Oh.

Shit.

One could say I've lived a pretty eventful life – chock full of life-or-death situations, genocide, alien invasions, world takeovers, body takeovers, and the list goes on and on. But it's the ones that hit too close to home that send all the panic buttons to go off in my head.

And I'm looking at one right now.

In my bed, next to me, is not Remy. It's Death.

That is, one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Death.

I woke up in the middle of the night, realizing that we left the bathroom light on, and when I groggily turn on my side to face my sleeping husband, I freeze. Any and all rational thought isn't forthcoming. It's just terror that is purely instinctual, hence:

Oh. Shit.

I just stare at him numbly from my side of the bed. I blink several times, thinking this may be some optical illusion or the sleep in my eyes, but his lying form next to me does not change.

The skin on his face and body is that pitch black color, hair silvery white and strangely billowing, but there is no freaking windows open in this room, and it's making every fine hair on my skin stand on end.

I swallow down the initial shock of seeing him this way again. As I grow more and more awake, I fully come to terms with the fact that I am not dreaming, this is actually happening, and I am at a complete loss for what to do.

Still, the trained X-man in me quickly takes over, and I am silently assessing the level of risk I am in and going through my options of how I should tackle this situation.

From the looks of it, it looks like he's just sleeping.

And then I wonder if Death sleeps.

We've never talked much about his Death days. It was an uncomfortable topic to broach because he literally tried to kill me. And when I later found out he volunteered himself for the job, it was hard not to take it personally. I mean, talk about taking the most painful, life-altering way possible to break up without actually having to break up.

I wonder if he is in any pain right now.

I briefly debate whether I should wake him up. But then what if I just wake up Death and he just picks up where we last left off?

I imagine if that happens I can try absorbing him. I wouldn't even need to touch him. I could do it now – just kind of siphon him off of Remy. But honestly, I don't know if it even works that way.

I lean in a little closer, trying not to jostle anything around us to arouse him awake. I narrow my eyes to peer at his face. I notice that his eyelashes are white but just as long. Without warning, and it's not even a sudden movement, his eyes just slowly open.

Immediately, mine are shut. I pretend I'm sound asleep.

Universal fact: Pretend sleeping is hard. I'm on my side, and our faces are a few inches apart. I have this creepy feeling he's looking at me. And not even a few seconds into my act, I have this ungodly need to scratch the tip of my nose.

A few more moments pass of me trying to act like I'm in deep slumber while mentally convincing myself that my nose is not itching. Bare few seconds feel like hours. I think about just turning onto my other side, but then I would have my back to him, and that's also a terrifyingly vulnerable position to be in.

I am curious if he didn't just close his eyes shut as naturally as he had opened them and dozed back off to sleep. Maybe he's not even Death anymore. Maybe if I open my eyes, I can find that he's back to normal.

And suddenly, my thoughts come to a screeching halt and that itch on my nose is instantaneously forgotten as I feel him shift and block the light shining from the bathroom, plunging me into a deeper darkness. Then I feel his fingers trail through a lock of hair on my temple. Every skin cell on my body stands at attention as a chill goes down my spine. My digestive organs cuddle up against each other for comfort as fingers cold as ice tenderly caress down my cheek. I can feel the energy coming off of him, pulsing all around him, making me hold my breath.

I brace my jaw shut to keep myself from making any sound. But finally, morbid curiosity gets the better of me and I slowly peel open my eyes, just a bare slither, letting out a quivery breath.

Bright crimson pupils flash and zero in on me, I flinch back, but it feels like my back is against a wall, suddenly paralyzed. His freezing cold fingers grips the back of my neck, wrenching my face towards him. His face warps into a smile all too wide and zooms in towards me like he's going to suck the flesh off my face.

I gasp loudly, clamoring up to sitting.

I'm in the bed. Daylight pours in through the windows. My heart is still racing in my chest, and my breath is shallow. I can still numbly feel where his hand was, a phantom tingle at the nape of my neck.

What the hell?

I slowly pull my knees up, leaning forward into them, and feel my long hair spill down around my shoulders. I cover my eyes shakily with my hand.

"Oh, hey. You 'wake?"

I jump a bit, startled. I see Remy passing by the bedroom door, fully dressed and holding a French press of freshly brewed coffee.

He surveys my expression, sets down the coffee and comes into the room. He sits on the bed facing me, a hand against the side of my head.

