We Could Write a Book

Summary:

With nary a word to anyone, five years ago Rogue left Bayville, the X-men, and her boyfriend. Now she's back in town and to no one's surprise except her own, the first person she runs into upon her return is Gambit. Will she survive the reunion with her ex-? Will he?

Fall Prompt: Sweater weather + exes to lovers


For go-haywire

Haywire, thanks for being patient with my slow writing and continuing to encourage all my various story ideas. Knowing that you want to read these fics helps keep them fresh in my mind. Kiitos, my friend.

I hope you all enjoy a little Romy angst filled with sweaters, hot chocolate, and reunions.

Inspired by the Fall Prompt: Sweater Weather + exes to lovers.

Thanks for reading, ~rose


Shivering, Rogue wrapped her arms around herself and chafed at her upper arms trying to restore warmth to her limbs. It wasn't that she forgot how cold New York could be. No, those winters were indelibly ingrained onto her memory and into her bones. Rather, it was more along the lines that she forgot how early the cold could begin. While October days held the deepest chill at bay, there were mornings which frost liberally painted the windows and the north wind carried the promise of first snowfall on the air. Although a few leaves still decked in brilliant scarlets and fiery oranges stubbornly clung to the otherwise bare branches of the trees, most had turned a shriveled brown and gathered on sidewalks to be crushed underfoot. The peak of the autumnal tourist season had given way to the anticipation of the more local celebrations of Halloween.

As Rogue walked through Bayville, she found the city hadn't changed all that much in the five years she'd been gone. The school, the mall, even the Brotherhood boarding house, were still there much as they'd always been. It was almost anticlimactic in its sameness. She wasn't exactly certain why she was disappointed by the steadiness of all the old familiar sights. Maybe it had something to do with the amount that she had changed over the same period of time.

Rogue flexed her bare hands. Being able to go without gloves was still a novel enough experience that she tended to leave them behind whenever they weren't absolutely necessary. Although, it also meant, she tended to forget them even when the chill in the air caused everyone (except for the most hearty Canadian) to don the despised accessories. When she left Bayville (okay, okay, when she fled Bayville), she had no control over her powers. She had given up hope of ever possessing control of her isolating mutation. Now, she could run around in a minidress, sans gloves and tights, and not worry about absorbing anyone unless she wanted to. Another shiver ran up her spine and Rogue tugged the cuff of her long sleeve tee over her hands and picked up her pace. Not, that she was planning on running around with that much exposed skin until it was warmer. Much warmer. Like middle of the summer warmer.

Although, she hoped she wouldn't still be here come summer. A week ago, the Prof had called her in California and informed her the X-Men needed her help. With the unspoken, albeit heavily implied, reminder that since they had taken her in when she was alone and friendless, she should consider coming home.

Home.

Was that what Bayville was to her? While theoretically she knew the others cared about her, she never felt exactly welcome—wanted. Sure, part of that was her fault. She held every one at arm's length and built up walls more secure than Fort Knox. In return the others were content to keep a wary, distant eye on her, while they made certain she didn't become a dangerous weapon. Only one person really tried to break down her walls and he was the last person she really wanted to be thinking about at the moment. Or, when it came down to it, ever.

Speak of the devil. Even in the privacy of her internal monologue, Rogue winced at the phrase. While it might be a figure of speech older than the two of them combined, it hit at one of his sore spots and she didn't want to cause him anymore pain than she already had.

She tried to avert her gaze, pretend she hadn't seen him, but even that proved a futile gesture. The alley—yes, that one—loomed large in her peripheral vision and cast long shadows heavy with the weight of memory. It didn't look like she was able to escape, no matter which way she turned. The question now that their reunion was imminent, what should she say to him? What could she say?

The conundrum was taken from her when Remy caught up and matched her stride. "Bonjour, chèrie."

"Hi." She tried to pretend she was greeting any of the X-Men—like Kitty or Kurt or…. Never mind, it wasn't going to work. She wrapped her arms tighter across her chest and pulled into herself.

