He's not on the floor this time.
He's leaning against the wall next to the bar smoking a cigarette. The cherry pulsates as he takes a drag and gazes out into the neon-striped dark. He doesn't look at her as she comes up beside him even though she's so close she can smell the ghost of some unidentifiable cologne mingling with his skin underneath all the smoke and alcohol.
It's so good it makes her throat ache.
He looks at the cigarette pinched between his thumb and forefinger, studies it like it's the most fascinating thing in the world and says, "S'been a week. Y'sure know how t'keep a man waitin', chere."
"Ah'm sorry…" He takes a long drag and exhales a puff of smoke that tries to say this is me not caring, but the forced nonchalance isn't fooling her and he knows it.
"Remy…" She tentatively reaches out to him, slowly slides a hand under his jacket, over his heart. He still won't look at her. She hooks her fingers into the breast pocket of his shirt and gives it a little tug. "Don't be mad at me."
"Ain't mad."
"Then lookit me."
He drops the cigarette, crushes it under his boot and finally meets her eyes. The sulky droop to his mouth immediately straightens and he turns his body to hers, cups her elbows in his palms, his brow furrowing in concern.
She had intended to play the temptress, coy and sexy and irresistible. She borrowed a dress, a green she knew he'd like. She did her hair, made her eyes smokey, her lips glossy. She thought if she had the right costume she could play the part, shove aside her feelings and just do what needs to be done.
She should have known it wouldn't be that easy.
"What happen? You a'right?"
Just stick to y' story - Ah'm here now; Ah want you now. It's as close to being truthful as y'gonna git t'night anyway…
"Ah'm fine. Ah don't wanna talk about it… Ah don't wanna think about it, Ah jus'…" She wraps her fingers around the collar of his duster, pulls him close, deliberately brushing her body up against his.
"Chere-"
"Remy…" Please stop lookin' at me like that… like ya care… like ya worried… Ah jus need ya ta want me… Jus' want me Remy, don't care... "Ah need a distraction…"
"An dat'd be me would it?" He isn't smiling. He's still concerned and maybe a little hurt that that's all she seems to want from him - a warm body, veiled kisses. She sees it in his eyes and her resolve begins to waver. She lets go of his collar.
He thinks she means to leave and gently squeezes her elbows.
"Dat wadn't a complaint."
He smiles. He's hers.
Mystique knew he would be.
"He's not going to say no to you, Rogue. You're our only chance. Use him to get in there - play with him first if you like, I don't care, just get rid of them."
Them.
The X-Men.
Remy threw a flaming card at Dominick.
She saw it on the news an instant before the camera short-circuited and the feed went dead. Before that she saw Raven, her body a blue blur as it shot across the screen. A pulsing red beam of light had hit her square in the stomach. She saw that too. And a familiar black woman with white hair shaping a tornado in her hands before sending it after St. John who was spewing flame at a man who seemed to be made of glass.
The anchorman had been astounded. Snow fizzed on the square above his shoulder and he had sat there blinking, mouth open in an almost comical gape. The telephone had been pressed against her ear so tightly her teeth had ached, and she had been able to hear the tinny echo of his halting voice coming from Irene's TV on the other end of the line as she watched them replay the footage over and over again…
"If you are just joining us now, an attack has been made on a government storage facility…"
(St. John swept off his feet, pinwheels of flame spiralling after him)
"The assailants are unknown at this time…"
(Mystique flung up against a wall so hard it cracks)
"…looking into the possibility of a hoax…"
(Pink crackling joker whizzing past the screen and Dominick's face an instant before it hits)
"…five guards dead, three wounded, one in critical condition…"
(Fizzzzzzzzzzz )
The Brotherhood had received information that a shipment of mutant tracking devices had been delivered to a "storage" facility just outside of DC. They had gone to destroy them.
