Pictures of You

This is a song fic inspired by The Cure's Pictures of You.

Summary: Remy has lost his best friend and is battling the grief before the funeral.

Marvel owns the X-men, The Cure owns 'Pictures of You'. Go out and buy The Cure's "Galore" CD that has this song on it. It fits in so well.

Thanks to Lady Macbeth for being an awesome beta reader for me!

This is a story written for the Storm the Woman of the X group's fan fiction contest. I got second place… out of 3 entries… victory is victory- haha!

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"I've been looking so long at these pictures of you

That I almost believe that they're real

I've been living so long with my pictures of you

That I almost believe that the pictures are

All I can feel…"

The sun is shining high this March morning and many cars are entering the grounds of the school. The mansion is busy, friends and families traveling from all over the world to be with each other at Xavier's. If only they could meet under more pleasant circumstances. It is a funeral that brings them all together, mourning the death of a life that touched so many yet had been taken for granted for so long.

Remy finishes buttoning the collar of his gray silk shirt before he begins fussing with his black tie. He never learned how to tie one but Scott had been kind enough to do it for him 3 years ago. It never came untied after that, he just slipped it over his head and adjusted it as needed.

He checks his appearance in the mirror above his fireplace, making sure nothing is out of place. He regrets it almost immediately as his eyes fall on a picture on the marble mantle. A photo of him and Ororo. He thought he had put them all away. They were too painful now.

It was a memorable picture she had given him from years ago when they had returned to New Orleans for a vacation. One of those old time photos you get as a souvenir. She had begged for 3 days straight, "We can't come here and not get one! Every time we've visited I've asked and you find someway to get me to forget about it. Not this time!" Of course, he finally caved.

In the sepia photo, he is dressed in a pinstripe zoot suit, cigarette in his mouth and a tommy gun in his right hand, a cocksure, smug smile on his face. She's dressed in a dated dress that shows off her cleavage and her neck is loaded down with pearls. A cream colored beret is tilted mischievously on her white hair. She stands behind him, one arm wrapped around his stomach, and her head peeking out from behind his shoulder, as her other hand is concealed in his front pocket with an 'O' of surprise. 'Bonnie and Clyde' they had always joked they were.

She had chosen the photo to keep while he was changing out of his gangster clothes and he all but forgot about it until she handed it to him weeks later after they had returned. The sight of it, her impish actions caught on film, had brought tears to his eyes from laughter. Now it brings a different kind of tears. He pulls the picture down and casually tosses it under the bed, its frame scraping across the wood floor underneath.

"Best not t' t'ink about it now, I have t' get t'rough dis." He says out loud to himself.

A knock comes at his door. "Who is it?"

"It's me." Rogue. He's devoted 3 years of his life to her and oddly, she's the last person he wants to talk to right now.

"Come in." The door opens, letting in someone's laughter from down below. He doesn't know how anyone could feel happy right now.

"Ah brought you some orange juice, Tylenol, and a bagel. Everyone's askin' about you. I jus' told them you're not feelin' too well." There's concern in her green eyes and her voice is wavering a bit. She's fidgeting with her black velvet gloves, uncomfortable, but he can't blame her- he's been hell to be around the past few days.

"T'anks." It's more of a farewell than it is gratitude.

She takes the hint and heads for the door. Before opening it, she turns and says, "Ah'll save you a seat. But if you don't feel you can make it, ah'll understand. We all will. Ah asked Sean to stand in for you if necessary…" she was referring to him being a pallbearer.

"I'll be down fo' de funeral. I owe her dat much." He had been asked to speak at her funeral originally. He didn't feel he had anything to say, nothing he wanted to share with anyone at least. His fondest memories of Ororo were private. He would probably only end up sobbing like a fool anyway.

Anna says nothing else as she departs and closes the door behind her, leaving him to his grief.

He listens until her high heeled steps begin heading down stairs to join the rest of the guests. It seems the second floor has cleared out. He grabs his black wool blazer from the armchair by the fireplace and exits his room.

