Slight Return

Part Two


Rogue stared out of the window of her temporary apartment at the Muir Island Research Facility. Outside the morning sky was dull grey, the dark rain clouds rushed by with the horrific winds that had been howling since last night. She could hear rolls of distant thunder; she'd been hearing it since she'd awakened at five that morning.

She was going home, finally, after all these months. A sigh escaped her lips at the thought. She wasn't sure the timing was right, didn't feel ready enough to make this kind of a leap. She felt as if she'd barely just begun to settle on Muir Island, barely just begun to feel comfortable with therapy and her medication, barely begun to feel remotely normal again.

For the first month she'd spent here, she'd hated every minute, from the therapy, the medication, the way people wanted her to recover. That first month she'd been desperate to go back to Bayville. But as time had gone on, her tune had changed, she'd realised that staying way from Bayville had been beneficial to her, she'd found it easier to recover, found it easier to find some peace, been able to sleep without persistent recurring nightmares (they still occurred, just not as frequently). For these four months, it had been a home away from home.

The research facility was a huge complex of buildings; it offered everything she needed to make her stay here at least comfortable. Gymnasium, indoor pool, even an atrium and a massive greenhouse so big that it practically overshadowed the ones she'd seen in city botanical gardens. Muir Island was often rainy or horrendously windy, and so on those days she sat in the greenhouse in the warmth, reading on benches or just enjoying the peace and tranquillity, listening to the sounds of the indoor waterfalls or the sounds of the birds which lived in the trees there.

Here on Muir Island, she had a small apartment all to herself which she was sorely going to miss. Not only did she have her own kitchen area (which she'd grown to adore as she didn't feel as much pressure to eat here as she had back at home), but she had a bathroom all to herself too, and she was even permitted to shower and bathe without supervision (the supervision had been cut a month and a half ago due to how much progress she'd made). In her personal living room area she had a large TV to herself and an online rental account she could access at any time regardless of content or ratings, no one could tell her what to watch and what to not watch. She also had a console in the room, a Playstation 3 which at the time she'd thought was an absurd addition (as she'd never liked playing games) until she'd learned the staff had deliberately put it there to help her practise using gentle hand movements without breaking things; thanks to three hours a day of Grand Theft Auto 5 and Skyrim, she was able to do most things delicately without breaking or destroying them anymore thanks to having grown accustomed to using the analogue sticks and buttons. Of course, for the first few months it'd been hard to enjoy any of these things with supervision from the staff and the constant sense of being watched by CCTV cameras in nearly every corner of the rooms (except the bathroom, which was the only room she had for absolute privacy).

Therapy had been the harder part of her stay here; two different psychiatrists working together with her, sometimes the sessions were almost every day until it had slowed to three times a week during the past month. She hated having to repeat herself, having to tell the same stories over and over again. For that first month or so, every session had left her feeling broken and devastated, she wasn't exactly sure at what point things had become easier to talk about, wasn't sure at what moment, speaking about how she'd ruined her life or about how much she loved Remy LeBeau and how he'd broken her heart had become as easy to talk about as the weather or the News.

There were dieticians too, three times a week, regular as clockwork, going over food charts with her, weighing everything she ate, weighing her constantly, adapting her foods. There had been a lot of protests about her being allowed to work out in the facilities gymnasium, worries that she was burning far more calories than she'd been eating. With work she'd manage to get to the point where she was eating almost as normally as she had before her forced evolution; not only were all meals fully eaten (unless of course they tried to feed her things she hated like sprouts or green beans), but she found herself snacking through the day again, and had even begun to crave some of her favourite things like pizza, chips and ice cream.

The worst part of it all in that first month had been working with Moira's staff, the tests on her powers, going through all kinds of machines and medical examinations, at one point she'd had blood taken six times in a single month (thanks to an Adamantium needle, which she'd learned was strong enough to pierce her near impenetrable skin with a bit of force (luckily, Adamantium needles were strong enough that they wouldn't snap regardless of how much pressure was pushed upon them).

Part of her had been hoping in all her time here that by now Moira MacTaggart and her team may have been able to find answers to what caused her powers to do what they did, and how she might be able to control them, but even the most dedicated of researchers and the most knowledgeable were as baffled as Rogue had always been. Rogue had never hoped for solutions. She hadn't agreed to come here with ideals about the possibility of controlling her powers; it was pointless hoping for things that couldn't be, but she'd have settled for answers, for an explanation, for a cause.

There were aspects of her powers that Moira's team had been able to help her though, things she hadn't expected. It had taken months of practice, and many falls (some of which had been quite painful even regardless of her invulnerability) to learn how to use the powers of flight she'd evolved with Magneto's machine. She'd tried to understand the scientific explanation Moira had given her about why she could fly. It was something to do with a gravitational resistance, something that in Rogue's opinion felt like reversed magnetism when she was airborne, as if the earth were pushing her, starting to propel her. In the end, if anyone asked what the explanation to her power was, all she could explain was 'I can fly, I don't know how', it was less complicated than trying to explain something she herself didn't fully understand.

