Chapter Eight
About a half hour later, with the bar far behind them, Remy pulled over to the side of the road and looked over his shoulder at Betsy. "Where ya wanna go?"
"Hmmm? I thought we were supposed to be doing what you wanted to do."
"We did. But, Remy gotta t'ank you. Wouldn' worked so bien if de homme 'adn't been starin' at you so much. You played your part perfect."
"Thank you."
"So, m'ami, where to?"
"Dinner. We skipped lunch and I, for one, am hungry."
His smile faltered and he dropped his gaze. "Pardon. Forgot de time."
"Well, so did I. I was having too much fun to notice." She was very concerned when he still would not look at her. A few moments ago, when he had been laughing, he was so much like the old Remy that it was easy to forget just how broken he actually was. However, it took only a moment for the realization to come rushing back and Betsy immediately tried to find out what had happened. "Remy, what is wrong? Did I say something to hurt you?"
"Remy get you dinner, den...den, he tell ya." Turning his focus forward once more, Remy took off at a much slower speed and the tension in his body transmitted itself up Betsy's arms, making her even more concerned since he had been relaxed earlier. Reviewing thier conversation, she to fugure out what had caused this butit was a useless endeavor. The entire conversation had been innocent yet even the most innocent of statements could cut in the right circumstances. She would have to wait until he told her.
They pulled up in front of the cafe she had taken him to the previous night and he looked back at her nervously. "Y'mind eatin' here? 'S a nice place."
"Actually, it is one of my favorite places. I find its atmosphere soothing."
He offered her his arm once again and, once agan, she did not hesitate to take it. They were seated immediately and Betsy was amused by the server's curious glances. The British woman did not need her telepathy to know what the girl was thinking. They were a very mismatched pair without Remy playing the role of slumming rich boy. His long hair was pulled back in a windblown ponytail and his worn trench coat and fingerless gloves made him look very disreputable particularly in juxtaposition with Betsy's artfully applied make up and expensive, hand tailored designer outfit. It was tempting to take a peek inside the woman's mind to find out what she thought the relationship between the two of them was, but Betsy had more important concerns. She did not want to be distracted when Remy finally explained what had happened earlier.
They ordered quickly and were once again silent through the meal but it was not an overly awkward silence nor was it comfortable. It was the calm before the storm because, though Remy had promised to explain, neither one looked forward to it. It wouldbe difficult for Remy to tell and probably difficult for Betsy to hear. After all, she had been at the trial. She had seen what had happened, turned her back like the others, left him just like the others. She was as guilty as the others so seeing his pain was not an easy thing for her. However, doing the easy things was not going to make any of this right again, particularly that was what started this whole mess to begin with.
They were sitting on the patio drinking their after dinner coffee and watching the sunset when Remy, hesitantly, began. "Don' get 'ungry no more. Know 'm supposed ta eat and do, when I 'member but...dat's not too often. Dis mornin', Remy lied to ya. Wasn' gonna eat breakfast, but you show up 'nd Remy 'membered, ya supposed ta eat in de mornin'."
"Was it always like that?"
"Non. Jus' since...since de ice. Starved down dere 'nd m'mind tried to 'scape. Don' t'ink 'bout food, don' realize 'ow long it's been. Shouldn' 'ave ta do dat now but m'mind's not cooperatin'." His lips curled into something that was half a mocking smile and half a snarl. "Maybe, it t'inks Remy still dere in de cold. Dis all jus' a dream to make dyin' easier. Maybe, it's right."
Betsy's eyes burned at his words. "No, if this was a dream, I think your mind would pick a more suitable comforter."
He snorted. "Like who?"
"Rogue." The name was out before she could stop it and she desperately tried to mitigate the pain by quickly adding, "Or Logan, maybe Jubilee." It did not work.
"Non, mind wouldn' pick her as comforter." His eyes were closed and his head was bowed. He seemed almost to curl up on himself. "Neva' 'gain. When she lef'..." Remy seemed to shake himself free of his thoughts before he turned and looked at her. The bleak pain in those eyes tore at her. "Remy lied to you 'nother time. Not just easy for dem wit' me at de boat house. Easy for me. Don' have to see 'er. Don' 'ave to remind m'self not to 'urt 'er or curse her or beg 'er to...or anyt'ing. When de femme 'round, Remy hurts and 'e hates 'nd 'e wants...'nother chance sometimes...but...mos' times...wanna 'urt 'er. You t'ink Remy's bad 'cause a' dat?"
His eyes bored into hers, demanding an answer or judgement, something, and she reached out, laying a hand on his. "No, I do not think you are bad because you feel like that. I think you are a man who has been hurt very badly and is trying to work through it."
Remy's gaze fell to her hand and he stared at it for several moments, with an unreadable expression. Betsy did not move. Eventually, his other hand came up and lightly traced the back of her fingers. "Ange a lucky homme, he know dat?" They were silent for a few more moments before Remy suddenly stood up. "It gettin' late. Gotta get you 'ome." Betsy nodded, unable to speak around the tightness of her throat.
The ride home was uneventful and more relaxed than earlier, for which Betsy was glad. Remy cut off the motor as soon as they were parked once again in the mansion's garage and quickly turned to leave. Today had been a good day and he was not anxious to spoil it by causing problems for Betsy. He gave her a small wave before disappearing into the night, heading for the boat house.
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AN: Short chapter, I know, but it seemed like such a perfect chapter ending, I couldn't bear to add more.
