Acknowledgments: : The first set of thanks goes to the IRC crew in #subcafe, who, upon my leaving earlier in November, told me to keep on writing, which is where this story found its start, a battered black notebook. The second set of thanks belongs to Spade, who was going to type this up had I not gotten ‘Net and comp access back, and also told me not to stop writing, and to keep my notebook with me at all times. The third round is for Phrykyh, who volunteered to beta this, and who did an outstanding job.
Thanks, folks. This Bud's for you.
 

A waitress dressed in a slim-fitting black shirt and a pair of khaki pants, her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, gracefully weaved her way through the tables, chairs, and patrons of the small restaurant, balancing a tray precariously above her head. The drone of conversation filled the air, occasionally punctuated by the scream of a small child or something of the sort.

She stopped at a table with five men seated around it, the raucous din around her quieting somewhat as she lowered the tray to chest-level. "You guys ready for your dessert?" she asked, being remarkably genteel for someone in the thirteenth hour of a twelve-hour shift.

She was met with a clamor of approval, and glanced at the tray. "Okay, we've got a hot fudge sundae..."

"That'd be mine," Bobby Drake replied from one end of the table. The X-Man known as Iceman grinned as the tall glass of ice cream and hot fudge was placed in front of him, the barely-there goatee on his chin crinkling.

"Parfait?" the waitress asked, holding a tall, thin glass with vanilla ice cream and strawberries swirled around inside of it.

"Ma'am," Warren Worthington, Angel, nodded, the slick blond hair atop his head not even budging with the movement.

"And... a sirloin steak?" she said, holding up the plate with a slightly confused look on her face.

Logan nodded. "'S mine," the short Canadian known as Wolverine said, sliding his previous plate, still with scraps of mashed potatoes and corn, to the side.

Remy LeBeau, the charming and charismatic thief known as Gambit, leaned his chin on his hands. He eyed Logan's plate, and shook his head. "Mon ami, we finished dinner. Dis is dessert."

Logan regarded Remy with narrowed eyebrows and a sneer. "This is dessert, Gumbo."

Remy rubbed his chin, fingers scratching the stubble. "Dat's a steak, Logan. Dat's not dessert."

Logan forewent the proper method of cutting steak and stabbed it with both the fork and the knife, and then pulled apart. He rammed a chunk of it into his mouth and grumbled, "Puts hair on your chest."

Remy sat back in his chair. "Logan, where do you plan on fittin' more hair on y' body?"

Logan snarled through a mouthful of meat and went back to chewing. Remy grinned.

"And the mousse?" the waitress asked, holding a frilly-looking dessert in her hand, the last plate off the tray.

Remy nodded and smiled. "Dat's mine, chere. Merci."

She smiled, set the plate in front of him, and turned away to leave. Remy watched her go with a playful gleam in his eye, and then turned back to his food, dabbing his spoon into it.

Logan watched Remy intently until the Cajun glanced up. Logan looked at the plate in front of Remy, shook his sadly, and met Remy's eyes directly. "Those girly desserts'll turn you gay," he said flatly.

Remy's eyes widened as he took a bite, glancing over at Logan with a questioning look on his face. Logan nodded, taking another bite of the steak. "Shame. Seen it happen to many a friend. Ate one bite, an' blam. Gay as a flower. Weren't nothin' the rest of us could do fer him."

Remy lifted the spoon up from the mousse again and hesitated, staring at the fluffy dessert. Logan grinned maliciously and went back to his steak.

Scott Summers, the proud leader of this motley crew, grinned. "Calm down, you two. Bobby said he's got one last joke for us."

Bobby leaned forward in his chair with his hands open in front of him, a coy smile playing across his face. "All right. There're these three guys playing pool in a bar. Tom, Jake, and Clancy. No Clear and Present Danger remarks, Wings. In the midst of a shot, Tom turns to the others and says 'Hey, mind if I ask you a question?'"

"Jake says, 'Nah, go ahead,' and Clancy nods.

"Tom goes, "Okay, well, Jake, you're an architect, right?' Jake nods. 'Well, they don't call you Jake the House Builder, do they?'

"Jake shook his head, and Tom turned to Clancy. 'And you. You're a guitarist in a band, right?' Clancy said yeah and kept playing.

"'Well, they don't call you Clancy the Music Player, do they?' Tom asked him.

"Clancy shook his head. 'Not really,' he answered."