"We found hostages." Mystique's eyes are hard and surrounded by bruises, blood. "Men, Women, and children test subjects - they were being used as lab rats for a demo to be given tomorrow for investors. We released them and they were running to get free and the guards started shooting…
St. John furiously flicks his lighter open and shut, open and shut.
"Bastards deserved everything they got!"
Dominick's tanned face is deathly pale as he peels his half-melted uniform away from his burnt skin.
Mystique comes to her, puts her hands on her shoulders, looks deep into her eyes.
"We need your help, Rogue. You know him…"
"Ah don't understand-"
"The one called Gambit. The one in Irene's visions, Rogue. The one with you."
"You know that asshole?" Dominick wheezes, blinks at her in disbelief.
"Yes, she does. And we can use it. Does he trust you, Rogue?"
"Mystique what's goin' on, who were those people?"
"They call themselves X-Men. We believe they work for the government, a kind of strike force to keep groups like us in line. They're terrorists, Rogue."
"No… there's gotta be some sorta mistake…"
"Rogue," Irene speaks quietly from where she sits beside the flickering television sets, each screen frozen on a different image from the news footage. A bolt of lightning guided by a white-gloved hand. A man with a stream of red light shooting from his visor.
Remy in profile, the collar of his duster obscuring most of his face but not his eyes. They glow like the card in his hand.
"It's time for you to make your choice."
"Can we go somewhere?" She closes her eyes as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear and nods, his voice soft, low.
"Yeah… yeah, chere, we go wherever you wan'."
"We need you, Rogue…"
"Ah wanna go home with ya. Wherever that is - subway car, motel room Ah don't care…"
"… We're depending on you…"
She bites her lip at his hesitation, puts her hands back under his coat. He sucks in his breath.
"Okay. Les… les g'outta here…"
-/-
"Wait here a momen' - jus wan' make sure de coast is clear…"
"Is there a problem?"
"Guests ain' really allowed."
"Ah don't wanna git ya in trouble…"
"I like trouble." He grins at her in the darkness, squeezes her hand once. He hasn't let go of it since they parked the bike and he led her up the back path to the mansion. "Most likely everyone's sleepin'. S'been a long week…"
Tell me about it…
"I be right back." He slips inside leaving her alone on the back porch. She stays close to the wall, careful not to be in view of any of the windows. The mansion is huge. She wonders how many bedrooms there are, how many people inside sleeping, dreaming, completely unaware tha-
"S'all good, chere." He holds the door open for her, takes her hand again as they quietly make their way up a flight of stairs. He leads her down a long hallway past door after door until they reach the last one on the left.
He flips on a small lamp that fills the room with a soft warm glow, and she takes in the Moroccan rug lying before the large stone fireplace, the mahogany sleigh bed and rumpled scarlet sheets with a low whistle.
"Nice…"
He runs a hand through his hair giving the place a once over with a casual shrug that belies how pleased he is to have her approval. "Dunno how I winded up wit digs like dis… been a long time since I even had m'own bed… Woulda been pleased wit jus dat, but yeah. Dis'll do…" He turns his back on her trying to smooth out the sheets, and she shrugs off her jacket, shivering a little as the air touches her bare skin. He makes a move to sit on the edge of the bed but freezes when he sees her. She can't read his face at all and she swallows uncertainly.
"Y'don't… y'don't like it?" It's Raven's dress. A sea-green sheath with two thin straps slipping over her shoulders and stretching down to an almost indecently low scoop of fabric at the small of her back.
No jewelry. Just skin and the gauzy material of a barely there dress.
"Ouch, chere…" he murmurs coming towards her slowly, carefully, his eyes travelling the length of her body as he circles her and stops at her back. His fingers lightly hook the straps of her dress and slide up and down them once, twice, his knuckles almost grazing her shoulder blades, his breath warm at the nape of her neck.
She closes her eyes.
"Remy…"
"He won't be able to resist you… you won't have to do a thing… just let him touch you…"
"Iss'okay," he says softly. "I'm covered." He slips off his coat, shows her his long sleeves, his gloves.
