As ever, sincere thanks go to all of my reviewers.
About the medical file; I wrote this on the understanding that Sinister tinkered with Remy's powers for a second time when he helped him return from the nineteenth century, and to a certain extent made them stronger (during the New Son and Assassin Game sagas in Gambit vol.2)I could be wrong though as I didn't follow either story line to its full conclusion! :)☺
Chapter. 19.
Near Khmel'nyts'kyy, central Ukraine...
"I said, what are you doing in here?" The woman's certain autocratic tone, compounded by the deep rich Slavic accent, resonated through the laboratory surroundings. This time her words were reiterated in perfect English, the accent within giving an inclination of an education at Harved or Yale perhaps.
Darkholme's initial surprise had quickly subsided, only her annoyance at being sneaked-up on remained and encouraged her undoubtedly haughty air as she withheld even the slightest inclination to respond immediately. "Who wants to know?" she eventually said, whilst casually and calmly reaching for the small firearm, the one that had gone undetected, the latest light-weight acrylic design, by initial security, concealed behind the belt line of her functional combats, at the back.
Stone cold cobalt fixed on the mutant from the Eastern European scientist; the mutant comfortable in her natural guise, for everything else about her was a ruse of sorts.
"Dr. Oksana Yevshan." The short slender woman introduced herself with minimal social etiquette; the two armed guards at either side of her (different from Darkholme's initial escorts) gave her that leeway. "Now I say again, who the hell are you?...and I won't repeat myself."
For the first time Mystique noted the almost arctic temperature of the room, her breath feeling crisp as it whistled lightly past her lips. "Darkholme," she intoned steadily, never flinching from the battle of wills that she now found herself locked in, "Raven Darkholme. I believe I have something you important wanted to get your hands on." Without looking away from the shorter woman, Raven reached into her jacket, the weather-proof bulk of which was enough to disguise the package she now intended to present. Within her hand was a back velvet parcel, a small sack of sorts, which she now held readily, but did not seem quite willing to deliver it.
"So you succeeded," Yevshan asked rhetorically on seeing it, unintentionally breaking from the stand-off, distracted by the sight of the velvet-clad package. "I had my doubts, I must admit...," she looked her up and down, slowly, "but Klischko was certain enough." She involuntarily pursed her lips a little, "I see he was right."
"You get what you pay for," Darkholme told her matter-of-factly, but not quite smugly. She made as if to hand the box over, Dr. Yevshan meeting her halfway to take the object, literally rising to the bait. But at the last moment, she snatched it back, much to her opposing figures distain and indignity.
"Don't play games," she said with the coolness that disguised a deep vexation, all but gritting her teeth. "Hand it over."
Mystique looked ponderously down at the object in her grasp, tipping and tilting it slightly as if out of great curiosity; a priceless jewel in her palm. Then, looking back up at the slender doctor; the light from behind her tinting her dark cropped hair with bluish gold highlights, the men at either side of her seeming completely impassive either way, she answered, "Not until I receive my fee. In full."
"Fine." As soon as she'd obdurately uttered the word, Dr Yevshan turned on her heel, her guards automatically doing likewise, their physiognomy completely blank of the merest hint of expression; clicking tin soldiers. Though, all three soon did an about turn.
"Oh, and there's one other thing." She awaited their full attention, smirking slightly despite herself, perhaps the sway of power intoxicating, as it always was. "I want to know who I'm working for."
Yevshan huffed dismissively, tucking her hand into the deep pockets of her pristine lab coat, her ID badge clicking rapidly as it flapped against the breast pocket. As she leant nonchalantly down into her hip, she said casually, "Mr. Bovary. You've already been briefed on who the acquisition was on the behalf of."
"Yes," Raven said obviously, placing the parcel back where it had been concealed, "But didn't you think I'd do a little checking of my own before I did the job?"
"And what did you find?" Yevshan shot back, perhaps a little too confidently, taking a step or two forwards.
Mystique nodded, "The man checked out, I have to admit," she was still nodding in that slow methodical way that can be thoroughly disconcerting, gradually starting to amble around as she spoke, "he came up as 'civilian clean' as you'd expect any true crook to be. But you see, that was just the problem." She stopped, gazing sharply over, "He was just a little...too clean."
