your baby fighting fit again."

She took what was offered and scribbled in the information that the form requested before pressing it back in to his hands. Aaron looked at her askance for a moment, his features touched with mild concern.

"You want me to call you a cab or something?"

A shake of her head preceded her actual response.

"One of my friends should be able to give me a lift. You got a phone I could borrow?"

Aaron dug in to his pocket and pulled out a clunky black cell phone, far too big to be practical, and handed it over. With a murmured thanks, she punched in a familiar sequence of seven numbers and raised it to her ear. Three agonizing rings passed before it was answered.

"Xavier Institute."

She recognized that boredom-laced voice instantly. It was Remy LeBeau, the Louisiana boy who had been dragged in to the mansion by Ororo a few months ago after the latest student recruitment drive. She sat in front of him in English, and as far as she knew, he was an okay guy. Of course, she didn't necessarily know very far when it came to him. They may have shared a class, but he made a fine art of keeping to himself.

"Hey Remy. It's Marie calling."

This seemed to get his attention.

"What's up?"

"Is Bobby there?"

"Nope. Out playin' hero with the rest of the leather squad."

She swore softly at this. It was just her luck that her knight in icy armor would be busy slaying other dragons when she was in need.

"Rogue? What's wrong?"

"My car bit the dust while I was out today. Managed to get it to a garage, but the guy here says it's gonna be a couple days before the right person can look at it."

"Where y'at?"

"Ryerson Repairs, out in Englewood."

There was a brief pause on the other end that made Marie feel vaguely uncomfortable.

"Sit tight," he ordered. "I'll be there in a few."

xXx

She was sitting on the curb outside of the garage when a black, mid-nineties model sedan pulled in to the parking lot. The engine was killed and the driver's side door swung open to allow its operator to step out. Six feet and four inches of gangly male greeted the sun with a grimace, adjusting a pair of aviator shades that threatened to overwhelm his gaunt face. The grimace became marginally more pleasant once his gaze settled on Marie. He bobbed his head in a rather curt greeting that appeared to be more of custom than of care, but she was too grateful for the rescue to dwell too much on it.

"I owe you for this," she said as she approached the car. He waved a dismissive hand at her words, as if to scatter them to the wind. His mouth twitched in something resembling a smile anyways.

"S'alright. Hop in."

She opened the passenger door to see a set of textbooks resting on her seat – Art History, English, Advanced Calculus. Remy, who had already taken his seat, looked marginally embarrassed.

"Sorry about that. Just throw 'em in the back."

Marie nodded, picking up the books and shifting the seat forward in order to gain access to the backseat. A couple binders rested there, kept company by the occasional sheet of loose college rule covered in hasty diagrams and boxy text. A pair of well-worn combat boots sat on the floor behind the driver's seat atop a dark, folded jacket that after a wash or two might have proven to be a trench coat. She set the books down next to the binders before righting the passenger seat and sliding in. Remy turned the key in the ignition as she buckled up, and they were off.

The first few minutes of their journey home passed in silence, save for the quiet hum of the speakers and the music seeping through them. The few minutes after that passed in much the same way, except that it was a different song playing in the background. In Marie's opinion though, this one sounded an awful lot like the last one . . . and the one before that too. An angry guitar riff -- though any power it might have held was detracted from by the low volume that Remy had set it at -- and incoherent screaming, accompanied by the sneaking sense that if one were to slow it down to the point where the lyrics became intelligible, they would be about human sacrifice and other blasphemies. Marie contented herself with looking out the window and watching the world go by. The fact that Remy seemed to be growing antsy, however, didn't escape her. He had started drumming his fingers on the steering wheel about a song and a half ago, and had been doing so with increasing rapidity ever since. This continued for another few moments before Remy let out an exasperated breath.

"Y'mind if I smoke?" he asked, shooting a brief, almost pleading glance towards Marie before returning his attention to the road. "I got a craving somethin' fierce."

Marie shook her head.

"No. Go for it."

The relief on his face came and went so quickly that she wasn't even sure she had seen it.

"Could you pass 'em over?"

He gestured towards the glove compartment as he spoke, and Marie opened it up to reveal a motley collection of insurance papers, phone numbers scrawled alongside names, and what were most likely directions. She fished about for a moment, and was rewarded with the discovery of a half-empty pack of cigarettes and one of those cheap plastic lighters that you could get in packs of four in grocery store checkout lines. She examined the package for a brief moment, and she couldn't help but let out a stilted snicker. She shot her chauffer a wry glance.