Trying to control her flight powers had been a tedious exercise. She'd broken several parts of buildings unintentionally through falling and just recently during a flight training exercise she'd unintentionally started flying at near supersonic speeds. It had been exhilarating at first (until she'd begun to feel a little sick at least) and then a little frightening when she'd gotten lost found herself somewhere between Edinburgh and Fife; she'd almost flown into the rail bridge connecting the two but hadn't been able to stop herself from slamming head first into the road bridge further on as she'd dodged the first bridge at high speed; that had been days ago and she still had the bruise to show for it.

Thoughtfully, she rubbed her tender bruise as she remembered how utterly painful it had been. She'd had to call Moira to have her picked up after she'd dragged herself out of the water, she didn't feel much like flying with a headache after that.

Rogue supposed she'd need further training to learn how to slow down again; the powers were still new, and it had only just come to light she could use those speeds. She couldn't expect to be able to control it perfectly yet. There were probably going to be many more impacts to come, especially where landings were concerned. Landings were not as smooth as she had hoped they would be.

"Rogue, are you finished packing?"

Rogue had almost forgotten what she was meant to be doing. She'd only stopped to look out of the window because she'd heard the thunder; she'd thought perhaps lightning would follow and the trip back to the States would be cancelled due to the unpredictable weather. Part of her had started to feel relieved that it might, part of her hoped that it would be cancelled. She wasn't sure she was ready to go yet.

It wasn't that she didn't want to go home. She ached so much to go home that it almost physically hurt, but as much as she wanted to go home, she felt very unprepared. Months of trying to prepare herself still hadn't been enough. She needed more time, but time wasn't an option.

Rogue turned to look at Moira MacTaggart, the woman was attractive, but years of bad weather and long nights made her look older than Rogue was certain she probably was. Rogue glanced back down to her suitcase, "nearly," she admitted, the thing was almost completely packed.

"Wolverine has already arrived...he's waiting for you in the hangar."

Rogue hadn't spoken to him since she'd left at the end of March. Not a phone call, not a live video chat, not so much as even a letter. She'd tried penning letters to the man but had ended up tearing them up and throwing them away. She'd contemplated many times when on the phone to the Professor or Hank if she should ask to speak to Logan, but in the end she shied from the idea; it was hard to know where to begin when it came to talking to him. For the months she'd been here, she'd found herself often wondering if Logan had wanted nothing to do with her as he hadn't made any effort to talk to her either. She'd thought perhaps that he may have intentions of avoiding her for the rest of their lives, that her past behaviours had burned him to the point where he was no longer willing to be burned again. As Remy had put it so perfectly four or so months ago, once bitten, twice shy. Logan had been bitten far more than once and she supposed she couldn't blame him for keeping distance.

So to hear now that Logan was there, waiting for her, that he would be the one to take her home was something of a shock. She'd expected it to be Hank, or even Ororo. She had even expected it may be the Professor himself.

Her stomach churned a little at the thought of seeing her mentor again, she'd missed everything about him from his craggy face, his wiry dark hair and his steely eyes. She'd missed the gruff-gravel of that voice, the harsh way he sounded even when he was being positive. Even the smell of cigar that seemed to cling to him like cologne...she'd missed it all.

"You look worried," Moira admitted, her voice was soft, her accent thick. Rogue had begun to found the way the woman talked somewhat endearing although for the first month it had annoyed her and she'd struggled to understand it at times. That first month on Muir Island had been difficult not just due to the treatment and the therapy but due to the apparent language barrier, as she'd been convinced that these people couldn't be speaking English. Slowly, she'd grown to understand, and even feel affection for the way they spoke, even for the harsh sometimes crude ways everyone spoke as if they were jocks in a gymnasium locker room. She'd never heard the 'C' word uttered quite so much and quite so casually in all her life; it had come as shocking at first but now it no longer phased her. She wondered what the rest of her friends would make of that.

"It's just..." Rogue sighed, "what if...Ah'm not ready to be there yet?"

"You'll be fine," Moira moved over to help her with the packing, "Doctor Foster says you're ready, Doctor MacTavish thinks you're ready..."

Rogue wondered how much she could trust the two; they were highly recommended, best in their field in Scotland, but could she trust they knew what they were talking about when it came to these matters? After all she'd told them how could either of them think she was ready to be home? How could either of them think that therapy sessions over video chat and continuing with her prescriptions were really going to keep her sane in a place full of insanity and bad memories?

"What is it you're so worried aboot?" Moira asked as she placed the last few items into the suitcase and zipped it shut securely.

Rogue folded her arms insecurely, "the last thing most of them saw me do was try to hurt myself with a knife..." she explained, "when Ah get back...are they going to be looking at me wondering when it'll happen again?"

Moira said nothing, but gave a sympathetic nod of understanding.

"It's the looks, you know? Ah had that all the time with the others, the ones who'd seen it before...sittin' there wonderin' and waitin' for me to do somethin'..."

