I'm on the back of Remy's bike, an arm wrapped around his torso, another around the toaster, watching the city pass by as we cruise along the streets of Manhattan.
It's only now I'm beginning to seriously contemplate how exactly I'm supposed to get back to the future. As fun as this was, I'd like to get back.
I wonder about Remy – my husband Remy – and wonder what he's doing if I'm here. Though I'm sure he's thrilled that he has the perfect excuse not to make it to that banquet, I'm also afraid that he might worry. And now I'm feeling a little bad and getting antsy to find some answers to this time-travel conundrum. Maybe I can convince Remy – younger Remy – to take me to the mansion and I can ask a past version of Hank or Forge to look over this device for me.
We're stopped at a light.
"Where we goin'!" I lean forward to ask him, shouting so he could hear me over the rumbling engine and the helmet he put on me.
"To de Ritz!"
I thought I misheard. "What?"
"De Ritz!"
"The Ritz?"
"De Ritz-Carlton! It's a 5-star hotel – "
"Ah know what the Ritz is!" This time I'm not yelling because I'm trying to be heard over the engine noise.
I'm beginning to realize that when Remy said he didn't want our first time to be "this way", he meant the location more than anything. Or maybe he changed his mind on how special I indeed was after having my legs astride of him on the back of his bike.
And now I really want to go home.
The traffic light turns green and we take off, but a familiar building catches my eye. I tap the side of his shoulder hard.
"Pull over!"
"Now?"
"Yes! Now!"
He checks the side mirror and pulls over to the curb. I climb off the back, look across the street past the way we came and I point at a building.
"That's our building!"
He cuts the engine and swings off. He removes my helmet for me, and I run a hand through my hair and fix my earrings.
"That's our building," I tell him again at a normal volume now.
"We live in de city?" he asks. He pulls off his sunglasses to look up at the building. "What floor?"
"The penthouse."
He whistles and puts his glasses back on.
"It's your place," I explain. "Ah just moved in after we got married."
"What about de X-men?" he asks.
"We commute."
"Oh," he nods.
I look back up at our building, and for some reason, I have a smile on my face.
"Ah should really figure out how ta get back," I say waywardly to myself. I glance down at the side of the toaster. The green bar of light is gone. It's a shorter yellow one now.
"C'mon," Remy suddenly grabs my hand and pulls me across the street after him. "Let's go check it out."
"What for?" But I still follow him anyway.
"Jus' curious," he says.
When we reach the front door, I'm wondering how we're supposed to get into the building without the key. But then I quickly remember who I'm with.
Remy strolls up right to the door, takes one look inside and tugs me by my arm.
"Quick, c'mere," he says and places me in front of him.
"Wait, what do ya want me to do?"
"Nothin'," he says low in my ear. "You jus' stand, look young, pretty an' rich, an' let de world open their doors wide open f'you."
"What about you?" I ask, looking at him from over my shoulder. "'Cause no offense, but ya kinda look like ya could be holdin' me up by gunpoint."
He snickers. "Stop lookin' nervous an' don't pay me any attention. I'm your hired bodyguard… or y' boy toy." He winks at me from the reflection in the glass. "It's up t'you."
He doesn't wait for me to choose.
He knocks sharply on the glass and a middle-aged man in a grey suit who is checking his mobile looks up. Remy gestures through the glass to open the door.
The man takes one look at me and comes over.
"Ah think boy toy," I whisper to him quickly.
He smirks. "Oui?"
"Oh yeah," I whisper. "An' Ah think ya can only speak French."
He snorts in suppressed laughter.
The man promptly opens the door for us.
"Thank you," I tell him with a bright but apologetic smile.
"My pleasure."
Remy just gives the man a friendly nod and walks in after me like he owns the place.
The world really does work on an honor system that Remy takes advantage of daily. The three of us wait for the elevator together.
The man keeps to mostly stealing furtive glances of me, eyes nowhere near my face and briefly notices the toaster.
"You guys newlyweds?" the man suddenly asks.
Remy smiles. "Yeah, we just moved in," he replies, not missing a beat. "This is like the third toaster we got."
"Been there," he says.
Well, there goes that boy toy role-playing plan. The damn toaster takes over the narrative.
Suddenly, the lobby security guard comes out from the bathroom hallway to man his desk again. I'm surprised to find out it's the same guard as the one we have now, and he doesn't look any younger.
"Hi Stan," I greet him.
He just gives me a wizened smile and tips his hat to me.
Worst. Security. Ever.
The elevator arrives. Remy takes my hand as we get on. The man in the grey suit gets off on the eighth floor and wishes us a good evening.
