You know how there's been so much speculation about who should play Gambit? I never thought Heath Ledger would be much of a candidate, but then I was somewhere--can't remember, library? Video place?--and I saw the tape cover of his one movie The Order and...wow...maybe I'm just crazy, but I was seriously stunned at how Remy-ish he looked. You guys should check it out! I mean, the short bangs, the light stubble on the chin--all he needs are the red-black eyes and voila, Remy LeBeau.Do an image search under themovie title--I can't do links here for some reason.Tell me if I'm crazy, but I think this is how I'd want Remy to look. Of course, Heath Ledger doesn't always look like that and sometimes I think he just looks odd, but w/e. Heard "the Order" wasn't so great a movie though, hmm, pity.
Anyway, back to the subject at hand, Remy and Rogue finally face the problem.
Ishandahalf: You really love the angst. You love the tension, just admit it. ;-) Hmm, wasn't sure if Piotr really COULD have a large vocabulary, I just kinda got tired of seeing some fics having him be illiterate. Hmmm...I've already planned how I want this to end...but I won't allude to how b/c it'll just make you worry more, and you love to worry—yes? Hehe. Obsidian Hearts: worth the wait? Oh, it MUST be good then. Thank you so much. I hate making you all wait more than a week and a half for updates—really nags at me—so I'm going to try and make it quicker. Sweety8587: No relationship ever worked by talking, hon. Lol, we know THAT'S not true. And believe me, they'll talk, but OF COURSE it won't be smooth and nice and happy...well, you'll see. Possessor of the X Gene: I love Muse! Thanks for turning me onto it; I've downloaded two songs that I like and I always play them whenever I'm on the computer. Great soundtrack music, totally agree to that. Ha! You ARE British—bet you talk with that accent—but what's the diff b/w British and English? Browneyedimagination: See, before this year, I never really thought there COULD be such a thing as "writing style" and I always inwardly scoffed at my senile AP English teacher whenever she stressed style—but now I get it. I'm reading a book now that has an interesting plot, but it's style is atrocious. Think about Harry Potter or Stephen King—the stories are always great, but if you look closely at the writing style, it's mediocre. But yeah, thanks, I kinda like my style, too. People do wear lots of masks...sad isn't it? Totally Obsessed47: I kind a long time without Remy interaction, huh? Didn't plan for that, but you'll see how it makes it interesting in the sequel. I hope you remember all the stuff from this story, otherwise the plot of the sequel will not be as interesting or connective (not a word, but w/e). Plenty of Romy here, but probably not the type you'd want. Eesh. Bubbles1612: You're a new name—I love that. Rogue and Remy have a little confrontation here, so scroll on down... DreamSprite: You love it SO much? Only so much? How disappointing...nah, I'm just being stupid right now. I lost track of time, can't remember when was the last time I updated so hope this didn't take over two weeks. Yikes. I'm becoming as bad as the others around these parts. Fudgebrowne: Well....I'll let you be the judge of whether or not this chapter was really much for relieving anything...I spelled it "Genny", but you'll see—and I'm going to have some fun with Remy's past on this one. CatStar14: See, when ppl say I never cease to amaze, I start dreading the day when I lose my greatness and then I become on of those washed-off old ppl of degraded talent...May my creativity never peak! Sabertooth is as messed up as they come, that bloodthirsty psychopath. Ugh. He belongs in an prison for the insane. As for Rogue telling the rest of the X-Men, I didn't think it was a big deal—it hardly affects them (well, besides being able to touch her, but if you think about it, ppl don't really touch each other that often). As for the skimpy outfit thing and showing off, I never really considered Rogue the type to do that. I didn't like the fics where after Rogue got control of her powers she suddenly turned into a Jean or Kitty or a slutt. She's Gothic-like because it's her personality, though it does have something to do with her powers, but she's still her. And thanks for asking about my Thanksgiving. The food this year was actually GREAT and all my relatives came from all over so it was really fun. Not going to be like this next year though...kinda makes me sad. Oh, well, at least we know how to make good food now. Freak87: The whole "project" ties in with the sequel of course. Remember all the stuff that transpired in this story, otherwise the events of the sequel will not be as...what's the word...potent? Effective? It was so