Chapter 11 - The Stripping of Pretense

Just because you're married to the love of your life, it doesn't mean you change who you are. Rogue has a fiery temper and Remy is not any better at reigning his in. They'll still have their tempers, they'll still fight. What matters is how they deal with the aftermath. When the fights happen, will they take the effort necessary to reconcile? Or, will the fights drive them apart?

4 - Anger

"Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger" – Ephesians 4:26

Several years later...

As Gambit parked his motorcycle, the clouds released a fresh burst of rain as though to ensure he could not possibly be any more drenched than he already was. Even the layers of clothing under his duster were not enough to protect him from the cold, autumnal rain. He shivered, sending rivulets of near icy water past his collar and down his back. Shuffling inside, even the warm, dry lobby wasn't enough to combat the miserable, pathetic state he was in. Fortunately, he knew where to find the cure-all and it was finally close at hand.

Instead of taking the steps two at a time as was his custom, Remy scarcely had the energy to trudge up each flight of stairs a single step at a time. Weariness bowed his shoulders, while his rain soaked duster slapped against his calves in heavy, wet swacks. He'd ridden his motorcycle through the worst of the storm. When the downpour had driven the other bikers on the road to seek refuge under every overpass along the highway, Remy had pushed on. Soul weary after a long and trying job, he wanted nothing more than to be home in the arms of his wife. That thought alone had pushed him on when conventional wisdom suggested he stop. The storm had made a long job even longer.

Nearly two months ago, he had kissed Rogue and their children goodbye and set off in an attempt to salvage a job gone bad and the Guild's reputation. In the middle of the night, he'd received the frantic call with the news of the botched job and captured thief. As patriarch, they always turned to him when things went awry and appeared beyond all hopes of rectifying. If it had simply been a case of a failed job, the Guild could deal with the loss of contract, but it was the thief's life in jeopardy which truly concerned him. A life he was responsible for.

Times like these, he wanted to curse Jean-Luc for putting this responsibility on his shoulders. But, he didn't. In this case, even if his père had still been in charge, Remy still would have been the one sent on the job. He was simply the best option. So, instead of protesting the unfairness of it all, he had set out alone into the cold, lonely night, hoping to repair the damage before any lasting harm could be done.

The original job should have been simple—a pinch any apprentice thief should have been able to accomplish before their Tilling. But, an experienced thief had been sent on the job because the mark was a dangerous man. He was known for his explosive temper and impulsive violence. The man had been schooled in the Darth Vader method of management. Any minor mistake or disagreement had the habit of ending in torture or death. Often both. No matter how simple the job was expected to be, Remy would never sanction an apprentice being sent on a mission where the risks, if caught, outweighed the profit.

Therefore, conventional wisdom suggested assigning an experienced thief to the job because they would be less prone to making fatal mistakes. Unfortunately, the thief in question hadn't seen the reasoning behind the assignment in the same light. Thinking he was too good for the 'simple job,' the thief had allowed his hubris to cloud his judgement. Instead of completing the job and moving on to the next, the thief, in his arrogance, had allowed himself to be caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. Now, the mark knew that someone was after him, justifying his already rampant paranoia. By the time Remy had been called in, the mistakes made had yet to prove fatal, but they had been walking a fine line.

In the end, completing the no longer simple job had fallen to Remy. All the initial intel had to be scrapped and he had needed to start again from scratch. Instead of an in-and-out job, it had turned into a long con. While Remy preferred the subtle art of B&E, there was no questioning his skill at getting a mark to trust him.

When Remy had infiltrated the organization, he had needed to go dark—no word in and, most definitely, no word out. He hadn't talked to anyone from the Guild or the X-Men for over a month. And, he had most certainly not contacted his wife or children. It was the only way he could guarantee to keep them safe.

Dieu, he missed his Rogue. He missed his children. He missed home and family, safety and belonging.

Without tipping his hand, Remy had gotten the errant thief out weeks ago, had secured the requisite data a couple of days ago, and had finally confirmed the job was complete that morning. The thumb drive of encrypted date was secured safely on his person and a copy had been sent to an anonymous Guild dead drop. He had covered his tracks, burned his cover identity—in this case, literally—and had disappeared into the horizon with the mark none the wiser to the the fact he'd been robbed.

