"Sweet Southern Sours"
A Collection of ROMY One-Shots
By: Liebling

"The White Picket Fence"
Published On: 29 May 2011
Genre: Humour
Summary: The Professor signs the mansion's occupants up for volunteer work to show the good side of mutants. Professor Xavier however made the grave mistake of asking Remy and Rogue to choose a colour to paint the white picket fence…


"Volunteer work…" Kitty said slowly, "Like, why?"

"Because, Kitty," The Professor said tiredly after having explained the reasoning behind his actions for an umpteenth time. The entire institute had been called together Saturday after their group training session in Professor Xavier's office. "Using your powers to better the community would promote the greater idea of mutants living without registration and being able to freely use their powers to contribute to their surrounding environments,"

"But…why?" asked Bobby.

He sighed. "One week from today, all of you will be repairing the rundown Copperfield house on the outside of Bayville. You can see Logan for your work assignments."

"But that's a Saturday!" Jubilee complained.

"And therefore you won't have school," he said firmly.

"But—but," she continued, "That's a Saturday!"

"Dismissed," he said finally in exasperation. He would tell them later that they had to also be there Sunday.


Several days later, after a great deal of grumbling and personal schedule-rearranging, the students began to ease up on the idea of fixing up the old house. As long as the professor agreed not to give them any danger room sessions for three days.

"Ah don't exactly see how my powers are gonna help with construction," Rogue told Kitty with a tired frown as they walked from their previous Danger Room session with Logan. He appeared to making up for the three days they were about to miss.

"Refreshments?" she tried, wiping her sweaty forehead with the back of her sleeve.

Rogue gave her a dry look, "Ah don' do lemonade stands."

Kitty shrugged, "Well, phasing through stuff isn't going to help much either, so maybe I'll do that instead. Or do something that has a clipboard..." she trailed off thoughtfully, "You going to shower before dinner or eat now?"

"Food comes before hygiene in this place,"

She wrinkled her nose a bit at this, "Like, if you say so,"

They each turned a separate corner. Rogue descended the mains stairs just as Logan was taping something to the wall outside the kitchen door.

"Work assignments are up!" Logan barked in his usual tone.

The new recruits in the kitchen, the ones who didn't have a morning training session, curiously came out to take a peak.

"I have to clean?" groaned Amara.

"Sorry, princess," Roberto teased.

Rogue rolled her eyes before taking in the list. Looked like Kitty was going to get her clipboard after all. She was marked down with the corresponding title "Required Supplies Assessment". Jean and Scott would be leading separate teams to clean the inside and outside, others would be replacing poor construction, and a few would be picking out the interior and exterior designs. Rogue searched for her name.

"Paints and transportation," said Rogue slowly and tracing her finger along the line for her partner, "Paints and transportation," she repeated with a satisfied face that soon dropped as she read the rest of the line, "with Remy,"

She could've seen that coming. Things had been going too good for her lately…the B-plus in her math quarter grade, the new CD to her favourite band, beating a new level of her program in the Danger Room…it was time for things to be shifted back into balance once again.

"Oui, chere," breathed a southern voice from behind, "Paintin' is when y' take somethin' called a brush an'—"

"No one likes a smart ass, Cajun," she snapped.

He shrugged, "Jus' thought I oughtta clarify things for y'," Rogue hoped she would be able to make it out in time before Remy's mouth ran away with him again, but she unfortunately didn't move quick enough, "But Remy knows y' be likin' some o' his Cajun—"

"Ugh!" Rogue clenched her fists angrily and stormed off, mentally smearing that troublesome smirk off Gambit's face.


When the dreaded Saturday arrived, the young mutants dragged themselves out of bed at the horrible hour of seven o'clock and left the house by nearly eight.

Everyone stood outside the short fence of the house, bemused, as Scott stood on the back of the truck and started to direct everyone in his usual quick voice of authority.

"Let's move, X-Men!" he shouted to the motley-looking group of teenagers.

"Trust Cyclops to make a simple repair job like an overcomplicated rescue mission," muttered Rogue under her fringe as she walked up the truck where her partner for the task stood.