"Unfiltered?"

Remy raised an eyebrow.

"Y'gonna give me a 'those'll kill you' lecture?"

She pulled a cigarette out of the package and looked at it thoughtfully.

"That'd be mighty hypocritical of me then, wouldn't it?"

And with that, she lit up and took a long, hard drag before passing it over to a rather stunned Remy.

"You're a smoker?" he asked, receiving it with a surprising grace for one so shocked. Marie shrugged, fingering the package awkwardly. Maybe that hadn't been as good an idea as she'd thought.

"Yeah. I guess."

"Y'guess."

In for a penny . . .

Lips pursed, Marie rolled down her window and pulled out one more cigarette. A moment of silence passed as she lit up, took a pull, and blew an ill-formed imitation of a smoke ring out the window.

"I may not have my powers anymore, but I still got everyone I ever absorbed banging around in my head. They still surface every once in a while." She sat there for a moment, cigarette dangling between her fingers as she tried to gauge Remy's reaction. He nodded at her words, expression otherwise impassive . . . or maybe it was just the sunglasses. Those aviators made him damn near impossible to read.

"Who'd y'pick that vice up from?

"Pete."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. Boy's the worst chain smoker I ever met."

His incredulity was actually rather amusing. She allowed herself to indulge in a grin as he shook his head in wonder.

"You think you know a guy. . ."

A particularly painful screech burst forth from the car's speakers, at which Marie cringed a little. This was music? Remy seemed to notice her distaste.

"I can pop this CD out if y'like."

"No, no. It's okay," she murmured, tapping her cigarette over the side of her open window. "Who is this?"

He replied after a sharp inhale of his own cigarette.

"They're called Circonférence d'un Carré. French screamo band that's big across the pond."

"Seer-con-fer-once dune cah-ray?" she tried, the words sounding nowhere near as smooth or assured coming from her mouth. Remy grinned as he reached and tugged open the car's ashtray and encouraged the loose ash at the tip of his cigarette to fall in.

"Means 'Circumference of a Square' in English. My brother stuffed it in the last care package my family sent." He snorted a little at this. "Idiot spends a month in France and all of a sudden he's an expert on the scene."

Marie blinked, taking a second to let the words sink in. His family . . .

"Your family's okay with you being a mutant? They still accept you?"

His glance shifted away from the road as he snatched a quick, albeit confused, look at the girl in his passenger seat.

"Well, yeah. Why shouldn't they? S'not like I'm a different person for havin' powers."

Her eyes shifted towards the floor of the car as she recalled a certain lazy summer day some time ago when she had been talking with David about the plans she had made for her trip, and they had . . . she banished the thought with a shake of her head.

"My momma and poppa would probably tell you different."

Remy sucked in an uncomfortable breath.

"I didn't mean it like--"

"It's okay," she assured him, though she knew her voice was still alarmingly soft. "I don't talk about it much."

He looked towards her again, lips pursed in contrition.

"S'your story, your choice. We all got parts of us we need t'keep to ourselves."

She nodded, thankful for his tact.

"It's not much of a story anyways," she said, sounding sorry as she brushed aside what was likely the defining moment of her life. "My powers manifested, I hurt someone real bad, my parents kicked me out."

She took a deep drag of her cigarette to not only occupy her mouth and thereby prevent herself from saying something stupid, but to hide the nerves that were starting to fray at her recollection of that day. The nicotine had lost its appeal, but the part of her mind that was Pete wouldn't allow her to reach over and squish it out yet. Remy followed suit, looking particularly thoughtful before speaking again.

"I'm willing to bet it's more of a story than you're lettin' on."

She shrugged, mouth twitching slightly.

"I don't talk about it much."

"Not even to Bobby?"

That got her attention. It was the way he had said it in particular that had caught her. Was that resentment she heard?

"Sorry, sorry," Remy apologized, though it didn't really sound like he meant it. "I'm gettin' up in your business. S'not my place."

Marie fixed him with a critical look.

"There something between you and Bobby I should know about?"

He shook his head.

"Nope. Nothin'."

