Shout-out to JasmineBella for inspiring me to continue with this story:)

It was pointed out in a review that Kitty is Jewish, and ergo probably wouldn't celebrate Christmas. Well, we didn't exactly see her celebrating it, just joining in the festivities and buying gifts. It's Kitty, and I can see her using even a holiday she doesn't partake in to have an excuse for shopping:)

DISCLAIMER: I already have one on the first chapter, do I really need another one? *Wade bursts in through window* "It will throw them off the trail if you have multiple denials of ownership!" Right, so to throw off the Marvel-Elf conspiracy, No. I own nothing. Not a single document or anything. ::cough::

Rogue was fidgeting (very not nervously) with her sleeves while she stood idly by the stairwell's banister. Re - Gambit would be coming soon to spend Christmas with them (obviously not her). She had told the Professor, and internally hoped that he had taken it upon himself to spread the news; the idea of informing Logan that she had invited the moron who had kidnapped her before was not one she was inclined to think on if she could help it.

Maybe I should have told him though. Then he could've say 'no' and I wouldn't be in this mess. Me and my stupid mouth. What an idiotic idea to invite him over. Honestly. I swear my body is rebellion against me. Like these stupid butterflies in my stomach - why in the hell would I feel nervous about this? ...Because I don't want a blood-bath. Yes, that's it. I'm afraid Logan will freak when he sees Re - Gambit, and, while I don't mind red on Christmas, I don't want that red to be blood. It might dampen my spirits. Besides, then the cops would come and I don't feel like dealing with the paperwork of witnessing Logan murder someone. What in the world would I say was the murder weapon? "Uh, yes, well you see, he has this thing about trimming his nails..." No. That wouldn't -

*Ding-Dong, ding dong*

Gah! No! That must be him! All right, just play it cool. Be cool. Just open the door, eat, and then run like a bat out of hell to your room and let him hang with the adults and Scott. She chuckled at that. Re - Gambit and Scott. She even considered sticking around just to see it. No. You're not sticking around for any reason. Bad. Very bad.

Rogue casually straightened up and took deliberately slow steps towards the door, knowing full-well that, even though the glass was slightly fogged up due to the chill, he was probably studying her carefully (which she translated as "leering at her creepily"). Putting on her best look of disinterest, the Southern belle opened the door and glanced him over before letting him in. Although looking at him, she wondered if she wanted to let him in. The shock had to have been evident on her face. There was no way she was that skilled at hiding it, but - ... Dear, god he's wearing an ugly Christmas sweater, isn't he?

His burly leather trench coat was concealing a majority of his attire, but she could see bright scarlet and several sequins peeking out from between the lapels. His stupid face was, of course, plastered with an amused and stupid smirk, as he also took in her appearance. Well, compared to him, she was boring. A pair of jeans, converse and a long sleeved emerald shirt was all she chose to wear.

"It's a tad brisk out, petite. T'ink ya' can ogle Remy inside?" The Cajun's smarmy voice broke the perplexed silence and his grin spread across his pink-tinged face.

Blushing against her will (because her cheeks were apparently in league with her mouth to destroy her very life), she stepped back and muttered something darkly under her breath.

"Yeah, yeah, ya' can come in, ya' idiot." She grunted.

"Merci,'' came his irritating response, his breath coming out in a gentle mist as it left his mouth.

After he had stepped inside, rubbing his partially-gloved hands in an attempt to warm them, he asked, "An' where can I put my coat?"

Directing a distasteful glance at what minuscule amount of material was visible underneath his ugly coat, Rogue coyly suggested,

"Maybe ya' oughtta' jus' keep it on? Don't want ya' to catch a chill or nothin'." She was quite pleased with her smart response, until he countered with,

"Aw, ya' be worried 'bout lil ol' Remy? I'm touched, really."

Freakin idiot. He would be able to turn it around for his devious purposes.

"Do whatever ya' want with your coat. I don't care," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to remember why in the fiery flames of hell she found it to be a good idea to invite him over. Because my mouth is working to bring about my demise, that's why. First it made me agree to go shopping with Kitty, and because that wouldn't kill me enough as it was, it decided to make sure it got the job done by inviting this dweeb over.

"Chere, I don't t'ink ya' wanna' tell me I can do whatever I want wit' any article o' clothin'," He winked, turning so his back was facing her and then angling his head towards her as he slowly slid one sleeve off of his shoulder. Damn, if the man didn't know how to be seductive. And because that wasn't bad enough, he "accidentally" dropped the coat, allowing it to flutter to the ground and pool around his ankles in a majestic heap. He purposefully lowered his head as if he had just noticed it even existed, and, with a disturbing batting of his eye lashes, pouted his lips and said in a high-pitched voice, "Oops."

Rogue stood agape. Mortified. Aghast. Thunderstruck. Really, there was no single word to describe her pure and unparalleled horror - but not necessarily because of his very unnerving display (Gawd, who knew he would have made the perfect stripper in another life?), but because of her reaction to his unnerving display.

