BLIND LEADING THE BLIND
PART 9
I'M A FOOL
Rogue's words stung.
Rejection had left him reeling; she might as well have sucker punched him. A hard slap to the face might have done it. A ton of bricks or a piano perhaps dropped on him from a great height.
No. All those things would have still been less...what was the word...crushing than what she had done. Walking away at such a crucial point of the conversation.
It hurt.
Yes, it definitely hurt.
Remy paced his room at what the radio announced to him was seven in the morning. He'd been unable to sleep; the events of the night just kept repeating themselves over and over in his head, everything she had said seemed to ring throughout his ears vivid and cold and even pulling the pillows over his head and burying his face down into the mattress had seemed to do nothing to mute it.
Why did y' have t' do somethin' so fuckin' stupid like tell the girl y' love her? He asked himself, he shook his head at himself in dismay and moved to the window where the air was significantly colder in the hopes it would help cool the boiling of his blood.
Reckless Remy LeBeau, he thought. That's what they used t' call me 'cause I did everythin' without ever thinkin' about the consequences. And that's what I did...I opened my big mouth without givin' it a thought t' how she was gon' react.
There had never been any doubt she would react negatively. It had always been Rogue's way to react negatively towards anything good that came into her life. He should have somehow expected it but in the heat of the moment it hadn't crossed his mind. He should have also realised an argument would have ensued but somehow that had failed to cross his mind also.
He wasn't sure how he was supposed to fix all this mess and how he was going to get through the whole of a Christmas day with her pretending like nothing had happened so that akward questions weren't raised by the instructors. The last thing he needed was Wolverine's poke-nosing in his love-life.
Y' need t' fix this...fast. If she gets any more pissed off wit' y' than she already is...she gon' show the Prof and Logan exactly what she foun' in the apartment. It gon' blow everything, he told himself sternly. He rubbed his head and tried to ease away the tension building at the back of his neck simultaneously.
The temperature seemed to plummet as he stood there at the window and somehow he sensed that if it wasn't snowing, it was probably on its way. He tried to imagine it, how pristine and white everything out there must have looked.
He couldn't imagine it.
It bothered him so much he couldn't imagine how the snow probably glittered in early morning sun, or how at night it would almost seem to glow. He couldn't imagine how Rogue's cheeks and nose would turn red with the cold, and how her breath would mist in the air. How she'd look in a woollen hat and a thick coat...how the flakes of snow would kiss her long eyelashes.
He pressed his forehead against the glass of the window and sighed deeply. The cold stung his warm skin but it felt somewhat good. Whatever else, he could still feel, and that was what was important. Whatever else he couldn't experience through sight, whatever beauty he was missing out on, he couldn't ignore his feelings.
It was after eight he heard the noises of the remaining residents of the mansion begin to come to life. Knowing he would never gain any sleep now, he forced himself to go downstairs despite feeling the general reluctance. He hated that awkward feeling of hearing Rogue's voice downstairs in the foyer (where apparently the mansion's large Christmas tree was (he'd bumped into after someone had put it up without informing him of it's location).
He sat on the bottom steps and listened to Professor Xavier, Logan, Scott Summers and Rogue conversing over Christmas presents. He heard them exchanging gifts, and recognised that distinct ripping of paper as they tore into the wrapping. He wasn't sure they recognised his presence, at first. He was sure they all had their backs to him and whether or not it was deliberate or accidental, he wasn't sure; he had no way of telling of course, but he could somehow sense that he was merely a shadow watching on.
After what seemed to be like a half-hour of chatter between the Four, the Professor cleared his throat and said, "there's still something beneath the tree."
Rogue gave a sigh, "oh. So there is."
Logan grunted, "look, Cajun, there's somethin' here for ya."
Never had the word look had quite an impact. Remy swallowed a bitter taste of disappointment. First for the fact that he was almost sure the man had used the word to get at him, and second...there was presents under a Christmas tree for him. It was something he'd never seen before.
The Professor moved across to where Remy was on the stairs, the soft whirring of his electric wheelchair which was usually just barely audible was somehow louder now that everyone had fallen so silent.
"Here...this is from all of us."