With a sideways glance from her peripheral vision, Rogue dank in the sight of him. He was as handsome as ever. The russet, cable knit sweater enhanced the fire in his eyes and the red in his hair and it appeared soft enough to touch . The drape of the sweater contrasted with the stark lines of his features and blunted his sharp edges in a way which made him all the more approachable. At least for most people, it merely mocked her with the reminder that she was once again relegated to realm of look, don't touch. Surely he had the residents of Bayville eating out of his hand. Idly, she wondered how many broken hearts he left in his wake. Hers didn't count.

Resisting the urge to sigh over what was lost, she tried to take a more objective view of her teammate. That's right, they'd be teammates once she returned to the Mansion and found out what the Professor needed. Yet, she couldn't unsee the things their former closeness allowed her to detect. Even though he tried to appear as insouciant and unbothered as always, she could see the tension running through his shoulders and the weight of the world in his eyes. Her fingers twitched with urge to soothe away his restlessness.

He knew she was studying him. In fact, he knew that she knew that he knew. He smirked as if to say he could still sense the knots she was tying herself up into. But, despite his feigned control, he couldn't keep his eyes off her bare hands. Furthermore, he knew what their absence meant and all the implications which followed.

As they walked into the wind, Rogue shivered in a whole body shudder. She supposed, she must resign herself to the fact that they simply knew each other too well. They could never be anything as simple as just friends or mere acquaintances. They were destined to be lovers or enemies. And, some bridges were already burned.

How had Jane Austen put it? Oh yes, "Now they were as strangers; nay, worse than strangers, for they could never become acquainted. It was a perpetual estrangement."

"Here, put this on." Remy pulled his sweater over his head and handed it to her. The movement revealed a strip of warm skin between the hem of his shirt and the waist of his jeans. Unbidden, her gaze lingered on the sight and caught a glimpse of stark white scars crossing his stomach. If she didn't know better, she'd say they looked like the claw marks from a giant, angry cat. They were a record of stories she didn't know.

Turning away, she almost told him to put his sweater back on. Her desire to protest that she didn't need anything from him warred with her hatred of being cold. In the end, warmth won out and she tugged the sweater over her head.

"Well, thanks, I guess." Rogue tucked the too long sleeves over her hands. It felt a bit too much like wearing gloves for her liking, but she wasn't going to stubborn herself out of warm fingers.

The thick yarn was as soft and warm as she'd imagined it would be. A complicated cable pattern ran up the front of the sweater and down the sleeves. She didn't know much about knitting, but from the quality of the yarn and the intricacies of the pattern, it couldn't have been cheap. Burying her chin in the collar of the sweater, she breathed deeply, inhaling his scent. He'd taken up smoking since they'd been apart. The scent of tobacco was infused into the yarn, though it was tempered by the scent of leather from his coat and that sharp mix of spices particular to him. It was almost like being wrapped in his arms again.

Silence stretched between them as the X-Mansion grew ever nearer. She couldn't decide if she wanted the silence to continue until they parted ways at the Institute's entrance, or if she wanted to spill out everything in a rambling confession of all the things she'd kept to herself over the last five years. What he deserved, what she deserved, it was all too much. She was hoping for more time before she saw him.

Finally it was Remy who broke the spell. "What are you doing back in town? Are you here for the Chaton's wedding? Bit early, since she wants to be a spring bride, mais, what would I know 'bout weddings? Not in the cards for me, non?" Though he kept his tone light, the self-deprecation was sharp and brittle.

Rogue cringed. "The Professor called. He said the X-Men needed my help. Figured I owed him…"

His caustic bark of a laugh startled Rogue out of her self-pity.

"What?" She bristled as her temper rose. It wasn't that she was truly angry with him, more that she couldn't express what she truly wanted to feel. He could always bring out the fire in her.

"Haven't you heard, ol' Charlie ain't in town." Remy shook his head. "He ain't even on planet. Left the other day for a magical, mystery tour with his new paramour."

"What?" This time genuine confusion replaced the facade of anger.