He cast quick glances down both ends of the hall, praying there was no one around to bother him. The "how are you doing's" and "holding up ok's" had gotten old by the time the 4th person asked him. How the fuck was he supposed to feel with his best friend dead? He had retreated to his room before he actually said that to someone. Now, he was exposed to the world again.

He didn't know how it happened but he found himself standing in front of her bedroom door. The only door in the mansion that had an oak staircase behind it. The only staircase that led to the attic loft. The only room that was completely saturated in her spirit. He wanted to leave it behind, ignore it, and forget it even existed but a tugging at his heart controlled his hand, resting it on the doorknob.

Perhaps… this was a cruel joke… perhaps, she wasn't dead. He would be angry at her for it, but he would forgive her for just being alive. He swallowed and wrenched the door open.

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"Remembering you

Standing quiet in the rain

As I ran to your heart to be near

And we kissed as the sky fell in

Holding you close

How I always held close in your fear"

The door shut behind him, filling the room with an empty echo. He slowly climbs the risers, surprised at how stuffy the room is. The windows hadn't been opened in days and the door below was shut, sealing the room off. The faint smell of rosemary and sandalwood still linger.

He reaches the top of the stairs, avoiding looking to his right, where her bed is, where he had found her. Instead, he scans the area to his left where her indoor garden sits, unattended, and showing signs of neglect already. They're illuminated by the sun filtering through one of her many skylights, but they're suffering without her. He drops his coat to the floor and goes to them.

Mechanically, he grabs the watering can, and begins to fill it in the wash-tub sink, wondering what he's doing but not caring at the same time. He waters them, lost in the sound of the water falling like rain, resurrecting a memory he's tried to quell…

Remy sat on the window ledge, lit cigarette in hand, surveying the city below. It had been 2 weeks since he'd met Ororo and although he hadn't intended, she had grown on him. They had become their own version of Robin Hood virtually overnight and he couldn't help but feel relieved to not be alone anymore, even if it was with an adolescent girl. She was the sister he never had yet, reminded him so much of himself at her age. Though, something he couldn't pinpoint, she seemed older than her years.

Ororo tossed and turned in her sleep, her brow furrowing in frustration, her body struggling against an invisible foe. It was the same dream. She's so young, perhaps 5, out picnicking with her mother and father. Her father zooms her across the sky in his arms, like she's an airplane, the wind rushing through her ears. She screams to go higher, higher, to touch the clouds above her. He finally collapses back on the picnic blanket, into N'Dare's lap. Her mother tells her with a gentle smile to let her father rest a bit.

It is at that moment, her father's grip tightens on her wrists, causing her to cry out in surprise. She turns to ask him what's going on and it is no longer her father but the Shadow King! She turns to beg her mother for help but she is no longer there, having been replaced by the mechanical Nanny. Terror rips through her and they both grab for her.

The wind picks up outside, created by unseen hands and Remy looks over at Ororo noticing her struggles. "Merde…" he ignites the remainder of the cigarette with his mutant abilities and tosses it out the window, it vanishing in a puff of smoke, and treads carefully over to where she's laying. "Petite… y' ok?"

Those mechanical arms clawing at her… so tight she can barely move while the Shadow King pulls her the other way, straining her tiny arms… she's being pulled apart! "Oh bright lady… please make it stop!"

A slow, heavy pat begins on the roof that swiftly builds into a deafening rain of hail. Lightning and thunder crash around the entire city, and Remy is now trying desperately to shake her awake. She's starting to scream so he does the only thing that came naturally and he grabs her to his chest and hugs her, trying to sooth her. "C'mon fille… s'ok… jus' wake up an' end dis…"

He feels her body relax slightly and the storm overhead passes. She grips him and begins sobbing onto his shoulder, not able to speak, just relieved. "S'ok ma tempête… you're safe now." He kissed the top of her head and rocked her until she cried herself to sleep and even then, he dared not move her until morning.

Remy realized he was still tilting an empty watering can over the garden. Exhaling loudly he set the can back in the wash-tub and rinsed his hands. He goes over to the wall where the switch to the skylight is, he flips it up and immediately, the mechanics of the window begin to whir, propping the window up about 2 feet. A cool breeze rushes in, refreshing him.