The doors shut, and we ascend again in silence.
"Y'wan' make out?" Remy suddenly asks, still facing forward, still holding my hand.
I shake my head, a smile on my lips. "So what's the plan? Ya know you need a special key card to get up to the penthouse floor, don't ya?"
He smirks.
As we reach the floor below the penthouse, he presses the emergency stop button, the elevator suddenly comes to an abrupt halt, and an alarm buzzes. He pulls out his bo-staff, removes the ceiling tile and pops open the hatch. He gets on one knee, clasps his palms together and sticks it out in front of me.
"After you, chere."
I sigh.
"Ah can't believe Ah'm breakin' into my own building," I grumble and set the toaster on the floor.
I step onto his hands, then place another foot on his shoulder and I spring off and grab the edge of the open hatch and pull myself up. I feel his hands just all smothered over my ass and the back of my thighs as he graciously tries to assist me with a lot of unnecessary fondling.
"Sugah, ya better watch where ya put your hands."
"Y'didn't seem t'mind earlier."
"That was a one-time offer and now that window has closed."
"Good thing getting through closed windows is a specialty of mine."
I don't really need to, but I step onto the top of his forehead and push off to clear the top. I look down the hatch and he tosses me the toaster first. He swiftly uses the handle bar of the elevator to repel off, grabs the edge of the hatch and tucks himself into a tight ball and effortlessly pulls out like a gymnast.
"Show off."
He just grins.
We're right below the penthouse elevator doors. Remy uses his fingers to pry them a few inches apart and uses his bo-staff to jimmy it open the rest of the way. This time he jumps and climbs up onto the floor first, gets onto his stomach and stretches his arm out to me.
I jump and grab a hold of his hand and he pulls me up onto the floor.
Both of us are finally in the carpeted entry area, right outside of our front door. It's strange being here – outside of my own home, but being unable to get in. The lights are darker, and the area looks strangely unmaintained and unoccupied.
The sudden realization that my Remy is not on the other side of this door makes a prickling panicky fear well up in me, and I quickly try to quash it down.
"…Rogue."
I turn around to face the younger Remy next to me and realize he had called me a couple times.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," I nod and swallow.
"Come on, let's go up t'de roof."
Fresh air actually sounds good right about now. I don't wait for him and quickly take the corner to where the roof access stairs are. When we get outside, I take a deep breath of air and let it out, trying to calm myself down.
I look back down at the alien toaster. The yellow bar is gone. A shorter orange one is there instead.
It's a timer.
I'm almost sure of it.
It could be the time I have left in the past. Or it could even be the time I have left to do something to prevent me from being stuck in the past. Who knows?
Remy has already walked over to the far side of the roof, looking down at the side of the building where the balcony of our apartment would be. I slowly walk towards him and join his side. I notice he's lit up a cigarette.
"Why did ya wanna see the apartment, Remy?" I ask him.
He shrugs. "Jus' curious."
"Yeah, but why?"
He smiles, and it's a smile I feel like I've seen on him almost as long as I've known him. But for some reason, it feels like I hadn't seen him wear it in recent memory.
It's not a real smile. It's kind of like a sad, forlorn smile. It always made me feel like it was his way of drawing a line – a line I wasn't allowed to go past.
He takes another drag off his cigarette and answers, "Maybe… as a physical reminder of what-could-be?" he smirks at me, his eyes lingering on me like he's almost taking me in for the last time.
He turns to blow out the smoke away from me. He suddenly busies himself with taking off his coat and without asking, puts it around my shoulders. He strokes the lapel, brushing it down over my collarbone to my heart. His hand stays there for a beat too long for it to feel casual, before he lifts his hand and takes the cigarette from his lips. "Guessin' y'eventually gon' go back t' your time. Unless y'plan on sticking around like Bishop."
Maybe I had imagined it, but the way he says Bishop, it almost sounds like there's some bitterness there. He was never the type to hold a grudge, but perhaps not enough time may have passed since the whole Witness incident.
I try to imagine what it could have been like for him at this moment of his life. Not really here nor there. Always keeping one side of him hidden and private. Wanting to redeem himself for past mistakes, but couldn't possibly dare to share with anyone what those mistakes were. Setting himself up for a life of duplicity. Constantly questioning if any of this was worth it. Spiraling downwards into old habits on the days he decides that it's not.
I look down at the toaster. Maybe this was why I was brought here.
Suddenly, the orange bar fades and changes to a short bar of red.
"Remy."
"Don't think anyone lives in de penthouse," he says absentmindedly, looking past the edge.