"But you're no going to do that now," Moira reminded. "You've come a long way to get away from being that person. It's time you show them how far you've come, and how much further you're gone to go."

As far as she had come Rogue still doubted that she was ready. But it had been decided for her. The Muir Island plan had always been intended to be temporary, but she hadn't been aware just how temporary. She'd expected six months, perhaps even a year, but four months was all they could give her. In a few weeks the research facility would be shutting down until November. The staff were going on leave while new technology and systems were installed. Even if she wanted to stay, it just wasn't feasible.

She carried her heavy suitcase with ease to the hangar at the other end of the facility, Moira leading the way. Rogue's chest grew tight with anxiety more and more with each step the closer she got. What was Logan going to say to her? What was she going to say to him?

There was only one plane in the hangar, and it was the small red-eye belonging to the X-Men. Rogue spied Logan there with his arm against the wing, one foot crossed over the other. Four months may have gone by but he hadn't changed. Every line was the same, even the clothes he wore were predictable. She was sure those clothes were the exact ones he'd been wearing when she'd last seen him.

She supposed some things could be dependable.

Drawing her breath, Rogue walked over uneasily, suitcase clutched between her two hands in front of her and pressed flat against her knees to hide the fact that they were slightly shaking. She didn't know why she felt so nervous to see him again. She stood several feet away from him, looking at him, feeling strangely insecure and apprehensive.

Logan gave a strange vague laugh as he looked her up and down, his eyes seemed to soak up every part of her like tissue to water, she felt studied and dissected under his steely gaze. "You look good," was the first thing he said.

She dropped her glance to the floor, she tried to control her breathing as she'd spent months practising. She couldn't find a response to the compliment, she didn't find there needed to be a compliment at all.

"You just gonna stand there?" Logan asked, he raised a thick eyebrow at her.

Rogue raised her eyes unsure of what he meant; Moira leaned to her left and whispered near her ear.

"You're supposed to go to him..."

Rogue winced, she'd missed that...it should have been obvious. She put the case aside and walked to him slowly, not sure if she could initiate any kind of contact with him; the last time she was sure they'd ever been in each other's presence had been when he'd been trying to restrain her from sticking a butter knife in her eye. Could she attempt to hug him after having him go through something like that? Would he accept that?

In the end she didn't have to be the one to make the first move, he bridged the gap between them with two steps and he swept her up into his large thick arms and pulled her against his hard body into a tight hug that despite her strength seemed to almost crush her. The smell of cigars was thick on him just as she remembered, and she breathed it from his shoulder as she lay her head there. She held back tears as the emotion welled within her, it felt good to feel close to him after all this time, after all the distance, after all her pushing him away, after all his pulling away.

After a moment or two had passed, he pushed her back so he could look at her once more, and he shook his head as if in disbelief, "you look so good...can't get over it. You look better."

"Stop it," she pleaded. She was eager to get this over with, eager to leave before it became too hard, before she resorted to begging Moira if she could stay just a bit longer. She wasn't ready. Staring anxiously between Moira and Logan she felt the apprehension growing. She wanted this to end quickly, like pulling off a bandaid with a quick yank, before it got too painful.

Logan seemed to understand almost as if he'd read her face like the front page of a book. He picked up the heavy case with a grunt and went to to load it into the plane, "you ready?"

"As ready as Ah'll ever be," she said in a nervous breath.

"You said your goodbyes...?"

"Last night," Rogue nodded. All she had left to do was to say goodbye to Moira. She glanced over at the older woman and took a deep breath, sighed it out feeling her stomach sinking at the thought of going so soon, just when it felt some kind of progress had really begun.

Moira took a step closer, "you'll be fine," she smiled, "you're stronger than you ever thought you were."

"What if Ah'm not?" Rogue asked, feeling weaker than ever.

"Then...we're always here," Moira gestured around her.

Not until November, Rogue thought to herself, she didn't feel like pointing this fact out.

"This place is always here should you need it, and you'll always be welcome to come back...regardless of what happens," Moira assured.

Rogue wondered if she had to say that or if she truly meant it. "Thank you for...well...everything..."

"Come on, Rogue, we gotta go if we expect to get through this weather before the lightning storm hits..." Logan urged.

Moira put her hand on Rogue's shoulder and squeezed, "Behave yourself, be sure to keep working at everything...and no more flying into bridges..."

Rogue forced a smirk, "Ah'll try."


Remy LeBeau was starting to really dislike his job.

Oh, his boss was pleasant enough, and the hours were all right he supposed. It meant getting up at four in the morning, but at least after midday he got the rest of the day to do as he wished, which in the summer wasn't such of a hardship when it meant he could spend the hottest parts of the day lazing in the sun in the Xavier estate gardens deepening his tan.

He'd always known from the start what kind of work he'd be doing, the moment he'd applied for that job he'd expected it to be grimy work. Semen and sweat stained sheets, urine splattered floors and faeces clinging to the toilets. He'd made peace with it.

