I finally screw up the courage and tell Captain America to suck it.
Actually, I lie. I call Avengers HQ and respectfully tell them I will be taking an extended leave of absence from the team for an indefinite period of time. And in the spirit of trying to work on my marriage life, I also go ahead and tell all the other teams I'm on that I'll be unavailable for a while.
And so, for the first time in a long time, I experience downtime. I go from barely having the time of day to take a bathroom break to having all the time in the world.
The first two days are restless. I jump at any messages I get on my phone. I watch daytime TV and an exorbitant amount of commercials on technical college enrollment and drugs for dementia. So I gather the people who are at home watching TV at this hour are mostly the unemployed and the geriatric. I guess I fall into the unemployed group.
I wonder what the hell I've done.
The next two days are a little better. I keep the TV off, and I turn on the music loud and get determined to clean out that one room that everyone has – the junk room that just keeps on getting piled on.
I open it wide. And then promptly shut it closed.
So the junk room stays. But otherwise, I am freakin' Martha Stewart and Marie Kondo and the rest of the apartment is immaculate.
By the fifth day, I have lost all purpose in life, and I eat tuna fish straight from the can. I almost eat cat food because the label looks similar. Actually the label for the cat food looks better than the label for the tuna fish. It's all organic and shit.
So where is Remy in all of this?
Remy, I find, is surprisingly well-regimented. He gets up early, works out, eats a healthy breakfast, and I wonder if he was always this way and I never noticed, or at some point in the past decade, he became an adult and I just missed my exit.
The other day I find him talking on the phone with his accountant, and it turns out that there are things he needs from me because we're married and we can file jointly now. After surveying the blank look on my face, he says he'll call Kitty for my tax ID number.
How was I to know my husband, who is a professional thief, files his taxes?
His answer: You don't mess wit' de IRS, chere.
I wonder if Mystique does her taxes. I wonder if Magneto does his taxes.
And if they do, what do they write in the box labeled occupation? Terrorist? Master of Magnetism?
I always thought I was the responsible one between the two of us, so I experience a mild identity crisis. Nothing serious, just enough to keep me in a haze as I go through the daily motions of life around the house.
It's Day 6. Right now, I'm on our balcony, barefoot, wearing an old white button down shirt that Remy was going to throw out and a pair of sunglasses. I'm watering the plants with a hose. I don't wear pants. Mainly because spending more time with Remy just means having more sex with Remy, and I figure there's no point in keeping them on anymore. I've been pants-free since Day 3.
I ain't gonna lie. The sex is great.
Everything else about this downtime period of my life is questionable and frighteningly dull. But the sex is awesome.
I'm thinking about what we did in the shower this morning when suddenly, I notice I'm being watched.
There is a woman in the building across from ours, looking at me through her window. She's holding onto a little girl, who is also looking at me with her little hands and her nose comically pressed up against the glass.
As soon as I make eye-contact, the woman suddenly beams, waving her hand frantically at me like she's seeing a long lost friend for the first time. The kid slaps the window excitedly. She mouths something to me, points at herself and her kid, and then points at me, all the while nodding excitedly and smiling a smile that could power the solar system.
I'm confused. I take off my sunglasses and squint at the woman to see if I'm supposed to recognize her. But I don't know her. I peek down past the balustrade to see if she might be trying to talk with someone downstairs. I look up at her again, and it's only her kid, still slapping away at the window.
She returns with a big paper sign where she's scrawled, Can we come over?
What in the world?
I don't say yes, obviously, but I also don't say no, and apparently that's good enough for her. She quickly gathers her kid, excitedly jumps and rushes away from the window to, I assume, "come over."
"What the hell….?" I say to myself and trip over the hose a bit and end up spraying myself a little. I quickly twist the water valve shut and rush into the house.
"Remy, Remy, Remy...!" I call frantically as I cross the living room.
He's in the kitchen making us a healthy breakfast.
"Do you know the woman who lives in the building across from us?!" I demand. I don't mean to sound like I'm accusing him, but damn him, he thinks about it.
