Her Mother's Daughter
The first thing Jean noticed when she entered the darkened room was the powerful odour of alcohol and nicotine, and the feeling of utter despair that she could sense from the figure hunched over a chair midway between the door and the window. Flicking the light switch with a thought, Jean watched the figure inside raise a hand to their red-rimmed eyes, and immediately regretted doing it. Moving closer, she laid one hand on the figure's lean, well-muscled shoulder and touched their pale, stubbly face with the other.
"Hi there," she said softly. "You shouldn't sit in the dark like this, Remy. It's bad for your eyes."
Remy glanced at her with eyes that were dulled from too much whiskey, and then laid his head back down on the hands folded over the back of his chair. "T'anks for de health tip," he said in a rasping tone. "Go away, Jean. I don' need you givin' me a damn pep talk. Not now." He took a despondent pull on his cigarette and blew the smoke out in a long, thin stream, so that it could join the growing cloud that already hung in the air. Jean shook her head and sat down on the bed so that she could talk to him properly.
"I didn't come here to give a pep talk, Remy," she said firmly. "I just came to see if you needed anything."
Remy laughed bitterly. "I don' need nothin' right now, Jean," he replied, his voice hoarse. "Just leave me alone, okay? Be fine in a couple of days."
Jean shook her head, and gestured towards the almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels in Remy's left hand. "I don't think so, Remy. Look at what you're doing – sitting here in the dark by yourself. I'm not going to let you do that, and I wouldn't let anyone else do it, either. Don't do this because of what happened with Rogue. It's not your fault."
Remy shook his head and stood, somewhat unsteadily. "Really? Den whose fault is it, Jean?" He threw his hands out to either side of his body, before he ran a hand through his tousled chestnut hair. "I keep wonderin', you know, if I did somet'ing to upset her – if I wasn't good enough for her, somehow. I keep t'inking dat maybe if I'd been a better guy, and listened to her a little more, den maybe she wouldn't have done what she did." He shrugged, his shoulders lifting up and down listlessly. "Maybe I ain't de best person in de world, but I know I didn' deserve dat." Jean pulled her mouth into a thin, sad line and shook her head.
"Remy, I can honestly tell you that Rogue never meant to hurt you. She just… couldn't ignore what she felt. When she left with Jenny just now, I could tell that a part of her still didn't want to go. That part of her kept saying that what she had with you was a wonderful thing, and she shouldn't give it up. She almost stayed, Remy. She would have stayed, and lied to herself for the rest of her life if it meant not having to hurt you."
"Don' lie to me," Remy muttered angrily. "Don' lie to me, Jean. I saw her go. She didn' care dat she ripped my heart out and stomped on it. She got someone new, and Remy? He don' matter to her at all. No, she just followed in her momma's footsteps and started a new life wit' another woman, as if everyt'ing we had meant jack to her. Do you t'ink dat her feelin' sorry for what she did to me makes everyt'ing all right?" He laughed quietly, humourlessly, bitter tears spilling down his cheeks. "Hell, no. Mon dieu, I don' ever want t' see dat bitch ever again. She hurt me, Jean. She hurt me real bad, and she didn' even have de guts to come and say goodbye. Don' insult me by tellin' me she sorry for what she did. I won' believe it. Ever."
Jean winced at the potency of Remy's emotions, closing her eyes and turning her head slightly, as she felt them multiplied a dozen times by his empathic abilities. She took a deep breath and then reached into a pocket of her blouse, taking out an envelope which had Remy's name marked on it in red ink. "Actually, Remy," Jean began, "she didn't do that because she didn't think she could find the words to say to you, face to face. She asked me to give you this letter instead – she told me that she hoped this might help make things a little clearer for you. She wanted you to know why she decided to leave, and why she fell in love with Jenny."
Remy snorted. "Oh, well, dat make everyt'ing all right, den." He slugged a mouthful of whiskey, and swallowed it with a sour grimace. "Write Remy a nice letter an' make all de hurt go away, right? Sorry, Jean. Ain' gon' work."
