Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men, Rogue, Remy or anything else that is displayed here. I am poor and have no other source of amusement.
Summary: Just a short little one-shot that's been in my head for a couple of months now, but never could seem to make it onto paper until now. Coincidently after I did some art projects. Hopefully it's sweet and romantic with as few tears as possible, unlike my other X-Men one-shots.
Authors Note: I apologize if this story sucks. It's been awhile since I've entered the X-Men world, but am glad to have done so again. If the story is really bad though blame Rogue4787, to whom this story is dedicated. I know it took me some time, and most likely more than you wanted to wait, but I hope this is what you were wanting.
PaintThe colors swirled down the drain at her feet, a thick mass of blues, purples and reds mingling together with oranges and greens, washing away and giving her a greater sense of peace than anything else in existence. The water followed, flowing over her trim, lilt body, sending tendrils of snow white and auburn hair before her eyes, going unnoticed as she focused on her hands, rubbing them together gently to chase the paint away.
It was amazing how a few simple color dyed oils could make her feel so alive. So free. And how one mans eyes could make her feel so beautiful.
She let out a great sigh; shaking her head a bit and turning away from the water, letting it fall down her back, kneading the knots that had formed there. Sometimes she didn't know whether to curse Xavier, or thank him for putting her into such a mess.
She supposed it should really be the latter as she brought her hands up into her hair, massaging the water through gently as her mind began to wander back to her evening art class, the one he had enrolled her in at the local community college, and their topic for the evening; nude paintings. More specifically it wandered to the cocky Cajun who posed for their class, causing a tingling to form deep in her stomach that only grew with the blush coming over her cheeks as she realized that tonight's shower would most likely be longer than usual thanks to memories of his naked form, posed like many statues of Adonis before the class, his habitual shit-eating smirk on his face. He was the walking embodiment of the phrase "sex on legs" and what was worse was that he knew it, and flaunted it as much as possible.
Rogue had no idea why he intrigued her so much. Maybe it was just the fact that she found him incredibly attractive. Or the fact that things between her and Bobby had iced over, no pun intended, over the last few months. Most likely, it was just because her mind had become a lot more crowded as of late, and her conscious a lot more guilt laden, and it was nice to think of something, or in this case someone, else for a change.
Her mind, among other things, wandered for quite awhile under the warm water, until it became much too cold for her liking, not that it made much difference against her now nearly invulnerable skin anymore, but she figured that someone else would most likely like use of the bathroom and climbed out, wrapping the thick dark blue tarry cloth towel around her body, wiping the steam from the mirror to gaze fully at her reflection, her own vibrant emerald eyes gazing knowingly back at her.
She let out a deep sigh and leaned forward, examining herself more closely. She looked so much older than she was; easily passing for someone in their late instead of early twenties, she was sure. Bobby told her she was nuts every time she mentioned it to him, so she stopped bringing it up. It wasn't long after that she stopped talking to him all together. Which was about the time that Xavier enrolled her in the class.
Once again her thoughts were on him, and the strange pull he had over her. She hardly noticed as she dressed, and left the bathroom on auto pilot, walking down the hallway to her now private room, the twinge of loneliness she had first felt at being separated from Kitty and Jubilee long gone now as she entered the room, throwing her bag onto the bed and moving to her vanity, once again finding herself staring into her own eyes.
She looked at her reflection critically for a long moment, mentally comparing herself to all the other women in her art class, before throwing down her brush, sighing at herself in disgust as her hands came to tangle in her damp hair, her arms resting heavily on the wooden tabletop. How could one man, whom she had only spoke too once mind you, have such an affect on her? And even then it hadn't exactly been what you would call a "stimulating" conversation…
She thought back to the day, about two weeks after the class had begun, when the instructor had introduced him as their model. Rogue had known instantly what kind of man he was, with his cocky grin, dark tinted sunglasses, long messy auburn hair and devil may care attitude, topped off with a ratty brown leather trench coat, a noticeable outline of a pack of cigarettes in his t-shirt pocket and the playboy name of Remy LeBeau. He was every mother's worst nightmare, and every woman's dream.
