Chapter 4 – Awakening
Summary:
Separately, Rogue and Gambit begin to come to terms with their new status quo. Neither are happy about what they've learned.
Rogue curled up in the fetal position on the bed beside Remy's in the medlab. She shivered uncontrollably and it took all her effort to remember to breathe. Her head throbbed in time the beat of her heart. If Remy's head hurt half as bad as hers did, it was a near miracle that he managed to hold his own as long as he had before she'd absorbed him.
Oh God, she absorbed her husband with a kiss….
The reality of what she had done once again slammed against her. Her heart thundered deafening in her ears and she could not catch her rapid breath. For a time after Cody, her kiss had become her weapon of choice. How many of her foes had she incapacitated with the brush of her lips? Somewhere along the way it had changed. With Remy it had changed.
Still, her record, even with him, wasn't all sunshine and roses. Today, it had felt like Israel…Antarctica…all over again. Her brain was inundated and oversaturated with Remy's psyche, taken without his permission. She couldn't tell where she ended and he began. Or, was that supposed to be the other way around? He'd been out of control and panicked. He was threatening to blow them all to smithereens. While he needed to be stopped, it had been her decision, and her decision alone, to wield her powers as a weapon against her husband.
Tears prickled her eyes. In solitary paths, they traveled along the curve of her cheek or the slant of her nose until they landed, dappling the sheets with their presence. Despite her heavy heart and her aching psyche, Rogue concentrated on the foreign presence filling her mind and consuming her thoughts. The practice of sorting through psyches, processing them and locking them away until they were needed, was second nature to her by now. Especially Remy's. She'd absorbed him so many times—intentionally and unintentionally—that Remy's psyche was as familiar to her as her own. Most of the time she didn't even need to bother locking his psyche away. After sharing which memory he wished to impart, Remy's psyche would make his own way to the space in her brain allocated for him.
This. This wasn't Remy. The psyche fought her worse than the most headstrong and rebellious psyches in her collection. When the psyche finally settled down enough to begin processing him, she couldn't grab hold of a single shared thought or memory. His memories had been ravaged, torn apart with a savage cruelty.
No. That wasn't quite right. The cruelty was there, but the trimming had been meticulous. It wasn't like bits of memory had just faded away, lost in a jumbled mess after a strike to the head. The memories were missing. His time with the X-Men was not even a distant memory, it was simply gone as if he'd never been part of the team. Every trace of her, the life they had built together, and their daughters had been erased. Israel and Seattle, Antarctica, Madripoor and Valle Soleada no longer existed for him.
A scream rang in her head. She clasped her hands over her ears. Squeezing her eyes shut tight, she turned her vision inwards, seeking anything familiar, the comfort of home and harbor. This was all wrong. Tainted. Stolen.
"Rogue, Rogue."
Somewhere in the midst of the chaos, she recognized her name. A heavy hand was on her shoulder, shaking her out of her wild thoughts. Claws dug into her arm, but did not break skin. She followed the sensation. In the back of her brain, she knew that if she couldn't calm down on her own, they would sedate her. Indiscriminately, locking away the recent absorption of Remy, Rogue focused on the external sensations.
Her pillow was damp with tears and her cheek pressed against a crease in the pillowcase. The sheet tangled around her legs like a snare. Goosebumps ran along the frigid skin of her arms and her teeth chattered as though that alone could warm her. Her fingers knotted between the links of the inhibitor bracelet, warping the metal and machinery within. Beast's hand rested on her shoulder, grounding her. She concentrated on the individual strands of fur, the careful pressure against her skin, the controlled danger of the claws.
Rogue swallowed hard as her breathing returned to something akin to normal. She couldn't tell if her heartbeat was back in time; it seemed to beat in a double tattoo as it had been torn asunder.
"They're gone." Her throat burned and the words felt like sandpaper as she rasped. She'd been the one screaming, filling the silence with terror. "His memories…they're gone."
"What do you mean?" With the hand not grounding her, Beast pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"When I absorbed Remy, it was all wrong." The words spilled out of her as she tried to convey the sense of wrongness. Hank listened without interrupting the flow of her of her ramblings, parsing the unmitigated flow of words for answers to this most recent of mysteries. She talked until she no longer possessed the ability to string words together in a coherent matter. The pauses between thoughts grew longer and longer until they eventually drifted into silence of a restless slumber.
