Happy New Year everyone! I hope you were all safe and didn't suffer from atrocious hangovers the next morning! But back to what you all care about...the last chapter was left at a not-so-happy note but hopefully this one will give more cheer.And I've gotten so many great reviews from all of you......I am really terrified now of disappointing you guys. Pray that I don't go on some crazy whim and ruin this fic.
Does this seem to be getting redundant to you all? I mean, it's like fight, make-up, fight, make-up between Rogue and Gambit--which is all I ever see about these two! Or maybe that's what keeps us hooked to them. Hard to say.
Totally Obsessed47: That's all you had to say???? I'm hurt, after all that effort...nah, I'm just kiddin'. Glad you enjoyed it. Kuro-Ookami: I detected a note of sarcasm there. Granted, I am a bit defensive, but antagonism after the first chapter is shortsighted! But mmm...the title is quite unoriginal, now that you pointed it out--but I just liked the sound of it and it fits for the story, which is quite very original. Ishandahalf: Good for you on checking in on Christmas! Mine was boring, hope yours went well--and glad you enjoyed the "gift". I got wrapped up in the story-within-a-story, too--very strange experience--I seriously forgot what was supposed to be writing about. And are you writing another story or what?? I'm totally deprived here. Whatever happened to that one thing you and melacholic were working on? Chica De Los Ojos Cafe: Hmmm, I don't recall the name SCaligirlHK--it's hard to keep track of all you guys, not that I'm complaining. Yes, Gambit and Sabertooth have a past, though Gambit is consciously unaware and Sabertooth is just a spiteful SOB. Isn't he just the creepiest guy ever? Freak87: Seriously, you never case to impress with your analytical viewpoints of this fic. I think I've said this before, but I'm guessing you write great essays/papers on books, you know, those literary critique kinds--especially if you read into it as much as it seems like you would. Yes, Annabel and Genevieve both fell without help, and this gives way for Rogue to be able to speak to Remy. Oh, and you make complete sense! Sweety8587: Unconscious analysis! LOL, when you say things like that, makes me wish I knew you in person and that you were a friend of mine--talk about having an interesting person around! Great stuff. Thank you, by the way--I felt like I overdid some parts and underdid others, but I'm glad you liked this chapter. Hey! You're right about Genevieve being in thieving circles and not having heard of Remy--but do we know that now? That didn't occur to me, but if you look at the story, there isn't time to speculate that. Genny just stares at him after finding out his name; maybe I should have described it as a sort of "realization" or something, but y'know, she could have recognized who he was afterwards? I'm just giving myself an out.lol. GothikStrawberry: First: I think we're all suckers for the happy endings--but the tragic ends are the ones that stick with us for a while, y'know? Funny how that is. Second: Glad to supply the goodness! And hope you had a good holiday season! Marakida: Where have I seen your penname before? It wasn't on looks familiar...Hmm. Well, I don't know if Rogue will forgive Remy...I mean, that's kind of inexcusable, what he did, how he did it, how he couldn't even care... Haha, sorry, I enjoy angst too much. But I mean, the title of this chapter hints as to what'll happen, yeah? Orion Kohaishu: Awe? I do not know how to thank, so I guess I'll just have to settle with the cliche, typical reply. :-P It really makes a writer happy to see that people think her work is "amazing and beautifully written". And that you say I gave it a good emotional and human side, I had aimed for that, so I am very glad that worked out. Quite honestly, I thought I had overdone some parts and underdone others--very relieved it wasn't a blunder. Epona04: Funny how your single sentence expresses all I need to know about the chapter. Thanks! Hope you had a fun holiday. Allie: Did I write that "...die of not fulfilling a destiny or whatever" because that is funny, the "or whatever", hahaha. Don't know what was going through my head. Tried it--and the fluff chain of words can't roll on my tongue! IceAngel46: You read it all in one sitting? How do you do it! Don't worry about updates. They come as quicker than most. Flowerperson: Black lab with amber eyes?? That's so Remy-ish! Okay, I'm officially a freak. But hey, that's a really cool name for a dog, but didn't your parents or anyone think it was off for you to be calling your dog "Demon", lol? Whatever, demons aren't all bad, yeah? God, I hate Sabertooth too, almost as much as I can't stand that Emma Frost/White Queen character. Enchanted light: hi, had a good holiday? Good...thanks! Lol, I'm running out of things to say to you. Nimbio: That's impressive, seeing as how this story is frickin' long! Do your eyes hurt? Hope not. Lelann: Cool name, sounds like a city in some country somewhere. Jeez, that was vague. Yeah, so fun I completely forgot what I was writing about for a while. Kendokao: Pasts suck. So do memories--especially when they're embarassing or harrowing, like in Remy's case. But we can't live without 'em I suppose... Role playing sounds like fun--like acting without