It wasn't so much the work that bothered him either, it was more to do with the surroundings, dingy and depressing. They weren't great for his mood lately. And there was that one room on the second landing that always got to him, the one he always left until the end of his shift to clean, the one he always skimmed over as quickly as he could.

The one that reminded him of Rogue.

He sat there on the green chair looking at the bed, the bed he had the vaguest recollections of wanting solace from Rogue on, the want to feel her arms around him and know what love felt like.

At first, it had only been the memory of asking her to take away memories that had come back to him, but not long after Rogue had left for Muir Island the dreams of her had begun, dreams of being in this room with her.

The dreams had stopped about a month ago, ever since he'd started spending less and less time in this room, the less time he spent in here, the less the memory and the dreams of being in here seemed to persist.

Parts of his memories were still missing, broken and disjointed. Remy had never been able to remember what it was he'd asked Rogue to help him forget, and he supposed that was the point in the end. If hehad asked to be stolen of those memories, it had to be bad, he didn't want to chase it up and should leave well enough alone. He'd learned months back that the less he knew, the happier he was. Ignorance was most definitely bliss.

The only parts of his memories and dreams about this room that seemed to be repetitive and persistent were about wanting Rogue, truly wanting her, more than just sexually but emotionally too. In the back of his mind he was aware of feeling it, much the same way someone might like a certain singer or actor during their pre-teens and then realise when grown up that they no longer could understand why they'd ever liked or loved them at all.

It was like that, only more complicated, because unlike singers or actors, Remy couldn't simply destroy all evidence like throwing away CDs or DVDs and ripping down posters. It wasn't as simple as that. These were memories, and they were there.

The memories were there, it was the emotions that seemed to be missing.

In the very back of his mind, he knew he'd loved her. He was very aware he'd felt it. But knowing it, and knowing he'd felt it was too complicated when knowing and feeling came from memories that made him feel more like an outsider watching an imposter with his body having the experiences than himself. He was too disconnected from the memories, he couldn't seem to put any feelings to them other than pity for Rogue that everything seemed rather one sided now.

And now...Rogue would be coming back.

Rogue might be ready to come back to Bayville, but he wasn't ready for her to come back yet. He wasn't sure he'd had enough time to recover yet from all that he had endured. A lot had happened to him, and it had all been tied to her. He'd thought he'd cut the ties when he'd suggested they stay away from each other; when she'd gone to Muir Island he'd thought it would help sever the ties further. However all through the day he'd been realising that those ties had not been cut, they were still there, like a handful of tangled wires in a drawer. Like wires, if he cut them, they weren't going to be any good anymore; they'd need to be properly untangled and he wasn't sure how he was going to do that yet. For the most part, he wanted to keep them back in that drawer in his mind until such times as he felt ready to attempt to untangle them.

Kitty was right to ask if there were going to be hard feelings. He was afraid there would be, and part of him wasn't certain if he'd be able to hold back if his frustration got the better of him.

In his mind he had so many things he wanted to say to her.

Do you know what the fuck you put me through?

Do you have any kind of idea the trouble you've caused?

Do you know what you've made me become?

He pushed the thoughts aside, he couldn't ask her any of those things. He'd have to be patient, just like the Professor had asked of everyone else. Patient and tactful, he wasn't going to be able to confront her, regardless if he needed closure. Rogue wasn't going to be ready to confronted like that, he had no idea what kind of condition she was going to be in but he was certain it wouldn't be the kind of condition that would be prepared for that kind of an emotional ambush.

Fuck, he thought as he stood up and kicked the edge of the bed stubbornly, thankful his steel-toe-capped boot protected him from stubbing his toe. I've been fine for months, I hear she's coming back and suddenly I can't get my head clear again.

It occurred to him that perhaps he should just leave the institute and the X-Men. He was about ready to be on his own again, prepared to survive alone if it came right down to it. His powers hadn't returned to even a fraction of their potential, but he had his health again, his agility and his stamina. He supposed he could survive out on his own again now if he had to.

If he stayed, it was only going to get worse. He wasn't sure he could be like Kitty and Piotr, sitting there at dinner tables pretending like neither existed. That wasn't how he wanted things to be. He wanted to be comfortable in the place he now called home, he didn't want to feel like he was sitting constantly on tenterhooks.

He already felt on edge and he hadn't even seen Rogue yet. How bad was it going to get when she eventually made it back?

Just fake it. Fake it and see what happens, if it gets worse, then you can go but try to stick it out for now. You didn't put in these months with the X-Men just to let Rogue scare you out of town.

He went back to trying to work, he had to change the bedding, which was difficult as it always brought back visions of the dreams he'd been having spent with Rogue here trying to get off. This is where it started, he thought unhappily. This is where I started having this whole impotency thing...I couldn't get it up...we ended up lying there in the bed cuddlin' like somethin' from a lame chickflick...Jesus, that was, what? Nine months ago?

It seemed like a lifetime ago, and a lifetime that he couldn't even connect to. He pushed aside the thoughts and changed the sheets as quickly as he could, he vacuumed then scrubbed the bathroom as quickly as he could and left the room silently after making a quick check he'd hit all the usual points and hadn't missed anything.

