Harder Then It Seems
Remy sat down at the virtually unused desk in his room. A single piece of blank paper lay in front of him along side a black ink pen.
He wanted to surprise Rogue. Normally, he would only do something like this when he had made some sort of mistake and needed to suck up to his girl-of-the-day.
But Rogue was different. Nothing was going wrong in their relationship. Indeed, things seemed perfect. The pair fulfilled their duties as X-men while frequently taking off on his motorcycle to have fun and occasionally get into trouble.
One such night, only days before, Remy had been getting into said trouble. It wasn't the Cajun's fault of course, some over-weight biker made the mistake of thinking he could get one over on the Cajun. He didn't think Remy would see the ace of clubs hidden in his sleeve.
Later in the darkened parking, when Remy told the portly biker to hand over his money, the biker made a bigger mistake. His stout fingers closed around Rogue's neck, a silver blade glistened in his other hand.
Of course, Rogue's powers didn't even get the chance to suck even the tiniest memory from his mind before she spun around; her fist instantly broke his nose, followed by a knee in his flabby gut, receiving one last kick in the face, the man was on the ground, chubby hands covering his aching wounds.
But the sight had immobilized Remy. Rogue beating someone senseless was no shock, but the possibility of the man hurting Rogue had terrified him. True, her life had been threatened on virtually every mission the X-men went on but the reality that he could lose her anytime, without even the smallest warning, had left him paralyzed with fear.
It was that moment that made Remy discover what Rogue meant to him. He wanted to make sure that at some point in their lives, she would have the unequivocal knowledge of what he felt for her.
A letter. It was perfect. A sweet gesture in which he could set Rogue apart from every other person in his life. Something to make Rogue smile, and maybe even tear up.
Remy smirked, certainly such a letter would come with benefits he wouldn't be opposed to. His mind wandered in his fantasy for a moment, before he looked down at the paper. Remy started the somewhat mawkish letter with his typical epithet.
Mon Cherie,
Remy stared blankly at the paper, the tip of his pen rested on the line below his introduction.
'Well,' he thought to himself, 'How are y' supposed t' start dese t'ings?'
He couldn't start out with something corny like, 'You mean so much to me.' or 'I don't know where I'd be without you.' He wanted it to be something between him and Rogue, something you couldn't find in a romance novel or movie.
His mind tossed around different ideas. He started writing with only a vague idea of what he was going to write.
I am happy with you Cherie. I know I haven't told you. I decided to write it in a letter.
He paused, furrowing his brow as he read over the words. 'Great Remy,' he thought, 'De Cherie will never realize Remy wrote her a letter when she is sittin' dere readin' a letter he wrote her.'
Remy crossed out the juvenile writing. With a deep breath, he made another attempt to start the letter.
You make me feel a way I have never felt. Even when I was with Bella, I didn't feel the happiness I feel with you. I thought Bella was the most belle femme I had ever seen. But then I met you Cherie. You were beautiful and a challenge. Bella was a challenge too, because of the guilds we weren't supposed to be together, but we didn't care. But you didn't want open up to anyone. Bella just
Remy froze mid-sentence. He stared at the words his pen had formed on the paper. He had started a love letter with the comparison of his girlfriend to his ex-wife. He pictured giving it to Rogue. Seeing her gloved hand ball into a fist and mercilessly pounding his flesh until purple bruises were visible, made him immediately scribble over the words until they were illegible.
Remy sighed, once again struggling to transfer his thoughts onto the paper. With a deep breath he suppressed his growing frustration, and decided to take a different approach. Maybe instead of carefully planning the words, he should just write without thinking; giving Rogue a glimpse of his raw feelings. He quickly turned his attention to the letter.
I haven't had emotional feelings for a lot of people. But I have them for you. Even though I would love to kiss those full pink lips and taste the skin on your neck while I feel the curves of your
"No!" he said aloud, snapping his mind out of his erotic fantasy. This is not that kind of letter. This was supposed to be a surprising, sentimental, romantic letter to the girl he loved. Instead, he managed to write the blatantly obvious, a suicide note, and the beginnings of some porn.
