xp_logs | Log: Remy/Ororo

Following the unfortunate time wrap thanks to Glorian, Ororo and Remy share an evening.

She held the mugs carefully - her balance was still a bit shaky after Emma's abrupt 'head whammy' earlier that evening - and slipped out the window, climbing the rickety fire escape until she spotted him. Most everyone had retreated to their own personal safe havens and she wasn't surprised to find him perched up there, staring resolutely out over the city silhouette.

"Coffee?" she offered, raising a mug towards him like an offering. "Careful, it is hot. And possibly not just coffee."

Remy looked up from his perch, giving her a wan smile. "Not likely to say no to dat, chere." He said, accepting the mug and taking a sip. "Care to join me?"

"Only if you would not like to be alone." After the day's events she could imagine how a little space might do him good; as shaken up as she felt somehow she thought it must have been stranger from his perspective. "I am sure there is some paperwork with my name on it back inside if you would prefer the peace and quiet."

He shifted over a bit, making room for her. "Of all de things I'd prefer, being alone is not one of dem. Had a bit too long to consider dat possibility earlier." His tone was wry.

"Oh, mpenzi..." She slid down next to him, her own steaming mug in hand. "You had to bear those thoughts along with all those other burdens today. I am sorry."

"Not you fault. Jut one of dose risks dat you live wit', but can't ever be truly ready for, neh" He took another sip. "I'm glad you back, 'Ro. You were a handful as a teenager, but Remy not sure dat I could get lucky courting you twice."

"I am not sure... I remember watching you from behind and remarking on what a very nice view it was," she countered playfully, nudging him with her shoulder.

"Was dat you as a teenager? Running 'round after old men in de city?" He laughed.

"In between a stint as a goddess and taking the Professor's lectures about 'grave responsibility' so seriously I pretended I was forty, yes. My rebellious streak was short-lived but very prolific."

"And violent." He put down his coffee and slipped an arm around her. "You can still see it, you know. Who you are now in de teenager and vice versa. Same daring streak, same badly hidden thrill in a job, same sense of purpose once you decided something had to be done. Doesn't surprise me dat looking at you and Jean and even de Boyscout dat de Professor came to de conclusion to make you heroes first."

Ororo leaned into him, as reassured by his physical presence as by his words. "Just as well, as I likely would have ended up behind bars - or worse - if he hadn't. Though perhaps I would have had more fun under Remy-as-Fagin."

"You might have, but Remy won't. As a teenager, you were something else, chere, but it doesn't hold a candle to de woman dat I married." He pressed a kiss into the side of her head, lingering long enough to press his forehead against her. "And you know Remy. Not willing to settle for second best, neh?"

"Nor should you," she told him, slipping an arm around his waist. Then, more quietly she murmured, "You deserve to be happy, always. If something were to happen to me..."

"Not tonight. Tomorrow, we can go back to de risks that we taking in dis job and what it likely means. I just got you back. Rather not think 'bout losing you dis soon." He said quietly, before digging into his jacket pocket. He came out with a small, wrapped package. "Dat reminds me and your teenaged self was too pre-occupied to remember. Happy birthday, 'ro."

She blinked, then chuckled; her impending birthday had already been one of the last things on her mind, and her teenage self certainly wouldn't have remembered it. When had she first celebrated it? Only after coming to the mansion, that much was sure. Once she had found a family to remember the date, to want to mark such occasions with her. And now she had someone else to do that with. "If Emma had not managed to reverse the effects, would I have turned seventeen?" she mused, working her fingers under the wrapping paper.

"Maybe. But if dat was de case, you not legal to share de bottle of wine dat I hid downstairs for us." The wrapping came away, revealing the old, calfskin cover of a book. It bore no title or legend, but opened up, showed a careful copy of an illustrated manuscript - Hadith Bayad wa Riyad. The book was written in Arabic on the one side of the page, lushly illustrated and still in remarkably good shape. On the opposite page was a careful translation in Spanish and English. Remy tapped the pages. "A British cartographer made a copy of de manuscript before it was sent to de Vatican Library, so it's not as accurate as de copies dat you can get now since de Holy See released it, but... well, it must have struck a cord for him to go through dat much effort to make dis."

"Oh, Remy, it is beautiful..." She traced one of the detailed illustrations lightly with her fingertip, following the curving scrollwork around the edge of the page. She turned, gifting him with a warm smile, blue eyes shining slightly with sentimental tears. "Thank you, mpenzi."

One of the first things that Remy had learned about Ororo was that money really didn't matter to her. She had a taste for some of the finer things in life, certainly, but an interesting plant or a piece of art that spoke to her mattered more than expensive, impersonal gifts. The book was valuable because it was unique, and while it would fetch a reasonable price from a rare book dealer, it wasn't one that would earn five figures in a Southby's auction. It was little known, easily over looked and unless you really understood it, hardly anyone's idea of the perfect gift. Which in Remy's mind made it about perfect to represent them.

"It's about a merchant's son, who comes to de palace and falls in love wit' a young lady of de court." He grinned. "So you not de only one interested in slumming, chere."

"I was the one who grew up on the streets - are you it isn't you who is the lady of the court?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Remy paused, suddenly and uncomfortably aware that his secretive nature had caused him to neglect certain details. He wasn't hiding anything, but the past was never Remy's favourite place to travel. "Ran away from de last foster family 'round six. Until de Agency grabbed me, maybe 'bout twelve, thirteen, Remy was on de streets when I wasn't owned by someone." He stopped, taking a breath. "She's smart, savvy, and would have been de heir if she'd been male. De merchant son is charming, but has very low prospects for marriage. Plus, no way Remy got de legs for dat outfit."

She leaned over to press a kiss to his temple, aware of how much the brief trip to his past would have cost him. "Far be it for me to complain when you call me a princess. Thank you for the gift, mpenzi. And for remembering, when I did not."

"Dat's what I'm here for, chere. And I'm particularly glad dat I get to celebrate it wit' you as you are today, and not in de late nineties."