Everyone but Rogues, she had thought, and tried desperately to remind herself of the all American boy, if being a mutant could be included into that genre, who would be picking her up as soon as class was over. She had done pretty good after that, until her eyes caught his almost unnatural brown ones and he did something that was almost unthinkable, at least to her. He lowered his shades slightly, and winked at her.
After Rogue had recovered from her momentary lapse into a female puddle of goo, she raged. How dare he think he could waltz into class and have the entire female population, and sad to say a good chunk of the males as well, eating out of the palm of his hand! She had spent the rest of class glaring rather angrily at her subject, and painted a disturbingly lifelike image of him being mauled by a rather human looking wolverine, with three metal claws protruding from each paw. She even had the satisfaction of shocking one of his little groupies with the grotesque image. And she couldn't hide her triumphant smirk as he examined each of the portraits in turn, the instructor at his side, while the class waited at the front of the room. She was slightly disappointed however, when they got to hers and while the instructor looked on in horror, he merely cocked his head, as if examining it critically and grinned, saying loud enough for her to hear, "Not bad no? Though, Remy has more muscles den dat."
Her instructor had called Xavier that night, who had looked at Rogue with a mixture of disappointment and pride, as she reminded him that she was only doing what he wanted her too. Putting her anger onto the canvas rather than taking it out on herself or innocent bystanders. He had let it go with an offer of more time each week for them to meet, and she had thought she was off the hook. Although Remy had had other plans it would seem as he passed her in the hallway after the very next class. It had both startled and excited her when she felt his warm breath against her ear, his lips a mere millimeter from her skin as he whispered, "Remy liked last weeks better p'tite, though today, looking at you, he wish he was de one behind de canvas."
She had looked at him, startled as he ran a gloved finger along her cheek. "You too belle for words Cherie," before walking away, his arm wrapped around one of Rogues fellow classmates, looking rather irate at his attention being directed at anyone but her, especially at the only known Mutant of the class.
On second thought, perhaps their conversation had been more stimulating than it should have been.
After that day Rogue had been unable to get him out of her mind. He plagued her thoughts morning, day and night. At meals, during danger room sessions with Logan, and even on dates with Bobby. In her classes, which took place three nights a week, she often found her eyes straying to his, which always seemed to be on her, trying to figure out her deepest darkest secrets as she tried to figure out his own.
A reflection in the mirror made her thoughts even more tangible as she turned to gaze at the almost finished canvas behind her. Her final project for her class, the one that would be presented at a private show at the end of the semester. She eyed it critically and sighed, rising and walking over, standing a few feet before it, her hands on her hips, biting her bottom lip as she tried to figure out just what was wrong with it.
The assignment was easy; at least she had thought so at first. Paint your deepest desire. And what was the one thing that the Untouchable would want? And so she had set to work, the face of the class model coming to life at her fingertips, dressed in an unbuttoned deep red silk shirt, revealing the well toned abs and muscled chest she now knew for sure lay beneath his ratty trench coat, and tightly fitting black slacks, the top button undone, his long hair tied in a pony tail and wafting on an invisible breeze behind him, a full moon in the sky as he stood on a cliff, trees and a waterfall in the background and the beautiful form of a woman in his arms, their bare hands clutched before their hearts, foreheads pressed together in a loving embrace.
The painting, now mostly finished, presented two problems. One was him. Something just wasn't right about his face. The thin nose and strong chin were perfect, complete with a small amount of stubble that was always present on his face. And the lips, which were deliciously kissable, his smirk firmly in place, were flawless. Her eyes came to rest upon his own, the rich brown that they were in class, and the frown that graced her face deepened. Something was wrong with his eyes. They were too mundane. Too normal. Too not Remy, at least as far as she knew him.
