Part 4
The first rays of morning light streamed through the mansion windows and slanted across the hardwood floors. There was the quiet, refreshing silence of a world waiting to awake. There was also the regret of the last lingering corners of darkness that were unwilling to let go of the past night. But even they were slowly loosing ground, succumbing to the conquering rays of the rising sun.
A young man walked through the large empty room, squinting his red eyes against the painful light. His steps were uncannily quiet and his motions were strangely fluid-like, holding the characteristic smoothness of a dream. Maybe that's all this was, all the X-Men had ever been. A sweet dream that had turned into a nightmare.
Oh well. Time to wake up.
The young man came to the door and stopped, duffel bag bouncing gently against his legs. Reaching out very slowly, he grabbed the cold brass doorknob. He was about to close a chapter in his life, to close a whole book in fact. The X-Men had been something amazing, something in a class all of its own. Something, that he believed, was over.
He began to turn the doorknob, feeling the power, the purpose of the movement electrify him. There was a heavy sadness... and yet a strange joy also, at having finally decided his future.
He heard the click of the lock as it opened and was about to push the door free to greet the blooming day...
When he suddenly stopped. Someone was behind him. On the other side of the room, just at the edge of his kinetic field.
He realized who it was... and felt his heart freeze within the confines of his chest. The hand fell jerkily from the doorknob, forgetting its purpose of opening the door.
The chapter reopened in this book of his life.
Slowly, maybe even regretfully in a sense, Remy turned around to face the one woman who had the power to make his whole world fall to pieces around him. The one woman who had the power to make him stay.
Rogue stood across the large room, staring at him with wide eyes. Her hair hung in limp, tangled clumps about her face, the white stripe offsetting puffy, red eyes. She was wearing his trench coat over the white hospital gown he'd found her in. The stiff fabric of the duster hung unflatteringly over her curvaceous body and slapped gently against her legs as she shivered. One trembling hand covered her mouth in an expression of shock. The other... the other held a worn Queen of Hearts in its flushed fingers, the one he had left in the medlab earlier before leaving.
She was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
"Remy... You're alive..." she whispered in a barely audible tone, as if saying it too loud would make him disappear. He didn't trust himself to speak so he simply stood there, remaining silent and still. They stared at each other for long time, each trying to figure out if the other was real.
Finally, her hand dropped from her face to fall limply at her side. "How? Ah mean... Ah thought... Ah..." She stopped, unable to force the words through her unsteady lips.
He thought he heard something snap inside of him. "You thought y' killed me?" he supplied icily. "Ya did. But I'm a survivor so I got over it." She winced visibly. _Liar_ he chanted silently to himself. _Liar, liar, liar._ If he'd gotten over it he wouldn't have needed to deliver such a low blow.
"Ah'm so sorry, Remy," she sputtered helplessly. "Ah didn't mean ta... Ah had no control..." The waves of guilt from her overwhelmed his empathic sense, sickening in their intensity. He tried his best to shut them out.
"What? You jus' _acciden'ly_ ripped m' still beating heart out of my chest? What happened to all dose promises of unconditional love y' fed me, _chere_?" He was angry beyond words, so much so that the small part of him that yearned to comfort her obvious pain was choked off by the fury that churned in his fire-laden eyes. She had lied to him, left him to die. He didn't take kindly to that. Now that she was standing here before him, he realized how much she'd really hurt him.
Rogue's countenance had darkened suddenly, sparks of anger flashing in her emerald eyes. He'd gotten her mad. "Ah didn't want ta leave ya! If ya really believe that mistah 'let the walls come down on me', then yer stupider than I evah thought ya were. An' those weren't lies! If ya really think I was deceivin' ya when Ah tol' ya ah loved ya—" Her voice broke and she stopped, letting the comment hang in the silence.
"Didn' wanna leave me?" He laughed bitterly, a dark, frightening sound so imposing and sharp it could induce shivers in a person. "Y' sure coulda fooled me, chere." Sarcasm dripped painfully from each syllable.
"Don't ya dare call me 'chere', not now."
"Would y' rather I call y' Judas? You betrayed me, Rogue. Betrayed the love I t'ought we had."
Her feet were off the floor now and her fists were clenched as she hovered threateningly. "An' what did you do again? Oh yeah, you jus' were involved with one o' the worst massacres the X-Men evah experienced and nevah told us. But there couldn't be anything wrong with that, of course not."
His hands slid to the pockets in his pants that held his cards. "You tried to kill me." He said it slowly, quietly, punctuating each word.
