Where's the girl with the blaze in her eyes? Where's the girl who could turn on the edge of a knife? Where's the girl who was breathing for life?
He knew from the beginning that this would happen. He knew. And yet he stood by and did nothing as he watched it happen.It was almost poetic justice then that he was the one dealing with the fallout.
"Rogue?" He tried, placing a gentle hand on her trembling shoulder. She gave no reply except for a sob disguised as a hiccup. He took a seat next to her, not really knowing what else to do.
"You wanna talk about it?"
She looked towards him at this, wiping her eyes and throwing him a scowl that would have done Wolverine proud.
"What's to talk about? He left me."
His hands balled in to fists. Scott was thankful they were hidden beneath the table and that Rogue couldn't see it.
Bastard, he growled to himself. Ungrateful, undeserving, asshole.
Rogue's lip quivered for a moment as she teetered between regaining her composure and falling back in to body-wracking sobs. The later won out, and Scott soon had a hysterical Rogue literally crying on his shoulder.
"Why did he do it Scott? Why am I not good enough?"
Oh, God, he was going to kill him. Kill him dead. So dead. He'd done this to Rogue, he'd reduced her to this sobbing mess, and Scott was going to kill him.
He wrapped an arm around her, and had the feeling that he ought to be telling her that she was plenty good enough, that she was amazing and wonderful and that the jerk hadn't deserved her in the first place.
It would all be true. Every word.
For some reason though, he couldn't seem to find his tongue.
So Scott just sat there and rocked Rogue as gently as he knew how while she cried it all out. Remy LeBeau, wherever he was, was a dead man walking.