Since the job had been closer to New York than New Orleans, Gambit had decided to head for home rather than spend another night away from his heart. Even the teeth-chattering cold could not keep him from his family. At the thought of surprising his Roguey in bed, Remy found a burst of energy to propel him up the last set of steps at a quickened pace. Home had become a delightful prospect ever since Rogue had taken up permanent residence in his life. The children had made homecomings even sweeter. He couldn't wait to demonstrate just how home much he cherished them.

He could deal with the Guild in the morning. Or, he supposed—a smile played on his lips as he contemplated all the ways he planned to make up to the love of his life for his prolonged absence—the Guild could wait until the afternoon for him to check in. It would be worth whatever trouble he got in for his delayed report. His wife and children came first.

Despite his gloves, Remy's fingers were cold and stiff. Facing the locked door, Remy went for his lock picks instead of the key. With as exhausted as he was, the familiarity of the picks was an easier option than figuring out the complexity of a key. Leaning in close to the door as he worked, the moment the lock clicked open he heard a loud thump and a muffled curse from inside the apartment.

Though he was tired, hungry, and soaked through to the bone, Remy was immediately on his guard. Exchanging his lock picks for his bō staff, he slipped into their apartment ready for almost anything that awaited him. No one threatened his family.

"Remy Etienne LeBeau! Where have you been?"

Rogue stood in the middle of the living room with her fists raised, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, and a tempestuous glower darken her expression. A toppled laundry basket laid on its side by her feet, its formerly folded contents tumbled across the floor.

Even with the near visible waves of anger coming from her, Remy couldn't prevent the moan of desire escaping from his lips at the sight of his wife. She wore a long sleeved tee and a pair of pajama shorts. Her sleep mussed hair tumbled over her shoulders in disarray. Although, from the dark circles under her eyes and the pinched tension at her temples, lack-of-sleep mussed hair, might be a more apt description.

Shutting the door behind him and pocketing his staff, Remy took a step towards Rogue, hoping to ease the edge of her temper with a touch. Before he could act, Rogue launched in on him with a verbal attack. "Two months! We haven't heard hide nor hair of ya for months. Then ya have the nerve to come waltzin' back in here like ya've never been gone. For all Ah knew, ya could have been lying dead in a ditch. What would we have done then?"

"Rogue—" he started to explain.

Cutting him off, she kept her voice low in a terse, vindictive hiss to keep from waking the children. "What do ya have to say for yourself, swamp rat?"

She spat the usual endearment like it was poison instead. He hated it when she did that. The usual affection with which she called him swamp rat made him feel cherished—loved. She was his river rat and he was her swamp rat. When she turned it to a curse, he felt as though he really was nothing more than the street scum he'd been born. He knew he was scarcely more than a gutter rat with delusions of grandeur, but she had loved him anyways. Accepted him as he was. He didn't need the reminded that he wasn't worthy to be counted among civilized company, and how much less to be accepted at her side.

The pleasant feelings which had warmed him from the inside out only a moment before shriveled, leaving him as cold, wet, and miserable as a drowned rat. He dropped his bag with a sodden splash. His duster joined the pile. Irritation clawed at his chest and lit the short fuse of his own temper.

This is what he pushed himself to his physical and mental limits for? He should have just headed for New Orleans and made his report. There would have been less hassle for everyone involved. His teeth chattered loudly while rainwater dripped from the ends of his hair and clothes creating expanding puddles on the hardwood floor. Not having the energy to continue with the fight, Remy attempted to brush past Rogue without a word.

"Ah asked ya a question." Clearly spoiling for a fight, Rogue blocked his path. She clenched at the hem of her nightshirt, her knuckles turning with with the force of her hold." "Where were ya?"

"None o' your concern," he bit out short and hot. Why did she need to do this now? "It was t'ieves' business, you know dat."

Rogue's jaw clacked shut loud enough to make Remy's ache in sympathy. But, he didn't care. Already too angry to notice the hurt in her eyes at his hastily thrown attack.

He didn't want to talk about it. At least, not yet. To save the life of his thief, he had to passively stand by and watch others be tortured. By his silence, he felt as though he had given his tacit approval to this madness. He had spent the duration of his assignment troubled by nightmares. The kind of dreams which reminded him of every wrong choice he ever made and seared his conscious with reminders that he was not a good man. And there had been no one there to ease his torment or contradict his internalized self-loathing.

