He needed to get away. Time alone, maybe. Some excuse to get away
from anyplace she had been. Someplace away from the good memories.
Remy LeBeau's motorbike tore across the asphalt, well above the speed limit. He didn't care. Pebbles and chips of cement clinked hard against the back hubcap as it moved in a silver blur. Wind whipped through his hair, plastering it to his face, forcing it to fly out behind him. Setting without complaint, as always, the sun was bidding good night to the rest of the world, him excluded. Just like always.
From the instant he had laid eyes upon Rogue, he had known she was something special. He'd thought their love had been true. That basketball game, that picnic, those dinner dates that had always been crashed by some psychotic villain or other. He knew he'd loved her, everything about her. The way she sipped her venti latte with two raw sugars at Harry's Hideaway, the way she'd dated her letters in the wrong corner, the way her tongue stuck out when she concentrated on a Nora Roberts novel. He'd loved it all. Most of all, he'd loved what she symbolized. She was a beacon of hope, a solitary ray of the impossible future in which his sins were forgiven, as were hers.
He hadn't known that she was exceptional in hurting people too.
Her past hadn't counted for anything. She could keep secrets. It was when he had tried to protect her trust in him, when he'd held back when she'd wanted him to spill forward, that suddenly pasts were never forgotten. She'd managed to escape the cage Caldecott County had left her in, she'd had the key. And she could've helped him out of his cage, the one Sinister had made out of the sewers and blood, of murder and bones, of memories and cerebral implants. But Rogue, she'd dangled the key in his face, just out of reach.
Remy knew he didn't need time alone. He needed time with her. But, stubborn as always, he'd ignored his intelligence in trade for instinct. Besides, she was having a nice dinner with Joseph.
Joseph! She'd forgiven Joseph, for God's sake! A human-hating, racist, immoral warlord, and she'd forgiven him! Why couldn't she see that Joseph was Magneto? She could forgive a man with actual blood on his hands, but apparently Remy's crime was worse. Because it was a secret? Because he chose to hide it, unlike Joseph, who didn't remember anything enough to hide it?
Jealous tears welled up in Remy's eyes. He wanted Rogue now more than anything, but that horrible instinct told him she didn't care anymore. He'd betrayed her trust, just like everyone else in her life. At least, that was what she'd said. They'd said pretty words to each other, things to allay fears and nightmares and potential futures. Didn't keep her from leaving him in Antarctica, did it?
The road in front of him shifted, distorted, as tears slid their way across the line of his eyelid. Like the world he'd known, the lines and objects and shadows blurred like watercolors. Furrowing his brow and squinting to vainly keep them from falling, his vision became blotches of colors and splashes of light. His gloved hands gripped the handles of the motorbike harder, and he slammed his thumb on the accelerator. Anything to go faster and leave it all behind.
It would later be said that the instant Monsieur Remy LeBeau had set off on that motorbike, his fate had been sealed.
Remy LeBeau's motorbike tore across the asphalt, well above the speed limit. He didn't care. Pebbles and chips of cement clinked hard against the back hubcap as it moved in a silver blur. Wind whipped through his hair, plastering it to his face, forcing it to fly out behind him. Setting without complaint, as always, the sun was bidding good night to the rest of the world, him excluded. Just like always.
From the instant he had laid eyes upon Rogue, he had known she was something special. He'd thought their love had been true. That basketball game, that picnic, those dinner dates that had always been crashed by some psychotic villain or other. He knew he'd loved her, everything about her. The way she sipped her venti latte with two raw sugars at Harry's Hideaway, the way she'd dated her letters in the wrong corner, the way her tongue stuck out when she concentrated on a Nora Roberts novel. He'd loved it all. Most of all, he'd loved what she symbolized. She was a beacon of hope, a solitary ray of the impossible future in which his sins were forgiven, as were hers.
He hadn't known that she was exceptional in hurting people too.
Her past hadn't counted for anything. She could keep secrets. It was when he had tried to protect her trust in him, when he'd held back when she'd wanted him to spill forward, that suddenly pasts were never forgotten. She'd managed to escape the cage Caldecott County had left her in, she'd had the key. And she could've helped him out of his cage, the one Sinister had made out of the sewers and blood, of murder and bones, of memories and cerebral implants. But Rogue, she'd dangled the key in his face, just out of reach.
Remy knew he didn't need time alone. He needed time with her. But, stubborn as always, he'd ignored his intelligence in trade for instinct. Besides, she was having a nice dinner with Joseph.
Joseph! She'd forgiven Joseph, for God's sake! A human-hating, racist, immoral warlord, and she'd forgiven him! Why couldn't she see that Joseph was Magneto? She could forgive a man with actual blood on his hands, but apparently Remy's crime was worse. Because it was a secret? Because he chose to hide it, unlike Joseph, who didn't remember anything enough to hide it?
Jealous tears welled up in Remy's eyes. He wanted Rogue now more than anything, but that horrible instinct told him she didn't care anymore. He'd betrayed her trust, just like everyone else in her life. At least, that was what she'd said. They'd said pretty words to each other, things to allay fears and nightmares and potential futures. Didn't keep her from leaving him in Antarctica, did it?
The road in front of him shifted, distorted, as tears slid their way across the line of his eyelid. Like the world he'd known, the lines and objects and shadows blurred like watercolors. Furrowing his brow and squinting to vainly keep them from falling, his vision became blotches of colors and splashes of light. His gloved hands gripped the handles of the motorbike harder, and he slammed his thumb on the accelerator. Anything to go faster and leave it all behind.
It would later be said that the instant Monsieur Remy LeBeau had set off on that motorbike, his fate had been sealed.