"You okay? What's wrong?" he asks, leaning into my face with a look of concern.

"Nothin'," I manage. "Just… a nightmare."

But was it just a nightmare?

"You real pale," he says, stroking the hair back out of my face and pressing his palm up against my cheek.

His hand is so nice and toasty, and it smells like coffee. I put my hand over his and press my cheek into his palm.

"Must've been some nightmare, chere," he says, smiling at me.

I look up at him, still pressing his warm hand to my face and just take in the way he looks. Locks of swept hair, auburn in the sunlight, fall haphazardly across one side of his flesh-colored face. His long, dark lashes curtain his deep-set eyes, a hint of concern between his brows.

"Are you okay?" I ask suddenly.

"Me?" he asks.

"Ah mean, did ya sleep well?"

"Mais, oui," he answers. "Obviously better than you, neh?"

"Heh, yeah," I relax a bit. He hasn't removed his hand from my face, and I'm grateful for it. I squeeze my fingers around his and finally pull his hand down. "Coffee smells good."

"Yeah, better hurry up if y'want some. Kitty's anxious t'have us back."

"Right," I tell him. I'm officially back to full-time teaching at the Institute now. I let go of his hand and draw my legs out from underneath the covers. I look at the adjoining bathroom door. "Hey, were the lights in the bathroom on last night?"

"Hm?" he pauses as he gets up, following my gaze to the bathroom door. "Oh yeah, think dey were on the whole night."

So I hadn't imagined the reason I woke up.

"Rogue," he says. "I got an early training session wit' a student, so I'm gon' head off first. You good?"

"Oh, yeah," I nod, smiling at him wanly.

He kisses me. "See you at school, Mrs. LeBeau."

"No one calls me that."

He kisses me again. "I'm gon' make it stick. Y'just watch, chere."

I chuckle lightly as he heads out the door. "Please leave me some coffee."

"It's all yours, mon couer," he says.

"Thank you," I call after him. "Love you."

"Love you too," he announces back.

I smile. But after I hear the front door close after him, my smile fades.

So the man is an angel – an angel that may be harboring Death.

I look to my side at his pillow. There is a sensation you get almost immediately after you wake from a dream. No matter how realistic that dream had been, once you wake up, the very notion that you had believed it to be real seems ridiculous.

But that sensation does not dawn on me no matter how long I sit there. I am merely convincing myself, holding out the hope that it had been nothing but a nightmare.

The Xavier Institute for Mutant Outreach. Central Park.

"What exactly are you looking for, Rogue?" Kitty asks over my shoulder.

I'm going through the database in Cerebra on any and all information on the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and it's a lot of information that is all over the place.

"You know anythin' 'bout how the whole Horsemen transformation thing works?" I ask her, swiping through the information.

"It's like selling your soul to the devil, right? You get freaky augmented powers for complete servitude?" Kitty muses.

I nod. "So are you like Apocalypse's henchmen for life? He has you on a leash and that persona takes over whenever he needs you or what?"

"I don't know. It seems like it's really case by case. Most recently, I had to deal with Bobby getting some Apocalypse power amps."

I hadn't been around for that ordeal. But apparently Iceman went all snowzilla on the world. "Was he a horseman?"

"No, more like a mule," she muses. "The Dark Beast had hidden an Apocalypse seed in him and it turned him into something monstrous."

"How did he get back to normal?"

"Well, Thor was there to remove the seed. But even after the source is removed, it's kind of like the damage is done and that other power-hungry persona is there to stay," she sighs. "It took a while for Bobby to come back from that. I think the whole ordeal leaves some psychological scars on you. Like it's Bobby, right? He's the last person you would expect to go megalomaniac."

I nod thoughtfully. "Yeah, it's hard to imagine our Popsicle doin' any harm."

"You should ask Remy about it. He was there – tried to help Bobby and everyone through it."

"He did?" I ask.

Kitty nods. "As far as I know, Remy is one of the few who managed to come back from being a horseman with the least amount of long-term identity damage. He and Polaris even joke about it, like they're part of a club."

I smile. "That's my Cajun. Maybe that cockiness is ingrained into his DNA."

"Or maybe he knew something about the transformation before he submitted himself to it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, he asked Apocalypse not to sedate him or give him anything for the pain when the transformation took place. He said it was a not-so-successful attempt to keep himself from losing his mind to the Death seed. But apparently, according to those who survived it, that desire to stay you and not lose yourself does help you snap out of it."

