Enjoy this chapter, guys. It's one of the last ones. I can't believe it's coming to a close so soon! AND check for review replies! I reply to everybody.
Didn't mean to falsely advertise a/b frequent updates! I'd go into a lengthy apology but you guys understand, I'm sure, and I'm also sure you guys don't care about me being sorry as much as you want to get reading—this was 14 pages in MSWord by the way. Phew. So go!
LOVE your review replies! They always cheer me up and some of you actually all out make me laugh.
Texasgrrl: first to review! Yay. Both of them get on my nerves, too. But aren't people like that in real life? Well, maybe not exactly. In a perfect world things would guy as you say and—nah. We love the angst. Xmengirlzrule: I want to write real books. I'm working on some, but I can't muster the drive like I can with this fic. This is way more fun than starting from scratch on a shallow idea of my own. The whole X-Men thing already has a foundation, y'know? Sweety8587: What about "One Night", huh? Just keep on eyein', hon. And just to clear up, I'm not "loneraven". I think that's someone else's name. I'm just Raven—that freaked me out a lil' bit. "one of the best written non-break-up's ever"—that made me laugh. Who woulda thought there'd be such a thing as a "non-break-up"? Five-Farthings: Heart-wrenchingly beautiful—we're such a masochistic bunch. Yes! The urge to grab them and shake some sense into them, that's the type of fervor I want to incite in readers. Glad I'm doing it right. Imagine Logan having kids—what a strange thought. Hmmm. Flowerperson: Oh, have a tissue, hon. It is very depressing. I was debating whether or not to change it but too late now. GothikStrawberry: Is Jean and Scott's relationship effortless—I don't know. But looks like it to me, if you exclude the typical teen angst things nobody cares about. See, Logan can be kind sometimes. Minnaloushe: That's the whole point of Rogue and Gambit, isn't it—the whole good-bad-good-bad-good-bad rollercoaster Marvel puts them through. That's why it's so fun and easy to write a fanfic about these characters; there's such a strong, broad foundation that I can pick and choose and filter my way to my own story. Awgh! "that silly card guy"? And god it drives me crazy when people love movie Bobby so much. "He's so cute"—gag. I wish the comics didn't do go sci-fi crazy in their story arcs—there's enough interesting "abstract and real" stuff in the world to work with. But I guess that's what happens when creativity runs low. I hate how Alex is such a surfer dude. Hff, like I was gonna write guys in my fic with lines like, "Whoa, dude, that totally rocked." Chica De Los Ojos Café: We all love our angst here—it's what separates us from the other freaks, lol. We won't get to New Orleans in this particular fic…hint, hint. TotallyRiddickObsessed: I think that was the Ultimate series where the Rogue-Bobby-Kitty-Gambit thing happened. I never read it though, and that was the first story arc of Ultimate X-Men with Remy in it too. But then again, I'm not big on the comics. I own two—which were joke Christmas presents from my friend who was amused when I said I was really a dork who thought comics were cool. I don't think she believes me. Enchanted light: Whoa! You didn't stick with your "great chapter! Update soon!" line—I am im-pressed. Everybody's stupid—especially Rogue and Remy. Just look what they do to each other… Ishandahalf: oh, dear, ishy! I am incredibly ashamed for delaying so long on the chapter, and then to deliver a depressing one, too! How sorry for you. You wanted to stop reading after the "end something that never should've started" line? Really? Whoa. Well, I put you guys through this torture bc it's way too fun. I love to wrench it outta y'all. I'm so glad ppl have been receiving this chapter so well. I was really doubtful about it—but it made sense why Rogue and Remy did what they did. Thank you for saying they were in character—that is ultimately my goal. I do say things are going to get better a lot—but I haven't lived up to my word—yet. Patience. And alas, we won't be seeing New Orleans in this particular fic. Hint. Hint. Abril4: depressing is like my forte or something—if that makes sense. And it's not just Remy doing this to Rogue—they're doing it to each other. I don't want Remy to seem like the bad guy when Rogue is just as much at "fault". Sort of. Or maybe it's just the world—wait, I said in the chapter that it was them—maybe. I am so wishy-washy. Lady Godiva: It seems lots of people wanted to scream at me—which was exactly why I PUT that endnote at the chapter's closing. Phew. Would've had a bunch of ornery reviewers otherwise, I think. I know!—Can you imagine seeing the guy you love just ditch you? I'd be wounded beyond words. I can't give him a break, lol. Otherwise the two'll live in a perfect world where they can just be together and nobody would read my fic. And I know what you mean about feeling for Remy—it's like these characters aren't even real, but they embody so much that's evident in life, others as well as our own, that we embed the tribulations into ourselves. Did that make sense, or did I venture too way out there? SickmindedSucker: You're the only person that said you weren't depressed—you have stamina, bc I know I've done this over and over again, lol. Hahaha, Logan walking Rogue down the aisle! That was an image! But hey, very possible. Freak87: Well, if you say it like that, I better not get self-deprecating. Nice to see somebody cares ;-). But really, I hate going days without writing at least a few paragraphs—not only am I cheating myself of "writing practice" (English skills!) but also because it's fun, like watching TV where I call the shots. God, I'd kill Rogue in my story before I let her break down and bawl for no warranted reason—I hated that in other fics. Ech, like a bad after taste. Logan had to be a little crass—can't have the toughie becoming too soft—God forbid! We need tough Logan. Yes, yes, yes, Rogue and Gambit are very stubborn and headstrong (is that even word, must be, MSWord isn't putting little red squiggles under it—haha, squiggles is a word too, apparently). You are like the fifth person to shake a fist at me and the third to threaten retribution lest I twist Rogue and Remy's relationship anymore—that is prêt-ty funny. Dana: there aren't enough ouches to do justice to it, huh—well, thanks for loving my fic. I love that you're lovin' it! SarQueen4: I have no idea why, actually—people have enormous egos and massive amounts of pride. S'hard to just ignore it, you know? I myself, heh, am incredibly proud—not in the arrogant "I'm better than everybody" way, but you get what I mean. And mix all that in with heinous problems…well, this is what ya get. Sarah: Yeah, I totally got that feeling that there is more than one story in my fic—didn't mean for that to happen. The whole Annabel thing, I confess, was just a way to set up the capability for "Rogue and Gambit" to actually be used in the same sentence with viability—bc they had a pratically nonexistent relationship in Evo-verse. And then I went into their personal issues—which I can't decide whether or not is more fun than the Annabel part! You're comparing me with T2? Thanks! That movie was quite good. Allie: Ew, Belladonna's name does mean "beautiful" something, doesn't it? Gross. The name "Belladonna" sounds trashy, gaudy, and pompous all at once. I could just go on...but must be objective in this fic, hence why I didn't bash Jean much. I actually kinda admire the girl—very kind, giving, always willing to help…oops, better quit now. Hahaha, my computer probably did shiver. That was a funny remark of yours—liked it. Aprilangel413: I don't know how Rogue