3 Months Later
It's in a crowded airport bathroom, while splashing cold water on his face, that Remy notices how unbearably tired he looks. His face, covered in two days worth of stubble, is accentuated by the dark circles beneath his crimson orbs. Because thinking about the true cause is too much for his jet lagged mind to bear right now, he chalks it up to an international flight spent in front of young child.
A (irritatingly long) wait at baggage claim, and a cup of coffee from a Dunkin' Donuts stand later, he finds himself searching for a familiar face in the midst of families, friends, or hired chauffers gathered around the pick-up area. It's been so long, too long, since he's seen her. Anticipation fills him as he searches the crowd for her distinctive hair, eager to see her, speak to her; even just looking at her will brighten his mood.
Seconds fade into minutes. He spares a tired glance at his watch, noting that she was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. There's the thought that
she isn't coming
and that thought makes him feel physically sick. He considers phoning her, but considering how they parted ways last time he saw her, he's not sure he'd be able to handle the situation if she's upset with him.
Ten minutes turn into twenty.
Unable to wait any longer, he turns towards the long line of yellow cabs, and that's when he spots her. Exhaustion pushed aside, the smile he greets her with has to be the biggest one he's worn since he left. Dieu, he's just so glad to see her.
"Remy!" she screams, leaping into his arms dramatically.
"Didn't t'ink y' were comin' for a moment, Bets'." He grins at her as he releases her from his hug. Grabbing his suitcase, he follows her towards her car.
Betsy grants him with a sheepish smile, pushing a violet lock out of her face. "My apologies, luv, but had you seen the bloke that caused my delay, you'd understand." She wiggles her eyebrows at him for emphasis.
After a we've all been dere, accentuated by his deep chuckle, they fall into a comfortable silence as he puts his bag in the trunk, continuing until she gets out of the frustrating airport traffic and onto a main road.
"How was France? By the way, thanks for letting me know you were leaving, prat," she says sarcastically, throwing a mock glare in his direction.
"Desole chere, it was a last minute decision. De trip was tres bien." The smile he sends her is tight with the effort to portray that he's okay. The truth is, he just spent the past three months in a foreign country, trying to snuff New York out of his memory. Trying to snuff -
no,
he won't think her name.
He won't think about her, or how she's doing, or what she's thinking, or - merde, why can't he stop thinking about her?
Sometimes it works. Sometimes, after a few drinks, or maybe with some fine female company, he can forget about her. Sometimes it works for days, and sometimes it only works for a few hours.
Sometimes it doesn't work at all.
It's those times that drive him mad with maybes and what ifs. And it's those times that always end with it's too late now.
"Remy, are you listening? Have you passed out from jet lag, luv?" Betsy's voice breaks him out of the thoughts he tries to stop himself from thinking.
"'m sorry, it's been a long travel day."
There is something in her smile that bothers him. A feeling buried beneath it that he can't quite place. Perhaps sympathy? But that doesn't make sense, because he's never given her a reason to feel sorry for him.
"I was just asking if you wanted to stop for some 'welcome home' drinks."
After a futile attempt to rub the tired from his eyes, he shakes his head with a sigh. "I t'ink I'll have t' pass t'night. Tomorrow?"
That smile again.
"Tomorrow works for me."
Leaving Betsy and her car at the curb, he makes his way through the familiar revolving door. It's a short elevator ride later until he's turning his key in the lock and entering his apartment. Months worth of mail sits on his kitchen counter with a note from the front desk saying they simply ran out of room to hold it, but this can wait until morning. Right now, the shower is calling for his attention.
Fighting the urge for sleep, he still diligently drops his discarded clothes in the hamper, because clutter is one thing he can't stand. By the time he steps underneath the hot flow of water, he's exhausted.
Freshly showered and clad in boxers, he makes his way back into the bed room for the sleep he so desperately aches for, and that's when he feels his foot brush against something on the floor. As he bends over to retrieve it, his mind is already shouting not t'night while his heart is yawning what's a few more minutes, as he lifts the familiar fabric. A blouse.
Her blouse.
Left discarded on the floor. Unwilling to take the time to redress her in her form-fitting clothes that night, he'd simply yanked one of his button-ups over her head and a pair of sweats over her legs. Now that he's home again, her shirt sits as a reminder of that night
of what he'd done.
Not t'night, his mind pleads one more time, knowing that sleep is just outside of his reach.
His eyes flicker to the bed, comforter still ruffled from where he laid her, and he closes his eyes to relive the memory momentarily.
He doesn't want to relive it. He doesn't want to think about it. This very memory is the reason why he'd come home to pack a bag and was on a plane within the next few hours. He left this city and this apartment, hoping he'd leave the memory with it.