The next, and larger problem was the woman. She had a beautiful figure in a tight black and red gothic style corset dress, the lacings on the bodice loosened, her shoulders and arms bare as she snuggled close into his arms, her own auburn hair blowing across her shoulders with the invisible breeze. Rogue was sure she was a very beautiful woman, but she had no way of knowing as she had yet to be able to give her a face. Try as she might the woman remained without expression. No eyes to see or lips to return her lovers kiss. Just a blank flesh colored screen where her face should have been. And it seemed tonight Rogue would have no more luck adding one than she had any night before.
She picked up her pallet and brush, biting the tip for a moment when a thought suddenly struck her. Without a moments hesitation she dabbed some paint on the tip and set to work. Within a few minutes she was satisfied with her alteration and set down her colors and brush, wiping her hands on a towel before turning to bed, stretching as she went, revealing her firm abdomen and lightly tan skin to the new pair of red on onyx eyes that now stared back at her from the canvas before shutting off the lights, climbing slowly into bed, and drifting into a dream filled slumber.
Three weeks later her canvas sat before her on her easel in class, the woman's face still blank as Rogue gazed at her angrily. This was their last day in class, and the instructor had given them free time to finish up their pieces and have a small party to wish each other good luck before the showing. And while everyone else mingled on the other side of the room, Rogue sat alone, glaring at her artwork in frustration. She was seriously contemplating throwing it out the nearby window when Remy's voice sounded in her ear, startling her from her thoughts.
"Nice to see Remy wit 'is flesh intact non?"
She jumped slightly and turned to face him, a blush on her cheeks as she caught a whiff of his rich spicy sent, her senses reeling as he eyed her piece critically. She mentally shook herself and watched him closely, trying desperately to read past the concentrated look on his face and find out what he really thought of it.
"So dis be how y' see moi?" he asked after a moment, a look of what appeared to be surprise registering suddenly on his face, pointing at the painting. She tore her eyes from his expression and followed his gaze and finger to his face in the painting, and the unique eyes she had given him.
Instantly her cheeks went red as she struggled for a reply. "Ah don't know, Ah guess Ah jus' thought they suited ya bettah," she answered after a long moment. "Ya don't lahke 'em?"
She turned her eyes back to him as he brought his hand to his chin, his arm crossing over his chest as he eyed the piece thoughtfully before grinning. "Oui, but who be dat belle fille? It non nice t' give Remy such unique eyes, and non belle femme t' regardez."
"Ah don't know that's the problem. Ah jus' can't paint her!" Rogue growled in frustration, turning her eyes back to the picture. "Ah've tried everything, and she always comes back ta this!"
"Have y' tried paintin' in front of a mirror chere?" he asked gently, a hint of laughter edging his tone.
"Why?" she turned to eye him fully, realization dawning on her voice. "She ain't supposed ta be meh Swamp Rat, yah ain't that great!" The words left her mouth before she could stop them, and she mentally kicked herself.
He looked at her for along moment before a loud, heartfelt laugh left his lungs, drawing everyone in the room's attention towards them. "Dat maybe chere," he began after catching his breath, "but Remy t'inks y' be running from de obvious and dat's a shame, cause it be a magnifique picture when it's done." With that he turned and headed back towards the other side of the room, the conversation gradually returning as she continued to glare at him.
Before she had time to breathe it seemed class was over, and she was throwing a thick protective cloth over her painting, the face still bare. With tears in her eyes she grabbed her bag, thanked her teacher once more and set out for the parking lot, unaware of the crimson eyes, glowing against an unnaturally black background, watching her, smoke curling up from the end of his cigarette and the sadness in her heart breaking his.
Tears seemed to be the theme for her last night with her art instructor. She arrived late, the rest of the X-Men planning on meeting her their, tears in her eyes once more. Bobby had broken it off with her about ten minutes before she was set to leave, making her more than a little late for her big debut.
It wasn't that she was all that upset about Bobby dumping her. Things hadn't exactly been fairy tale between them for a long time now, and every day they grew further and further apart. But it had still come as a shock, and a small part of her was disappointed that they hadn't been able to make it work. It was as if the last piece of her innocence had left her and at the moment she was feeling rather alone, and incredibly vulnerable.