Logan was tossing out equipment like confetti and when she and Remy reached the front of the line he simply said, "Paint samples," and chucked a very heavy binder at Remy's stomach that he barely caught in time and still sent him stumbling backwards. "You've got twenty minutes to pick out all the sample colours we want to try on the outside of the house, including the fence. Then you're gonna drive the kids to the store to pick up sample-size buckets and whatever else the half-pint says we'll need while the rest start cleaning the inside." He handed Rogue, a little more gently, a pad of paper and a pen to write down the paint sample numbers.

"What about the inside of the house?"

"That's Jubilee and Rahne's job," he said, and then proceeded to throw a giant broom over their heads and Bobby who was in line behind them.

Remy plucked the pen from her gloved hands as they walked away. "Don' worry, chere, Remy assures y' that he be a regular Michelangelo," he grinned as nimble fingers expertly twirled the pen like it was all they were born to do.

Rogue snorted and snatched the pen back, "That ain't gonna help us none since Michelangelo was a sculptor, not a painter,"

"Wrong, chere," he said bemusedly, "Forget th' Sistine Chapel?"

Rogue's face heated. "Whatever."

"S'okay, Roguey, Remy mixes up his renaissance artists too," he said an aloof sort of voice that suggested that he actually did not. Rogue decided to ignore this.

In the end they agreed, without argument surprisingly, that the shutters would be painted a nice navy and that the bricks that made up most of the house would have to be power washed beforehand. Maybe they would get Bobby to ice the whole thing and Amara melt it or something. The old home was fortunate enough to have a garden shed where the team would be storing all of their supplies should this event—heaven forbid—run over into a following weekend.

The trouble came when they stood in front of the fence that surrounded the front yard. The paint was chipped and pealed but the wood was surprisingly intact. They were going to have to clean off the old paint, Rogue realised, sighing.

"What's the code number for white?" she asked Remy who was holding the paint chip sample book.

Remy flipped through a couple pages before he stared at the book.

"Huh," he said.

"What?" groused Rogue, annoyed.

"Remy didn' know that there be so many dif'rent types o' whites," he sounded almost intimidated as he flipped through a countless number pages.

"Come on," said Rogue, rolling her eyes and making a grab at the book, "There can't be that many…oh," She couldn't find anything else to say.

His eyes and smirk screamed: 'I told you so'.

"Can it, Cajun," she said moodily, switching her gaze to the book for it did not stare back at her with onyx coloured eyes.

He chuckled, "Didn' say nothin',"

After a moment or two of staring at the paint samples in mild intimidation, Remy was the first to sigh. He reclaimed the book and flipped to a page somewhere near the beginning of the white section.

"Whaddabout Corpse White?"

Rogue sent him a look, "And yah say that Ah'm morbid?"

"Ain't it the same colour of that foundation y' use?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

He didn't get the insult or snappish reply like he expected, "Well, jeez, Remy," she said in an almost airy tone, "If yah wanted to borrow my make-up, all you had to do was ask. No need to be so sneaky 'bout it; we accept all kinds of mutants at the Institute."

"Funny, chere, funny," he rolled his red eyes before looking down and pointing out another sample, "What about…Dear Penelope Paper White?" tried Remy, showing her the sample that she accepted to be put under her scrutiny.

"Who the hell's Penelope?"

"Probably some hot Home Depot babe that got a lotta love letters from secret admirers that all shopped at th' same paper store—"

"Forget Ah asked," Rogue rolled her eyes, pulling the book out of his hands and sitting on the grass. She held it in her lap, "Um…Ghost White?" she tried as he joined her on the ground.

Remy snorted, "Ghosts don' exist," he said in an oddly serious voice and took the book back from its resting spot on her thighs.

Rogue's eyebrows nearly hit the sky, "Okay then," she said speculatively and wondered if was going to elaborate.

He sighed again, openly displaying his boredom, and flipped to a random page and dropped his finger on the page without looking and showed it to her.

Rogue stared, not amused, "Old Woman's Hair White?" She said distastefully, "What kind of colour is that?"