boring typing up the "informing the adults" scene, so I had to throw in the Remy/Genevieve angst, and then it got interesting. Just wait for thos THAT plays how, heh. Oh, don't worry. It seems that everyone is paranoid about Rogue whenever she wanders off somewhere. She'll come back, and then we'll confront. Raven001: Hey, you're name is the same as mine, that's kinky. You read all this in two nights? Wow, talk about an eyeball workout. But I'll just think the story was that captivating. Thanks for your efforts. Wow so God—haha, I have to remember that line. Nah, Remy's tougher than meek little gunshot wound! ;-) enchanted light: hahaha...hey, let me know if you actually check to see if I reply to your four-word reviews. Just a little notice is all I'm asking. SickmindedSucker: Yeah, I always wonder how people deal with the whole "I killed someone" thing—or, in this case, "I got someone killed". How do you live with the guilt? Flowerperson: You're going to let me name one of your puppies?? I'm feeling honored right now...hmm...what could it be...I'll have to give it back to you on that. How can you be confused? L I thought I'd done good with the explaining....well, skim back and see if it registers more. If not, just ask me questions. Allie: Yay, my story is that good. Makes me happy to hear that. Hahahaha, you have a dictionary handy—that's not funny, but it seemed appropriate to type the "hahahaha"s anyway. LOL—"Rogue and Remy in the same room! Woot woot", that was funny. Whothehelltookmyscreenname: OH MY GOD—you're a guy?! This is so exciting b/c you just might be the only one I know who reads my fic. We're all girls here, I'm pretty sure. I did a poll a while ago, and too bad you weren't there for that—would have been really entertaining to have all girls, and then like one guy. And you're Acadian huh, that's cool. Along the same bloodlines. And hey, impressive diatribe there with Rogue's history. I didn't know all of that, but if I had, I would have somehow incorporated it into my fic, b/c I always try to do that, to make it seem more realistic. But can't change it now... And besides, this IS the Evolution universe, and though I really do loathe ppl straying from the original--and in my mind, true--storyline, it's been done so many times already. Look at the Ultimate series, talk about different. I don't read the comic books, being VERY NEW at this whole X-Men fan thing, but I do keep up with whatever's offered on websites, and Ultimate Rogue and Gambit are not how I would've made them. I would've made them like how I have made them, like the Rogue and Gambit in my fic--so anyway, this is just an alternate universe so all's fair game concerning Rogue's "issues". That's what's fun about it. GothikStrawberry: Doesn't she always go through hell though? That's what makes Rogue Rogue, right? Well, that's how I see it—and hon, can't avoid it either. So sad... Shockgoddess: whoa, I just read a review from somebody else (Possessor of the X Gene) and he/she said it was them that mentioned Muse! I seriously can't remember now...either way, it's great music and I love it. Yeah, could have gone more indepth with the powers theory, but honestly, couldn't think anymore at that point! Rogue was born without a brain mature enough to control powers...that DOES sound like he's insulting her...oh, well, can't change it now. Actually, you don't get to find out what the whole "project" deal is about—sorry! That was just a seed for the next story. Hbrogan: One of the best? Thank you thank you to no end. Don't you just love the angst? I know I do. Sanaria: Hmmm, yeah, Rogue DOES torture Gambit a lot in this fic...I realized that a little bit while I was writing it, saw how Gambit was always stressing and Rogue was kinda just moping around confused...so I guess it's time to make Rogue suffer a little bit. Flame31: Yeah, I'm a little against Rogue gaining control too, but without it eventually happening, it's not much of a story you know? It'll be like in the comics, and a lot of people think the whole Rogue and Gambit thing has been drawn out for way too long. I do, too, but I don't want them to settle down and get married either, that would ruin the whole thing! So I guess it's just a catch-22 and we'll have to deal with it. As for me portraying it well, thanks for the comment; it means a lot. If you're worried about it turning into an easy-going mush fest where all's happily ever after (or would you want that?), don't because that's far from the truth of this ending. Well, you'll see...
Lance and Wanda left the next morning. After a hearty breakfast prepared by Ororo, they announced their departure. Pietro and Todd were coming to pick them up. "We've been hanging around here for too long," Wanda said, rather grudgingly.