Not that he wanted her there. He didn't want her anywhere near that mess. The only thing kept him sane was knowing that she and their children were safe. Despite the fact that it was killing him slowly, the only way he could guarantee they wouldn't end up in the madman's crosshairs was by keeping silent. Apparently she didn't comprehend the depth of his sacrifice.

"None of mah concern? Ya've got some nerve swamp rat. Ah'm your wife. Or did ya forget that while ya were off gallivanting with your fellow thieves?" Her eyes were the ominous green of a coming storm. They narrowed as she searched the room for something to punch.

"Je suis. I ain' an idiot, chère," he shot back, fighting to keep his tone low. The last thing we wanted was for his children to wake up and hear their parents fighting—especially after his prolonged absence. Those kind of memories tended to stick.

"Well, ya sure act like one sometimes. Ya said ya'd only be gone a couple of weeks. Maybe while ya were gone, ya decided to prolong your vacation 'cause ya liked being able to kiss all the girls without the responsibilities," she snarled. The words tumbling from her lips before she could think them through.

He ran his thumb over his wedding band. Over the course of the job he hadn't worn his ring for the same reason he hid his eyes—no identifying features—and he had missed the ring's reassuring presence. One of the first things he had done upon leaving this morning, even before removing the contacts, was return the ring to its proper place around his finger. It was a steady, solid reminder that he was loved, that he had a place where he belonged. Why would he give that up for a cheap substitution?

"Pah," Remy exhaled sharply. His anger sizzled through his blood and he felt the build up of charge in his fingertips. "I t'ought I'd shown you by word and deed dat 'm committed to toi et nos enfants. If you don' know dat by now..."

His words failed. If she didn't know this, then what? He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling until the pain was all he could feel. His hands were clammy and shook so hard with the cold that he jerked excruciatingly at the strands of hair twisted around his fingers. The world was folding in on him, pressing tight around him and leaving him isolated. He struggled for breath as his lungs constricted in the tight space. A numbness deeper than the cold which had followed him home seeped straight through to the quick.

Was he that bad of a husband—that bad of a father—that she didn't know he would do anything for them? She was his heart. His life. They were his home and harbor—belonging and safety. He would lay down his life if it meant keeping them safe. Surely, a few weeks of being out of touch couldn't ruin everything. She knew that sometimes his work required these things of him. Hadn't they already worked though this? He worked his jaw trying to hold back the tears building in his eyes. Try as he might, he couldn't hold onto the emotionless mask he usually employed to hold his feelings at bay.

At the sight of his clear anguish, Rogue relented. Her anger, holding her rigid, cracked and her shoulders sagged. Her emotions bled out of her as the pain ripped through him.

"Ah'm sorry sugah, that was out of line." She closed the space between them. He flinched as she touched his hand and a fuchsia spark leapt between their fingers. Carefully, she untangled his hand from his hair. More weather sluiced from his drenched hair. "Ah know ya wouldn' leave us."

Remy shivered. He wrapped his arms across his chest and chafed at his arms. He hated being cold. Even the slightest chill tore at the core of his being, settling deep between bone and marrow, refusing to leave. Despite his naturally high body temperature, some days he felt he would never be warm again. He had moved beyond Antarctica. He had been forgiven and he had forgave in return. Yet, still his body had not forgotten.

A faint fuchsia glow infused his sodden clothes. Rogue squeezed his hand, lending her steadying presence as he took a deep breath. Regulating his breathing, Remy drew in the charge. The slip of power had not been his first. While relatively rare, they had grown more frequent as of late—especially when his emotions got the better of him.

"You okay sugah?" She asked softly when all traces of the glow were gone. Concern furrowed her brow and she examined him for any sign of injury.

Despite the recent charge, his shirt was still damp and clammy. It clung to his body in a decidedly unsexy manner. Not caring about the mess, Rogue wrapped her arms around him and held her husband close. She massaged his back, slowly easing the tension from his muscles.

Remy buried his face in her hair and breathed in her sweet, summer scent. Warmth kindled in his chest and slowly seeped into his extremities. He could breathe better now that the knot in his chest relaxed. Rocking side to side, he murmured in her ear, "Better now. How 'bout you, mon coeur? How are you?"