"What do you mean?"
"I me—an," she sarcastically prolonged, "The guys back story seemed far Even the things I unearthed from his 'other' contacts, they didn't have the right...smell about them." She smiled to herself, "You kinda learn these things when you've been in 'the trade' as long as I have."
Without warning Dr. Yevshan broke into a forward stride, coming right up to Darkholme, face to face, immediately launching into her quasi-diatribe with her Slavic drawl, "Do you really think we have the time, money and patience to mess around," she gave an unexpected flurry of the hand, whipping it out from her pocket, "wasting our time inventing stories about some fictitious head honcho, when we are dedicating ourselves to serious scientific research, the type of which has never been attempted before?"
Mystique stopped for a minute, as if genuinely considering it, but, of course, her shrewdness never allowed her to entertain it for a moment. "Yes. Yes I do. In fact that gives you every fuckin' reason in the world to invent a head of operations when your stock and trade is illegal experiments." She glanced around the room and all its perceived oddities. Yes, she had been weary and suspicious before but what she had seen in here had been the icing on the cake. She cared not a jot about their true purpose, but still, she hated to be deceived herself. She always had to know the score and if these people didn't sit well with that then—tough.
"They are not illegal," Yevshan countered.
"I couldn't care less one way or the other, lady. I just don't like being fucked around when I'm working on a job this big. I just want to know why the destruction of the Guilds was so damn important to this client. It doesn't seem to quite...fit." Raven waited, seeing the hesitation although it was only seconds, one or two at most. They were enough for her perceptiveness to detect.
"I couldn't tell you," the Doctor answered definitely, "I only work for the man." She paused, licking the dryness off her lips caused by the cold of the laboratory, or more likely the nerves of a lie; the body language obvious. "My team and I don't involve ourselves with that side of his activities. We're paid to do a job and that's what we do." Turning she continued on her way, again the drones wordlessly following, though their thick weathered fingers clutched more readily to the triggers of the old Soviet standard issues. "So if you want your money, you'd better follow me." She threw this last comment over her shoulder, almost in vain hope.
Mystique hung back for a moment, her hand resting over the bulk inside her jacket. It didn't take her long to figure out where her priorities lay. Be stubborn and waste all that effort she'd put into the job or follow and gradually find out, as she knew she would...eventually. She was soon following the scent of the green.
The Xavier Institute...
Some space was needed for the both of them and they intuitively obliged each other, without even exchanging a word or so much as seeing one another for the rest of the day, or indeed the night. The time had passed undeniably slowly; she getting back into the routine, throwing herself mindlessly into her duties as a teacher and he...well he spent the entire evening and most of the time after the witching hour on various danger room simulations (post-bourbon session with 'Henri' that was). Trying to forget what Hank had told him, trying to forget the Bayou, trying...trying not to think of her. It was Alex that eventually stumbled across him, himself unable to sleep as was often the case since his traumatic return to the mansion, having decided to go down to the danger room instead of lie aimlessly, lifelessly in bed next to Annie. He watched the Cajun from the observation deck for a while, going through simulation after simulation until physical exhaustion nearly killed him through lack of concentration. It was approaching dawn before the Thief retired to his bedroom; freshly bloodied and bruised, thinking that Warren's miracle cure wouldn't be such a bad idea after all.
The best part of the next morning had been and gone before their paths crossed again.
Remy sat in the empty boathouse, half a mile from the main house, throwing an old gnarly tennis ball against the west wall of the living room, again and again, pounding against the far end, catching it only to release it again. The hollow pock sound echoed around the practically furniture-less open plan room, built to resemble a rustic log cabin. His arm ached just as much as the rest of him but he carried on in his monotonous occupation, just for the hell of it, simply for the distraction. Even as the back door creaked its tiresome welcome he didn't stop, her espadrilles making not a sound, instead waiting for her to come into the room before he let that hit be the last; the fuzzy yellow and white ball rolling to a stop against the dust sheet draped sideboard.