The shift had finally ended. As he went to clock out, Ron Vesticle, his boss, stared at him from beyond the reception, his chubby face red and sweaty from the thick Bayville summer.

"Another day another dollar, am I right?" said Ron casually, he leaned against the counter.

"Abso-fucking-lutely," Remy mumbled tiredly.

"You look a little blue. Something eating you, MacFayden?"

Remy inwardly winced, he was still keeping up that lie, Jeremy MacFayden, one of his aliases. He didn't even have the social security card any more and he hoped he was never asked for it. It didn't seem to matter who he was, as far as he was aware Ron hadn't actually declared he had hired him which was why he was being paid directly in cash. Remy could only be thankful for that as he didn't have a bank account any more.

"I'm fine," Remy grumbled, "just tired."

"Tired?" scoffed Ron, "strippers keepin' you up late?"

"I spent the night at an ex-girlfriend's house last night, we had a one-off, just, you know, for old time's sake," Remy lied, not sure why he kept coming up with these stories other than for some reason it seemed to entertain Ron. "She likes to go at it for hours..."

"I wish I had that kind of stamina," said Ron wistfully, "not since I was your age have I had a night like that."

"Maybe you should think about viagra," Remy responded as he picked his jacket up from the office where he'd left it and pulled it on, checking for the keys to Jean's car which he'd borrowed. His Harley was in pieces in the mansion's garage and it was most likely going to be there for some time until he got the parts he needed to fix it. Everyone had tried offering him money towards the parts he couldn't afford, even Scott (who normally disliked him had offered him a few bucks towards the part, but Remy had felt this might be more to do with Jean's complaining about her car being used frequently rather than any gesture of good will being involved).

Gonna do this on my own steam, get on my own two feet, I need to do this. Gotta prove I don't need to be a parasite when it comes to money and stuff, Remy told himself. I'll just keep borrowin' cars, payin' for whatever gas I use until I can afford those parts. It's better than takin' handouts.

"So what you got planned for the weekend?" asked Ron, he flicked idly through a small pamphlet about Bayville tourist attractions that was sitting on the counter.

"Bed," Remy replied. It was all he had in mind, really. Bed, sleep, laze watching television in the cool darkness of his room with the fan on full blast and his door shut to everyone, especially Rogue.

"With whom exactly though," Ron smirked.

Remy looked away, feeling miserable about the fact that he wasn't sure if he'd ever share a bed with any one again. "Maybe I'll hit up a fuck buddy or two in town, I don't know yet. Maybe both at the same time," he lied. I lie too fucking easily. Need to stop it before I get facts all fucked up and end up with my foot in my mouth.

"I hate you," sighed Ron, "I'll be spending this weekend taking my ten year old daughter to see Miley Cyrus in Chicago..."

Forcing a smirk, Remy looked towards his boss, "that girl is an exhibitionist, at least you can gather some material for the spank bank if nothing else."

"Yeah, I don't exactly want to stand there gathering material for the spank bank while my ten year old learns to twerk."

"Don't blame you, and I definitely don't envy you," Remy waved and took off outside.

The midday sun was blazing, and although he'd put his jacket on thinking he'd need it, Remy had to take it off before he even got into Jean's little blue Nissan which felt like an oven. He leaned back in the hot seat and rolled down the windows, wondering why he'd decided to borrow Jean's car today instead of Scott's convertible; it'd have been far cooler.

You don't steal Scott's car because Scott is a miserable fuck and bitches whenever you do, he reminded himself.

He drove along the main street in the heavy midday traffic, it was always like this in the summer, especially with so many teens with cars, there was always someone blocking the road to stop and text someone or call someone. He wasn't in a hurry to get home though, he wasn't sure when Rogue was going to be there, but he didn't really want to make an effort to be present for her arrival.

Best I can do is just try to hold off and stay out for a bit, enjoy the day, try to relax, try to get my mind off of Rogue right now.

Of course, trying to relax when you barely had thirty dollars in your wallet wasn't as easy at it sounded. He still had two weeks until pay day, he had to try and make that money last. He doubted it would when he generally spent around ten dollars a day alone on coffee and snacks.

He parked the car down the street and walked to Bayville park, he spent a little while wandering around in the sunshine, letting the heat seep into his bare arms and warm his t-shirt. He stood by the pond for a while and watched the ducks and swans gracefully skimming by.

Although he didn't want to spend money, he grabbed a cup of coffee from the kiosk there in the park; it tasted foul and he wished he'd opted for a frozen drink instead. Sitting there on a park bench drinking scalding hot bitter coffee that in his opinion tasted like motor oil and urine (not that he'd tasted either to compare, of course), left him with a strange sense of other things he'd forgotten. The bench was familiar, the view of graffiti on the public toilet building was familiar. He could remember doing so once on a cool damp evening.

Why do I remember that? What was I doin' here in the first place?

He thought it odd, sitting around in the park wasn't the usual kind of behaviour he participated in. Wandering around perhaps, yes, but not sitting there.