"Rogue," he breathes against her thigh, unable to tear himself away from her delectable skin, "if we do dis..." Unable to not meet her eyes and longer, he looks up, "it'll change everything."
Now is the only chance he has to decide whether to go through with this or not. To take her to Mel or not. If she wants him, he's not sure he can deny her. He's not sure he has the power to let her go.
"Ah don't care. Ah want you." The way her accent sounds wrapped in desperation does things to him, and he's unable to keep his mouth away from his destination any longer. His heartbeat racing in his ears drowns out the delighted sounds she makes, and he's finally come to his decision.
The injection causes her eyes to snap open and meet his gaze, her eyes lust blown and hazy. Her confusion makes him feel he owes an explanation, the only one he gives her is y' were never mine, anyways, before her eyes drift shut.
Angry at himself for remembering, he whips the blouse across the room, where it slaps into the wall before falling to its resting place on the ground.
The bed is next to receive his fury, stripped of its linens in an angry rage. He balls them up in a rush, unable to get them out of his sight quickly enough. He rips the lid of the hamper open before forcing them down to the bottom where they can no longer offend him.
Thoroughly exhausted from his fit, he crashes down into his mattress, not bothering to redress it. The mattress is cool to the touch, drawing the heat from his body in an attempt to calm him. After several minutes, he turns to lay on his back and stare at the ceiling.
Seconds pass, and then minutes, before he realizes that sleep is not coming for him. Perhaps it was foolish to blame travel for his exhaustion, knowing fully well that he hasn't gotten a decent night's sleep in three months.
Pushing himself from the bed, he makes his way through the dark room without problem. When he lifts the blouse up, he stares at it for a long moment, sorry for taking his anger out on the innocent garment.
It's several more hours before he falls asleep, clutching the blouse close enough to enjoy the familiar scent.
Raven has never felt so alive.
The return of her mutation has evolved her in such a way that she doesn't regret losing her powers at all. The fact that she took her destiny into her own hands and succeeded is such a rewarding feeling; it's truly worth all of the trouble.
Begrudgingly, she decides it's even worth her current trouble.
Her body tingles, welcoming the new skin she dons. Eyes that are both hers and not hers take in the address on the building before entering. It comes as no surprise to her that the person she's looking for is sitting at the bar, waiting for his companion.
She's not coming.
Raven tells him this as she takes the seat next to him, leaning on her elbow as she takes in his appearance. He looks like shit, she thinks, taking in his tired gaze. To be completely honest, she's quite aggravated he's come back at all.
He's kind of fucked up her path.
The look Remy graces her with indicates he doesn't recognize her, and he's curious as to why she'd say such a thing. Neither of these aspects surprise her, greeting him with a sharp smile and a flicker of amber eyes that were momentarily ago blue.
"There it is," she says, her newest voice doused in honey. "Recognize me now, I see?"
The glare he directs at her evokes a laugh.
"What y' want, Mel?" His attention is no longer hers; instead, he turns it to the bartender to signal he'll have another drink.
"I go by 'Raven' now, actually," she corrects him, decidedly ignoring his bitter tone. It's not her fault he made the decisions he made. Just like it's not her fault he decided to come home right now, effectively crossing his story with hers once again.
When he gives her an expression that clearly says he doesn't care either way, she gets to the point. "It would seem that you and I are meant to work together again, as fate would have it." The sweetness in her voice is heavy with disdain, surprisingly evoking a smile from him.
"Pass."
Of course, he has to be difficult. That's okay, because Raven can be difficult too.
"If that's the way you feel," she starts, getting off her stool, "I'll just let Victor know we won't be requiring Betsy's company any longer."
Remy's not even in New York for twenty-four hours before Raven approaches him. When she tells him fate brought them back together again, he wants to laugh at her before telling her exactly where she can go stick her business proposition.
It isn't until she speaks Betsy's name his veins freeze.
Grabbing her wrist roughly, he yanks her outside of the bar away from suspicious eyes. Once outside in the cool air, he lets go of her before whipping around to face her. "What do y' want? Y' get some kind o' sick joy outta messin' wit' me?"
She tilts her head. "I just know how to motivate you."
"What do y' want?" he asks again, straining on the last word.
"I'd like to formally invite you to the team, dear Gambit. As it turns out, you're a very integral part of our little brotherhood."
He watches her face for some kind of sign that indicates this is a joke. It doesn't come.
"And if I don't take de job?" The words are familiar.
"You will." As are those.
"And if I don't?"
The smile that graces her face is sickening to his stomach. "Well then, I suppose that women in your life really don't have the best of luck, do they?"
Dieu, he wants to hurt her. He wants to open that mouth of hers, stick a magenta card in it, and then wait to see what the building looks like painted in her blood. He wants to do this
but he gets in her car, instead.
