A Walk Through Hell
And if I could swim, I'd swim out to you in the ocean, swim out to where you were floating in the dark. And if I was blessed, I'd walk on the water you're breathing, to lend you some air for that heaving sunken chest. I'd Walk Through Hell for you, let it burn right through my shoes, these soles are useless without you. Through Hell for you, let the torturing ensue, my soul is useless without you. ~A Walk Through Hell-Say Anything
April 2007.
Two southerners climb the steep hill right outside the Mansion's property. Spring is in full swing, and like the flora and fauna, their love can either bloom or remain stagnant. It's a crossroads of sorts: one road could lead them to love, another to disaster, and even another to heartbreak.
Fate is waiting for them to make the first move. The two can feel it, subconsciously. They can feel the swell of emotion and potential waiting to be released.
"Looks like somebody's a little outta shape," she chides and offers him her gloved hand.
He accepts it and powerful shock waves go through his system. That has happened a lot lately, and Remy is confused.
He isn't sure when things changed.
One day he woke up and she popped into his mind, first thing. It wasn't anything spectacular, just a fleeting glimpse, and he got up to get ready for the day. But it kept reoccurring: and now her face appears in his head so often he can no longer ignore it. When he wakes up, when he goes to sleep, when he flirts with another woman, when he eats, when he jogs, and everywhere in between.
She lays across the smooth rock, her creamy legs crossed and her flawless face upturned towards the beating sun. Her luscious curls sway in the warm breeze, and the pink and white cherry blossoms flit down to caress her bare shoulders and thighs.
She's wearing cut-offs and a tank top. It is very unlike her, to show so much skin. So much perfect, knee-quivering skin! A small smile lifts the natural pout of her lips. The sight warms him but turns his heart to ice at the same time. Because sometime during the past months, she's stopped being just a challenge and started being his everything. And he's scared. He's scared because Remy LeBeau has never fallen in love before. He's scared because, for him, love and sex go hand in hand. Yet, he's never had the privilege of touching her skin, but he'd die for her. He lives for her. He can live his life happily with her, sans the physical and this has never happened before.
He's scared because he isn't anywhere near to deserving her. He's scared because she knows this.
The Prince of Thieves has let his heart get stolen. How ironic.
And if I was brave, I'd climb up to you on the mountain, they led you to drink from their fountain, spouting lies. And I'd slay the horrible beast they commissioned to steer me away from my mission to your eyes. And I'd stand there, like a soldier, with my foot upon his chest, with my grin spread, and my arms out, in my bloodstained Sunday's best, and you'd hold me, I'd remind you who you are under their shell. ~A Walk Through Hell-Say Anything
Present Day New York
The Prince of Thieves has let his heart get stolen. How ironic.
And that's why he's here, in some shitty motel at 6:00 in the morning, with a sleeping belle in his lap and two-hastily-prepared overnight bags thrown carelessly at their feet. He'd somehow managed to sneak her out of the Mansion, and there's no doubt the all-reliable X-men will start scouring the city once they notice their absence. But that is all well and fine: it wouldn't be the first time he's had to disappear, and he somehow knows it won't be the last.
He slips his fingers through her hair and decides that yes, she is definitely worth it. Rogue asks so little of him, making sure she isn't held there against her will is the least he can do. And doesn't he know exactly how she feels? People like him can't stay anywhere for too long. People like him can't be locked away. People like him can't be at peace, can't relax unless they have an escape plan, just in case.
Remy shakes his head tiredly. Too much thinking too early. And besides, there is no comparison between himself and Rogue: it's like dirt to gold, rain to sunshine, despair to hope. They aren't meant to be. They're just hurting each other and…
Remy grits his teeth and clears his mind. No more thinking; thinking is not good.
Stifling a yawn, he lays Rogue gently in the bed and checks the locks on the windows and door once more. It's unnecessary. No one would bother to rob a place like this, and he's checked them multiple times already. In the unlikely chance someone does try to disturb them, they'd pay with their life. As for the threat of the X-men, he's taken them far enough out of the city to allow one or two days in peace.
Remy wonders half-heartedly if Scott will ever find the bike they had to ditch miles back, or if some city hoodlum would notice it and scrap it for parts.