"Ah couldn't control it! Aftah that kiss ah had all yer thoughts swimming through mah head! Yer self-hate took over! Do ya know what it's like ta take a back seat in yer own mind and watch yerself sentence the man ya love to death?! The torture of thinkin' ya might have succeeded when yer head finally clears?!" By now she was almost hysterical.
Remy suddenly felt like someone was strangling him with big, heavy hands. His lungs refused to work for several long seconds and his eyes widened with the implications of what she'd just said. She had left him because he had told her to. He had been quite suicidal for a time during the trial... that he could have passed that sentiment on to Rogue when she'd absorbed him during that kiss... the thought had never occurred to him before.
The luggage dropped from his hand and landed loudly on the floor. It sounded like a gunshot in the silence.
"Ya didn't wanna leave me?" he whispered, dumbfounded.
"Of course not, sugah," Rogue said quietly, catching the change in mood. "...Is that what ya thought?"
"I t'ought... I t'ought y' couldn't love me after y' knew what I had done, what I had been."
She had calmed down considerably over the last moments and, though she was still floating in the air, her arms were no longer balled, but wrapped around her protectively. "Ah'm sorry, Remy. And that's not true. Ah still love ya no matter what."
He didn't return the words. There were a million different thoughts and feelings swirling through him, each pulling him in a different direction. In general, he was very confused. He wasn't sure how he felt. And then there were questions... like how much did she really know about his past—about his deal with Sinister?
"Ah nevah wanted ta hurt ya..."
He looked up at her sharply from where he'd been studying the floor in uncertainty. He felt the need to explain, to try to talk out what was going through his mind. "I t'ought you'd left me dere on purpose. Dere were so many feelings rollin' around inside o' me at once... I never considered dat y' might have absorbed m' self-hate." He was staring at her with a tinge of wondrous amazement, eyes wide and childlike with the recent revelation.
"Remy... Ah'm sorry..." she said again.
He found himself closing the distance between them, until they were within arm's reach of each other. But then he stopped, the suave, smooth Remy LeBeau unsure and lost. Did he forgive her? Did he believe what she said? She had left him to die in Antarctica.
Their eyes seemed to be attached by some invisible string, each person unable to tear their gaze from the other. There was a moment's hesitation and when it was over Rogue had stepped forward into his arms. He held her loosely against him, not in the passionate way of lovers; it was too soon for that, but in the longing way of lost friends.
Inside he felt a tiny burst of relief, of happiness among the other feelings. It was a fledgling and weak hope, a growing belief that maybe things weren't quite so bad. She didn't hate him... She hadn't wanted to leave him. He'd feared that for so long, worried that even she hadn't been able to love him after knowing what he'd done. Remy didn't let many people get close to him, and when Rogue, whose opinion he'd cherished so much, had rejected him, it had hurt so badly. But it wasn't true. None of it was. She was here in his arms now... despite all he'd done.
And then there was the anger. The mistrust. The resentment. Couldn't she have fought his self-hate? Couldn't she have controlled it? And deep in his heart, somewhere safe and secure, he knew he still blamed her. And he knew that she would have to earn his trust, that she would have to prove herself before he ever give her his heart, vulnerable and unguarded, again. But that was deep down inside, buried under layers of walls, leaving the surface for quiet joy.
The hug was a bit awkward. They weren't quite comfortable with each other yet. That would take time. And he was still trying to sort out his emotions and his feelings toward her.
Nobody disturbed them, though they must have woken the whole house with their previous argument. They stood there, enjoying the kind of moment that was so rare for them. And then that moment ended. They both felt it and pulled away slightly.
There were other, darker things to discuss.
"Rogue, what happened? How'd y' end up at Sinister's place?"
She pulled further away from him to look into his face. Thin rivulets of water stained her cheeks and he yearned to wipe them away, but he wore no gloves and to touch her would mean her absorbing his powers, his memories, and his personality. He watched as her gaze turned hard and distant, like she was suddenly somewhere else, reliving a painful memory.
"Aftah Ah realized what Ah'd done ta ya.... well, Ah was upset, blamed mahself an' mah powers. There was this doctor who said he could get rid of them... but Ah changed mah mind at the last minute." Her faraway eyes focussed on him, her gaze sharp with the earnestness of her next words. "Mah powers are a part of me, Remy. They've defined who Ah am for so long. Ah can't just give 'em up like that, and Ah ain't gonna just erase them like Ah never had 'em. That would be lyin' to mahself and rejectin' who Ah am. It took me a while to realize that... but it feels right." She seemed to be waiting for a reaction from him, so he nodded.
