Author's Note: Hi! Just a warning, this author's note is gonna be long. Anyway, this is the tenth and final installment of this series! I chose this story to be the final one because X means 10 in Roman numerals... I'm nerdy like that. Also, I'd like to dedicate #10 to Es1137, who kindly encouraged me to keep writing when I really had no plans to write more after the first one. Anyway, this story line was already halfway written before I wrote "The One with the Seed" but I wanted to end on this one. Because in a circular kinda way, we end up back where we started - with the alien toaster. So please go read that one and maybe the end of "the One with Firestorm" to get some back story if you haven't already.
Okay, so, I want to cheat a bit and give you some details on the setting of this story before you delve right into it. All my fics so far are pre-Excalibur, and have the two of them living quietly in Manhattan, which I simply love. I just loved that they got this little newlywed period there (in a penthouse in Tribeca!), which I wanted to draw out a bit through fanfic. Anyway, this fic finally starts to acknowledge Krakoa, which finally looms its big, ugly political head over my personal world of fanfiction. Xavier has made his telepathic manifesto, and I feel like the ultimatum he lays out for normal humans in House of X can be just as challenging a pill to swallow for mutants as well. Do they all get the manifesto from Xavier, drop everything and make a massive exodus to the nearest portal? What about their non-mutant friends and family? Does going mean they abandon them? Does not going mean they are in danger of being painted as the Uncle Toms of the mutant society? Have the comics already addressed this, but I just didn't know about it? (If the answer to that last question is yes, I apologize.)
So I've imagined that in the beginning, there might have been some big and small, public and private meetings and get-togethers over champagne and hor d'oeuvres, selling mutants (the non-superhero kind) on the idea to move there and support the cause. Obviously, some have decided that Krakoa is not for them (Pete Wisdom for one), but Gambit and Rogue are prominent X-men, so their decision not to go would end up being controversial … even if the decision not to go were as simple as preferring to have all four seasons.
Anyway, so this fic has Krakoa under way. The initial council has been assembled. Mutants are starting to trickle into Krakoa. Active X-men are all expected to be there, all except for Kitty, who can't get through the portal yet. Remy and Rogue have visited Krakoa, but are generally going back and forth (cats to feed, plants to water) and are sort of on the fence on becoming permanent citizens of Krakoa. Apocalypse has started his email blasts, actively advocating the establishment of Krakoa as a sovereign state. And with the Professor's blessing, he is throwing banquets and parties right outside of Krakoan portals to inform mutants on the necessity, desirability and inevitability of Krakoa. Gambit and Rogue are asked to join an Apocalypse-hosted pro-Krakoan party – not to persuade them to come, because that's a given – but for them to persuade other mutants to come. Gambit doesn't want to attend. Rogue does.
Sorry the author's note is so long-winded, but I just decided to take the lazy way out and explain it in the margins. The reason why I chose to do this is because the meat of this fic is actually not about Krakoa, but I still wanted to explain the minor details. Anyway, consider yourself caught up (to read this fic, not on the comics... ) Just as a warning, I borrow from the beginning of Excalibur a bit even though Rogue and Gambit are technically not on the island yet... so there may be some events that are out of order.
Enjoy! And please tell me how you liked it!
Rogue has set out a tux for me that I abandoned on the living room couch.
"I ain't goin'," I tell Rogue firmly, who is in the other room getting dolled up. "An' you shouldn't, either."
"Remy, Betsy's askin', Ro's askin," she explains from the room.
"Ro's not askin'."
"Maybe not to you, but Ah'm definitely gettin' some subtle hints that are becomin' less subtle."
"Why? What she say?"
Stormy isn't one to push me into doing something I'm not ready for, but I never imagined that people would start pushing their pro-mutant agenda on me through Rogue. Not that I'm not pro-mutant, but this Krakoa thing sketches me out on a gut level.
I won't lie. The Professor going live and telepathically serving non-mutants their eviction notice from sole ruling rights to the world was cathartic. It was like a big ol' middle finger raised to the world by the last mutant who you'd expect to do that. And for the first time ever, with the Professor at the helm, the i's are getting dotted, the t's are getting crossed and Krakoa is looking like a mutant nation finally getting its act together.
"Ah'm not sayin' Ah disagree with ya," Rogue answers from beyond the bedroom door, conveniently avoiding my question about Storm. "But this Krakoa thing doesn't seem like it's gonna blow over anytime soon and us just part-timin' it like it ain't anythin' important is makin' some people nervous."