With that in mind, the Cajun removes his coat and shoes and slips into the bed. For a while he stares lovingly at Rogue's curved back. Fighting back guilt, he turns her and presses their bodies together.
Her lips touch where his heart beats.
…
She's in the place just before awareness. Thoughts and sensations are coming back to her with increasing clarity. Light is leaking through her eyelids. Her mind is beginning to awake also. The 'sun' breaks the horizon and the 'rain' she imagined the night before has faded, only puddles are left. The 'birds' chirp and finally, she forces herself to leave her cocoon in the tree.
She sticks her foot out first and proceeds to jump from the branch. Like always, the wind holds her weight just in time, and she's deposited safely to the dewy meadow. Looking down at her flowing green slip, the belle frowns at the dirt and leaves. It takes only a swipe of her hand to make these nuisances disappear, and her attention is then turned to the 'river'.
Kneeling next to the water, she rights her appearance and stretches towards the rising 'sun'. She feels good. She hasn't woken this refreshed in a long while.
Before she can even enjoy her rested body, it appears right out of the river.
It has no real form. It is just a black, distorted shape that moves and sways as it pleases. Two golden eyes shine in the top part of it, and at the center, where the heart should be, is a burning orb. The flames lick out then branch like veins and capillaries throughout the entire being.
After stepping onto the grass, it transforms into its preferred form. Rogue shivers as this happens because it's like staring into a mirror, save for the black slip instead of green and the harsh yellow eyes focused on something in the distance. It smiles, but it comes across as more of a sneer.
Her eyes narrow. "You've done it again."
It doesn't answer. Instead it closes the distance between them and presses its lips to Rogue's. Scenes flash through the belle's mind and she's able to see what occurred 'outside' from the time she'd fainted in Remy's room to now.
She trips while trying to back away. She doesn't like the thought of kissing herself, of kissing it! At first she'd been able to keep it at the back of her mind. But now it's claimed this place as its home. Now it has the ability to take over and walk around in her body.
"Ah've told ya and told ya, takin' over isn't right! An' hurtin' Betsy like that—"
"I told Remy how much we didn't like being punished." Rogue could recognize her own voice in it, but there is something bigger, more powerful to it.
"He was hesitant at first, but I simply added a few endearments and slipped into your accent." It sighs. "It's almost sad the way he pines over you."
Fury makes her fists shake. There was no 'we' in the situation. And the thought of it touching Remy, her Remy, makes her vision go red.
It giggles. "You're jealous!" It looks away dreamily. "Jealousy: another confusing, yet interesting human emotion." It shrugs. "You needn't worry; he won't have me. I've tried. Aren't mortal men easily seduced? Especially your lover—"
"Shut up! What Remy does is none of yoah business! Ya have no right communicatin' with him! When ah said ya could stay here it was under the conditions that ya behaved and didn't cause me any trouble…"
"It causes you discontentment, doesn't it?" Her head cocks to the side. "I can see it in your aura: this huge, red mass. The thought of him with other women makes you physical ill." Something in her face quickens and she clings to Rogue's arm. "Let me punish him for you! Let me—"
Rogue slaps it as hard as she can. "Don't ever think about hurtin' him, got it?"
And then thee's fie and heat and Rogue is thrown back, skidding to a half finally in the flower bed. She's crumpled dozens of the multi-colored petals by the time she stops, and there's mud and grass and twigs covering her back and tangled in her curls.
"I do hold a certain fondness for you, but there are limits to my patience. For you to place your mortal hands on that of a goddess is treason, punishable by death. And if this ever occurs again—"
Rogue nods swiftly temper flaring, head reeling: yet accepting that right now is not the time to act. She'd already been informed upon Phoenix's arrival that she can either accept their arrangement or be kept locked away in the dark recesses of her own mind. Reliving painful memories and communicating with no one other than ghosts for the rest of time.
Sighing, Phoenix wraps her arm around Rogue and it lays her head against her breast.
"I love you," it whispers.
Crazier than a snake's armpit…she muses.
"An' Ah love Remy, understand?"