"Remy," I call out louder, more desperately.
He turns to me and notices my expression. "What's wrong?"
"Ah have ta tell ya somethin'."
He exhales more cigarette smoke. "Here?" he asks. "Maybe we should take it elsewhere… I don't know if we should be stickin' around dat long if dat elevator's still buzzin' away."
I grab him by his arm, toss his cigarette away and force him to look at me. "Sugah, Ah don't think Ah got a lot of time left. So listen carefully.
"If ya ever find yourself anywhere near Antarctica, you run the other way, you hear? Just drop everythin' and run. Don't stick around – not for me, not for the X-men, nobody! Or better yet, just come clean about your involvement with the Morlock Massacre. Confess on your own terms. Sure, everyone will give ya the stank eye for a bit, but believe me, the next bad thing is just right around the corner and they'll get over it 'cause they'll realize they need ya. And… Oh! Apocalypse? Don't go gettin' any ideas like you're gonna save the X-men… from… him…" I pause. "Remy?"
I suddenly realize he hasn't moved for the last few seconds or so. I wave my fingers in front of his face. He is frozen as if someone pressed the pause button on him.
"I apologize, Rogue, but I'm going to have to stop you right there."
I whip my head to the side and find Stephen Strange floating in the air, propelling himself forward by green ribbons of light that orbit his arms.
"Mr. Strange? What the hell are you doin' here?"
"It's Doctor Strange." He steps onto the rooftop.
"Oh, sorry," I apologize quickly. There was a time when we had a whole debate among the Avengers whether Dr. Strange should still go by Doctor if he wasn't practicing medicine anymore. I had firmly argued for the "Mr. Strange camp" and hadn't realized my slip.
"I'm here for that device you are holding."
I hold the toaster up. "Ya know what this is?"
"Yes," he answers. He briefly pauses and raises a judgmental eyebrow towards me. "Do you not know what it is?"
"No."
He sighs. "So you don't have any idea of what this is and the damage it can incur, but you just decided to take it for a spin?"
"'Course not!" I exclaim. "If anythin', it took me for a spin. Ah don't know how Ah got here, or how to operate this thing!"
He peers at the alien toaster in my hands. "This device is called an Amano Box. It was made by a Japanese scientist named Akira Amano from a different timeline who incorporated forbidden time spells into Shi'ar technology. Its main purpose is to allow the user to switch places with the person they were ten years ago for exactly twenty minutes. It has a side effect of negating any mutant powers during those twenty minutes for both the user and the 10-year younger counterpart."
I nod impatiently. "Okay, well, we found it in a warehouse where they were tryin' to hold me captive. And Ah'm pretty sure no one there knew its main purpose was for time travel."
"Almost all the boxes were destroyed, and the time travel function was sanctioned for permanent removal. So the fact that this device is functional is an anomaly of concern. I must insist that you hand it over to me for proper disposal. If this device were to fall into the wrong hands…"
I show him my palm and cut him off. "Yeah, ya don't need to give me the speech. Ah really ain't interested in keepin' it."
"Then you have no objection if I take it from you, and you can return to your regular time."
"Now?" I look at Remy, still frozen. "Ah was kinda in the middle of somethin'."
"Yes, and I really must ask you to cease and desist that as well. This is the kind of 'falling-into-the-wrong-hands' behavior that we are concerned about."
I raise an eyebrow at the comment, feeling a little wrongfully accused. "Ah was just gonna curb some of the hurt that's comin' his way."
"You can't shelter anyone from conflict, Rogue."
"No, but ya can make it hurt less with a warnin'. Like warnin' people it's gonna prick before you stick 'em with a shot. It's the empathetic thing to do. Ah think they teach ya that in med school."
He sighs. "I'd rather not take it by force."
"Fine," I agree begrudgingly. I look at Remy. "Wait. So you're sayin' Ah'm here ten years in the past, while my ten-year-younger self is in the future with Remy?"
"Yes."
"And is like another version of you warnin' Remy not to blab about the future to the younger me?"
"Uh… no."
"Why not?"
"Well…" He looks uncomfortable. "Warning Gambit is not a concern of ours."
"Oh my Gawd, is this 'cause Ah'm a woman? Like ya don't trust me not to blab or somethin'?"
"No, Rogue, it's…" he sighs. "Well, it's like this. This device was designed so that your past selves would forget this encounter with your future selves. Whether it is your 10-year-younger self in the future or the 10-year-younger Gambit in front of you, after you return to your original time, they will not be able to recall ever meeting their future spouses."