"Non?" he says after a while.
"She's tall, black, has a big smile, long braids… a cute kid," I rattle off her description.
Remy shakes his head with more certainty now. "Not ringing any bells…"
I rake both hands through my hair. "What the hell then?"
"What's goin' on, chere?"
"She wants to come over!"
"What? Why?"
"Ah don't know!"
I go back out to the balcony and check the other side again. I lean over the balustrade and sure enough I spot her way down below crossing the street to come to our building, child in her arms.
Okay. So she doesn't look like she's a mutant. Or anyone who may have super powers.
She can't be Mystique in disguise because the child seems like an unnecessary prop that Mystique would probably do without.
I mentally scroll through anyone who may want to trick me into getting access to our apartment, and when I go back in to see Remy staring at me in confusion, I realize that Remy's list of enemies are longer than mine. And I come to terms with the fact that if worst comes to worst, we just have to duke it out.
"Pants," I say. "Ah need pants."
I rush into the bedroom to look for pants.
The bell for the building lobby door rings, Remy answers and promptly buzzes her in.
"Wait, ya just let her in?" I splutter, halfway into my leggings.
"Chere, she has a baby with her. How dangerous could she be?" he says nonchalantly, flipping an omelet.
He has a point, and I probably need to calm down.
"Right," I say. I swallow. "Is it strange that Ah'm more scared that she might be normal and not someone who's secretly out to get us?"
He chuckles. "Mais, don't think she be normal. Since when do New Yorkers try t'get t'know deir neighbors?"
The doorbell rings, and as I make my way to the front door, I exchange a glance with Remy, who remains as cool as a cucumber.
I hold the handle of the door and then pull it open to see what manner of crazy that awaits me.
The woman is even taller than I thought. She's almost as tall as Remy. And her smile is big and warm, and immediately, I know that someone with a smile like this can't possibly be evil.
"Hello neighbor," she says, waving, with barely contained excitement.
"Hi." I greet. "May Ah help-?"
"Oh my Gaawwwd!" she squeals, her perfectly manicured hands covering her big grin. She is beside herself. "Ah can't believe it's really you!"
She has a Southern accent and for a second, I wonder if I know her from my past.
"Oh, Ah'm so sorry. Ah don't usually do this. Ah just… Ah'm a fan," she confesses apologetically, her hand pressed to her chest.
"A fan?" I ask her. I point to my face. "Of me?"
"Yeah, Ah saw ya on T.V.!" she says. "You're Rogue, right? Ya actually saved my baby girl a few months ago. Ya know during that terrible fire that broke out near Central Park?"
I nod slowly with wide eyes, acting like I remember.
The little girl tugs her mother's hand. "Mommy, I need to go potty."
"Not now baby."
"But I gottaaaa…." she whines, twisting her legs.
"Oh! Uh," she glances at me.
"Oh," I mumble.
"Do ya mind?"
"No, 'course not." I move out of the way and let her in.
"Ah'm Monique by the way," she says to me as she walks in with her little girl. She looks at me from over her shoulder. "My daughter, Aisha."
"Nice to meet ya," I finally smile.
"Oh my Gawd, you're even prettier in real life," Monique gushes. Aisha pulls again and she gets dragged away from me.
Monique passes the kitchen and stumbles upon Remy and gasps. "Oh my…"
Remy doesn't wear shirts the way I don't wear pants.
"Oh, um, this is my husband," I tell her, and I'm pretty sure this is the first time I had to say those words to anyone. It feels real trippy.
"Hi, Ah'm Monique," she introduces herself in a hush whisper.
"Remy," he offers his hand. They shake.
Remy flashes his smile, and I'm pretty sure she's not my fan anymore.
"Bathroom's on de door t' your right," he says.
And Monique finally remembers her child and giggles all the way to the bathroom. And for some reason gives me a thumbs-up.
Remy smiles at me. "She seems nice."
"She does," I agree, but I feel so out of my depths here on how to deal with this situation.