"Yes. I love what you love and I feel what you feel. We are conjoined, two symbiotic creatures aiding in each other's survival. We needn't fight amongst ourselves." It begins to jump and twirl in the rain puddles. "In case you were wondering, Remy brought us to a motel, three hours away from Westchester. It's kind of disappointing really, we both know he could afford much better. And if he couldn't, he could have at least robbed a rich man—"
"Stop it." She rubs her temples and tries to think. Why didn't he get help when he realized Phoenix was the one in control? Didn't he understand the danger? That he's quite literally playing with fire? It took all the strength she had to stop it from killing Betsy— What is Remy trying to pull? She needs to be locked up.
"Oh, and one more thing I should probably tell you: you and Remy made love last night." She pauses mid-hop. "Well, technically me and Remy made love, but he thought it was you of course."
Horror creeps up the southerner's spine and her mouth falls open.
Its hand smothers a laugh and it wanders even further away. "I was only joking!" And then it's gone, disappearing into the trees and mountains.
Relief makes her eyes water, she turns to the river and jumps in, allowing her body to wake up.
…
She smells food, something good and spicy.
She blinks once, twice, and then sits up. She examines the small, dingy room, and confirms that Phoenix had been telling the truth with her words and visions.
Invisible hands lift the blankets and she levitates from the bed, following the scent of the food. Finding it in the kitchen, she lifts the sausages one by one and devours them in seconds. She washes her hands and turns to a closed door. Scanning it quickly, she determines that it's the bathroom, and Remy is inside showering. With a sly grin, she phases through the door and into the steamy space.
She can hear him humming softly to himself. Ever so quietly, she phases through the shower curtain and steps deftly behind him. She licks her lips at the sight of his back muscles.
It's only a matter of time before the Cajun stiffens and whips around to find her behind him.
"G'mornin'." She smiles daintily and raises a hand to shield herself from the spraying water.
He smiles back stiffly, barely able to hear her over the rapid pounding of his heart. Why didn't he sense her? He's Gambit: master thief, known for his keen skills and abilities. And yet, she managed not only to enter the bathroom in the first place, but also to stand right behind him in the damned shower.
"Chère, how did y'—"
"Move over, swamp rat." She brushes past him and pulls her nightgown over her head.
Remy does his best to keep his eyes on the wall next to him.
He can see from the corner of his eye that she's lathering the soap all over her body.
"Don't act like you've never seen a naked gal before, shuga- 'cause we both know you've seen many." There's an edge of bitterness in her tone.
"Never one so belle," he answers smoothly, still refusing to look at her.
"If Ah'm so beautiful, then why won't ya look at me?" She drags her nails up and down his chest. "She took away my poison skin, Remy! We can touch now! Don't ya wanna touch me?"
He bites back a groan. "More den anyt'ing in de World, mais not until I'm sure she ain't speakin' for y'."
She yanks his jaw down towards her. "Look in my eyes. Ah'm in control!"
He does look into them. And sure enough, they're big and crystal green and as beautiful as ever. Even so, something in his gut is causing him to rethink what she's saying and his gut has never let him down before.
"Chère." He caresses her narrow shoulders gently. "Y' know how bad I wan' y, how bad I've always wanted y', mais I could never forgive myself if y' were bein' influenced by her in any way. Dats why I—"
"Ah've already told ya that it's me, Remy, please—when the professor figures this all out and gets rid of this thing in my mind…Ah'll lose control again. Ah'll be untouchable again. What if this is our only chance?"
His breathing quickens. How can he turn her away when she begs him for the exact thing he's wanted to do for every minute of two years? How can he maintain his resolve when she nibbles her lip like that?
But he can't be weak because it's obvious from the powers she's used and her behavior that his chère is not as in control as she would like to think.
"I know y', p'tite, it's only… de Rogue I know isn't like dis! An' truthfully, we both know it's more den y' powers dat cause dese intimacy issues—"
Her mouth tightens into a line and her glare is venomous. "It's pretty obvious ya don't know a fuckin' thing about me!" She throws back the curtain and wraps a towel around herself savagely. The entire room shakes when she slams the door.
Running a trembling hand across his face, Remy swallows deeply and turns the shower knob over to COLD.