The stupid Cajun hadn't even finished angling himself away before the bright red blood decided her cheeks would be a pretty cool place to congregate and party, exhibiting itself garishly as a crimson blush. And then her stomach, apparently jealous of the blood's fun, thought a festival of their own - an acrobatic festival complete with summersaults and vivacious swinging about - was the only available option. And then her mouth! Well, thank god the blasted thing converted to monk-ism and took the vow of silence, but it still insisted upon draining all moisture and taking on the feeling of dry cotton balls instead. To top things off, her body as a whole, feeling left out that it had no part to play, contributed in the rebellion by trembling nervously. Glorious.

Her eyes? Well, she had no problem with how her eyes reacted. Because they weren't dilating and watering because of his display, they were dilating and watering because of the atrocity that was now bombarding her vision with every ounce of egregious color it had. And right now she only saw the back of it. Just the back was that deplorable. Rogue, seizing her opportunity, chose to blame any adverse reaction she had on the sweater (because, obviously, that was the reason all along. Her body was just smart enough to predict the travesty even before it was unveiled. His lasciviousness was clearly by no means the cause. That was just a perfectly ridiculous notion.) But - that sweater! That must be what Santa Claus' vomit looks like.

The torso was tolerable. It was just a festive shade of crimson red. No problem, right? But the trim on the torso. The bottom hem was adorned with half-dead, sparkly green and white pom-poms that were clearly hot-glued on and were sparsely placed at uneven intervals. The collar consisted of what was probably the most itchy and glittery wool known to man, in lovely shades of rotten-tomato red and unripe-apple green. The sleeves were so obviously sewed on at a later time (implying the torso had once been a vest, perhaps) and the bright yellow thread used was painfully visible as it served to attach the red and white striped fabric. And the last visible area of the mortifying ensemble was the cuffs, which were festive emerald garland that had been stapled on, the tiny metal hooks sticking out in most places. Yet, somehow, even with the staples, the tinsel was still slipping off in several spots, and had shed several slivers with the removal of his coat.

Before she could stop herself, and, if we're being honest, it may indeed be the only appropriate response, the girl blurted out, "What the hell?"

"What?" The Cajun replied blankly, and the worst part was, he looked genuinely confused - like he had no idea what had caused her previous interjection.

"What are ya' - What in the name of all that is right and holy are ya' wearin'?" She questioned incredulously.

Rogue saw only the back of his head as he bowed his chin towards his chest as if forgetting what he had chosen to put on (like anyone could forget that god-awful thing.)

Remy craned his neck around to the previous position where his face was easily perceived but his front still hidden. "Ya' don't like it?" He pouted. Yes, pouted. Like a freakin three-year-old.

"Do - Do Ah like it?" The younger echoed with pure awe at his idiocy.

"Oui, I couldn't find a nice Christmas sweater, so I improvised an' made my own." He looked so damn proud of himself, until he saw her horror-stricken face. Then he hung his head and let his hair dance limply in front of his eyes. "I guess I can understan' why ya' don't like it. I jus' t'ought dis is what normal people did f'r Christmas, an' since I ain't never had a normal Christmas - " he paused just long enough to rip, tear, and claw his way through every last of of her heart strings " - I just t'ought...Never mind. It was a stupid idea... I'll jus'...Maybe dis whole t'ing was a bad idea..."

Muahahaha, yes! He's leaving! How perfect! Was what she wished she was thinking. Instead, she couldn't help but feel sorry for his pitiful, defeated slump and his mournful, mumbled voice. Aww, but he just looked so gleeful a moment ago! And now look at him - he looks like the puppy at the pound that doesn't get picked day after day... He bent down to retrieve his coat from the floor, somehow still managing to keep the front of his sweater concealed. I really should just let him go, but -

"No!" Her sudden outburst caught both by surprise. He widened his eyes slightly and raised his eyebrows, his chin tilted towards her but his back still hunched over.

"Yes, petite?" He pressed when she only stared at him awkwardly rather than continuing in speech.

The one freakin time my mouth decides to take a break. Honestly. "Um, Ah mean, you're more than welcome to stay. It's, erm, nice that ya' made such a, erm, nice sweater."

It was a very good thing the Cajun didn't straighten up until after she had complimented him. Because no way in hell would she have been able to utter the word "nice" in correlation to it had she been able to see his sweater. She thought she was appalled before. She thought the back was horrendous. Well, compared to the front, the back was like gazing at the freakin Mona Lisa. Because of this back was Santa's vomit, then the front implied that the whole of the North Pole itself got the stomach bug and rolled the waste into one, giant, abominable grotesquerie. Her previous view point, though atrocious, was a blank slate aside from the despicable ornamentation around the edges, but her new, blessed sight was anything but blank.