Remy grinned in anticipation. Bobby continued.

"Tom crossed his arms across his chest. 'I didn't think so. But you fuck one sheep…'"

The table erupted into laughter as Bobby reclined back in his chair, a pleased smirk on his mouth. Remy was laughing into the crook of his elbow, Warren had his head cupped in his hands, and Logan had tilted his head back and was laughing as loud as a man that short could.

Bobby looked across the table, and his smirk grew into a full-blown smile. Sitting stoically in the opposite chair, arms folded firmly across his chest, eyebrows lowered down behind the ruby-quartz glasses adorning his face, Scott glared at Bobby, steely gaze and all. With a low and deep voice usually reserved for commanding troops on the battlefield, the leader of the X-Men stated simply, "That was not funny."

Bobby smiled jovially. "What's the matter, Scott? That joke hit uncomfortably close to home?"

Scott opened his mouth to reply but was momentarily distracted by the sight of Remy tumbling out of his chair in a fit of laughter. Any further comments on Scott's part were wiped out when Logan tried to discreetly throw a chunk of steak at the Cajun under the table.

Remy reappeared in his seat, flustered and grinning, with the chunk of steak in his hand and smiling devilishly. He cocked his hand back behind his head, ready to throw, just as Logan swiped a spoonful of mashed potatoes off his first plate and prepared to fire.

Bobby snickered as he took a bite of the hot fudge sundae and opened his mouth to say something fittingly sarcastic, but ended up ducking underneath the edge of the table as a clump of steak and potatoes went flying over his head.

Bobby stuck his head back up, his eyes glinting with excitement, excitement that drained back out of his face when he saw Scott glancing flatly at him. "Bobby," he said flatly.

"But--"

"No buts."

"Remy started it..." the younger man trailed off.

Scott shook his head. "I don't care who started it," he said firmly.

"Yes, Dad..." Bobby grumbled.

Scott's gaze hardened. "The fact remains, Bobby, that Jean's not here to keep everyone from noticing three grown men flinging food at one another again. I'd rather we not get kicked out of a restaurant on our first night on vacation, too. I like it here."

Logan grinned wolfishly. "So do I, Scott. Th' place just needs a little color. Like off-white." He flicked a spoonful of mashed potatoes over Scott to illustrate his point.

Scott ducked reflexively, and then just shook his head sadly. "I've been around you guys long enough where I should've learned I can't win arguments about food fights." He clasped his hands together and looked over everyone. "Anyway, if you three are quite done, we've business to discuss."

Remy flicked a last handful of water at Logan, and then looked over at Scott. "Business? We on vacation, Slim," he said, perturbed.

"I know that, Remy," Scott replied, "but we still have to decide what we're doing tonight."

Warren checked his pocket watch. "Phantom of the Opera is showing tonight, in about two hours."

Scott leaned back in his chair and sighed wistfully. "I don't think I'd like to do that... Jean and I were going to do that later this month," he said with a tinge of resignation in his voice.

"Isn't there some gala down at the Museum of Modern Art tonight, W?" Bobby asked, trying to suck the last little bit of Coke out of his glass, the dessert finished.

Warren nodded, and then sighed, almost plaintively. "Yes... Betsy and I had been talking about going to see it..."

Logan wrinkled his brow. "Isn't there some World Wrestling Federation thing happenin' t'night at the Garden?"

Remy leaned forward, melancholy playing across his face. "Oui... Rogue loves wrestlin'..."

Logan leaned forward on his elbows and glanced at Bobby. "I'm goin' to wrestlin'."

Bobby stood up and grabbed his coat. "Me too."

The two got up, dropped a few dollars on the table, and headed towards the door. Warren flicked his fingers against his glass as he looked around the table. Remy stared down at his empty plate, fingers tangled together. Scott crossed his arms over his chest and let out a low, long sigh.

A few moments passed.

Logan and Bobby stormed back in determinedly. Logan grabbed Remy by the crook of his elbow and hauled him rudely out of his chair. "If you think fer one minute that I'm gonna let you three wallow in yer own damn misery that the girls are takin' separate vacations, yer ass has another thing comin'. Bobby, get Wings an' Scott. We're leavin'."

Warren mutely allowed himself to be pulled out of his slump in the chair and dragged alongside Scott to the cashier. Bobby met resistance, however, when he tried to snag Warren's wallet.