Satisfied, she continued. "Anyway, the doctor turned out ta be Sinister in disguise, and when Ah refused ta do anymore tests... He took me hostage, suppressed mah powers temporarily—I have them back now—and did them anyway..." Her gaze was distant again, and she shuddered at some unseen memory playing before her mind. But despite the horror of her body, her eyes were like hard crystal, refusing to be defeated, determined to endure. It was one of the qualities that had first drawn him to her.
She seemed to come back to the present, seeing him again and abandoning her disturbing visions. "Ah just can't believe yer here, sugah," she said with a smile.
Remy flashed her his most charming grin. "Never could resist de company of a beautiful woman."
She blushed, turning away. "Ya know, boy, yer just like the energizer bunny. All that charm jus' keeps goin' and goin'. Ya nevah stop do ya?"
"Nope."
"Doncha evah take a break from all the flirtin'? Even for a moment?"
He gave her a startled look. "Now, where de fun in dat?"
She sighed dramatically in return. "Remy LeBeau, what am Ah gonna do with you?"
"Y' wan' de full list or de shortened condensed one?" He flashed his eyes at her and grinned devilishly.
Rogue only shook her head and rolled her eyes, falling against him to rest her head on his chest as she laughed.
§ ¨ © ª
Remy bent over, hands pressed to the grass, pushing and holding the stretch. The sun beat on his back and he couldn't help but notice the unusual heat of the autumn day. Straightening, he looked around. His eyes and kinesthetic sense grazed the expansive lawn of the Xavier Institute. Deserted. Good. He wouldn't have to worry about Marrow jumping out of the shadows while he was trying to have a nice peaceful jog. All of the X-Men should be in the war room—or what was left of the war room after OZT—listening to Rogue's story of how she'd gotten caught up with Sinister, leaving him, thankfully, alone. Of course Storm had invited him to attend the meeting, but judging from the way things had gone last time Remy and the X-Men were all in the same room, Remy didn't think that was such a good idea. He could find out what he'd missed later from Storm... or maybe even Rogue herself.
Remy began jogging at a nice, easy pace. He hadn't completely recovered from his pneumonia yet and his breath came accompanied by a gentle rattle in his lungs. Remy ignored it and picked up the pace slightly, aiming for the trails in the woods. He focused on the rhythm of his breathing, fighting back the urge to cough that came with exerting himself. It was so strange; this morning he'd been ready to leave the X-Men forever, and now here he was, doing something as ordinary as taking a jog at their headquarters. All because of Rogue. He really didn't plan on staying permanently, just long enough to see how things turned out between him and the woman he loved.
The trees began to surround him, closing in like protective barriers from the outside world. His lungs tried to rebel against their increased use in their weakened state. Again, Remy ignored it, moving now at a fast jog. His eyes grazed the dirt trail ahead of him and he had to blink back tears brought on by the irritation in his lung. Brow furrowing in concentration he forced his body to work, compelling the air to circulate and his head to stay clear despite the dizziness that threatened.
Briefly an image of a children's story he'd been bored enough to watch on PBS once flashed through his head: 'The Little Engine that Could.' A wry smile managed to touch his lips as he remembered it. _I t'ink I can... I t'ink I can... I t'ink I can..._ But in the end he couldn't. An unfortunate stumble on a rock and he lost his tenuous grasp on his stability.
Coughing overtook him as he regained his balance. Air... he needed air. The dizziness and tears came unrestrained now and he sunk to his knees hacking uncontrollably. The world blurred and he clawed desperately for air. Dimly, he felt someone running towards him, then hands on his shoulders and a voice telling to breathe. _What y' t'ink I tryin' t' do?_ he thought in frustration. Working to calm himself, he fought to steady his breaths, slowing down the desperate gasping for air. Finally the coughing began to subside and he didn't feel so much like he was about to pass out.
"That's it, slow, deep breaths." He looked up to see Cecilia kneeling before him, watching him carefully. He nodded and waved his hand to indicate that he was okay, still fighting an occasional sporadic cough. She didn't move except to drop her hands from his shoulders to rest them on the ground, steadying herself. "How do you feel?" she asked.
"Terrible." He coughed a few times as if for emphasis.
"You look terrible."
"T'anks"
"Don't mention it. Now, you want to tell me what happened?"
"Jus' had a coughin' fit, dat's all."
"That was no ordinary coughing fit," she eyed him suspiciously, waiting for him to reply but he remained silent. "If you won't explain why you nearly suffocated just now I guess we'll just have to bring you back to the mansion and run some test to find out."
