This story is still in progress.

This is the sequel to Mice's "God ... er, Dog" story, archived at (un)frozen.

**Standard Mice Disclaimer**
Mice is in no way associated with the Marvel Comics Group. She is merely trying to write a story and this is all she has to show for it. A noble effort. Though she would one day like to be paid for writing, please don't send her any money (send mail to urmonkeyifudo@yeahright.com on instructions to send her money). Bobby Drake, Jubilee, Paige Guthrie, and Hank McCoy do not belong to her, but to the Marvel Comics Group. Annie Peckenpaugh and Harpo Lubbock are of her own mind. Any archiving of this story that is unaware of her attention will be ily received (Read: Tiki Curse). If you e-mail her, explain your intentions to archive the story and address of your archive, she will be MORE than gracious and will probably do something nice for you, like bake you brownies, not to mention permission to archive the story. In truth, she just wants to know where she can drool over the sight with her name. *G* If you want to e-mail her comments (read: FEEDBACK), do it at mice5k@hotmail.com. Good or bad, you'll still probably get some brownies out of the deal, but it's not really that great of a reward because she can't cook...except for spaghetti. She makes goooooood spaghetti.

Author's Note: This is part of a larger series called, "Everyone Says I Love You" (Are the Marx Brother references getting through yet? *G*). It's mook-lite, honest! Where can you find the rest of the series? Why, at Alyson Hurt's (un)frozen!

When in Rome
Chapter 4

Annie rushed over to the kitchen table to grab her wallet when she bumped into something tall, hard, and spicy. Unfortunately, it was not a 6'2" jalapeno pepper. Things would have been different. Speech would not have been rendered useless and toes would not have curled.

"'lo."

Annie nodded and squeaked out, "Heya." It was a decided improvement from earlier exchanges where Annie would giggle out her greetings. It wasn't that Remy LeBeau was gorgeous, though he was, or that he was charming, because who is more charming than? No, it was the fact that Remy LeBeau had an accent, a seducing Cajun accent that was capable of turning talking into trickery. And at that moment, he could trick her into giving him her panties.

Bobby entered the kitchen and saw Annie frozen in place, wallet clutched in her hand. Though he wasn't there, Bobby knew. "Saw Gambit again, huh?"

Annie looked over to him and sniffed. "Doesn't have to be Remy, you know."

"Yes, but the pure frozen look of lust gives you away," Bobby supplied sagely. "When you see Kurt ... well..." Bobby chuckled as he shook his head. "I gotta get me a camera. That's all I'm gonna say about that."

Annie and Bobby made their way out of the mansion. "I am not that bad with Kurt."

Bobby's face slowly contorted from a lazy cocky grin, to an energetic meglomaniacal one. "One word, Annie. Fencing."

Annie's leg twitched.

"Fencing."

It twitched again.

"With that big, long sw--"

Annie ran straight into her car. "I hate you, Linus."

One hour later

Bobby Drake pouted as the dealer showed him yet another new car. New, in Bobby Drake's mind, was anything made after 1989, and Bobby Drake wanted a 1985.

Bobby Drake also didn't know jack about cars. Annie Peckenpaugh did. And Annie Peckenpaugh was afraid when Bobby finally smiled as a dealer showed him another car.

Ten minutes later...

The car was a stick shift. This was one of the first things that made Annie cringe. Bobby could barely figure out how to tie his shoes, let alone master a stick shift. The interior of the car disintegrated at her touch. Also, the inside door handles were gone and the locks were broken. There was a strangely sweet odor of the car, which gave her a headache. The windows only rolled a fourth of the way down. But out of all of these problems, the one Annie didn't like most was the fact that she couldn't get out of the car.

"Bobby?"

"--so, how much is it?"

"Uhm, Bobby?" Her fingernails now scraped at the window.

"--but for you, son, I'll make it--"

Annie tried honking the horn to get their attention. "I shouldn't be surprised," she grumbled as the horn remained dormant. Annie leaned back and waited for one of the guys to notice her situation.

And that's when she heard it.

"I don' know what kinda deal ya tryin' ta give me, here, but--"

HONK!

Annie looked at the steering wheel her hand had just crashed into and blushed as the two guys finally paid notice to her. They began to talk once again.

"Look, I just wantcha ta give me a decent offah--"

HONK!

"Foah this cah--"

HONK!

"'Ey, Annie, will ya keep it down?!"

HONK! HONK!

Three minutes later...

"I'm sorry, Bobby."

"You've said that already."

"But I really, really mean it."

"So you keep saying."

"It was a horrible car, Bobby."

"I loved that car."

"It was possessed."

"True love."

"If the car only honked when you lightly tapped--"

"Banged."

"--on the steering wheel, I'd hate to think what would have happened if you turned on your windshield wipers."

"It would have been like a James Bond car." A pause. "I love James Bond."

"I'm sorry, Bobby."

"Annie, if you just would have said you needed help--"

"I did! And I was going to wait patiently for you until -- nevermind."

"What?"

"Let's just say that I'm stupid and be done with it, okay?" Annie turned her attention to the side of the road, leaving Bobby alone to think and drive.

"Annie...?"

"Yes, Bobby?"

"You weren't ... turned on by my accent, were you?"

Annie blushed and paid even more attention to the road. "I thought we weren't going to talk about this anymore."

"Oh, okay." Bobby grinned. "Look 'ere, Annie--"

A happy whimper, and an even bigger grin.

"So you like the Long Island accent?"

A mangled response that was somewhere between, "Sort of" and, "sigh".

"You want me to talk Long Island to ya?"

Annie turned to Bobby and looked at him with eyes that anime artists had been trying to perfect for years. Bobby Drake did it with one, simple comment.

"Girl, don't go freakin' on me ... let's take it slow ... uh ... lox. Bagel. Monatauk. Cream cheese. Uh ... Yankees ... the Mets ... Yankees ... Porn ... Yankees..."

Annie put her head on Bobby's shoulder and sighed happily. Bobby continued saying random things and even stuck in a few Bostonisms in there ... anything to keep the cute girl with the green eyes sighing happily into his shoulders.

It's short, I know. I still don't have a computer and I did all of this long hand. However, there is going to be a story outside this series called, "A Night at the Opera":

"Hank, why am I here?"

"Because I wanted to expose you to some culture, Annie."

"Then why am I here, Hank?"

"Because it's your private box and you love the opera, Warren."

"Then why am I here, Hank?"

"Because ... why are you here, Bobby?"

"Because he wanted to wear his powder blue tux again."

"All right. Then tell me why I'm here?"

"West Wing was a rerun, Hank."

"Thank you, Annie."

Continued in Chapter Five.