could practically kick him out or how Remy could just take it—especially after all they'd already been through that should have reinforced their relationship…but I'm just going to brush that off as their confusion, hurt, and misunderstandings. Seems like no matter how much things would seem simple, they just don't feel that way. Did that sound profound or just a lame attempt to be? Lol. Roguegal: I am absolutely tickled that you had to work your way around reading my story! Thanks for putting in the effort—makes me see that my efforts aren't in vain! What's your job? I am very curious to know, since you mentioned "doing a book to give to your editor". Kendokao: I feel like we haven't communicated for a while…hmm. On on on with the angst—haha, that should be my motto. I like Logan's relationship with Rogue, too. There's this underlying trust and understanding, sort of. He's that go-to guy who she can completely trust and depend on when push comes to shove—and we'll just have to see if Remy can be that guy, too! I'm debating it myself whether…oops, almost let something slip there. Ha. And of course things will get better, haven't you seen a trend? ;-) TheBabyPhatPrincess: Rogue and Remy sweetness always manages to break the overcast—that's the trend it seems. And hell yeah there's going to be a sequel. I'm plotting it as I write this fic so I don't forget ideas—just working on a title—which is a pain. Keller: I don't like the hysterical shouting that most authors make them undergo, it just seems too rash. I mean, in reality, if you really care about someone and are in the beginning stages of a relationship, would you really be screaming at them? I wouldn't have the galls. Crazed Fuzzle: Well! I just have to say that I am extremely flattered that my writing could have influenced you so. And they are meant to be, even though it's incredibly annoying how heinous situations always seem to come their way for the sole purpose of splitting them apart—like what I'm doing. I looked back and realized I should have toned it down a bit…but whatever, ppl've enjoyed it. And as for my ending question statements with a period—too bad! ;-P I happen to like doing that. If it bothers you so much, try saying it out loud, once with the up tone of the question mark and once with the more mellow tone incited by the period—sometimes it just sounds better with the mellow tone, more tense and melodramatic so as to serve the purpose of the scene, situation, or dialogue. Misswildfire: I wonder myself sometimes. Jeanie: Aw, I will take it as a compliment—thanks for reviewing. I'm glad you like this story—it's definitely taken a lot of work. But that's good work. Aye, God, I know I said I'm a frequent updater, but I'm still a senior in high school with tons of crap to do—go easy on me! And believe it or not, I actually have a one or two guy readers around here! Ha. Randirogue: Thank you thank you thank you thank you! I probably should've ended this a while back, bc I feel like now it's a completely different story that's just dealing with Rogue/Gambit drama—forgot about the whole Annabel thing sometimes! But w/e. And heh, the pressure sure is on to update. But I'm on spring break now so there should be more time! Hopefully. Shockgoddess: You know, I was starting to think everyone was hypnotized by this fic's "greatness" (not trying to sound vain, really); I'm glad someone actually criticized me, so thanks. I didn't like the last chapter much—it was a little forced, to me, but I had to do it. Rogue was calm bc I seriously can't see her throwing a hissy fit—in my judgment, that's not her character, especially when dealing with sensitive problems concerning Remy—shrug it off as pride and self-oppression, which she is good at. Ah, I thought of this believe it or not, but Rogue didn't find out about the engagement just because. Ha. The memory didn't surface—w/e, it was "buried" and plus her own dominate psyche was too preoccupied with happenings in the real world. And then you can make the inquiry about why Genny's memory surfaced when it did—and I'll just say bc her and Annabel had such similar fates that events sort of "tugged" that to the surface of Rogue's mind. That suffice? Sort of, maybe? Whatever, lol. Speaking of physics, I have to go to some laser/radiology company tomorrow to videotape the manufacturing plant and I have a sandpaper throat right now. Talk about horrible timing! I hope I'll have a voice tmw—imagine me interviewing the production manager talking like a 32-year chain smoker. –sigh— I don't take pre-calc, thank God. I'm annoyed enough with advanced algebra as it is Kitzu LeBeau: thanks very very much! I love to hear that people are enjoying this, especially from new readers. And to be honest, I like the way I portray Gambit and Rogue to! ;-P Other ppl make them seem so…agh, don't even wanna get into it.
What did you do?
It was the right thing!
No! Are you insane?
Please, please stop doing this!
It was smart to end it.
You're only hurting yourself.
He didn't deserve that!
He's a heartbreaker, will break yours if you let him.
That wasn't what you meant to say.
Yes, it was! You're being smart!
Stop him—go back and fix this!
She collapsed in the foyer, the pounding in her head dizzying. Her composure had all but dissolved, and she lost all sense of conviction. Disordered thoughts whirled in her mind, a maelstrom of confusion and discord. Had she really said those things to Remy? She huddled on the floor, pressed her head against a wall that did not give. She wanted to cry, but her own pride squashed even that urge. She couldn't remember what it was she had meant to say to Remy. All she recalled, all she felt was the irrepressible hurt at seeing him prepare to leave. It was just like him—the bastard—the lady's man—the noncommittal player—Just like that. No goodbyes, no explanation. He would ditch her like everything they had done, everything they had said...
"Meant nothing?" Rogue murmured, a hushed, pained whisper. How could he?
The psyches continued to scream. She forgot how to control them, convert them into…what was it again? It had been so easy before… God, she didn't care—What possessed her to be so cold to Remy? He had acted so sincere when he tried to explain, before she brushed him off, practically ordered him to go. She had snapped. All the ups and downs, all the frustration at herself, at him—she had snapped. She wanted it to stop so badly. Tears brimmed at the edge of her eyes. No, she wouldn't cry. She'd done that too much already. The psyches continued to scream
But wait—they weren't real. They never had been. Annabel said so. Annabel had said lots of things—We should be like sisters, we can relate to each other's pains—You really don't deserve him—So many, Rogue. How do you keep so many?—Don't judge him by his mistakes. Don't throw away what you have because of the past—You're so blessed…
Memories of a sad, deprived girl swelled in Rogue's mind. Poor Annabel, Annabel who never lived, who made the ultimate sacrifice.
She choked back a sob, wishing the psyches would just leave her alone. Too many voices. Too many thoughts, regrets, emotions. Conflicting emotions. She hated him; she wanted him to leave—she couldn't bear parting with him; she couldn't stand not seeing him, hearing him, feeling him. But he was always hurting her. And she was always handling it badly. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be.
No, no, no! a voice in her head screamed; she thought it was her own, but she could never be certain when it came to voices in her mind.
Somewhere, seemingly far away, a voice called, shouted her name. Rogue? Rogue, what happened?
She didn't know. She didn't know anything.
Are you okay? Rogue, please, say something!