Remy turned to see who had sat beside him a moment earlier; for one brief second it was Rogue sitting there. He had to look twice, he'd been mistaken. It was an old woman sitting there, frail looking and tired, her shaky warped old hand holding onto a zimmer frame.

"Are you all right, my darling?" she asked, her voice quivered; Remy wondered if she may have something like Parkinsons, the trembling was quite apparent even in her voice.

"Oh, I'm fine," he forced a smile to the stranger.

"You look a little sad."

Second person to think that today, Remy realised. Damn, I need to retrain myself to wear my poker face. Can't have everyone at home thinkin' I'm a fuckin' pussy just 'cause Rogue is comin' back.

"I'm fine," he assured, keeping the smile up, trying to maintain the lie.

"Good looking young boy like you shouldn't be so down in the mouth," she gently admitted.

Remy examined her, there was a strange sudden expression on her face that disturbed him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry...who are you?" the woman looked at him blankly, he winced. Clearly she was missing some marbles.

Senile maybe, he realised. Why is she out here on her own? She doesn't really look strong enough to be out on her own like this.

"Just a guy on a bench..." he replied calmly.

The old woman stood up carefully, body trembling with the effort, he saw the pain in her face as she held onto the zimmer frame and managed to finally stand up right. "Nice looking boy like you shouldn't be sitting alone in parks talking to strange old women like me," she gave a little chuckle, "you should be here with your girlfriend..."

Remy raised an eyebrow, "I don't have a girlfriend..."

"Where's Mary?" the old woman asked suddenly, her eyes frightened, her lips quivering, she looked all around her, utter confusion painting her face.

"Who's Mary?"

"How did I get here?" she asked, trembling.

"I think you walked," Remy gestured to her zimmer, he stood up slowly, "Is there somewhere you're supposed to be?"

"I don't know..." she looked around her with suddenly quite frightened eyes. "I was with Mary..."

"Where do you live?" Remy asked, trying to make sense of this entire situation. It wasn't his responsibility technically he supposed, but wasn't his duty as a good civilian to try and reassure her, to help her figure out where it was she'd come from or help her find who she had been with?

"I..." she frowned as if trying to remember.

I think this is dementia, Remy worried. What's the protocol? Do I call the police or...social services?

"Where's Mary?" asked the woman, her large grey blue eyes glassy and worried.

"Did she come here with you?"

"I don't know...I don't remember..."

"Okay, uhm..." Remy examined her for a moment trying to make sense of this situation. She had no coat, no jacket, she was wearing house slippers, that was significant, in his opinion someone of her age who come out with bare arms and house slippers in this blazing heat hadn't planned on being outside. No cardigan or sweater, no purse, or sunhat. She wasn't prepared to be out in a blistering day like this.

Think she just wandered off, Remy pondered. "Hey, there's a little kiosk over there, lets get you a cool drink with some ice," he offered. "Don't worry, we'll figure out where you're supposed to be..."

"You'll find Mary?"

"I'll try," he promised.

Remy did as he promised and got her a cold drink, and tried to make her drink as much as she could manage; he had a little knowledge about dehydration and how it could cause memory lapses and confusion in much older people. Part of him hoped the drink would help her but after an hour and thirty minutes of sitting in the shade on the bench beneath the canopy of trees, she still wasn't any clearer about where she'd come from or where she was supposed to be.

He let her sit for a little while alone there on the bench, keeping an eye from her from afar as he asked various people wandering around the park if they knew of a Mary or if they may have seen the old woman with anyone. No one seemed to know anything, no one seemed to even care. It occurred to him no one these days would notice anything anyone did, they were too busy looking at their phones and tablets to pay attention to what happened around them.

A little more time spent with the old woman revealed very little, not the woman's name, not even her age or what street she lived on, it was beginning to become extremely frustrating and worrying. What was he supposed to do with her? He wasn't sure calling the Bayville police would be helpful, and he didn't want to have any involvement where the police were concerned anyway; too many things he was guilty of in this town to risk something like that.

It wasn't until he spied a small stamp on the frame of her zimmer that he realised that she was a resident at the Acorn street Retirement home which wasn't all that far from the park. He loaded her into Jean's car after a lot of work calming her down; being forced to get into the car put her into a state of panic as she assumed she was being kidnapped (and then molested as he had to put the seatbelt onto her). Remy was surprised that not a single person even bothered to bat an eyelid or come to see if the woman was being accosted right there. In the car, as he drove to the retirement home, he listened to her shakily making promises that if he didn't hurt her she'd find money or some way to pay him, she'd begged him to let her go, wouldn't take his word for it that he was only taking her where he was sure she belonged.

He was glad she was frail, she'd made a grab for the steering wheel at one point while he was turning a corner and if she'd been stronger he was sure they'd have crashed into a parked BMW as she pulled the wheel in her direction. After the drive - which had felt much longer than he'd thought it would be - he drove up Acorn Street, finding the Retirement Home exactly at the address that had been stamped on the cane.