"Our doors are always open to you," the Professor told her. "If the prospect of becoming an X-Man seems appealing..."
Wanda quickly eased her way into his sentence, "Thanks, but no thanks, Prof. Lance and I aren't X-Men material, trust me on that." With a halfhearted wave, she walked out the front door to the jeep parked in the driveway. From the driver's seat, Pietro cast curious glances into the mansion as Todd exclaimed, with much excited volubility, his glee of seeing Wanda.
"Thanks," Lance said to the Professor. He stood in the doorway, seemingly hesitant to go.
The Professor noticed the boy's attention frequently flicked to something behind him. "Lance, you do not have to leave."
"Nah, I kind of do."
"It is your prerogative."
"Yeah..." Lance finally gave up biding time. He shook the Professor's hand, "Thanks," and turned on his heel towards the jeep.
"Took you long enough," Pietro said with a supercilious huff.
Wanda punched him in the shoulder. "Shut your hole and drive, coward."
The jeep's engine revved to life and soon it was winding its way down the Institute's driveway. It passed through the front gate, where Logan and Roberto were mending the wrought-iron fencing.
Telepathically closing the door, the Professor said, "He might have listened, had you asked."
Half-hidden behind the staircase banister, Kitty stood and slowly walked down the steps. "Maybe," she said, "but probably not. I'm pretty sure that it's, like, supposed to be this way--you know?"
The Professor whirred to her side on his wheelchair. He patted her on the arm and offered a sagaciously comforting smile. Without another word, he left her alone in the foyer.
Kitty sighed, hugged herself. She wasn't sure how long she stood there so immobile, mindlessly dazing the minutes away. When she heard the crash, she nearly jumped ten feet. She walked towards the source of the abrupt noise and entered the rec room. At first, nothing seemed out of place, but then she saw the brunette head bobbing up from behind the couch.
"Um, are you, like, okay?" she asked.
Remy finally pulled himself to his feet. He was dressed in green Med Bay scrubs, loosely wrapped in one of the thicker, more comfortable robes. "Yeah, fine," he said gruffly. He seemed slightly breathless, whether from pain or exertion Kitty could not discern. "Sorry 'bout de bowl."
Kitty watched him for a few seconds longer than necessary. It absolutely amazed her that this guy could look so good in bed clothes. It was no wonder that Rogue had been captivated by him, especially with those freakishly intriguing eyes. Kitty blinked and eyed the candy dish: it was shattered on the floor, pieces of chocolate and sweet tarts commingling with the glass. "No biggie," she said. "There's a broom in the closet." She moved across the room to retrieve the dust pan and sweeper. As she bent down to collect the shards, Remy sat on the arm of the couch.
A strange silence befell the room, the only sound being the whish, whish of brush thistles.
"Y're Shadowcat, right?" Remy suddenly said.
Startled, Kitty looked up. "Yeah, but my real name's Kitty."
"Rogue's friend?"
"I'd like to think so."
"Y'guys close?"
Kitty gathered the last of glass shards and tossed them into the nearest garbage bin. She shrugged while she put the cleaning materials away, "Yeah, I guess we are pretty close." She frowned, unsure, wrinkling her nose. "No, I know we're close."
"Y'two seem like perfect opp'sites," Remy remarked.
Kitty didn't know whether to be amused or insulted that he found it amusing. "So? Just because we're different, doesn't mean, like, I don't get her. I mean, do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Get her."
Remy shifted in his seat. "Don' know where dis interrogation came from."
Kitty rolled her eyes, "You're one of those paranoid types, aren't you?"
"Healt'y for a t'ief t'be sometimes."
"Don't change the subject."
"What is de subject, p'tite?"
"God, no wonder she's so frustrated with you!" Kitty exclaimed, before she realized what she was saying. Her own annoyance had made way for inappropriate hyperboles. She winced when a disquieted expression flashed across the Cajun's face.
"Dat why she's run off somewhere?"
Kitty chewed on the inside of her mouth. "No...well, I don't know...she hasn't talked to you yet?"
"Obv'ously not."
Kitty bristled at his dry tone, "Well, she said she would."
"Why she frustrated?"