Raven thinks about the book, the diary, as Irene likes to call it, as she drives. She thinks about the day, just last week, when a new one was delivered via FedEx. She thinks about the pages, littered with images of what's to come. She thinks about the story that unravels as time continues forward, proving the memoir of sorts to be correct.
Most of all, she thinks of the huge 'X' scribbled over the image gracing the first page. The very same image that had been the next page in the diary she already had in her possession.
It changed are the only words written on the inside cover. Every page after that one is different than any image from the previous book. She watches as a tale unfolds, portraying an unfavorable outcome in comparison to the story of its predecessor.
Then she thinks about the next delivery.
Another new book.
Option B, as she now calls it.
As she thinks it, Option B opens his mouth again. "What are y' even tryin' t' achieve, anyways? 'm pretty sure y' already lost wit' y' little 'mutant supremacy' campaign."
His ignorance annoys her.
Regarding him with distrusting eyes, she considers for a moment if now is the right time to tell him about such things. Eventually, she leaves him with silence as an answer, turning her eyes back to the road.
She's let him detour her destiny enough already to chance it again.
The building is just as he remembers it as they pull up the long driveway. On the outside, the home is just as cold as its interior. The architecture is plain, a modern design that closely resembles a white block, with its sharp corners and flat roof.
He doesn't speak again as he follows her inside, down the hall, to the very same den he found her in the last time he visited. She offers him a seat he doesn't take, instead choosing to stand.
"Where's Betsy?"
For the entirety of the car ride here, it's the question he's been rolling around in his head. The more he thinks about it, the more uncomfortable he gets with the idea of them having her. Betsy was a big girl, she could hold her own, and if they were able to take her against her will, then that would lead him to believe that something was very terribly wrong.
"I'd rather talk about my proposition first."
He clenches his jaw, finally deciding to take that seat.
Taking this as submission, she finally lets go of the facade of a young brunette in favor of her blue, red-headed form. "You don't like me." It might have been meant as a question, but Raven speaks it in a tone that portrays fact. She isn't incorrect.
"Dat surprise you, chere?"
"No, it doesn't," she answers honestly. "Although, I believe it will surprise you that you will actually quite enjoy it here."
Biting back a sarcastic remark, he replies, "Why do y' even want me here?"
"I've told you, you're a necessary part of this team." He hears the irritation in her tone. The way her voice reverberates with the sound of several identities reminds him of a staticky microphone.
Losing his patience, he snaps, "And why is dat?"
Before Raven can answer him, he hears it. The familiar scream sets a fire under his skin, and yet he sits frozen, unsure if he's hearing things that aren't there. When the scream comes again, he rips himself from the seat and takes off as fast as his legs will carry him. He's only half sure that he heard Raven let out a rushed don't!
Without heeding her warning, he tears down the hallway towards the sound. When he bursts through the door, the sight is so unbearable he thinks he might actually faint.
His chest tightens.
The world sways.
"You were an easy excuse, if you really want to know." There's that look again that he just can't place. "You get what you want, we'll get what we want, and Rogue will return to the X-Men believing that the only thing that happened tonight was that you and she had a falling out and that you won't be returning. Right now, we don't need the X-Men on our heels, and you are an easy scape goat."
Three months later, and Rogue's still here.
In hindsight, he places the look that had crossed Raven's features as deceit. He realizes that he was a scape goat, but that her words were a lie when she said they'd be sending her back under the impression they'd had a falling out.
Instead, they'd be keeping her while giving the X-Men the impression she'd ran away with him.
There are several emotions he expects to see cross Rogue's features when he rips her away from Pyro, the two apparently having a tussle. Anger over his betrayal. Anguish over her captivity. Relief over his rescue.
What he did not expect as he lets out a worried Rogue, dieu, Rogue I didn't know-
was her unrecognition.
"Ah'm sorry." His heart aches at her apology, unsure of why she's looking at him with such sympathy. "But ah don't know who Rogue is."
The severity of the situation is only just sinking in when he hears Raven's voice behind him.
"Gambit, meet Legacy."
AN: Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! A special thank you to lovely smile and Warrior-princess1980 for their continued support and reviews, as well as roguetimechild for the lovely compliment.
Raeni: Thank you for your reviews, and never fear! I promise that I'll continue to update lol. Don't be scared when I say that the reviews serve as motivation for my writing, I'll still update during a review dry spell lol! I only mean that they push me to write when I'm being lazy.
Another question for the readers: although I write in Third Person, I always tend to lend a character's voice in the telling in a way that it's very clear who's mind you might be in. Who is your favorite 'voice' to read from, and if it's Rogue or Remy, who is your second favorite voice? Is there a voice you'd like to read more?
Hope you enjoyed!