"I forgot y'were on T.V.," Remy suddenly chuckles.
I sink into the chair next to the kitchen bar, groaning.
There was a press conference the Avengers did once when they first formed the Unity Squad, and I was chosen as the mutant spokesperson. I was a nervous wreck, and I vowed it would be the first and last time I would ever find myself in front of a T.V. camera.
"What was it dat y'said, chere?"
I glare daggers at him. "Remy, Ah swear to God, you do not want to bark up this tree."
"But I remember y'were so… passionate."
"Remy, seriously, for the love of our furniture, ya need to stop," I warn him.
He sighs, still chuckling. "Can't believe I forgot…" He shakes his head.
"Can ya please just focus on the problem at hand?" I hiss at him.
"What problem?" he asks.
I gesture to the bathroom door.
He makes a face. "Why is dis a problem?"
I swallow. That was a good question. Why was meeting this normal human woman so difficult for me? When did life outside of superheroes start feeling so awkward?
Monique finally comes out with Aisha in tow.
"Ah's so sorry," she apologizes. "Thank you so much for lettin' us use your bathroom. You have such a beautiful home."
"Monique," Remy says suddenly. "Would you and Aisha like t'join us for breakfast?"
Her eyes go wide, and she waves her hand. "No, no thank you. That's awfully kind but we couldn't possibly impose."
"Non, we insist. Ain't every day we get t'have neighbors over in de city. My wife and I'd love de company. Ain't dat right, chere?" he smiles at me but there's something challenging in his gaze.
"That's right, sugah," I say, my voice saccharine. I turn to Monique and smile at her, and I'm surprised that I feel a bit shy. "If it ain't too much trouble for ya, we'd be honored if ya stay and join us."
She covers her mouth again. "Oh, well, if ya insist!" Her smile lights up the room again. "It did smell real good."
"Yeah, Remy makes a mean omelet."
"Y'got any allergies?" Remy asks over his shoulder.
"Oh, Aisha can't eat gluten, but it's all right… omelets are fine…"
"Hear that, Remy? Gluten-free."
"I heard her, chere," he smirks at me.
And so, we break gluten-free bread with the woman who befriended me over the space between two buildings.
Monique works as a night-shift E.R. nurse and day-trades during the day. Her life as she knew it almost ended when the building Aisha's daycare was caught on fire after a terrorist attack, and she almost lost her only child. But several mutants had aided firefighters in the rescue effort. Aisha only remembered that the woman who saved her that day had a white stripe in her hair, and later identified her as me when I put my foot in my mouth on live T.V.
Monique recently saved enough money to go apartment shopping in Manhattan and got a surprise when she finds a woman with a white stripe in her hair fly onto the rooftop of the building across from her. She felt like it was fate and has been screwing up the courage to come over and say hello and thank you ever since.
"It ain't every day ya get to thank the person who saved you and your daughter's life," she says. "Ain't that right, honey? What do we say to Miss Rogue?"
"Thank you," Aisha says in the way that kids do that feels kinda like she'll get scolded at home if she doesn't.
After breakfast, we just talk over coffee on the living room couch, and it's actually pleasant talking with her. She's polite, genuine and optimistic. Aisha plays with the cats with Remy, who I grabbed a shirt for before we sat down for the meal.
I look at him sitting across from her on the floor, and there is another part of me that coils uncomfortably in my stomach.
"So how long have ya two been married?" Monique asks.
"Almost a year now."
"Still newlyweds," Monique smiles. "Plannin' on havin' any children?"
Dammit, I hate this question. It feels like such an invasion of privacy. But I can't really blame Monique for asking when Remy is there with Aisha and the cats, looking like they belong on the cover of a good parenting magazine.
I shrug. "Maybe later. Not right now."
She shakes her head. "You two would make beautiful babies."
I just smile. Remy is in ear shot, but he doesn't bother to pay us any mind. He gives Aisha treats to feed the cats.
"But it's good to enjoy your time together. 'Cause once that kid arrives, it's a whole other ballgame."