Jean frowned, and telekinetically moved the bottle out of Remy's hand, setting it down across the room. "No more whiskey, Remy," she said firmly, her eyes flashing with veiled anger. "Now listen to me. Rogue asked me to give you this letter, and I will not let you ignore it – for her sake, and for yours. No matter what you say, I know you still love her: you couldn't make it any more obvious if you had it tattooed on your forehead. I'm asking you, as a friend, to read the letter that she wrote you because of that love."
Remy smiled weakly. "What you gon' do if I don' read it, Jean? Read it to me like you my kindergarten teacher?" He smirked. "Don' insult my intelligence, Jean. I don' want t' read anything Rogue has to say to me." He walked over to the window and stared out across the darkened grounds of the Xavier Institute, the full moon casting its pale light on his face and illuminating his red-black eyes as they searched for a particular pin-prick in the sky. "We chose a star together, did you know dat?" he said quietly, placing his hand up against the glass and letting it slide down slowly. "Corny, I know, but Rogue liked de idea. Didn' have de heart to tell her dat de one I chose was actually Jupiter – didn' figure dat she needed to know dat. Jus' wanted somet'ing for her to find at night, when we weren't together, so she'd t'ink of me. Made her happy, anyway. T'ought we could look at it when we were both old and grey, and laugh about it sometimes, you know?" He hung his head, pounding the glass once with his fist. "So much for dat idea, non? Now I look like an idiot, and she still get to be happy." He turned to look at her, a despairing look in his eyes. "I feel like I wasted the best years of my life on her, and for what? To get dumped like yesterday's jambalaya?" He rubbed his temples with his fingertips. "Dat's gratitude for you, I guess."
Jean slapped her forehead in frustration. "God, Remy, listen to yourself! Rogue was grateful for everything that you ever did for her – she's still grateful. She didn't do this to spite you – she told me, right before she left, that she spent months trying to convince herself that she hadn't fallen in love with Jenny, because she knew exactly what her leaving you would do. And from the looks of things, she was absolutely right." She paused, taking a deep breath. "Look, Remy, I know you're hurting, but Rogue never meant to hurt you intentionally – otherwise she would have just taken off with Jenny, the first time she realised she felt something for her. She stayed here and she stayed with you, even though she knew that that wasn't what would make her happy in the long run. Doesn't that tell you anything about how she feels about you?"
Remy shrugged, before crushing the butt of his cigarette into the overflowing ashtray next to the bed. "Still don' make it right."
"No, it doesn't," Jean conceded, "but Rogue wanted to make amends for it, as best she could, before she left. That's why I want you to read the letter. Even if it doesn't change the way you feel, at least give Rogue the chance to let you know what happened, from her point of view." She paused, and pushed the envelope into Remy's left hand. "Please, Remy."
Remy gave Jean a forced smile, and closed his hand around the letter slowly, before running his finger gently underneath the lightly-sealed edge of the envelope's flap and carefully pulling out the light-blue paper of the letter itself. "You ain' gon' quit unless I read dat letter, are you?"
Jean nodded. "Sorry, Remy. Rogue made me promise."
A small laugh issued forth from Remy's lips – the first sign of humour that Jean had seen since Rogue and he had separated. "Yeah, Rogue insists on dat sorta t'ing, don' she?" Remy lowered his head and began to read the neat, occasionally tear-spattered handwriting that had been spilled all over the pages by Rogue's pen.
Remy,
I know you must hate me right now. Hell, I hate myself, for hurting you the way I did. I never meant for this to happen, I swear to you I didn't. Jenny and I just sort of… connected. I couldn't help the way she looked at me, or the fact that I kept wanting to look back. Didn't happen right away, though; she and I spent a lot of time together without really feeling the way we eventually did. Never thought I'd fall in love the way Momma did, Remy. Never thought I'd hurt you, either. I know this has been pretty unbearable for you, and for that I'm really, truly sorry. You were my first love, Remy, and you gave me something even Jenny can't give me – you taught me how to bring down the walls of my soul and let somebody in. God, I know that sounds so stupid, but it's true. You gave me my life back, and I'll never forget what you did for me.
