Disclaimer: I do not own.
Author's Notes: AU. In the overall Honor series, this is set after The Muir Island Files and before Broken Chains, although you don't need to read those to follow this. Some quick background: Gambit's daughter, Honor, is mentally disturbed and seeks help at Muir Island. Her treatment is derailed by Rogue's sudden arrival, and due to her powers interfering with a risky pregnancy, the family decides to leave the facility. I hadn't planned to publish this particular story… It was sort of a practice for me, switching from third to first person. Also, I thought it was a little too Mary-Sue for me… But after reading it again, I've decided there's enough heart here after all. Please R&R!
…
Waking Up
Honor speaks
On Christmas day, I was formally released from the Muir Island facilities for troubled mutants. I was only twelve years old and already looking for a new start.
My parents and I arrived at the tiny Scottish island two weeks prior to my release. I know in medical terms, my stay was extremely short. My doctor, Dr. MacTaggert, did not want to release me so early, but it was necessary. Who says you need to be locked up and observed for months? How does that return one's lost sanity? No, I needed to be home to regain what I'd lost. With the pandemonium of the holidays, my parents decided we'd wait to return to the States. We found an isolated cottage on the mainland, and that's where we spent our holidays. First, I will say that a Scottish cottage at Christmas isn't as romantic as you might think. We had no television, no stores within walking distance, and no vehicle. The only source of heat was the broiler in the kitchen, which had to burn non-stop to warm the entire house. There was a fireplace in the master bedroom, which Momma insisted on giving to Rogue. Papa's new wife was already pregnant, and Momma was very protective of her. Rogue said she was hot all the time, even in the snow, but Momma was insistent.
So Momma and I shared the only other bedroom, which was barely large enough to hold our bed. I know it sounds strange for a young lady to share a bed with her mother, but Momma and I had been apart for fourteen months. Someone killed her body, and while her ghost haunted me, her presence wasn't the same without a physical body. I did some things I'm not proud of, but I think the reward was worth it. She was back. Our reunion was hindered by my commitment to the Muir Island hospital. She and Papa came with me, but we didn't really have time to re-new a bond.
Now we were making up for lost time.
Every morning, I woke up to the smell of American coffee and bacon. Momma would have the broiler working already and, if she was in a good mood, she'd be singing. I'd lie there for thirty, maybe forty-five minutes. I could hear Papa and Rogue in the next room, whispering and laughing. Then the shower would start. They'd take their time getting dressed, picking out socks and arguing about the tightness of Rogue's pants. Once downstairs, the adults would talk about sleep or the snow storm the night prior. I just liked to lie still and listen. Observe. I liked to watch my family as if I were separate from them. If I stayed in bed too long, Papa would come get me. He'd open the door, lean against the frame and we'd smile at each other.
"Come on, petite. Enough nappin'."
I'd stretch out like a kitten and shuffle into the kitchen. I'd be the only one in sleeping clothes with my hair un-brushed. No need to hurry.
Unfortunately, I did have a regiment to maintain. Dr. MacTaggert had my parents convinced that if I didn't shovel enough snow, I could relapse. They let me sleep as much or little as I pleased, which she would've hated. They also let me eat all the sweets I wanted, again despite her advice. But they would not let me miss my medications or exercises. So by the afternoon, I had to be ready to chop wood for the broiler or shovel snow from the door way. One chore that had taken an entire day was cleaning out Rogue's chimney. The lot of us had lived along the Mississippi River, and knew nothing about fireplaces or how to maintain them. It took the four of us all day to figure it out, and I'm still not sure we did it correctly, but we got the smoke to stop filling her room. In my opinion, that counts as a success! If we ever got restless, it happened in the evening. Luckily, I had a busted piano to play. I'd sit at that bench and write song after song until my back screamed at me. I know I must've been a bother to my parents. The notes never flowed pleasantly, but they learned early on not to stop me. If they pulled me away for dinner, I'd hum all through the meal and tap my fingers to keep the sound in my mind. The end result was brilliant, in my opinion, but the process was brutal.
Papa was in charge of dinner. Since that was really his only obligation (besides keeping Rogue comfortable), we ate well. If I wasn't playing, I'd join him in the kitchen and he'd teach me little cooking tricks: how to keep noodles from sticking, how to make the meat moist, and how to pair wines to a meal.
Rogue spent most of her free time trying to teach Momma how to play chess. Momma wasn't really interested in learning; Papa and the Old Man had tried to teach her before. She was content just to drink and talk, but since Rogue couldn't drink habitually, she had to occupy herself. Hence, she decided to teach Momma something. I think it made her feel a little better, too, that she knew something my mother didn't.
It was a splendid vacation.
The four of us moved like courteous visitors through another's life. Our "honeymoon" was a glimpse into what our lives could be like… If only. If only Papa and Rogue didn't work for Xavier. If only I didn't have to go back to school. If only my parents had stayed married. I know it doesn't do well to dwell on impossibilities, but I liked to think how different my life would've been if only my parents had never split up. Would I have brothers and sisters? Would I be free to chose or leave the Guild? Would Momma have died? If only, if only, if only…
My parents must've been wondering about the same things, but we never discussed it. I was still trying to establish the correct levels of medication, and Rogue had a high-risk pregnancy. Stress and discord were avoided at all costs.