any pressure, and you actually get to be who you kind of "are"? Well, at least that's my take on it. Raven001: Every time I see your penname, I get confused, thinking it's mine at first so I think, "What the hell, did I review my own story?" And then I see the numbers and yeah, w/e. MidniteAngelGoth: Her is who? Rogue or Genny? Genny loved him, sort of. Rogue can't toss aside her previous feelings so easily, we hope. Glad you're enjoying this--more to come! SickmindedSucker: Intrigue is definitely a good thing. I have to admit, I got seriously carried away with "Passage"--it was not meant to be so long or so detailed. Remy was supposed to meet the gal, do her, then choose Henri and let her die. But oh the interest of complications was too hard to resist. Makes me all warm and happy to see that people need to know what's gonna happen--it's what every author wants to hear. Hmm, "fantabulously"--interesting wordchoice, though it's probably pseudo, yeah? Aprilangel413: That'd kinda suck if I just ended it that way. Hahaha, what a funny thought. Yeah, it was long, wasn't it? Phew, I really don't want to do that again. CatStar14: I think looking Genny up would give a little more insight, but there's not that much out there about her. She actually seems kind of annoying, now that I think about it, bc my spin on her was different than what she really is, I think, but w/e. I find it amusing that the ending disappointed you. That's what I always hope to do with the angst. Allimba: I thought I explained this in the chapter, but maybe this will be clearer: Gambit wanted Rogue to absorb his memories instead of him telling her bc (1) It'll be easier (2) It won't leave anything out for judgment (3) Rogue will see that he's earnest and trying to be truthful. And yeah, it is sort of him trying to show her his feelings, but we're not ready to say the word "love" yet. Did that explain it more? Reread the chapters for clarification. I was careful to make sure I explained things. Proud Mary: I do not mind long reviews at all. If anything, I prefer them--gives opportunity to know a little more about the reviewer. Thank you thank you thank you--your comments came across as objective, yet praising, and I appreciate it. I've read a few fics myself and only a few have seemed to stay true to the characters, so in writing my fic, I was very particular about realism. Character development, faithfulness to fans, context, and characters--what can I say, I try. Thanks again. Possessor of the X Gene: Oh my, I think I actually might have overlooked something! I was reading up on , and I knew it was Notre Dame, but for some reason I subconsciously liked it better as the Eiffel Tower so I made it that instead without even realizing the switch. Ironic... But hey, it's Evo verse, you're right, all's go. And I just had to make a mention of Jersey bc you seriously enlightened me on that geographic fact. Couldn't help myself. Glad you enjoyed it. Kitty-mm: Hon, you can dislike any chapter you want, but you have to understand that plot needs development; this fic isn't just going to one great Romy-fluffy-love hyperbole. I absolutely loathe the stories that have these two characters go completely out of character and fall in love like in a crazy, unpractical romance novel. Granted, "Passage" was very long, but if you had to have gotten something out of it (like insight on Remy's past persay), even if you didn't like it "at all". Cheers Darlin: I don't know what to say, your review really made me smile big. Nice to be adored, I have to say. ;-) I'm glad you think the story is original. I was afraid that I had read so many Rogue/Gambit stories that they had rubbed off on me--and I can't stand the idea of being some plaguerist. Very good to know I'm writing this right! A cult, really? That's never occurred to me, but hey, it's a crazy world. Thank you for liking my character portrayal. So many fics make these two go way out of character, doing and thinking things that just don't seem them. So I try and I try and hopefully I've succeeded. Shockgoddess: hey you! I was wondering when you'd eventually review, being one of the my most loyal readers, as it is. Seriously, your comments made me really smile, just as much as the previous reviewer's review. You guys are great. And I am totally flattered that you would say "the happenings in Paris...are better than what Marvel did"--because that is seriously the highest compliment I could get about this lil' fic of mine. Maybe I should send in a resume and go write for them? How great would that be! EmeraldKatsEye: Yes, yes, that intuition can become burdensome, especially with foresight to bad happenings. But, when things are depressing, they can only get better, right? Nightshade: Thanks! I promise to read your fic once I figure out exactly where and what it is! Please, can tell me again? Sorry, I'm not usually this out of it. Lady Godiva: Exactly the point--who wouldn't have chosen their brother? And yes, it was insanely wrong how he used Genny, but it wouldn't have been as wrong if she didn't end up dying. Nobody really cares if some dude sleeps a girl and leaves the same night, right? Then she goes and gets killed and he couldn't help her and so the guilt comes and it's all...bad. Sometimes I'm very apathetic, too, and I still don't know whether that's good or bad.