He looks at his watch, noting the funeral is in 8 minutes. With a heavy heart, he grabs his coat from the floor, dusts it off and begins to descend the steps. He decides he doesn't care if he's left the skylight open as he closes the door behind him. He just needs to survive the next 20 minutes and everything will be ok.

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"Remembering you

Running soft through the night

You were bigger and brighter and whiter than snow

You screamed at the make-believe

Screamed at the sky

And you finally found all your courage

To let it all go"

The funeral is being held outside on the back terrace. The sun is still shining, glowing with warmth but Remy doesn't feel it. If anything, he loathes it. He would've thought nature could've made a mourning appearance at her funeral, but he knows better than that. She had made sure of it.

He shudders.

Ascending the aisle to find his seat, he only glances at the shining gray coffin, refusing to look at her still form. Refusing to let that be his last memories of her. As angry as he is with her, and himself, he will not do that. Instead, he focuses on the flower arrangements provided by the guests. He notices there are no orchids which is a shame because she once claimed them to be her favorite.

He takes his seat next to Rogue who reaches for his hand and he pulls it away. She gracefully places the hand on her lap instead, not wishing to force him to anything right now. It pains her to see him hurting and refusing her love but she tries to understand. Although Ororo was a friend to both of them, Remy always had a connection with her that appeared to rival soul mates at times.

He looks at her, green eyes staring at a flower arrangement, deep in thought, and wonders if she's secretly glad Ororo is gone. It was only upon Ororo's death, when he admitted everything to the Professor that she found out about him and her.

Rogue remembers how she often wondered how she was chosen over the African goddess but he had always claimed he loved her more than anything, even Ororo, when she had asked. "Me n' Stormy are just friends, Rogue. She can' touch what we have an' she don' even try. Dere's no threat, chére." He had said.

Storm had even reassured her, "Remy is a great friend, yes but he adores you. To be honest, I wish I had someone who talked about me the way he does you." It strikes her, now, that Ororo had never denied her feelings for him.

Now she can't quite understand if he was lying the whole time or if he didn't know how he felt himself. Too many thoughts and emotions confusing her now, she can't decide to feel betrayed, sad or relieved. It bothers her that she might feel assuaged so she pushes it away. No matter how much she loves the man beside her, she would never feel joy at the death of a friend, even if she was a rival.

Several months prior…

It was little past 11pm on a Friday night and the resident males of Xavier's were ensconced in the Rec room playing poker. Remy stepped into the adjoining sun room for a breath of fresh air from Logan's cigars and to retrieve the beer waiting in the snow drift on the back terrace. He noticed Ororo sitting curled up on a patio chair, a blanket draped over her and a book folded over on her lap. It was Dante's Inferno, in its native Italian no less. She had her hand over her face, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. She had her hair tied back in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck.

"Bonsoir ma belle Stormy." (1) He changed trajectory and knelt next to her.

"Good evening. I have the most tremendous headache."

"Dat's cause y' not havin' fun." He grabbed the book, examining the cover.

She glared playfully, "Not in the sense you intend."

"Dante's good in 'is own right, chére, but I guarantee y' I'm much better." He set the novel on the table next to her, never breaking his charmer's gaze from her blue eyes.

"As I said…" she chided. She studied his seductive smile, the one he cast unconsciously even towards her, and she spoke, "Is there room for one more at the card table?"

"Oui. Just me, Logan, and Bête remaining. Y' wan' join, neh?"

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "I have been looking for an excuse to go shopping, and your wallet just might provide it."

He stood and offered a hand to her, which she took. "Dream on, petite." He headed for the door outside to grab the alcohol and something smacked him on the back of the head. He looked down and it was his worn leather wallet. He picked it up, grinning at her. "T'ief."

"I realized my purse is upstairs. I'll just borrow from you tonight." She held up several dollar bills, fanning herself with them.

"An' I expect payment in full by de end o' de night!"

…

"'Ro's joinin' in."