"…just let him touch you…"
She gives him her jacket and he hangs it up with his in the closet. His things from the subway car are on the floor inside, his clothes in a duffle beneath the skeletal canopy of empty hangers. The only sign of any kind of commitment to his surroundings is the boom box plugged into the wall and a few cds stacked up on the floor beside it.
"Y'not plannin' on stayin'?" she asks nodding at the stuff, and he shrugs.
"I got a frien', she tol' me I have a place at dis school but I don' 'xactly play well wit others and dat's what dere big on here so… we'll see. I haven' officially 'enrolled' yet."
"So y'jus' here for th'room?"
"An' Stormy."
"'Stormy?" An image of the black woman with the white hair flashes through her mind… She's smiling at Remy, handing him a card… Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters…
"M'frien."
"Oh… right. Is she, uh… a student here?"
"Yeah."
"Have ya known each other long?"
"No." He grins.
"What?"
"What's wit de questions, chere? You jealous?"
She snorts inelegantly.
"It'd be stupid o' me ta git jealous of all th'women in y'life."
"An why's dat?"
"Ah'd drive mah'self crazy. Y'kinna slutty, Remy."
A slow smile eases across his lips.
"So reform me."
"Like anyone could."
He reaches out and lazily traces the neckline of her dress with the tip of his finger, says almost to himself, "Dere was someone once…" and she remembers her now, a girl with soft blonde hair and impossibly blue eyes gazing up at him flushed, lips parted, gasping…
He pauses at the dip of fabric between her breasts.
"Belladonna," she murmurs.
He blinks.
"You loved her."
His hand drops to his side.
"I don' like dis. You get t'know ever'ting 'bout me an' I don' even get y'name…"
"Ah don't know everythin', Ah jus'… Ah saw her in y'head once. You were happy-"
"Ancient hist'ry, chere. M'much more innerested in de here an' now."
"She broke y'heart, Remy…"
"It happens."
They're quiet for a moment, looking at each other. She drops her eyes first and he reaches out again, runs his fingers through her hair, making more and more of it fall out of the chignon at the back of her neck.
"I don' wan' talk 'bout me. I wan' talk 'bout you."
"Me..."
"I wan' know you. I wan' know why those eyes so sad, wan' know what makes y'smile, what's important to you, what y'hate, what y'love…" His fingers slide through her hair one last time, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder, his thumb following the line her collar bone back and forth, back and forth.
"…you won't be doing anything to him he doesn't want…"
"He doesn't want to be in a coma, Raven."
"He wants you to touch him. You know he does, you've seen it in his eyes… don't be afraid, Rogue… this is supposed to happen…"
"Irene…?"
Irene turns off the TVs. Gambit disappears.
"They have to be stopped," is all she says.
"Ah love dancin' with ya," she whispers and he smiles, gently, softly.
"We can do dat... We can dance all night if you wan'…" He picks up the boom box and sets it on the table with the lamp. He shoves his sleeves up as he reaches for the cds and shuffles through them. She watches him trying to find the perfect song and her heart hurts.
He finds what he's looking for and pops it in. He turns back to her with open arms and her eyes catch on the phone numbers scribbled around his wrist and up the inside of his forearm in faded electric blue and smudgy black ink. Names like Stephanie, Jodi, Carol, and Jessie hover hopefully above their respective digits, and she wants suddenly to run her tongue over that expanse of flesh, wrist to elbow, and lick them out of existence.
He notices her looking at the numbers and pushes his shirtsleeves down. He draws her near, presses their names against her hip.
"Didn' call any o' dem," he says into her hair, and his hands rest flat against her back, light as gossamer, ready to be gone if it's what she wants. "It's all y'fault. Y'power… it be workin' both ways, chere… I can't get you outta my head. Ever since de night we met I been dreamin' 'bout you, 'tinkin' 'bout you, an' den dere you were like magic… an' den dere we were… I been dreamin' 'bout dat too…"
She closes her eyes as his gloved hand slides up and down her back in a light caress that makes her knees shake, her heart pound. She rests her head on his shoulder, tries to pretend that there's no such thing as loyalty, no such thing as duty, right or wrong, friends or enemies…
There's only her and Remy slowly dancing in the lamplight.
