Fic: Fireweed [R/WIP]
Fireweed
by aliccolo
Pairing: Jean/Scott ; implied Remy/Logan
Rated: R-ish
Word Count: ~2600
Synopsis: Scott receives a vacation to Alaska for his birthday. Logan decides he and Remy should tag along. Jean, Scott, Logan, and Remy spend a long weekend in a cabin, trying not to step on each other's toes.
Disclaimers: Characters belong to Marvel, et al. No money is made, no harm intended.
AN: This is kind of a mess. I lost my will to finish this one, but, meh...it's incomplete, and it might not ever be completed, so read at your own risk.
--
In late summer fireweed begins blooming in the middle of the stalk, with each successive flower blooming just above the one before it. As the last flowers are blooming at the top of the stalk, the earliest blooms seed and turn to cotton. When the fireweed turns to cotton, there are only six weeks until winter.
--
The sun finally dipped below the treeline around 10:45pm. Oranges, reds, pinks all painted the sky with their brilliancy, in a last hoorah for the evening. The woodstove cackled and popped, tossing the occassion ember waywardly to the floor. Remy sighed, staring out the old glass window, savoring each fleeting glimpse of sun.
"Miss the sunshine already, Cajun? Don't worry. It'll rise again before six."
Remy ignored Logan, gazed fixed to the northwest. Sunset meant cold, even in late July. It meant mosquitoes bigger than anything Louisiana could conjur up. It meant coyotes, wolves, bears, all prowling around, looking for their next meals. And far worse, it meant he was stuck inside the cabin with the newlyweds.
Well, they weren't technically newlyweds. But that didn't stop Scott and Jean from fucking like bunnies every chance they got. And they were not low-key about their activities. Jean was a screamer.
And just his luck, he'd be sharing a cabin with them. Oh, sure, he could stay out in the tent with Logan, and chance getting mauled by a bear or eaten alive by insects the size of pigeons. That option was always available. What the fuck kind of an option is that? Listen to loud, constant sex all night long, or possible death. Remy'd take the sex everytime. He'd already survived one night, blanket pulled tight over his head, pillow wrapped over his ears in a vain attempt to block out the sounds of passionate fucking. Sure, he'd taken a peak or two, but for the most part, his night had been spent studying the fabric patterns of the quilt.
--
It had started with a simple suggestion, made in passing by Storm. She'd casually remarked that Scott's birthday was fast approaching, and wondered aloud about possible birthday gifts. While the others chattered absently about gift cards to Old Navy and ice cream cakes, Ororo mentioned she'd once overheard him express his deep desire to take Jean on a vacation to Denali. The others had grown silent. Gift cards and cakes suddenly seemed inadequate. Plans and preparations were made, and it was soon arranged for Scott and Jean to spend two weeks exploring Alaska's wilderness.
Remy huffed. That didn't at all explain why he'd been dragged along. That had been Logan's idea. Why not tag along for a few days at the end of their vacation, get in some fishing and exploration of his own. Logan had mentioned his plan late one night, sitting out back, cigar clenched firmly in his mouth. He'd explained about the different terrains he'd trek, the mountains he'd scale, the fish he'd catch, the thrill of being in the great wide open. The fresh air, the tall, ancient trees, the skies so blue and clear you could see for miles. Remy listened. He really did. He just didn't care. Nothing about Alaska appealed to him. Not the mountains, not the trees, nor the sky, nor the stupid fish, and especially not the cold. It was Alaska after all, and one does not think Alaska without in turn thinking cold. Remy was sure he'd said as much that night out back. But Logan insisted that in July the weather would be warm and balmy, and the sun would scarcely set. Logan even went as far as to guarantee that Remy would enjoy himself, should he opt to come along.
Remy did not opt to come along. He was forced to come along. Or, obligated to.
He'd gone about his daily routine, making a customary stop in the kitchen for some coffee. He'd lounged around the kitchen, leaning on the counter, peering out the window, catching a bikini-clad Betsy basking in the early morning sun. He'd smirked, secretly appreciating the view. The day was young, and he was wide awake. He'd decided to find Ororo, and try to annoy her into lounging around the pool all day. It was while wandering upstairs that he was accosted from behind.
"Ah hear yer leavin'."
Rogue. God damn it. She was the last person he wanted to see. Remy forced his most swarthy smile. "Who? Me?"
"Don't you 'who me', swamp rat! Who else 'uld Ah be talkin' to?" Her voice hitched a bit. She was obviously miffed.
The thing about Rogue...God, there were so many things about Rogue. They'd tried the whole couple thing. It didn't work. It couldn't work. She was possessive, smothering. He was a rambling man deep down. He couldn't settle down. Not for her. Not for a woman who could be so demanding, so critical, and so God damn annoying. If he glanced at another woman, she'd go ballistic. And God forbid if he looked at another man...