I frown a bit. "Oh."

"I'm surprised you didn't know. You never talked about it with Remy?"

I shake my head.

"Well, I guess it's not that pleasant of a conversation. And the only reason he shared it with us was because of what I was going through with Bobby at the time. He was trying to comfort me."

"Comfort you how?"

"Well, I guess, for Remy, the one thing that kept him from completely transforming into Death was his love for you. So he thought that maybe I could be that motivation for Bobby. But we broke up as soon as he got freed." Kitty shrugs, her expression blasé.

"Ah'm sorry?" I offer.

She gives a short laugh. "Bobby and I were hardly serious. And we all know now that his problems at the time were not because of his girlfriend issues."

I process what she says quietly, because it's a fresh take on what I consider one of the lowest points in my life.

If my leaving him in Antarctica was the beginning of the end for us, him turning to Apocalypse for what I thought was some drastic new purpose in life was probably the end. It was my wake-up call that our relationship was too messed up for me to salvage. Unable to confirm if he was dead or alive, let alone get any questions answered to what the hell he was thinking, I came out the other end with every part of me completely shattered beyond recognition, and it didn't help having Mystique next to me, mocking me with her I-told-you-so's.

As an X-man, though, what followed were probably my most formative years as a superhero. I got a lot of work done, and I found out that I wasn't half-bad at it.

I wasn't happy, of course, not in that stupidly elated way that he always made me. As it turned out, nothing really filled that Remy-shaped hole in my heart. But I wasn't unhappy, either. And at that time, I thought that was good enough for the rest of my life. No highs for no lows – it seemed like a fair trade.

Kitty smiles wistfully at me. "But after hearing Remy say that, I don't know, it made me think you guys definitely had something worth saving," she says blithely. "It's satisfying to see you two so happy after all these years. I'm glad you found a way to make it work."

It's sad that I'm only becoming aware of this almost a year after being married to him.

I return Kitty's smile. "Guess all it took was a leap of faith."

"Pssh… leap of faith," she rolls her eyes. "It's called couples' therapy forced upon by a-yours a-truly."

"Yes, and that. As jacked up as that experience was," I allow her. "Thanks again, Pryde."

She nudges me with her elbow. "This is when you offer me out for lunch today."

I sigh, and then I turn to her with a plastic smile. "Would ya like to get some lunch with me, Headmistress? Ah'm buyin'."

"Well, let me check my schedule, Mrs. LeBeau," she makes a show of checking her smart watch. "Yup, all free. I'd be delighted.

I raise a brow at her. "Mrs. LeBeau? Seriously?"

She shrugs. "Remy's pushing it on the students."

"Well Ah guess he did warn me he'd be doin' that."

"Did you really take his name?" Kitty asks.

"Yeah, why wouldn't Ah? Beats keepin' Mystique's name."

"I guess. I would never give up my name."

"I wouldn't give up your name either, sugah," I tell her smirking. "But names never meant much to me. I still feel the most at home with Rogue."

She nods. "Yeah, me, too."

"Anna-Marie LeBeau sounds so excessively romantic, don't it?" I snort. "If that ain't the name of a swooning damsel in distress, I don't know what is."

"Or like a beauty pageant queen! Introducing Miss Mississippi! Anna! Marie! LeBeau!" she announces and then mimics the sound of a crowd cheering.

I chuckle, shaking my head.

"Hey, speaking of beauty pageants, let's go get some daiquiris, too!"

"What's the correlation?"

"There isn't, I just wanted a segue to get drinks."

"Day-drinkin', Kitty?" I ask her. "Really?"

"Absolutely," she nods firmly. "How do you think I manage on this job? A cabinet full of liquor, that's how."

"Damn, girl," I pivot to stare at her. "All right, let's get ya liquored up at noon."

Tribeca Apartment. Manhattan, New York.

My search into the Cerebra database get me some answers as to how the powers develop, what the outcome of each transformation was, but it doesn't provide any regarding how to move forward when your case of Death isn't clearing up like you hoped. I called Warren to see if he could avail me to some answers – him being the longest standing Apocalypse Death stand-in I know. But when he returned my call, I just made up a random reason for calling and ended the phone conversation without mentioning anything about being a Horseman.