November 2008.
It's like watching things unfold from somewhere up above. He's a part of the audience; he's an insignificant individual.
This isn't his life. He didn't just crush the only woman that mattered to him. He isn't mounting his bike, ready to leave this place and never look back.
She isn't really inside crying: it's all just an act. The cruel, unforgivable things he said to her were part of the script; the heartbreak in her eyes wasn't authentic.
She'd get an award for that performance, yes she would.
The setting was a bedroom, with minimal articles about because the owner of the room had never planned on staying long. There's a man and a woman on the large bed. The man is extremely handsome and to call the woman simply 'beautiful' would be a sin. Because she's unreal: this green-eyed woman.
The scene starts with them kissing through a scarf. The man is delirious from the pleasure: it isn't often that the woman lets him do something like this.
Of course, being the selfish man he is, the man isn't satisfied with just this. He begins caressing the woman through her shirt and begs her to touch him. The woman is obviously afraid, but her gloved hand slips down his pants obediently.
It's almost too much for the man, and he groans her name. If possible, this makes things get even steamier and his control begins to crumble. The man's hands leave her breasts and travel to her thighs. It's so slow and he's so sneaky, the woman doesn't even notice until his hand goes between her legs, he can feel her concentrated warmth.
The woman visibly stiffens, and the man knows his time on Heaven is about to end. Sure enough, she makes her complaint known.
"Slow down, Remy." The woman's command is shaky.
But the man doesn't adjust his pace; it feels too good. He becomes more rough, holding her wrists down with so much force bruises will appear the next day. He bites her covered neck. It leaves a mark.
Her pleas become more desperate. "Ah said stop!"
Her knee inevitably connects with his crotch, and with a hoarse grunt, he releases her. His eyes are clouded over from both lust and a pain only a man can know.
The woman hides her tear streaked face in her hands.
Tonight her tears have no effect on the man, and he shows no sympathy. "What de fuck is y' problem, hein? We both know y' want it, so stop tryin' to be a damn martyr an' jus' give in!"
She shakes her head miserably. "Ah don't wanna hurt ya—"
"Oh, so kickin' me in de fuckin' balls ain't gonna hurt?" He grabs her wrist in a painful grasp. "Don' give me dat bullshit!"
"What was Ah supposed to do!" The woman finally manages to get a grip of herself. Self-justification makes her sit tall. "Was Ah just supposed to lay there and let ya rape me?"
He gives her a look of pure disgust and drops her wrist. "S'not rape when y' wan' it, is it, chère?" The man's mocking tone cuts the woman's heart.
The woman retreats back to the bed and the man knows it's time for his most important act. There's no noise in the background. A pin drop could be heard.
"I been t'inkin'—"
His palms sweat. It's the most crucial point in the scene.
"—a lot lately. An' I don' know—"
The lights from the camera hurt his eyes. The director is feeding him the line.
"—if I can be with a femme dat can' touch. Thought I could, but all dis shit ain't worth it."
Now say it: follow the script; break her heart.
"Yo' not worth it. Y' nothin' but a leech, a parasite."
The scene ends with the man slamming the door. The woman falls to her knees. He can hear her cry his name all the way down the hall.
And now he's on his bike. The engine is purring, ready to be released. But still his feet remain on the ground. They've had fights before. She screamed just as loud as he did. She got as angry as he did. She threatened to leave just as many times as he did. She walked away as often as he walked away.
But never had she gone for blood. Never had she cut him deeply. She had her limits and she stuck to them.
How could he? How could he have drug up her deepest fear and thrown it in her face? She confides in him all the time about how scared she is of being alone, how terrified the thought of him leaving her because of what her skin makes her, how awful the thought of her power holding her back for the rest of her life. It affects her every waking moment.
He wanted to hurt her and he has. Only this time, he might have gone too far. There may never be another scene, the movie could end right here, unfinished.
His heart stops and he dismounts the motorcycle. It crashes to the ground but he could care less.
He could do them both a favor: he can leave now and save them from even more heartbreak later on.
But as he runs to the room and holds the woman tightly and begs to be taken back and gives his heart to her another time, he knows he'll choose this woman over reality every time.