Just as she was entering the art room to grab her piece and rush it out to the gallery, praying to any deity that would listen for an uneventful evening, she ran almost head first into her instructor, a tall lanky man with hair everywhere but the top of his head, and dark brown eyes hidden behind thick rimmed glasses.
"Ah Miss Rogue, I was concerned you wouldn't be joining us," he stated, his voice somewhat nasally. "I was tempted to put your painting out their myself, I've never seen anything so bold from a begging student before. Or so lovely," he added as almost an afterthought.
"Well thank ya kindly Mistah Weatherly, but Ah think it coulda been a lot bettah," she answered somewhat taken aback. It was a rare thing that he praised any of their work, and to have him do so now, on an unfinished painting, was quite an honor.
"Well Rogue, if you can actually do better than that piece, then you will go quite far in the art world," he answered, pushing his glasses up. "It is a rare talent you have, and I am honored to have been, however small, a part of your learning experience. The emotion of the piece is so captivating and so real. And it was so brave of you to use yourself as a model for the damsel. I do believe even our young Cajun model will be impressed. Well, I must get out there, lots to meet and greet."
He rushed off towards the presenting room, the bewildered expression on her face growing more. 'Did he say Ah used mahself?' she wondered as she shook her head slowly and entered the room, walking towards the back where her easel waited her.
She only got about halfway across the room before she stopped, the small black cloth handbag that Kitty had made her to go with the dark green gown, which came down to form a v at her chest, leaving her arms exposed and covered with black lace opera gloves, falling to the floor, as her mouth fell open in shock. Across the room was her painting, completely finished, with the most beautiful rendition of her she had ever seen, down to the dominate white streaks in her hair.
Slowly she walked towards the painting; sure she was moving through some kind of dream, until she was standing right before it. Gently she reached out a finger, stroking the lines of her face on the canvas before her, new tears filling her eyes as she marveled at how beautiful the piece was. Carefully, afraid to tarnish any inch of it, she lifted it easily off the easel, a small piece of paper fluttering to the floor.
Frowning she set the painting back and reached down, unfolding the paper to find a note written especially to her.
Dearest Cherie,
I could not do you such an injustice as to let this masterpiece go unfinished. It seems neither of us can see the beauty in ourselves, but I don't think no one else could capture the beauty of one anther. You painted moi how you saw me, with all the emotions you are afraid to show to anyone else. I could not help but do the same. Besides, there is no woman that this ol' Cajun would rather spend an eternity with in his arms than you.
Good luck Chere, I'll be watching.
Yours Very Sincerely and Truly,
Remy LeBeau
P.S. One day you tell Remy how you knew non?
Rogue's breath caught in her throat as she read the note. Gone was his cocky façade and flirting demeanor. She could only hope that it was as honestly written as she felt it was. Although the question at the end bewildered her, she couldn't help the smile that came to her face as she wiped the now happy tears from her eyes. Folding the letter carefully, she tucked it into her bra, next to her heart, and picked up the picture again; walking out into the Gallery, ready to reveal to the world her finished masterpiece, not caring if they saw the true beauty in it she did.
Without trying, Remy LeBeau had done just what the painting was meant to capture. He had touched her, not physically, but down to her very soul.
Later that night, as every one was gathering around her, congratulating her before going to examine her first place painting, her eyes wandered, searching for him and coming up dry. She'd all but given up hope when a husky voice whispered into her ear, the breath tickling her skin, "So Ma Cherie, how did y' know?"
Rogue spun fast to face Remy, her voice catching in her breath as she gazed directly into his eyes. His intoxicating red on black eyes that seemed to be looking into the very depths of her soul.
His question suddenly made sense as she struggled for words, but nothing coming. He chuckled softly, taking her gloved hand in his, bringing it up to his lips. "Non matter p'tite, y' have plenty of time t' tell Remy non? Now dat he be an X-Man."
Several Years Later……………
She stood before the painting, hanging straight above the mantle, tears in her red and onyx eyes as she regarded it closely, her long white and auburn hair falling in gentle waves down her back, every line and color perfect, as it had always been, the small blue ribbon that it had one once upon a time in a frame on the mantle next to it, and next to a wedding photo almost as old as the painting itself was.