"Ah'm sure," I nod. And when you're mutants, it's a deadly ballgame. "But Aisha is an angel. You're lucky to have her."
"She is, and thanks to you, Ah am," Monique beams, and for a second, she hesitates. "Could Ah ask ya a question? Ah'm not sure if it's polite to be askin', but you two are both mutants, right?"
What Monique doesn't realize is that the baby question was more uncomfortable for me to answer than this one.
I smirk. "What tipped ya off? Me flyin' or his eyes?"
She shakes her head, chuckling. "Ah'm bad at beatin' around the bush, and Ah have no idea what's politically correct anymore, so Ah'm just gonna come out an' say it. How do ya know…? If you're a mutant?"
My eyes widen a bit. Remy turns his head a little.
"What do ya mean?"
"Well, like Ah read some papers on it, even the ones by Professor Charles Xavier, and he says that mutations come in different forms. I understand that if you were born with certain physical traits, it can be pretty obvious. But he also said that that ain't always the case. Like you, Rogue, you can probably just pass as a human. So when did ya know that ya were a mutant, like how did your powers come about?"
I've actually never been fielded this question before from a random stranger and a non-mutant human no less, and I'm trying to figure out how to answer it without confessing to her I may have sort of killed someone in the process, when I feel Remy slide in next to me on the couch.
"Sometimes it kicks in during puberty," he says casually. "Like de way y'voice changes and y'grow pubes."
Monique's eyes are like saucers, nodding in fascination. "So voice change, pubes and the power to fly?"
I smile softly, and Remy looks at me grinningly as he says, "Pretty much."
"Ah also had some skin problems," I tell her.
"Yeah, terrible skin problems," Remy agrees.
"Ya don't say," Monique peers at my face closely. "Well, it cleared up real nice. Ah can barely see any pores on ya they're so fine."
"Thanks," I chuckle, as Remy pokes me playfully in my side.
"Can the mutation ever manifest earlier?"
"It's different for everyone," I tell her.
She nods.
"Why y'so curious, Monique?" Remy asks lightheartedly, but I know that it's a loaded question.
Monique sighs. "Ah think… Ah think Aisha may be a mutant," she whispers looking at her daughter petting the cats.
"Y'don't say," Remy says, looking at the little girl and back to Monique. "What makes y' think so?"
"Well, the other day, Ah think she may have telekinetically moved my glasses across the coffee table," she says very importantly.
"Oh," my eyes widen. "Ya saw the glasses move?"
"Not exactly, but Ah remember placin' it on one corner of the table," she says in a very slow and deliberate tone, dead serious. "And then, Ah took my eyes off of it to pick up the remote control, and the glasses… were not on that same corner Ah had set it down."
Remy and I discreetly exchange glances.
"Here, maybe she can demonstrate it for ya. Aisha, baby, come here."
Aisha looks up, picks up Lucifer from her lap and lumbers to her mom's side. Poor Lucifer looks very uncomfortable. Remy reaches past the coffee table and takes him from her arms with one hand.
"Aisha, now concentrate on the spoon, and try to bend it," Monique says, holding up a teaspoon in front of the little girl's face.
Aisha looks at the spoon, her head tilted to the side.
"Concentrate, baby," Monique says.
Aisha blankly looks at the spoon and goes a little cross-eyed.
"Ya concentratin'?" Monique asks again. "Close your eyes."
Aisha closes her eyes. Still, the spoon is motionless in Monique's hand.
"There!" Monique suddenly says. "Did ya see that?"
"See what?" Remy asks.
"It kinda moved, don't ya think?" Monique scrutinizes the spoon.
Remy and I discreetly exchange glances again. He minutely shakes his head at me, eyes narrowed, mouth in a thin line.
Aisha goes back to playing with the cats.
I nod supportively despite the less than underwhelming display of superpowers. "Was her daddy a mutant?"
Monique snorts. "No, my ex? There was nothin' special about him."
"Are there any mutants in your family? Ah'm only askin' because there's a genetic component to it. "
"None that Ah know of, but Ah do have an eccentric uncle on my mom's side."