Present Day.
Opening a suitcase she noticed earlier, Rogue finds a few of her outfits and toiletries. He'd conveniently forgotten to pack her make-up and gloves.
She snorts at the lingerie he'd brought. But having limited options, she puts them on. Along with the form-fitting jeans and low-cut baseball shirt. Luckily for her, there's a hoodie and coat in the case and she puts them on gratefully.
Finding her toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste, Rogue marvels at the skill it must have taken for Remy to sneak both the suitcase and herself out.
She enters the bathroom just as Remy finishes dressing. He eyes her appreciatively and something hot splashes across her body and makes her legs quake.
She pouts seductively. "Are ya sure ya won't take me up on my offer?"
Obviously, she doesn't believe he was serious earlier, and the way she's looking at him makes it almost impossible to refuse. Can't she feel that she isn't herself? That she never speaks or acts this way?
He clutches her waist and presses his lips against her ear. He hears her whimper and she gathers his shirt in her fists.
"Not here, chère. I promise I'll do anyt'ing and everyt'ing y' wan' me to, mais it'll be some place nice." His tongue flicks her earlobe and she loses all grasp of reality. "I won' have y' first time be in dis shit hole, comprenez?"
Her arms go around his neck and she shakes her head. "But Remy, what makes ya th—"
And then her eyes go wide in shock. She clamps her mouth shut and pulls away from him. He is right: she isn't in control. Because she's never come so close to revealing her secrets. She's never been so careless! She almost…It would shatter his heart: she knows it would!
Good girls don't lie, Marie.
Tears prick her eyes and she begins to cry. Remy can never know. The secret will have to be her burden and hers alone forever.
She sobs harder when his arms go around her.
"What is it, Rogue? What's wrong?" He rubs comforting circles in her back and kisses her salty cheeks.
"It's Marie," she breathes on his lips. Even as he kisses her, her stomach clenches. That name, that name has so much pain attached to it—
"Stand up, Marie. Daddy has to punish you now."
"Ya ever been kissed, Marie?"
"Marie, poor Marie. It wasn't your fault, do you understand? It wasn't your—"
"Sweet, pretty girl. Daddy's angel. Yes, touch it just like that, Marie. Yes...oh Marie yes!"
"Marie." He tries the name out and decides he likes the way it sounds. "Is dat really y' name? I'd always wondered—"
Her voice wavers. "Ah don't know why Ah just told ya that…there's a reason Ah stopped goin' by it. Ya can't call me that name ever again." She turns from his sad, red eyes and wipes the tears away. She can't break down, she can't be weak...
"Where's my make-up?" She regards him coldly, as if the tender moment they'd just shared had never occurred. "Ah need it."
I must teach you more on the art of subject-changing, my pet.
Remy raises his eyebrow in confusion. "Dere's a bag in de closet—"
She leaves and re-enters seconds later with her lipstick and mascara in hand. She's smiling.
"Thanks, Remy. Yoah always thinkin' about me. Ah really don't deserve ya."
The Cajun can only stare as she leans towards the mirror and applies the products. The constant mood swings are making him dizzy.
"Ah'm hungry," she states when she finishes. "Can we go get somethin' to eat?"
"I made breakfast." He points in the general direction of the kitchen.
"Ah already ate it." She blushes softly and shrugs at his surprise. "Ah've had quite the appetite lately."
He's regretting taking her from the mansion with every minute that goes by. As much as it hurts him to admit it, he can't protect her this time. Rogue is not well, and she needs help, help he can't give. He's taken her away from the only chance she has of getting better. Once again his selfishness has put her in some sort of predicament. This sort of neurotic behavior is sending alarm after alarm off in his head.
"We'll stop for somethin' to eat on de way home, d'accord?"
She goes pale. "But Remy— Ah don't wanna go back!" She hugs herself. "They'll put those restraints on my wrists again, they'll lock me in that dark, little room!"
Ororo?
He reaches for the belle when he sees the tears beginning to rise. "S'okay, chère. Calm down."