"Aft'rnoon chère," he drawled, not once shifting from his position, but he felt his stomach muscles tense and a flourish of his heart as her remarkable scent drifted over him; as delicate as one of her breezes. To distract himself he picked up one of the first fallen leaves that had wafted gently in, scuttling across the floorboards and slowly let it burn bright magenta with raw, hot power. But he didn't let the contained explosion take hold, instead drawing it back into himself like a vacuum. Was it just the power of suggestion after what Hank had told him, or could he genuinely feel mild palpitations? He wasn't sure, but he'd been thinking about it non-stop when he was in the danger room. Relaxing his fingers he let the leaf fall.
"Afternoon," she replied softly as she came to a stop by the French doors that led down to the jetty, smiling at the almost inappropriate formality. There was a small flurry across the grass and through the slowly slumbering oak giants, gently whistling down to ripple across the lake. She watched passively, waiting, wondering. The moment may just have come, she thought calmly. But still, she waited...
"You feelin' bedduh now you rested up a bit?" he asked looking at her directly for the first time; soigné as ever, he thought.
"Yes," Ororo answered neutrally as she continued to gaze out at the musings of the soft breeze, "though I almost forgot about the stressful rigours of teaching," she added lightly as she turned to face him finally.
"Well, Remy wouldn' know 'bout dat," he replied, it seemed somewhat penitently, as if his lack of purpose that he'd felt so keenly before they left the mansion had been given the chance to gradually return.
"Perhaps you should consider giving it a go?" she proposed fruitlessly, knowing full well how he felt about the idea but not being able to resist the tease.
"Don' even go dere," he laughed with playful warning, "If Charlie boy 'imself can; persuade me, den you go no chance girl!"
"Shame," Ororo said, slowly starting to amble into the room, "I was hoping that my methods of persuasion might be somewhat more palatable than Charles's."
Remy raised a sharp auburn eyebrow whilst trying to withstand a face-splitting grin, not sure whether it was derived of mirth or astonishment at hearing Storm make such an inappropriate insinuation. "I can see I'm definitely havin' an adverse affect on you petite."
"Ah!" she exclaimed softly as she came to a stop at the roughly cobbled stone mantel, leaning casually against it, "some would say I could stand to 'lighten-up' a little."
"Some like who?" Remy asked, cocking his head in intrigue.
"Like my French class this morning." She was in equal parts vaguely amused and perturbed by her students' mutterings that they actually preferred Scott Summers teaching them. The infernal cheek they had to suggest that he was less authoritarian than she was!
Remy made a dismissive noise and waved his hand, "Ignore dem chère," he said. "What do dem pups know, hien? Dey ain't seen de Stormy I know," he winked. "Dey only seen de prim an' proper school ma'am, not de li'll garnement."
"Thankfully," she smiled.
An unexpected lull suddenly took hold, unexpected in that a silence between the pair was usually as comfortable as the flow of their conversation, but now it seemed alien. It highlighted starkly how much their relationship had shifted, awkwardly so. But it only took courage to overcome it, the courage that the break, however small, had offered them both.
"What we gonna do 'Ro?"
Ororo turned to Remy and was instantly put in mind of the simplicity of the question Jean had asked the day before; complexity could sometimes be easier to fathom than clarity. It demanded far less...
"Be honest." She stated it, most factually. She could have taken the easy way and posed it as a question but preferred not to although her heart was thumping from anxiety.
Remy inclined his head, his shoulders shaking slightly in silent laughter. "Dat's funny."
"Why?" She did her best to hide the anxiety, managing by and large to succeed
"'Cause dat's exactly what Hank said," he duly informed her.
"Hank?" she asked, surprised. The two had never struck her as 'bosom buddies', in fact the last time she could remember them really talking to each other, back on the ice rink, just before the splinter of the X teams they had been far from it. But then again they seemed to have made a mends for that at Destiny's mansion. Still, they had never been what one would describe as close.
Noting Ororo's quizzical look, Remy replied, "Oui, Hank. Who else could I speak to?"
She thought and then realised the answer, voicing it swiftly but calmly, "Nobody, I guess."
Remy smirked, inclining his head a little, "Bu', I 'ave t' admit de big man made me realise somet'in'."