Remy felt something being placed upon his lap; he felt around it to find it was a small textured box with a lid held on by a velvety ribbon. He imagined the ribbon to be deep intense red as his fingers found the edges and tugged gently to untie it. "Wha's this?" he asked confusedly as he lifted the lid to the box and let his fingers dance across whatever was inside; he felt cool metal and plastic beneath his fingertips, and a wire.
"I believe it's called an iPOD shuffle," said the Professor, "it's very easy to use from what the lady in the mall told me...I believe even without your sight you should be able to operate it just fine."
Remy somehow couldn't imagine the Professor going to the mall and picking out gifts; he'd always seemed like the type of man who would have a personal shopper to do that.
"I had Kurt upload some music onto it before he left for the holidays, but if the music is not to your liking, I'm sure Rogue or Scott will help you pick something more suitable," Xavier explained.
Remy swallowed back a lump in his throat; it was the first time he had been truly thankful that his eyes were covered with gauze...they would not see the tears that would have blurred his vision. "I..."
"Just say thanks, Gumbo," Logan grumbled.
"I..." Remy clenched his jaw, "sorry. I don' feel so good..." he placed the box on the steps and got up quickly and rushed up the stairs feeling like his head would explode with the tension of his upset. Even without counting his steps, in his rush he found his bedroom and he stepped inside, shut the door quietly behind himself and pressed his back against it.
He couldn't remember ever crying in his life. Not when he scuffed his knee when he was five, not when he had been called names at school for being a mutant, and not even when a close friend had died from a gator attack two years previous.
So why was he crying now?
The awkward moment following Remy's sudden departure was awkward and Rogue sat on the floor as the Professor, Logan and Scott looked between each other, confused by the reaction to the present.
"What the hell?" asked Logan.
"That was weird," said Scott. "He didn't even take it with him."
"Ungrateful runt," said Logan; he picked up the open box from where it had been on the table and shook his head, a grumpy expression on his face.
"Logan, please..." the Professor requested; the rest of the sentence went unsaid but it was understood nevertheless.
"What now?" asked Scott, hovering awkwardly wearing a truly heinous scarf that Rogue had chosen to get him for Christmas this year; she'd deliberately chosen the ugliest thing she could find as repayment for the stunt in the Danger Room barely even a week before.
Rogue got to her feet, "Ah...should probably go see what's goin' on," she sighed.
No one seemed to have an argument to this; somehow she wished they had. Why had no one suggested she leave him alone, that he was just being stubborn or stupid? Why had no one suggested leaving him alone because he was still technically the enemy?
Maybe they all felt as lousy about it as she did, she supposed; she glanced over her shoulder at them all sitting in their places looking rather sheepish. Even grumpy Logan who normally disliked Christmas in general seemed rather sheepish all of a sudden as he examined the iPod in the box.
Rogue shook her head slightly, it went unnoticed. She climbed the stairs and walked along the hallways to reach Remy LeBeau's door; it was shut, and as she tried the handle it turned, but the door wouldn't budge inwards; something was in front of it.
He's blocked us from getting in, she realised. She sighed, "Remy, what the hell is goin' on? What was all that about? When someone gives you a present, you say thanks, you don't take off like some ungrateful brat..."
No reply from the other side, but she was almost positive she heard a soft sigh on the other side.
"Aren't you even gonna come back down?"
No answer.
Groaning, she sat folded legged on the floor and let her back lean against the door. "C'mon, Remy. Talk to me."
Finally, an answer followed. "Why? Y' don' wanna hear the things I got t' say."
She let the back of her head rest against the door, her ponytail pushed against the wood reminding her again that she needed to cut the hair that had grown as a result of borrowing Logan's powers. "I'm listenin' now."
"Don't matter," he replied quietly; his voice was muffled but...there was something distinctly different about it that she couldn't place. An upset she'd never heard in him before. Then there was something like...a sob?
"Remy?" she blinked, "are you cryin'?"
"No. Jus' go away, alright?" he responded, his voice was hostile but there was a crack between his words.
"Ah don't get it, Remy. What did we do?" she asked; the thought he might be crying left her stomach churning and her heart thumping hard. The thought of anyone crying always did this to her, as much as she would deny it did.
"Y' did nothin', alright? Jus' leave me be."