"No tests." He stared at her coldly.
"Yes tests. Unless you can explain to me what just happened." She raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to give in.
"Probl'y had somethin' t' do wit' dat pneumonia I jus' got over." He kept his tone even and casual.
"Pneumonia!?"
He shrugged slightly. "Yep."
"Are you crazy? You could have killed your self!"
"But I didn'." He gazed at her steadily, watching her reaction.
Cecilia rolled her eyes and shook her head. "That's only because not only are you stupid, but you're lucky too."
"T'anks again."
She ignored the comment. "You should be in bed resting with your lungs still weakened like that!"
"I be fine." He stood up and brushed the dirt off his knees.
"Oh, sure. Sure you be fine," Her words were incredibly sarcastic. "What kind of accent is _that_ supposed to be."
"It's not _supposed_ to be anyt'ing, chere. But it _is_ Cajun." He earned a skeptical look for that as she brought herself up to a standing position. "Shouldn't y' be at de briefing de X-Men are havin'?" he added.
"Shouldn't you be there too?"
"I'm not a X-Mean."
"Neither am I."
He tilted his head slightly. "Then pardon me chere, but what are ya doin' here?"
She looked at him, annoyed. "What are _you_ doing here?"
"Good point."
"I stay just until I can get my life back together. Then I'm gone."
He nodded understandingly, but not warmly. "Same here."
She seemed to be looking past him for a moment, thinking about something. A second later she came back to reality. "Come on. As your doctor I order you back to the mansion and in bed."
"But you're not my doctor."
"I am now." She turned and began walking away, expecting that he would follow. He didn't exactly want to have to deal with another near death experience so he willingly obeyed. At least the girl had spunk, even if she had woken up waaaaaay over on the wrong side of the bed.
They emerged from the wooded trails side by side to cross the grassy field that separated them from the sprawling mansion beyond. Allowing a brief cough to escape earned Remy an urgent and sharp glance form Cecilia. He just couldn't resist the opportunity. Charmingly, "Don' worry, petite. I'm okay now, non?" The voice was smooth like honey and the smile confident, though slightly amused.
"Oh, I'm so relieved," she replied sarcastically. "I was just sprouting white hairs over you 'petite.'"
"Well, 's okay now. Wouldn' do to mar dat pretty head wit' premature agin'. Like he was going to let her have the last word. He cheered triumphantly at the angry look she gave him. _He shoots, he scores!_
"I'm sorry Mister LeBeau, but I think you have me confused with one of your bimbos that do nothing but swoon all over you."
"Moi?" he raised his eyebrows, giving her a shocked look. "I assure you Dr. Reyes, an image of you swooning had not entered even de farthest reaches of m' humble mind."
Her answer was simply a frustrated noise and an increased speed in her walk. Remy kept up with her, matching the brisk pace.
"You know if you are even half this annoying to everyone else, then I understand why the bone girl has such a problem with you."
He almost stopped dead in his tracks. Almost. But by some miracle he managed to keep himself moving without missing a step. "You don' know anyt'ing 'bout day," he said quietly after a moment.
"You're right, I don't. And I don't care." She continued to stare straight ahead, sparing him from having to meet her gaze.
"Good. 'Cause carin' ain't done not'in' t' nobody but bring dem pain." His mood had shifted drastically and she favored him with a curious glance that was slightly less hard-edged than her looks had been before.
"Wow, so there is more to you than ego. There's also self-loathing and angst."
"Ha, ha." he replied sarcastically, a certain darkness surrounding his countenance. After a slight pause, "I got a question for ya doc. Why are y' so opposed t' joinin' de X-Men?"
Cecilia took a moment to think before answering. "I don't exactly consider running around the world, risking my life chasing evil villains while wearing spandex an ideal career." She paused and he chuckled softly at he last part. "But then again, you don't seem to have a problem with risking your life, do you?" That was an obvious referral to his little jogging expedition.
But it was also a heavy prod for additional information. Information that he was unwilling to give to someone with whom his relationship was so distant. But if he were willing to give it, what would it sound like?
He would talk about how the X-Men were the New Orleans Thieves Guild all over again. Both had banished him for crimes he'd never meant to commit. The X-Men were willing to accept him back—or at least the leader of the team was—but things could never be the same. Remy considered the X-Men family and he would not be able to take the cold shoulders that he knew these closely treasured people would give.
He would talk of the bitterness he felt and the pain, of the resentment towards the self-righteous people that found it so hard to accept him after what they knew of his past.