Even after the "mutual" break-up, she still followed him like her life depended on it. Sometimes he swore he had another shadow. He was civil, chivalrous even. He never spoke badly of her, and even defended her when the others had been unnessescarily critical. But she never once returned the gestures. Instead, she'd bitch about him whenever the mood struck. She had Jean and Betsy convinced that he'd been less than faithful during their relationship. This, of course, cast Remy in unfavorable light. As usual.
Then, there was her voice...when she got angry, it was like nails on a chalkboard. He'd actually prayed for God to make him deaf, on more than one occassion. Remy shuttered, praying she wasn't too angry already...
Time to crank up the charm, "I ain't goin' nowhere, chere. Dunno where y' got dat crazy idea..."
"From me." Remy frowned as Logan pushed past them toting a duffle bag. "Pack yer shit, I'm leavin' in an hour."
Rogue crossed her arms, looking quite disappointed, "Well, Remy?"
"I ain't goin' nowhere."
"Good," Rogue purred, disappearing back into her room. She poked her head around the door, almost gloating, "You know Ah hate it when you take off without tellin' me."
Possessive bitch.
"Uh-huh." He couldn't muster anything else. If he weren't a gentleman...God he fucking hated her!
"You ready?" Logan called from the main floor.
"Uh, no." Remy barked back. "I ain't goin' nowhere, Logan. I'm fixin' to spend my weekend poolside wit' Stormy."
"Don't let her hear you callin' her that." Logan snorted. Something about Logan's demeanor was different. He seemed almost jovial. Remy glared at him. "Come on, kid. Get yer shit and let's get the hell out of here."
Remy let himself hang on the banister. "But I don' wanna go nowhere..."
"Tough."
"An' what if I got plans dis weekend, huh? What den?" Remy almost pouted, before deciding it wouldn't work on Logan anyways.
"Cancel 'em. Now get yer shit or yer comin' with the clothes on yer back."
It wasn't that he felt threatened by Logan, or that he was convinced of the nessessicty of making this journey. Remy felt a strange obligation to the Canadian. Wolverine had been his friend, Wolverine had taken his side. Wolverine got shit from Scott and some of the others because of his friendship with the Cajun. Remy swore he'd never forget Logan's loyalty.
The thief sighed. He'd resigned. He'd go along on this little adventure. Besides, it couldn't be that bad. Cyke was from Alaska for Christ's sake. And he turned out just--well, he wasn't a mass murderer or anything.
Jean and Scott met them at an airstrip near Wasilla. After hours on the plane, the smiling couple were not at the top of Remy's list of people to see. But, Logan seemed happy to see them. And Remy could try and be polite, for Logan. They'd all piled into the compact rental car and headed north. The Professor had arranged for three nights in a cabin owned by an old friend of his.
And so, LeBeau found himself in this rented cabin outside some bumfuck town called Talkeetna, or something like that. One big room, two beds, a table and four chairs, and a woodstove. Outhouse round the back. That was it. Remy loathed it the moment he saw it. Jean gushed about it's quaint charm. Scott complimented it's rustic furnishings. Logan grunted in approval. Remy wanted to steal the rental car and drive back to New York.
--
Jean and Scott had driven into the town to buy groceries, and at Logan's behest, booze. The sunset, while splendid, was over, and a blanket of cool darkness encased the cabin. They'd left hours ago. They should be back by now.
Logan was sprawled across Jean and Scott's bed. Remy said nothing about this, though he was sure Logan could smell the sex permeating from the mattress. Remy was perched in an old wood chair, still staring out the window. "Dey been gone awhile."
Logan nodded, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. "They'll be back soon."
Remy reached into his pocket, grabbing a trusty deck of cards, "Wanna play?"
"Why not?" The other man shrugged, righting himself. He strutted over to the table, his heavy boots echoing on the hardwood floor. "What we playin' fer?"
"What d'you t'ink?" Remy smirked, shuffling the deck. "When we lack chips, we play fo' paper." Logan liked the sound of that. "Got mebbe fifty in my bag, you get it fer me, homme?"
"Typical." Logan looked almost amused as he rifled through the Cajun's bag. Like he'd said, fifty in ones, fives, and tens. Logan matched Remy's fifty with some cash of his own.
They'd played a few hands, bills moving back and forth across the table, when the lovebirds burst through the door, laughing, panting, looking (and smelling) completely oversexed.
"'Bout time you kids showed up." Logan grunted, tossing a five into the pot.
"We took the scenic route." Jean giggled, lugging in several bags. "A little help, maybe?" The poker players rose quickly, unburdening the exhausted redhead. "Thank you, boys."
Remy glanced in one of the bags, blanching in disgust. Saltine crackers. Condensed chicken noodle soup. Wonderbread. These poor, poor, sick fools.
"Hope Natural Light is ok, Logan." Scott chuckled as he kicked open the door.
Judging from Logan's reaction, it wasn't. "That'd better be a joke."
Scott nodded gleefully, revealing a case of Alaskan Amber. "Stuff's supposed to be good."
