DISCLAIMER: The X-Men belong to Marvel Comics. This is an unauthorized use of the X-Men. I am not making any money off of this so please don't sue me. This fanfic is copy-right by me, Link.
There was no real inspiration for this story. I am just studying for the GRE this summer. My roommate told me I needed to write a sentence for each vocabulary word I was memorizing or a story. As you can see, I opted for the story. If you see a problem, like wrong usage, please be nice and email me about it. My roommate wasn't very helpful about that, though he did say it was funny.

by Link

Scott Summers suddenly hunched over as he tightly clenched his abdomen. If anyone had been around to see, they would have assumed he was making an awkward obeisance instead of silently crying out in agonizing pain. He should have known better than to get out of bed. Hank had warned him, but he gainsaid the seriousness of his injuries, thinking he had recovered from the worst. His yen to be up and about and prove Hank wrong turned out to be an excruciating mistake. The pain flashed again as another reminder. The only problem now was that his obstinate nature wouldn't even acknowledge his vulnerability or admit that he was being rather callow.

Maybe he was too abashed to ask for assistance, or maybe he didn't want to abase himself in front of newcomers to the team. Whatever the reason, he was resolved not to quit and call for help. He gnashed his teeth and sank lower to the floor, waiting for the pain to palliate. He would ride it out and beat it.

He was thankful that his nearly all-knowing and ubiquitous wife wasn't around the mansion. She would have known in an instant what he was up to and be on him in seconds. Jean wouldn't have put up with his nonsense or let him dally with his health. She had left with Warren days ago to find much needed supplies and equipment for their empty home.

That's what always got to him. Not that the nanobomb didn't leave its own scars on him; but that their home was violated and striped of everything they ever owned. He felt only umbrage at the crime and a small lingering sense of hopelessness. The sacrilegious act had left behind a message that was crystal clear to him. They were viewed as nothing better than a cabal with baneful intentions or thieves with a cache full of stolen properties.

He groaned at his failure. He had let them down; every one of them. The X-Men was at a nadir and he felt responsible for it. He rubbed his stomach; the pain had subsided enough to let him straighten up without any discomfort. He needed to do something, but what? "What are ya doin' up? Hank said ya shouldn't be movin' around f'r at least 'nother week." The voice was a surprise and he flinched. He was caught.

Scott tried to ignore Rogue's statement and waffled around his reason for being out of bed. The last thing he needed was a scolding and he wasn't in an explaining mood. Unfortunately for him, she wasn't in a patient or understanding mood and back they marched to his room. Doctor's orders, she said. She was such a killjoy.

Along the way, he observed an oddly quiet side to Rogue he never knew existed. She wasn't known to babble, but her saccharine southern charm was certainly missing. She walked beside him in a pensive daze, paying no attention to him. So deep in her thoughts, he might have been able to abscond without her ever noticing his absent.

Not an nosy man by nature, he left her strange behavior unquestioned. He could pretty much guess what was on her mind; a certain Cajun thief. It was better that she sort out her thoughts and feelings on her own.

Before Scott knew it, he was back in his vacuous room, staring dumbly at the maculated walls again. Palatial, it was not. The recent heavy rains had done its worse with the appearance of mildew. The unstable weather had macerated most of the interior wood and it was only a matter of time before its collapse.

There was only so much he could do in his room while he recuperated; eat, sleep, and go to the bathroom. Watching the mildew expand its empire was soon becoming a tiring sport and he opted to play his own game of count the nail holes. Absorbed in his tedium, he almost missed hearing the cadence of footsteps approaching his door. It had been hours since he last saw a living person and he welcomed the company regardless of who the person was. So ebullient at the prospect of talking to someone, he was ready to leap out of bed to reach the door. When he twisted his waist to move, he stopped abruptly and sucked the air through teeth. This time the pain was enough to be lachrymose. She had on a different set of raiment than before that Scott almost didn't recognize her when she stepped in.