"Oh," I say, a little deflated. That meant that warning the younger Remy would be meaningless. "But Ah don't get it. Why did ya stop me from warnin' him about the future if he's gonna forget anyway?"
"Your husband, I'm afraid, has a genetic make-up that puts him on a watchlist of people that we sorcerers consider as 'potential threats' to the integrity of current existing timelines."
"Wait, what?" I screw up my face.
"Simply put, you need to watch what you say to the younger Gambit right now because unlike the younger you, there is a chance – albeit a rare one – that he may have the ability to retain something from this encounter. And if he chooses to act on it differently, an alternative timeline may branch – one where he may turn out to be potentially dangerous to all creation."
I blink, trying hard to process all of this information. "O…okay."
"So, the Amano Box has a time limit, which I think you may have noticed already. You only have like a minute left, so maybe we can just cut this short and I can escort you to your regular time?"
"The timer wasn't paused?" I look at paused Remy. "Like the way he's paused?"
"No, the device obviously works outside of normal time parameters," he says, like it's so elementary.
"Okay, but," I grab my forehead. "Just… please let me say goodbye."
"No more warning about specific events in the future."
"Yeah, yeah…. well, what if Ah just mention this one time with Mystique… and oh Gawd, Magnus…" I cringe.
"Rogue."
"Okay, okay!" I wave him off.
I turn to Remy and give a nod. Dr. Strange does some hand gestures and Remy becomes animated again.
"Remy…" I start but then stop short.
He just waits, calm but attentive, the red of his eyes a dull glow.
I realize I don't have anything more to say to him if not to warn him.
I want to tell him about all the pitfalls that are going to come his way. But I know in my cowardly heart that it's not the trials that cause someone to cave, but the lack of desire to overcome that trial that does.
If I had been a better source of love and support for him, if he didn't have to deal with the constant doubt from the person he was trying to work so hard for, then these horrible events in our past may have not felt so dismal for him and so guilt-ridden for me. And I realize I'm still just trying to save him from those events that were just hard on me.
I see the future that lies before him – all the disappointments, all the waiting, all the failed attempts to make a pessimistic girl believe in herself enough to love and be loved – and my chest feels like it has a 3-ton vice on it and I can barely choke out the words as I tell him, "Ah'm sorry. Ah'm gonna put you through some crazy, messed up shit in the next ten years."
He raises his eyebrows, searching my eyes, and says nothing.
I suddenly notice how young he had actually been. How unreasonable my expectations of him were. Wanting him to have the answers to all my problems and expecting him to make all the sacrifices when he was still trying to figure out his place in this world.
I caress his face, lightly brushing the thin scar he incurred while exploding the Sentinel. I try to muster up a smile. "But it ain't all gonna be bad."
He looks at me with eyes that could not possibly fathom the pain that is ahead of him – pain that feels like they all somehow start and end with me.
He finally smiles. A real smile.
"Sounds fun, chere."
I smile back at him, letting out a short laugh that turns out to be a sob at such a classically Remy answer. The tears finally spill down the side of my cheeks and blur my vision. I feel the vice around my chest release, and it's like a dam of emotions erupts, and I'm unable to hold back all the regret and remorse and guilt in my heart.
I pull him into my arms into a fierce embrace, as if this one act can give him the power to endure and persevere on the road ahead of him. I cradle his head in my hand and clench my eyes as the words tumble out with my tears. "Ah loved you, Remy. Ah always loved you. Even when Ah hurt you, it was because Ah loved you… Ah just didn't know how to take care of you."
I feel a set of arms surround me – solid and firm. He shushes me comfortingly. "S'okay. S'okay now. Y'okay, Anna."
I open my eyes and the bright sunlit calm of our living room greets me. I'm kneeling on the floor in Remy's arms. I pull back and look at him, the tears still hot and wet on my face. I blink in confusion. Remy – my husband Remy – looks back at me with warm, concerned eyes.
I look at his face, but it's like the floodgates have opened and everything I've ever tried to repress about him and us come rushing to the forefront of my mind. I trace the worried lines of his handsome face, etched into his skin, and they comfort me and accuse me and lament me.
I lean into him again, and I roll my forehead against his shoulder, my tears soaking the front of his shirt.
"Ah'm sorry," I exhale, but I don't even know what I'm really apologizing for.
I can't even grasp when this feeling had been brewing inside of me – this hate for him because of the reflection of myself I see in his eyes. For all the times I had built up the courage to apologize and he just lets me off the hook, unwilling to discuss how I hurt him, uncomfortable with letting me ask for forgiveness. And I let him do it. I let him let me be a coward.
"Dieu, don't cry, chere," he says in a gentle voice, stroking his hand repeatedly along my arm. "What you got t'be so sorry for?"