Despite his long-term experience with being Death, I get the impression that Warren dealt with it in a drastically different way than Remy. For Warren, I think a part of him needed the powers that Apocalypse supplied, and it took the Professor's help to psychologically get him to the comfort level he was at now. Remy wasn't ever seeking out more power – he was possibly trying to sequester it to protect the X-men.

So after many fruitless attempts, I'm back at home with Remy on the sofa watching late night TV. I'm too preoccupied with what might happen tonight to pay attention to what's on the screen.

Death may reappear tonight after Remy falls back to sleep or he may not. Either way, I feel like I need some kind of plan of action. Alerting Remy about this predicament does cross my mind. I stare at him, watching him watch T.V.

I wonder how you start a conversation like this.

He notices my eyes on him. "What?"

"Nothin'," I say and look back at the screen. I convince myself that if these nightly Death visits become a recurring problem, I can tell him then. I don't think I should worry him about it now, and this excuse seems good enough to avoid this awkward conversation.

My plan is yet to be half-formed when Remy sits up and stretches. His long arm extends past my shoulder and then settles there. "You ready to go to bed?"

"Yeah, sure. Ah mean, yes," I state firmly, determined. "Yes, Ah am."

"Okay," he draws out slowly, pausing at my tone of voice. He turns off the T.V. and then leans into me, smiling crookedly. "So you don't want t' fool around a bit?"

I raise my brows, and then think about his proposition, my incomplete plan of action, any benefits for, any conflicts against, and I finally nod business-like. "Actually, yeah. Let's fool around."

"Glad you approve," he chuckles, his eyes crinkling.

"But Ah'm gonna be on top," I warn him quickly. "Like, the whole time."

"All right, chere," he says, shrugging, not certain what to do with my conviction on the matter.

"Actually," I grab his arm. "We haven't done bondage in a while. Let's do that."

He blinks a few times, wordlessly staring at me. "I was gon' ask if you're feeling okay, but I'm just gon' assume you are better than fine. I'll go get de handcuffs."

I shake my head, and pull him up off the sofa. "No, that won't do. Let's go for the chains and shackles."

He gasps. "Chere, I thought we weren't gon' do dat no more 'cause we keep on destroyin' de bed."

"Just stay still then."

"You're chainin' me?" he asks, surprised.

"Oh yeah," I tell him as I pull him into the bedroom. "It's all about you tonight, sugah."

"Merde, I love married life."

A Few Moments Later

"Y'know, chere," Remy sighs, squirming uncomfortably. "I appreciate de enthusiasm and your dedication to your role an' all. But dis thing went from kinky BDSM to a scene from 'Misery' like three padlocks ago."

I look at him, lying splayed out on the bed with both arms and legs tied down to the end posts of the bed, and chains wrapping up each limb and across his torso, and I fully realize how ridiculous this plan is, along with how much disturbing amounts of chains we have in storage.

"Oh Gawd, you're right," I moan, feeling pangs of guilt. "This was such a stupid idea!"

"It's still salvageable," he reassures me. "Y' mostly just need to work on y' demeanor, and maybe stop pacin' back an' forth."

"Jesus, Ah don't know what the hell Ah was thinkin'," I exhale, shaking my head. I sit back on the bed, removing the locks I placed on him. "This ain't gonna work!"

"What ain't gon' work? Are we not talkin' 'bout sex no more?"

Remy looks at me with an understandably confused expression, and I decide to come clean. "Ah have somethin' to confess to you, an' ya ain't gonna like it."

His eyebrow is raised, arms still bound in chains.

I swallow. "Ya remember how Ah told you Ah had a nightmare last night?"

"Yeah."

I clear my throat. "Well, Ah don't think it was a nightmare."

"You gon' have to explain it better than dat, chere."

I take a deep breath. "Remy, Ah think ya kinda changed into Death and sorta came at me in your sleep."

He blinks a few times, eyes getting wider with each blink. And finally, "WHAT?!"

The chains on him rattle, and I hear a crunch of wood splintering off.

There goes another headboard. This plan definitely wouldn't have worked.

He looks at an arm he inadvertently freed and then back at me, eyes wide and brows furrowed in anger. "Wha – what happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

I open my mouth to no words, and I just suddenly realize how poorly I have executed this conversation.

"Yeah, yeah, Ah'm fine!" I blurt out and just start focusing on removing the chains from his middle, flustered and angry with myself. "Nothin' happened, or Ah don't think anythin' happened. Ah kinda blacked out a bit, so Ah wasn't sure if it was even real. And honestly, maybe none of it was real! Maybe it was all a nightmare!"