A Santa Claus, one that was surely of demonic origin, sat on top of a chimney and was grinning gleefully while one of his sausage-y fingers pointed outwards. (Directly at her, she was certain.) His beard and trim were made of cotton balls that had been crudely smushed onto his creepy-ass red face and distorted, corpulent body. His eyes were black (see? Demonic) and had pipe-cleaners that served as eyelashes and eyebrows (or potentially eye gook that the demon couldn't contain inside his orbs of sight). The chimney his bloated buttocks were seated on appeared to be made of felt that hadn't been properly cleaned off and was still, ergo, caked in dust. One of his boots was missing, but the other (at least she assumed the awkward black - thing - was a boot) was clinging desperately by what was unmistakably scraps of Scotch tape. Because demon Santa was clearly not enough decoration as it only took up the bottom half of the shirt, several freaky-ass elves - sequins and all - were dancing (Yes, dancing) above him. Their disturbing little legs were bent at angles impossible for any creature to possibly achieve (even freaky-ass elves) and their hands were raised above their heads in some strange, perverse "hallelujah" signal. Green and red striped blobs could be distinguished as their hats (after much scrutinization) and, the undeniable tinkle's came from the minuscule bells that adorned the tips of their pointed headpieces. Their dwarf lips were stretched into some form of demented, macabre smile that would surely give even the most fearless nightmares. Pointed ears that looked more like horns (demonic, I tell you) peeked out from under their bulbous hats. Rogue wasn't sure if it was confetti or stars, but what was easily hundreds of red, green, gold, and white sequins rained down (or up?) onto the elves in a gigantic, confusing, indistinguishable mass of glitter. A snowman brooch that had been pinned onto his left shoulder was the finishing touch, and, considering, was actually fairly tolerable.

XxXxX

Remy tried to hide the involuntary grin that threatened to overtake his face when he saw Rogue's reaction. She really should have known better than to tell him that he could do ''whatever'' he wanted with his coat. But, damn, if he wasn't glad she did. Nothing was more adorable than the beet red coloring that immediately held her complexion hostage - and all he did was speak, he had yet to put on his little 'show'. Seeing her shocked expression as he slowly slid off one sleeve made him wish he had brought a camera (granted she probably would have killed him if he had taken a picture of her.)

When he saw her eyes widen and start to water, he almost wondered if he had somehow offended her. Had she been hurt in a way he inadvertently triggered memories of? Relief washed over his concern when he saw that her expression was one of thunderstruck horror, not despair. What in the world - ? Oh, that, he remembered as his neck became conscious of the awful scratchy feeling enclosing his throat. A small smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. I was hoping you'd like my sweater. Just wait til you see the front.

"What the hell?" She blurted out.

Remy's eyebrows shot up in surprise, had she no tact? Seeing a way to work this to his advantage, he plastered the most sincere of confused expressions he could manage.

"What?" Came his innocent response. Oh, how he loved the way her face scrunched up as she tried to figure out an appropriate answer to his query.

"What are ya' - What in the name of all that is right and holy are ya' wearin'?" She finally asked.

You gotta' be confused and innocent, remember? Look down, even as he thought the instructions, his head obeyed and angled itself towards his chest. The Cajun was secretly glad she couldnt' see his face, even he couldn't suppress the repulsed grimace that overtook his features as the awful thing came back into sight. I'm glad I asked ol' St. John to help. Ain't no way in hell I would have been able to create something this hideous on my own. I don't even want to know where that crazy Aussie got this Santa. I'm convinced this Kris Kringle came directly from hell itself, and that his face is so red from all the burns. Demonic Santa.

Coating his face with a dejectedly perplexed pout (muahaha, no femme can resist my pout), he returned his gaze back to her. "Ya' don't like it?"

If he thought her eyes were ready to burst from her head already, he was now wondering why the pressure wasn't sending them into orbit. She looked as though she were somehow balancing two ping-pong balls on the delicate bridge of her nose. How do you have a delicate nose-bridge? ...Oh well, my Roguey does.

His Southern belle (when did he start referring to her as belonging to him?) spluttered like a fish out of water until she finally managed to come back with, "Do - Do Ah like it?"

Initiate operation: Pity. "Oui, I couldn't find a nice Christmas sweater, so I improvised an' made my own." Now to really make her sorry for me, he let a small and proud grin twinge the corners of his mouth, then, when he saw her even more incredulous face, hung his head (which was really rather awkward considering his face was still the opposite direction of his body) and made sure some locks of hair tickled his eyes. A pleased smile tried its hardest to dominate his mouth, but he didn't survive this long by not having proper control of his expressions. "I guess I can understan' why ya' don't like it. I jus' t'ought dis is what normal people did f'r Christmas, an' since I ain't never had a normal Christmas - " Now seemed like a good time for a nice, deep breath that paused his speech long enough to clinch that he had her in the palm of his hand " - I just t'ought...Never mind. It was a stupid idea... I'll jus'...Maybe dis whole t'ing was a bad idea..." Dieu, I'm good. I'd never want to be on the opposite side of me.

Being careful to maintain his defeated slouch, he slowly and sorrowfully bent over and extended his arm towards his beloved trench coat. This floor had better be cleaner than -

"No!" Came her hastily exclaimed protest after several beats.

For the first time that night, true surprise marred his features. Hmm, guess I did a better job than I thought. Against his will, the skin around his eyes expanded and his eyebrows ascended towards his hairline.

Looks like she be just as surprised as me. Guess I'd better give her a gentle prod, "Yes, petite?" That brought her out of whatever world she was in enough for her to begin stuttering again,

"Um, Ah mean, you're more than welcome to stay. It's, erm, nice that ya' made such a, erm, nice sweater."

It literally looked painful for her to inform him his sweater was 'nice', he noted with glee. Maybe it was sadistic, but he derived such pleasure in irritating and confusing her.