Ororo was greeted with surprise but, to her relief, not hostility. She didn't know why she expected such reactions from her friends but she knew how territorial men could get about their boy's nights. She took her seat between Remy and Beast, having to clear a few beer bottles off of the table in order to have room for her cards. Logan sat back, cigar in hand while Beast had one hanging from his mouth, each of them holding cards.

Remy went on to explain the point they were at in the game, "Bobby ran out o' money long time ago and Jean pulled Cyclops out fo' bed just when he took de lead, d'ough sometin' tells me by her insistence he ain't gettin much sleep." He laughed at his crude assumption, joined in by the other two men.

"I'm sure. Poor thing, having to fulfill the needs of a sensuous flame haired vixen rather than looking at your ugly faces. I pity him."

She was painfully aware at them staring at her, stunned, until Logan erupted in a fit of laughter. "Why haven't you been joinin' in these games sooner? You'd fit right in! Welcome to boys night, 'Ro. Have a cigar." She blushed slightly at the compliment and accepted the cigar. It was a Monte Cristo no. 3. Although Cuban cigars were illegal in the states, it had never prevented Logan from bringing them in through Canada.

"Don' worry 'Ro. That's premium. I wouldn't let you lose your cigar virginity to no damn gas station stogie."

Beast's gentle baritone chimed in. "Her cigar… virginity? There's a term for the books." He took a swig of his New Castle ale.

She put it in her mouth and was about to ask Remy for a light when he plucked it out from between her lips. "Y' don' know much bout cigars d' ya?"

"Well, as Logan put it, I am a virgin." She said in all seriousness which caused them all to smother boyish snickers.

'Don' worry, I'll be gentle." He winked, bringing a grin to her face. " First, y' punch a hole in it. Dis let's de cigar get oxygen when y' breathe in so it don' go out, and if you don' you're just gonna be inhaling against a solid wall o' tobacco leaf anyway." He handed the cigar to Logan who popped out an adamantium claw and with precision, punctured the top of the cigar and handed it to her.

"Now, de preferred method is a match but since it's yo' first one, it might take awhile. M. Bête, de lighter s'il vous plait?"

"Affirmative." Beast's large blue hand deposited a small lighter in front of Ororo.

Ororo sat, holding the cigar between her teeth, running the lighter over it, trying desperately to get it to catch. "Ya gotta puff in when you do it, darlin'." Logan coaxed.

"But don't insufflate!" Beast warned.

It was comical, watching her faintly flushed cocoa cheeks being sucked in as hard as she could, trying desperately to get the cigar to catch but only managing to accidentally inhale the slight burnt puffs from the end, making her cough. "Good goddess, how is this enjoyable?!" Howls erupted from around her, making her cheeks redden deeper.

"Give it t' me chère." She complied, handing over her cigar, it mocking her in its un-smoldering state. He took it in his mouth, placed a finger to the end of it and puffed on it while turning it around, burning the edges evenly. Within 10 seconds, it was smoldering and he handed it back to her. "Dere. Don' worry, dat's not de initiation, you're still good wit' us."

She wrinkled her nose in defiance at him and took the biggest puff she could manage, blowing it back in his face, "I don't need your approval, Mr. Lebeau. I'll call for you when I need another cigar lit."

"Move over, Doc Holiday, it appears are lady has taken over the table." Hank proffered.

Remy just whistled at her comment, and then proceeded to light a cigarette.

"Why don't you have a cigar?" she asked.

"Too sophisticated for him," Logan growled while shuffling cards.

"Non, too phallic fo' my tastes." He teased the shorter man and only received a snort in reply.

"You know, Freud once said 'Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar…'" Hank provided. "I like to believe a man so fixated on the hidden sexual meanings of inanimate objects might hold weight on the subject."

Ororo looked at it thoughtfully, "You know, now that you mention it… that could be why it's so enjoyable." She puffed a few more times, enjoying the dizziness it brought to her and ignoring the stares she was still getting. They hadn't seen anything yet. "What rules are we playing by boys?"