He contemplates as she sobs on his chest. His heart is breaking. It's obvious Rogue isn't coping well. It's reminding him of times in the past when she'd lost control of her psyches: displays of multiple personalities and habits of those she's absorbed. Dressing differently, detesting certain foods that she usually loved—it's all looking the same. What is Phoenix doing in there? Why is she unraveling everything? He knows, without a doubt, that they should return to the mansion. Yet…she'll never forgive him if he doesn't give her a chance to solve her problems without the X-men. That's just who she is: independent, fiery, and strong. Her pride would be severely wounded and that's never a good thing…
One more day, that's all. One more day won't hurt anything. He'll take her some place nice for dinner tonight and tell her there. He'll give her time to accept his decision and then they'll head back to the mansion.
Mind made up, Remy kisses her forehead and pushes her white bangs from her tear streaked face. "All right, chère. We won' go, at least not yet."
The transformation on her face makes it seem as if she'd never cried in the first place. She kisses him passionately and he groans inside her mouth. It quickly becomes heated, and he's forced to pull away gently.
"Let's go get de food."
She smiles gratefully and shoves her feet into the shoes she found in the suitcase. "How are we gonna get there?"
He smirks cryptically. "M'sure someone would be willin' to help us—"
She frowns but follows him unknowingly from the hotel. They walk for a few blocks, his arm thrown casually over her shoulders and her hand in his back pocket.
This is all she's ever wanted to have with him: normalcy. Being able to touch him without fear or guilt because he's safe. Her skin is no longer a threat.
But Remy wants to take her back to the Mansion, and they wouldn't understand. They wouldn't be able to accept the being inside of her. Rogue isn't fond of the idea either, but this might be her only shot at a happy life. Anything was worth that.
She looks up at him. "Do ya like this, Remy?" Her cheeks get warm when he turns to her. "Just the two of us together?"
He purses his lips and her stomach twists in knots. "'Course I do. Why?"
"No reason, it's just—"
He squeezes her shoulder encouragingly. "Go 'head, chère."
"Well, Ah just thought that things would be goin' different. Ya know?"
"How so?" He pulls her down an alleyway.
Distracted by the garbage and path, she doesn't answer. There's a tickling at the base of her head that gets stronger the further they go.
She sees herself as a child: cold, hungry, and alone. Details begin forming around her. The smell of sewage, the feel of cold concrete beneath her. Tante was making her practice cards while she went in search of food—
Rogue shivers and presses herself against Remy's warm arm. Grief and pity make her love him even more. She wants to show him sympathy but knows he would never take it. That child was him. He is projecting these thoughts and somehow she is receiving them. But his mental shields…
She focuses on the back of his head and opens her mind even more. More images flash through her head. The process is very similar to what happens when she absorbs someone, and so she is able to sort through them easily. At first it's more of his childhood memories. All of them make her want to hold him tight.
She pushes a little more. Her initial guilt is replaced with a burning urge to know him, to really understand the man she loves. Doesn't she deserve this? For the love of God, the only things she knows about Remy LeBeau are that he's twenty-seven, he used to be a professional thief, and for some reason he will never tell her, he's been forbidden to ever return to New Orleans.
A fuzziness surrounds her. He still hasn't noticed her intrusion. He is hungry, and not just for food. She sees many scenarios of the things Remy wants to do to her. He is constantly fighting the urge to throw her up against a wall and have his way for her. He can't do it, not while Phoenix is inside of her. He can't let himself give in; he can't be distracted.
She can touch, Dieu, I'm holdin' her hand!
Two years he has wanted her. And he's so close. The obstacle of skin is gone, and he wants her touch, badly…
Rogue soon gets caught in the swirl of his arousal. Remy's fantasies become her own. They think on the same wavelength. If she goes just a little further into his mind she could tap into the truth. She and Remy could be as close as they'll ever be!
Before she can proceed with her plan, the Cajun glances back at her with a grin. "I've found our volunteer."
Shaking her head to clear it some, she follows the path of his pointed finger. An older man in a business suit leaves his car in the parking lot, and, looking around with his beady eyes, enters the building.
Remy is literally drooling for the abandoned Ferrari.
"No." It isn't hard to guess his plan. "There's no way Ah'm lettin' ya steal somebody's car."