Clouds had been billowing throughout the entire day. They boiled and churned, massive formations in the sky that threatened a fusillade of raindrops and lightening. Kitty was surprised when all that fell were light showers. The formidable clouds dissipated to a soft blanket of pale grey, somewhat soothing despite their melancholy impression. The worst they could do was remind of an ending summer; warmth that would soon surrender to cold, the day to night.
Kitty sighed as she stared out the window, watching the rain gradually lessen. The sun peaked from behind thick clouds, drawing around them a silver lining. She could not help but feel that the weather was somehow linked to what was happening: the X-Men were coming out of great darkness, healing after a long period of tribulation. She suddenly released a sardonic laugh. What tribulation? She had slept through the whole ordeal.
Only Rogue and Gambit know what happened she thought. They're the ones that fought for their lives. And ours. She bit her lip in forlorn contemplation. It seemed no matter how she tried, she could never help Rogue the way she wanted to. Her friend was a complex person, stratified by multiple psyches beneathe her own complex personality. It was no wonder her life was so riddled with hardship--so many things were going against her.
But somehow Rogue always pulled through. Kitty had to believe, that whatever outcome recent events had wrought, Rogue would be okay. Otherwise Kitty wouldn't forgive herself for not being there for Rogue in the moment of greatest need. She had this feeling that the problems with Gambit would not be solved so easily; the dread was beyond sense and reason, but it was enough girl instinct to make her worry.
Down below, at the end of the long driveway, the repaired gates slowly opened. A sleek, black limousine entered the Institute grounds, the same one that Kitty had seen only days before. Her muscles stiffened. She stood from her perch on the window sill of the upstairs living room, palms pressing against the cool glass.
The limousine pulled to a stop before the mansion doors. The driver stepped out, enduring the light drizzle without wayward expression breaking through his obedience. He pulled open one of the many passenger doors. Count Armand Velkonnen stepped out, turning his icy blue eyes to acknowledge the looming building.
Kitty scowled. She heard the doorbell, then the front door open one story below. Without any iota of reluctance, she phased part way through the floor so only her head was visible from the foyer. She hoped nobody would notice.
The Count stood in the doorway, tiny droplets of rain falling from his fedora. The Professor sat in his wheelchair with hands clasped in patient wait. As the Count gravely hung his head, he spoke in the most forlorn tone Kitty had ever heard from a man. "It haz been three days zince I found out," he said, "and I have not rested in my search." A chuckle, riddled with irony and pain, expelled from his throat, threatened to push him towards tears. "There is one good thing about zis country--you Americans know how to treat royalty. I hired ze best physicists, engineers, and aviation vorkers I could find on short notice. They combed ze Atlantic for hourz vithout end. I vould not rest and neither vould they."
The Professor frowned when the words ceased to flow. "What is it, Armand?"
"They found ze body."
Kitty noticed the Professor swallow; he hadn't been expecting such news so soon. Kitty herself grew saddened, heavy with pity for a suffering father. She could not imagine what her own dad would have done, if she had shared Annabel's fate.
The Count closed his eyes and drew a silent breath. "I have decided to hold a funeral zervice," he managed to say. "Annabel zhall be buried here, in Bayville. Though it haz been her unjust playground, I feel zat it haz also been her only true home."