But, oh was her reaction glorious when he straightened up! Her astonishment went to horror, and her horror went to what could only be described as utter fear.

Yep, she must have seen demon Santa first. Though these elves are pretty damn terrifying. I'm sure Wade would go off on some spiel about the 'corporate elves' and 'pocket dragons' - whatever the hell those are - if he saw them.

At last, the battle for control of his face was allotted to his muscles, as they stretched his lips into an amused grin. Luckily, she was far too busy stopping herself from vomiting or dashing away in terror to pay any mind to his face.

"Somethin' wrong, chere?" Remy finally questioned, deciding the three minutes of speechless silence had already survived too long.

XxXxX

Rogue had been unabashedly gaping at the travesty he clothed himself in, when his irritating and perplexed voice broke through the fog in her brain and brought her back to reality.

"Um - yeah, Ah was jus', er, admirin' your - your sweater." She spluttered oh so smoothly. Ugh, that just tasted bad to say I 'admired' that thing. I think I'm going to be sick. Though I've thought that since he unveiled that befoulment.

"Why t'ank ya'!" He beamed (secretly pleased he had a reason to smile as he barely concealed his previous one in time to hide it from her) "I made it all by myself." Well, St. John helped, but she doesn't need to know that.

"Oh, um, Ah - Ah never would have guessed...that." The younger girl managed to eek out, hastily changing the subject by saying, "Uh, dinner oughtta' be ready soon, c'mon."

Great. I get to introduce this freak to everyone else. I really hope the Prof informed everyone he'd be here. Then an exquisitely devious thought blossomed in her mind. Now Logan can see this! Yes! Muahaha! I hope his enhanced eyesight enjoys it even more than I did. He deserves it after letting Kitty take me shopping. I still can't believe he betrayed me like that. But revenge is nothing if not sweet.

If Remy noticed her newly affixed devilish grin, then the Cajun wisely chose not to comment. Reaching the dining room took no more than a minute, if even that. Considering there were only five other people in the room, the amount of noise that erupted on their entrance was quite impressive. (Though, as it turned out, Logan was responsible for 75% of the din.)

In two swift movements, the feral mutant had grabbed Remy by the scruff of the itchy collar (eliciting several sequins and glitter particles to loose their hold on the material and flutter to Logan's shirt or the floor).

"What the hell do ya' think you're doin' here, bub?"

Before the innocently amused Cajun had the chance to respond, Xavier's voice rung out clear and calm.

"Please, Logan, put the boy down. He has my blessing to be here."

I guess the Prof didn't exactly spread the word like I had hoped.

"Your blessing?" The shorter man echoed incredulously, never taking his narrowed, angry eyes from the boy's relaxed ones.

"Yes, Rogue invited him."

Damn. I don't suppose you could have implicated someone else while he's threatening the dude with his claws.

"What, and lie?" An amused voice interrupted her thoughts, causing her to lurch in shock and jerk her head towards her bald mentor. The Professor actually winked at her before returning his attention to the predicament at hand.

"Let the boy down, Logan. It is Christmas after all." He added when his friend's face only contorted into more ferocity.

With an embittered grunt, he dropped the stupid man unceremoniously to the floor and turned his gaze to the Southern belle hovering innocently by the doorway.

"Ya' invited this idiot here, Stripes?" He asked, and, lord, he sounded disappointed!

Disappointed over what? Geesh. Overprotective old man. She thought before she could stop herself. Why did she suddenly feel so indignant of Remy? It's this blasted Christmas season. It's messing with you, is all.

"Yeah, Ah didn't think anyone should be all alone on Christmas," she defended, crossing her arms in a stance that just dared him to challenge her.

The feral mutant spared a glance at Remy who was brushing off non-existent dust from his chest as if nothing had happened. An expertly timed look of despair crossed his features while his head was still bowed, before he lifted his gaze and flashed an innocent smile towards Logan, earning an unimpressed growl in response.

Remy raised his hands in surrender, then simply asked, "Where do ya' want me t' put my coat?"

Now, just so its properly understood, Logan's face had been boiling red with rage from the instant he laid eyes on the stupid mutant. But now the crimson wrath spread out to the tips of his ears and disappeared into the neckline of his black shirt. His already bulging eyes protruded so far from their sockets it's a wonder they weren't joining Rogue's in orbit. The vein that was slowly gaining visibility now swelled so far from his forehead and pulsed so rapidly it could be confused for a living organism itself. His already clenched fists were now so firmly clasped they would surely be imploding at any moment. His scrunched up nose was now almost reaching the space between his eyebrows and his tight lips fused together so flawlessly it was nigh impossible to tell one from the other. The shaking that had started off as almost imperceivable trembling now matured into baby convulsions.

"Where - Where - " Damn, he must be angry if he's spluttering like this. " - Where do I want you to put your coat?" He echoed, his voice set in a low and menacing growl.

"Oui, Roguey wouldn't tell - "

"Roguey?!" The protective mutant erupted, taking a threatening stride towards the still utterly calm Cajun.

"Oui, Roguey, here, wouldn't tell me where t' put it." Remy continued as though he had never been interrupted, happily ignoring the anger radiating towards him.