Yes, she was okay. She was never not okay. She didn't need any help from any body—never did, never would. Wasn't that right? Especially now, especially when she was this alone and despicable and confused. She was fine, would be as soon as the psyches shut the hell up, as soon as the head-splitting throbs went away. The pain in her head echoed another hurt she couldn't name, one that started with that Cajun who had left. Why hadn't he gone after her? Didn't he care enough to argue more vehemently against her unwarranted requests?
"What's going on?" Alarmed voices—inside, outside her mind.
"I don't know! I—I just found her like this…I think it's the psyches again! She must've, like, lost control or something—"
Why couldn't they just leave her alone? Why did they have to be so suffocating, always so nosey and prodding and eager? They were just as bad as the people in her mind. Oh, she just wanted to sleep—no, that was a lie, and she would not sink so low as to lie to herself. All she wanted was him—but he had left. She choked back another sob. Planned to go without a word, he did. Not one. It was all she could think about; she forgot his regretful looks, his efforts to reach her while they stood within the twilight… She couldn't think. Not with so many screaming. Shut up. Shut up. Everybody go away.
"Vait, vhat's happened to her? Help her, Logan!"
"Everyone back away—now! Come on, kiddo, easy does it."
Rogue felt herself being lifted off the floor. Images of things and people whirled before her unfocused eyes. Aspirin might help—Vicodin would probably be better, about five bottles of it would do the job, or maybe that was overkill. She wanted to laugh at her ludicrous notions, if the noise wouldn't have hurt so much. Her head felt swollen to three times its normal size; too many frenzied personalities occupying one space.
"We're almost there, darlin'. Don't let 'em beat you."
"Why," she managed to murmur. "He's gone." Then the swirling colors disappeared and she could no longer hear any voices, in or outside her mind.
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The motorcycle pulled to a stop before the Acolyte base. Remy killed the ignition and dismounted. As he removed the helmet, he ran a hand through his flattened hair. The evening was darker than he remembered upon first leaving the Institute. How long had he been driving around, aimlessly trying to clear his head? And in vain also… What a waste of time. Her words still echoed in his thoughts, taunting him with veracity and cruelness, disheartening his will to contend them. Maybe later, after everything back home was finally taken care of. Maybe then he could come back and fix things and…
All was silent as he entered the base. The steely corridors echoed every footstep from their desolate barrenness; they no longer shone with metallic luster, dull as they were from neglect. To the naïve visitor, it would seem as though the base was abandoned and out of the use, but Remy knew better. He languidly walked through the familiar halls, thinking of days when he was a paid mercenary, when life consisted only of jobs, money, and kicking back with Piotr and John. Funny how life always managed to get complicated.
He found his old room. As he opened the door and entered, stale air greeted his senses. The bunk was untouched, bed sheets as disheveled as he had left them that morning weeks ago. He surveyed the room with detached curiosity, seeing how sterile his living space was, how unwelcoming and cold. He couldn't fathom sleeping there every night on that hard cot, surrounded by four bleak walls. It seemed utterly inscrutable after all these days of residing within the Xavier Institute; he hadn't been living while employed as an Acolyte. Everything had been work. Empty work.
Remy shook his head. He looked around the room, reacquainting himself with his few possessions and their locations. Most were tools and gadgets, auxiliaries for jobs and heists; and of course, playing cards. He tucked a couple packs into his pockets before scooping the rest of the gear into a black haversack. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he left the room and headed downstairs.
Not surprisingly, the base's true operations were designed and executed within the lower levels. Only communication and radio emission devices were kept at surface altitude. Remy walked past the major control room, where the gargantuan computer screen sat black without power. He boarded the elevator and rode it down to the same level as the underground garage, though to a separate sector of the hidden facility. Before the elevator doors opened, he could hear the drone of bustle on the other side.
The steel panels slid open, revealing to him the engagements of Acolyte activity. Uniformed men moved back and forth along the area, hefting crates and boxes and operating machinery to lift the ones too large for human capability. A tall figure of metallic muscle stood as overseer, a clipboard clutched in one massive organic steel hand as he checked off each crate that passed him by. Several times a man would stop and they would exchange a few words regarding protocol.
As Remy approached, Colossus caught sight of him. A pleasant expression broke through the steel of his face. In just moments the metal coating around his body receded, revealing the flesh-and-blood friend Remy knew as Piotr.
"I thought you would never pull yourself from those X-Men," Piotr said.
Reminded of that, Remy nearly grimaced. He only shrugged in reply.
"When will you be leaving the city?"
"Soon," was all Remy said. He looked around at all the activity. "Refresh m'memory mon ami, what's go'n' on here now?"
Piotr glanced at the figures on his clipboard. He scribbled incoherent symbols as one of the uniformed men cleared a crate of biohazard chemicals by him. "The supplies within the containment dome are obliterated, we have discovered," he said, raising an expectant eyebrow.
"Yeah…forget t'mention dat. But m'sure y'guys looked at de security cameras?"
"You seem to be very good at making new enemies."
"Must be m' aftershave or somet'ing," Remy retorted.
Piotr gave him a look. "Of course," he drawled, then said in a more business-like tone, "We've salvaged the C4 and other explosives in the floor cache. As of now they are being trucked away to a more secure storage facility until they're taken by our investors."
"Investors," Remy echoed.
"Of course. Where do you think these men came from?"
Memories stirred in Remy's mind, tidbits of what Magneto had called his "project". He hadn't been too informed on the matter; because of his particular background of skill and experience, Magneto had made sure that most of his efforts were focused on the X-Men and current human-flatscan happenings. But Remy knew that Magneto's ambitions stretched far beyond pestering Xavier's mutants or stirring up trouble among the baseline human communities. He had had an ultimate goal, one that Remy doubted any of the Acolytes truly understood.
"And we can trust dese G.I. Joes?"
"They come from our investors," Piotr stated plainly, "who have much more to lose than all of us put together if Magneto's…enterprise fails."
Remy raised an eyebrow, "So even t'ough Bucket Head's technically gone, his lil' 'project' s'still goin' on?"
"It is most definitely not little."
"Do y'even know what 't is?"
Piotr's brow furrowed, "Not exactly. Creed is the only one. Magneto put him in charge of everything." He cast a wary glance across the compound, to an area of various vehicles and machinery that Sabertooth presently inspected. "He knows what is really happening underneath all this show," Piotr's accented words announced. "Why Magneto entrusted someone like him with this task, I will never guess."
Remy frowned, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. A feeling of ominous purpose came to him, a sense of something large and epochal that would eclipse all else—and it was happening right before his eyes, right under his nose, all this time. He still had no proper inkling of what it really was, but if it was an endeavor of Magneto's… "Recruits," he suddenly remembered, turning to Piotr. "Mags wanted me t'poke 'round de mutant 'hoods a while back, t'see who's anti-flatscan and pro-revolution. Any o'dem ever 'mount t' anyt'ing?"