"I am not sure why you are telling me this, Armand," the Professor said gently. "But I have to say--"
The Count interrupted, "I vish for you and ze X-Men to attend ze zervice. I understand if you vere to refuse; the Velkonnens have not made a good impression, zis, I must admit and take fault for--but please, consider it. It vill be a short one. Also...ze girl and ze boy--zey vere the last to see my daughter alive, ze last to listen and speak to her...if they vere to come, it vould do justice to Annabel's memory."
The Professor stared at him, face blank save a frown. "What has happened to Theodore, Armand?" he asked sternly.
"Nothing, yet. I am not zure vhat I plan to do with that charlatan. Even as ve speak he iz in Austria, awaiting judgment by our courts."
"So you have decided to punish him the just way?"
The Count narrowed his eyes, "I have decided to allow my countrymen a say in Theodore's fate. And ve zhall leave it at that, Charles. I vish not to speak of him. Zis is my daughter's hour."
Kitty could tell the Professor wanted to prod further, but he nodded in submission.
"I would like to attend Annabel's memorial service," he said. "But I cannot speak for the students. You must understand, they have endured a harrowing time in the absence of their mentors. Fear, violence, and dread plagued them for weeks until the mystery was finally solved. I do not know if they are willing to attend the funeral of their predator. As for Rogue and Gambit, I will speak with them, but lest they decide in the negative--"
"Ah'll go."
Both eminent men turned towards the stairs as Rogue descended. She appeared determinedly placid and calm, her hair straight and brushed, her clothing unwrinkled and clean.
"Are you sure?" the Professor asked carefully.
"Positive," Rogue said. Her pensive green eyes turned towards the Count. "Annabel was my friend. This's the least Ah can do."
The Count seemed gratified by her words. "Thank you, dear Rogue."
Kitty could stand the secrecy no longer. She phased completely through the floor, and much to everyone else's shock, landed right beside the Professor. "I'm going, too," she declared.
"Kitty!" the Professor scowled. "What were you--"
The kitchen door opened; Jean, Kurt, and Scott emerged, looking a little sheepish but no less resolute. "We want to attend as well," Jean said. Her eyes flicked towards the rec room entrance as Jubilee, Roberto, and Ray stepped out, followed by the rest of the students.
"Us, too," Ray announced.
The Professor released a sigh and covered his eyes with his palm.
The Count struggled to contain his emotions. He merely nodded, bowing his head to Xavier's young students. They amazed him by their gallant character, the mature empathy they showed. "Thank you all," he said. "I can zay nothing more zan thank you."
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She slowly buttoned the black cardigan, her fingers inconvienently lethargic. It was made of cashmere, one of Jean's that she never got around to wearing. It fit Rogue perfectly, the V-neck collar accentuating her slender throat, the material appropriately hugging her form. She smoothed away any wrinkles on her knee-length skirt, then reached into her closet and pulled out a black scarf. Wrapping it around her neck, she stepped in front of the full-length mirror for the final examination.
She looked like a shadow. Only her hair and eyes held color, brilliantly potent from the dominance of black everywhere else.
"You look pretty like that," Kitty said from the other side of their room. She had chosen to wear a grey blouse under a more casual black suit jacket. Her black skirt flared slightly and was made less festive by the MaryJane slippers on her feet.
Rogue adjusted the scarf around her throat. "'Pretty' isn't exactly fit for a funeral, Ah would think."
"Maybe not, but doesn't make it any less true." Kitty brushed out her hair and swept it into a ponytail. "You always try to dress yourself down, Rogue. It's no crime to look 'pretty'."
"Why do girls try so hard anyway?" Rogue suddenly asked, in a more biting tone than she intended. "What's with the obession with make-up and brand named clothing?"
Kitty stared at her for a few seconds before saying, "I don't know. It's, like, how it's always been, hasn't it? People just want to look nice and feel good about themselves."
Rogue did not turn to face Kitty; her eyes remained fixed on her reflection in the mirror. "No...Ah think they just want other people to think they look nice, to make them feel good about themselves. Most of all, to impress those guys. Can't live without the guys." She huffed softly.
"Rogue." Kitty crossed the room and put a hand on her friend's shoulder. She looked at Rogue's reflection in the mirror. "You have to talk to him."
"Ah did, and look how that turned out."
"Talk to him again."