"Is it because of last night?"
"No."
"Then what?"
He shifted; she heard him moving from the door and she heard the doorknob above her head turning; she moved quickly just before the door opened.
"Why does it matter?" he asked, his voice low, his jaw clenched.
"Ah don't know. It just...does."
"Why?" he asked, he leaned against the door frame.
"Because..."
"Why?" he asked, again, this time more forcefully.
"Because it bothers me, Ah guess," she stammered finally.
"Why?"
"'Cause we're supposed to be friends."
"Friends don't slam the door on each other when one of them says they think they're in love," Remy pointed out, his voice cold.
"Friends aren't meant to fall in love."
"Didn't stop y' from fallin' for y' lover-boy Scott Summers."
Rogue winced, "God, will you stop bringin' that up, already? I don't even feel that way anymore...I haven't for a while."
"Then why d' y' sound so hostile?" Remy asked; although he seemed to be attempting to sound smug, he'd never sounded more serious.
"Because Ah'm sick of bein' accused of playin' favourites...of takin' sides...of feelin' things that Ah don't even feel anymore! Stop tryin' to tell me how Ah feel. You don't know how Ah feel...you never ask me! You just make all these stupid accusations and claims that you know how Ah feel and how Ah think and Ah wish you'd just stop!"
"I only speak the truth, Chere. Y' holdin' out for him...y' wastin' time waitin' for a guy who's never gon' want y'. Not like I do."
She turned away from him and held her breath; she tried to count to ten like Ororo had tried to teach her to do in times when her temper flared. It never usually worked and she doubted it would now.
"I might not be y' first love, Rogue. Hell, I might not even be the one y' want..." his voice softened, "but I could be the one that lasts. The one that stands by y'...the one who's gon' be patient and understandin'..."
Rogue snorted, "as if you know the meaning of those words."
"I know the meanin' of the word love, Rogue. It ain' a word I'd use lightly. Ain' a word I use at all...never before. Wasn' sure I even believed in it..."
"If you don't believe in love, how can you even think you might be?" she scoffed.
"There's gotta be some explanation for how I feel about y'," he offered as an explanation.
"Like Ah said...it's just a stupid phase because Ah'm the one who's helpin' you with your condition."
"And like I said," he grunted, "I felt this way long before I even came here...before I got blinded. Before y' even came t' The Big Easy with me..."
She sighed deeply, the conversation was going nowhere. "Why are we even having this conversation?"
"Because you felt bothered."
Rogue turned back towards him and glowered at him, although she felt silly knowing he'd never see this gesture. "Yeah...about why you ran up here."
"Sure."
"Why did you come all the way up here in a hurry?"
Remy paused, his face tight, his mouth trembled momentarily, he lowered his head, almost as if he were bowing it in shame. "I've never had a Christmas present before."
She blinked, "excuse me?"
"Y' heard me," he muttered, "so go ahead, make assumptions, or make fun. Do whatever, I don't care. I was taken by surprise, I didn' expect a present. I know none of y' all care about me, why would I expect anythin'?"
Rogue had no answer.
"But then I shouldn' be surprised. Professor X is classy like that; he'd rather hand a present to an enemy than see someone in his home goin' without a present at Christmas."
"Who ever said we didn' care about you?" she asked quietly.
"Y' don't have to say it," he retorted.
"Whatever," she shook her head furiously at him. "You go on about us makin' assumptions. You make more than anyone! Ah'm done, okay?" she turned and left the hall, she heard his door close quietly; she was almost sure she heard a loud melancholy sigh from where she was.
Remy stood at the window once again, his fingers pressed against the freezing glass; the condensation slightly dampened his fingers. He pushed his head against the glass and tried to ease away the thumping of the headache that had come with his attempt to prevent himself from crying.
Why is it every time I try t' stop cryin', it feels like a knife is drivin' right int' y' skull? He wondered as he let out yet another sigh. He couldn't stop sighing. It seemed like there was so much sadness welling up in his chest that he had to keep expelling it short bursts to stop it from overflowing within him. His chest felt tight from the sadness, and and while he was unfamiliar with the sensation, he understood it completely. What he didn't understand was how to deal with it.