About a half hour later, with the bar far behind them, Remy pulled over to the side of the road and looked over his shoulder at Betsy. "Where ya wanna go?"
"Hmmm? I thought we were supposed to be doing what you wanted to do."
"We did. But, Remy gotta t'ank you. Wouldn' worked so bien if de homme 'adn't been starin' at you so much. You played your part perfect."
"Thank you."
"So, m'ami, where to?"
"Dinner. We skipped lunch and I, for one, am hungry."
His smile faltered and he dropped his gaze. "Pardon. Forgot de time."
"Well, so did I. I was having too much fun to notice." She was very concerned when he still would not look at her. A few moments ago, when he had been laughing, he was so much like the old Remy that it was easy to forget just how broken he actually was. However, it took only a moment for the realization to come rushing back and Betsy immediately tried to find out what had happened. "Remy, what is wrong? Did I say something to hurt you?"
"Remy get you dinner, den...den, he tell ya." Turning his focus forward once more, Remy took off at a much slower speed and the tension in his body transmitted itself up Betsy's arms, making her even more concerned since he had been relaxed earlier. Reviewing thier conversation, she to fugure out what had caused this butit was a useless endeavor. The entire conversation had been innocent yet even the most innocent of statements could cut in the right circumstances. She would have to wait until he told her.
They pulled up in front of the cafe she had taken him to the previous night and he looked back at her nervously. "Y'mind eatin' here? 'S a nice place."
"Actually, it is one of my favorite places. I find its atmosphere soothing."
He offered her his arm once again and, once agan, she did not hesitate to take it. They were seated immediately and Betsy was amused by the server's curious glances. The British woman did not need her telepathy to know what the girl was thinking. They were a very mismatched pair without Remy playing the role of slumming rich boy. His long hair was pulled back in a windblown ponytail and his worn trench coat and fingerless gloves made him look very disreputable particularly in juxtaposition with Betsy's artfully applied make up and expensive, hand tailored designer outfit. It was tempting to take a peek inside the woman's mind to find out what she thought the relationship between the two of them was, but Betsy had more important concerns. She did not want to be distracted when Remy finally explained what had happened earlier.
They ordered quickly and were once again silent through the meal but it was not an overly awkward silence nor was it comfortable. It was the calm before the storm because, though Remy had promised to explain, neither one looked forward to it. It wouldbe difficult for Remy to tell and probably difficult for Betsy to hear. After all, she had been at the trial. She had seen what had happened, turned her back like the others, left him just like the others. She was as guilty as the others so seeing his pain was not an easy thing for her. However, doing the easy things was not going to make any of this right again, particularly that was what started this whole mess to begin with.
They were sitting on the patio drinking their after dinner coffee and watching the sunset when Remy, hesitantly, began. "Don' get 'ungry no more. Know 'm supposed ta eat and do, when I 'member but...dat's not too often. Dis mornin', Remy lied to ya. Wasn' gonna eat breakfast, but you show up 'nd Remy 'membered, ya supposed ta eat in de mornin'."
"Was it always like that?"
"Non. Jus' since...since de ice. Starved down dere 'nd m'mind tried to 'scape. Don' t'ink 'bout food, don' realize 'ow long it's been. Shouldn' 'ave ta do dat now but m'mind's not cooperatin'." His lips curled into something that was half a mocking smile and half a snarl. "Maybe, it t'inks Remy still dere in de cold. Dis all jus' a dream to make dyin' easier. Maybe, it's right."
Betsy's eyes burned at his words. "No, if this was a dream, I think your mind would pick a more suitable comforter."
He snorted. "Like who?"
"Rogue." The name was out before she could stop it and she desperately tried to mitigate the pain by quickly adding, "Or Logan, maybe Jubilee." It did not work.
"Non, mind wouldn' pick her as comforter." His eyes were closed and his head was bowed. He seemed almost to curl up on himself. "Neva' 'gain. When she lef'..." Remy seemed to shake himself free of his thoughts before he turned and looked at her. The bleak pain in those eyes tore at her. "Remy lied to you 'nother time. Not just easy for dem wit' me at de boat house. Easy for me. Don' have to see 'er. Don' 'ave to remind m'self not to 'urt 'er or curse her or beg 'er to...or anyt'ing. When de femme 'round, Remy hurts and 'e hates 'nd 'e wants...'nother chance sometimes...but...mos' times...wanna 'urt 'er. You t'ink Remy's bad 'cause a' dat?"
His eyes bored into hers, demanding an answer or judgement, something, and she reached out, laying a hand on his. "No, I do not think you are bad because you feel like that. I think you are a man who has been hurt very badly and is trying to work through it."
Remy's gaze fell to her hand and he stared at it for several moments, with an unreadable expression. Betsy did not move. Eventually, his other hand came up and lightly traced the back of her fingers. "Ange a lucky homme, he know dat?" They were silent for a few more moments before Remy suddenly stood up. "It gettin' late. Gotta get you 'ome." Betsy nodded, unable to speak around the tightness of her throat.
The ride home was uneventful and more relaxed than earlier, for which Betsy was glad. Remy cut off the motor as soon as they were parked once again in the mansion's garage and quickly turned to leave. Today had been a good day and he was not anxious to spoil it by causing problems for Betsy. He gave her a small wave before disappearing into the night, heading for the boat house.
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AN: Short chapter, I know, but it seemed like such a perfect chapter ending, I couldn't bear to add more.