Rogue shrugged off her hand and moved away from the mirror. "Ya say it like it's so easy," she murmured. She opened the top drawer in her bureau, slowly removed a pair of black cashmere gloves.
Kitty warily watched her friend. Her light blue eyes frowned in silent perturbation. She could not help but feel that things were spiraling down a deep, dark hole. "I thought your powers were under control."
"They are," Rogue said, pulling on the gloves. "But no one has ta know yet." She walked past the mirror without giving herself a second glance, opened the door. "Ready to go?"
It took three vehicles to transport all the X-Men to the cemetary; Jean drove her SUV, Scott his convertible, and Logan the X-Van. Much against everyone's expectations, Rogue willingly boarded the passenger seat of Jean's SUV. "Can Ah turn on the radio?" she asked.
"Yeah," Jean said, voice betraying her surprise. She watched as the younger girl manuevered around buttons on the dashboard. Then she started the car and reminded everyone to buckle their seatbelts before taking off.
Rogue found a station playing mellow, soft rock. As she settled into her seat, she kept her eyes out the window. Conversation buzzed from the back of the SUV, reaching her ear in snippets. They were talking about Annabel, about the Count, about the imminent funeral. Would it be open casket? How did they find her so quick? What did the body look like? Uneasiness crept its way into Rogue's stomach, rose up and through her chest until she clenched her jaw. Her team mates spoke in low tones, probably assumed the music muffled their words, but it didn't bother her any less.
"Hey, is Gambit going too?" Kurt asked.
Bobby offered, "I didn't see him this morning. Didn't see him last night either. He still around?"
Rogue cringed, bit her lip. Her heart began to pound. He couldn't have left...
"Yes, he is," Jean said. "I spoke to him this morning, just when everyone was getting ready for the funeral."
"Is he coming?" Kitty asked.
"I didn't ask. He didn't say."
Rogue felt Kitty's eyes on her. She turned away and concentrated on the passing scenery of Bayville.
All too soon they arrived at the cemetary, and the scene that greeted them was saddenly appropriate for the occasion. Smooth clouds blanketed the sky, casting the day in hues of grey and faded colors. The air remained warm however bereft of sunshine, like the obstinate will of summer clinging to existence, averse to autumn's coming. Every so often a light breeze would disturb the tree leaves, ruffle the girls' skirts.
The Professor and Ororo led the procession while Logan and Hank took to the rear. Hardly anyone spoke, a respectful silence heavy about the students. They moved as a single entity, a team, a family--all wore dark attire, signs of mourning for a tortured soul that had inescapably plagued them. Rogue walked in front of Logan, between Kitty and Jean, behind Kurt; she was surrounded by these people whom she had practically grown up with, people she probably would not have survived without, and she could not help but feel apart from them. Because they did not know. They did not know the true Annabel, the girl that never lived, the girl that selflessly gave her life for strangers. A familiar tingling grew in Rogue's nose, and her eyes became blurry as tears threatened to show her weakness. She blinked them away and sniffed; she would at least try to be as strong as Annabel.
The Count stood before a beautifully polished casket poised above its grave. His head was bowed, his eyes closed, his hands clasped. Four Austrian guards stood on either side of him, faces no less melancholy. At the foot of the casket a venerable priest read consoling lines from from the holy book.
The X-Men approached, spreading out around the grave. Rogue's eyes traveled along their ranks; she saw Amara and Rahne's uneasy expressions, Scott's tightened jaw, Bobby and Sam's sullen looks of puzzlement. She saw Ororo place a hand on the Professor's shoulder, Hank an arm around little Jamie. Kitty and Kurt both had distant expressions on their faces. Jean's soft green eyes stared obliquely at the casket. Rogue studied each of her team mates, wondering what they must be feeling, thinking. She noticed that only one was not present, though he could hardly be counted as one of them.
The priest turned to a new page in his Bible and began the elegy. Rogue judged from his accent that he was Austrian. He spoke with such a tender sadness that it seemed he knew Annabel before all the terror surfaced. He might have baptized her as an infant, blessed her before her journey to the States, prayed for his Lord to grant her safety....
"'...so justice iz far from us, and righteousness does not reach us,'" the priest was quoting Isaiah. "'Ve look for light, but all iz darkness; for brightness, but we valk in deep shadows. Like ze blind ve grope along the wall, feeling our way like men vithout eyes...we moan mournfully like doves. Ve look for justice, but find none; for deliverance, but it iz far away. For our offenses are many in your sight and our sins testify against us..."