"Better, now that you're here," she sniffed. The worry which had troubled her over the course of his absence was still present, though the sharp edges which had morphed into anger now melted away as they mutually dropped the layers of pretense they used to mask their true feelings. For too many years they had used their anger to hide their true feelings and it was still an all too easy habit to fall back on.

"Bien." His shoulders sagged and his knees buckled. The last of his energy seeped from his body and he slumped against her. Together, they knelt on the floor amongst the spilt laundry. "I should have found a way to contact..."

"No, sugah, ya did what ya had to do. When ya went on this job, Ah knew the odds were likely ya'd have to go dark...It's just...," Rogue swallowed hard, working through her emotions until she had them under control enough to continue speaking. The words were muffled as she spoke into his shoulder. "Ah need ya Remy. We need ya. Ah can' lose ya again."

"I know, mon coeur, I know." He held her close, gently stroking her hair, and reveling in the familiar sensation of holding his wife.

She melted into his embrace. "When ya were late comin' home and Ah couldn' get a hold of ya, Ah called your père. He couldn' tell me much" because I'm not Guild, was left unsaid, "but Ah could tell things weren' goin' well. It's not often Ah see Jean Luc unnerved."

"'m sorry. I know you worry 'bout me when 'm workin'. Didn' mean t' be gone for so long." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Then, finding her chin, he lifted her face so he could kiss her lips. She deepened the kiss, as though trying to make up for lost time. Even with the skin on skin contact and the overwhelming effusion of emotions pouring out of her, Rogue kept a tight control over her powers and didn't absorb him. His heart swelled with pride at her accomplishments. She had come so far.

Breaking from the kiss, Rogue sniffed and batted at her nose with the back of her hand. Selecting a t-shirt from the laundry pile, Rogue wiped at the remnants of tears and rain from her husband's face. "Ah'm sorry Ah yelled at ya. Kept tellin' myself Ah wouldn' yell, and then the first thing Ah do is gave ya the third degree."

"I'll do better next time," Remy promised. He began gathering the clothes and putting them back in the basket. It was far from neatly folded, but at least it was no longer on the floor.

"Thanks, sugah, Ah know ya do your best." Though her mouth was pulled into a stern, disapproving line, her eyes sparked with mischief. "Ah gotta admit ya scared me breakin' into the house like that. Next time, use your key, swamp rat." The fond flirting was back as she called him swamp rat. All would be all right with the world again.

Remy grinned. "In my defense, I didn' expect you t' still be up doin' laundry." He flung a toddler-sized sock at her. His drenched hair dripped on to the clean clothes. Slicking back his hair, he shivered as more water trickled down his back. "I was plannin' on surprising you in bed..."

Punching him lightly in the arm, Rogue matched his grin with one of her own. The first he'd seen since returning home. "And how would that have been better?"

He shrugged. "Well, it sounded like a good idea in my mind. Would you care for a demonstration?"

Remy leaned in close and began peppering kisses along her jaw, before moving across the top of her shoulders. His fingers slipped under her now damp shirt and played with the waist of her shorts.

"Wait." Rogue rested her hands over his, stilling his restless movement. "First, tell me honestly sugah, how are ya?"

"'m fine, chère, really. No injuries this time." He tried and failed to hold back a sneeze. "T'ough if I don' get out o' dese clothes soon, 'm bound t' catch a cold."

"Ya want some help sugah?" Rogue peeled off his damp shirt and allowed her gaze to linger appreciatively over his well-defined physique. While she checked him out with the same relish she had since the first time he'd removed his shirt in her presence, she also studied his skin for any sign of new scars or bruising. Satisfied he hadn't added to his macabre collection, Rogue ran her fingers across his chest, lingering over the pale, almost indistinguishable line of scaring. He didn't need to look to know on which scar she lingered. Tentatively reaching out, he traced over the spot where the nearly identical sword scar was hidden under her pajamas. She ran her tongue ran along her bottom lip, as she pushed herself off from the floor and offered her husband her hand.

"Oui," Remy nodded, taking her proffered hand. Suddenly, he wasn't feeling quite as cold as he had a moment before. He allowed himself to be led across the apartment towards the bathroom and a warm shower.

"Welcome home, Remy," Rogue said around fierce kisses, which he returned with equal fervor.

Stepping into the hot water with his wife, Remy knew that he and Rogue had was worth the effort. They might fight, but it would no longer break them apart. They were committed to this relationship and together they would continue until the very end. And may that end be a long way off...