Remy let out a frustrated sigh and threw the pen down on the desk. He read the letter over to himself.
Mon Cherie,
This was not turning out the way he had planned.
He was a charming, suave debonair; women flocked to him in screaming herds; he was known for his slick cleverness of tongue.
He was Remy LeBeau, the man who always knew what to say.
"Den why can't he write one letter!" his angry yell broke the silence of the room.
That was it, his temper got the best of him. Rogue would have her letter and she would get it today.
Picking the pen up and gripping it tightly his burning red eyes stared at the paper in front of him; a new determination ran through his veins.
He examined the paper, an angry focus showed clearly on his face. Everything on it was scribbled out, like a ferocious gang of kindergartners had attacked it with black ink pens.
But there was more for him. Empty white space, unlined and unmarked. The perfect place for him to make his attack.
Seizing the opportunity, Remy impulsively moved the pen along the paper. He only had a vague idea of what was transferring from him through the pen.
Intensity burned in his eyes as one line filled, then another. Soon the letter would be in Rogue's hands. She would read it quietly to herself, then she-
"Remy?" his thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice behind him. "Remy! Are ya ignorin' meh!"
His grip on the pen tightened, almost snapping it in half. His other hand balled into a fist, crinkling the top of the paper.
"Not now Cherie," he said through clenched teeth.
Without loosening the grip on either of the objects in his hands, Remy slowly returned the tip of the pen to its place on the paper.
He waited for a few moments. It didn't move.
"MERDE!"
The anger he had been holding in flared up. She had broken his concentration, trying to write the letter now would be useless.
Remy stood up with such speed that his chair fell to the floor. His large hand slammed down on the desk and balled into a fist, crumbling the empty note within his long fingers.
The thick anger within him quickly traveled into the paper. With a violent thrust of his arm, the paper went soaring to the other side of the room. It exploded in midair.
Rogue stood, frozen in a stunned puzzlement, her eyes wide.
"Remy?" her voice was soft and spoken to his back, "Ya okay sugah?"
Clenching his jaw, he turned as he spoke, "Why are y' so difficult Cherie?"
He turned around to face her, "Isn't what we do enough? Why does de homme always have t'write it down!"
With a furrowed brow, Rogue stayed silent as he stormed past her. She wore a confused smile, his outburst didn't make her mad, she was rather amused by it.
Still fuming, Remy stood at the door, when Rogue turned to face him, he spoke again, "Y'wan' t'go t'dinner t'night? Would DAT make y'happy?" he yelled out, gesturing widely with his arms.
There was silence.
"Uhh…." She paused, "Yeah?"
"FANTASTIQUE."
With that, he slammed the door, leaving Rogue in her puzzlement. Shaking her head while she laughed, Rogue decided it was best to not try to figure out what was wrong with the Ragin' Cajun.
Remy didn't make it far down the hallway before he stopped; taking a deep breath and running a hand through his auburn hair, he turned and briskly walked back to the room.
Rogue was on her way out when Remy stormed in. He walked to her, placing a hand on the side of her face, guiding her eyes to his, her hair provided the needed barrier.
"Remy's a t'ief who hasn't done many good t'ings in his life. A fiery, belle femme like y'self could have y'pick of hommes. Remy knows dat, an' he knows y'gave dis t'ief a chance. He tries every day t'make y'happy y'made dat choice. 'Cause Cherie, when y'are happy, my life seems easier, like everyt'ing in it is right. I know y'worry 'bout y'skin, but when I'm layin' in bed at night, I don' dream of dis petit body under mine. I dream of dose green eyes. Y'say a lot of t'ings wit' dose eyes Cherie. I never want t'worry 'bout not bein' able t'see dem. I'm addicted to y'. I need y'. An' I don' need a letter t'tell y'dat."
The two stood for a moment. Their eyes intensely fixed in the depths of the other's.
A small smile appeared on Rogue's face, tears brewed in her eyes as she threw her arms around Remy's neck, hugging him tighter then ever before.