Piotr shrugged. "I cannot call them a team for they have no organization or leader as of now," he said. "But they exist nonetheless."
"F'what?"
"Magneto's dream was a world where mutants ruled the regular humans. Guess."
"Y' can't be serious," Remy huffed. "Somet'ing like dat will take more dan jus' a bunch o' pumped desperadoes."
"As the saying goes, 'You have to start somewhere'." After thinking on it more, Piotr seemed to dislike his blasé attitude towards the subject. "It is disturbing… perhaps we should inquire Creed."
"He wouldn' tell us, mon ami," Remy said. "Don' waste y'time." Watching the feral mutant askance, he frowned, sensing not for the first time a strange familiarity in Sabertooth. There had been instances before when the hairy fellow had struck Remy with eerie dejávu, but they passed too quickly for adequate inspection. He had met many big, mean brutes in his life—how Creed was any different, he was not sure.
"Crikey! Ye back!" St. John attacked from behind, clapping Remy hard on the back. "And here I thought those X-geeks turned ye all goody-goody."
Remy offered a wry grin, "Once a t'ief, always a t'ief, hein?" The words recalled a memory, another place where he had said them. Cold marble tombstone, cloud-shrouded sky, beautiful green eyes… He shook his head, "Desolé, mes amis, but I jus' came by f'a quick adieu."
John's face scrunched up in disappointment, his orange eyebrows furrowing. "Aw, ye've got to be kiddin', mate. Ye really leavin' ole Tin Can and me alone with that sucker?" He thumbed in the direction of Sabertooth growling at one of the suited men. "Where ye plannin' on goin'?"
"Back t'de Big Easy," Remy replied without zeal. "Family business t'take care of."
Piotr nodded understandably. He grasped Remy's hand in a firm shake, "Good luck, my friend. Perhaps we shall meet again."
"Count on it," Remy assured him. "And Pyro, try not t'set y'self on fire while m'gone."
John smirked, grasping Remy by the forearm for a rattling armshake, "Can't help it sometimes, mate. Take care yeself, and get back here asap!"
Remy merely nodded, waving as he headed back for the elevator. On the way up he pondered over Magneto's schemes; even while dead the man still managed to influence so many lives. As he reached the base's main level, a thought occurred to him, some completely spontaneous call of obligation. Instead of heading directly outside to his motorcycle, he reared around and entered the communications control room.
He switched on the main computer, watched the enormous screen light up. He maneuvered a bit around Magneto's files, found the needed telephone number, and left. Two minutes later, he was a trail of dust and a flapping trench coat in the distance.
-
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Oh, God, Ah did it again. How embarrassing.
Rogue groaned as she sat up in bed. Not her bed, a Med Bay bed, the usual one. She expelled a tired sigh, rubbed her sore head. This was becoming incredibly hackneyed. If she only had a dollar for every time she'd woken up in the Med Bay…
"Ah, you're awake. How are we feeling?"
Rogue winced at Mr. McCoy's cheerful voice, it so contrasted her mood. "You are feeling fine," she croaked, voice thick with sleep. "Ah, on the other hand, not so hot."
Hank approached with his stethoscope and a tiny medical flashlight. He flickered the beam in her eyes momentarily, then checked her breathing. "Does your head hurt?" he asked, observing the brain and heart monitor readings.
"Sorta," Rogue replied. "But Ah feel like ya doped me with somethin'."
Hank smiled pleasantly as he scratched a diagnosis onto a chart. "Mild sedatives to help you sleep," he said. "Will you be needing anything for a headache, perhaps? You seem discomforted." He slipped the chart into the folder containing her medical files.
"Ah'll be fine." Rogue cleared her throat, ran a hand through her hair. She sat up higher in bed and asked, "Could Ah have something ta drink?"
"It would seem my timing is perfect." With a soft whirr of a powered wheelchair, the Professor hovered into the room. He carried a light tray littered with easy-on-the-stomach foods: low-acid orange juice, frozen yogurt, and granola. He set the tray on the bedside table. Rogue gestured for the juice. He handed it to her.
"Thanks." After she took a sip her throat felt better and her mouth less bile-tasting. She glanced at Hank, "How am Ah looking?"
"Back to normal it seems," the doctor replied. "You exhibited very high, very taxing levels of stress earlier. And you seemed to have lost control of your powers during that time as well."
Rogue instinctively grimaced. She hesitated to ask, "How could ya tell?"
Hank seemed hesitant to say. He coughed lightly into a furry fist and shrugged. "It is nothing serious," he said, "but Storm bumped into you while you were being brought into the Med Bay. She is fully awake with barely a headache as a result." He paused, watching Rogue for a reaction.
The Professor pressed his hands together in studious observation.
"No wonder Ah feel so calm," the girl mused. She scratched the back of her neck and sighed. "Ah can feel her inside, tellin' me it's gonna be okay, that Ah'm all right." A wan smile curved her lips, "It's actually kinda nice. Like a mother's voice almost…"
Hank and the Professor exchanged glances. "Can you explain this further, Rogue?" Xavier asked.
"Um…not...Ah guess it's just like how Ah can convert the psyches' energy into powers Ah can use. Just sometimes, if Ah want, they can stay psyches." Rogue wrinkled her nose. "Ah'm not explaining this very well…"
"No, please, go on."
"Well, Ah think—actually, Ah feel these little parts of people Ah absorb, they're not the real person, but it's still part of them and it still acts like them and thinks like them and has their personalities and stuff but are still just…different, part of me… They all have their own voice."
"You interact with voices in your head?" Hank asked
Rogue raised an eyebrow, "Well if ya put it like that, you might as well slap 'crazy' on my forehead."
A light-hearted smile played across Hank's furry face. "Apologies…I am simply…unfamiliar with this sort of thing. Still, it is a very interesting part of psychology, a science that I am very keen on learning more about. Your psychology, Rogue, seems the most unique of any mutant—any person—I've encountered."
The Professor seemed less interested in cordial musings. "Do the psyches still burden your mind, Rogue, as they did before?" he asked.
She sensed a sort of grave concern in his tone, though she didn't understand why it was there. She chose her words carefully, "If Ah keep them in check, no. But if Ah don't do somethin' ta exhaust their stored energy…it gets uncomfortable, like having an overload of caffeine and getting all jittery, just a lil' more intense…Ah don't know…either way, Ah don't really feel normal when the 'energy' isn't spent. This is so weird…Ah'm staring to think my absorbing powers aren't even connected to the psyche powers…if that makes any sense…"
"Meaning that though you may be able to control whether or not you absorb, that might not be in conjunction with control over the multi-psyche activity in your mind?"