"Maybe not frustrated," Kitty amended. "More like...unsure...look, we shouldn't be talking about her like this. When you see her..." Her words trailed away as she realized Rogue had never come back to their room last night. Kitty had slept early but woken to her room mate's empty and unused bed. She squelched the immediate worry that rose in her chest. "Uh, yeah, just talk to her, okay?"
Remy shrugged indifferently, "Doesn' look like she wants to." He slowly stood to leave, pulling the thick robe closer around himself. He moved with careful steps through the rec room.
"And what, you're just gonna sit by and let her be like that?" Kitty said.
"If dat's de way she wants it."
Kitty huffed incredulously. She felt annoyed and a little mad that he was writing Rogue off so easily. Was it just a face he put on or what he really thought? She scowled severely, "And I thought you were one for the chase."
"T'ings change p'tite," Remy said. He was already out the door as he tossed over his shoulder, "Sooner or later de game gets old." He disappeared the next second.
Kitty stared at the empty space he previously resided. His words held a fatalistic weight, reminded her of tasks requiring effort but receiving none--like mountains of homework on a Sunday night. She thought of Lance, she thought of Rogue, she thought of the dead girl who was probably the cause of this all. It was a confounded affair, one she probably had no business meddling with. Just as she was delving into unpleasant realms of irresolution, an excited shout vibrated through the walls of the institute.
"She's back!" Jubilee was yelling.
Kitty joined the others slowly gathering in the foyer. Jubilee threw open the door and they piled out to greet the warm summer morning.
A silver minivan sat on the driveway; a motherly-looking woman stepped out of the passenger side as a middle-aged man emerged from the driver's. He approached the Institute steps as the mother pulled open the sliding door. The Professor greeted him with a welcoming smile and cordial handshake.
Rahne slowly stepped out of the van. She wore a grey sweatshirt and loose black pants; small sunglasses protected her eyes. She lifted them onto the crown of her hair as she approached her friends, mother nearby.
Without any ado, the girls came forward and gave her hugs. The boys seemed to shrug "What the heck" and joined the circle. Everybody knew Rahne had been the closest to dying; everybody knew she was the first of them to experience the horror--but nobody voiced those thoughts. They were just glad to have her back and well.
"You guys didn't miss me?"
The small voice attracted the curiosity of them all. One by one they turned away from a smiling Rahne, watched as little Jamie crawled out of the backseat. He tripped on his way out, landing as five identical versions of himself on the pavement.
"Multiple!" Bobby exclaimed and latched an arm around one of the Jamies, digging his knuckles into his head.
"Lemme go!" the younger boy squirmed. "Hey, my head still hurts from the coma!"
Bits of laughter bubbled from the group. Ororo shook her head in disbelieving gratitude, "But your parents, Jamie, they said--"
"Rahne convinced them," the boy piped excitedly. "She came over and told them about how we're X-Men and need to stick together and all that stuff--plus, it helped that she looked so sick and everything. I think my mom and dad felt sorry for her or something because you talked to them Ms. Ororo and they didn't listen--"
"Jamie," Rahne rolled her eyes, "you're babbling." She affectionately ruffled his hair and gave everyone a pleasant smile. "I just wanted us all to be back, like the way it should be, you' know? We're X-Men. We gotta be together."
No body could disagree with that.
The Professor exchanged a few words with Rahne's parents. They hugged and kissed her good-bye before boarding their minivan and driving off. Jubilee and Ray escorted Rahne to the Med Bay for Hank to run through a quick examination. As everyone filed back into the mansion, Kurt lagged behind alongside Kitty.
"Have you seen Rogue?" he asked in a low voice.
"Not since yesterday."
"She vasn't at breakfast."
"Yeah, I know."
"Ray and Roberto told us about her using Scott's powers. And I saw her using your powers, too. Vhat do you think it means?"
Kitty chewed on her lower lip, wanting to relieve Kurt of his angst but unwilling to betray Rogue's trust. "Nobody really knows, Kurt. Don't let it bother you too much. You know Rogue better than most--she's, like, the toughest girl around."
Kurt nodded, "Yeah, she is." He nodded as though affirming the statement. "Besides, I have a feeling she's fine--or at least, vill be."
Hooking her arm around his, Kitty tugged him through the Institute front doors. "Of course she will. She'd be, like, insulted if you thought otherwise. Now let's go see what the others are doing."
