knightinshinarmor | Outside the apartment above Needful Things, Thursday afternoon

Remy was now extremely familiar with breaking into the shop downstairs, but he seldom made his way from there up to the apartment above. Harley had been pretty clear about her boundaries, and he only really felt okay violating them in the shop itself.

But he'd just had a conversation with Pam and felt the need to offer at least a little something that might help Harley with her mood in these trying times. So after booking a quickie portal down to New Orleans, he returned to Fandom with a plate of what at first glance appeared to be entirely powdered sugar, but was, in fact, beignets. Direct from the very best source of the excessively sugared treats, Cafe du Monde.

He fully intended to just drop the plate off, knock on her door, and then duck speedily out of sight. Let it be an anonymous treat.

He might be ever so slightly off his game, though, with Pam's comment about Harley being an alternate version of her girlfriend, and what it would be like for him to have to hang out with an alternate Rogue every day, cycling through his mind. . . .

[for the one whose apartment it is, please!]

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Hey! Remy had never pretended not to be a thief.

"Yeah," Remy said on a little sigh. "That's love, for you."

But they just kept coming back for more.

It drew a joyless huff from Harley. Sort of a chuckle, but not really.

"Didn't get that far, this time."

Was that a lie? Even Harley couldn't tell. Hurt like hell to say, either way.

Remy nodded. "Don't mean it don't hurt, huh."

"No," Harley agreed. She finally picked up one of the beignets, still careful to hold the plate where it was. "No, no. Still hurts like I got kicked in the chest and the crotch and prob'ly my spine by somesorta belligerent donkey with steel toed boots on."

Remy couldn't help but smile at that analogy.

"Like you wanna scream the sky or huddle in the rain."

No, Remy, that's just because you're dramatic AF.

The narrative would continue to bring this up: Harley had considered burning her own car, earlier in the week.

She spoke dramatic fluently.

"Yeah," she said, considering the pastry in her hand. "Or you wanna go bang down their door in their stupid little living house 'til they take it all back."

"Could TP that living house."

Sir, you lived there too.

"Don't do that. My cats live there."

Harley gave a soft huff. "Aw, the little buggers would be fine with a little TP."

"Might even enjoy it. But then the house might not cat sit for me anymore."

Remy's cats couldn't really be controlled in any real way, but Midnight had bonded well with them, so they tended to listen when it kept them indoors.

"Well that ain't much to deter me," Harley admitted. In a manner of speaking, at least. "I don't think that place'll even let me in through the door, anymore, anyway."

Since that privilege had been directly tethered to Marc.

“Nah. You just need someone else to invite you.” Remy was . . . reasonably sure of that. “It’s not that exciting a place anyway.”

It literally had its own version of the Danger Room, but sure.

"I got three people in there that I don't think like me very much right now," Harley lamented, shaking her head. "And they run that place."

Remy snorted. “You wouldn’t believe how many places I’ve been full of people who don’t like me.”

She might, actually. How many times had she tried to kick him out of her store?

“If they don’t like you, that’s their problem.”

Harley made a pitiful little noise.

And then finally, clearly to drown her sorrows, lifted her head off his shoulder and bit into the beignet.

... And promptly groaned, but in the good way.

Remy had to grin.

“Good, oui? Some time you should try them really fresh. Like hot little pillows of sugar.”

"I wanna go to sleep on 'em," Harley sighed, through what felt like all the powdered sugar in the world.

Solely because he'd said that, yes. The image was now in her head, about pillows.

Remy chuckled. “Glad you like them, chef.”

Harley responded by taking another big bite, and savoring it.

But, once she had...

"Yanno, Frenchie," she said, turning her head towards him with a considering look, "maybe you ain't half bad. Sometimes."

“Only on special occasions,” Remy said easily.

Harley couldn't help a soft huff in response. Wry.

"I'll take it."

Outside the apartment above Needful Things, Thursday afternoon

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