"And what was that?" she asked calmly as she moved to lean her back against the hard ridge of the mantel, clasping her hands lightly at her midriff.
"Dat there was no point speakin' t' no-one but you," he said with a rare earnest lilt, never failing complete eye contact. "Though, I t'ought a night apart might help us both clear our heads."
"Yes." And it had, it truly had. Pushing off the mantel she approached him, her skirts swishing deliciously, sumptuously about her ankles, her strappy white top hugging her figure delightfully, set off perfectly against her skin just like her hair. And again that natural scent drifted over him as she came nearer; imploring him to hold her, just hold her. But he resisted, somehow. Sitting down, lotus style not more than two feet away from Remy, Ororo engaged him as if curious, curious as to what other conclusions he may have come to over the night. "Alex said he found you in the Danger Room last night---or should I say this morning."
"You know me chère, a good physical work-out nevah did me no harm in sortin' de ol' tête." He tapped his temple as he drew his legs up, draping his long arms over his bent knees.
"I suspect Alex was there for a similar reason," she pondered.
"Oui," he nodded, but was keen not to be veered off subject by idle small talk. "Bu' we ain't here t' discuss de tangled love-lives o' de rest o' de mansion, are we?" he said matter-of-factly.
Ororo smiled knowingly, swiping at her fast-growing rather thick fringe as it fell down into her eye-line. "No, I suppose not."
Remy's heart almost broke at the elegiac beauty of her gaze; at once the confident Storm he knew and loved so well but also a type of...vulnerability that he'd never seen in her before. The fact that she endeavoured to make no attempt to disguise it made it all the more captivating. He leant forwards, mirroring the crossing of her legs, coming a little closer to her, close enough to take on her china-delicate sable hand in his. He studied the nimble piano fingers as he started to speak, running his touch over each one as though examining their worth, like diamonds. But to him they were worth far more than that. Perfectly priceless... "I can imagine what you been t'inkin'. I couldn' see it at firs'," he plundered haltingly forth, "bu' I do now—I can see—."
"You can see what Remy?" she interjected mildly, "This isn't all about you, you know."
"I—I know... I just thought..."
"My doubts were because I could not trust you?" Ororo finished for him. "Perhaps you were right, but then again not," she added cryptically, her eyes shifting to the ground as the vulnerability vanished as swiftly as it had materialised. "You know that I would trust you with my life, with my soul...I did that long ago and have never looked back for you have never let me down."
"But," he said quickly, drably, about to echo the words of the day before, not wanting to say them but knowing he had to, knowing it had to be put out there, in the open, "but you don' know if you can trus' me wit' your heart, is dat it?"
She said nothing immediately, concentrating on the way his fingers continued to play with hers, lightly, intimately... "No," she said eventually, shaking her head slightly, "that is not the whole truth of it. Surely you can see that?"
"Non," sitting up slightly, he continued, "dat's de problem chère, I don'," he said honestly, plainly. "I can barely see anyt'in'."
Nervously drawing in and wetting her lips, Ororo considered how to proceed. This was so hard; ever the expert in helping others, never the expert in helping herself. She felt pangs in her chest but remained calm to all intents and purposes, though the whole situation still had her in mind, as she feared it might, of that day, that awful day when Forge... She dared not think about it, lest she bolt from the boathouse there and then. "There are so many things, so many reasons," she began tentatively, "why—this—should not work." Remy felt his heart sink... "but then, there are so many why it could, it should, that I can not fathom any of it. My instinct is telling me yes, but in my head, I..." She closed her eyes.
"Den mebbe you should listen t' yaw instincts." The Cajun played Devil's Advocate, "fo'get yaw head."
She smiled, peeling open her eyes, letting him see for the first time the pure torment, but the teetering nervous hope too. "I am not used to giving reign to my instincts." She was put in mind of their Amazon confidence about her inability to be able to let go, relinquish her responsibility. "That is the one thing I find impossible."
"Remy'd say different," he confidently espoused with a roguish smirk, swiping his bothersome hair from his eyes.