Behind her closed eyes, Rogue dreamed of the streets of New Orleans, of picking pockets, of sleeping with one eye open, and never having enough to fill her belly.
Beast cupped his hands around the mug of coffee as he made his way back to the infirmary. Heat seeped into the pads of his fingers and just inhaling the rich, strong beverage was enough to jolt the exhaustion from his body. He'd only managed to catch a series of catnaps over the last forty-eight hours since Gambit's recovery. The lack of sleep would soon catch up with him, but he would not be able to get a decent night's sleep, unless he could start formulating a theory about the other Remy's condition. The mystery was just too great.
His mind continued to mull over what Rogue had told him about the state of Remy's mind. Though he wouldn't admit it out loud, part of him was glad Rogue had absorbed Remy. She was able to give him a better analysis of what was going on in Remy's head than any of his tests would tell him. Only a telepath would have been able to get a similar read, but none of them would have been able to get beyond the thief's mental defenses. Guilt settled heavy in the other part of his brain. Despite the invaluable insights Rogue was able to give him about the inner workings of her husband's brain, Hank was also familiar with the toll this kind of absorption took on her. He wanted to keep a close eye on her in case Gambit's uncontrolled psyche drove her to do something she'd later regret. Gambit had always been his own worst enemy. Attacks of guilt, self-hatred, and subsequent depression were still something Remy fought on a regular basis. If Rogue had absorbed another such bought along with his psyche, there was no telling what she might do this time.
Returning to the infirmary, Hank checked the status of both his patients. Rogue tossed and turned in an uneasy sleep. He ought to see that someone was here when she woke. She'd need someone to talk to she trusted about all of this. Normally, that person would be Remy. But in the present circumstances, well, that wasn't going to work.
As for Remy, he still slept. Though this time, he was able to recognize the brainwaves of someone knocked unconscious by Rogue's powers. Remy would probably be out for a few more hours. This time, when he woke, Hank would be ready.
With nothing else to do for the couple, Hank sat at his desk and began to transcribe his notes.
Gambit breathed a sigh of relief as he opened his eyes and found the room dimly lit. It was rare that anyone considered the effect of normal lighting on his sensitive eyes. He'd grown accustomed to the painfully bright assault of light when waking in strange places, but that didn't mean he didn't appreciate the thoughtfulness.
"You're awake," a booming yet erudite voice of a stranger spoke from beyond Remy's line of sight. The tapping of a keyboard ceased as the casters of an office chair rolled across the floor.
Pain sharp and bright pierced Gambit's head as he turned to catch a better view of the room's other occupant. If he'd been standing, Gambit would have been lying flat on the floor by now. Instead, he ground his teeth to keep the instinctual cry of pain from escaping beyond his lips. You didn't show weakness—ever. It was a lesson he learned from his earliest days as a scrap of a boy living on the streets. The lesson was reinforced by his time among the Thieves and Assassins. Someone was always looking for a way to take advantage of your weakness. To tear you apart and throw you away the moment you were no longer useful. To take what was yours if you didn't have the cunning or strength to protect it. He didn't know where he was, or what these strangers wanted of him. The last thing he wanted was to give them any more ammunition to use against him.
In the moment it took Gambit to regain control, a large, fuzzy, blue blur crossed the room in a few graceful bounds. It surprised him that such a big man could be so light on his feet.
"Oui," Gambit bit out in a voice that sounded more normal than he felt. "T'ank you for kind hospitality, but I really must be going now." Closing his eyes and breathing evenly, he slowly sat up. His ribs screamed with the movement. With his feet dangling over the side of the bed, and his fingers knotted in the bedsheets, he was almost the appearance of a well man.
The big man chuckled. "There are some things that never change, my friend. You still cannot stand being in the infirmary."
Gambit frowned. Why did this man seem to think he didn't want to be here. (Besides, the obvious, no one liked being kept against their will). He wasn't particularly fond of doctors—a side effect of growing up on the streets—but there wasn't any reason for him to distrust them out right. Was there? "Non, non. I need to be heading home now that 'm awake. My family will wondering where I am."
That sounded good. Reasonable. There shouldn't be any reason to keep him here.
