The MCRT, Morlocks, MGH and Murder

Part 2: Chapter 23

Ororo was right in the middle of some crouching yoga position that to Remy looked incredibly uncomfortable, even despite the fact that his mutant abilities granted him excellent flexibility. She noticed him there, and with a smile, said, “Hello, dear.”

“Namaste,” he replied, as he took off his shoes. He decided, despite the fact that tomorrow he would be in the tunnels bothering twelve different families or clans about something everyone would have rather forgotten, he would choose to keep it far from him tonight.

“Join me,” she insisted, as she usually did.

“Wouldn’t want to embarrass you, honey.” He hung up his coat in the entry way closet. Keeping work away did not mean a session in couples yoga therapy, though.

She would not be deterred. “It’s a wonderful stress reliever.”

Remy was certain she said that about everything he didn’t want to do: drinking herbal teas, running barefoot, meditation, eating vegetarian; there were many others. What happened to just getting it on between the sheets? Well, he supposed he had happened, or better yet his stupid immune system didn’t happen. With that not completely in the forefront of his mind, he replied, “Watching you do it has the same benefits.”

She rolled her eyes and, perhaps the word was peacefully, removed herself from the position. “You know, you’re pale, even for a white boy.” Not to mention he still sounded all kinds of hoarse and nasal. She had lost count of how long he’d had whatever this was, but she doubted it was a cold anymore. Maybe it was bronchitis? A sinus infection? She figured she needed an advanced degree to figure him out. Sometimes, in more ways than one.

“Blame the weather,” he replied, easily, erasing her worry as deftly as a hand on a chalkboard. “I happen to know this girl who could do something about it, yet doesn’t.” They talked as they headed upstairs.

She smiled. He had moved here nearly seven years ago, and yet, he still complained about the weather. He probably always would. If she didn’t know better, she would have come to the conclusion that Remy was dating her simply for her mutant abilities. “I’m not giving you summertime temperatures in November, Remy. It’s bad for the environment.”

He shrugged as he removed his shirt and unbuckled his belt. “Well this cold-all-the-time shit is bad for me.”

“You referring to the weather or your cold?” she asked.

“I was referring to spending the rest of the winter in Fiji, actually.”

She laughed, “Oh, honey, I miss you. Why don’t we play basketball this weekend? Inside, I promise.”

He faintly remembered wanting some normalcy, some down time with Ororo. Perhaps she was developing a secondary mutation? The latent ability to read his mind? Right, if that were the case, she’d be fully aware that he hated that ‘end table’, if it could be called that, she put next to his couch. He sure thought it enough. Getting back to a basketball game, he said, “Well, that’s good. I’d rather not invent ice-basketball. But, why do we have to do everything you’re better at?” He hardly ever admitted that, but Ororo was indeed the better ball handler. And more aggressive, but he figured her dangerous fingernails had something to do with that.

She stuck one of those lethal weapons in her mouth and talked over it, “We have sex – you’re better at sex.”

“Flattery will not get you in my pants, chère.”

“Damn. It was worth a shot.”

“Practice makes perfect, Ro. Why don’t you try it again?”


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