Categories > Movies > X-Men: The Movie > Days of the Phoenix

Mac N' Cheese Revelations

by Plutospawn 0 Reviews

Logan turned back to his beer. He scowled when he realized it was empty. "I still say she smells wrong," he grunted.

Category: X-Men: The Movie - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Action/Adventure - Characters: Cyclops, Iceman, Rogue, Wolverine - Warnings: [!!] - Published: 2005/08/30 - Updated: 2005/08/30 - 1696 words

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Rachel and Kurt walked into the kitchen where Bobby, Rogue, Peter, and Logan were hanging out. Rogue poured the orange cheese packet into a saucepan of macaroni while Bobby cracked a joke from his seat at the table regarding her superb cooking ability. Peter sat on the far end of the table and quietly scribbled away on his sketchpad while Logan appeared mildly interested, his hand tightly wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle.
Kurt introduced Rachel to the group before he excused himself. Rachel waved sheepishly to the others.
"I'm Bobby." Despite choosing the name "Iceman," Rachel noticed that Bobby had the ability to melt with a smile.
His girlfriend, Rogue seemed to pick up on that fact as well. She lifted the spoon from the saucepan and aimed it at Rachel as if it had the deadly precision of a rapier.
"Are ya hungry?" Rogue asked.
Rachel tried to keep her face from seeming too ravenous. "Yes," she said. "It smells delicious."
Bobby laughed. "It's only mac n' cheese."
Rachel tugged on her earlobe as she blushed. "I'm starving. That stupid doctor wouldn't let me eat earlier."
"It'll be ready soon," Rogue promised.
Rachel crept over to Peter and peered over his shoulder. The aspiring artist's thick fingers were smeared with ink from his Rapidograph pens as he deftly cross-hatched the shadows into his drawing. Peter had drawn the woman on the page in a style reminiscent of Jack Kirby. She was clad in a snug leather cat suit, a zipper in the front donned an "X" insignia; her hair was shoulder length and feathered out.
Perhaps if Peter had had colored pencils or gauche he would have colored the woman's hair a deep red, or her eyes a dark brownish green. As it was, the boy's talent was enough that there was no mistaking the likeness of the deceased Jean Grey.
"That's beautiful," Rachel murmured.
Peter jerked his head up, his black hair looked almost blue beneath the dim kitchen light. He realized that all eyes were on him and his face turned red.
"It's nothing," he muttered. "I was just doodling."
"I'm Rachel." She held her hand out to him.
Peter took it hesitantly, dirtying her hand with ink as he shook it. "Piotr Nikolievitch Rasputin." The thick Russian accent that the boy had believed he had left with his family in his home country surfaced briefly for the proper inflections on his given name.
Her dry, callused fingers seemed to soak up the warmth that his soft palms had to offer. Peter blushed when he saw the mess he had made of the girl's hand. Rachel just wiped the ink off on the back of her borrowed pants.
"Piotr?" Rachel pronounced the name slowly and awkwardly.
"Peter. Please, just call me Peter," he said.
"Okay, Peter." Rachel smiled. "Who is that you're drawing?"
Peter's piercing blue eyes faltered and the boy hesitated. "It's no one that you know."
Rachel laughed. "Well, I don't know anyone at this school."
"Her name's Jean," Peter said finally.
"Jean?" Rachel shot the hulking teenager a devilish look. "What would Jean say if she knew that you were drawing big-breasted pictures of her?"
Peter swallowed hard. The look he gave to the others would have made a deer in headlights seem calm and collected. Bobby immediately became fascinated with his hands. Rogue turned back to the macaroni and cheese. Logan's face hardened as he nursed his beer.
Rachel glanced around the room that was eerily silent. "What?" she asked.
"She's dead," Logan said gruffly.
"What?" Rachel repeated.
"Jean is dead." Logan went back to his beer.
"You're kidding me, right? There's no way that that's possible." Rachel's eyes darted from person to person, but no one would look back at her. "Right?"
Peter finally shook his head.
"Oh." Rachel's voice echoed throughout the kitchen. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize."
"How would you?" Logan snorted.
Rachel backed away from the table and wrapped her arms tightly around her ribs. "I guess you have a point," she whispered.
Rogue cleared her throat. "The mac n' cheese is ready."
As the girl placed a potholder on the table she tucked the shock of white hair behind her ear. She ignored the rest of her dark brown locks.
Bobby stood up and began to rifle through the cupboards. After a quick headcount he pulled out bowls. Peter's attention was once again directed towards his sketchpad.
Bobby pointed next to Rachel. "Forks are there," he said.
Rachel nodded and opened the drawer by her hip. She pulled three forks out and set them next to the bowls. Rachel shimmied into a seat next to Peter. He had already finished with his drawing of Jean and had moved on.