Rogue involuntarily shivered. She wondered if they noticed. "Yeah, but that sounds worse than not controlling absorption, don't you think?"
"An unstable mind is very dangerous," the Professor agreed. "But you have unusually strong mental powers for a nontelepath, Rogue. I do not believe nature would have bequeathed you such a burden without the capability to handle it. So far you have been doing a superb job."
"Problem is, Professor, if all those psyches freak out like they did, when Ah lose it like that, Ah'm so messed up inside that Ah can't control touch either. Look what's happened."
Hank and the Professor exchanged glances that Rogue could not decode. Then Xavier said, "Remember that the outbreak only happened when you were in severe emotional distress. It seems as long as you are somewhat composed, you are the one in charge."
Rogue shrugged, not much comforted.
"You were sedated four hours ago," the Professor told her. "What do you remember?"
They were carefully watching her. Rogue squirmed in her skin. She took a dainty sip of juice, focusing her eyes on the bottom of the vermillion-doused glass. "It won't happen again," she assured them, not believing it herself. "Ah don't know how Ah lost it back there…but it won't happen again."
Hank frowned. The Professor released a weary sigh, "That is something I am worried about, Rogue: there is no way to assure absolute, complete control of yourself. Everyone loses composure form time to time, and it is a natural, stress-expelling thing. Do not suppress your emotions to the point of where it becomes a poison inside you."
She squelched the contemptuous huff threatening to surface. Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of incensement within the green. "Maybe you already forgot, Professor, but when Ah lose control, it isn't just a peeved chick throwing a hissy fit."
Hank cleared his throat. He grew uncomfortable in the thickening tension, by the rather offended, and seemingly to him, unwarrantedly unpleasant glare, Rogue directed toward Xavier. The phone rang in his office. He cleared his throat again, said, "Excuse me," and departed.
The Professor continued to watch Rogue in contemplative silence. He did not appear angry or distressed; when he spoke his voice was of utmost benevolence and calm. "As much as it may be hard to believe, I do understand, Rogue. I only wish that some day you might trust me enough to confide."
She looked down at her juice.
"I did not mean to offend you," the Professor continued, "but I do mean what I said. Do not keep everything inside. It boils and blisters until consuming everything. You have friends here—a family—that cares very much for you, no matter how hard you might try and push us away. I only wish for you to know that."
Rogue brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. "Ah know. It's just…not easy...especially when Ah'm so confused…about a lot of things…"
"Remy?"
Rogue mutely nodded.
The Professor opened his mouth to speak, but Hank knocked curtly at the door.
"A phone call, Charles."
"Can it wait?"
"He's adamant about speaking with you."
"Who?"
Hank did not say, though when he shrugged, his eyes flickered every so minutely.
It was enough for Rogue to notice. She bit the inside of her cheek.
The Professor gave her a parting glance and disappeared into Hank's office.
Rogue glanced at her food tray, set her juice down. "Mr. McCoy?" she said.
"Yes, Rogue?"
"Can ya do me a huge favor?"
"What does the patient require?"
"This food…it's not enough to feed a bird. Could Ah get a sandwich or something…"
Hank smiled pleasantly and gathered up the tray the Professor had brought. "What would you like?"
"Something simple—cheddar, turkey, lettuce, tomato…ya know the basics. Thanks." She watched him leave, and before he was even fully exited of the Med Bay, she crawled out of her cot and crept unsteadily to his office door. She crouched against the wall for balance.
The conversation had barely just begun. "…depart without word? I cannot say that was the best of actions. I know you realize this, for there are others affected by your presence, or in this case, lack thereof."
Rogue sifted through her psyche energy cache. Most were exhausted and spent from the spasm earlier but some still retained a few of their powers. She couldn't recognize whose she used in her moment's bafflement. In a few seconds, she could hear the conversation on both ends of the phone line.
"…have m'reasons, Professor. I was practically ordered t'go."
"I find that hard to believe…"
"Doesn' matter. S'past anyway…. I didn' call t'discuss dis o' f' y' t'convince me t'come back. M'goin' t'N'Awlins, leavin' t'night, but I've got some Acolyte intel that I t'ought y'might want t'know."
The Professor asked, "Of what sort?"
There was a contemplative pause, and Rogue could nearly see Remy's brow furrowing in thought, his eyes darkening in their amber-blood hue.
"M'not sure people believe Magneto's really dead, but guess dat makes little difference when so much investment's on de line."
"I'm not sure what you are speaking of…"
"Magneto always talked 'bout startin' an army t'take over de world. Sounded like de ambitions o' some fanatic, jus' as crazy, jus' as impossible—but s'happened. He started small, got a few human-hating renegades t'gether. M'not puttin' past his investors t'keep de project going—"
"Project," the Professor interjected. "Yes, Sabertooth mentioned such a thing when he came to collect Colossus and Pyro. Please elaborate. What do you know of it?"
"Not a whole lot. Magneto kept me busy wit' de local, current stuff. Sabertooth was in charge o' his long-range plans, scary as dat sounds. I don' have lots o'details, but here's what I know." Remy began explaining all the hints and tidbits he had picked up during his employment by Magneto, secrets of a massive plan continually enacted under, around, and during the unveiling of the mutant legacy. He delved into more detail when disclosing what he had found out that very day, only an hour or so ago. "Dese 'investors' seem real hardcore," he concluded. "No idea who dey are o' where dey're comin' from, but dey ain't playin'."
Several moments passed of silence. Remy then asked, "Y'still dere?"
"Yes," the Professor replied, "yes… Thank you, Remy, for the consideration. It will undoubtedly serve us well to be aware of these happenings. I expect we will be investigating this in due time."
"Sounds wise t'me," came the reply, attempting flippancy, but failing. There wasn't much to invoke a lighter mood. "Mais, dat's all I've got, Prof. Better be gettin' on—"
"Where are you, Remy?" the Professor bluntly asked.
Pause. A sigh. "Gas station in Greenwich."
The Professor reacted mildly surprised, "Manhattan? You waste no time, Mr. LeBeau."
"Not when people're impatient."
"And you intend to leave just like this then?"
"What else are y'expecting?" His sounded cynical and a little irritated.
Rogue shut her eyes, bit her lip. She tried not to see him, to remember his touch and voice, the arduous gaze of his eyes. Still, despite her wants, she couldn't ignore that tiny feeling in the pit of her stomach, that awful sense of self-respect and sensibility, that told her some time apart might be good for both of them. If only she wouldn't miss him so much…
With the lack of reply, he seemed to deduce what the Professor hesitated to say. "Did somet'ing happen t'her?" The alarm in his voice, the tension of concern…
"Nothing serious, but something nonetheless," the Professor said. "Do not stress yourself; it was a mild episode, much like the ones she has experienced in the past. But I have no doubt it was provoked by you, Remy."
"So y'putting de blame on me."