…

2 hours and four Smirnoff's and a glass of scotch later, Ororo was clearly toasted. Logan and Beast had departed 20 minutes earlier leaving her and Remy still dueling it out for the remaining funds of his wallet. Her cigar stub long burnt out in the ash tray, her cheeks and nose were rosy from her drinks and her coordination was terrible so he took over to dealing, even though only because he had a slightly higher alcohol tolerance although was barely faring better. And even so, she was still winning the games.

"I do say, I do not know if you are being honest or setting me up for a hustle." She giggled, placing her money on the table.

"I don' cheat wit de ladies."

"Maybe we can change that tonight." She bit her lower lip, childish glee on her face at the sight of his raised brow from her obvious barb towards his troubled relationship. She reached across and pulled his cards away, tossing them over her shoulder. She slid over on to his lap and straddled him, her legs hanging on either side of him and she whispered into his ear, "Remy, let's face it. I've won."

He swallowed hard, the gravity of the situation sobering him slightly but his indulgent side painfully curious if this was just her flirting as usual. She stared into his eyes, almost searching for permission and receiving nothing, she kissed him. Softly at first, her soft lips massaging his delicately until his mouth parted and she then indulged fervently, her tongue dancing with his. He pulled her tighter, not really understanding what was going on but not wishing for it to end either. She pulled away, lids heavy with satisfaction at the shocked look on his face. "Now, can I persuade you to forget about that little loan from earlier?" She licked her lips seductively.

"I t'ink so." He said softly, out of breath.

"Good." She again covered his mouth desperately with hers, pulled him from the chair, onto the floor and on top of her as she enjoyed his equal desperation. It had been too long since he had been able to touch a woman he loved and she felt the hunger in him, it fueled her. For her, she had longed for this since she had regained her memories and had been stuck in her accursed de-aged body. She had long wanted the courage to initiate this moment and only regretted it took them both being intoxicated to do it.

What they shared that night was difficult to place. Not a careless affair, not quite making love, yet nothing but love passed between them. Ororo knew exactly what it was and was not ashamed to speak it, even if she hated the reality of it. As they lay there, naked, the cards all around them, she had said, "I know this is only for tonight, my friend, but thank you."

She thought it would be enough to have him one night, having reluctantly accepted she could never have his heart, but slowly, days afterwards when he threw himself back into Rogue's arms, the love she had felt began to burn like a brand in her heart, poisoning her.

Footnote:

1. bonsoir ma bel hello (good evening) my beautiful stormy.

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"Remembering you

Fallen into my arms

Crying for the death of your heart

You were stone white

So delicate

Lost in the cold

You were always so lost in the dark

Remembering

You how you used to be

Slow drowned

You were angels

So much more than everything

Hold for the last time then slip away quietly

Open my eyes

But I never see anything"

Rogue elbows Remy out his thoughts and motions for him to meet with the other pallbearers at the front. He realizes he didn't hear the eulogy but decides it doesn't matter. He knows more about her than anyone else here. The silver coffin's lid has been shut, sealing off his beloved. Logan, Piotr, Hank, Scott, Lucas, and Warren nod politely at him as he joins their ranks at the sides of her pall. It is surprisingly light, as if there were nothing inside, but he knows otherwise. Kurt nods and they follow him across the lawn to a small grove of trees where Xavier's fallen rest.

Four days ago…

It was dreary out in the last moments of evening, the sky overcast, threatening to soak the earth at a moment's notice but remaining content to hover menacingly. The air was damp and chill, just above freezing, yet Ororo was outside in a pair of shorts staring up at the sky, chewing on the end of a pen deep in thought. She had a clip board in hand and had been making notes of which plants had begun to sprout, which needed more protection, and also overlooking if her landscaping from fall was going to pan out.

It was an annual ritual for her, always choosing a different theme for the year that would wash the mansion in a glow of color. No sooner had the spring sprouts begun to appear, she was planning out the summer assortment. This year's choice for summer was Oriental Lillies. As she scribbled on her clipboard, the odor of Gambit's clove cigarettes reached her nose before she heard him. "What do you want?"

He ignored her callous remark. She'd been touchy towards him lately. "It's gettin' dark, chére."