Why couldn't I jus' say thanks and pretend like everythin' is fine? I'm the master at pretendin', at lyin'.
He shook his head at himself and told himself he wouldn't have been able to win regardless of his reaction. He felt around the window for the locks and found them at the bottom base of the window; they were stiff from rarely ever being opened (this being a room that was obviously used very rarely). The window shifted upwards with difficulty, grinding against the paintwork, glass slightly rattling as if in protest. The cold air rushed in almost violently, and he felt the cold frozen kiss of snowflakes blow into his face and land upon his bare hands.
The air felt good despite the chill, he hugged himself against it and let the cold wind rush against his warm face; he breathed the cold crisp air in and let out deep sighs that he tried to picture misting into the air like great clouds that would disappear into a grey sky.
He hadn't heard the door open; he felt something hit his back and it caught him by surprise; the item was small and hard, and he heard the clatter of slightly hollow cardboard upon the wooden floor.
"Still don't think anyone here gives a fuck?" came Rogue's demand, her voice almost acid-like so much that it stung him more than the cold did. He winced at this and he knelt upon the floor to feel around for whatever had been thrown at him. Rogue's footsteps were distinctive down the hall; her heavy boots made a very definite stomp upon the wooden floorboards and the mansion was so quiet with the lack of students currently remaining for the holidays that the sound seemed louder, more echoing and thunderous.
Remy's hand landed finally on the object; a box, hard-cardboard but not quite as good quality as that of the present he'd received earlier. There were no ribbons or bows upon it, and the box was narrow, rectangular with no lid he could really detect. Through his fumbling, he felt it open; it flipped open and he discovered it was on it's side.
Curiously, his now cold fingers delicately traced the item; the curve of hard-but-unmistakable leather, the cold smooth surface of glass.
It's a watch, he realised with some surprise. But he felt confused; Remy LeBeau wasn't the kind of man to wear watches and how was he supposed to tell the time from something he couldn't see? He went to take it out of the box, holding it by the sides of the large face; a soft click followed and he realised with even more surprise than before that the glass of the watch had flipped up and his fingers could trace the shape of the face beneath; he could feel both the minute and the hour hands fully in detail. The top of the face he found easily by the fact that it had two notches at the twelve o'clock position, while three, six and nine had one notch each. It was forty-five minutes past nine am.
A soft confused laugh escaped his lips; it was a watch for someone who could not see, and it was a gift that had obviously been intended for him. Then he realised why Rogue had thrown it at him.
At some point in the past month, she'd been out...and located such a watch, a watch that she would have had to have gone to a specialist to buy. A watch that probably cost more than most standard watches did.
He swallowed hard now, emotion welled up within him and he hated the feeling of wanting to cry again; crying was not something men his age were supposed to do. He pulled himself up using the windowsill to hoist himself up; holding the watch in one hand he went to the hall, tracing his way to the stairwell; his boot hit something at the top of the stairs and he heard a grunt.
Rogue was sitting at the top of the stairs; it seemed she was there alone, for the sound of everyone who had been in the foyer was no longer there, and music and voices were distant down hallways nowhere nearby.
He took a deep breath and took a step sideways; the stairway was double wide and allowed for him to sit beside her there. "You bought this."
Rogue said nothing, he could hear her breathing through her nose, her exhales hard, he still sensed her anger and somehow now he could understand it.
"Y'..musta put a lot of thought into this..." he sighed as he felt around the watch with both hands and tried to imagine how the cracked leather of the straps looked, tried to imagine whether they were brown or black, if the edging was silver or gold, if the hands were black or gold or silver, if the notches were black, if the face was white or black.
Black...with silver edging, and a black face, with silver notches and silver hands, he decided, knowing Rogue's tastes. He supposed he'd never know unless he asked, and he didn't want to ask...it would ruin the mystery of it.
She snorted, "Not really. Everyone needs to know the time."
He detected the lie there. She had put thought into this, and it was evident in how upset she was with him.
"It's..." he began.
"It's a watch," she stated simply, still sounding annoyed.
"It's...probably the nicest thing anyone ever give me," he admitted; his own admission startled him. He was being truthful. No one had ever given him a watch before; he'd had watches, sure, ones he'd stolen, but never a watch that had been a gift, he'd never bought one, never truly needed one.