I pucker my lips. "Eccentric doesn't always mean mutant," I explain, feeling apologetic for some reason.
"It doesn't?" Remy asks me.
I give him a half-amused, half-disparaging look, but I'm starting to enjoy this conversation just for the sheer novelty of it.
"Well, Professor Xavier also wrote that the mutation doesn't always happen down a family line, and it could be spontaneous," Monique says.
I nod. I'm ashamed to admit that I actually never bothered to read all or any of the Professor's papers on mutantism. "Well, then, Ah guess ya just need to keep an eye on her. She's still young, so ya know, her powers may become more dramatic as she grows older."
Monique nods her head enthusiastically.
I smile at her.
Monique finally slaps her thighs and gets up. "Well, Ah really overstayed my welcome. It was so nice to meet y'all! Thank you so much for breakfast. Best-tastin' omelet I ever had, Remy."
She beams that megawatt smile again.
"Come to think of it, sugah, that smile o' yours may just be a mutant power," I tell her. "Really brightens up the whole city."
She whoops like I made her day.
We show her to the door, and Aisha gives Remy a hug around his leg. I kneel down to give her a proper hug.
I pull her small shoulders into my chest and feel how little her frame is against my body. I pull away to look at her big, brown eyes, which shyly steal furtive glances of me. I wish I remembered rescuing her, but I don't. I barely remember the conflict, and it could be one of several – all a blur, all graphically violent.
"Bye, sugah," I tell her softly, grazing my finger over the dimple on her cheek.
"Bye," she says, giving me a squirmy smile.
I hope to God she is not a mutant, and in the off chance she is, that her powers manifest with as little devastating trauma as possible. I get up and hug Monique, too.
"Oh and if y'all ever need me to run some errands for ya, while ya are busy fightin' bad guys or whatever, here's my number." She hands me her card. "Or ya know, wave me over from your balcony!"
"Thanks. That's mighty kind of ya," I tell her.
"My pleasure. Anythin' to support you DINKs!"
"Pardon?" I ask her.
"DINKs! Dual Income, No Kids! Y'all are the cornerstone of our economic prosperity," she giggles.
We finally say goodbye to her, and I shut the door.
I turn around to face Remy. "Well, that was interestin'."
"It was, wasn't it?" he smirks at me. "Cute kid, too."
"Yeah," I agree. I clear the dishes off the table. "Think she'll become a mutant?"
He just chuckles. "Oh, she'll be a mutant. Monique's gon' make sure she is."
I smile, shaking my head. "Ah never met anyone like her."
"A human who ain't prejudiced against mutants? Sure, y'have, chere."
"No, Ah mean, she seems to think like bein' a mutant is special, and not bein' one is like inferior or somethin'. Ah mean Ah haven't met any non-mutants who think that way."
"Dere a lot o' people who think dat way," Remy says. "Sometimes it's admiration, sometimes it's de fear of bein' inferior dat makes dem hate."
I pile the dishes into the sink and scrape off the food garbage into the disposal.
Remy does that often – randomly drop pearls of wisdom. He also cooks way better than I thought he does. He also does his taxes. He also wants children.
And I suddenly understand it – that line when admiration and fear mingle. When he seems so ahead of me, but I seem so behind.
I'm running the dishes under the water when his arms slide around my waist and looks down at the sink.
"Why you gon' quiet, chere?"
I smile softly. "Why'd ya invite Monique ta stay for breakfast?"
"Southern hospitality, non?"
"That all?"
He pauses and his arm moves past me and turns off the water. "If I'm bein' honest, it was 'cause I was gettin' a li'l concerned f'you."
I turn around and look up at him. "Why? 'Cause Ah was just stayin' cooped up in the house?"
He lifts his brows. "Non, I loved dis past week. Felt like I was getting de honeymoon I finally deserved."
He leans forward, planting his hands on the edge of the sink on either side of me and gazes at me from behind sweeping locks of his hair; for a second, I think deep, contemplative Remy is going to get replaced with sex-demanding Remy.