"Hmm." The furry man placed the earpieces of his stethoscope in his ears and wrapped a pressure cuff around Gambit's arm. "May I ask, where is home?"
For a brief moment, Gambit considered playing along with the charade. This man had been part of the rescue party after all. He was party to the whatever con they were playing. But, Gambit wanted answers—including just how invested they were in this scheme. "New Orleans."
The man grimaced, but otherwise appeared nonplussed at the response.
"Quoi?" Gambit cursed the way his heart raced. While the other man was checking his pulse, there was no mistaking his anxiety.
Beyond the doctor, on the other bed in the infirmary, the Southern Belle laid curled in a tight ball. Her long red and white curls spread out across the linens like a halo. His fingers itched to comb the white locks away from her face. He flicked his tongue against his lips, still tasting the memory of her kiss. Glancing away, he focused on anything in the room other than her.
"Your memory loss appears to be more complete than I thought. Let's start with a few questions." He looped the stethoscope back around his neck and released the pressure cuff from Gambit's arm as if to say since they weren't going to get any accurate results, why bother continuing. "Do you know who I am?"
"You're de doctor. Hank." Gambit opened his eyes. The room was still dim.
A flicker of surprise crossed the doctor's face before he managed to school it into an impassive mask. He shook his head and mumbled more to himself than to his patient. "She was right."
Gambit didn't need to ask who she was. Well, actually he did. No one had yet addressed her by name within his hearing.
"All right. I'm Dr. Hank McCoy. Or, more commonly known by my nom de guerre, Beast." Dr. McCoy began to tap on a tablet he'd pulled from his lab coat pocket. "Do you now where you are?"
"The infirmary." Gambit drawled. He didn't have time for these questions.
Again, Beast chuckled. "I'll concede. I deserved that one. You're at the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. In Westchester, New York. And, yes, you are in the infirmary. Do you know why you're here?"
"A building fell on me. And no, I don' know why I was there." Without needing to elaborate, they both knew he was the cause for the collapse.
"Okay, we'll come back around to that." Beast stood and pulled from his pocket one of those small lights doctors were so fond of shining in people's eyes. Instinctually, Remy winced and pulled away from the doc. "I know your eyes are sensitive. I'll refrain from shining it in your eyes for now, but if you wouldn't mind following this with your eyes."
Remy complied with the request as Beast moved the non-lit light from side to side. As the doctor held the tool out to his left, Remy once again caught sight of the sleeping woman. The glint of her wedding band caught his attention. When Beast swung the focus in the opposite direction, Remy's gaze remained fixed on her. "Who is she?"
"Rogue," Hank responded automatically, his attention was distracted by whatever he was transcribing on his tablet. Remy tried to read the doc's notes, but the words swam across the page.
Licking his dry lips, Remy tried to form the next question. It took several attempts before he could gather his thoughts into a coherent form. The words stuck in his throat. A part of him didn't want to hear the response. But, some greater part of him was compelled to continue to pick at this gaping hole. "Why'd she claim t' be my wife? I've never met her…"
"Because she is your 've been married for nearly ten years."
"Ten years?" Remy knew he had lost time along with his memories. But, he had expected a few weeks, maybe a couple of months at most. He lost ten years… This had to be an elaborate prank. They wanted something from him. From the Guilds. Belle would surely be looking for him soon, if she wasn't already on her way.
"Yes, that is correct." Despite his best efforts, Remy couldn't detect a lie in the other man's response. As if to compound the effect of his words, the doctors continued his explanation, "It's been over twenty years since New Orleans has been your home."
"Non, non, non." Though his head screamed in pain, he shook in hard in hope to clear the truths he could not accept.
Propelling himself from the bed, Remy collapsed as his foot gave way and he fell to the ground in a heap of limbs and anguish.
With no other options, Remy had allowed himself to be corralled back into the bed. He'd turned his back to the room, pulled the covers up over his head, and pretended to be asleep. He knew he was fooling no one, but it gave the others an excuse to leave him to his thoughts. Eventually real sleep took the place of feigned sleep. To his great relief, now as he woke hours later, he was alone. Well, mostly alone.
The southern beauty—Rogue—was still asleep on the cot beside his. Oh joy. Apparently they had his-and-her infirmary accommodations. This wouldn't do. He needed to get out of here.