"Not at all. I only wish to reconcile the situation somehow. The only way that seems possible is for you two to meet, to talk through—"
"No offense, Prof, but couples counseling jus' don' suit you."
The Professor expelled a curt, humorless chuckle, "Perhaps not…but I must try. I hate to see Rogue so…" He sighed. "She was different these past few days for reasons not entirely known to me. But I can guess. And I can say that she was…better. I'd hate to lose that part of her that we have rarely ever seen."
Rogue frowned. Was that what he thought? How all the others saw her? She was never bothered before that they might have been annoyed with her reclusive attitudes, but now… She wanted to think she could continue acting the way she had, so gregarious, so cordially, so like a normal, untroubled girl…but even without her poisonous skin, the reason for it was gone, and to return to her natural state was only rational, only normal, and above all else, easier. Her heightened sense of hearing picked up Remy's hoarse words.
"M'sorry…s'jus'—dere's nothin' I can do."
"Perhaps you should speak with her. She's in the next room—"
"Non—we past dat, mon ami. Can't be worryin' 'bout it right now."
"You dread more pressing matters," the Professor deduced, "but are they really more important? Even at this distance, even over a telephone landline, I sense your hesitation."
Remy expelled a noise of exasperation. "Don' make dis any harder dan t'already is. I know y'understand what's happenin'…at least a lil' bit of it, so dis's pointless. M'gon' do what I have to."
The Professor at last complied, "Yes, I know. I just needed to put in another word before submitting to your wishes. For her sake as well as yours, for I really do think this is a mistake—on both your parts, whatever has transpired that I am not aware of."
"She know y'act like un prere? M'guessin' y'don' even realize how fatherly y'are, hein?"
"I am only voicing my concerns."
"Mais, m'jus' glad someone like you's lookin' out f'everybody but….S'time, Professor. T'anks…for everyt'ing."
"I hope this is not the last I hear of you, Remy."
"Hard t'say."
"Thank you for the information, nonetheless," said the Professor. "And Remy, realize that if you need any help at all…"
"T'anks."
"There's always a place for you here."
"Won' forget it, Professor. Au revoir."
The Professor set the phone back in its cradle. He swiveled in his chair and wheeled out of the room. He stopped halfway out the door, noticing Rogue crouched against the wall.
"He's not coming back, is he," she asked calmly.
The old man's features softened. "Nothing is definite," he said. "Give him time."
Rogue huffed softly, stood to her feet, hugged herself. "Ah told him ta leave."
A moment's pause from the Professor confirmed Rogue's belief of how heinously she had behaved. She barely heard his gentle inquiry, "Why?"
"Seemed like a good idea at the time," she quipped, and laughed mirthlessly. A chuckle caught in her throat, expelled as a sob. She immediately clamped a hand over her mouth and shut her eyes. In a few moments she was composed again. "My fault," she muttered. "Ah'll deal with this. It's my fault."
The Professor frowned, obviously perturbed. "I refuse to lecture you further on this hackneyed subject," he said sternly. "You are intelligent enough to know what I would say."
Rogue looked at him, smirked despite herself. "That it doesn't do any good to blame myself," she guessed. "Maybe not, but sure as heck puts some sense to what Ah'm feelin'." She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Ah'm sorry, Professor. Ah'm not trying to be so pathetic. Honest."
"Rogue…" He wheeled forward and took her hand, giving it a fatherly pat. "For a long time you believed you would never be able to touch another human being. Look at yourself now." He paused, studying the way she looked at her skin in contact with his. "I know it sounds empty to say, but anything can happen. And despite how you can not control what happens to you, you can control how to handle it. The issue is whether or not you will." He gave her hand a final squeeze and turned to leave.
Rogue watched him depart, blinking back tears of gratitude. She had heard such words before; they were nothing new. But when the Professor said them, they had haunting impact.
She crawled back into bed just as Hank returned with her dinner.
-
-
-
"Do I have to?"
"'Night, Bobby."
"Somehow it feels like you're giving me the brush-off."
"It's almost midnight. Aren't you tired? I know I am."
"I'm only tired when I'm bored. So you must think I'm boring."
Lorna yawned wearily.
Bobby gawked in mock offense, "Now that's just adding insult to injury."
"You idiot," she chuckled, and hit him with a pillow. "Can't even be considerate to a tired, sick patient?"
"You don't look sick."
Lorna grinned, "Was that a compliment, Popsicle?"
"Not you, too. That nickname has got to be the lamest thing anybody's ever come up with. Who started it anyway…"
She was slightly amused by how he artfully dodged her question. "Agh," she rolled her eyes, "who cares. Just get out! I wanna sleep."
Bobby stood up from his perch at her bedside. "Fine! I can take a hint." He straightened up the mess they had made with a Scrabble board and various snack foods. "So, same time tomorrow then?"
Lorna laughed, waving her hand to shoo him away.
"Is that a yes or no?" Bobby asked, inching towards the door.
"Well, I guess having you around is better than talking to myself," Lorna contemplated.
Bobby huffed.
"I'll be expecting ya," Lorna said, and pulled the Med Bay sheets over her head. As the lights went out, she listened to his footsteps walking away, and a warm smile curved her lips. She had something to look forward to in the morning.
The mansion was almost completely silent. Bobby padded quietly through the corridors, the stillness around contradicting the bubbly excitement he felt within. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so much anticipation—no, wait, he could. It was the first time Logan had let him fly the Blackbird. Yet, this was a different sort of feeling. He didn't really know what it was, but he liked it anyway. Probably liked it more than flying the Blackbird.
He was thinking about Lorna's spunky green hair when he entered the kitchen. As he disposed of the excess food items, a motion in the shadows outside caught his attention. Instantly he tensed, powers immediately revving up to freeze any foe immobile. It was a slender figure, walking slowly across the patio. He relaxed upon realizing who it was. Abandoning his cargo on the kitchen counter, Bobby pulled open the patio door. He jogged outside and caught up with the creeping figure. "What are you doing?"
Rogue's shoulders seemed to deflate as her movements lulled to a stop. She turned around slowly, an expression of tired displeasure on her face. "Going for a walk," she said.
Bobby was taken aback by the blunt answer, especially since it was such an obvious lie. He frowned, "How'd you sneak out? I thought you were sick." He noticed she hadn't even bothered to change out of the Med Bay scrubs, wearing only an X-Men jacket over her frail form.
His teammate's eyes drooped to the ground. Her reply came so softly, in a manner so weary that Bobby thought she might faint from fatigue: "Guess Ah'm always sick then…because these people in my head never go away."
"But, uh, I thought you didn't have to deal with voices anymore…or something," Bobby said lamely. He never had been clear on the nature of Rogue's powers, didn't think he ever would be.
Rogue sighed, "Yeah, most of the time, when Ah have 'em under control. Ah thought controlling absorption was my biggest problem…" She laughed dryly, "Definitely not."