--------------
Lance and Wanda had gone back to the Brotherhood. Piotr and John had returned to the Acolyte base. The only outsider remaining was him. It had started out this way in the beginning, from that very first night he lay near-death at the Institute front gates. Now it seemed events had revolved in a circle; he was once again wounded, alone, in a place he probably did not belong.
Maybe not completely alone. There was Rogue to consider. Nothing was the same; things had changed--he had changed. Everything he believed and wanted had been altered the moment he came to terms with what Rogue meant. She filled the void; she mended the wrongs and gave him a sense of...there was not a word that did justice to the feeling she gave him. And yet, here he was, wandering the halls of the Xavier Institute, solitary and aching.
Because she knew.
Remy gritted his teeth together. He had almost forgotten about that calamitous night in Paris--even when he had promised never to forget. It was the only way he could make up for what he had done. To always be reminded of an atrocity one committed was punishment enough for the atrocity itself. But he had momentarily forgotten because of Annabel, because of Rogue.
Rogue. Rogue. Rogue.
Dieu, he was sad, brooding over some girl who, by the looks of it, had ditched him. But she knew! She knew and she had become cold and distant. There was a possibility he was only being paranoid, but that was minuscule. The things she said during the meeting... Remy felt like he had been listening to his very own thoughts.
He meandered along the second floor corridors, glad to stretch his legs. Fresh morning sunlight poured in through the tall windows and illuminated the elegantly decorated walls and carpeted floor. It was a very pretty day outside, though he failed to appreciate the placid weather. He wondered where Rogue was, what she was doing, thinking. Then, as if by some sardonic trickery of Fate, he passed the last window and caught of glimpse of her. He paused by the glass, peered down into the back yard.
She was sitting on the plane wreck, a meek figure amongst the crumpled metal and trees. Most of the jet had already been cleared away or dismantled for recycled use. Only the skeletal structure remained, and Rogue sat with her legs dangling on one of its beams, head tilted towards the breeze, hair fluttering about her shrouded face. How she had climbed to that position, Remy could not guess. He stood watching her, irritated and amazed, concerned and appalled.
What do y'know? What are y'thinkin'?
She couldn't have heard his thoughts, but she looked up nonetheless. Even from his high perch he noticed the scintillation of her eyes. She raised her head slowly, as if afraid of what she might witness. When she saw him, she did not look away. Remy kept her gaze for as long as he could. He realized her expression was questioning, almost accusing. He pulled himself from the window and continued down the hall, feeling more disturbed. She knew, without a doubt she knew. And that was why she was avoiding him.
So dis is what it all comes to, he thought scornfully. His feet carried him in a stalking gait, taking him somewhere he didn't care to determine. Images of the past few weeks flashed across his memory as he traversed the hallways, every one reminding him of why he had always preferred to be alone. How could he think everything would be okay? How could he believe the past would not return to haunt him? The cynical part of him wanted to laugh; the situation was almost funny.
As much as he knew it was wrong, he was angry. Angry at the Guild, angry at Henri, angry at Rogue. Somehow, for some inextricable reason, he thought it might not matter to her--an improbable notion, too high of an expectation, too delicate of a hope that she would see him for what he really was, and want him anyway. This was why life was better fought through alone; this was why he had never before expected anything for anyone. The disappointment hurt more than he would ever admit to himself. So instead, he was angry.
Remy found himself in an elevator. It descended to the lower levels of the mansion and the doors slid open. He stepped out, surveying the area the X-Men used for battle training and mission planning. A smirk played across his lips as he approached the door to the Danger Room. He pressed the exterior button and with a swish of hydraulics, the large doors slid open.
Upon his entrance the Room automatically lit up. He walked about the speckless steel area for a while, strangely at peace in such a metallic, barren place. Tension in his muscles built up. He did not like long periods of inactivity. To heck with what Hank said.
Remy rode the elevator up to the Danger Room control tower. His experienced eyes scanned the surface of complex computer keys and simulation controls. After fiddling about with the central computer, he came upon a file containing custom programmed simulations. He languidly browsed through them for several minutes, finding every one as unappealing as the next. Long minutes later, he came upon something labled LOGAN'S STRESS RELIEF. He pressed the appropriate buttons, curious to see what sort of body-exhausting exercise this would prove to be.
