At first there was only darkness.
Then came the agony.
His eyes slid open slightly, it was dark and blurry, wherever he was.
Goddamn, did I get hit by a truck?
No, that wasn't it. He tried to think. What did he know?
My name is Remy Lebeau. I am a mutant. I am a thief.
He knew the basics, at any rate. So the burning questions were 'where was he' and 'how did he get here?'
As his vision swam into focus, his memory attempted to fill in the gaps.
Little Storm. Thieving. Call from Zoe. Madripoor. A pair of Latverian thugs. Pain. Missing kids. The Pig. And then…
Must've blacked out at that point.
He closed his eyes again and instead tried to focus on his surroundings. A steady beeping; heart monitor. The whirr of a fan from somewhere above his head; fresh air intake. The acrid stench of bleach; sterilization. A sharp poking inside his elbow; IV need, most likely.
Definitely a hospital. He hated hospitals. He should get out of here.
'Cept the head feels like a bag of cement… not goin' anywhere just yet. Fuck.
A rustle of paper to his right almost startled him. Was that a page turning? He opened his eyes and slowly turned his head towards the sound and saw an angel at his bedside.
Wait, no, that would mean he was dead. Was he dead? Maybe his own personal Hell was being stuck in a hospital?
No, that was stupid. He was good and drugged up, obviously.
What kind of books did angels read, anyway?
Focus, idiot. He turned his attention to the angel - no, the woman - sitting in the oversized chair at his bedside. The lamp on the table was the only light in the room, allowing her to read her book while highlighting the angles of her face, as well as the white stripe in her hair.
Hey, I know her.
She turned another page and let out a deep sigh. Must be a boring book.
"Whatcha readin'?" He tried to ask, but the pain in his throat that he only just noticed prevented him from speaking above a whisper.
Her head lifted and she nearly jumped to see him looking at her. "You shouldn't be awake," she said, marking her spot and putting the book on the table. "But then you never were too good at following the rules, as I recall."
That fiery Mississippi drawl rang through even when speaking so quietly, sending a pleasant shiver of his spine. He tried to respond, but his throat was so dry, he could only cough.
She quickly got up and went to the side table, returning with a cup of water and a straw. "Just a few sips, don't try and gulp it," she said, holding it for him to drink.
The water was cool and soothing.
"Thank you," he whispered.
She gave him a small smile. "Do you know where you are?" She asked, returning to her chair.
He tried to shake his head no, but the movement sent a spike of pain through his skull, causing him to wince.
"Don't try and move, you're pretty concussed," she said, leaning in closer. "One of your pupils is bigger than the other, it's kinda freaky."
He would have laughed if he'd had the energy.
"You're with the X-Men. We brought you and Storm home from Madripoor. Seems y'all broke up a mutant child trafficking ring. Pretty impressive."
He turned his head towards her fully, ignoring the pain it caused.
"Rogue," he croaked.
She looked the same, yet different. More mature. Still so pale, but the purple makeup was gone. Instead she sported black winged eyeliner and a nice burgundy lip.
Like a pin-up model. Suits her.
"Hey, Gambit," she smiled. "Up to no good?"
"Always." He raised his arm to look at the IV line. "What happened to me? Here, I mean?"
"From what Storm could tell us, you got beaten on somethin' fierce," Rogue said. "You were pretty out of it by the time we found everyone. You puked on the flight home."
"Tell me I at least got Summers?"
Rogue rolled her eyes. "Just the edge of his boot."
"Good enough," he managed a small grin.
"Anyway," she said. "You were clearly suffering from some head injury, other than the obvious-"
"Ha ha, so funny."
"-A few cracked ribs, dislocated shoulder, cuts, bruises, et cetera and whatnot."
God, no wonder he hurt so much.
"So upon being examined every which way but up, and Storm telling us about your little hospital phobia, it was decided that keeping you comatose for a while would be best for your recovery."
That explained the sore throat, he'd been intubated. Gross. "Was it a Rogue-induced coma, at least?"
"Oh gawd, Storm said you'd matured, but she was clearly lying," Rogue huffed and picked up her book again. "Go back to sleep."
How could he sleep when he was back in the company of his favourite X-girl? It had been, what? Two, two-and-a-half years since he'd last seen her? Like Hell he was going back to sleep.
He continued to watch her while she continued to read.
"How come you're sittin' here? Don't tell me you missed me?"
"You wish," she scoffed. "Storm's barely left your side since ya got here. Told her I'd take the night shift to give her a break."
"She's a good girl," he rasped with a smile. "Don't tell her I said that."
"Everyone's real grateful you helped her," Rogue said. "We were so worried when she disappeared. And then a bunch of us got dragged off to space and we had idea what was going on here…"
It took him a few seconds to process her statement. "Hold on, you went to space?"
"Long story, tell ya another day."
Probably a good idea, he didn't think he could wrap his injured brain around such a tale right now.
"You're pretty alert for the night shift," he commented. "What time is it?"
Rogue looked up at the wall above him. "Coming up on 4am."
"And you're tellin' me to go to sleep," he mumbled. "How long have I been here anyway?"
"It's been two weeks. Your vent was taken out this morning...yesterday...whichever."
They lapsed into silence. He knew he should rest, but talking to her again was like a breath of fresh air. If he fell asleep, she might not be here when he woke up.
He wasn't ready for that.
"So, whatcha reading?" He asked again.
"A book," she replied.
"I can see that," he said with as much snark as he could muster. "Does it have a title? An author? Is it just the dictionary?"
Rogue sighed. "It's an Anne Rice novel, okay?"
Remy grinned as hard as his aching face would allow. "Awww, chere, you really did miss me."
She rolled her eyes for what felt like the umpteenth time since he woke up. "It's just a random book I grabbed to help me stay awake.
Don't read into it, swamp rat."
"A random book that takes place where we had our first date," he teased.
"You're damn lucky I've been given orders to not strangle you," she retorted. "And a kidnapping is not a date!"
"Whatever you say, chere," he said with a laugh that turned into a violent cough.
Rogue offered him the water cup again and he drank gladly.
"Serves you right, jerk."
He winced in pain.
"There's a morphine plunger to your left," Rogue offered.
"You're just tellin' me this now?" He said, feeling around and finding the device, sending a nice dose of painkillers into his bloodstream. "Evil woman."
She smirked at him. "Damn straight."
As he felt the drugs start to kick in - damn, they were giving him the good stuff - he turned to her again. "Thanks for sittin' with me."
She smiled softly. "You're welcome."
"I still owe you, for snatchin' you up back then," he said, trying to keep his eyes open. "Was a dick move. M'sorry."
"Don't worry about it now," she said, pulling her feet up on the chair and making herself more comfortable.
"Gotta make it up to you…" he trailed off.
"Oh, you're gonna," she said. "Storm's already told everyone you're stayin' whether they like it or not, so you'll have plenty of time to earn my forgiveness."
"Hmmmm, good," he said as he slipped into the delightful sleep of the drug-induced.
Rogue shook her head and went back to her book.
Having the swamp rat around should be entertaining, if nothing else.
—-
A/N: Check out my profile to see where this story falls in the timeline.