I swear to god if you mention that strip tease act I will personally skin you alive. Rogue thought, realizing too late she was projecting and the Professor had picked up on her threat much as he had before. She glanced at him, resembling quite closely a deer in the headlights, and met Xavier's amused and curious eyes. Well, crap.

"So I t'ought perhaps you'd be kind enough t' help me out."

"Oh, I'll help you out all right," Logan snarled. "I'll help you out the door."

The addressed chuckled lowly."Ya' are funny, at dat, Monsieur Claws. Pay no attention t' da rumors," he added, earning a look of surprise that served to embellish the fierce anger.

"What 'rumors'?" The shorter man demanded.

"Nothin', nothin'. It be Christmas, no reason t' focus on negative an' false t'ings," Remy waved off casually. "Now, 'bout my coat."

Logan probably would have lunged, had it not been for Xavier's tranquil interjection.

"There should be a closet in the hallway. You are welcome to hang it up there."

"Merci," he politely inclined his chin downward in acknowledgment before disappearing out the door he had come through.

"What the hell were ya' thinkin', Stripes?" Wolverine demanded, rounding on Rogue next.

"Ah already told ya'. No one should have to be alone on Christmas an' it's not like we're exactly brimmin' with people!" She exclaimed more indignantly than intended, her suspicion that Logan had noticed this as well confirmed by the renewed look of astonishment.

Yes, my mouth is definitely trying to ensure my untimely demise.

Surprisingly, the mentor let it slide and instead questioned, "And what in living hell is he wearing?"

Muahahaha, he noticed! I hope his eyes appreciated the lovely colors. She thought evilly.

She shrugged, "He made it Ah guess."

The words had barely left her mouth when the subject of conversation returned, rubbing his hands together gleefully and asking,

"So, is dinner ready?"

The rest of the occupants - Rogue, Logan, Xavier, Scott, Hank, and Ororo - simply stared incredulously at him.

Ororo was the first to break the silence and she finally answered with, "Just a few more minutes until the ham's ready. I was about to start setting the table now, in fact."

"I'd love t' help," he offered sounding suspiciously sincere.

The weather witch shared a slightly confused look with the others before nodding, "That's very generous of you. Hank, you and Scott can sit down, if you'd like."

"I'll start pouring the eggnog," Hank suggested genially, quite pleased, in fact, that Remy had come. More so, he was pleased the Rogue invited him - the Beast had always suspected there was more between the two than the stubborn goth would admit.

"It spiked?" The Cajun interrupted.

"Some of us are still underaged." Scott bit out, a constipated look settling on his face and, though his eyes were concealed by his sunglasses, it was evident he was shooting proverbial daggers at the newcomer.

The former acolyte shrugged as though he didn't even notice the distaste and casually stated, "Ain't like dat's ever stopped me before."

The 'boy scout' clenched his fists and crossed his arms in agitation.

"C'mon, petite, ya' can help me an' Stormy - " no, the white-haired woman most certainly did not appreciate her new nickname " - set da table."

Rogue cast glances at all of her fellow teammates, two amused, two angry as hell, and one now a mix of both (Storm really hated the 'derogatory' term "Stormy"), before nodding,

"Um, sure." Oh dear. This should be an interesting meal. She observed sarcastically, feeling Logan's eyes literally burning a hole in the back of her skull as she advanced towards the thief. Just act casual, you did nothing wrong. You can't help if it Logan is taking on Scrooge's persona for the night. Although with as irritating as that stupid Cajun is, I really can't blame him...

Remy looked much too pleased with himself as he followed Ororo into the kitchen, utilizing an arrogant saunter for his method of transportation, adding an extra sashay of the hips as he went.

Rogue discreetly glanced back at Logan to see his reaction. It was evident that the feral mutant did not appreciate the display by the way he slammed his fist onto the table and growled malignantly. Because clearly swaggering in the most antagonizing manner wasn't enough icing on the already aggravating cake, Gambit began to hum [off-tune] several beloved Christmas carols, surely ruining them in the minds of all who heard.

"Hark the Herald Angels Sing" will never be the same again. Ever. Rogue sighed, trailing sluggishly behind the irksome houseguest and stepping into the kitchen.

Remy had stopped humming for the time-being, and was instead inspecting all of the food by lifting the lids and sniffing the contents. Before Rogue got the chance to comment on his stupid antics, Storm strode over and smacked his hand away.

"You'll get to try it in just a moment. Be patient, young man," she told him sternly, but her tone couldn't prevent the amused twinkle in her eyes.

The Cajun pouted again (like a four-year-old this time, he's maturing, I guess) and grumbled in French under his breath.

Wow. I didn't know French sounded so dreamy even when uttered in irritation. Maybe it's just because of who - No! Bad! Very bad! No more positive thoughts regarding that idiot! French is an ugly language anyway.

"If you would please, just take what you can safely carry and set it on the table,'' the weather-witch instructed, opening the oven and letting the aroma of honey-glazed ham waft throughout the room.

Since he was scolded from sniffing the pots, Remy indulged himself in taking large inhalations and allowing the decadent scent to trail down his throat. Irritated by the sight of his perfectly sculpted - erm, ugly nose jutted straight up in the air to enhance his olfactory abilities, Rogue grunted and grabbed two pots and stalked back into the dining room.