At first, it seemed like nothing happened. Remy frowned and wondered if the Danger Room was malfunctioning. Then he heard the metallic movement of doors and rose from his seat to get a better view. Down below, a portion of the floor receded, allowing a matted platform to rise from beneath. On it sat a punching bag and a bench littered with related accessories.
Slightly amused and considerably surprised, Remy rode the elevator down to the main level. He pulled off his robe and shirt, dropping them on the bench. Palpating along the tightly-wrapped bandages, he found the gunshot areas tender and sore, but the stitches were strong and flexible. He approached the punching bag and gave it a few taps with his fists, testing himself. Movement hurt, no doubt of that, but it was a pain he could endure.
Beside his clothes on the bench sat boxing gloves, powder, water bottles, and hand wraps. He began a preliminary exercise, experimenting with the limits of his ability. The harder he punched, the greater the sting in his chest. He masochistically welcomed every ache, burn, and stab of discomfort. At least he could feel something other than the disappointment and...no, he didn't want to think about it. He was so audacious as to spin and deliver the bag a round-off kick. He nearly fell from the jolt of pain, but squelched the discomforted yell. When the initial shock resided, he felt fine. He stepped into the stance to do it again.
"There're less painful ways to let off steam, ya know."
Remy froze, arms angled and ready to punch. He turned his head to acknowledge her presence but didn't meet her gaze. Couldn't meet her gaze. "Not really, chere." He turned away and approached the bench. Snatching a few strips of thick gauze, he began wrapping them around his knuckles.
Rogue leaned against the Danger Room door, arms crossed. "Sure there are. You could take a brisk walk or somethin'. Boxing works the pecs too much--"
"Dat's de point," he cut her off, with more coldness than he had intended. His ill-directed anger had not dissipated. When he finally looked at her, he caught a slight trace of hurt on her features. He rammed a fist into the bag, mentally did it to himself. Shaking his head, he rested an arm on the bag and sighed.
Rogue quickly dismissed his iciness. "Seriously, Remy, you should stop."
Just because she told him not to, he dealt the bag a hard blow, heard the satisfying rattle of its chains. He ignored the stabbing prickles on his chest. He was beginning to feel it in his wounds, warnings that he was going too far. Merde, he didn't care.
Rogue hesitantly stepped into the Danger Room. The doors gently whooshed closed behind her. She stood a few seconds, still, watching, listening to the thud of his fists assaulting the stuffed bag. "We need to talk."
"Didn' look like y'wanted t'talk." Remy resisted the urge to grimace. He paused and adjusted the wraps around his fists. Subtly checking his bandages, he was relieved to see the blood wasn't visible; he felt it slowly exuding from the stitches. Good thing Hank sewed him up so well.
An expression halfway between guilt and shame washed over Rogue's face. "Ah didn't...that was before."
Remy turned his back to her, jaw tight. "Mais, maybe I don' wan' talk now. Ever t'ink o'dat?" The anger and disappointment was making him act unnecessarily cold towards her, and though he wanted to stop, he couldn't quite manage it. When he turned around to face her, she had narrowed her eyes and was staring at him heedfully. She said nothing. Remy returned to harassing the punching bag.
Rogue released an exasperated sigh, "Will ya just stop hitting that thing?"
He didn't. It was actually alleviating some of the tension that had built up in him, but the price was increasing amounts of pain in his chest. He wondered how much he could take before he had to stop. At this rate, much of the Vicodin in the Med Bay was going to be used up pretty soon. He paused for a few moments to catch his breath--not from physical exertion, but to lessen the stinging in his chest. "What for, chere?" he demanded, eyes boring into hers. "So I can watch y'avoid me?"
"Ah didn't mean to--Ah just needed some time for--" Rogue cut herself off, bit her lip. She hugged herself and focused her eyes on his hands. "Listen, Ah'm seeing things, memories, and Ah know they're yours."
Remy's stomach tightened as he waited. Would it be an accusation or subtle question first?
Neither. "They're a lil' scary, Remy," Rogue whispered.
Her statement was so vulnerably meek, so soft and delicate. Remy tried to block it out. It was easier to be mad at her--then he wouldn't feel so much at fault. He raised his arms, jabbed left, right, swung a left hook.