And most of all, he would talk about the way he could never fit in. Being a hero just wasn't in his blood. Almost from the moment he was born in the back allies of New Orleans he'd known only one thing: Survival. And that deeply rooted doctrine went against the basic fundamentals of the X-Men, the belief in sacrifice for the good of the dream.
But Remy told Cecilia none of this and she seemed content to let the subject drop. Besides, they had reached the mansion door. He allowed her to enter first after an extravagant bow and a flourish of his hand, earning him yet another ire look. For a moment, the sheer emptiness of the room struck him and Remy had to remind himself that the old mansion he was used to was gone, stolen away by Bastion and his men.
Cecilia stood, one hand on her hip, a few steps in front of him. "Bed. Now." she ordered, pointing toward the stairs. A smirk quirked the edges of his lips at the hard command and he hung his head like a reprimanded little boy.
"Yes, mommy," he muttered pitifully. And then he obeyed her order, admitting to himself that he was, indeed, quite tired.
§ ¨ © ª
Remy woke with a chill, like he usually did, despite the warm blankets that covered him. He rolled over, letting whatever dream that had plagued him fall away. Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings, remembering that he was in the X-Men's mansion.
Moaning quietly, he ventured to crack one eyelid open. Light flooded into it and he promptly shut it again, cursing softly at the spots dancing before his closed eye. Sure, extra sensitive eyes were great for night vision, but they were terrible in the angry brightness of the daytime sun. He'd nearly blinded himself once when he was a pup. He'd been dared by a fellow street rat to look straight at the sun with his devil eyes. Course he could never pass up a challenge and was stupid enough to try. Next thing he knew he was on the ground holding his eyes and screaming in pain as they bled. Needless to say, Remy had never purposefully tried that again.
The spots began to fade and Remy rolled over again, making sure his back was to the window. Gradually, he began to slide into sleep once more. He hung, suspended, weightless in the black oblivion that lay somewhere between dreams and consciousness. He shivered in the emptiness and a delusional net of images and thoughts jumbled together about him, holding him, encasing him. Memories merged in uncanny, foreign ways: white hair, long and silky, on a head that bore piercing green eyes; Jean Luc holding the Ace of Spades; Belladonna standing among the dead in some dark, solemn, tunnel.
And then there was a tiny, metal cylinder whose contents were deathly precious, held by a man whose pale white skin contrasted sharply with his sinister red eyes and a blood colored diamond engraved in his forehead. The man looked down at the cylinder and smiled cruelly, a maniacal glint flashing across his terrifying eyes. Then he threw the precious object. It seemed to drift through time and space, tumbling end over end to crash against the obsidian black floor. The red liquid that filled it spilled out of the cracked metal exterior, splattering across the ground until it formed a big, blood-red 'X' enclosed in a circle...
And suddenly, he was falling, heart leaping into throat, stomach twisting, until he landed with a jolt... into awareness. Remy clutched the blankets and inhaled sharply. His eyes snapped open and then squinted a bit in the sudden light. It took him a moment before he gathered his surroundings and relaxed into the pillow, concentrating on keeping his breathing slow and steady. He was covered in a thin film of sweat and suddenly sleep didn't hold the appeal it had before.
Pushing himself up, he ran one hand through his shaggy hair. Then he stood and crossed the room to his suitcase, gathering some clothes and putting on shorts and, after a moment's hesitation, slipping on a T-shirt also. Remy had never been modest in any sense of the word, but he didn't want someone like Storm seeing him without a shirt and getting all worried and motherly on him just because a few ribs were protruding too much under his skin.
He walked out the door and wandered down the hall to the bathroom, which was, thankfully, empty. He avoided looking in the mirror as he entered, suddenly afraid of what he'd see. It was so strange. The X-Men finally knew one of his deepest, darkest secrets—of course they didn't know the whole story, but they knew the worst of it. Anyway, the constant pressure of hiding something so terrible and horrific as his involvement in the Morlock Massacre, the persistent, wasting shame of keeping it away from those he thought of as family, was gone. Storm had accepted him despite it and he'd reached some kind of truce or reconciliation with Rogue. And on top of that all, he'd finally stopped pretending to be something he wasn't, had admitted that he was, and always would be a thief—a very good thief of course, but still just a thief.
But none of that helped him to face the demon eyes in the mirror. In fact, he found it harder to do so now than it had been a few days ago. And he couldn't shake the dirty feeling that he was lying to himself, being dishonest to the deepest annals of his being.
And scrub as he might, that dirt just wouldn't wash away.