While I'm talking, he must have somehow slipped his other arm from his bonds, and his hand seizes mine and forces me to stop my movements and look at him.

"Rogue, you should have told me earlier. You should have told me last night!"

"It all happened so fast! And Ah didn't know if it was somethin' Ah just dreamt up. Honestly, Ah'm still not sure if any of it was actually real," I tell him emphatically. "And ya know what, this shouldn't even be about me! This is about you! Why do you not sound shocked that ya turned back into Death? Why are you just worried about me?!"

He grimaces. "I thought I had it under control now."

My heart sinks.

I stare at Remy quietly, and seeing him in chains makes this whole thing seem so sick and wrong.

"Ah'm not hurt," I tell him quietly. "You kinda mostly just slept. Or… it… Death mostly just slept."

I pull off the chains again, more slowly, more gently. Remy is still quiet, unable to look at me.

"In fact, maybe Ah scared him," I shrug with an air of nonchalance. "Ah did kinda rudely stare at him sleep for a bit… maybe he didn't appreciate that…"

"What were you thinking?" he asks crossly. "You thought you'd chain me t'de bed and hoped to exorcise him?"

"No, Ah thought about what would happen if Ah saw him again tonight, and Ah wanted to be a little more prepared."

"Chainin' me down so I don't attack you."

"No!" I scoff at him. "It ain't the attackin' part Ah'm afraid of. Shoot, Ah'm like functionally immortal now. Ah ain't the same Rogue that Death encountered last time."

My show of bravado doesn't impress him. He quietly waits for my actual reason, his expression grim.

"It was, ya know, to keep ya from…" I mumble, the last of my words kind of peter down to an embarrassed silence.

"What?"

"To keep ya from… ya know."

"Non, I don't know," he says, his voice irritated.

"From leavin'!" I finally spit out. I self-consciously look away from him. "Ah was afraid ya might just take off like last time."

I can feel his eyes on me, probably contemplative and sullen. He lets out a short, humorless laugh. He buries his head into his hands. "Dieu, dis situation is so messed up."

I sigh, looking down at his chained legs. "Look, Ah wasn't gonna originally chain ya up. That was me just improvisin' 'cause Ah got a little nervous last minute," I explain. "Ah didn't wanna get violent on you. Ah didn't think Ah could – even if you were in your Death form, even if Ah could claim self-defense. But if Ah get hurt in the process, knowin' you…? You freak out if Ah get smacked around a bit in the Danger Room!"

"Oui, I get it," he sighs. "Still… you should have told me."

"Ah didn't really know how to bring it up. Ah'm sorry we had to hash it out this way, but Remy," I sigh. I pull my hair back in frustration. "You never talked about it – not a word. Not to me anyhow. And we've been married a year now."

He looks down, forearms balanced on his knees.

"I didn't really know how to bring it up," he says, repeating my excuse.

"Yeah," I sigh. "We're quite the pair."

He rubs his fingers over his eyes. He finally lets out an exasperated chuckle.

I say nothing. And the silence between us stretches for an awkward moment.

"I'm sorry."

"Ya don't need to apologize," I tell him. "If there's anyone who understands what it's like having someone else take your driver's seat, it's me. Ah can write volumes."

His hand covers mine, stroking my fingers absentmindedly. "I'm sorry for leaving you… back den."

I look at his hand and weave his fingers with mine. "It… it wasn't you. It was because of Death," I say, unsure. "Right?"

He smiles sadly, eyes looking down at our joined hands. "Right."

I frown at him. "Gawd, Ah wish Ah believed you. Couldn't ya have tried to be a little more convincing?"

He chuckles a bit morosely. "I wasn't right in my head den. It took almost losin' you to realize how far I had let myself drift."

But we did lose each other then, if not to death, to exhaustion and heartbreak.

He idly spins the wedding band around my finger with his thumb. "I said dis really beautiful speech t'you… 'bout how I done y' wrong. An' it was like straight out of one of those romance novels you used t'read. 'Cept y'were kind' catatonic and dealin' with 8 billion voices in your head at de time." He smiles, his brows still furrowed. "But it was pure poetry."

I smirk, rolling my eyes. "How convenient for you that's there's no way for me to verify that claim."

"It was like de prettiest, most heartfelt apology a man could say to a woman." He shakes his head like it's a damn shame.