"Ah thought ya might be hungry by now, sugah. Hope ya lahk tomato soup." Rogue came waltzing in and set the TV tray on his lap. Scott stared at the tray before him. He wasn't about to sing paeans for the tomato soup, he abhorred tomatoes, but he did managed to quaff down the orange juice without any trouble. When he took into account the food he was about to eat, he happened to wonder about the cook's state of mind. The eclectic meal would make anyone wonder. He had a nice bowl of mush and Jell-O to look forward to as well. Oh joy. Must be Hank's handy work.

For the past few days, his stomach was allowed only soft and liquid foods in his diet. Another condition Hank had most vehemently placed on him. He had been served the usual tasteless soup of the day with the occasional crackers and a simple dessert. Hank may know his physics and biology like the back of his own hand, but gastronomy was a science he needed more study in.

"Th' soup's not too hot, ah hope. Ah think ah mighta overheated it."

"You made this?" he questioned, carefully eyeing the bowl. She nodded a yes with a grin.

"Thanks. The soup's good." He hadn't even tasted it, but he didn't have the guts to tell her what he really thought about tomato soup and just diligently slurped the soup like a good boy scout. He would have made a sour face and dumped the soup had he had the chance, but no such opportunity arose for him. Rogue was content to watch him eat the whole meal. Several times he mentioned to her it wasn't necessary to stay and that he would be all right by himself. Instead, she insisted that she stay and clean up after he was done.

After swallowing the last chuck of lime Jell-O, Rogue took his tray and left. What a ghastly combination he had to endure, but that was over and done with. He could relax for the rest of the afternoon. He carefully shifted his body for a more comfortable position when Rogue stuck her head from the doorway. She had a waggish expression on her face that suggested she was up to something.

"Ah got ya somethin'."

"What is it?" he asked half-afraid.

She came over and dropped a packet of crayons and coloring book on his bed.

He gawked at them. "Shouldn't you be giving these to Joseph?" he replied dryly.

She frowned. "No need ta be grouchy, Scott. Ah wasn't makin' fun o' ya. Ah jus' wanted ta say ah'm sorry f'r bein' so rude earlier. Ah was actin' so moody an' all; ah totally forgot that you jus' had a bomb pulled outta yoah tummy."

Now it was Scott's turn to feel bad. "I'm sorry, Rogue. I hate being bed-ridden. I make a terrible patient, don't I."

"No problem, Fearless Leader. Ah would be uptight too if ah was stuck in here all day." Rogue opened up the box and took out a stick. "Ya wanna give them a try? If still ya don't lahk it, ah can give them ta Joseph."

He had to laugh at that and decided he had to try his hand at coloring. Rogue had her own sheet to color, but every so often she would peer over to see how he was doing. She only smiled and returned back to her own work. After some time, Scott successfully completed his first page and handed the result over to her.

"Very nice, Scott. Ah lahk th' shadin' too. It's really nice. Ah never saw a more prettier purple cow b'fore in mah life. Reminds me of Betsy. Not the cow part, but the purple, mind you."

He winced. D'oh. He should have checked the labels on the crayons first before coloring. To him, everything was some shade of red. He had wore his ruby quartz visor for so long, he had forgotten there were other colors beside red.

"Why don't ah hang it in th' livingroom? Ah'm sure th' guys would love ta see yoah artistic ability."

Scott glanced over to her and folded his arms. Ignoring the slight ache from his side, he spoke in his most macho and leader-like tone, "Don't you dare."

"Oh, c'mon. It looks good an' it'll brighten up the place." She smirked, obviously enjoying her badinage.

"No way, Rogue. Give it back to me. That's an order."

The argument continued until she escaped with the embarrassing picture. At least she promised not post it in the livingroom. Though he couldn't be sure what she was going to do with it. He let the matter go, deeming it as harmless and went to sleep.

The End

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