Logan was now sitting down, but he looked no more placated than he had before, and, if it was even possible, appeared to be even more upset.

Well, good. Let the old man suffer. I certainly did, and I did vow to make his life hell. Hmm, maybe I should invite Remy over more often...What? Gah! No! You, missy, are a very naughty girl! No thinking about Remy! Gambit! No thinking about Gambit! Her thoughts were also, quite clearly, in league with her devious mouth and body. How treacherous of them to all gang up on her and rebel in one simple mutiny! Yes, mutiny. I'm onto you, you crafty little devils. And you know what, it won't work! I will not let you win with this diabolical mutiny!

The last sentence, of course, was practically shouted to the heavens, and, ergo, heard all too clearly by Xavier. The balding man literally jumped and choked on his water at the unexpected exclamation. Logan must have been angry if he didn't so much as bat an eyelash at the aging man's plight; the only reaction the spluttering received was the further clenching of his fists (yeah, the dude had no circulation in his hands by now). An expression of perplexed surprise crossed Charles' features once he at last regained his eloquence (he would choose to act as though he didn't hack up a lung) and he directed his gaze to the Southern belle.

Great. Now he thinks I'm insane. Probably because I am insane. My own body is trying to 'gaslight' me. This is ridiculous. Oo, hey, at least I'm not thinking about Gambit any - ...never mind.

The young girl sighed in resignation, offering a weak smile (which morphed into a grimace) to her mentor and hurriedly shifting her position to dart back into the kitchen. Well apparently this blasted mutiny was gaining momentum, for now the very universe was against her (which she had believed all along anyway) and, once she had turned around, she found herself walking into something quite firm (and bright red?).

What the hell? She wondered as she lost balance and began to fall. Only, before she could actually land on the paneled floor, something reached out and gripped her around the wrist, jerking her back to her feet.

"Ya' all right, chere?" Remy inquired sounding genuinely concerned.

Wait, Re - Gambit? Why is he here? Wasn't he just - ?! Oh hell no. Are you freakin' kidding me? I just bodily walked directly into Remy?! I mean, Gambit?! This just isn't possible. No one could have that much bad luck.

Rogue just gaped at him, replaying the image in her mind. Let's see, I was hurrying to get away from Xavier and his prodding stare, so I turned around and saw a bright red flash, and then I walked into something firm, and then I almost fell on my ass, but I was jerked to my feet . I just walked directly into Re - Gambit.

"Um, yeah, I'm fine. Couldn't be better," she assured him, cursing her mutinous cheeks for burning scarlet.

He looked her over, affirming her words. Once satisfied, an amused smirk began to sprawl across his lips. "Ya' do realize ya' jus' - "

Before he could finish his smarmy remark, Logan (who had apparently lurched to his feet) stepped between the two Southerners and began a spewing a slur of threats at the younger man. The Cajun raised his hands in surrender (internally laughing maniacally when one of his cuffs' "garnishings" tickled the feral man's nose.)

Wolverine irately batted the tinsel away, and, was about to continue his tirade, when, suddenly, his angry expression turned blank.

"Seriously, gumbo, what the hell are ya' wearin'?" He grunted, picking at one of the hot-glued pom-poms in bewilderment.

It was Remy's turn to change expressions, and this time he opted for child-like excitement. "Oh, well, I made it! I wanted t' be festive, ya' know, homme? An' so I made dis. All by myself." He added with a note of pride the sweater did not warrant.

Apparently even the tough 'n' gruff Logan wasn't immune to Remy's childish glee, and the older man responded by absently running his fingers through his hair and staring in disbelief at the monstrosity exhibited before his eyes.

"Um, that's, um, nice, I guess." He muttered, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable as Gambit's beaming face was still glued to his. As quickly as was polite, Logan walked back to his seat by Charles and, looking just as dumbfounded as he felt, lowered himself into the chair.

Remy tried to keep the look of pride on his face, but he knew that some amount of astonishment must have pierced its way through. Did Monsieur Claws actually say my sweater was 'nice'? And then walk away? Maybe it's a sign of the apocalypse...

By the time the scrumptious ham was properly cooked, and the table fully furnished with other delicious holiday treats, Logan's anger had returned to replace his bafflement. Everyone took their seats - Xavier at the head of the table, to his right was Logan, Ororo, and Hank, to his left was Scott, Rogue, and Remy - then (after a brief iteration of prayer), everyone sat in silence. They all just stared at each other, unsure of how to approach the commencement of eating, that is, until Remy reinstituted his obnoxious humming and leaned forward to grab the nearest thing - the mashed potatoes.

Wolverine's scowl deepened when he saw the guest take the initiative, and, as per his aggravation demanded, growled when Remy asked if anyone else wanted some.

"Yes, thank you, I think some mashed potatoes would just about hit the spot," Xavier replied with a genial smile, passing his plate to the polite Cajun.

Though he was only [very poorly] humming, the lyrics "Deck the halls with boughs of holly" circulated in all of their minds as Remy continued to load up his plate. Xavier, Hank, and Ororo followed his lead, but both Scott and Logan were to busy glowering and plotting his untimely demise to consider something as trivial as eating. Rogue, on the other hand, simply didn't know what the hell to do.