"I don't buy that for a second. Try again."

Remy sighed softly before offering a rather cryptic reply.

"He's got a bad habit of playin' with toys that ain't his to start with," he began, sending a significant look towards Marie. "Boy doesn't look after his own things so well either."

She frowned at these words, not really sure she wanted to understand their full meaning. A hazy sense of familiarity was creeping up on her from behind, like she ought to have known what he meant. She fended it off with another drag.

"So, what's all in these care packages your family makes up?"

The question sounded far too casual to her ears, but Remy seemed appreciative for the change in subject. He launched in to an answer with a gusto that was just as forced as the flippancy she herself had feigned, but grew more and more genuine as he continued.

"My brother and cousins send me CDs. Sometimes I wonder about their taste though – Emil 'specially. Kid's a pretty-boy, in to that emo crap." He paused to shake his head ruefully and steal a quick pull at his cigarette before continuing. "M'dad sends me smokes, coffee, and a cheque every month. He sometimes writes 'bout what's happenin' at home, but he's a busy man. Doesn't always have the time. My aunt, Mattie, she sends me books."

"What kind?"

"Any and all. Last one was a translation of some Russian horror novel she figured I'd like. I gotta remember to thank her next time I call home."

A sad smile wended its way across his face, the expression mirrored in Marie's.

"You miss them, huh?"

He nodded soberly.

"Like hell." There was a pause as he changed lanes. "Here we are."

They turned in to the mansion grounds and worked their way down the almost comically long driveway. Waiting at the end was a small student parking lot that had been put in at the beginning of this year due to the sharp increase in enrolment, particularly in the older teen demographic. Remy ended up pulling in to a spot between a new white Beamer that Marie recognized as belonging to Emma Frost (a vanity plate bearing the epithet "DIAMOND" was a dead giveaway) and a beat up pickup whose owner she couldn't place. The two of them then took turns butting out their cigarettes before closing the ashtray and hiding Remy's smoking paraphernalia in the glove box once more. Smoking wasn't prohibited on campus per say, but it was frowned upon with a vengeance. Before turning the vehicle off, Remy opened up the center consul and pulled out a package of gum.

"Want some?" he asked, proffering it to Marie. She accepted, and pressed a piece from the blister pack in to her hand before passing it back to Remy, who did so as well. The two popped their gum in to their mouths in what was close to synchronicity, which would have struck Marie as odd were she not busy being attacked by extremely potent mint flavour.

"Burns like a mother, don't it?" Remy grinned as he turned off the ignition. "Covers up the smell real well though."

Rogue nodded, not trusting her mouth enough to speak as she stepped out of the car. The burn eventually dissipated in to a mild tingle as she chewed on, waiting for Remy to get out as well. The two then set off across the front lawn towards the doors of the mansion.

"Thanks again for the ride, Remy."

"Like I said, s'not a problem. You're good company."

The two of them meandered on in silence, the quiet building like a pressure until Remy spoke again.

"I hang out on the roof a lot. North wing." He jammed his hands in to the back pockets of his jeans, looking towards something at his feet that only he could see. "Y'need a place to get away to sometime, you can always join--"

"Marie!"

Both of their gazes snapped towards the source of the noise – Bobby, obviously fresh out of his leathers, standing on the front steps of the mansion. He came down the stairs at a fairly good clip before dashing across the lawn to where Marie and Remy stood.

"Hey," he smiled, stepping in between the two of them and wrapping Marie in a tight hug. "Where've you been?"

"My car broke down while I was out."

"And you didn't call?"

"I did. You weren't there, so Remy came and gave me a ride."

Bobby nodded, turning to address Remy with an appreciative smile. Marie looked towards him as well, and found herself taken aback at the change in his stance. Perfect posture, ramrod straight, replaced the slight slouch that she had thought he favored. A distinct tension had wound its way through his shoulders, and the only apt comparison she could come up with was to a soldier standing at attention.

"Thanks for looking out for Marie, Remy. I owe--"

"Give my regards to Kitty, hmm?"

Marie could feel Bobby's hand tense on her shoulder in time with the tightening of her jaw. A bitter smile spread across Remy's face as he brushed by the both of them and stalked off towards the mansion. Bobby ran a bewildered hand through his hair.

"What's his problem?"

Marie was honestly not sure.