"Yes, but this garden is not going to plant itself." She refused to look at him, continuing to survey the area and making marks on her paper.

"It c'n wait. Y' gonna catch cold out here." Cigarette in his mouth, he drew his coat to him as the icy breeze blew through once again. She didn't even shiver as her long white hair whipped in the wind. Even if she didn't feel the entire cut of the cold, her immune system would and he knew it as much as she did but she did not care.

A lot about Ororo had changed in the past several months, most of the changes only noticeable to herself. She had lost most emotional feeling towards those around her. She was frustrated beyond belief with where she was at with her life, and had found herself trapped in a stagnant pool of self loathing.

She began hating her friends in private, resenting them for being happy when all was not right with her. She no longer felt bonded to them but rather that they used her to make themselves feel better. Logan having issues with his past? Talk to Ororo about it! Jean and Scott arguing again? Talk to Ororo! Too lazy to watch the news to find out the weather tomorrow? Go see Ororo! And let us not forget, the 5th argument of the week between Remy and Rogue… Goddess, it was killing her inside. "You can go inside, nothing's keeping you out here." He didn't answer so after several minutes she glanced up at him, watching him shivering, stubbornly remaining outside, silently suffering to gain her mercy. "You are incorrigible, my friend."

"Does dis mean we c'n go in now?" He grinned, still quaking from the cold.

She shook her head in minor annoyance, saying nothing, and headed across the lawn for the French doors leading into the mansion, him trailing like a puppy on a string. She held the door open for him which he thought odd but stepped inside. The door shut behind him and he realized what she'd done. He turned to see her through the glass with a satisfied smirk before she took flight leaving him on the ground. His offense was quickly replaced with determination because he knew exactly where she was headed. And if not, it was where she was going to end up and whether she wanted it or not, Ororo Munroe was going to have company.

In the waning sunlight, Ororo landed on the roof of the mansion, content with having snubbed her best friend but not satisfied. It was the first step she had taken to breaking away from him. She had tried to long to conceal her feelings for him and now she found the only way was to replace her love with anger. All the things she used to look forward to about their encounters, the scent of him, his French sprinkled casually in his verbiage, his arms around her… "If he enjoys heartbreak, far be it for me to interfere." She thought acidicly.

Remy watched from her bed as she delicately slipped through the 2 foot opening of her skylight, balancing precariously on the table that held her plants before swinging herself to the floor, nearly losing her balance. She looked at her hands and they were shaking in anger. Almost immediately she started rummaging through the vanity dresser next to her, frantically searching for something. "Fuck!" she screamed. He winced, debating on whether or not to call to her.

She stormed over to her bathroom and flicked on the light, illuminating her tear streaked face. He stood up and approached her in silent horror as she began to break apart a shaving razor. She lifted her shirt and he saw a mess of scars on her hips.

"Ororo, what d' y' ti'nk you're doin'?"

She jerked up, snapped from her trance, anger replaced with confusion and then, shame. Her blue eyes darted around the room nervously.

"I'm just… just… Oh Goddess!" She collapsed to the floor, razor clattering several feet away behind the toilet, and she sobbed. "Go away! I don't want you here!"

"Non." He reached for her and she swatted him away.

"Go away!!!"

His eyes narrowed. "I ain' leavin' y'. I didn' in Nawlins years ago, I didn' in de cold downstairs, and I sure as hell won' right now!"

She looked up at him with honest blue eyes, tears staining her brown cheeks, hatred dripping in her words "You left me a long time ago, Remy. You left me for her. And you never looked back."

She couldn't have hurt him worse if she'd hit him with lightning. He was at a loss of words as thoughts and words flooded his mind, of the past, the present, and possible future. He knew in his heart she was referring to that night they spent together after the poker game, even if she had claimed it a one time thing.

She looked at him with disgust and pulled herself off of the floor. "Exactly." She began to search for the razor again. "Kindly leave. Do not think your being here changes anything." He regained control of his senses just as her hand clasped around it and he pulled her out of the small bathroom with a forceful jerk.