"Almost then," she accepted demurely, smiling shyly. She had acted on instinct, and that was part of the problem for the ever-controlled weather-witch. Not that it would do true damage to anybody else, but the mere fact that she was not used to acting how her heart told her made the whole thing seem positively alien when she had the time to brood on it. And she had certainly had plenty of that. "Though that is largely irrelevant," she insisted, thinking of everything she had done over the years, "there are other things, other reasons—."
"Quit tryin' t' make excuses 'Roro," Remy implored weakly, he didn't think he could stand it if it was to be drawn out so. "If you wanna let me down gently, don' bother. Jus' do it."
"No, no I don't," she explained with relaxed laughter, leaning forwards, "I have already told you that is the last thing I want. Please, believe me." She said it before she even realised...but knew it to be true. "I just need you to understand...this is not—easy. I do not deal well with the opening of old wounds."
"Ol' wounds?"
Ororo steeled herself, ready to speak of things she had buried deep for a long time, things she had hoped never to even think of again until recently. "You are perfectly aware of the way things turned out for...for Forge and I. I had my doubts yes, but I overcame them. I was ready to give up my life here, everything I had worked so hard towards with Charles and the rest of the team so that for once I might indulge in some selfish happiness that seems to come so easy to others...so fortuitously." She realised her own entwined grip had become much stronger, unintentionally so. "I saw happiness, true happiness within my grasp at last but before I could hold onto it, it was pulled from my hands." She paused for a moment, feeling her throat becoming think with an almost painful swell, "I have never, never forgotten what that felt like, the pain of it slipping through my fingers as I watched it fall, frozen, unable to do anything to stop and unable to look away. It was more than a kick in the teeth Remy, it shattered me. I would never admit it—," she hesitated but soon relinquished, "to anyone other than you I suppose...but for a while I thought I'd never get over it. I felt there could be no-one else because, in truth, I would never allow there to be."
Remy silently listened, taken aback somewhat by this open display. Even to him, this was a rarity. Though he certainly felt privileged to hear it, and in his heart of hearts, relieved. He said nothing, instead watching carefully at her pretty down turned face, the occasional shudder of her ruddy full lips, the flutter and sweep of dark long lashes and the fall of longish bangs. But then, it was unfathomable, why a woman such as she; so giving, so unselfish in the extreme, should envision a life without the love she deserved. "Bu' why?" He asked before he could stop himself.
Ororo could understand his confusion; it was not easy to explain. "I can see what you are saying but it is easier for you—you who have always been free and easy with your emotions in that respect—used them like you use the tools of your trade." She raised a knowing eyebrow, "More a lover than a thief, as they say."
He smiled but remained silent; yes, he could not deny he had 'put it about a bit' as it were. He was content to concede that; his own lovers had been numerous to the point of being beyond memory, his bed-post holding so many notches it was practically a twig, though he was not ashamed. But he understood, he comprehended completely that Ororo's experience in such matters was limited and her knowledge tainted. Though what she had to say next smashed through this pre-conceived perception somewhat.
"Even so, after I while I did entertain the idea again—the idea of their being someone," she stated to his unreleased surprise.
"Slipstream?" Remy asked quickly.
"No," she stated softly, although there was a flirtation, brief as it may have turned out to be. "No, no...I wondered, for a time, if Nathan and I—."
"Nathan Summers?" he exclaimed, "Cable?!" This time there was no abating it. She was certainly the expert in keeping her secrets under lock and key, "you nevah tol' me!"
Ororo looked up and smiled at him sweetly, "Because there was nothing to tell. Nothing came of it. It was a—fleeting thought—on both our parts. As it was, events overran us and that was that," she explained promptly. She had never intentionally hidden the fact, but had seen no reason to impart it either, before now. It was a non-event. "I have not seen him since. That was almost," she stopped whilst she thought on it, "nearly three years ago now."
"You a dark horse Stormy," he said furtively with a definite gleam in the ruby brightness of his eyes. "What uddah secrets you got tucked up yaw sleeve, hien?"
"None, I can assure you," she answered with a quick laugh, "and it is not exactly a secret. I would hardly broadcast a fruitless speculation through-out the mansion. Nothing came of it after all."
