Chapter 44: What We've Got Here...
Over the next week Anna Marie and Remy were forced to acknowledge each other. They met in the hall and nodded politely or moved aside so one could pass the other. They sat in the sunshine together during a meeting in which Rogue was officially welcomed to the team. Once, he passed her ketchup for her fries at dinner.
With Logan, everything had been simpler. She'd found Logan in the garage that first day, grease smeared on his cheek and a knuckle bleeding as he worked on a bike parked near her cherry red Triumph. "Hey, bub, watch the paint."
His nostrils flared before he turned. "Yours?" Rogue nodded. "You rebuild it?" She nodded again, her mouth curving slowly. "Then get your ass over here and lend me a hand."
Just like that, they were fine. And though he looked at her eyes for a long time as he passed a wrench to her, his only comment was, "Looks good on ya, kid."
Of course, she'd been talking to Logan while she was away. He'd seen her face on the computer screen. At first. He'd answered questions about the Triumph when she'd been fixing it and gotten stuck. Maybe that was why he'd forgiven her for going or maybe it was because he was a runner too. Or maybe it was because she hadn't broken his heart.
It was at least two weeks before Remy and Anna Marie were truly alone. Remy was dressed to go out though the long summer day hadn't given up the light for the dark yet. Rogue was in the garage, tinkering with her car. The doors were up and music bumped. She shook her ass in the air, faded denim cut offs hugging it tightly. In another life, he'd have smacked her ass and made a joke. In this one, his jaw went tight and he shut the music down only to hear her voice drift from underneath the hood.
"Hey, now, those're my girls, Bonsoir Catin. You don't just turn them off." Without rising she twisted to look over her shoulder at the offender, her mouth in a curve until she saw Remy. Immediately, her lashes dropped and she straightened.
She was grease smeared, curling hair tangled up in a messy knot. Her tank top had bleach stains and her boots were about a million years old. She shouldn't have cared, but she did. Maybe because he was wearing black pants and Ferragamos, a dark purple shirt tailored perfectly, and the five o'clock shadow roughing his jaw was an artful counterpoint to the clean, modern lines of his clothes. He was going out. He'd come back smelling of perfume. "Guess you know who they are."
Gambit didn't answer, but he took some keys and started towards a car on the opposite side of hers. Rogue watched him with her chin slightly dipped. "Do you got a minute?"
He kept walking and she was sure he intended to ignore her. But as he got to the door of the dark blue Porsche the Cajun turned. He started to speak but something stopped him. Rogue knew what it was and cursed herself a little for not having kept her head down.
"I don't wanna talk about them right now."
For a moment, he kept looking at her eyes, then his expression shut down and his low, liquid voice said, "'Course not. It's all gotta be your way, no? Time's up then, Rogue."
She darted around cars and grabbed his door before he got it shut. Looking down at him she knew he was looking up into irises that were fractured, changeable. The color never locked down anymore. When she'd given in it hadn't been to the voices in her head, but to the idea that she would never be singular; she'd given up the idea that she could tuck all those pieces of herself into boxes and open them only when it was convenient. It didn't work that way; she didn't work that way. So now her eyes shifted colors, the green often shot through with blue or gray, rimmed with white, or hazing into red and glowing. It was just a physical manifestation of what was going on inside of her, powers ebbing and flowing, naturally and always available, buzzing just under her skin. It wasn't unpleasant, that awareness. But it was too much to explain right then.
"I'll tell you everything but if I've only got sixty seconds then I want to tell you this: I missed you.
"I'm not sorry I left. I won't be because I'm okay now, for the first time ever. But I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I—"
"Sorry you cut me off? Sorry you decided I wasn't important enough? Or sorry you decided I wasn't smart enough to make my own decisions 'bout what I was and wasn't willin' to wait for?"
"I had to put me first. I had to focus on me without worrying about what I was taking from you in the process or how what I was going through would affect you. I'm sorry that hurt you. I'm sorry I lost you," emotion cracked her voice and her hands tightened on the door till the metal edge bit painfully, "lost your friendship. Sometime I'd like to tell you 'bout the last few years, maybe hear about yours."