"Didn't take you long to get it back up," a sad male voice stated from behind her, followed by footsteps entering the large living room. A moment later an arm wrapped around her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze. "Why not leave it at the mansion? I'm sure they'd like it for the memorial wall."
"And take it away from home? You know as well as I do Mommy and Père would be furious about that," she answered coolly, brushing fresh tears from her eyes.
"Do you really think they care much Chloe? I mean their…"
"I know what they are Henry," she cut him off, shrugging off his arm and walking back to the painting, fussing with it a bit more. "I was at Père's funeral today wasn't I?"
He let out a deep sigh and walked over to her, placing both his hands on her shoulders, massaging them gently. "Oui little sister, oui." He gave them one final squeeze before walking over to the lush couch, sinking heavily onto it, looking up at the painting once more, that had hung on the wall above the mantle all his life; since his father had built the house for his mother, with the help of his uncles, on the Xavier estate grounds. The portrait that they had painted together. That, as his mother had often told him over and over, contained the very foundations of the love they had for one another. The painting that had only left it's place of honor twice before; each time to be placed in a room in the Xavier infirmary.
As he sat watching his younger sister, a thought entered his head that had often before, and he couldn't help but voice it.
"Why do you think they kept moving it to the infirmary with them? I mean when Mommy was sick, Père took it over, and then he insisted to bring it to him when Aunt Jean made him a patient."
"That's easy," Chloe turned to face her brother, who was the spitting image of their father, with one exception. He had his mother's eyes. "It was a reminder. So that when Père had to be away from her, she knew their love was still there. That it was eternal. It was a reminder. Their hope that no matter what, they'd always be together. What doesn't make sense is why he waited so long to join her."
She came and sank onto the couch next to him, flopping her legs over his as they gazed at the portrait together, her head resting on her arm on the back of the sofa.
"Cause Mommy made him promise he would. I remember, when she was so sick with the Legacy Virus, and no one would let us see her, I snuck down one day and over heard them together," Henry answered, leaning his head back and locking eyes with his sister. "She made him promise that he'd hold on until he knew that we could take care of each other."
Fresh tears came to Chloe's eyes as she spoke, "I wish we never had then."
"Now p'tite, no crying," he reached out and brushed them away. "This is a happy day non? They are together again."
She sniffled, nodding her head slowly. "I know, but it doesn't hurt any less."
"Oui," he sighed, both looking back up at the portrait again for a long moment. Finally he gave her legs a pat before pushing them off his own. "Come on, I'm sure Michael and Angela are wondering where we are. And Uncle Logan. You know how he worries anymore." He stood up, pulling her to his feet.
They walked to the entry way and stopped, Chloe wrapping her arms around her for a long moment, gazing at the house, trying to capture every past memory and hold it forever in her mind. "Do you really think they are?" she finally asked in a soft voice, looking up at her older brother, like she had when they were children and their mother had just died.
"What?"
"Together again?"
He regarded her for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Yeah I do. She did promise to wait for him, and Mommy never broke a promise."
Chloe nodded slowly before opening the large wood door, taking one final look before disappearing outside. Henry followed, stopping to gaze around the house. It'd be boarded up now, most likely. Or turned into an extension of the school. He wasn't sure; all he knew was neither himself, or his sister could ever live there again. The memories which were once filled with joy were now only filled with pain. He inhaled deeply, trying to suppress the tears that were stinging his eyes and for a moment thought he caught his fathers sent, spicy and laced with cigarette smoke mixed with the lavender and roses that his mother always wore.
A smile broke out slowly on his face then, the tears still glistening in his eyes. "He's home again Mommy," he whispered softly before shutting the door and following his sister.
Within the now empty house, the sounds of footsteps, running up the stairs could be heard, followed by a mixture of feminine giggles and a hearty laugh as the faces in the portrait above the fireplace shown with all the love and devotion that their corporeal forms had in life.
The End