"Okay, okay," Remy smiled, "I can see what you tryin' t' say—dat you don' get int' dese t'ings lightly. Believe me, I know how much de Maker hurt you. I had some pretty dark t'oughts 'bout what I wan'ed t' do t' him when 'e walked out o' here, trus' me," he told her gravely. "You put yaw trus' in someone completely, an' dey let you down. I jus' wanna say, 'Ro—." He inclined forwards and cupped her chin, gently making her tilt her head back up, leaving his hand there against the soft firm curve as he looked into the deepening blue that shimmered, "I ain't Forge. I promise chère, I won't—."
Ororo pulled back suddenly, unexpectedly, easing her hand from Remy's firm hold, turning away from the sharp heat of his confused gaze, now burning upon the side of her face. "Promises are like—like a thin layer of ice over a pond Remy," she said wearily, coming close to bitterness, "made to be broken," she added, her voice almost dropping into a whisper.
"What?" he asked a little sharper than he intended, "you t'ink I'd hurt you—jus' walk out on you when it suited me?" When she said nothing immediately he seized upon it, that accusatory silence, not giving her the chance to explain, rightly or wrongly, "You t'ink I shared yaw bed—dat I'm sleppin' wit' you—jus' fo' sport? Fo' cheap t'rills?!" She tried to speak, but he charged on, "Jésus 'Roro, you really t'ink so little o' Remy dat you believe I'd do that?"
"Don't let's quarrel sic Remy, that is not what I said," she replied in perfect calm, not wanting things to escalate by adding full to the fire unnecessarily, "It is not what I meant...but you must understand, I have hung my heart upon a promise once before, given it over freely and had it returned with a slap for good measure. Have you not listened to a word I have said?"
Remy took a breath to compose himself, pinching at the bridge of his nose as a slight ache passed behind his eyes. "Yeah, I'm listenin'," he said, sedately, "Can I say jus' one t'ing?" Ororo nodded, waiting, "De Maker hurt you bad an' you reluctant t' get yaw'self hurt again, bu' don' you t'ink I ain't suffered in de past too? I know how t' hold people at arms length 'Ro. But de Maker, 'e was nevah good enough fo' you chère. Don' mean dat I'm sayin' I am, bu'...I'm jus' askin' fo' de chance t' try, s'all." He pinched his lips together as though it were an involuntary reaction to such unobstructed truth coming from between them, perhaps in fear of what he knew he would say next, unable to disguise his verisimilitude... "I've fallen in love wit' you girl an' dere ain't nuhddin' I can do t' change dat. I can only give mahself t' you an' hope you'll give me a li'll back in return." His chest was almost painful with the burning, he almost couldn't believe he had said it...
The weather witch soon surprised him for the second time in minutes as she leant forwards and kissed him, hard but brief, holding his face in her hands. Just as quickly she settled back into her former position opposite him, "I believe you Remy, it is not your feelings I doubt," she said with complete conviction, "And I hope you believe me when I tell you that I do return them—absolutely."
Without words the charming thief reached forwards and took hold of both her hands this time, before settling back once more, taking her with him. She soundlessly settled against his chest, nestled between his legs like she had been on the roof just over two weeks earlier, when her world was a sharper, simpler place. But an emptier one too.. She was content to be held by him for a while and he seemed equally at peace just to have her there, to feel her in the cocoon of his embrace and his body. The window pains rattle slightly in the autumnal gusts that patted the cool disused house from time to time. Every now and then an errant breeze forced its way beneath the French doors or through a miniscule gap, invisible to the naked eye, between the sills and the glass. Her voice sounded small against it, against the enormity of nature's silence, "Do...do you think we will miss...us?"
"Miss 'us'?" Remy asked, his auburn ruffled head tilted, pressed to the crown of her snow white head, "In what way?"
"This," she said almost nervously, "Our friendship."
Remy chuckled warmly, "If it a bes' friend you want, go t' Jean or Kurt. Anyway, why would it mean t'ings will be any different between us? If anyt'in', it'll make us closer, stronger."
"What makes you so sure?" she asked, relaxing into him all the more as each minute passed, letting her lids droop.