And nothing else needs to happen, not yet… not yet…
His fingertips dip below the swath of fabric at the small of her back.
They travel upwards, they disrupt one of the straps.
It slips off her shoulder and he pauses. She makes no move to put it back.
He slides the second strap down. She lets him do it.
They stop dancing.
She keeps her head on his shoulder and wordlessly lowers her arms.
The dress falls in a puddle at her feet and he holds her close and they sway, they rock against each other, and the rest of the earth is quiet and still, no movement but theirs, no sound but the music and their hearts beating together, and it's not real and it can't last and she hates herself for doing this, for pretending it is, pretending it can…
"I wan' tell y'somethin'." She lifts her head from his shoulder, meets his eyes. "I ain' never love no one b'fore Belle, an I… I ain never love no one since but when I look at you…" He swallows, closes his eyes. He whispers, "I'll give you m'heart if you wan' it. It ain' pretty, iss been busted up, broken in pieces, but iss all I have…"
"Remy…"
"An I know it ain' good enough, I know I ain' good enough… I know you seen some bad tings inside o' me, I know you tink I'm a liar… But I'm not. Not dis time. Not wit you."
She holds a finger up to his lips…
a breath away from a touch…
She leads him to the bed, closes her eyes as the weight of his body settles on hers and he says so softly she can barely hear him, "D'you b'lieve me?" and she can't answer because she has no words, and he mistakes her silence for a "no" and he says the most wonderful and horrible thing he could possibly say in this moment when they're so close, so dangerously close...
"If y'touch me now, if y'get inside m'head, m'heart, I swear all you'll see is you. If dat's de only way I can prove t'you… I wan' y'to do it."
"It's time for you to make your choice."
She brushes his hair away from his face, carefully, so carefully.
She looks into his eyes.
She whispers "Ah don't hafta t'touch you. Ah believe you, Remy… Ah don't hafta touch you…"
And Raven will be disappointed in her.
And Dominick will hate her.
And St. John will burn something and say, "I fuckin' knew it."
And she doesn't care.
I'm sorry Raven.
He reaches out with one hand to open the drawer beside the bed and pulls out a panel of gauze from Fahrenheit.
"Y'went back an' stole that?"
"'Course."
"A little presumptuous ain't ya?"
"You de one dat brought us to de bed…"
He lifts his body off of hers just enough to drape the gauze over her naked skin, his breath catching as he gazes down at her and she blushes, looking away. He cups her cheek in the palm of his hand, making her look at him.
He says "beautiful". She says "kiss me."
The veil settles over her face and his mouth is on hers warm and soft and agonizingly far away.
He murmurs between kisses, "Tell me when y'need me t'stop…"
She whispers, "Take off the gloves".
The star-shaped callouses on his palms slide up and down her hips dragging the gauze along with them until her bare legs tangle with his, the rough fabric of his jeans lightly scraping her thighs. She's dreamt of this, of feeling this, of having him like this. Soft and hard, rough and smooth. Really him, really here…
Irene will understand why she couldn't do it. Irene knows what they are to each other. She's seen them like this in so many different worlds… why should this one be any different…
She closes her eyes as his fingers trail down her belly. She bites her lip. He nips her shoulder.
The gauze slips away from her face...
Wait…
and then slips away from her completely…
Remy…
a crushed pink tangle lost in the scarlet sheets…
"Stop…"
His lips come crashing down on hers and there's nothing between them anymore and just before the darkness overwhelms her she thinks of that last page marked with the green ribbon in Volume Twelve and Raven's voice saying, "Don't be afraid, Rogue… this is supposed to happen…"