A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update, I had writer's block for one and
since Winter Brake is coming up my teachers are piling on the homework.
Isn't High School wonderful?
"Rogue," Remy was speaking. Rogue looked up from her lap, she had been replaying the moment in the Danger Room over and over again in her head. She tried not to think of the painful memories that she now shared with Remy. The others didn't move they were still in her way she couldn't see him. "Where's" his voice grew in volume and speed, it wasn't anywhere near his usual astounding speed or the auditorium filling volume, but his voice was coming back to it.
Wolverine looked aggravated and lit a cigar, "Damn, if he had died I woulda gotten his motorcycle. Oh well, good ta have ya' back, Gumbo." He puffed the cigar. Rogue knew he was lying, and she also knew how much Remy loved the red and black motorcycle that was sitting now in the garage.
"R--" his voice was still elevating, but it was still haggard, as if he had run a mile or so.
"You should talk to Scott, he's being all leadery and taking it out on himself," Kitty nodded. Scott was still walled up in his room saying things like: 'if this happens in the Institute think about what'll happen in a real fight.' And 'How could I let this happen? He's going to die and its my fault!'
"Where the--"
"Jeez can't you guys tell he's trying to talk?" Bobby Drake nearly shouted.
"T'ank you, where de 'ell is Rogue?" He asked.
"Ah'm here," Rogue finally shouted. The others slowly stepped to the side like parting waters. There he sat. For a second she just looked at him, he looked so sick. His skin was pale, not as pale as it had been when she had first come three days prior but he still retained some of that pallor. His vanes stood out as if they had all been colored in including two bizarre ones on the underside of each arm that lead to the center of his shirtless chest*. An IV was in his right arm. This was her fault. She had done this to him. "Ah'm sorry," she said slowly.
"Don' be I guess I was wrong, y'all do know somet'ing 'bout a real fight after all." He joked, the ghost of his former smile crept over his sickly face. She was not aware of anyone else just him and her. She cared about that stupid, cocky, aggravating, thieving Cajun so much. She had hurt him extremely badly. She was unaware of the fact that she had ended up sitting on the foot of the hospital bed, but was fully aware of her decision to wind her arms around his neck. Tears began in her eyes and she hugged him making sure their skin didn't touch.
Remy was hugging her too; it was comforting to be in his arms. No one could hurt her then. She held back the tears as she ran her hands down his back, until she found it. Her fingers had found a long thin mark, an indent, a scar, a scar that his own father had given to him when he was 10 and accidentally blew up a playground fence. That was when she let tears fall, when she cried. Cried for Remy, he had been through so much in his 18 years of life.
He had seen children die for their father's fights. He had seen fathers and mothers snatched from their kids just days before Christmas. Remy had seen blood dripping into city gutters like floodwater. Gambit had fought his whole life in a war that didn't mean anything. Remy had run from the police. Remy saw corruption, he himself was corrupt, jaded, and lonely. He had heard more lies then truths, he had seen men bleed tears, he had woken up to hear that another friend was killed, he had seen a good man sin. He was taught to hate. But he didn't. She could see he didn't. She could feel he didn't. For all of these things she didn't pity him. Her emotion was hard to explain. He had been through all that; truly an amazing and good person and she had almost been the end of him.
"Ah'm so sorry, ah could've killed you," she whispered between sobs.
"Shhh," Remy rocked her gently, "S'okay petit, s'okay I'm 'ere now, I'm alright."
She realized as she half lay there in his arms, how close they really were. They were closer then Scott and Jean, closer then Storm and Beast, closer even then Romeo and Juliet. She had been him. She had been in him. Three days ago when Rogue fought Remy's inner demons she and he were one. There was no Rouge, no Marie D'ancanto, but there had been a weak sliver of Remy. Remy LeBeau had been lying barely alive in the hospital wing, and he also been a tiny grimy gold streak through her mind. Between both the physical form of Gambit and his entire memory, his life force was within the school, and between both lovers. They were one.
She gave a shuttering breath. Rogue laid her head on his chest using her hair as a barrier. She could hear his heart beating. It was too fast but was slowing back to a normal pace. It was reassuring just to sit there like that. It was perfect. She could feel his voice in his chest as he spoke, "Rogue are we a, you know, couple?" He asked hopefully, "'cause I guess ya' saw in my head an' all so," he was nervous. She was lying there in his arms and he was being, God there was only one word for it. He was being a boy.
"Yes," she said laughing a little into his chest. She looked up into his face. It looked particularly pale because of the contradiction between his corneas and his skin. She could see the tattoo on his upper left arm that was less then one year old that she knew hurt. The King of Hearts, his trademark, an alias, and his tattoo. "Absolutely!" She slipped back into his arms. Neither realized that the others had left, or where they conscious the others had ever been there. Rogue could remember that moment years and years later. In fact she never ever forgot it. that was the moment both fell head over heels in love with one another.
*Hannah has serious issues: I need scientific reasoning. Usually they are even less noticeable then vanes, but these are Kinetic Energy ducts. It connects from his fingers through his upper arm to his spinal column (which connects to the brain DUH!) okay PEACE!