Finally, on what must have been the twenty-freakin-fifth round of "Deck the Halls", Logan slammed his fist on the table and snarled, "I'm gonna' deck your halls, bub."

The humming abruptly stopped and Remy's eyes widened in innocent wonderment. Before he could utter what was probably a snarky retort, the Professor interjected,

"Now do try to play nice, Logan. It is Christmas after all."

The addressed didn't respond with anything but a grunt, and then, in what was probably his most civil voice, asked,

"Pass the potatoes, won't ya' gator-bait?"

"Pas de problemme, Monsieur Claws," the thief grinned cheekily, extending the bowl out towards him.

"Ya' want anythin', petite?" Remy asked, turning attention to the mystified girl beside him.

"Um, Ah'll have the - uh - " Quick, which bowl is farthest away from him! " - the corn. Corn sounds good." Rogue had just opened her mouth to ask Logan to pass her said food, when the Cajun abruptly stood to his feet, and walked around the table just to get it for her.

What the hell is that idiot doing now? You've got to be kidding me.

He returned with a satisfied smirk and even had the gall to grip the spoon and ladle a scoop onto her plate.

"Want more, chere?"

"No," she answered through gritted teeth. Of course I couldn't let this dweeb be alone on Christmas. Geesh.

"Ham?"

"I'm not an invalid, I can get it myself." She huffed, batting away his fork-full of meat.

He pouted (guess we're back to the two-year-old) and lowered his offering with a weary sigh.

Dinner continued in a similar manner, Logan and Scott glared at the 'intruder', Xavier, Ororo and Hank tried to be cordial and placating, Remy was gleefully being as innocently irksome as he could get away with, and Rogue just felt plain old uncomfortable.

Rogue was finishing up the dishes, insisting that the others go enjoy themselves (heh heh heh, with Re - Gambit.) while she add the final touches to the clean-up. The young girl was just about through washing, and thinking about not-Gambit, when suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck rose to their full height. Acting as though nothing were out of the ordinary, her hands searched for the knife she had haphazardly tossed into the soapy water. Ouch, I think I found it. Her thumb was now sporting a tiny nick, but better that than whatever the psychopath behind her could have planned. Turning around and raising the knife in one fluid motion, she almost walked into Remy for a second time that night.

Huffing in irritation at the discovery it was just him she re-took her position at the sink.

Thank God it was just the moron. I thought this was the other knife. Rogue was under the impression that she had grabbed one of the large, professional kitchen knives used for chopping vegetables, when, in fact, she was wielding a pathetic little thing that barely qualified as a paring knife.

"Ya' gonna' use dat t'ing t' protect ya'self from a vicious killer?" He questioned, manifesting his stupidity to its fullest by taking the empty spot next to her. Well, maybe he wasn't too stupid - he did just start to dry all of the clean dishes.

"Ya'd be surprised what Ah could do with that, so shut up, Cajun," She retorted, scrubbing at some gook that had made itself quite at home on one of the spatulas.

"Ya' gonna' be so rude t' da man who's helpin' ya'?" The former-acolyte countered, and Rogue tried very hard not to think about the way he gently massaged the dishes to dry them.

Knowing that her mutinous mouth would probably just lay more groundwork for her death, the Southern belle opted for silence.

"Did ya' have a nice dinner?"

Gawd, why does this moron think I'd want to have a normal conversation.

"Yeah, and you?"

He shrugged noncommittally. "Better than sittin' at home playin' solitaire. After we be t'rough here, want me t' make some o' my Tante's infamous hot cocoa?" He offered sincerely.

She cast a wary glance towards him. "Um, sure. Why not?"

"I got ya' a present; ya' can open it den if ya' want," he suggested.

"Oh! Yeah, sure." She nodded, trying to be as cool as possible. "Ah have somethin' for ya' as well." Rogue cleared her throat, trying to stop the inane blush that sneaked up on her cheeks.

"Aw, petite, 's'nice t' know ya' care," he meant to say it jokingly, but it came out a little more veracious than intended.

The blush just had to bring reinforcements, didn't it? Thankfully, the dishes were done not more than thirty seconds later, and Remy started to retrieve items from the cupboards.

How in the hell does he know right where everything is? ...Actually, never mind, I don't know want to know. Rogue corrected her thoughts.

"Let me jus', erm, get your - thing. Ah'll be right back." Lord, girl, get a grip! Stop all of this senseless stuttering! C'mon, you're Rogue! Fierce, terrifying, strong, and certainly not one to stumble over words.

Though Remy would never admit it, his entire Christmas, year, life was made by the fact she got him something! It could have been moldy gym socks from some random guys' locker, but as long as she was giving it to him, it didn't matter.

By the time the Southern belle returned, the hot chocolate was ready and Remy was pouring it from the sauce pan to the mugs he had set out. Bringing their steaming beverages over to the table, the Cajun flashed her a warm smile and gestured vaguely to the chair opposite him. She looked uncertain for a beat or two before cautiously seating herself across from him.

He looked expectantly at her. "Go on, tell me whatcha' t'ink." He prodded with an eager nod.