But then he says, "Anna, you're a bit of a… workaholic. And dese few days, as much as I loved it, I could tell y'were getting a little…" He squints one eye, trying to find the right word. "… unhinged."
He's being real delicate about it.
"Okay," I reply slowly. I take a breath, raising my eyebrow at him. "And ya thought that me gettin' to know the potentially "unhinged" person who lives across from us was a way to fix that?"
He chuckles. "I jus' thought we needed some balance. Ya know, get to know some people who don't wear spandex all de time."
He says we, but I know he means me. Remy is a bit of a social butterfly, and all sorts of people are just naturally drawn to him. And it's not even that hypnotic charm thing, either. He keeps his door open to anyone, even some who I feel like he shouldn't.
And I may not be as popular as him, but I never considered myself reclusive or anti-social, either. Still, I find that I can't really argue with him because just a couple hours ago, I had been absolutely terrified of meeting Monique and Aisha, and bringing them into our home. I still don't understand myself why I had been so afraid.
"Balance," I repeat.
"Oui, balance," he says. "An' I appreciate you prioritizing me and us above all else, but like… maybe don't make it so all-or-nothing."
I just stare at him as he calmly pieces together all the screwed up parts of me, and I don't know if I'm touched or mortified.
"Besides, it's kind' nice getting t'know de people you fighting for, non?"
His words bite into my conscience. I'm not sure if I fight for others anymore. I fight because people expect me to. Because it's easy. Because I'm good at it.
"You okay, chere?" he asks, and I can see he is nervous for me.
"Jesus, Remy," I sigh. I turn my eyes downward and feel my hair flop over. "When did ya become my therapist?"
He chuckles dryly. He pushes the hair out of my eyes, strokes my cheek and lifts my chin to face him. "Chere, sometimes I feel like I know you better dan I know me."
"Am Ah that predictable?" I ask him a little defiantly.
"Non, you ain't. You are hands down de most difficult person I've ever met in my life," he sighs.
I glare at him, giving him no reason to think otherwise.
He straightens, drops his arms and puts his hands into his pants pockets. He looks down at me from his height. "But when de only move you ever really needed to get a fille to open up t' you is t'seduce her wit' touches, and suddenly y' ain't allowed t'use dat move no more? You start studying her real hard t'see what makes her tick.
"De truth is… you're de one heist I failed at, chere. And it wasn't for de lack of planning. I spent more time an' energy trying t'crack you than anything else or anyone else, and in de end?" He shrugs. "I jus' gave up and decided I'd just earn you de honest way. Wit' time and hard, earnest effort."
Holy shit. He says the sweetest things.
He leans back into the counter opposite me and bends down to look at my face with a cocky smirk. "So consider dis my expert opinion," he frowns at me. "You need t'get a job, mon couer."
My face crumbles, and I laugh helplessly.
He smiles at me and ruffles my hair affectionately.
I sigh, combing my hair back. "Ah guess Ah have been goin' a little stir-crazy," I admit. "It's just… harder than Ah thought it would be."
"Resting?"
"Not bein' busy with problems outside of my own, Ah guess. It's like bein' here with you makes my life so front and center, and Ah can't help but think Ah haven't really done anythin' other than fightin' all these years. And Ah don't really know how to deal with my own life, my own problems."
"What kind of problems?"
I look down at the floor and fold my arms in front of me.
"Chere, whatever problems you got naturally be mine now."
I nod. "Remy, ya know how Ah said we weren't ready for kids yet?"
He raises his brows.
"These past few days, Ah realized that you kinda were. Like, ya kinda got your shit together – Ah mean, for Chrissakes, you file your taxes." I throw up a hand in exasperation.
"Dat really shocked you, neh?"
"Yeah, and just seein' ya with Aisha today made me realize, like you would probably be a pretty good dad."
"Chere, are y'saying you want…?"