"Ororo, what de hell is wrong wit' you? Why y' carvin' yo'self up? Y' know damn well y' ain't alone here!" His words were of his anger but his red on black eyes pleaded with her, trying to find her reasonable self.

"Isn't it obvious? The past few years have finally caught up to me and I'm just letting them out the best I can." She pulled away from him again and ripped her shirt off, exposing once flawless brown flesh marred with a jarring criss cross mesh of cut patterns across her abdomen. "This is what it is to be me, Remy. To hide all your feelings, not just anger but love…" She whispered. "And you don't even know what it feels like on the inside."

"What can I do t' make y' stop?" he wanted to cry for her, for his ignorance of her pain. Cursing himself for allowing her to shatter under his watch. He had promised to never stop looking out for her and look what he did to keep it. Long ago, in his eyes, Ororo had been an untouchable force, a woman who stood against time, warlords, and death- never faltering. Now, she was fragile, a delicate flower that was wilting from the pain in her heart… he was that pain. She was trying to cut him out…

Her hands dropped to her side, tears glistening. "Too long ago I would've answered that question gladly. All I've ever wanted was to be loved but I think it's too late. There's nothing for me here."

"I'm here." He managed, weakly.

"You're here for Rogue. You'll never be here for me." She said matter of factly.

"How about y' give me dat razor, n' y' can have me?" He didn't understand the words coming from his mouth but what he knew was that he would gladly cut off his own legs with Marrow's dullest bones if it meant she could return to normal.

"For always?" In her state, she turned to the ceiling, mulling over the idea.

"Oui." She reluctantly handed him the blade. No sooner was it out of her hands, he charged it and it disappeared in a puff of smoke and he pulled her to him, relief filling his heart.

----------------------

"If only I'd thought of the right words

I could have held on to your heart

If only I'd thought of the right words

I wouldn't be breaking apart

All my pictures of you"

He desperately ignores the hole in the ground, the one that is going to steal her away forever and instead concentrates on Kurt's words as he finishes the prayer for her soul in his soft, lilting German accent, "…never faltered to bring happiness and love to her friends in their most desperate times, it is heartening to see how many people experienced the light that was Ororo Munroe. Lord, we commit our sister to you, trusting her to your care and thankful for the angel you allowed us to witness. Amen."

He doesn't even wait to take a flower from the arrangement on her coffin and instead, makes an obvious exit from the group of mourners. A slight breeze ruffles his hair and he scorns it as if it were her own hand. He rips his coat off and slams the front door to the mansion behind him, its bang echoing deafeningly through the foyer and he runs for refuge in his room. He locks his door and collapses on his bed, still refusing with every fiber of his being to cry. After several minutes, his strength wanes and he falls asleep.

…

He awakens, groggy, head pounding, and glances at his alarm clock. It's 9:32. Did he really sleep for 5 hours? He turns his bedside lamp on and looks over at his desk just feet away and sees the bagel and orange juice on his bedside desk and curses, remembering why he felt so drained. His thoughts go to the Tylenol and he reaches for it. He drops it and it rolls underneath his bed. "Merde." He groans as he drops to the floor to search for it and he spies it, resting against the discarded photograph. He ignores the pill and pulls that picture to him, relieved it is intact and desperate to see her face again.

He props the picture up on his desk and fumbles for a cigarette in his drawers. He lights and inhales deeply, enjoying the familiar burn on his tongue and releases a great cloud of smoke around his head as he studies her mischievous expression.

How did he let her slip away?

3 days ago

He left her attic that morning, stealing away, careful not to wake her up. It was now 2 in the afternoon and he stood, outside her door, afraid to open it, his mind pre-occupied with the night before. They had ended up in her bed, just him holding her, trying to keep her demons away. Twenty minutes after he managed to reason with her, she looked into his eyes and said calmly, "Will you smoke for me?"

It was an odd question and rightfully caught him off guard. "Excuse moi? You hate dat."

"I find it comforting." She admitted with a timid voice. "It reminds me of New Orleans. We'll always have that, won't we?"