"Did a single teardrop fall from your eye?"

He squints. "Jus' between you an' me, chere, I think I did get a li'l misty-eyed."

"Over me? Or were ya just that impressed with your own poetry?"

He chuckles again, low and somber.

I sigh, looking at his thumb still spinning the ring on my finger. "We really took the long and booby-trapped road gettin' here, sugah."

"Nothing in life worth having is easy t'get, non?"

I lift my eyebrows and smile at him helplessly. "Amen to that," I whisper.

He stops fidgeting with my ring and just holds my hand. "I know dis Death thing may be hard to accept, but I wouldn't have proposed t'you unless I was certain dat I got dis thing under control. So last night's events notwithstanding, I'd like you to trust me. I won't hurt you again. Or leave you."

My eyes widen a bit.

His eyes on me are steady – there is no winking pretense. His voice is deep and anchored. There's something in the way he presents this to me that seems more seasoned and savvy than I've ever known him.

"Okay, Remy," I answer, and strangely I feel no uncertainty as I do. I'm not even thinking of a contingency plan if things go south. I guess this is what full trust feels like.

He squeezes my hand.

"So, ya gonna go beat him up in your mind or somethin'? Keep him behaved? Make Death your bitch?"

He chuckles. "Is dat what y'do?"

"Ah have my ways," I shrug arrogantly. "Ah'm available for consultation by the way."

"Hmm," he says, narrowing his eyes. "I don't know, chere. Judgin' by how you performed tonight, ain't sure if y' can really dominate anything."

My mouth falls open. "Oh, what? You did not just go there, Cajun."

"Think I jus' did."

"Lie down on the bed. Now," I order, pressing all five digits of my hand firmly onto the middle of his chest and shove him down.

He suddenly grabs me, yanking me down by the waist with him. The expression he favors me with is nothing but charisma. And then, he is all passion and hunger as his mouth finds mine, and his hands sear down my body.

Before I know it, my eyes are closed and I'm trying to keep up. He takes both my wrists into his hands, makes me hold onto the headboard. His kisses are urgent but intoxicating, as he runs his hands down the length of my arms, and sides, and down to the small of my back, and finally pulls his lips away from mine.

My mouth is ajar as I feel him breathe hotly against my cheek. He nips at my ear.

"Easy t' bait, too," he tsks.

I blink, punch-drunk and trying to catch my breath. He lays back, hands clasped behind his head and looks up at me smugly. I glance up and find my arms chained to the top of the bed.

"Now, we gon' do this my way, chere," he says dangerously. He narrows his eyes, suddenly pulling his hands out and waves all ten fingers at me.

"What? No… don't ya dare!"

Spirit fingers hover towards my ribs.

My eyes dilate in terror. "Remy… don't. Don't – nononono-!"

And he freaking never listens. I shriek in laughter and the headboard just rips apart in half.

"Damn it, Remy!"

He laughs with pure evil joy.

Some Time Later

True to Remy's word, Death did not visit me that night. It didn't even visit me the next night, and the next, and the next, and then I just started missing sleep. By then, I could care less if he killed me while I slept, as long as I slept.

Eventually, I had just forgotten about it. New conflicts, strange happenings and other manners of SOS's that make up the everyday routine of our superhero lives hardly provide me the time to dwell on this other persona that is housed within him. But mostly, Remy doesn't dwell on it, so I don't dwell on it. His lack of concern over the matter glosses over its existence – it always had.

It's the middle of the night again. I get up, feeling a slight chill like having an air conditioner at my back. I turn on my other side, and I see Death, once again.

Except he's not sleeping this time. This time, he's sitting up on the bed, ankles crossed, back against the headboard.

Remy and I had fallen asleep after making love, so he and I are both in the nude, sharing the same covers. So I'm naked in bed with Death. The turn of phrase sounds like it could be a title of an album or the name of a crazy strong drink.

Strangely, I'm not as panicked as the first time. His hair is still that platinum color, eerily billowing. But there is something about him just sitting there, the city lights filtering in through the bedroom windows and reflecting off his freshly-poured-asphalt-like skin, that makes him seem ethereal and statuesque. His eyes are open and trained at me. They glow red, but Remy's eyes glow red, so if anything his eyes are the most familiar feature about him and I wordlessly stare back into them.

"You're calm this time."