I'm not going to give you the old "let's still be friends" line of bull, either, because I know that after what I did to you, I don't deserve that. Not really. Jenny says that I shouldn't blame myself for hurting you so badly, but it doesn't help; I still feel so damn guilty. Must be where I'm different from Momma, I guess – I think I got a guilt complex to give Scott a run for his money.
So if I felt so guilty about doing this to you, why did I do it? Tell you the truth, the first time Jenny kissed me, I had no idea. I was too busy thinking that I was going to have to find her a hospital bed to notice that she wasn't unconscious. When I'd finished freaking out, she told me her powers protected her (something about her bioelectric zaps messing with my body's aura just enough for the skin-to-skin thing not to work, I think), and that was that. We didn't do anything like that again for weeks. I figured, hey, that was a fluke, it won't happen again.
Guess I ain't like Irene. Predicting the future apparently ain't my strong suit.
I know what you're thinking, Remy – you're thinking that I latched onto her because she could touch me, and you couldn't. Well, that probably had something to do with it in the beginning – I'll admit that; I think I know myself well enough to know how I'd react to something like that. But it went beyond stolen kisses, eventually. I felt like she gave me something that I had been missing all my life, even when I was with you. Momma always used to tell me to follow my heart at times like these, Remy. She was a good momma to me, even when I left her to come to the X-Men; she always gave me good advice. I felt like I could go to her about anything, you know? Ask her about anything in the whole world. Raven was my momma in every way that mattered. She was the first person who told me about boys, and she gave me my first birthday present that was worth a damn. I trust her advice, Remy.
Even though it hurts like hell, I trust her advice. I love Jenny so much, Remy – she gives me something I've never experienced before. I feel… complete, somehow. I know that sounds like I'm disrespecting you, honey, but it's not, I swear. I'm just telling you how I feel. How she makes me feel.
I still got regrets though, sugar – hell, I got a whole room full of them. I regret that I never had the guts to come out to your face, and had to write you this letter to explain why. I regret that I had to find out I was gay like this. I regret that I can't make everything go back to the way it was. I regret that I hurt you so bad when I finally found happiness. I regret… I regret so much other stuff that I'd need forever to write it all down.
Most of it involves you, Remy. I can't tell you how bad this makes me feel.
I can't begin to imagine how bad it makes you feel. I hope you can forgive me, in time. It's a long shot – I know I don't deserve it – but I hope you can put what I did to you behind you.
Love,
Louise Darkholme.
PS – Yeah, that's my real name… I figure I owe you that, at least, Remy. Don't spread it around, now, hear?
Folding the letter up with shaking fingers, Remy wiped his eyes and took a deep breath. "See you round, Cherie," he whispered softly. "Be happy."
Jean laid a concerned hand over Remy's own curled right knuckles, her jade eyes filling with a deep concern. "You okay, Remy?" Remy glanced up at her, and shook his head slowly.
"Non," he whispered, running a hand through his tangled auburn hair. "Gon' take me more than a few days to bounce back from dis one, I t'ink." He paused to squeeze Jean's hand, as if there was a way he might draw into his body the strength that Jean always seemed to possess. "I don' wan' hate her, Jean. She was my best friend."
"She's still your friend," Jean corrected him gently, before she pressed him to her in a friendly embrace and kissed his cheek, her rose-petal lips brushing his skin just above his face's short, wiry coat of stubble. "She still loves you very much, Remy. Focus on that."
Remy closed his eyes, and folded his muscular arms around Jean's slender body briefly. "Anyone ever tell you dat you make life-lessons sound real easy?" He returned to the window and looked up at the moon again, feeling the cold light wash over him. "Give me some time, Jean, s'il vous plait. I gon' need it, I t'ink…"