Moving ever so slowly, Remy sat along the edge of the bed. He breathed in deeply through his nose and out through his mouth while he waited for the spinning to cease. The pain still wracked his body, but he could work through this. He'd worked through worse pain before. He just needed to break it down into manageable pieces. His fingers dug into the mattress in an attempt to displace some of the pain.
A charge spilled from his fingers and illuminated the sheets in a lurid fuchsia glow. With the slippage of power, the pressure inside his body eased. As much as he wanted to give into the relief, he pulled the charge back into his body. It would be too easy to give into the temporary relief and let go. But, he wanted to slip out of here without anyone noticing and he doubted even a controlled explosion would pass without comment.
In fact, it surprised him that no one had come running to check on him. This might be his only opportunity to get a lay of the land or to call home without anyone listening in. With one last glimpse at Rogue to make certain she was still sleeping, Remy slipped off the bed. This time he didn't make the same mistake of immediately putting weight on his injured foot.
He swallowed back the cry of pain and the wave of nausea with the movement. Small steps. First he needed to make it across the aisle to the other bed. He could lean on that for support. From the end of the bed, it was just another aisle to where a pair of crutches leaned against the wall. While using both crutches seemed more than he could manage with his injured ribs, he could use one to help him hobble his way through the rest of this school for 'gifted youngsters.'
By the time he reached Rogue's bed, he was breathing hard. Pausing to catch his breath, Remy studied the bed's occupant. She hadn't moved since he'd woke and her breathing was still the even cadence of sleep. Driven by an instinct he did not understand, he reached for her. His fingers skimmed just over the lines of her cheek barely making contact with her skin. Though her mutation pulled greedily at his psyche, he lingered.
"Remy,' she murmured in her sleep.
He yanked his hand away as though burned. In other circumstances he wouldn't have minded getting to know her better. She'd be a worthy diversion. Though he didn't know what those circumstances might have been. If the doctor was correct about how much time had passed, then he'd been married to Belle for nearly two decades and he had no intention of being unfaithful to his wife. He wouldn't go home to her with the perfume of another woman haunting his dreams.
No. No matter how well intentioned these folks appeared, he was not going to be left at their mercy. Whatever scheme they had in mind, he wasn't going to play along. No matter how tempting the lure, he couldn't allow himself to get distracted. He needed to get back to New Orleans—to the Guilds and Belle. He'd already been gone for too long. Henri was going to give him such a hard time about this.
With a renewed determination, Remy pushed through the wave of wooziness and continued towards the next stage of his plan. First the crutches, then the door. From there he would find a phone and call home. He could do this. Controlling his breathing, he narrowed his focus to his next step in an an attempt to push through the pain. In no way, was he attempting flee the feelings he could not explain.
Feigning sleep, Rogue listened to Remy's uneven gait as he made his way out into the hall. She'd been awake and watching him from behind a thin veil of hair when he'd decided to make his move. It had taken all her willpower to remain in place and merely observe as a charge slipped past his fingers and into the sheets. He had nearly rent her heart in half when he not quite managed to stifle his cries of pain as he stood. But, it was his touch which had been her undoing.
His fingers had caressed her cheek in a featherlight gesture. She craved his touch, even if it was reluctantly given. Her mutation was greedy for him. It eagerly pulling at his psyche and searching for something familiar. All she could do was to hold it in and prevent it from consuming him whole. Yet, she had been just as greedy for his touch as her mutation. His name fell from her lips before she could contain it.
Remy had pulled away from her quicker than if her skin was made of fire. She wanted to open her eyes, clasp her hand around his wrist, and keep him close. But, she didn't. He was already gone. Already disappearing into the night and taking with him all her last hopes that this was just a dream. Her Remy wouldn't have left her. He wouldn't have gone sneaking off like a thief in the night. Not if he knew who he was, who she was, and what they meant to each other.
"Ah need you," she whispered with a fierce determination. Unfortunately, there wasn't anyone in the room to hear.
This time, her heart truly was decimated. Rogue just couldn't…not anymore…. It was time to go home. Her girls needed her. At least they still wanted her.
When Rogue could no longer hear Remy in the hallway, she got up. She dried that last of the tears which gathered in the corners of her eyes. The time for tears was over. Making her way over to Hank's office, she knocked lightly on the doorframe. As was his habit when there was someone in the infirmary he wanted to keep an eye on, Hank had fallen asleep on the cot in his office. In the manner of one accustomed to waking at a moments notice, he roused from sleep and sat up immediately at her summons. Slipping on his glasses, he blinked sleep from his eyes.