Remy scratched the bridge of his nose and looked at the colour title he hadn't even bothered to observe, "Sounds like it's the colour old ladies' hair turns when they get old," he said obviously, "Kinda like th' same colour as yer bangs,"

Rogue snapped her head to look at him, bringing a hand defensively to her forehead as if to feel the colour there, "Are yah saying that mah hair is the same colour of an old lady's?"

"Not Remy," he said all too innocently, "Home Depot did,"

She snatched the book away and snapped it shut, "Well Home Depot can stick its paint cans up its—"

"Language, Stripes!"

"—extra storage space," she finished lamely.

"Did you guys pick a colour yet?" asked a passing Kitty with a clipboard.

"No," the southerners snapped.

"Oh, than could you guys do me a favour real quick—?"

"No," Rogue said again forcefully.

"Jeez, like, don't bite my head off here, I was just asking,"

"P'tite," Remy said with a dirty smile that he strictly used for only his Antagonise Rogue Plans, "Y' can ask anyt'ing o' Remy an' he'd be more than willin' t' comply," he winked.

Kitty rolled her eyes, pretending that her face wasn't bright red as she walked away (and very quickly once she caught sight of Rogue's glowering face).

"How about we just paint the damn fence with your Cajun blood instead?" Rogue suggested with a snarl.

"M' afraid that would be a bit too messy, chere," he said, not intimidated as he leaned closer to her as if to share a secret, "An' as it is, m' blood ain't a shade o' white," he winked again.

Rogue fought the strong urge to claw out those cursed winking ebony eyes but settled for rolling her own instead and saying, "Ah'm gonna dance on yah're grave, Cajun,"

"I know y' always wanted t' be on top of me, chere, but I don't think that six feet between—"

She hit him upside the head without warning.

Remy touched his head, pouting, about to reply when:

"HEY WATCH OUT!" Someone hollered.

Remy and Rogue turned towards the house just in time to see Sam Guthrie flying towards them out of control. They scrambled out of the way, falling backwards, as half the fence was snapped out of the ground or splintered into hundreds of pieces.

There was shouting heard coming from the house. Rogue propped herself up on her elbows and Remy untangled himself from his trench coat in order to survey the full extent of the damage.

Sam looked horribly embarrassed as he crawled out of the small crater and stepped over a broken piece of wood.

"Sorry, ya'll," he said awkwardly, shaking pieces of fence out of his hair.

"It's fahne," Rogue sighed, standing.

"No blood, no foul," Remy added, remaining on the ground with his legs stretched out in front of him.

"We could just..." she kicked a plank of wood with her boot, "get rid of the fence all together..."

Remy surveyed the damaged before them.

"Sounds like a plan."

"YOU TWO!" shouted Kitty in a voice that could only be described as a housecat trying to sound like a tiger. "Why?" she demanded furiously, "Just—why?" she stomped her foot.

"It wasn't our fault!" they said together.

"If you had just picked a paint sample then you could have been done and you could have driven the younger students to the store by now!"

"Well it's all busted up now anyway," she said, "So it doesn't matter."

"Now we can lie in the sun for a couple hours," said Remy, preparing to lay back, looking as content as ever.

"You are both off the paint committee!" She hit Remy forcefully with her clipboard, "And I'm making Scott put you in charge of the lemonade and biscuits! How hard was it to just pick—a—colour?" Kitty screeched, waving her clipboard threateningly at Rogue.

"We couldn't decide what colour to paint the fence, ma chatte," defended Remy promptly as Rogue skittered out of the way from Kitty.

"You guys couldn't decide what colour to paint a white picket fence?" Kitty clarified shrilly in disbelief, hand on her hips and clipboard glued to her side, "How hard is it just to pick a white?" she looked very near hysterical.

"But there is no just white!" Rogue said in exasperation.

Remy however flipped over the final page and pulled himself out of his slouching position on the grass, "Actually…there is," he passed the book over to Rogue and leaned over her shoulder to point at the last sample tile in the booklet.


"You've gotta be kidding me,"

"I dunno," said Remy thoughtfully, "I t'ink I still prefer Old Woman's Hair—"

"UGH, shut up!"



Har har, t'was fun indeed to write ^_^ Because everyone knows that Remy and Rogue could argue so passionately about what colour to paint ye old white picket fence.

Reviews are love!