The Cajun didn't want to get into this right at this moment, but it seemed appropriate for all her openness he could at least do the same for her. Hank's words of wisdom echoing in his mind. "'Cause I know what it's like" he said, "to have dat person you love so close t' you in everyway. When you know what they gonna say befo'e they even say it, sometimes you even know what dey be t'inkin'." He spoke as if taken by nostalgia, that hazy sepia tone that always had note of regret and loss. "I was too young an' too stupid t' see a good t'ing when I had it, we both were." Bella. Ororo did him the courtesy he had shown her earlier and listened wordlessly and, yes, intensely. Finally, finally the door truly began to creak open. A bright sharp light fell onto her from the slim crack... "Don' you see, bein' wit' someone when it's like dat, it's...it's de bes' t'ing. Can't you see dat?" He shifted his head to look down at her, seeing her soft look, her smooth up turned lips.
"Yes." It was a relief, the fear melting away as it did. She could see her self-sabotage for what it was, making excuses as she always did, making excuses and creating reasons to keep people at arms length, as he did too. They were two of a kind, in some ways. In many ways that they had only just begun to appreciate for real. But now, at least, they had time.
"'Roro," he drawled warmly, so it rolled from his tongue, "I promise—." He was cut off by a sharp but playful nudge to the ribs.
"No promises," she warned.
"Okay, okay," he laughed, "no promises from me chèrie." He kissed the crown of her head and then moved to her forehead, then down to her right temple as she pulled her head back, turning her face up to him. "I jus' want you t' know, I won't nevah let you down...nevah. Remember in de Amazon I said I'd be dere t' catch you...an I meant it—." He was stopped by a finger to his that silenced him instantly as Ororo turned her body into him, bringing herself up onto her knees.
"That was beginning to sound like another vow," she narrowed her eyes at him as she ran her finger slowly across his mouth before leaning in to kiss him briefly.
"Alright," he said, feigning deadly seriousness, "I promise I won't make you no more promises from dis moment on."
Ororo burst into laughter, throwing her head back; one of her true, full laughs that not many had the privilege to hear. He hugged her to him all the more, loving this woman in his arms all the more as each minute, each second passed. Remy was content to hold her forever, like this, as he had in the forest, cocooned by nature's omnipresence. It was like being surrounded by her, and he couldn't get enough of it; fresh rain and morning dew drops. His mind wondered back to how restless he had felt just weeks into his return to the mansion, on how his instinct of flight began to pulse within him. But Ororo never made him feel that, when she lay there, tranquil in his arms, the soft press of her body. He didn't feel anxious, nor did he didn't feel alert or edgy. He realised she made him feel he was home. Wherever she was, that was home. Here... Home, as they say, in the most fatuous of clichés, is where the heart is.
Ororo felt safe at that moment, her doubts laid too rest. Not that she was fooling herself; she knew perfectly well that it was likely to be anything but easy. Though like Jean had said, the risk would be worth it. A coursing thrill ran through her, not unlike that which was present when he touched her; the thrill of anticipation, the electrification of desire... As her face pressed to his steadily rising and falling chest, taking in that familiar soft smokiness infused with a mild, warm cologne she believed completely, for the first time, that this was possible. Happiness with him could be hers.
Pulling her up a little, Remy took Ororo's face delicately in both hands and kissed her; slow and deep. They stayed like this for a time, their kisses becoming chaste in a manner, innocent, wondrous, nervous, tender and excited. But all was in complete honesty. For the first time, this, they, them, were there, at this moment of complete truth, showing the truth of them. It was a self-abasing love in their previous minds; their uncertainty cruel. Though no vows were exchanged, no unfulfilled promise, this was who they were, what they truly meant to each other. It was unquantifiable yet absurdly simple; it was convoluted yet lucid. Nothing was set, the infancy of their love as fragile as a new born, but robust and healthy. They could do this. They could. It was a simple matter of seeing what fate had in store. But at least they were both prepared to make the risk.
Laying her down, they kissed and it was determined...they would bed there in the Boathouse for the night.
-TBC-
There is a possibility that I may not be able to update for a long while, but I will try. Always grateful for feedback, M'iko, xx