Chapter 9
Rogue leaned her elbows on the edge of the sink, staring out the window. From there she could see the mansion's wide manicured lawn with the basketball court off to one side. Beyond that was a stand of trees. She remembered taking a walk that had ended up within the shady knot of maple and birch. How strange and exciting it had been to feel a pair of arms wrapped around her waist, and to sit in the dappled sunlight talking about nothing at all. It had been one of those rare, almost perfect days.
She raised her coffee mug to her lips then made a face. Cold. She didn't know how long she had been standing there, staring at memories. Long enough for her elbows to go numb, certainly. She straightened and set her mug on the counter. Her elbows flashed into pain at the sudden return of blood flow. Dhe rubbed them through the fabric of her sweatshirt.
Serves ya right, gal she told herself. Since y'all are hidin' here instead of going in ta see him. She had gone as far as the door, then stood there, forehead pressed against the wood, listening to the murmur of voices. His and Ororo's. He had said something that made Ororo laugh her warm, gentle laugh. Rogue had retreated from the happy sounds. She told herself it was just because she didn't want to interrupt, but the truth was that she simply couldn't face the inevitable questions in his eyes. The awkward silence. Why had she been there when he first woke, but never after? How did she feel about him? They were questions Rogue had no answers for, and she was afraid she would only hurt him more by saying so.
With a sigh, she dumped the cold coffee in the sink. Then anger at herself got the best of her and she slammed the mug down on the counter, shattering it. Coward! After all the things Remy's been through, an' ya cain't even be his friend when he needs ya! She stared at the scattered fragments on the counter top. Tears burned her eyes and eventually found their way to her cheeks. Through her blurred vision, Rogue got out the trash can from under the sink and swept the remains of the mug off into it. She put the can back in its place then leaned against the sink, crying quietly.
"Rogue?"
She looked up quickly then turned away, wiping at her eyes. "Go 'way, Bobby."
"Sorry. No deal." His hand closed on her shoulder. "'Sides, if I didn't rent out my shoulder from time to time, I'd never have any beer money."
Rogue could imagine his goofy grin and smiled wanly. "Ah guess ah can't let ya go without beer." She turned and wrapper her arms around his neck, resting her cheek on his shoulder. The tears continued to roll down her face.
"You want to tell me about it?" he asked after a while.
"Like ya gotta ask?"
Bobby sighed. "Do you still love him, Rogue?"
Did she? Was that the name for the pain inside her? Or was it just guilt because she thought she ought to love him, to be loyal despite the frightening, ugly thing she had inherited from his psyche when she kissed him that day in Israel?
"Oookay," Bobby said when she didn't answer. "Then I guess I'll have to tell you. Yes, Rogue, you are absolutely, completely, head-over-heels in love with the guy. And it's making you crazy."
Rogue drew back to stare at him in surprise.
"Well, it's obvious to everyone else in the house." He sounded a bit defensive now.
"What am ah going ta do?"
"I don't know. What do you want to do?"
Rogue released him entirely. She leaned back against the sink, arms wrapped around herself. What did she want, really?
"Ah just want ta know that ah wouldn't be makin' a mistake," she finally answered. She sniffled and dabbed at her nose with the cuff of one sleeve.
"Well, I'm not exactly an expert, but I don't think there's any way to know that for sure. I mean, who tries to make a relationship fail? It just happens, sometimes. As long as you're both trying, I don't think you can really ask anything more." Bobby crossed his arms and studied her.
"You know, if you really want to know, maybe you should just ask him."
"Ask him?" Rogue stared at him in disbelief.
"Sure." Bobby shrugged. "Then the only catch is that you've got to believe what he tells you." He turned away, started to leave.
He threw her a glance over his shoulder. "Y'know, I didn't think I'd ever be telling you to take Gambit's word for anything."
"So why are ya? Ah thought ya didn't like him."
Bobby stopped and turned. "And I still don't. But I saw his face when you left. I guess I'm just convinced that he really does care about you, so if that's what'll make you happy..." He shrugged again, turned, and left.
Rogue stared at the empty doorway for a long time. "Ask him..." she repeated softly.
#
Remy was sitting up in bed, talking with Storm, when Charles entered the room. He looked a good deal better today, Charles thought. At first, even the slightest movement of his head had caused excruciating pain, but that seemed to be fading. Healing, perhaps. Charles had not made any suggestions of a telepathic exam. At least, not yet. Time was probably the best medicine and he did not want to push.
Remy glanced at Charles as he slipped into the room. His expression was not antagonistic, but he was very leery of telepaths in general. Storm noticed the sudden tension and blithely ignored it. She gave Charles a warm greeting as she stood.