"Sure," she snorted, "Professor gives you an expensive MP3 player, but the watch is nicer," he could almost hear her roll her eyes at him.
He thought for a moment, chewing his lip. "Y' given me so much since I been here. Y' give me somethin' I thought I'd lost...somethin' I never thought I'd have again. Best gift I could ever get."
"And that would be?"
"My independence," he answered softly.
She shifted where she sat, "You gave yourself that when you stopped complainin' and gave things a chance," she sighed.
He chewed the inside of his cheek; tentatively, he reached out in his world of darkness and placed his hand upon her; it was her arm. Her sleeve was chiffon-like beneath his bare fingers and he imagined her bare arm beneath it, her skin milky and velvet soft. "No...it was you who gave me that. Y' pretend t' give up on me sometimes but..." he swallowed and nerves pinched at his stomach. "But y' have too much heart t' really do that t' someone...y' pretend t' come off as all cold...aloof and angry...but...y' care more than anyone I know."
She shifted again, uncomfortably it seemed, but she did not pull her arm away from him; she sighed again, deep and unrelenting.
"Y' an incredible girl, chere..."
The sound of her scoffing followed.
"I might be blind..." he began awkwardly, "but Summers is the one who can't see. Can't see how amazin' y' are...how beautiful y' are..."
Rogue's breath gave a shudder and she pulled her arm out from under his hand.
I'm losin' her, he thought miserably.
A long pause of silence passed between them, he drew his breath, "I'm a fool to want you..." he said quietly.
It seemed she became suddenly so still.
He began again, "I'm a fool t' want you..." he repeated, this time singing the words perhaps more off-key and less romantically than Lady Day may have near the end of her sad life.
She was so silent, so incredibly still that he almost thought for one moment she might have vanished, or left him somehow without him hearing.
"T' want a love...that can't be true..." he sang low, just barely audible, just for her. "A love that's there...f' others too..." he slid his arm behind her and carefully slipped it around her shoulders hoping that she wouldn't be predictable and pull away.
"I'm a fool t' hold you," he sang, leaning close to breathe each word near what he hoped was her ear. "Jus' a fool t' hold you..." he left his voice such a whisper, her body stiffened beneath his touch. "T' seek a kiss...that mine alone...t' share a kiss the devil has known..."
She let out a soft sound that was somewhere between a sigh sniffle; Remy forced himself to continue, the song may not have completely been true to their situation, but her reaction let him know that she felt something, that for just a moment, he may have been capable of bewitching her.
"Time and time again...I've said I'd leave you. Time and time again...I went away. But then would come the time when I would need you..." he murmured near her ear, trying to keep in tune with how he vaguely remembered the music to be, "and once again, these words I'll have t' say...I'm a fool t' want you...take me now, I need you..."
He leaned in a little, his chin gently grazed her shoulder and he let it sit there, and sang the last of the lyrics, "I know it's wrong, it must be wrong...but right or wrong...I can't get along...without you..."
She shifted and he had the distinct impression she was looking right at him; his heart was thumping furiously in his chest. Had he really just sang to her? He might have laughed if anyone he'd ever known had told him they'd sang to a girl any romantic song. The idea might have seemed corny, might have seemed like a cheap way to trick a girl to bed.
But it felt neither corny, nor like trickery.
"Ssh..." she hushed, he felt the suede touch of a gloved fingertip press against his dry lips. He pushed a kiss into the finger and she moved away from him altogether; he couldn't help but feel the gesture had a lot to do with that. "Ah...Ah have to go help with makin' dinner."
It left him aching hard that she left things like that, his breath was fast, his heart hammering and his eyes stinging with tears she'd hopefully never have to see.
There was nothing else to do now but wait.
Whatever happened now...it was all up to her.
End of Part 9
Wee! 2 updates in 2 days! I am exhausted! This part I think so far has been one of my favourites to write on so many levels (thanks to "Lady Day" Billie Holiday herself of course for inspiring a part of it).
Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I can't believe this story has over 110 reviews. It's crazy! I'd have never thought this story would have been popular enough to get 10 reviews let alone 110! You're all so awesome for your support! *hugs*.