"Dat ain't exactly a bad thing," I state adamantly.
"Look, it's just some dinner with old friends. All they're askin' is that we show up. It doesn't mean we're forfeitin' our U.S. citizenship an' becomin' Krakoans from now on."
"Since when is Apocalypse one of our old friends, chere?"
She doesn't respond to this question.
"Jus' sayin' dis stinks of trouble, an' de fact dat everyone we know is climbin' on board makes me think dat these little soirees dey throwing has something in de punch."
"Then we won't drink the punch," she says definitively and steps out of the bedroom, and I have to do a double take.
She is wearing a dark fuchsia colored dress with an eyeful of cleavage and legs, long hair styled into loose curls down her back, wearing the diamond earrings I got her.
I shake my head, smiling at the sight of her. "Mon dieu, chere. You trying t'give everyone a heart attack before dey even get t'step into mutant paradise?"
Her lips twist into a smile, and for a moment, I just admire how good she looks and how comfortable she seems even with all the skin exposed. Most likely, she'll throw on some more clothes before we head out the door, but when it's just the two of us, covering up feels like it has finally become a non-issue.
"Betsy sent me the dress, and Ah think the color was a nod to you," she explains as she steps in front of me. "She sent over the tux, too. Just in case we make the excuse that we don't have anything to wear to this thing."
I toss my head over the back of the sofa and sigh loudly. "Don't get me wrong, I like a swanky party just as much as de next guy…"
"Only if there's somethin' worth stealin'?" she remarks sarcastically.
I raise my finger in objection. "In any case, I like 'em. But getting us t'dress up? Inviting de press? People are gonna field us wit' questions on why we think Krakoa's de answer to all our prayers, when I ain't even convinced it is."
"Look, Remy. We can still reserve the right to live here an' just commute to Krakoa as needed. But the way this thing is gainin' traction, us choosin' to opt out ain't bein' neutral anymore. Our silence on the matter is sendin' out a pretty big message to the rest of the mutant community, which Ah don't need to remind you is dwindlin' in number."
"Yeah, like we perfectly fine livin' in harmony wit' de non-mutants in Manhattan. Remember when that was the message the Professor was preachin'?"
"Ah thought we agreed we liked that the Professor was finally lookin' at the world for what it is."
"Oui, but it's also a pretty harsh judgment on dose who never really showed bad sentiments toward mutants."
"Like who?"
"Like my family."
She snorts inelegantly. "Your family is a clan of thieves an' assassins. They live outside of the law anyway. An' if anything, Jean-Luc could probably give the Professor some pointers on how to live on an island and self-govern."
So my family was a bad example. "What about Monique?"
She groaningly sighs.
"I can see her bein' disappointed that she's just lumped in with the rest of the bigots."
"So what? You're not goin'? Because of Monique? Ah go alone?"
I don't answer. I'm grasping at straws, and she knows it.
"Remy Etienne LeBeau."
"No full-naming, chere."
She steps in between my legs, puts a knee down dangerously close to a sensitive part of my body and leans forward, arms braced on either side of me against the back of the sofa. Her voice is low and threatening, "Sugah, ya really gonna make me go by myself? When Ah'm this arm-candied up for ya?"
I look up at her face, then down the long column of her elegant neck to the smooth, pristine, white skin of her décolletage. Gravity does its thing and gapes the dress wide enough so that I get an uninterrupted view down the front of her dress, her voluptuous curves scandalously encased in some kind of strappy, lacy, black number that I haven't seen her wear before. The shape of her body still confounds me every single time.
"Not interested in havin' you on my arm," I tell her grinning. I lean forward and reverently kiss the top of her breasts – one over each big, perky mound artfully ensconced in the thin material of her dress.
She tilts her head down to look at me. "We can sneak out into the bathroom if the thing gets boring, yeah?" she murmurs, fingering the back of my hair.
I smirk. "You sure sell it aggressively, chere."
"And…?"
I suck in a deep breath. "Fine," I grouse.
She smiles, grabs my jaw and lifts it to place a kiss on my lips. "Okay, go take a shower. Ya need to get ready fast."
She yanks me off the sofa and practically marionettes me to the bedroom.
"What's de rush? Ain't it in the evening?"
"Stop actin' like you're not reading the email blasts, sugah. Ya know the banquet's in London."
"Banquet. Pfft," I toss in contempt. "En-Sabah-Nur throwin' banquets. Sendin' out e-mail blasts."