"Remy's gone exploring." Rogue didn't have it in her to be anything other than direct.
Hank nodded. "We figured he might. How's he doing?"
She shrugged. "He's limpin' but seems to be able to keep his balance."
"And his memory?"
"We didn't carry on a conversation, sug." Rogue ran her fingers over her cheek and along the path of his caress. She could still feel the warmth of his touch. Reluctantly, she dropped her hand.
"All right." Hank slipped on his lab coat. "Since he's not particularly stable on his feet yet and he has a propensity for finding trouble, I will call Laura and have her to keep an eye on Gambit as he explores. In his current frame of mind, I fear he might take the prospect of someone keeping an eye on him as a sign of captivity. Laura's probably one of the few people who can remain undetected by him."
"Sounds good. She's been wanting to help." Rogue massaged her temples. She wished she could do something to help, but it felt like anything she could do would just make matters worse.
"If he does suspect she's following him—. Well, you know Remy, he'll probably be flattered by the idea…."
"No," Rogue snapped. "Think that's the point. Right now, none of us know Remy. He's not the same man we've come to know all these years. His memories have been erased to a point before any of us knew him. Everything that shaped the man we knew is gone." The last few words came out in a mangled choke.
"Rogue…" The sympathy in his voice was more than she could take.
"Ah'm going home. Ah'm just causing him more distress than helping. The girls, they need me. We need to get back into a routine." She swallowed hard. Her words dropped to a whisper. "My heart can't take it anymore, Hank. Ah need….Ah need my husband and Ah don't know how to help him…."
Hank stood and wrapped her in a hug. "You're doing incredibly well considering the circumstances. Remy's not the only one who needs help with the situation. Don't try to carry this alone. We're here to help you…both of you."
"Thanks," she sniffed.
"As for going home, I think that's a good idea. It will give both of you space. If anything changes, you will be my first call." Hank pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and peered at the digital clock mounted to the wall. "Though, it is nearly three in the morning, you may wish to wait for a more reasonable hour to head home."
"Oh right." The last of her reserves seeped from her shoulders, her energy drained. "Guess Ah'll just head up to our room for the rest of the night."
"Speaking of your room. I'd like to keep Remy here another night for observations. After that, presuming everything else is progressing well and his memory hasn't come back, I'd like to set him up in your room here. It's close enough that I may keep an eye on him while still allowing him a sense of independence."
Rogue worried at her bottom lip before letting out a long sigh. "Probably better that way. Ah don't think he's ready to come home yet—think it might push him farther away."
Slowly, Hank nodded a few times in assent. Then, taking off his glass, he polished the lenses with the corner of his lab coat. He stared intently at his task.
"What's on your mind, Hank?" There was more snap in her voice than she had intended. The doc had been doing all he could to determine what had happened to Remy. It wasn't his fault that answers were less than forthcoming.
"Your girls. What do you plan to tell them?"
"Ah don' know. Haven't really let myself think that through yet." She exhaled sharply, blowing the white fringe from her eyes. "Guess Ah was hoping that by some miracle, Remy would wake up and everything would be back to normal. Since that doesn't appear likely, Ah suppose Ah'll have to come up with something. Maybe talk to Izzy's therapist to figure out the best way to break the news to her…"
They'd adopted Izzy when she was three after her parents had been killed in a car crash. The trauma of witnessing the crash had been enough to manifest the girl's powers. While better at managing her powers than she was one she'd come to them, Izzy still struggled with control, especially when emotions were running high. Add to that an ingrained fear of being abandoned—of losing her parents—again, Remy's denial of his present life would hit Izzy hard. Of course, the irony here was that Remy was the best person at helping their daughter maintain control in situations like this. What was she to do now?
"Okay." Hank stood and reached for his phone to call Laura. "If you need anything, if I can help in any way, please, don't hesitate to ask."
"Thanks sugah, Ah appreciated that." Rogue offered him her best attempt at a smile, which at the moment was a slight upward tic of her lips. Her eyes reflected only loss. With nothing left to do, Rogue left the infirmary and headed in the opposite direction her husband had turned.