Rogue served up the macaroni and cheese before she took her place beside Bobby. Rachel dove into her mac n' cheese immediately. Rogue bit her lip as she watched the other girl. The way that Rachel shoveled the food into her mouth reminded Rogue of wolves feeding that she watched on National Geographic once. Rogue twirled her fork in the neon orange pasta and tried not to giggle.
"So," Logan said abruptly. "What do you do?"
Rachel looked over at the Wolverine and pulled the fork from her mouth slowly. "Me?" she asked.
"Yeah, you," Logan retorted. "What do you do?"
Rachel straightened her back in her chair. A few fine lines etched themselves across the corners of her mouth as she seemed to consider the older man's words. "A lot of things," she said finally. "Like eat mac n' cheese."
With that, Rachel stabbed some more macaroni with her fork and crammed it into her open maw. Logan wasn't impressed.
"You're a mutant with metal limbs," he urged.
"You're a mutant with metal bones," she replied.
Logan's hazel eyes glinted dangerously. "How would you know?" he asked.
Peter's eyes darted over the sketchpad that he had turned into a make-shift shield that guarded him from the animosity between the fiery redhead and brutish man. Worry marks creased Rogue's forehead. She reached under the table and grabbed Bobby's hand in her leather covered one.
"Why don't you leave her alone?" Bobby suggested.
Logan ignored him. "You seem to know an awful lot about us for someone who was just dragged in a few hours ago."
The muscles along Rachel's jaw line were tense. "You're thick skulled, simple minded and wear your thoughts on your sleeve," she blurted out. "I'd have to practically walk on eggshells to not accidentally scan your mind."
Logan raised one of his thick eyebrows.
"So you're a telepath?" Bobby asked.
"Yeah." Rachel shrugged.
"Anything else?" Logan pressed.
"I also have some ability with telekinesis." Rachel shoved the empty bowl away from her. "Why?"
"Scott told us that you just sort of appeared on top of his car," Logan replied.
"So?" Rachel glared at Logan.
"We just assumed that you were a teleporter," Bobby cut in.
"Yeah, well you were wrong." Rachel stood up and backed out of the kitchen.
"Logan!" Rogue hissed.
Logan turned back to his beer. He scowled when he realized it was empty. "I still say she smells wrong," he grunted.
*
Rachel hurried away from the kitchen. Xavier's school seemed so surreal to the girl with its pristine wallpaper and wood paneling. She twisted her way through the corridors away from all students and faculty away from everything.
She found an abandoned stairwell at the far end of the mansion. Rachel plopped herself down on the bottom step and fiercely rubbed her hands over her face. Despite the psychic mask she presented to onlookers, she could still feel the puckered skin of her scarred face as she raced her fingers over it.
"This is all wrong," Rachel muttered to herself.
It didn't make sense. Everything looked like it should in her memory, but at the same time it was all skewed.
"What's all wrong?"
The voice was decidedly masculine, yet not gruff like Logan's. Startled, Rachel jerked her head up and found herself looking into the face of Scott Summers.
"Hi," she whispered.
"Do you mind if I join you?" he asked.
Rachel tried to shrug casually, but ruined it by smiling. Scott sat next to her on the stairs. Even without his X-Men uniform on, Scott still appeared rigid with stiff khaki slacks and a simple blue sweater.
Scott took his time as he chose his words carefully. "How have you been adjusting?"
Rachel let out a bitter chuckle. "Do I really look so troubled?"
"Most of us are," Scott admitted. "It's just that the other students have friends they can turn to. You're new, so I bet you feel a little lonely."
"Maybe a little," Rachel said. "So, is chatting up new kids part of your job here?"
"I'd like to think that I'd do it anyway," Scott replied.
"It's okay." Rachel looked up at him and smiled. "I like the company."
"Well, I'm glad." Scott stretched his legs out over the steps and almost gave the appearance of being relaxed. "I know what it feels like to be alone and I wouldn't wish that on anyone."
"Sounds to me like maybe you were the one who needed to talk and not me." Out of habit, she traced an invisible scar along her cheek.
"Even 'fearless leaders' need someone to talk to every now and again," said Scott dryly.
"You say that like it's a burden," Rachel replied. She cocked her head to one side and considered the man next to her carefully.
"It's not the talking that's the burden." He scratched the back of his head through his thick, dark hair. "It's the things that cause the need to talk."
"I think I understand." Rachel nodded.
"I honestly hope not," Scott said.
He readjusted his ruby quartz glasses before he stood. Scott brushed the back of his pants off with his hands and offered Rachel a smile.
"Well, it's been nice talking to you." Scott took a few steps away from the stairs. "I'll see you around the school."
"Yeah."
Rachel waved goodbye at Scott's back as he walked down the hall.
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