"Rogue," Remy was speaking. Rogue looked up from her lap, she had been replaying the moment in the Danger Room over and over again in her head. She tried not to think of the painful memories that she now shared with Remy. The others didn't move they were still in her way she couldn't see him. "Where's" his voice grew in volume and speed, it wasn't anywhere near his usual astounding speed or the auditorium filling volume, but his voice was coming back to it.
Wolverine looked aggravated and lit a cigar, "Damn, if he had died I woulda gotten his motorcycle. Oh well, good ta have ya' back, Gumbo." He puffed the cigar. Rogue knew he was lying, and she also knew how much Remy loved the red and black motorcycle that was sitting now in the garage.
"R--" his voice was still elevating, but it was still haggard, as if he had run a mile or so.
"You should talk to Scott, he's being all leadery and taking it out on himself," Kitty nodded. Scott was still walled up in his room saying things like: 'if this happens in the Institute think about what'll happen in a real fight.' And 'How could I let this happen? He's going to die and its my fault!'
"Where the--"
"Jeez can't you guys tell he's trying to talk?" Bobby Drake nearly shouted.
"T'ank you, where de 'ell is Rogue?" He asked.
"Ah'm here," Rogue finally shouted. The others slowly stepped to the side like parting waters. There he sat. For a second she just looked at him, he looked so sick. His skin was pale, not as pale as it had been when she had first come three days prior but he still retained some of that pallor. His vanes stood out as if they had all been colored in including two bizarre ones on the underside of each arm that lead to the center of his shirtless chest*. An IV was in his right arm. This was her fault. She had done this to him. "Ah'm sorry," she said slowly.
"Don' be I guess I was wrong, y'all do know somet'ing 'bout a real fight after all." He joked, the ghost of his former smile crept over his sickly face. She was not aware of anyone else just him and her. She cared about that stupid, cocky, aggravating, thieving Cajun so much. She had hurt him extremely badly. She was unaware of the fact that she had ended up sitting on the foot of the hospital bed, but was fully aware of her decision to wind her arms around his neck. Tears began in her eyes and she hugged him making sure their skin didn't touch.
Remy was hugging her too; it was comforting to be in his arms. No one could hurt her then. She held back the tears as she ran her hands down his back, until she found it. Her fingers had found a long thin mark, an indent, a scar, a scar that his own father had given to him when he was 10 and accidentally blew up a playground fence. That was when she let tears fall, when she cried. Cried for Remy, he had been through so much in his 18 years of life.
He had seen children die for their father's fights. He had seen fathers and mothers snatched from their kids just days before Christmas. Remy had seen blood dripping into city gutters like floodwater. Gambit had fought his whole life in a war that didn't mean anything. Remy had run from the police. Remy saw corruption, he himself was corrupt, jaded, and lonely. He had heard more lies then truths, he had seen men bleed tears, he had woken up to hear that another friend was killed, he had seen a good man sin. He was taught to hate. But he didn't. She could see he didn't. She could feel he didn't. For all of these things she didn't pity him. Her emotion was hard to explain. He had been through all that; truly an amazing and good person and she had almost been the end of him.
"Ah'm so sorry, ah could've killed you," she whispered between sobs.
"Shhh," Remy rocked her gently, "S'okay petit, s'okay I'm 'ere now, I'm alright."
She realized as she half lay there in his arms, how close they really were. They were closer then Scott and Jean, closer then Storm and Beast, closer even then Romeo and Juliet. She had been him. She had been in him. Three days ago when Rogue fought Remy's inner demons she and he were one. There was no Rouge, no Marie D'ancanto, but there had been a weak sliver of Remy. Remy LeBeau had been lying barely alive in the hospital wing, and he also been a tiny grimy gold streak through her mind. Between both the physical form of Gambit and his entire memory, his life force was within the school, and between both lovers. They were one.
She gave a shuttering breath. Rogue laid her head on his chest using her hair as a barrier. She could hear his heart beating. It was too fast but was slowing back to a normal pace. It was reassuring just to sit there like that. It was perfect. She could feel his voice in his chest as he spoke, "Rogue are we a, you know, couple?" He asked hopefully, "'cause I guess ya' saw in my head an' all so," he was nervous. She was lying there in his arms and he was being, God there was only one word for it. He was being a boy.
"Yes," she said laughing a little into his chest. She looked up into his face. It looked particularly pale because of the contradiction between his corneas and his skin. She could see the tattoo on his upper left arm that was less then one year old that she knew hurt. The King of Hearts, his trademark, an alias, and his tattoo. "Absolutely!" She slipped back into his arms. Neither realized that the others had left, or where they conscious the others had ever been there. Rogue could remember that moment years and years later. In fact she never ever forgot it. that was the moment both fell head over heels in love with one another.
*Hannah has serious issues: I need scientific reasoning. Usually they are even less noticeable then vanes, but these are Kinetic Energy ducts. It connects from his fingers through his upper arm to his spinal column (which connects to the brain DUH!) okay PEACE!