"For everything… ya never… let me 'pologize… dammit…" I can barely get out the words between my tears, and it just sounds like incoherent and angry blubbering.
Still, he holds me – firm and solid – between his arms and comforts me with soft reassurances against my ear. And despite everything, I shamelessly don't let him go.
Stephen Strange clears his throat.
"Why the hell are ya still here, Mr. Strange?!" I whine, glaring at him with my one eye, face still buried in a wet mess on Remy's shirt.
"It's Doc – you know what, never mind. Just give me the damn device and I'll be on my way."
I stretch it out shakily towards him, and Remy takes it and hands it to him.
"What exactly is dis device, Doc?" Remy asks, finally letting go of me as I scrounge around for the box of tissues. Even as I do, Remy's hand still tries to remain on some part of me, on my upper arm, on the small of my back, on my shoulder, and before I know it, I'm in his arms again.
"It was a time-travel device made by a scientist, deeply depressed after losing the love of his life. But the answers to our grief rarely lie in our past," Dr. Strange sums up with matter-of-fact grimness. He tips his head to me. "I apologize for interloping on a deeply personal moment between you two."
"It's okay," I mumble, enervated, dabbing at my eyes and nose, unable to actually look at him straight on. "Ah know you're only lookin' out for the good of the multiverse or whatever."
He nods and then kind of pauses to look at Remy, hesitates a bit and then finally says, "I just wanted to say that it personally pleased me to hear that you two got married. In all the multiverse, the ones where you two find each other and make it work usually tend to work out better for the rest of humanity and life on earth as we know it."
Remy raises his brow and pauses. "Thanks?"
Doctor Strange hastily nods, stretches out his hands to make the circular motions. The golden ring magically unfurls to another location, possibly to Bleecker Street, which actually isn't that far from where we live. He steps through and he's gone. And the alien toaster with him.
There is a moment of silence between the two of us in our living room until Remy finally asks, "Did Doctor Strange jus' bless our union?"
I sniff. "Guess we finally got that weddin' sermon after all," I croak, my throat still closed up from crying.
"And by a magical doctor no less."
"He's really sensitive about titles."
"Can't believe we had a time machine in our junk room all dis time."
"And whose fault is that?" I say bitterly.
He smiles down at me. "Mine," he answers and strokes my hair. "But… I kind' enjoyed talkin' to de younger you, chere."
"So did Ah."
"Really? 'Cause it sorta seems like de younger me jus' made y'cry."
I look down, shaking my head. "No," I reply sadly, my voice wavering. I'm trying to keep my emotions in check. But it's like once the dam is open, you can't get it to stop. "You were really sweet. So now Ah don't know why Ah always thought you were a sex-crazed jerk. But maybe you were just like a misunderstood youth…" I sob and my tears start to flow again.
"Oh Dieu, chere," he sighs in exasperation. "I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry f'not takin' dis toaster thing t'Henri right away. You… you wan' go to de party?"
I shake my head, burying my face in a wad of Kleenex. "Gawd no."
He holds me again, smoothing my hair and rocking me gently. "Okay… how 'bout some ice cream?"
I sniff. I think about it. "What kind?"
To Be Continued
Author's Note: My original goal for this chapter was to make some of you cry. But it quickly devolved into humor… as usual.
I apologize if my Dr. Strange seems out of character. I actually haven't read a single comic book with him in it. Pretty much the movies are the only source I have for him, so I just imagine Benedict Cumberbatch. I wasn't interested in reading Dr. Strange comics for the sake of this short cameo.
When Dr. Strange refers to Gambit being a potential threat to timelines, I'm referring to Gambit being the New Sun in an alternate universe. And since the New Sun could go universe hopping to kill versions of himself, I figure he could be on a watchlist if Dr. Strange were to keep watchlists on these type of things.
Akira Amano is the writer/artist for an anime I watched a long time ago called "Katekyo Hitman Reborn" and it features something called the 10-Year-Bazooka, which one of the characters wields around. So I based the function of the alien toaster on the 10-year-bazooka with some modifications and decided to give the original creator some credit.
About younger Remy trying to take Rogue to a hotel, I believe that Remy at this point in time was an insensitive jerk to Rogue. And though he was probably sincere about Rogue being different from the others, this just means he's sleeping with other women, even as he's trying to figure out what to do with her and all these new and confusing feelings. Even Remy confessed last chapter that he was a bit of a Jekyll and Hyde. But I also think that he would have ultimately been unable to bed future Rogue because he's in love with the current Rogue in his time.
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