"Is this where you were?" Remy asked as he parked in the lot outside the building, he saw the old woman staring at the building, trying to make sense of whether this was her home or not. He thought he saw a flicker of recognition for just a brief second, but it was gone again. She was still frightened.

The old woman was unwilling to leave the car again, afraid he may be taking her into the building to murder her and take her money (of which as far as he could tell, she had none seeing as how she had no purse with her to speak of). After unloading her zimmer from the car, he opened the door and somehow managed to lead her gently out, coaxing her with his gentlest voice, promises she'd be okay, he was only helping. He supposed he couldn't blame her for distrusting him.

"What the hell-?"

He turned to see a burly black security guard dashing down the wheelchair ramp, his sweater far too thick for weather like this, his large head pouring sweat so that he looked shiny and hot.

Remy blinked, the guy looked furious with him, as if he were trying to accost the poor old woman rather than help her.

"I found this lady at the park on her own..." Remy tried to explain.

"Just take your goddamn hands off her!" the guard warned.

A young woman in a nurses uniform came bounding out of the glass doors and rushing down the ramp in chunky Skecher sneakers which seemed almost inappropriate and absurd to be wearing with such a uniform. Somehow Remy had expected white clogs. "Rose!" she cried out.

Remy held onto the old woman's arm, "is that your name?" he asked of her.

"Yes..." she answered, for a moment almost conflicted if it was. It had been the first time he'd managed to determine her name since they'd met.

It's a sin, to be like that, not knowin' who you are, Remy thought feeling strangely sympathetic as he led Rose and her zimmer towards the nurse.

"We've been looking all over for you," the young redhead admonished, she put her hand on Rose's arm, "you know you're not meant to be wandering off...where were you?!"

Rose looked between the nurse and Remy, her mouth moving but she seemed unable to speak, she'd already forgotten how she'd gotten here.

"Found her in the park," Remy answered for her, "sittin' on a bench on her lonesome there in her slippers with her zimmer..."

"She must have wandered off."

"Must have?" Remy gazed at the large security guard who was standing close by looking miffed, "where was he when she wandered out the front door?"

The guard went to answer, the nurse spun around and looked at him, "good question. Where were you?"

"I had to go to the bathroom...I get two bathroom breaks a day, you know that."

"You should have locked the front doors until you came back," Remy muttered. He supposed though it wasn't his place to tell other people how to do their jobs. "You know what could have happened to her? No one pays attention to anythin' driving these days, she could have been hit by a car...or could have been mugged...anything could have happened!" he spat.

f this woman had been his grandmother, he'd have been incensed at the carelessness that had been shown here today

The red-headed nurse tucked a lock of her thick curly hair behind her right ear, her face turning hot red, "this place is so understaffed...I turned my back for a second and she was gone. The girl who does the laundry said she saw Rose going back to her bedroom; we thought she was somewhere on the grounds...it wasn't until about twenty minutes ago we realised she was gone..."

"Well...she's back now," Remy frowned a little, "But you gotta be more careful..."

"I'm sorry...was she any trouble?"

Remy stared down at her. She'd nearly made him crash Jean's car, she'd scratched his arm during the struggle to get her into the car and she'd cost him three dollars for a lemonade. Yes, she'd been trouble, but it wasn't the woman's fault, was it? He decided not to complain. "Only that she couldn't tell me where she was from or who she was. Had to figure that out."

"Dillon...when did you get here?" Rose asked quite suddenly of Remy, tilting her head. "Is school over already? Does your mother know you're here?"

Remy raised an eyebrow at her, and looked to the nurse for an explanation.

The nurse winced, "Rose, lets get you inside, it's so hot out here, it's not good to spend too much time in the sun at your age."

Not sure why, Remy felt compelled to follow and help Rose up the ramp, her walking was so painfully slow that it took far longer than it had to get her from the park to the car. She was getting very tired, slowing down more and more.

One of the other nurses came to help Rose to her room, Remy stood in the reception area as the redhead nurse talked to her colleague for a moment before sending the girl off with the poor old woman.

The redhead nurse returned to Remy, she rubbed at the corner of one of her tired brown eyes, "I'm so sorry about this..."

Remy wasn't sure why he accepted the situation and remarked, "it's okay...really."

"It's not...it's unacceptable...I'm truly sorry."

"Why'd she call me Dillon?" Remy asked, changing the subject as he stood with his hand against the reception desk.

"Dillon was Rose's grandson...he passed away three years ago. Her son, his wife and their son Dillon were in a building that collapsed under a mutant attack in Michigan. They were her only family...and when they died, she got kicked out of Parkview retirement village because there was no one to foot the bill for her care...so...they sent here here..."

"Jesus..." Remy frowned, "No wonder the woman is batty."

The nurse gave a nervous laugh, "it's understandable."

"She kept asking for Mary..."

"Mary was the nurse who used to take care of her before I came here last year...Mary died last year of cancer."

"I see..."

"She still thinks Mary is alive...that Mary still works here," explained the nurse, "She has Alzheimers, it's in the early stages...but it's not going to get any better..."

