Chapter 4: Confusion
When Remy LeBeau opened his eyes, a bright light seemed to blind him, and he closed his eyes, flinching at a strange feeling in his throat, as if he'd swallowed something nasty.
"Ah, you're awake then," he could hear Hank McCoy's voice, the general echo of the room suggested that he was in the hospital wing of the Mansion, and now he could feel the cold cloth sheets underneath his bare back, and arms.
"Can you turn that damn overhead light off?" Remy requested in a hoarse voice, he put his hand over his eyes, his hand itself felt rather weak. He took in a breath, he felt breathless, as if he'd been choking, and his chest was aching with a pain that felt as if something heavy had been pressing on him for some amount of time.
He felt Hank take his wrist, he could barely even pull away, "your pulse is quite strong, you're a lucky young man," he stated, Remy heard the switch click and beneath his eyelids he could tell the light had been turned off. He opened his eyes, everything seemingly blurry for a moment.
Remy coughed, and immediately felt the urge to vomit, and it came – luckily with Hank's reflexes a basin was already available under him to do so. It seemed like water, not a whole lot of it, but enough to give Remy extreme discomfort the moment it hit his throat. Remy tried to speak a moment afterwards, but Hank grasped his shoulder and squeezed. "Don't try to talk…"
Remy rested his head back down on the unreasonably flat pillows of the bed, and closed his eyes, he tried to remember what had happened, but dazed, and confused, could not find the answers he was looking for. "What's goin' on?" he croaked.
"What's going on is you've been unconscious for several hours now," Hank glanced at his watch, "I'd say approximately two hours."
Remy tried to sit up, "what?" he gasped.
"You obviously have a little amnesia, and that's normal," Hank made him lie back down, "you must rest, the answers will come later."
"I want to know now, Mon ami," Remy sat up again, taking in deep breaths.
"Very well," Hank sighed, "you and Rogue were caught in an unexpected ice storm," he explained, "your bike skidded – and headed off into Bayville lake."
Remy winced, wondering if his bike was still alright, or if it remained at the bottom of the lake.
"Rogue managed to get off in time whilst you – and the bike – headed into the water. She saved your life. I'd say you have a lot to be thankful for," Hank added.
Remy coughed a little, "so I nearly drowned?" he was startled, he could not remember any of this at all.
"I'd say so," Hank stated, "Please, rest for now…"
Remy glanced towards the doorway, seeing Rogue standing there, a blanket wrapped around her, her hair in neither shape nor form, her face stained with makeup that had never been completely washed off, she looked pale and cold, and almost corpse like in the dull light of the hospital wing, an unearthly beauty.
But seeing he was awake, she did not seem pleased at all, her face was full of contempt, and her eyes glazed as if she'd cried. She pulled the blanket around her tighter, keeping her eyes on his, her own eyes, and expression speaking more volumes than he knew he could read, all he knew was that something he'd done had angered her, and he was going to be in trouble when she confronted him about it.
But she didn't confront him at all. Didn't say anything, did not step closer, instead, Rogue disappeared from the doorway, leaving him there.
What have I done, he pondered, wracking his brain for the answer, and finding none, instead, trying to think only seemed to bring an exhaustion over him and weigh him down.
Remy closed his eyes, feeling groggy and bleary, and let himself slip off into a light sleep.
When Remy LeBeau woke, the dim lights in the hospital wing were still on, but Hank was nowhere in sight, Remy could sense it was late, everyone probably already in bed. He pulled himself up, feeling the need to go to the bathroom, and also find something to soothe his sore throat. The bathroom lights were on, and there was evidence Rogue had been in there, wiping off her makeup, cotton balls with smears of black and grey were in the little waste bin by the sink.
Remy glanced to the mirror full sized mirror that was right next to the shower stall, his normally tanned face seemed pale, and sunken, his eyes red and puffy, his hair flat and limp. He was clad only in a pair of dark grey jogging pants, his feet bare, his chest bare, and he could see the still healing scar of a large stab wound from months previous, he touched it, remembering how he'd received it.