One night after dinner, my parents and I stayed in the parlor. I was trying to teach Papa how to play piano, which was as effective as trying to teach Momma chess. Eventually, the four of us shared a game of cards, and then enjoyed some homemade cheesecake. I can't recall ever feeling more content. The grandfather clock chimed eleven o'clock, and I decided to shower and go to bed. By the time I settled down, Papa had retired, too. I heard him moving around in his adjacent room: turning down the covers and brushing his teeth. He put a few more logs on the fireplace and then went quiet. The lights downstairs had been dimmed, and I could hear Momma and Rogue talking quietly. Because the walls of the cottage were practically tissue paper, I heard the entire conversation. Rogue asked Momma if pregnancy had been difficult for her, if she had breastfed, and how long it took to lose the weight. Momma told her about the mood swings and the stupid things she did when she was overwhelmed. I listened as if they were telling a very round-about bedtime story. I stored the information away in my memory, for a day when I might need it.
"For de first t'ree years of Honor's life, I cried myself t' sleep every night," Momma quietly told Rogue.
I perked up at my name, and silently rolled over so that both ears could catch their words.
"It ain't easy bein' a single momma at dat age. I was just a kid myself… Didn't know de first t'ing about raisin' a youngin'. I wasted so much time worrin' about messin' her up… Didn't realize I was raisin' her just fine. I didn't have no kinda help, either. Grammy was terribly sick, and de Old Man went blind just after she was born. Dey'd look after her sometimes, but only so much dey could do. Dey couldn't lift or carry her. Couldn't run after her. I wasted a lot of time fussin' over dem, too. Here I was thinkin' she'd never know 'm, but look - Old Man taught her t' play and Grammy gave her a sense of purpose. Goes t' show what I know, I reckon."
They were both quiet for a while. They realized that they'd come to the bridge about Papa, and neither really knew how to cross it.
"I dunno how much help a man would've been," Momma finally said, "Would've been a shoulder t' cry on, anyways."
"Remy's a good father," said Rogue, unable to keep the anger from her voice.
"He ain't de same man he was when I married him. I ain't de same, either. De whole time we t'gether, he had women comin' and goin' like his bedroom had a revolvin' door. I looked de other way 'cause I was young and stupid. I wouldn't do dat now. Den Honor'd hear all de nasty t'ings we say t' each other and she know why we don't stay married. Same endin', different timin'. Maybe its better dat t'ings worked out like dey did."
"It ain't time that changes a person," Rogue responded, "It's the things that happen to ya. He ain't the same person he was a year ago, and that's got nothin' to do with time, sugah. It's all about that little girl upstairs."
"Mais, you love him, don't you? Wanna believe de very best in him."
"And you don't?"
My ears strained so hard that they hurt. I needed to believe that my parents would always love each other, naïve as it sounds. Of course, they'd been broken up for years now, but I needed to believe that some small part of them would forever love some small part of the other. If not, that meant that love could really end. How could someone devote their heart and soul to a person, and then take it back? And if my parents could stop loving each other, what would stop them from doing the same to me?
"I t'ink we just hurt each other too much," Momma said. "Only so much your heart can break b'fore it stops beatin'."
Hot, fat tears poured out my eyes and ran down my temples. The cold, salty water filled my ears. I wanted to tell Momma that it wasn't his fault, and that he never meant to hurt her. I wanted to make Papa apologize for being so selfish, and tell her how sorry he was for disappointing her. But it was too late for that. So instead, I laid there and wept.
A few minutes later, I heard Papa go downstairs and ask Rogue if she was coming to bed.
"Dat can't be de time," Momma said. "Is it? Jesu, I'm sorry, chere. I had no idea; your back must be killin' you!"
"Ah don't believe it's that late. Remy must've run the clocks fast."
"Oui, I set de sun early, too."
"I still need t' shower," said Momma, "But let me check on Honor first."
"I'll get her, chere," said Papa, "You go on."
I heard him coming up the stair case and Rogue turn off into her room. My door opened and he charged a pawn piece to light my room. Soft, pink light outlined his face, arm and shoulders. For a moment, two pairs of identical eyes caught the light and threw it back like cats' eyes.
"Go t' sleep, catin," he told me.
I rearranged myself so that my back was to him, but he didn't leave. He crossed the room and sat on Momma's side of the bed. His hand softly tucked my hair over my ear, dangerously close to my tear tracks. If he felt moisture, he'd know I'd been crying. His hand stroked my hair in the same pattern over and over. He lifted my long, red-blond locks over my pillow and combed them out with his fingers. Then he'd pull the hair away from my face, brushing his fingertips along my scalp. I could feel the cold on his hands and smell his last cigarette. All these sensations worked together like a tranquilizer. In spite of my recent drama, my mind calmed. My limbs and body became very heavy. My eyes lids were too heavy to support. I didn't really go to sleep; it was more like losing consciousness. I had the best night's sleep of my life.
When I came to the next morning, the previous night felt like a dream. Maybe it had been. As usual, I could hear Momma downstairs, singing and making coffee and pancakes. I could hear Papa talking to his unborn babies about Logan, and Rogue laughing at him.
Maybe we didn't have a typical family, and maybe it was time I accepted that. So what if my parents weren't together anymore? Married or not, they were still some sort of family… Just like Rogue, before she got pregnant or married my papa. This was my family, and it didn't need to be anything else. Finally, I got out of bed and joined them – without being asked.
.
Fin.
.
A/N: "Catin" in proper French translates to "whore", but in Cajun it's used more like "doll baby". So if you're looking for a translation – no, Gambit's not calling his daughter a harlot. Also, for those of you not following the Honor Saga, the Old Man and Grammy are Belle's grandparents, who raised her and her brother, Julien.