Bobby was confused, and irritated because he always seemed to be confused whenever dealing with Rogue. She was probably the most complicated, stratified personality he knew. Nearly all the other X-girls were like open books—he could predict what would aggravate or pacify them. But with Rogue there was no such thing as certainty, at least as far as he could tell.
"Listen, I don't really, uh, get what's going on," he said, "but Mr. McCoy told everybody that you should be in the Med Bay…so c'mon, let's go inside."
Rogue looked at him, a twinkle of scornful amusement in her deep eyes. It almost frightened Bobby how much seemed to be behind her look, as if she were years beyond her physical age. She crossed her arms, "No."
"You know what?" Bobby huffed. "I'm starting to think all this is some cry for attention. You're like the biggest drama queen this side of town." He didn't really believe that, but he could at least try to incite her to explain things.
She didn't take the bait, "Whatever Bobby…"
"I'm so right. You just wanna be caught. Why else bother sneaking around like this, huh? I know you have all those powers. Why not poof outta like Kurt would or run away like that Quicksilver guy?"
Rogue rolled her eyes, "How 'bout 'cause my psyches are spent from spasing out earlier? Know what it's like to have a mental seizure, Drake?"
Bobby released an irritated growl, scratched his head. "Fine, I give up. At least tell me what you're planning on doing." When he received no reply he guessed, "You're going to look for him, aren't you?"
Rogue sniffed. She tilted her head back and breathed deeply. As she exhaled, "Pathetic, aren't Ah?"
Bobby slowly shook his head, "I don't think so."
"Ah never thought you'd ever take anything seriously, Bobby," Rogue said softly. "Hope you two work out." With that she turned to leave. She had nearly disappeared into the shadows when she heard him call.
"Is it worth it, Rogue?"
She stopped, bit her lip. "Yeah," she said without turning around, "it is." In the next moment she disappeared from view.
-
-
-
Wisps of steam wafted in the air. Droplets of scalding water cut through its cloudiness in the space between shower wall and curtain, battering upon the head and shoulders of Remy LeBeau. He turned the water temperature a little higher, exhaled sensually as the heat seeped through his skin and into his muscles. One hand lay on the wall in front of him, the other lethargically massaging through his hair. The tense weariness he felt slowly washed away with the water drizzling down the length of his body. If only his mind could feel such solace.
After reaching his New York City apartment he had set about packing a few minor necessities for the road trip to New Orleans. The task didn't take long, left him too much time of inactivity. He had hours to kill. The plan had been to leave for Louisiana after twelve that night and hopefully arrive at an ungodly hour; that would allow him resting time before having to deal with the drama that would inevitably follow his return. Since moping around the apartment was an insult to pride, he had gone out and strolled the vicinity of Manhattan's West Village. He stopped at cafés and little street shops, obliquely wandering in a sort of daze. No matter where he went, what he saw, who he spoke to, she was always dominating his thoughts. But something else bothered him, something that he had momentarily forgotten in all the current drama.
He went to a nearby coffee shop and began brainstorming: Somebody had planned to kidnap the X-Men, someone who especially wanted Rogue. And somehow it was connected to Farrat, to Annabel, to Patricia and Armand Velkonnen. What did those three women have in common? Their mutant abilities—the power to absorb and retain. Remy could think of many mutant-hating personas and supervillians, but none that had such connections or would put forth such endeavors to seize the X-Men and Rogue. For Rogue was the real prize, and the perpetrator was still at large—which meant she was possibly still in danger. Remy doubted this new enemy would give up after one failed attempt.
After wracking his brain and mutilating a napkin with useless notes, Remy returned to his apartment, fruitless and discouraged, for a shower.
He shut off the water and stood still, allowing the remaining droplets to trickle off his sculpted form. He massaged the back of his neck, fingers traveling down to the shoulder and smoothing out the tension.
He preferred to think about the exterior problems at hand—a mutant predator, the Assassins Guild, Belladonna—over brooding about the layers of complexity that made up his relationship with Rogue. He didn't really understand what he was feeling. It was many things: regret, anger, confusion, annoyance, doubt—he couldn't sort it all out. But one thing was for sure—he missed her. Already.
"Sapristi, LeBeau, y'really are a sad bastard," he muttered, and stepped out of the shower.
The air in the rest of his apartment was cool and crisp. With one towel wrapped around his waist and another pinching water from his hair, he glanced through his closet for some clothes. A sudden weariness overtook him. Maybe he wouldn't leave tonight. Long hours of sleep sounded very appealing at the moment.
He tossed aside the towels. He crawled under the navy satin bed sheets, lay still upon the layers of cloud-like mattress. Maybe it was because he was so tired that the bed felt so comforting; still, he knew it wasn't so much physical weariness as psychological. The toll on his mind in the past days was overwhelming, left him craving the sweet peace of oblivion. But she still lingered; she would never leave, not that he truly wanted her to. He felt her twist him up inside, wring him ruthlessly in a way he never thought a femme could, and to him of all people. But, dieu, there was a reason for it: he would never find another girl like Rogue. Ever. He knew this, resented it and was awed by it. No one would ever be as calloused and soft, as stubborn and complacent, as vigorous and solemn, as witty and subdued, as smart and silly. She was the epitome of boggling paradoxes, maddening and enticing, original and unforgettable. She eclipsed all other wants, the sole focus of his consciousness. He started dreaming about her. Almost a bittersweet reality.
He dreamt that she was there with him now, kneeling at his bedside, her soft, pale fingers stroking his brow. His vision was fuzzy and obscure, like dream sight usually was, but he knew it was her—or at least his own mind-concocted image of her. How else did she look so stunning, how else were her eyes so dazzling and looking at him so lovingly? The real Rogue didn't look at him like that, especially not when she had ordered him to leave.
He felt her lips caress his forehead, move down to tease his cheeks, then affectionately nudge against his mouth. All the while he lay still, afraid that if he moved or said anything, he would wake and she would disappear. He felt her eyelashes flutter against his face as she oppressed rogue tears. Her cheek was resting against his, her breath breezing past his neck, slightly tickling the sensitive skin. She didn't move for the longest time. He wanted to hold her, even if she wasn't real. At least he could enjoy this before he had to wake up and face the less-consoling real world.
It was when he touched her that he suddenly realized he was not dreaming. He had never even fallen asleep. Instantly fully awake and aware, he jerked back involuntarily from the surprise.
Rogue backed away slightly but remained on the floor, perched upon her knees. She ran a hand through her hair and reluctantly looked at him, uncertain. "Hi," she said, not smiling. "Sorry…Ah didn't mean to…" Her words faded and she looked down.
Remy pushed himself up, pulling the satin sheets forward to bunch around his waist. He swung his legs off the bed until he was properly sitting. He rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't seeing things, then in a subdued voice asked, "How'd y'find me?"