His voice is just Remy's. I was expecting something raspy and ancient, or maybe something that sounded like the Deep Throat informant. I can't remember what he sounded like when he had first changed into Death. I was too busy being traumatized to note any voice differences, but I get the feeling now that Death may have been just as frazzled after being freshly grafted onto Remy.

"So are you," I answer. My voice is surprisingly delicate. I speak to him like I speak to burn victims and children and Remy in the bedroom.

And that's when I realize that's who he is. He is just as much Remy in the bedroom as the persona that originated from Apocalypse.

"Can Ah ask why you're here?" I venture, still looking up at him from my pillow, lying next to his side.

He tilts his face towards me and then languidly sweeps his eyes down my body and unhurriedly back up to my face.

"I'm here to proposition you."

What?

Something recoils in me, and my body moves on its own accord. I cautiously pull away from him and sit up. I quickly catch the thin blanket sliding off my naked form and clutch it to my chest.

"No need for modesty. I see everything through his eyes," he says matter-of-factly. He lacks Remy's jocular mannerisms. He's as serious as… well, death.

I still keep the blanket covering my body, shifting around so he can't see my side or back either.

"What kind of proposition?" I ask warily.

"Nothing sexual, if that's what concerns you," he sneers. A corner of his mouth pulls up and it's a little too wide for his face. The fact that this indeed is not Remy hits home.

"Yeah, well, you lookin' me up and down is sendin' some mixed messages, buddy."

He chuckles in a barely audible way, grinning at me in a Cheshire fashion. "Sex does not interest me."

Oh, Remy, if only you can hear yourself talk.

"And what does?"

"I long to be freed from this body."

"Trouble with the landlord?"

"I desire to be inside you."

"Yeah, still gettin' mixed messages."

"The constitution of your body and mind is more fluid, more compatible to my nature. You are chimeric in a way he can never be. He is too self-reliant and would rather die before willingly freeing me, even if it meant his survival."

That does sound like Remy. So he's saying he would get more field time if he was a persona in me.

"Should Ah be flattered?" I raise a brow at him. "But if this is a proposition, what's in it for me?"

"You'll find that my powers will serve you nicely, and given the nature of your biology, you would utilize them more fully than he ever could without the need to repress me. Your DNA make-up grants you that freedom. His, however, is an ever-present struggle to keep me backed into a corner."

I wonder if this insight into my powers comes from Remy or from just independent observation. If it's the latter, then Remy is allowing this persona a lot of liberties, practically letting Death eke out an existence and grow conscious thought separate from his own.

"Ah'm maxed out on power, sugah. Besides, Ah guarantee moving in with me won't be as pleasant as you hope. It seems like he's letting you freeload on a nice grassy pasture over there, but over on my side, you'll find yourself wedged in a space tighter than a storage closet of a Hong Kong high-rise."

He gives pause, narrowing his eyes.

I point at myself. "You're gonna have to compete for Momma's attention is what Ah'm sayin'."

I think he may actually reconsider his proposition when he then says, "You would also get to free the man you love from the burden that is Apocalypse."

It's reason enough for me to keep listening.

"The seed is a state of dormancy. Given the right condition of Apocalypse's choosing, the seed can sprout and grow. There is a grander scheme that is involved with Apocalypse's dissemination into mutantkind. This is your chance to exclude him from that final manifestation."

I wait for more explanation, but he doesn't offer any more than that.

"Let's say that Ah'm interested," I say slowly. "How would we transfer you into me?"

"The same way you take on any other mutant power. You would fully absorb my persona into you. It's on your terms, Rogue."

It's the first time he calls me by my name, and he says it as comfortably as Remy would.

"Well, Ah gotta say, Ah am a little tempted," I admit candidly. I meet his eyes with a feeling akin to gratitude. I can't help but think it's a pretty civil and kind gesture, even if it ultimately means I would potentially get enslaved to Apocalypse. "But Ah'm gonna have to respectfully decline. As much as Ah'd like to relieve my husband from the consequences of his past actions, if he were to find out that burden was on me now, it would kill him in a way you or Apocalypse never could."

He sneers a little derisively and dismissively looks away from me. It's as if he expected my answer.

"But you already knew Ah'd decline," I surmise.

"I can't be independent from the state I'm in, and I grow weary of the spinelessness he imbues me with. I'm trapped here, limited by the scope of his ambitions and his utter lack of interest in power."

"It takes power to let power go," I smile. "It's what Ah respect the most about him."