"O' course. Just de two o' us- Bonnie and Clyde." He said, cigarette bobbing between his lips as he lit it and talked at the same time. He was thankful she requested it, his nerves were shot. The clove scent surrounded them and she breathed in deeply.

"What about as Ororo and Remy?" she asked.

Smoke exited through his nostrils, "Whatever petite wants."

"These moments are what I want." She pulled closer to him, clinging desperately, not wanting to relax her grip. "What would you do without me?"

He wasn't stupid- he knew she was speaking of if she were dead. "What do you mean?"

"Could you be happy?"

"It would be difficult." He said honestly.

"But could you?"

"I don' know happiness wit'out you, mon amour. Y' my every'ting."

"Your words are soothing, but practiced and perfected." She said calmly, even if it was a cold remark.

"Y' know I don' lie t' you, Ororo. Why y' bein' gloomy?" She took the cigarette from his hand, inhaling deeply and then put it between his lips.

"I've made a decision tonight, my friend. I finally know what I want and how I can have it."

He eyed her suspiciously, noting the calm demeanor she exhibited, "As long as it don' involve hurtin' yo'self no more. It pains me to see ya carvin' dat beautiful body up." He realized too late it came across as callous.

"Why, does it make me somehow less desirable?" she scoffed, with a wry smile.

"Non. It pisses me off y' can' talk t' me instead."

"Then take heart, because I'm not hurting myself anymore. Tonight's the last."

"Damn straight." He declared, getting a slight laugh from her.

Now he stood outside her door, wondering how much longer he would stare at the white paint before he would face whatever was waiting on the other side. It was only a half hour ago he felt something terribly wrong in his gut, and that it was something with Ororo. Reasoning with himself, he finally entered.

He couldn't say how he knew, but there was an unsettling calm in the room. Each step on the risers was slow and his heart pounded in his ears. He was feeling the familiar pangs of adrenaline in his veins, fear and panic. "Calm down." He thought. He saw her form through the gauzy curtains of her bed, sleeping and relief rushed through him. "Hey Stormy, it's time to wake up! Y' always sayin' I'm lazy, I'll never let y' live dis down." He said cheerfully, pulling back the curtain only to die inside.

"Looking so long at these pictures of you

But I never hold on to your heart

Looking so long for the words to be true

But always just breaking apart

My pictures of you"

Remy turns on the light and enters her attic loft once more, not wanting to remember anything else. He is clutching the photo in his hand, still waiting to hear her call his name. It is abnormally cold. He looks up, noticing the open skylight and shuts it to prevent her precious plants from freezing. He checks them to make sure they are not damaged in anyway and then turns to face what he had been so reluctant to earlier.

He treads the wood floor to her bed and pulls back the curtain, a flash of her in his mind that immediately disappears as he's filled with the vision of the empty blankets. Sighing, he glances at her nightstand, the empty bottle of sleeping pills mocking him. He grabs it in anger and destroys it with a touch of his hand and replaces it with the photo.

He curls up on her bed, breathing in her scent and stares at it, longing for the memories. Wishing he hadn't taken his time with her for granted. He lashes out and the frame falls to the ground, shattering. His heart begins to race and he bites his bottom lip as he recognizes her delicate handwriting on the back of the photo.

Gingerly, he pulls it out of the glass, to read it.

"Dear Clyde,

I have long since resigned that we will never fully be like our counterparts. Although the notoriety is very real, I am waiting for your heart. You have already stolen mine, I guess I'm not as good a thief but I will try and wait for my moment.

Forever and always yours,

Bonnie

PS- I know you can be dense and this is from Ororo, ton amour.

Despite the playful jest, he breaks down and mourns. Long quelled tears fall, great sweeping sobs he's helpless to hold back and he holds the picture to his chest. "Mon coeur c´est a toi..." He professes through his tears.

"My heart is yours…"

"There was nothing in the world

That I ever wanted more

Than to feel you deep in my heart

There was nothing in the world

That I ever wanted more

Than to never feel the breaking apart

All my pictures of you"

Fin.

ton amour your love

Mon coeur c´est a toi "My heart is yours."