"You're just gonna ignore me?" Rogue asked, voice raspy with disbelief. "Ah'm trying to figure this out...Ah'm..." She shook her head and released a low, frustrated growl. "Ah'm sorry for avoidin' ya--Ah just wasn't sure..."
"But y'were ready t'think de worse o'me, right chere?" Remy asked, lowering his arms, eyes on the floor. His words held no contempt or accusation, only a languid conviction that worried Rogue.
"Is that what you think?" she asked, a little hurt, a little insulted. "How can you--Ah'm not...Ah couldn't help feelin' your memories, your feelings. And Ah don't know why they're comin' up now 'cause this's a really hellish time for 'em to, but Ah'm tryin' to figure out what it all means..." She trailed off when he resumed his self-destructive activity. What did it take to get his attention? She was beginning to worry about how he was injuring himself. "Who was Genny?" she finally asked.
Hearing her name, a surge of memories resurfaced. Trickery, seduction, deceit, betrayal--he smashed the punching bag harder than he should have and released a painful gasp.
"Remy!"
He doubled forward and fell to his knees, forcing air into laboring lungs. He was never going to hear the end of it from Hank. There wasn't much time to contemplate that though, as gentle hands gripped his shoulder. He realized her bare fingers were on his skin, yet he was still conscious. Were her powers still under control?
"You idiot," Rogue said, her voice strained and hoarse. "What are ya tryin' to get out of this?" She hooked an arm under his right, wrapped the other around his waist. She gently pulled him back to a sitting position. Then, as if coy, she knelt on the ground at a respectable distance.
"Stress relief," Remy muttered. He breathed through his teeth for a few seconds before the pain significantly resided.
Rogue shot him a deprecating glare, then closed her eyes and tiredly exhaled. "Ah really don't know what to with ya sometimes, Remy."
"At least do somet'ing, chere," he said in a low voice.
Rogue bit her lip, lifted her eyes to meet his. She saw in them what she always saw: Remy, her Remy. And he had never been anything but. Why, then, was she so afraid of a memory? She sat within a foot of him, could reach out and touch him, yet they seemed so distant. An impalpable barrier kept them apart--a past deed that neither truly wanted to confront. How was it possible to move on if they didn't; how would they cope if it was unpardonable.
"What happened?" Rogue whispered. She knew they had to face this.
"Y'really don' wan' know, chere." His head drooped at the memory. He saw her pleading eyes, heard her muffled scream through the plummet... Soft, warm hands enveloped his clenched fists and he slowly looked up.
"Tell me," Rogue said. Her gaze was soft, willingly understanding. She seemed to promise with a single look that she would not judge him, that whatever had happened, he would not be subject to her condemnation.
Remy stroked her soft fingers, forgot about the throbbing in his chest. "Can't," he said hoarsely. "S'not dat easy."
Rogue lowered her eyes in disappointment. Didn't he trust her enough to confide? Just when she thought the situation was hopeless, his next words came most unexpectedly.
"Absorb me."
"What?"
"Absorb de mem'ries."
As if fearful her powers might rise unbidden, Rogue sharply drew her hands away from him. "Why can't ya just tell me?"
"It'll be better dis way," Remy said. "Nothin' gets left out. An' dat's what's best right now, non? Everyt'ing out in de open."
She looked at him doubtfully, not sure she was willing to know everything. There was a sense of security if he were to simply tell her what happened--however false and superficial it might be. Absorbing the memories meant absorbing the event to the very pith of its occurrence. She would be reliving it, experiencing it first hand.
"Trust me, chere," Remy coaxed. "S'okay." He lifted his palm in offering.
Rogue stared at him, awed at his gallant initiative. He wanted her to know exactly what had happened, abandoning any method through which he might inadvertently lie. She respected him to no end for that. With a slow nod and deep inhale, she shut her eyes.
Remy waited for the familiar tingling. Her hand shakily rose, hovered over his palm as though she could see it through closed lids. Then, in an almost desperate and regretful motion, she clasped her fingers around his. The absorption began.
What a horribly enticing place to leave you guys. Sorry, couldn't help it.
Next Chapter: Passage
Ha, I remembered to do that today.