To my surprise, she strips the pants and shirt right off of me and shoves me into the bathroom stall, which makes me question why she wants this so bad.
I grab her by the waist and spin her into the stall with me. "Rogue, you ain't actually interested in going, are you?"
"To the party? Yeah, Ah'm curious. Ain't ya a little curious?" She smirks, her brows wriggling suggestively. "Maybe Apocalypse will wear a tux."
"An' Krakoa?"
She sighs. "Remy, if ya ain't goin', Ah ain't goin'. But Ah don't think snubbin' Apocalypse's invite is the best answer right now. Besides, if he's really tryin' ta turn over a new leaf or whatever, as X-men, don't we owe him the benefit of the doubt?" She pushes my hands off of her. "Now quit stallin' and take a shower."
"We don't owe him anything," I say under my breath and turn on the water in the stall and wait for it to warm. I didn't think she heard me, but I notice she's still in the bathroom, looking at me, leaning on the door jamb.
Her expression is softer. "Remy, you have every right to stay pissed off at Apocalypse. Ah don't trust him either. But that's why we gotta go. Friends close, enemies closer, right? And Ah know for a fact that you've been up at night readin' up an' lookin' into all the policies they're passin' there. And if there are points that need to be made against this, you need to speak up for the good of all of us."
I furrow my eyebrows. "You expecting me t'speak up at dis?"
"No, no," she says quickly, palms raised in surrender. "We're just going there to see some familiar faces, have some cocktail shrimp, that's all."
I step into the water, and she leaves the bathroom.
I don't blame her for wanting to get more involved in Krakoa. And she's right that we probably can't go on acting like it doesn't affect us. On the whole, Krakoa is an attractive offer for any mutant, especially for those who have children or wanting children.
But my reservations about Krakoa stem less from the social and political implications of what this means for us and the rest of the world going forward. It's mostly because of players like Magneto, Sinister and Apocalypse – three people I have deeply personal conflicts with, who have all been invited to sit in as council.
Sinister has an ongoing genetic obsession with me. Magneto is Rogue's megalomaniacal ex. And then there is Apocalypse.
He may have some genuine interest for mutantkind as a whole, but his real fascination has always been with power and where power focalizes. And there are certain mutants in this world that have more pliable power capabilities than others and Rogue is one of them. It's only a matter of time when he starts imagining what she can do for him, and this time, I won't be able to throw myself in front of him as fodder instead.
This olive branch that Krakoa has offered to all mutants like some blank slate feels like an opportune moment for any one of them to take advantage of and do what they do best – shit on other people's rights. And all of us living together on a small island means we are that much closer to finding ourselves as chess pieces on a board, laying down our lives for agendas that are rarely explained to us.
Sometimes, just being absent and unavailable allows for them to look for someone else to use as pawns in their crappy, haphazard plans that are never as good as their confidence in them.
The problem is Rogue still wants to go and doesn't deal well with being left out. And though happy wife means happy life, an alive and healthy wife is a higher priority on my list.
I've always felt that there was safety in numbers. Remy, not so much.
He occupies his own little niche in the world of superheroes, privately nestled in that grey area where the edges of mutantkind and organized crime overlap. He chooses not to define himself much, which used to bug me before when the world seemed simpler in terms of good and bad. But I'm beginning to think he may have had it right all along. He keeps his options wide open for his own brand of creative conflict resolution, and I'll be the first to admit that there were pages I took from his book when leading teams of my own.
But I would never advise anyone to model their life after him. Only Remy can survive living as Remy. For a guy who plays dangerously close to the edge, he stays quite balanced on that thin line he walks and somehow maintains his own brand of morals and justice. And though he doesn't ever push his views on anyone, he is quietly opinionated on matters. I, on the other hand, am loudly opinionated on matters.
Case in point, this banquet that we've been invited to by the being formerly known as Apocalypse – he's apparently going by the Krakoan letter 'A' now. Remy made vicious fun of the sudden rebranding, and I definitely didn't discourage him. We couldn't have asked for a better punchline. I think we laughed for a full two minutes when we got that update. You know the tears-streaming, belly-clutching kind of laughter that goes silent for a while? We found it that funny.
In any case, I was originally with Remy on the decision to never settle down and actually reside on that island. Asteroid M, Genosha, Utopia – pretty much anywhere that promised some kind of safe haven for mutants have been anything but. But there are a lot of people – people I trust – who have since changed their opinions on Krakoa and even Apocalypse. Not that this is reason enough to jump on the bandwagon, but if I'm going to be the stick-in-the-mud about this, I'd rather be informed on what I'm disagreeing with.