Remy's eyes burned up at her. "That's easy, baby. Her name's Yaxeni and she's an artist. She got a show in de City right now. You should check it out; though I guess you already got a first hand look at the subject."
Her fingers went limp, he snagged the door from her hold and slammed it. Neither one of them felt better as he peeled out and left her in the silence.
He'd thought about what he would say to her when he saw her again. He'd thought about how he'd put them back together, how he'd let her explain and apologize. But the moment he'd seen her looking golden and gorgeous, strong and confident, as if the two years without him had made her better, Remy forgot all of those plans. Remy had forgotten seducing her into remembering what it was like between them, into making them friends again. And when she said she wasn't sorry for leaving him behind something inside had snapped, some angry hurt part he'd been ignoring for the last two years of his damn life.
From that night on, when he saw her in the mansion he left the room, the hallway. He couldn't refuse to train with her, but Gambit refused to be part of her team. He avoided coming up against her as an opponent either, instead tagging out, letting himself die and his team lose rather than fight her, rather than be in that close proximity.
He was about to do it again when she was suddenly in front of him, smoke billowing and buildings tumbling around them. "Oh, no, you don't. I want a clean fucking win, Cajun."
He put his hands up. "I surrender. You win."
"Arrete. Why're you here if this is how it's gonna be? You ain't been in the damn mansion for two years but I come back and so do you to what? To ignore me an' make me feel worse? What the hell kinda games you playin', Gambit?"
"I done told you once, Rogue. With you, I ain't never been playin'." He turned then, walking down an alley, towards fighting. If she refused to take him out, he'd get a simulated officer or mutant to do it.
But she was there again, crashing in front of him and slamming bare hands to his chest. He was covered, but it was the closest they'd been since she'd ran away from him, ran to the Blackbird and Scotland.
"Get your hands off of me."
"Make me," she snapped back, chin jutting, eyes that were mostly green glowing up at him, fucking glowing.
He stepped back. She followed. He moved to the side, so did she. "You don't wanna do this, Rogue."
"Sure I do, sugar. I've been wantin' this for weeks. Wanted somethin' else right up until you ignored me," she purred.
He snapped at the not at all subtle intimation. His hands snagged her wrists and pulled them away, tossing her arms aside. "Get the fuck away from me."
"No way, cher. I sure am done with runnin'. That's what you want, you give it a try. I might learn to like doin' the chasin' after all. Someone once told me it all depends on who you're chasin'."
A charged card flipped out, she caught it, snuffed it. His eyes narrowed and the bō staff came out, snapped into its full length; as it did, Rogue attacked.
Remy couldn't take her down and she wouldn't, or maybe couldn't, take him down either. Naw, had to be she was playin' with him 'cause he'd seen her use Magneto's power and pull a building down during a sim. Seen Cyclops' lazer eyes take out a tank. Watched her bring the rain and go toe to toe with Storm.
"Stop playin', Rogue, and just take me the fuck out." He growled in her face. He had her pinned against a wall.
Her head snapped forward and he managed to pull back to miss the blow, but was distracted so that her knee slamming into his ribs was a total shock. "I'm tryin'," gritted between her teeth.
"Use some fuckin' abilities and end this, damn it!"
"It don't work like that, Cajun!"
"I've seen you—"
"You ain't seen nothin' but your own ass 'cause your head is stuck so far up it! You want," he landed a kick to her gut, she grunted and stumbled, then followed up with fist that glanced off his jaw, "to know 'bout me all you'd have to do is ask!"
He grabbed her, charging her shirt; she groaned. "Aw, hell." Faces so close their breath mingled, eyes locked together, it almost didn't register with him when she said, "Sorry, sugar," before her lips landed on his.
Author's Note: HI! Guys, guys! 300 follows! Woop! I love you all!
Here's more, as requested, although I somehow doubt the ending of this chapter will leave you satisfied. I'm working all of the jobs and all of the hours lately, so it'll probably be a bit before you get an update. (Well, I'm going on vacation next week, so if it is nice and chill I may write and you may get updates sooner, but more than likely we're looking at July before another post.)
I hope you all are having all of the most wonderful thing because you rock and it's such a nice zip to get on and see more follows and likes and reviews. Thanks for brightening my day. Always.