Remy supposed he shouldn't feel so bitter and disappointed about his own life when this poor woman's mind was going to degrade to forgetting everything she'd ever known. He knew what Alzheimers could do, he'd read about it, seen documentaries about it and it didn't end with cures or happy stories.

"Would it sound bad if I said sometimes I'm glad she has it?"

His stomach felt a little tight, it sounded so wrong if heard out of context he supposed, but he couldn't deny he understood exactly why the nurse would think something like that.

"Most of the time she can't remember her family...can't remember that they died..." the redhead explained. "She goes through most of her days none the wiser."

Remy rubbed the back of his neck, "must be...pretty awful..." he admitted, "I...I was in a coma up until about five or six months ago...woke up with no memories of how I got there or...about a years worth of stuff I'd done was just gone..." he confessed, "used to complain about it. Guess my problem was nothin' compared to this..."

The nurse nodded sympathetically, "I really appreciate that you brought her here instead of taking her to the police...I would have lost my job over this if it were reported. I was in charge...I would have been found negligent..."

"Were you?"

"Like I said, we're understaffed," her freckled face went pink once again, "three nurses to deal with twenty-two residents. It might sound like enough but...some residents are violent, some are incredibly ill and very frail, and some are like Rose...there's too much work and not enough time or people to do it all..."

Remy looked at her, "this place is state run?" he thought it was obvious, since the nurse had just explained the poor woman had been punted from a much better retirement home and sent here because of costs.

"Yes," said the nurse, "so funding is limited. We've asked for more staff but...well...when it comes to funding, it's a question of do the residents eat or do they get staff to look after them?""

"Will...Rose be all right?" Remy asked worriedly.

"I'm sure she'll be fine, she has her days. But you shouldn't worry..."

Shouldn't worry? Old woman wanders off because there ain't enough people to watch out for her and it's nothing to worry about?

He supposed the nurse was right though, it wasn't his place to worry. She was nothing to him, just a stranger. Why did he feel so affected by it though?

He paused, looking down the hall, an old man stepped right into the middle of the hallway, he was wearing absolutely no clothes at all (other than a pair of old plaid slippers), backside sagging towards the floor. That's what I've got to look forward to in my old age...if I ever reach it, Remy mused darkly.

"Mr. Dixon!" gasped the redhead.

"Looks more like Mr. Dicks-Out..." Remy remarked feeling slightly lighter than he had a few seconds before.

"I'm sorry...I really have to go..." the pretty nurse apologised, gesturing to the old exhibitionist, "and...you can't be here without a visitors pass...you'll need to go now."

"Would...it be all right if I came back some time, made sure old Rose is all right?" Remy asked carefully, "I mean...would it be allowed?"

"You don't even know her," the redhead blinked.

"I know...but...seems like she got no one..." he rubbed the back of his sweaty neck, "and that's a damn shame..."

Besides, I want to be sure that after this she's bein' looked after properly, he thought. Least that way I'll rest easy.

"I..." she drew her breath, "I can put your name down on the visitors list..." the Nurse moved quickly to the reception and pulled out a book, her eyes glancing down the hall at Mr. Dixon who was weakly dancing a jig with everything hanging out. Other than the fact he was naked and dancing, he seemed to be all right for the moment. He even seemed to be enjoying himself. "What is it?"

"Remy LeBeau," Remy replied; he was somehow surprised that for once instinct hadn't caused him to immediately give a false name. He supposed he was too distracted watching Mr. Dixon doing the hokey-cokey in nothing but his slippers and his birthday suit. He hadn't felt like laughing so hard in his life; the urge to laugh was so strong that he had to purse his lips and look away before it burst out of him.

"Okay, you're down," said the nurse, "I'm Nurse Renz by the way...ask for me when you get here if you can't get past the reception, the receptionist is a bit cranky if new visitors come around...we've had some people on community service lately, a few things went missing from the people here so she likes to check with the nurses to be sure that people are who they say they are..."

"Understandable," Remy nodded, "I'll maybe stop by some time after work."

The pretty nurse gave a tiny smile and said, "I'm sure Rose would like that."

Remy watched as she disappeared off to look after the old nudist, he quickly exited the building (under the watch of the displeased looking security guard) and sat on the steps by the ramp and laughed hysterically until his belly hurt and the tension he'd been feeling all day finally began to leave him.


End of Part Two


Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first part and added it to their favourites so soon after it was put out! I'm glad everyone is excited about the new story and is looking forward to seeing progress. Hopefully you all enjoyed seeing a little progress from Rogue here (and Remy's attempt at being a good person, lol). I do realise it wouldn't be as easy for Remy to just wangle the right to be registered as a visitor at the home, and I also am aware that Rogue's time away was rather short, but hey-ho. I'm sure a few are looking forward to seeing Remy and Rogue's first interaction with each other, lol. More to come probably in about a week depending on how much I can get written (part eight was just finished, but I like to stay at least five to six parts ahead of what I post).