Why is he saying these things? Rogue looked at the Count, who seemed lost in morose thoughts. Did no one else feel despair at the priest's hopeless words?
"'...from ze west, men vill fear ze name of the Lord, and from ze rising of the sun zey vill revere his glory. For he vill come like a pent-up flood that ze breath of ze Lord drives along. Ze Redeemer will come to Zion, to those in Jacob who repent of zeir sins..."
Rogue lowered her eyes, feeling the weight of the words. Comforting, pretty-sounding words. They served a purpose, but they were empty and hollow to Rogue. She never believed in God. Such faith seemed ridiculous, the crutch to lean on for those who could not cope with the reality of life. But she understood why people needed it, the faith, the hope. Without hope, there was nothing.
She stopped listening to the priest. Instead, she remembered Annabel the girl, not the ghost.
There's no way to help me.
I can't keep going on like this. I have to let them all go.
I was being selfish for so long. So angry, so resentful...but now I see. I understand that this way it's fair.
I've never had real friends...and that's what you guys feel like to me, friends.
We're alike, Rogue. There's so much of us that's the same...and even if it doesn't feel like it, you are so lucky.
You're so blessed.
Rogue looked at her hands, smoothed her fingers along the cashmere. Tears blurred her vision, too many to withold. She allowed herself to cry.
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Gambit watched from a distance, half-hidden behind a looming oak tree. To his own bemusement, he counted the X-Men and discovered every one present. He thought they would be angry, resentful, or at least hesitant to attend Annabel's funeral, but they were nothing of the sort. Once again, Gambit saw the quality of character within these people.
Rogue was there, surrounded by her surrogate family. It bothered him that she remained so placid. He understood what she was thinking, how she felt about Annabel's passing. He felt it, too. When Rogue finally let go of that stubborn mask she was so fond of wearing, he released a sigh of relief. He watched the tears roll down her porcelain face, her beautiful eyes clouded with sorrow, and felt some masochistic form of satisfaction. Rogue wasn't retreating into her shell again, at least not yet.
The casket was being lowered. When it was safely settled within its grave, the Count stepped forward and tossed upon it a handful of dirt. He then pulled a rose from within his jacket. Speaking a few words in Austrian, he let the rose fall into the grave of the daughter he never knew.
One by the one everyone filed past, dropping dirt and flowers onto the casket below. The priest continued murmuring his holy words. He did not relent as the Count's men began shoveling soil into the grave. Soon all that could be seen was a mound of brown dust, an intricately-carved gravestone at its head. Everyone loitered about, silent and watchful, unsure of what to do next.
While the Professor spoke with the Count, Ororo and Hank led the students back to the cars. Remy watched the steady departure. He saw that Rogue did not go with the others. She stood near the tombstone, her hair and skirt fluttering slightly in the gentle breeze. She looked so innocently pretty, so like a dark angel; one would never imagine she had fought tirelessly with men twice her size, struggled with unrelenting psyches in her mind.
Logan approached from behind, placed a hand on her shoulder. He said something Remy could not hear and Rogue nodded with closed eyes. She drew a breath, wiped her cheek, then followed Logan and the Professor towards their vehicles.
The Count, his men, and the priest soon departed. The grave was alone and solitary.
Remy waited several minutes. He stared at the flattened heap of disturbed earth, wondering how it was possible that Annabel lay beneathe.
The flaps of his trench coat rippled in the breeze as he approached. He knelt before the stone and ran a hand along its marble smoothness. "Dey all came t'see y', p'tite," he said, voice low. "Wherever y'are now, hope y'not feelin' guilty 'bout anyt'ing. S'all past." He placed a small bouquet of lilies upon the grave, unsure what else to say. How could he address her, this girl who had caused him so much strife for so long, haunted him with her despair? He remembered her anger, sadness, and hate, as fresh as if they were his own. What words would do justice to this moment...