"I expect the two of you would like to talk alone," she said. Then she turned to Remy with a smile and patted his hand. "I will return later."
"I be waitin', Stormy." Remy matched her smile for a moment, but it faded as she left the room.
"How are you feeling, Remy?" Charles moved his hoverchair into the space recently occupied by Storm.
"Hung over. You figure it's time t' start askin' some questions, Professor?" The red eyes met his directly, gave nothing away.
"I-- yes." On the rare occasions when Gambit decided to be direct, he was very direct. Charles had forgotten. For a moment, he studied his charge. He could not begin to guess how Gambit felt about him. He knew he was not a father-figure, as many of his original students viewed him. Nor did he think Gambit really considered him to be a teacher. He did seem to respect Charles' authority, but it seemed to be a matter of courtesy, since he was living in Charles' house, rather than a respect Charles had earned from him because of his life, his dream. Of all the X-men, Gambit was the only one Charles would say did not believe that they could make a better world. It was a philosophy he now understood, but it made him wonder why Remy stayed, and why he risked his life for a dream he didn't believe in.
Charles pushed his thoughts aside and returned to the real reason he had come. "You can probably guess what I want to ask... " he began.
Remy shrugged. "Sure, Professor. Y' wan' t' know how my head got so messed up." He rubbed his temple gingerly. "Truth is, I don' know."
"You don't know?" Charles knew his disbelief showed in his words, and he saw the crackle of defensive anger in Remy's eyes.
"I know what y' tol' me. Dat I-- dat I killed somebody mind-t'-mind, like. But I don' remember anyt'ing like that."
"Then why were you so afraid of a telepathic probe?"
Remy's jaw tightened as if he might deny having been afraid, but then he looked away. When he spoke, his voice was low.
"Telepath tried t' probe me once b'fore."
"What happened?" Charles asked.
For a moment, he didn't think Gambit was going to answer, but he did, and Charles realized that, for all of his carefully maintained distance, Remy desperately needed someone to talk to.
"I woke up in a hospital. Didn' know who I was or anyt'ing. Cops kept tryin' t' ask me questions, 'cause dey found me next t' a corpse... " He paused, struggling for words. "It was like dere was dis-- hole-- in my mind, kept tryin' t' suck me down. It was... it was cold as death, like de voodoo monsters in de stories maman Sassa used t' tell... " Remy was no longer paying any attention to Charles. "Dey kept me in de hospital f' three, four months, 'til I remembered enough t' break out. Even den, it was a long time 'fore de nightmares went away... 'til I felt like I wasn' goin' crazy anymore."
He looked up at Charles. "It's better dis time. You an' Jeannie been shieldin' me, neh?"
"Yes, we have."
Remy nodded. "I c'n feel her, sometimes." Something close to a smile crossed his lips. "You too quiet."
Charles found himself oddly pleased by the compliment. "I will tell Jean she needs to practice," he said, and was rewarded by a grin and a momentary lapse in Gambit's reserve. Remy had appreciated the joke.
"When you're ready," he continued, "we can help you rebuild your shields. Your defensive abilities are fairly well developed, out of necessity I would assume. Have you had any training in your telepathic powers at all?"
"No."
"Hmmm." Charles considered the possibilities.
"I'm not interested, Professor." Remy must have been able to read the direction of his thoughts.
"There may be ways to work around the damage--"
"No."
Charles surrendered. "Very well. But bear in mind that you are leaving yourself open to an attack you don't have any defense for."
Fear flickered in Gambit's eyes. He knew that very well. Charles continued to watch him, hoping to catch some glimpse of why he would refuse.
Remy finally answered the unspoken question. "It-- it hurts too much, Professor."
Charles nodded in sympathy. He had had a taste of that pain. He could hardly blame Remy for his refusal. But that didn't make him any less fearful for the young man's safety.
#
The door slid aside, the customary whisper sounding inordinately loud to Rogue's ears. She stepped inside and heard it slide shut behind her. She was left only with silence and the rapid pounding of her heart. The Witness stood at the center of the room, watching her without expression.
"So you come to see me after all, ma cherie," he said as she crossed the distance between them.
Rogue nodded and licked her lips nervously. She had stopped several feet from him, and wasn't sure if she were standing too far away, or too close. For her, he radiated the same magnetism as his younger counterpart, and Rogue was frightened by how she was drawn to him. She kept remembering the things Bishop had told her, but she wanted to know the truth for herself.