Normally, Remy is pretty easygoing with a lot of things, so when I RSVP'ed for both of us without really asking him first, it surprised me that he was not only against it, but he was actively persuading me not to go either.
He was saying things like you don't consult the stranger giving you the candy whether it's safe to eat the candy. I listened to him in fascination because I guess I never considered him this cautious of a man.
Of course, Remy and I are a package deal now, so convincing each other to follow suit is something we both got to get comfortable with. Still, for someone who just lets me do whatever I want and follows along if he thinks I need supervision, getting vetoed kind of caught me off guard. Not to mention I kind of found it sexy.
But best not to let him know that. Because at the end of the day, I like getting my way.
I'm currently going through a bunch of boxes in the junk room, trying to find Remy's cuff links that didn't come with the tux Betsy sent over. Remy is so uninterested in going to this thing that even the absence of cuff links would be reason enough to call the whole thing off.
To think there was a time when he'd follow me to just about anywhere, no questions asked. But that's marriage, I guess. The playing field gets leveled out once you both say "I do."
By the fifth box I'm rummaging through, I've worked up enough agitation and resentment that I'm grumbling to myself. Because I can't imagine that Remy only owns one pair of cuff links, but he's tasked me to find this exact one – the one he wore on our wedding day. And I only see this as his way of stalling for time so we miss this thing.
But I was never one to back down from push-back.
"We'll see who wins, stupid, no-good… Aha!" I pick up a velvet box, flip it open and find it empty. "Arghhh!"
I quickly move over to the next stack of stuff, and that's when I spot something on a desk in the corner of the room – something that sticks out like a sore thumb. It's a white, rectangular toaster-looking thingy that I don't recognize at first. But then I do recognize it.
It was a power-negating contraption that we found in a warehouse when a bunch of thugs held me captive to bait Remy to come.
I squeeze between some boxes and grab the thing. I narrow my eyes. I also distinctly remember Remy telling me he dropped it off with Hank.
My mind is busy processing what this could mean as I run my hand over the contraption. Suddenly, I feel a wave of static pulse through my fingers and quickly up my arm, and just as quickly, the sensation disappears.
That was strange. I pick it up, turning it around in my hands, and no longer find it responsive.
I probably should look for the cuff links. I probably should put down this alien toaster thing and focus on getting us out of this apartment and to Central Park to make the portal transport to London. But suddenly, the need to discuss this with Remy chokes out all of the "probably should's" in my head. The fact that he lied to me about returning this when it was just hanging around in our junk room, being alien and doing God-knows-what, takes precedent over all else.
And maybe then, I can guilt him into going to this banquet with me sans complaints.
I tuck it under my arm, smugly pleased by this piece of leverage I found.
I'm dressed in my tux – partially. I'm cleanly shaven, my hair is done and I have the pants on. I have the shirt on, too, still unbuttoned though. I have this sudden urge to check my messages on my phone and listen to that one song I recently found and liked.
Rogue is still in the junk room, trying to find the cuff links, which unbeknownst to her, actually got lost on Danver's ship after our honeymoon got shanghaied. I sit on the bed, back against the headboard, flipping through my phone settings to link up to the Bluetooth speakers.
I realize I'm playing with fire. But that's how much I don't want to go to this thing.
Lucifer jumps onto the bed and he slinks around my leg, all the while looking at me like he's accusing me of something.
"Don't look at me like dat," I tell him, looking up from my phone. "It's for her own safety."
I scroll through my playlist and suddenly hear a door slam shut. Her heels click smartly on the hardwood floor as she purposefully makes her way towards the bedroom, and I momentarily hold my breath, wondering if she found out that those cuff-links were impossible to find.
She appears and stands tall in the doorway, her arms behind her, still looking ravishing in that short little fuchsia pink dress.
"Remy, sweetie," she purrs, her eyes narrowed. "Guess what Ah found in the junk room?"
I have an uneasy feeling about this. "My cuff links?"
She pulls something from behind her back. It's a white, toaster-looking thing that I immediately recognize, but I feign a lack of recollection.
"Remember this?"
"Should I?"
"Yes, you should," she nods sagely. "Because you took it to Hank like a few months ago. Or that's what ya told me, but now Ah'm confused… what's it doin' here in our apartment when ya told me ya took it to Hank?"
She is really milking this, and I see what her ploy is. I sigh.