He stops short when he sees the sadness I can't keep off my face. I shake my head. "The problem is me. Ya're ready, but Ah'm not. Like, if the past few days are any indication, Ah'm not sure if Ah'm really cut out for motherhood. Ah mean Ah can barely take care of myself if Ah'm not constantly fightin' bad guys."
I swallow, glancing up at him. Remy says nothing, his expression nondescript.
I quickly look back down again.
"Don't get me wrong. Ah always dreamed of bein' married with kids," I sigh. "But that was when like touchin' another human being seemed impossible, and it's easy to dream when ya know that dream is impossible. But now that Ah know it may be possible, Ah'm not sure if we should. Ah've seen so many terrible things, awful things that happen to good people, and it scares me. And like between the two of us, there is a more than likely chance our kids are gonna get some crazy ass powers that will make them question why they were even born in the first place. And Ah'm just so afraid that they'll just resent me… or Ah won't be able to protect them…"
His arms quickly surround me and pull me into his chest. He presses his cheek against the top of my hair. I struggle to keep the hysterics back.
"I get it, chere."
"Ah'm sorry."
"Non, don't apologize," he says gently.
He lets me go briefly, holds my hand and drags me out of the kitchen. He makes me sit down on chair in front of the bar and pulls out the other chair and sits right across from me. He clasps my hands with his, placed over my lap, his thighs on either side of me. He briefly looks down before he wets his lips a bit. He takes a deep breath.
"Chere, y'know why I do my taxes?" he asks me. "It's t'keep de IRS off de scent of all de other shady stuff I'm doin' wit' my money."
"What?" I ask and look up at him. His eyes are twinkly, and suddenly I get nervous, but not like in the way I've been nervous up until now, but like nervous the way I've always been nervous for Remy. "What do ya mean shady?"
"Dat ain't de important part," he says with warmth, waving his hand in the air as if he's trying to physically shoo out the idea from my head. "Look, I don't know why y' suddenly got it in y' head dat I got my shit together, but I don't, or didn't…. frankly, I may never."
"Okay."
"And havin' kids wit' you..." he looks at me, and he has a bit of a helpless smile that makes me think he's melting inside. "Mais, y'not de only one who thinks about dose things. I mean de people around us ain't leavin' shining examples of child-rearin'. You'd think a guy like Scott Summers would be the guy to be husband and dad of the year, but… y'know?"
I know. If a pair like Scott and Jean went through that much drama with their children, where did that leave me and Remy?
"So, I'd hate t'disappoint you, but I ain't ready either," he smiles. "And if I'm starting t' look like I got my life all figured out, den… I don't know, chere! Maybe we should get you some help."
"Oh my Gawd," I whisper shakily, closing my eyes.
"You mad?" he asks me tensely.
I throw myself in his arms. "No, Ah'm so happy! Ah mean, relieved! Not happy, actually. Like, we gotta talk 'bout what you're doin' with your taxes… especially, if we're filin' jointly now. But… thank you!"
He chuckles, his arms squeezing my ribs as he picks me up and twirls me once in the air.
I wrap my legs around him and kiss him firmly against his mouth. "Ah love you," I confess breathlessly.
"I love y', too," he whispers in between my fervent kisses.
He carries me towards the bedroom, returning my kisses with as much enthusiasm as I am giving them.
"Ah'm gonna kill ya if Ah get audited though," I moan as he ends up just slamming my back against a nearby wall.
"Oh chere," he breathes hotly against the skin of my neck. "Your tax history is so messed up I might get audited because of you."
I laugh as I hear my leggings kind of rip as he impatiently tugs on it, and I don't care.
Because if there's anyone who deserves to live the rest of their lives with as little clothes to cover them as possible, it should be me.
FIN
Author's Note: So another ending with sex… and exuberance! Remy and Rogue deserve to have exuberantly happy sex. I dedicate this story to the April 15th – hope taxes are going all right for everyone (U.S. people). I hope nobody is unhappy that these two aren't all aboard with having babies just yet, but this is how I interpret Remy and Rogue. I just can't see them doing things in a cookie-cutter way. Please leave me a review!