"Ah-- ah wanted t' ask y'all about... us," she stammered. She could not look him directly in the eyes and so found herself staring straight ahead. Her eyes were in line with the clasp of his cloak, and she stared at the twist of gold for a long time before she recognized it-- it was an elongated spade, tied in a knot. She wondered briefly what it might symbolize, but his words jerked her back to the present.
"Still lookin' f' guarantees, chere? I can't give y' any o' dose. You should know dat by now."
"Ah know." Still she couldn't look at him.
"Den what y' lookin' for here?"
She shook her head. "Ah don't know. Maybe ah shouldn't have come." She started to turn away, but his hand closed on her arm. Startled, she looked up at him and was instantly burned away by the intensity of his gaze. She did not resist as he drew her close.
"Do y' really want t' know 'bout us?" he asked softly.
Rogue could only stare at him. She knew he was just a hologram, made solid by Shi'ar technological magic, but the fingers that gripped her arm were warm through the fabric of her shirt. She could see the flicker of his pulse beneath the pale skin of his throat, and she knew that if she leaned forward just so, she could kiss him. But how could a lifeless hologram stir such reactions from her? How could her skin ache, anticipating his touch? How could his very presence send a flood of warmth through her if he wasn't even real?
The Witness seemed to have no trouble reading her emotions. With the other hand he reached up to cup her cheek. Rogue jerked her head away with a gasp.
"Can't hurt a hologram, chere," he chided her. His cold expression had softened. His fingers reached towards her once again.
Rogue froze, torn between stark terror and the desperate desire to feel his touch. She knew-- she knew-- her powers couldn't affect him, but having hurt Remy so badly once, and with all of the things that had happened afterward, she wasn't certain she could surrender to another touch. This man was older, yes, intimidating and powerful in ways she could not describe, but he was still Remy. Her heart didn't see any difference.
Her indecision made the choice for her. Rogue felt the warmth of skin against her face. His thumb brushed across her cheek in a gentle caress.
"See, chere?"
Rogue covered his hand with her own and closed her eyes, pretending, just for a moment, that it was real. Then she looked directly at him.
"Were we happy?" she asked.
"Oui."
She blinked. "And?" She had been hoping for a little more.
"What else y' want t' hear, girl?" There was anger in his gaze now, though he still held her close. "Dat y' were de only woman I ever really loved? Dat I watched y' die in an instant? Dat every... day... I remember de smell of y' hair and what it felt like t' make love t' you?"
"...make love...?" Rogue was overwhelmed by the sudden rush of his emotions.
His next words were scathing. "Y' didn't really t'ink it was y' powers dat kept us apart f' so long, did ya?" His grip on her arm tightened.
"Ah-- you're lyin'!" She twisted out of his grasp, a cold knot in her stomach.
"Am I?" The Witness folded his arms and watched her coolly.
"Ya know ah can't control mah powers!"
"I never said anyt'ing 'bout controllin' your powers." His expression quirked. "Though y' did eventually get de hang o' dat, too."
Rogue was stunned. She did not want to believe him. The implications were too frightening. "Ah don't believe ya," she said, but she knew the words lacked conviction.
"Really, chere?" He closed the distance between them. One arm circled her waist, his fingers tangling in her hair. The other hand tilted her chin up until their eyes met. "Did y' ever consider just how many ways dere are t' get around y' powers?" His gaze held her more firmly than any adamantium bonds.
Rogue wanted to pull away-- to call him a liar and deny everything he said. But the cold, sinking fear that had invaded her insides made it all too obvious he was telling the truth. She could only stare at him as he leaned toward her.
"Don' be afraid," he whispered in the last moment before their lips met. A core of warmth formed inside Rogue, radiating heat to every corner of her body. She reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, inhaling deeply the scents of warm silk and tobacco.
Suddenly, the arms that held her were gone. Rogue staggered. There was nothing but empty space where the Witness had been. Startled, she looked around.
"Rogue, what were you doing?" Storm's voice came through the danger room's sound system.
"What happened?" She was too startled to register Ororo's presence immediately.
"I shut down the program. What were you doing?" Rogue felt her cheeks flare. She looked away from the figure that stood in the control room observation bubble.
"What were ya doin' spyin' on me?" she retorted.
"I was not spying on you." Rogue could hear the forced patience in the other woman's voice. "I just came in to do the checklist."
"Well, ah guess ya'd better get to it." Rogue flew to the door, dipping through it as soon as it had opened wide enough. She couldn't explain why she was suddenly so angry, except perhaps because Ororo had been witness to a dream she did not particularly want to share.