After having dealt with relieving himself, and having splashed some water from the sink onto his face to try and wake himself up a little more, he left the bathroom, intent on heading to the kitchen.
As he headed towards the kitchen, he could hear music on in the Rec room. It wasn't loud enough to disturb everyone in the Mansion, but it was loud enough for him to hear that it was the band known as Godsmack, and that the music seemed angry – this meant only one thing. Rogue was in the Rec room.
He crept in there silently – despite the music would have disguised his footsteps. The door of the room was way behind the comfortable couch in front of the TV, he could see Rogue's legs dangling off the end of the couch, and he slowly walked over, finding her laying across the couch, asleep, her head on the second seat. Her eyes closed lightly.
Remy moved so silently she would have never heard him even when she was awake, he knelt in front of the couch looking at her.
He didn't understand why she'd seemed so…angry with him earlier. The events of the night he'd encountered began to become clear, and he remembered arguing with her about taking the bike instead of the van – he'd insisted on the bike. Perhaps this was why she seemed so angry, that it could have been avoided somehow.
Remy brushed her hair away from her face so cautiously, to not touch her skin, yet with the most loving care he felt he'd ever he'd shown towards any of the women he'd ever known in his life – and he'd known many.
She was beautiful when she slept, without an trace of makeup, she was childlike, and for a moment, Remy wondered if she really was sixteen – or had lied. Looking at her now, she'd never seemed more innocent and vulnerable in all the time he'd known her. He'd never seen her this way. It stirred something inside him he'd never felt, something that made him protective and caring towards her, yet, inside fear and heartache grew inside of him, and he hated that feeling.
Taking a flower petal from one of the fresh flowers in the centrepiece on the coffee table, he brushed it against her lips softly, keeping his eyes on her face.
He wanted some sort of reaction, yet at the same time, he didn't. He wanted to see her smile, but not awaken from her slumber. But she didn't awake, nor did she smile, instead a strange frown appeared on her face, and she shifted her position slightly, moving onto her side. Her arm hung down over the edge of the couch, she was still wearing the clothes from earlier, he noticed, and the gloves she always wore. He gently took her hand, and held it in both of his, and kissed the fingers of her gloves.
He wanted to kiss her so badly right then, the fact that she was asleep and she'd never know, but the fact was that he knew if he did, she'd absorb his powers, perhaps blow up the couch, perhaps even worst still, see things in his head that he did not want her to see – ever.
The music still blasted on in the background, it blasted at him angry words, 'I fucking hate you, you're such a liar'. He felt a chill run up his spine, knowing why the song brought such discomfort to him. He quickly moved to the CD player, and switched it off. Silence filled the room.
He looked at her again, and his heart felt as if it were injured, his soul wounded. He kept telling himself that it wasn't right for him to fall in love with Rogue, that it was wrong – so wrong, and for many more reasons than she would probably ever understand.
Despite all the signals he'd given her previously, he wondered if it were too late to stop, to stop showing that he had an attraction towards her, that she interested him, and thrilled him. He'd gone too far, he realised, it was too late to stop now, he'd gotten involved – she'd gotten involved, and together they would have to deal with it somehow. He hadn't intended to go this far with her, flirting was in his nature, he'd always done it, it had never meant anything until now. Even when he'd told girls he loved them – it had never been serious, not as serious as the feelings he was getting towards her.
It isn't fair to her, he thought at himself bitterly, she's still a child compared to me, three years between us might as well be thirty for the experience I've had with romance and sex, and these are both things she cannot even experience.
He moved over and sat on an armchair, outside he could see it was beginning to grow lighter, and he could hear the birds in nearby trees. He switched off the only light in the room – which had been right next to him on a small round mahogany table. He sat there, and was silent, never moving, he kept his eyes on her, even in the darkness he could see her.
Remy watched as the sun rose and the orange and pink light spilled through the muslin drapes and onto her face, and he loved her.