"Didn't you hear? While you were off galavanting across the country, we met aliens." Despite his attempt at nonchalance, Rogue detected the undertones of giddy excitement in his words. She well knew his secret (and carefully guarded) love of science fiction, and she could well imagine how his face lit up at the opportunity to meet real life space aliens. "Call themselves the Shi'ar and their queen has some sort of telekinetic soul bond with the prof. They've been mentally flirting for a few years. Apparently, she decided it was time to make the next move, so she just shows up with a queen's ransom worth of courting gifts. Next thing anyone knows, ol' Charlie is calling in favors to help run the Institute while he runs off to the stars to become Lilandra's consort. What do you make of that?"

Rogue bit her lip to keep from wincing. She wished he would just come out and say what he really wanted.

At last, Rogue simply shrugged. "Ah."

"With the Prof gone, Stormy is in charge. She'll want to see you once she gets back. It's not every day the prodigal daughter returns."

"Wait, where's Storm?" Rogue ignored the sting of the last bit and focused on the part which was of more immediate concern. Pausing in her tracks, she wondered if she ought to turn around and return to her hotel. With the way she left all those years ago, she hadn't wanted to spend her first night back in the Mansion, though her finances weren't well enough off to make more than a few nights feasible.

"C'mon." Remy directed her around back towards the back of the house. "Stormy's taken over all of Charlie's duties, which means she has to attend all his boring meetings. If you're curious, Logan's with her. You can wait inside for them to return. If escaping the cold isn't reason enough to stay, have mercy on me. Logan'll skewer me if I let you slip off before he has a chance to lecture you about running off."

Well, that took care of the decision if she should go or stay. Rogue followed Remy into the place which was presently more his home than hers. He even let himself into the Mansion with an actual key(!) and moved around the kitchen as though it were his own.

"Don't worry, you won't have to put up with me for long. Stormy and Logan should be back in a couple of hours—unless they decide to stop for dinner on the way." There was a suggestive leer to his voice which meant he was referring to more than dinner.

Blinking at the sudden change in light between outdoors and in, Rogue refused to be shocked at the suggestion. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of once again asking 'what?'.

Her refusal to play didn't appear to matter as Remy kept explaining. "Have you heard? Stormy and Logan have been seeing each other for the past year. If you ask, they won't admit they're dating, but we all got eyes—and ears. At least they're discreet when the kids are around."

Rogue shook her head. What was going on around here? Was there something in the water? The air? Was she going to survive this visit unscathed? "Right, well, guess I won't be asking them. Is there a place I can wait without the others…."

"Stay." For the first time since they crossed paths on the street, Remy reached out and touched her in a blink and you miss it brush of her shoulder. As with all things touch related, she didn't miss the gesture, though she did miss it the moment his hand broke contact. "I'll make us some hot cocoa. That way you can warm up,"

"'Kay," she mumbled. Tucking her chin against her chest, white locks of hair fell forwards and obscured her view of him. Her heart hurt at the sight of Remy moving about the kitchen with his intrinsic ease. Like he belonged here and she did not. Unable to handle a cozy, domestic scene in the kitchen, Rogue nodded towards the dining room. "I'll go have a seat if you don't need me for anything…."

"Go ahead chère, I'll be there in a moment."

With that, Remy turned his back on her. Rogue lingered a moment longer, futilely hoping he would once again open himself up to her. Though he gave no indication he knew she was studying him, she knew he could sense her presence. When he didn't say anything, Rogue's shoulders slumped and she slowly trudged towards the dining room.

Finding the seat which used to be hers, Rogue sat with a heavy sigh. She needed to pull herself together before Remy returned with the hot chocolate. The last thing she wanted was for him to know how much his presence still affected her. It would make all her sacrifices moot. She fiddled with her fingers, tying them in knots.

It was strange how quiet the Mansion seemed. When she lived here, it was never silent. There was always someone running through the halls or experimenting with their powers. The constant cacophony of the Institute's residents was usually louder than the voices trapped inside her head. Now, things were different.

Then again, she supposed more things than the obvious had changed. The younger kids she knew, even Jamie, had grown up and left the Professor's care. Some, like Kitty and Piotr returned to help with the kids, but more, like Kurt had left, finding a life outside the institute. And, others were missing, leaving gaping holes in their absence. Though she hadn't been here when Jean lost her fight with the Phoenix entity, Rogue had heard all about it. She'd almost come back then, but the battle was over before she had the chance to pack her bags.