"I can sweet talk m'self across dis country," he muttered with a sardonic laugh, "but I can't think of a single thing t'say dat'll make dis right, Annabel." He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "Doesn' seem fair, but I understand why y'ended it. Makes me think 'bout how I've been screwin' up dese days...hell, all m'life." He snorted, "'Course, dat depends on who y'ask. According to Jean-Luc, I'd deserve a gold medal fo' personal conduct... Not easy t'stop bein' a scoundrel when dat's all y've ever known."
He shook his head and gazed at the morose surroundings under the dismal sky. Annabel had lived her counterfeit life in complete isolation; and here he was, alone, as always. He was so sorry for Annabel, empathized so clearly with her situation. Yes, there was his family. Yes, there was Henri and Tante Mattie. But none of that satisfied the inner longings he felt, the need he had never realized and would never admit. But then she came into his life and threw everything out of order. She graced his existence and stirred something buried beneathe years of stealing, deceit, and feuding. And now she loathed him. Now he was back where he started, but this time it wasn't ever going to be enough again. Not that he would ever consciously acknowledge those thoughts; not that it would ever rouse anything more than confused frustration.
"Can't say I deserve anyt'ing less dan dis," he muttered. "Y'knew 'bout Genny, didn't y'Annabel? Y'said it wasn' dat big a deal. Wish y'were right. Wish I wasn' such a prick back den..." He ran a hand along the stone again, was reminded of Rogue's untouchable skin. Despite the control she seemed to exhibit over her powers, she was still untouchable. At least to him. "But wishin' never 'mounted t'anyt'ing, so I've decided what t'do, p'tite. Y'were in m'head. Y'know why I joined up wit' Magneto. Still waitin' for me back home, too. Dey know m'contract's up, prob'ly wondering why I haven't gone back. Didn' think I ever would after all dis...but s'only thing left t'do now. Maybe s'all for de best." He gave the tombstone a final pat and stood to his feet.
There was nothing left to say, only something to do. He had planned everything that morning; it would be easy. His guest bedroom at the Xavier Institute housed none of his personal effects; some of it was at the Acolyte base while most remained at his apartment in New York. He would return the borrowed clothes to the Med Bay and ride his motorcycle into the City. From there it would be a one-way trip back home. Now all he had to do was get his feet moving. He stuck his hands into his pockets and turned to leave. But something stirred behind him, caused his limbs to balk.
A soft raspy voice: "She said she'd miss ya." Light footsteps approached until they stopped behind him, a little off to the side. He saw her shadow in the dim light. "When we were up in that plane she got in my head and...she said you and Ah were like friends to her." She released a dry laugh heavy with gloom. "Then she fixed my powers...and she jumped."
Remy didn't dare move, afraid he might scare her away.
Rogue stepped into his view as she stared at the gravestone. She lowered her head, strands of rich hair falling over her face. "Ah'm sorry," she murmured.
Remy was unsure whom she was addressing. He remained silent and unmoving, watching her in reluctant fascination. This was not supposed to happen; she was thwarting his plans. He looked away and tried to remember what it was he had been about to do.
"Ah don't even know how to start," Rogue said. She lifted her face and breathed a sigh, "Your memories...they felt so real, like Ah had lived the whole thing right alongside ya. And Ah thought--Ah believed those feelings... Ah forgot they weren't mine."
He didn't want to hear what she was saying. He had reasoned through his choices and reached a decision; and she had no part in it. His life would be so much simpler that way.
"Annabel told me somethin' before she leapt," Rogue whispered. "She...uh...told me not ta judge your mistakes." She paused, as if afraid to go on. "And she said that the past doesn't matter, because of what we have...but Ah'm not even sure--what do we have, Remy?"
He lowered his eyes, "Somet'ing dat was too good t'last."
Rogue seemed taken aback by the response. She took a step toward him. "That's not true," she rasped. "You aren't listening...Ah felt everythin' ya felt that night. Ah felt your guilt, your disgust at yourself...at the Guild." She shook her head, "It was too soon after absorbin' ya--Ah couldn't sort it out right. Ah panicked a little..." She wished he would look at her, say something assuring. But wasn't it all on her anyway? If she told him how she really felt, wouldn't everything be okay?
"What's y'point, chere?"
His iciness cut through her chest. She forced calm upon herself and said, "Ah don't blame ya for what happened to Genevieve Darcenaux, and neither should you. Yeah, usin' her like that was insanely wrong, but any jerk this side of the Mississippi would've done the same thing."