…
She grips the door as he increases speed. It isn't fair! All he has to do is plead and prattle on in French and she's like putty in his hands.
Her head hangs in shame. Did she really just sit there and watch him hot wire a car? And if that isn't bad enough, the Cajun compounds the ridiculousness of the situation by throttling around in a not-so-unnoticeable—stolen- vehicle like what they're doing is perfectly legal.
Remy seemingly has nothing on his conscience and giggles like a kid on Christmas. He's fallen in love with the flawless red paint and expensive interior. She rolls her eyes as he pats the steering wheel.
"It's only a matter of time before the police start followin' us." She hopes this will deter him from becoming any more excited.
"Nah. Dat was a strip club de man went into. I'd say we got at least an hour before he realizes what he's missin'."
"But we'll have it back before then, won't we?"
He swerves into the parking lot, nearly missing an old lady but not missing the orange cat to the side of her.
"Oh my God—"
"Whoops." He grimaces as he parks. "Don' look at me like dat!"
She slams the door and stomps into the store, he follows close behind.
"Don' be mad—"
"Ya just killed a cat!" She huffs and grabs a basket.
"I thought y' hated cats?"
"That's not the point," she answers tiredly. She fills the basket with three whole packages of bacon, some vegetables and some other things they're in need of.
Remy helps her when she asks. He doesn't have the strength to tell her they won't be using any of this, and that by this time tomorrow, they'll be back at the Mansion—
"Did ya hear me?"
His gaze snaps up from his feet to her face. "Uh—"
She's waiting in a checkout lane. "Ah said you'll be payin' for the groceries." None of the people around them have any inkling of her meaning.
He forces a grin and reaches in his back pocket. Why pay for things they don't even need?
The cashier takes his card in a daze, blushing at his good looks.
Remy winks at 'Abigail'. Her face isn't anything special but her body makes up for it. "Lovely weather we're havin'."
"It's thirty degrees," Rogue deadpans. Her face is getting hot and silly insecurities pick at her. Remy is a natural flirt, that's all. It doesn't mean anything—
Abigail giggles anyway. "Well I love the winter."
"Especially when y' have someone to cuddle up to, non?"
The belle's teeth grind together. How dare he? Flirting with the woman like she isn't even there. Is this how it was with the other women, too? Is this what he did before he slept with them?
Abigail blushes, playing with a lock of sandy blonde hair. "Yes. And my apartment gets so cold at night—"
Rogue's green eyes flash to him expectantly. The girl is basically asking him to sleep with her. It's no longer harmless flirting. He would stop it now.
He frowns with false concern. "Don' y' have anyone dere with y'?"
"Who says she needs a person?" Rogue cuts in and pinches Remy's arm, hard. "Why not get some extra blankets? Ah saw some on sale."
Abigail looks at her like she's an idiot, and Remy only chuckles:realizing suddenly that he's an inconsiderate idiot. And with his woman in the erratic condition she's in, he can't afford to be slipping; even if flirting is as automatic to him as blinking.
Shame comes over him and he silently promises to make this up to her later—he would be overcome with fur if roles were reversed and he was sitting in her shoes.
"I t'ink yo' a bit tired, chère. Why don' y' go wait in de car?"
What car?
Her left temple throbs as her mind connects with the engine. It's simple: break a few valves, let the gas leak, create a little fire…and voila.
There's a horrible explosion. The clientele and customers scream and cower. Bits of smoking car parts break the windows.
Remy reacts in a split-second and throws himself over the belle, shielding her body with his own.
"What car?" she retorts in his ear. Her tone is spiteful, not his chère at all.
She shoves him off, and somehow finds Abigail in all the confusion. Her yellow eyes burn in fury as she rises from the ground and floats towards the scared girl.
He tries to reach her in time. "Non! Stop!"
But it's too late.
And if they send a whirlwind, I'd hug it like a harmless little tree. Or an earthquake, I'd calm it, and I'd bring you back to me. And I'd hold you in my weak arms like a first born. I'd Walk Through Hell for you, let the torturing ensue. Now I've Walked Through Hell for you, what's an adventurer to do, but rest these feet at home with you? ~A Walk Through Hell- Say Anything.