He looks at me then, a little curiously. Slowly, hesitantly, he stretches his hand forward. My first instinct is to flinch away, but I control it, staying still. He notices it, pauses momentarily, then reaches the rest of the way, grazing his hand down my face, barely touching it.

I can feel the chill off of him, the same pulsing energy.

"You have a toxin in you that is killing you from the inside," he says, emotionless.

My eyes widen in surprise.

"There is very little that can destroy you, but you've managed to expose yourself to one despite those impossible odds."

"How do you…?" I start, taken aback.

My infection to M-Pox is something I keep under wraps. It's one of those things I have a hard time accepting – to be this powerful yet to be unable to heal it away. I stave off the disease from spreading with periodic injections whenever the symptoms flare up, but surprisingly, I haven't experienced any in my recent memory.

"My powers include the ability to transmute toxins. Toxins can be both poison and potion depending on its application."

I raise my brow. "Are… are you sayin' you cured me?"

"Curing you, a little at a time, while you sleep," he says. "You aren't cured yet."

"Is this your way of tryin' to bribe me?" I ask, suddenly uncertain of my position here.

"No," he states simply. "My aid is unconditional and even unknown to my host."

"You mean Remy doesn't know you've been healin' me?"

He says nothing, still expressionless.

"Why?" I ask him.

"Why indeed," he muses to himself. "The need to look after you may be something that has bled into me over the years of being in this body. Even I can't turn a blind eye to you because of his fixation."

My jaw kind of falls open. I think Death just confessed that he cared for me. I'm about to get a little doe-eyed at this, but he sneers again.

"But an attachment such as this can only become reactive. He's at his most dangerous when his protective instincts are incited," he says, looking at me pointedly with his wide Joker-like grin. "The way I see you fight, you aren't the type to be slowly killed from an infection. You'll eventually meet an untimely and violent death by your own reckless actions, Rogue. And I'll be there to witness the havoc he'll wreak on this world because of it."

I remind myself that Remy's Death is not a pre-cog like Destiny. But that soft and squishy feeling I got for him has dampened somewhat.

But not all of it.

I shrug my shoulders whimsically. "Or maybe we'll find a way to cheat you. Stranger things have happened in our line of work. Either way, it looks like we're in it for the long haul." I smile at him, rather fondly. "So welcome to the family, sugah."

He closes his eyes, an irked expression between his brows. "I hate the lot of you."

I chuckle. "But you look after me anyway," I point out. "Guess you're more of an X-man than a Horseman."

His face is cold and unfeeling, terribly chic with his billowing platinum hair atop Remy's model-perfect bone structure. He looks at me like I'm beneath him, but now I know that he kind of likes me despite himself. I grin at him stupidly, and he makes a short noise of contempt and looks away.

I expect he has more to say, so I just wait, sitting there looking at him. But he closes his eyes and the dark skin, white hair and the coldness gradually dissolve like sand swirling off of a surface. The last of Death cascades away, leaving Remy's sleeping form to slump to his side as the animation leaves him. I quickly catch him, cradling him in my arms.

His breath is long and deep, entrenched in peaceful slumber. His body is warm against mine. I press my cheek against his hair.

I had wanted to thank Death for curing me, but really, it's Remy I should thank. Remy and his crazy ass courage.

Who could have ever imagined that a seed can be changed by the soil it's planted in? Perhaps Death was coerced or perhaps Death was inspired by the freedom he was reluctantly captive to – the freedom to allow even Death, Horseman of the Apocalypse, to break away from the confines of convention and given the option to redefine himself within the walls of Remy's being.

I nestle my face against him, smiling at the irony. Loving it.

FIN

Author's Note: So this fic was a bit oddball, even for me. But I needed some closure on Remy's death persona and Rogue's M-pox status, and I thought it would be poignant if their respective chronic diseases somehow resolved each other. My favorite part of writing this one was Rogue's banter with Death. I kind of took some creative liberties with him... I know it's drastically different with how he is in the comics. Please leave me a review if you thought it was okay!

All characters belong to Marvel. But I wish Remy and Rogue were mine.

Two other lines I got directly from somewhere else that I want to give credit for:

"Nothing in life worth having is easy to get." (I feel like this may be a popular turn of phrase but I first heard it from an episode of House M.D. and it stuck with me.)

"You got the power to let power go?" (A line from Kanye West's "Power")