And now, for better or worse, Rogue was back.

"You awake, chèrie?" Remy entered the dining room carrying to large mugs of steaming hot chocolate. Generous dollops of whipped cream and chocolate drizzle topped the drinks.

Rogue cupped her hands around her favorite mug, allowing the heat seeping through the ceramic to warm her fingers. The rich aroma of dark chocolate carried with it memories of bygone winters when Remy made her perfect mugs of hot chocolate everyday as she returned home from work or school. Her throat tightened and she scarcely managed to croak out a garbled. "Thanks."

"It wasn't a bother." Remy took the seat opposite hers. She wasn't certain if she was grateful or not that he didn't take his former spot beside her. While she wasn't ready for that, she missed him. Oh, how she missed him.

The conversation between them fell into an uncomfortable silence. These silences never used to be uncomfortable. Just another change. A change in her. A change in them. She had no one to blame but her herself. And that was never something easy to admit.

No more comfortable with the prolonged silence than she was, Remy fidgeted in his seat. His knee bounced, rattling the table with subtle vibrations. Once again, it was Remy who took on the burden of resuming the conversation.

"You left, chère." The words dragged out of him slow and intense, yet it carried none of the sting of accusation with it. Like he was merely stating a fact.

Rogue nodded. What else could she do?

"I proposed." Though he spoke in the same even tone, the memory tore through her like daggers to the soul.

"I remember, Remy." Sadness flickered behind her eyes. She made her choices, now she had to live with the consequences, like she had been living with them for the past five years.

"You said yes."

She swallowed back the lump in her throat. The cocoa was sickly sweet on her lips. It coated her tongue and throat making it impossible to speak.

"Then, you left the next day. Without a word." His spoon clinked loudly against the side of his mug as he stirred the whipped cream into the chocolate.

Rogue played with the ribbed cuff of his sweater. "I'm sorry sugah…"

"Why?" His voice cracked on the word. "I just need to know….why?"

The cocoa was bitter as she sipped. Her heart seized tight in her chest. What could she say? She'd broken his heart. He deserved better.

"I was scared," she mumbled at last.

He reached across the table and touched her hand. When she didn't pull away, his fingers interlaced between hers. His thumb rubbed circles across her palm. Just like he used to. Like he used to do every day before she ran. "Was it me?

"No, Rems, no." The thought that he might blame himself for her actions, haunted her every day since she left. "I know you can never forgive me. What I did to you was unthinkable. I panicked and ran. It just…it just seemed like the only option at the time. I couldn't give you everything you deserved. I didn't have control of my powers. You weren't going let it go. You'd keep pursuing me come hell or high water, and I just couldn't imagine tying you down to me. You'd regret—"

He placed a finger over her lips as she continued to self-flagellate. "Non, ma chère, I could never regret loving you. There's more to love than the physical. 'M not such a slave to my body that I can't go without the pleasures of the flesh…"

"Never knew you to deny yourself pleasure, sug," she withdrew her hand from his. "Bet you had your pick of prettiest ladies in New York and your bed was only empty as often as you wanted it."

"Oui et non. Oui et non." Remy shook his head.

"What does that mean?" Rogue scooted the chair back far enough to rest her heels along the edge of the seat and pull her knees up to her chest. Lost in Remy's sweater, she wrapped her arms around her legs. Her stomach churned as she breathed in his borrowed scent. She didn't want to hear the gory details of his flings, yet she didn't deserve any reprieve. If she ripped the bandage off now, maybe it wouldn't hurt so bad when she saw him romancing other women.

"You're right, my bed was only as empty as I wanted it to be. Which means, it was empty every night you've been gone." He reached up to his neck and unfastened the gold chain which had been hidden under his shirt. Solemnly, he placed the chain on the table between them. The chain looped through the ring and light gleamed off the sapphires which had haunted her dreams since she fled. The last time she'd seen the engagement ring was when she placed it on his nightstand before sneaking out of the Mansion. "There's only one femme I want in my bed. Since she wasn't here, I waited. There was no point filling her space with a pale imitation. Especially when I kept hoping she'd come back. I love you, Rogue. Always will. You took my heart with you when you left."