Remy huffed, "Bet y'wouldn't feel dat way if it'd been you."
Rogue tried to ignore his biting tone. "No, Ah wouldn't," she admitted. "Ah'd feel angry and betrayed, and Ah'd hate you--like Genevieve probably did. But she wasn't your responsiblity, Remy. She had no hold on you." She looked away as tears welled in her eyes, annoyingly incovenient. "Ah know what it feels like, tryin' ta save someone but not being able to. Annabel, Genevieve...we couldn't stop 'em from falling. But we just...we gotta realize--as cruel as it might sound--they weren't our responsiblity. Things happen that even we can't change."
Remy drooped his head, bangs falling over his poetically demonic eyes.
"It wasn't ya fault," Rogue said gently. "That cold man...he..." She frowned, realized Remy's memory of the mercenary reminded her of someone. Blond, beastly--
"I got what I wanted from her den took what I needed," Remy gritted. He kept his gaze fixed at an invisible spot, hard and self-deprecating. "What makes y'think I won' do de same t'you?"
Rogue was speechless, shocked that he had the audacity to say such a thing. "Because--the situations, they're different."
"Wrong, chere...y'so wrong."
"Shut up," Rogue snapped, biting her lip in frustration. He was purposely arguing against himself, intentionally seeking to incite her hate. All she could do was try and convince him that such self-loathing was unnecessary, that he had found that coveted redemption. "Ya may've charmed and flirted with me like you did her, but you're forgetting days and days of...of us, Remy." She rubbed the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and the words spilled forward in an endless ramble, "Ah don't even know where to start--Ah can't say everythin' because there's too much. You fought for me, tried to rescue me, sacrificed yourself and took three bullets for me. You left, but ya always came back. You made everything better with a few words, a touch, a look. You helped my friends get through what was happening...you...you..." She covered her eyes with her hand, ashamed to be breaking down in front of him, "Ya saved me, in every way. Ah can't even..." She gasped softly as a warm hand caressed her cheek, brushed aside stray strands of hair.
Remy dejectedly shook his head. The redness of his eyes glowed softly submissive. "How can y'be sure, Rogue?" he asked hoarsely. "What's dat sayin'...once a t'ief, always a t'ief?"
Rogue drew closer, stared up at his familiar face. She felt his breath disturb her eyelashes, felt his warmth radiating from their closeness. He was deranging and provocative; he was everything she had ever wanted and always believed was impossible to have. Annabel was so right--it would've been wrong to throw this away, this feeling, this need. The Rogue had never needed anyone in her life; it frightened her now that she was so dependent, so vulnerable towards a guy who had such an equivocal past. But despite everything....
"Ah trust you," she said softly, breathing in his fresh scent, detecting a slight hint of cologne. "Ah think Ah always did...even when it didn't make sense to." She lifted a hand and cupped his cheek, stroking at his light stubble with tender fingers. She may not have known him years ago, but what did that matter? The present was alive; the past was gone and immutable. "Ah've been runnin' away for as long as Ah can remember, Remy. Ah'm tired of it. Aren't you?"
He stared at her in maddening silence, red eyes fixed unwaveringly on her green.
"Ya might not trust yourself," she whispered, "but don't ya trust me?"
He rested his forehead against hers and released a sigh, "Rogue..."
"What, Remy."
"Thank you," he whispered, and caught her lips with his own.
Rogue lost herself into the kiss. She felt his arms encircle her form, felt his warmth seeping into her senses. His touch was like water on a parched plant, and she relished in every caress of his kiss. Her hands found their way around his neck, pulled his face closer. She never wanted to let go, never wanted this bliss to end. It didn't have to, did it? This could last. Annabel's gift was forever.
His lips traveled up her cheeks, past her eyes, settled on her forehead. He held her close, stroked her hair as she buried her face in his shoulder. Feeling her so close, seeing her so forgiving, he could not help but think he didn't deserve this. It amazed him that they had come so far after so little time. Images of theirstrugglesfloated into memory.
Rogue lifted her head and kissed his jaw. Her question came as a whisper, simple and tender, "Are you all right?"
Remy pulled her closer, a wan smile curving his mouth. "Yeah, chere. I am."
Rogue rested against him and sighed contentedly. She could almost see Annabel smiling down at them.