Rogue looked hesitantly, her inner paranoia surfacing ::cough:more-than-usual::cough:: as she scrutinized it. Crap. I so should have watched him make it. What if he spit in it? Or - Or worse! What if there's rat poison in there, and he only came to kill us all!

The irrational panic that swelled inside her (because, if we're honest, panic was preferable over whatever the hell was causing those stupid blushes and aggravating butterflies) must have been evident on her face for the other mutant furrowed his eyebrows in concern as asked,

"Somethin' wrong, chere?"

Rogue whipped her head up and studied the man for several moments, deciding that he was too attractive - um, that he was too not-psychopathic-looking to kill her.

"Yeah, sorry," she mumbled (which is worse, stuttering or mumbling?) as she raised the toasty drink to her mouth and took a sip. Oh - oh my. That's good. Like, really good. Were her initial thoughts as the chocolatey beverage slid its way down her throat, spreading a comforting heat as it went.

"Damn."

"Dat a good 'damn' or a bad 'damn'?" He questioned, looking amused but feeling nervous. What if she doesn't like it? Hell, I can't make Tante's hot cocoa, who am I -

"A good damn. Definitely a good damn." She responded, restraining herself from chugging the rest right then and there.

An exuberant smile plastered itself onto the face of the addressed. "I'm jus' glad ya' like it, chere."

The two sat in contented silence, both sipping slowly at the delicious drink. Remy at last said,

"Hey, wanna' open ya' present now?"

"Ya' can go first," she told him.

"Non, non, petite, why don't you?" He insisted.

Every fiber told her to protest further, however she decided that a majority of that "every fiber" was a mutinous scoundrel so she simply nodded in compliance instead.

He retrieved a small, expertly wrapped box from...somewhere...and happily thrust it into her hands.

Feeling a rush of excitement, Rogue gingerly peeled away the tape and and revealed a tiny jewelry box. Her eyes flickered up to his, surprised by their joyful fervor. Absently raising an eyebrow, she cautiously opened the lid. A light, almost inaudible gasp escaped her lips.

Oh - oh my. Great, the damn idiot has gotten the reaction out of me twice tonight. So not cool.

But the contents were so gorgeous! A dainty, tear-drop shaped emerald sat encased in what was probably expensive sterling silver that hung on a delicate chain of the same material. A set of matching earrings were nestled comfortably in the corner.

"Like it, chere?"

"Like it?" She echoed. "It's beautiful.'' One of her gloved fingers gently stroked the tiny gem, almost as if affirming its existence

"Ah, not as beautiful as you, ma cherie." Remy amended softly, in love with how innocent and awe-struck she looked. That is, until she withdrew her hand and jerked her gaze up suspiciously towards him.

"Did ya' steal these?" She asked vehemently.

"Non, o' course not! It's Christmas!" The Cajun denied, then he added, "I may have stolen da money used t' pay for it, but dat's different."

Rogue rolled her eyes, not all that certain whether he was joking or not and deciding that she didn't want to know.

Several paused passed before she cleared her throat and muttered, "Um, Ah got ya' these."

A flash of white obscured by speed blurred his eyes as she laid something on the tabletop directly in front of him. He picked up the rectangular cardstock and and studied them.

"Dis - Dis - ?"

"Their admissions to that little Cajun joint in New York City. Ah know that they're pretty authentic an' Ah figured a little piece o' home might be nice, seein' as how ya' can't go back an' all." The girl explained softly. "Ya' can use 'em whenever ya' want."

"Two o' 'em?" He questioned, raising the tickets so she could view them easier.

She shrugged. "Ah figured Pyro might wanna' go with ya'."

"What 'bout you?"

The question was innocent enough, but it still caused her to spew her hot cocoa out of her mouth and choke on what little made it down her throat.

"What?" She rasped.

"How 'bout you go wit' me?" He repeated, amused by her display.

"Um, Ah really don't - "

"Please, chere? It'd mean da world t' me." And then I'd get the only thing I wanted for Christmas-a date with the most belle femme in the whole world.

"Ah...It wouldn't be a date, would it?" She questioned, cursing herself. That was not what she wanted to ask.

"Ya' could call it whatever ya' want." He shrugged, knowing the word 'date' would scare her off.

"Ah - Ah guess that wouldn't be too awful."

"Ya' mean ya'll go?" He asked excitedly.

"Yeah," she affirmed. "Ah'll go."

Damn her body for carrying out its final act of mutiny. But...what if Rogue no longer minded?

I hope you liked the second installment! I had a blast writing Remy's ugly sweater, as well as Logan's reaction to his presence:)

In one of Rogue's thoughts, she makes a reference to being convinced her mutinous body is trying to "gaslight" her. If you're not familiar with the movie/play called "Gaslight", the basic plot is the husband tries to drive his wife insane, so I had to use it.

I believe I covered everything. If you see any grammatical/spelling errors, feel welcome to inform me and I will remedy it as soon as possible:)

*Ahem*

You thought you'd be spared a poem? You should know better
Reviews are so glorious, unlike Remy's sweater
How can one know if this weird chapter was liked?
Unless one gets reviews, I'm already psyched.