Blah, blah, blah...you know the drill. The X-Men are the property of Marvel...read it, know it, live it!
~On a side note: To be honest, The Long Road Back has kind of taken on a life of it's own. Trust me, I had every intention of doing certain things with this fic and now it has decided it doesn't want to be told what to do. Please bear with me while I wrestle my muse. Enjoy!~
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She was losing her mind.
Jean could feel it all slipping away. This was one of her better days and Remy was helping her to keep a tight grip on reality, but it wouldn't last. Within five years, she'd be reduced to a drooling vegetable. A shell, only a shell, of the woman she once was.
Losing Scott had been her breaking point. Anything else she could have coped with, but not the loss of the other part of her soul. That half died with him and now what was left was slowly deteriorating into nothing.
It was funny that the bond that had made her so strong was the same bond that was killing her day by day. She resisted the urge to laugh. Laughing made her feel even more crazy and she tried so hard to ignore the insanity.
She wished they had never gone on that trip, wished that they could have turned down Bobby's gift to them.
After Gambit had left, Scott was so stressed that he barely slept. He had once told her that he had been a bad leader, that if he had been better at his job, at leading the X-Men, he could have kept Remy from leaving. He blamed himself for not being the type of person who could have helped Remy with his problems. As a leader, he should have been able to.
He had stepped down at that point, leaving Storm in charge. The weight that had lifted off his shoulders helped significantly, but not enough. He was still so depressed.
That vacation was supposed to have been his healing time. Away from the place and people that were the cause of such feelings of despair and failure.
When Bobby had come up to them and told them to pack because he was sending them away, they had been so surprised that they couldn't say no. A whole month in Martha's Vineyard, in a beautiful cottage with a seaside view. No worries or troubles, just them and the wonderful scenery.
But they never reached paradise.
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Remy kicked the leaves and debris from the fallen log and quickly sat down. His head hurt with all of the thoughts running through his mind. It was all too much to deal with. He didn't think he could handle much more.
"Remy?"
The sweet Southern voice went through him like fine bourbon, smooth and warm. There was a time he would have given his life to hear her voice, but at the moment, she was the last person he wanted to be near.
"Rogue, dis really ain't de best time for dis." He raked a hand through his hair and moved to pull the pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket.
She was standing in from of him now. He could smell the magnolias that had always been present on her skin and could feel the soft glow that she gave off. He couldn't look up and he couldn't move. Hell, he could hardly breathe.
The shadow of her arm fell over him as she reached down. He recoiled, a purely instinctual move.
"It's okay, suga'."
His eyes closed as the tip of her finger touched just under his chin and gently pressed upward. It took him a full minute to realize she wasn't wearing any gloves, but when he did, he felt a sharp sob rip through his chest.
God, how long had he waited for the simple contact of her skin against his. He felt such sadness and such joy at the same time.
"Remy, look at me."
His eyelids felt welded shut, but slowly he opened his eyes. His vision was blurred by tears he hadn't even known he was shedding.
She was his beautiful Southern queen, red hair floating around her body, deep green eyes glittering, skin so radiant it almost blinded him. She smiled, her lips moist and soft.
He felt himself grab her around her thighs and pull her so close to him that she was practically an appendage. He couldn't let go and he wasn't sure he wanted to. The simple thought that she was another man's wife ran through his mind like a Wall Street ticker.
Her fingers ran through his hair and she held his head just below her bosom. She was breathing so slowly, her chest rising and falling at half the speed his was.
"Tell me what ya want me ta do, Remy. Tell me and Ah'll do it," she whispered so quietly that he almost didn't hear her.
What was she asking him to do? If he said the word right now, she would leave with him and never look back. She could be his.
Any man in his right mind would have taken advantage of the opportunity that lay before him, but Remy wasn't in his right mind. He hadn't been in a long time.
"Please, Remy, tell me. Tell me."
His breath steadied and he blinked away the saline tears. "Tell you? Tell you what, chere?"
He broke away from her and stood up. He could see it in her eyes. The uncertainty and the fear.
"You want me t'decide for you." He said it almost to himself and the air in his lungs became much too heavy. "Why would you do dat t'me, Rogue?"
Taking a step back, she couldn't do anything but look at him. "Do what ta you?"
His brow furrowed as he tried to decide if she really didn't know what she was asking of him. "Do you know how I feel 'bout you, Rogue? Don' you know dat I'd give my soul t'be wit you?"
She looked away for a moment, then returned her gaze. "Then what's the problem? Just tell me ya want me ta be with you and Ah'll-"
"You wouldn't be choosin' me, chere. I'd be choosin' me. It'd be empty because I'd know dat I wasn't enough t'make you decide for yourself. I can't make dat choice for you."
"Remy, Ah-"
"Go home t'your family, Rogue. If you want me t'make de decision for you, dat's what I'm choosing," he told her, his eyes averted.
Shaking her head, she said, "But what if I want ta be with ya?"
With a sobering breath, Remy walked to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Den dat's your decision t'make an' I won't talk you out of it. But I won't take less dan all of you."
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He was playing with fire by doing this.
Logan swiftly crept up to the bathroom door with every intention of scaring the bejesus out of his wife. He could hear the water running and he assumed she was in the shower.
*Heh-heh, naked!* He grinned as he crouched low to the ground, preparing himself to pounce through the door.
His legs sprung out as he sailed through the air and into the door. He tucked and rolled on the tiled floor. He heard her shriek before he saw the surprised look on her face.
When he finally stood up to claim his prize, he found that Ororo wasn't in the shower, but rather knelt in front of the toilet. Her skin was pale and a sheen layer of perspiration clung to her brown skin. He caught the vomit smell in the air and he felt himself start to panic.
"'Ro? Are ya okay, darlin'? What happened? God, 'Ro, tell me what's wrong so I can fix it!"
He was shouting a mile a minute and Ororo had to smile even though her stomach was still too queasy to even move. Sometimes she had to wonder whether the old Logan would have lost his cool like this. She had a feeling...No.
"Logan, calm down," she said softly, the slightest noise making her head pound even harder.
"Hank isn't even here! Why'd you hafta get sick on me when Hank isn't here? I dunno what ta do. I-"
"Logan," she repeated a little louder. "It is all right, it is just morning sickness. It is very common, I assure you."
Logan slumped to the floor. "I forgot about that."
Ororo patted his leg and scooted over to him so she could lean against his solid frame. "What is wrong?"
Wrapping one arm around her, he brought the other up so his hand could smooth her hair back. "It's Jubilee. I feel like I didn't do right by her sometimes. I mean, I don't even know what I did wrong the first time. How the hell am I supposed ta change it if I don't even know what I did ta begin with?"
She chuckled. "Oh, my sweet, Logan. I have a feeling you will do just fine."
"I hope so, 'Ro. I hope so."