"I'll be the judge of that." Logan said defensively snatching the case from Scott. He headed straight for the door. "I'm headin' to camp."
"Good night Logan!" Jean chirped, unpacking the soups and bread. She smiled sweetly, then in a throaty purr, she growled, "Sweet dreams."
Remy wanted to puke.
"How about you, Cajun?" Scott leaned on the table, looking a little threatening.
Remy sighed, quickly eyeing the abadoned card game. He could tell Scott wanted him gone. He quickly pocketed the cash and cards and grabbed an extra pack of smokes from his bag. "Be back in de mornin' I s'pose."
Scott nodded approvingly, fluffing the pillows on his bed.
Jean caught Remy's arm as he trudged solemnly to the door. "Wait, I forgot to give you this." She whispered as she reached into a bag, producing a tall bottle of SoCo. Black label.
Remy bit back a smile, "Aw, chere, you shouldn' have."
She winked, "It can get chilly out there. I just hope it'll keep you warm."
"I like how you t'ink."
They shared a brief smile before he exited, the old wood door slamming wildly behind him as he wandered into the night. Maybe Jean was ready to forgive him for all his sins. Not that he needed her approval...it was just nice to know she'd thought of him. But why was she thinking of him? Could there be alterior motives for Jean's sudden rush to civility? Remy forced his mind to clear. He was overanalyzing things, something he'd recently fallen into the habit of doing. He swore, those people just made him crazy.
"Hey Gumbo."
Remy hadn't noticed he'd already arrived at Logan's campsite. It wasn't far from the cabin, just a few hundred yards. But the thick patch of trees made it seem further away, more secluded. Logan had a small fire stoked up, and had already downed a beer.
"Hey yerself." Remy slid to the ground across the fire from the other man, tightly clutching his precious liquor.
"Kicked outta the love nest already?" Logan effortlessly cracked another bottle open.
The Cajun couldn't help but snicker. "After las' night, I'm a little relieved dey turned me out. I got one helluva show, dat's fo' damn sho'."
Logan nodded, his face glowing in the amber firelight. "Red ain't got no shame."
"No she don't." Remy grinned. "I seen more a' Jeannie den I seen of my own wife."
"Bitch." Logan hissed. Remy stared across the flames at his companion. He didn't look mad. Remy was sure he'd know if the Wolverine was angry. Instead, Logan looked a little sad. Disappointed maybe. Remy decided to change the subject.
"Eh, look what Jeannie got fo' me, mon ami." He waved the bottle, trying to distract the other man. "Mebbe if yer nice, I share some."
"Hn." Logan's eyes followed the dancing flames.
Remy frowned. Logan's mood hadn't lifted at all. In fact, he seemed more morose than usual. If this is how he was gonna act, this was gonna be one shitty night. Remy forced off the cap, taking a long swig of liquor. He winced at first, the tang of the liquid burning his unprepared throat. Then, the lingering flavor settled, filling his body with a slight warmth. He raised the glass to his lips for another go, ignoring the Canadian's unpleasant glowering. "Bottom's up."
--
/That was good./
/Glad I could satisfy./
Jean flipped onto her belly, propping herself up on her elbows. /How was I?/
Scott flushed, biting his bottom lip. /Just fine, babe./
/Ok./ Jean rolled, back to him. The slumping of her shoulders was a sure sign that her pride had been wounded.
/Don't start this, Jean. You know I enjoyed it./
/Whatever./
Scott frowned. /What are you talking about?/
"You could at least pretend, Scott!" Scott almost jumped, the words striking him suddenly.
"Darling, what are you--"
Jean sat up, feet dangling over the edge of the mattress. "Just admit it Scott! You liked it better when he was here!"
Scott's eyes narrowed, "What the hell are you talking about?"
"You know what I'm talking about." Jean's expression matched his own.
He frowned, caught off guard as she projected thoughts toward him...thoughts that were his own just minutes earlier. "You can't possibly think that..."
"You like an audience. Admit it."
"What?!"
"You enjoyed it because he was here. You were thinking about him, Scott!" Bitterness filled her voice, "I know you were. You did a shitty job of filtering your thoughts last night."
"Jeannie, I didn't mean--"
"And you did an even shittier job tonight. Did you think I wouldn't pick up on this?" She stared dejectedly at the floor.
"Listen to yourself, you're jumping to conclusions!" He lovingly rubbed her shoulder. "You're overreacting to a couple of stray thoughts. Those stupid thoughts meant nothing, baby."
Jean's face lost all expression. She wrapped herself in the quilt, rising quickly to her feet. "Get out!"
/Jean--/
/Get out! Thoughts aren't meaningless! Not to me!/
--
AN: This is a strange place to end. I've been working on this story for a few months now, trying to figure out where to go from here. I have a basic concept, but I just am not sure if it's worth trying to salvage. Any and all feedback is welcome. Please let me know what you think.