"Tracked ya down," she replied. "Took some effort, but Ah managed it." She seemed to think it was awkward to be kneeling and slowly stood, moving to sit a respectful distance from him on the bed. She kept her hands on her knees, her face forward.
Remy suddenly realized she was wearing Med Bay patient attire. Concern swelled within him. "You okay?"
She glanced down at herself. "Wasn't serious," she said and shifted in her seat. Her fingers trembled slightly; she clasped them together and took a subtle breath. She couldn't get the image of him out of her head, the sight of him secretly wheeling the motorcycle onto the driveway, preparing to just leave her… She could have been overreacting—but she doubted it. It would save her much grief to just ask right this moment and get it over with, but she couldn't summon the will.
Her brooding must have lasted longer than she perceived, for Remy said, "M'sorry."
She turned, obliquely looking at him. Somehow his words made her brave enough to say what was on her mind, in her heart. "So am Ah…but Ah do mean what Ah said before—before ya left. About us always doing this to each other. Aren't you sick of it, too?"
"We…complicate t'ings," he reluctantly agreed.
"Well, how do we un-complicate things?"
Remy solemnly shook his head, "Don' know, chere. Maybe we can't." He gazed at the floor with a tired countenance, "Guess we jus' have t'ask ourselves one t'ing."
Rogue lifted her eyes, looking at him without deflection. Her voice was a husky whisper: "What?"
"When y'really care," he said softly, reaching out, stroking back a tress of silvery hair from her eyes, "when is enough…enough?"
She focused on his eyes, the red orbs that smoldered in the darkness, that radiated warmth and comforting promises. She replied without hesitation, "Never."
He seemed surprised by the answer; his hand dropped softly to the bed. His gaze never faltered.
"Ah didn't mean what Ah said…about telling you to leave," Rogue said. "Ah was sitting on the roof for a long time, thinking…and Ah realized Ah was overreacting. Ah should've let you explain instead of just…making assumptions." She swallowed her pride and continued admitting her wrongs, "Belladonna never should've been a problem. We've been over all that before."
"Chere, m'de one dat—"
"It's my fault for freaking out without hearing your side of it," she cut him off. "And we would've been done with this conversation hours ago if Ah'd found you before…uh, before Ah saw you leaving…" She paused, frowned doubtfully, "And that's when Ah forgot everything Ah'd decided…so yeah."
Remy was silent for a long time, making her nervous with each passing second. He ran a hand through his damp hair and shook his head. "How many second chances y'go'n' give me, chere?" His whisper floated through the shadows, heavy and downcast.
Rogue inched forward on the bed until she was right beside him. She leaned closer, stroked his arm, the side of his face, and drifted towards his ear, "As many as you want." It sounded pathetic; it sounded weak and dependent—but she didn't care anymore.
He pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her deceivingly meek form until her warmth seeped into him. He buried his face in her neck, breathing her flowery scent. How could she just…what had he done to deserve…he couldn't think, only feel. Feel the need and the want and the awe of being so unconditionally accepted...
"I wasn' thinkin'," he blurted, "maybe even panicked a lil', sad as dat sounds…Really was gon' come back. Jus' needed some time…"
She pulled back to look at him, her arms resting on his shoulders. "Tell me."
Remy sighed and pulled her close again, not sure where to begin. "Belle an' I, we grew up t'gether. She was de only fille in our gang, de only one who could keep up wit' everyt'ing we did."
"Special, was she," Rogue said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. She was sure she failed. "Did you two…?"
Remy couldn't help smirking. He nudged his lips along her throat, spoke against her skin, "For a while, off an' on—never anyt'ing serious. I knew de Guilds were plannin' on us marryin' some day. Guess I didn' mind de idea since I liked her 'nough…" He shook his head. "Ain't de case now…but Belle feels different."
"She loves you, doesn't she."
Remy kissed Rogue's ear, said, "Doesn' matter."
"Yes it does," she sighed, shaking her head. "It matters a lot. If she's bent on it, and if the Thieves have a hold on you, they can make it happen. They can—"
"Non," Remy firmly interrupted. He looked at her hard, wanted to make her believe that, "Dey can't make me do anyt'ing. Not anymore."
Rogue pressed her lips together, a doubtful shadow over her face. "And how are you so sure you can stop them?"
"'Cause now I have de right motivation, an' s'time I t'ought 'bout what I want," Remy said resolutely. "I'll take care o'dis, chere. Promise."
Rogue smiled minutely. She stroked the side of his face, eased it towards hers. "Don't disappoint me," she whispered.
He wouldn't, couldn't even imagine committing such a crime. The next moment he was lost in the touch of her kiss. He didn't realize how much he had craved it until then, and maybe because he had been so deprived, been so doubtful of ever experiencing it again, that it felt so amazing. It wasn't just a kiss anymore—it was Rogue, the taste of her, the feel of her, the knowledge that this remarkable girl was his. He allowed her every pleasure, barely moving as she kissed him over and over again, as her hands traveled down his neck, across his collar bone, over the warm flesh of his chest. When she pulled away, his senses protested painfully against the lack of her attention.
He opened his eyes, saw that she had slipped off her jacket. As she pulled her shirt over her head, he questioned the sanity of his mind. Was this really happening? It didn't seem plausible, was too much from the realm of fantasy to be true. Dazed from disbelief and elation, he took her hand as she leaned forward once again, covered only in simple black lingerie. He ran his fingers up her arm, trickled them down the small of her back. Desire swelled up within him, an intoxicating haze of blinding want. He restrained himself from uncouthly attacking her, tenderly caressing the lithe curves of her flawless physique, humbly awarding his mouth the taste of her lips, her skin… Yearning like he had never known before flared frenziedly, from the pit of his butterflying stomach, effervescing to his chest in rounds of bubbling ecstasy.
She kissed him feverishly, clutched at his toned arms, his hard torso, seeking a closeness she seemed bent on acquiring.
Despite how much he wanted to give it to her, wanted to feel it himself, there remained an iota of doubt towards the timeliness of it. "Chere," he said breathlessly, "maybe we—"
"Sssh…" She kissed away his doubts. "Just give me one night, Remy," she whispered, breath choppy, "one night." She nudged him back, rolling over gracefully until she was under him on the bed. Entwining herself within the satin sheets, she called him down with the stroke of her legs, the ribbon-like movements of her arms, along his lean body.
Remy gave in. He was tired of fighting. He fell deeper and deeper into the chasm of this girl who had redeemed him, who had given him the very things he thought were impossible to have. Her kisses, her touch, the feel of her body throbbing and burning against his…were everything he needed to believe in true heaven, in the blissful solace he felt as they melted into each other.
Ahhhh…finally, right?
Still not over yet, by the way, but it's getting there.