"Remy…" Rogue closed her eyes. She couldn't breathe. She didn't deserve this. She needed to get out of her. She needed to run.

Perched as she was between the table and the chair, Rogue tangled between arms and legs and sweater as she tried to move. With the uncoordinated movement, the chair tipped back, taking her with it.

In a flash, Remy was around the table and catching her before she hit the ground. He pulled her into his arms and held her close. "Mon coeur, mon couer…," Remy intoned softly as he rubbed her back and all but pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

When her breathing no longer came out in sharp stutters, Remy released his tight hold on her. His hand remained on her arm until she sat steadily on the ground. Reluctantly, Rogue released her death grip on his t-shirt and tucked her hands back into the sleeves of the sweater. Unconsciously, she picked at one of the minute holes where the cables met, at the twist of yarn angling over its neighboring stitch.

"You left without a word. I couldn't give up hope, not without hearing it from your own lips, 'cause I'll never stop loving you. It ain't possible. Mais, if it's what you want, I'll leave you be. I'll not trouble you again." He placed his hands over hers, stilling the hands worrying at the sweater. When her restless movements finally ceased, he turned his hand over so he held it palm side up. "Roguey, I've never been afraid of you. Never feared your touch. I know you thought I was reckless, mais, that's never been it. You've always possessed all of my heart, filled the entirety of my thoughts. Occupied all my dreams for the future and my plans for the present. Everything I have is yours. So, no, I've never feared your touch 'cause there's nothing you could take from me that you don't already possess. That I haven't already freely given you."

"Remy, stay," she pleaded on a whisper of breath. She caught his hand, taking all he offered, and raised the open palm to her lips. She pressed her lips against the scarred and calloused skin and released her hold on her powers. Taking him at his word, she held nothing back.

And nothing more than a trickle of Remy's psyche trickled into her mind. His love. His loneliness. His confusion. His hope. The echo of his memories mingled in the front of her brain. The taste of his psyche infused every cell of her body. The spark of his mutation ran like lightening through her blood. Yet, Remy remained.

"How?" The startled inquiry echoed in the silent room.

"I told you mon coeur, you already have all of me. What's left for you to take?" Raw honesty laced his words and burned in his eyes. A smoldering hope replaced the leaden sadness and loneliness.

Tears gathered in the corner of her eyes. She'd wasted so much time. "Oh Remy, I'm so sorry…"

"You're forgiven. I forgave you a long time ago." His bare fingers lingered on her skin as he brushed her hair back behind her ear. "I know you. I know you run when you're scared, when you don't know what to do. It is part of your nature. How can I hold that against you? I hope someday you'll be able to trust me instead of running. But, if that was what you needed, then it wasn't the right time for us to marry.

"'Sides, you're not the only one who's made a mess of things. I seem to recall a young Cajun who kidnapped the love of his life because he couldn't figure out how to ask for her help. You forgave me for my foolishness." With that thought still fresh in his mind, his shit eating grin tugged at his lips, transforming the heavy seriousness in the air to something lighter. "Do you remember when I said we could write a book?"

A laugh bubbled from Rogue's lips. She reached across the diminishing space between them and cupped his cheek. "So, swap rat, are you saying that our story ain't over yet?"

"I'm ready to start the next chapter with you, if you're willing to write it with me." Remy pulled her onto her lap and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Yes." Rogue wrapped her arms around him and closed the last space between them with a kiss. His hands slip under the hem of the sweater and traced patterns against her bare skin, while her fingers twisted in his hair until she felt as though they were entangled together into the warmth of the knit. Between breaths, she murmured against his lips, "I love you. I'm ready to begin again."


Note:

"Now they were as strangers; nay, worse than strangers, for they could never become acquainted. It was a perpetual estrangement."

From Persuasion, by Jane Austen, Chapter 8