"Okay, y'caught me. I never took it to Henri. I got busy an' I was gon' get around to it."
She shakes her head dramatically. "But ya lied ta me, Remy," she emphasizes the word lied, looking hurt and betrayed but I know she really feels none of it.
I place a hand on my chest. "An' I feel terrible 'bout dat, chere. Truly." I give her a look of remorse and chagrin, but she also knows I really feel none of it.
She paces into the room until she's standing next to the bed, toaster tucked beneath her wrists in front of her, thoughtfully tapping the side with an index finger.
"Ah can't really believe that now, can Ah?" she points out.
I sit up on the bed, lazily swinging my legs off and hold her thighs between my hands. "I'm sorry f'lying," I say as sincerely as possibly, looking up into her eyes.
She looks down at me with mock seriousness. "If only there was a way ya can prove to me how sorry ya actually are…"
I scoff a bit, running my tongue behind my bottom lip. Her attempts at manipulation are adorable and a tad annoying.
"If only dere was…" I squint an eye at her.
"Oh, Ah know. You can start by quittin' this stallin' for time business an' hurry your ass up!" She growls the last part. She points a warning finger at me and is about to leave the bedroom.
"Wait, chere."
"What?" she bites out in exasperation.
"I want t'ask you something."
She turns to favor me with a look that can only mean 'Please shoot me now.'
I smirk at her. I get up, take a step after her, and then wrangle her by her tiny waist and throw her onto the bed. She looks stunned still holding the toaster in front of her. I climb onto her, pinning her down by my thighs.
"What do you think you're doin'?" Her eyebrows look like they're going to fall off her forehead, they're raised so high.
"We're going t'de party," I tell her conclusively.
"That's not what it looks like right now."
"We are. I promise. But de thing is…" I lean over her, pressing my hands down onto her shoulders. "I think I'd feel a lot better about goin' if…"
"If?"
"If we did a quickie before we go."
"Seriously, Remy? What is your deal?"
"The deal is I'm horny an' y'look hot as hell. An' I think I could even muster some charm at dis shindig the-Artist-Formerly-Known-as-Apocalypse is throwin' if my wife would gratify me a bit."
I press play on my phone and the speaker starts booming with a bow-chika-bow-wow kind of bass.
"Ya have got to kiddin' me," she scoffs.
"No kiddin', no more lies," I tell her, and I run my hands down her arms. I breathe in her ear, "Jus' t'de end of de song, chere."
This song is actually those 1-hour seamless loops of the same song. We'll see how quickly she notices.
"Remy," she sighs, shaking her head as she just stares up blankly at the ceiling or the heavens beyond. "Ah'm wearin' some pretty complicated lingerie underneath this dress that took forever for me to figure out how to get on."
"Oui?" I ask her, genuinely intrigued. "Let's take a look."
I quickly scoot down her legs, lift the hem of her skirt and stick my head inside.
"Remy!" she shrieks.
Then suddenly, the lights flicker and a strange pulse of static seems to move through the air. There is a mechanical hum and suddenly Rogue's thighs begin to glow. An abrupt flash of light blinds me momentarily, and instinctively I try to hold onto her.
Another wave of energy radiates from below me, from Rogue, and suddenly I'm touching warm flesh again.
I look up, disoriented. Then, I numbly stare at the person below me.
I'm at a loss for words because the girl below me isn't Rogue. Or, it is Rogue, but she's like a younger version. Actually, judging by her hair – a thick, wild mane of bed curls attesting to a time before Rogue discovered how to get layers – and the scathing look of distrust in her eyes, she looks awfully like the first time I met her.
I stare at her confused.
Her green eyes are wide and just as confused, but suddenly, her face burns a bright red as she realizes she's lying on a bed below me, sexy music going on in the background, her thighs in my hands and my face staring down her crotch.
"Oh hell naw!" she suddenly hollers, her fist pulls back and sends it hurtling towards me.
And then another wave of confusion passes between the two of us.
Her fist, never too big to begin with, is nestled in my palm. I caught her punch. Even now as she tries to force my hand back with her arm, I'm holding it still. And honestly, I'm not even struggling to hold it back. She looks baffled and a look of fear overtakes her eyes.
So from what I can tell and for reasons I cannot explain, my wife Rogue has suddenly disappeared and she has been replaced with a de-aged and de-powered Rogue.
"What de hell?" I mutter.
"G-Gambit?!" she suddenly yelps, looking appalled.
And she doesn't know that she is married to me.
To Be Continued
