Angels and Demons
Dreams - sensations you prove, are taken from nature. You find those emotions are true in your mind. Fight against the kingdom of fear. Sooner or later they'll try to convince you are wrong, but I'm sure.. We're just crawling. Angels and Demons disguised the truth. You don't know so try to be sure. ~Angels and Demons- Angra
Paris, 2014.
She pulls her white coat tighter against her willowy frame. The hand she uses to hold the umbrella trembles slightly from both chills and nerves as she trots down the cobbled street. Her footsteps echo hollowly off the brick buildings. It's so quiet she can hear each one of her breaths with startling ease. Everything is dark, besides the sidewalks, which are bathed in a dim, flickering light from the street lamps.
Alone she walks, trying to forget the disapproval of her friends back home, trying to forget the desolate ache in her chest, trying to forget that Remy left for a reason and probably never wants to see her again.
She tried not feeling bitterness towards the deceased belle, truly she has. Rogue was dead too soon, just when she'd been able to control her gifts, just when she and Remy had started to get their relationship on the right track…but it's of no use. The petty jealousy and anger she's had since she first saw them holding hands from her lofty tower of flora and fauna has not faded in the least. So many years ago…she'd been disillusioned to assume back then that when Remy came to the mansion—if—he came to the mansion; that he would recall their brief meeting in Cairo and that somehow…he'd belong to her. Even though this is foolish, those feelings are still there, and though they're buried deep, she hasn't been able to stop wanting Remy and honestly, she'll probably never be able to let him go.
It's this love for him that causes her to silently seethe when she thinks of Rogue. She killed Remy when she died, he will never be the same man again. If she hadn't let Phoenix back, she would not have been killed, she could have prevented Remy's death as well.
Because he's a walking corpse now. She hasn't seen him in years, his ability to disappear when needed amazes both she and the X-men, but she can imagine how horrid he must look, must feel.
Stopping her musing and glancing down at the tiny slip of paper in between her fingers, she makes sure the numbers match the ones on the small building before her. It had taken her near violence and a couple favors, but she has Remy's latest address and it fills her with both joy and dread. Because once she beholds his dimmed eyes, once she has to see how far he's fallen-it will hurt her, make her physically ill.
She hides an excited smile and swallows back tears as she mounts the first step.
How can two contrasting emotions plague the heart all at once?
When your Angels and Demons arise, face the Truth: God is not love! Feel as fluid as life, love is a rainbow. As much as it seems to be real, it's all in your mind. Sooner or later I'm gonna convince that the truth is a lie. There's no Judge when we die, only dust. ~Angels and Demons -Angra
How can two contrasting emotions plague the heart all at once?
Relief and horror clash in his chest like lighting. He's saved, but she's the one rescuing him. He gets to see her again, but her emerald eyes are nowhere to be found. Sinister is undoubtedly dead, but it's her smirk that twists across plump red lips as blood spews from Sinister's chest. It's her fist that clenches closed, crumpling the man's entire skeleton in half. It's her mind that throws away his broken body like yesterday's trash.
His metal restraints loosen, seemingly by themselves, and he sits up, shaking with relief. He'd come so close to really losing this time, he almost lost the final gamble.
Right before his eyes, she transforms and is Rogue again. But, for a moment, no recognition registers on her face. She doesn't know who he is, she doesn't remember him…
"Ah don't know why Ah'm here," her voice wavers, she bites her lip. The fire surrounding them crackles as it devours the wooden foundation of the theatre, the smoke makes him cough and his eyes water but he cannot seem to move. He can only watch her.
"-but, but Ah saw ya, Ah felt ya. Whoever ya are, Ah was meant to find ya." A look of curiosity flickers across her features, and slowly, she moves forward, her bare hand poised to touch him.
"Remy," she whispers. "Yoah name is…Remy."
It happens before he can stop it, and he melts into her touch. His arms wrap around her, his lips find her forehead.
He fails. It's obvious that Phoenix is back, he'd truly miscalculated the entity's state of mind. Remember Toulouse…Oh, Mercy—you sweet, intelligent thing! He allowed Phoenix to divide them, to isolate Rogue so that she'd have nothing left to fight for. And if his lover wasn't the determined spitfire she is—Phoenix may have conquered as well.
Though they're back at square one in a sense: is it wrong to feel some sort of happiness in this situation? He understands it's selfish, he knows that Phoenix causes danger to Rogue. This is wrong, whether it allows them to be together or not.
But as her finger tips wander across his bare head, he can't think about the consequences of her arrival.
"Ah remember…ya havin' hair."
"Oui, dats sort of a recent t'ing-" He takes her hand and kisses each individual knuckle. He stops when she shivers. "Y' okay, p'tite?"
Nodding, she brings her hand back up to his lips, wanting him to continue. "Ah'm fine. It's just, it's just that Ah think a block's been broken. Ah'm rememberin' things-" She hides her frown in his chest. Broken memories and bits and pieces of thoughts float back up to her conscious mind. Remy left her…she had to find him…the werewolf in the woods: had she known him? A terrible pain…and then, nothing. Everything went blank, she could conjure up no more memories.
His harsh cough reminds her of the state of the building, and she takes his hand.
They land in a park a few miles away, the smell of brimstone replaces the odor of smoke.
He kneels down onto the grassy knoll and takes deep breaths; teleportation is not easy on one's stomach.
When the dizziness fades and he's able to stand, he turns to find her watching him with utmost concentration, twirling a leaf with her thumb and fore finger and leaning against a tree. For a moment they search each other's eyes, giving nothing and receiving nothing. He'll never tell her how terrified he'd been or how close to death he'd come, and to keep with the tradition of their taciturn habits: she'll never tell him how easy it'd been to kill those mutants and Sinister, or how painful the return of her memories is.
"What happened, Rogue? Why can't y' remember nothin'?"
She shrugs and sits, patting the spot next to her and motioning for him to do the same. "Ah don't know. Ah woke up a few hours ago, not knowin' where the hell Ah was or why Ah was there." she thinks about the blood and slashes across her hip. "-or what Ah'd done. All Ah remembered was yoah voice, and that Ah had to find ya, no matter what…" She snorts, bringing her knees to her chest. "Of course, Ah'm startin' to recall that ya didn't want to be found."
He avoids her gaze, instead looking to the ground in front of him as he rips up a few chunks of grass.
"Do y' remember why I didn't want to be found, chère? Can y' blame me?"
"Yes, Ah can." But her smile betrays her words. She leans against her cajun lover, burying her face in his neck and reveling in the feel of his pulse, his steady breathing. He's alive, and she doesn't know what she would have done had she been just a minute later.
The wind blows her silken curls across his chest, reaching all the way to brush against his other arm. Her hair is longer, and she's thinner, too. Has he really been away for that long?
"Two months," she says against his neck, as if hearing his thoughts. "Ya missed Christmas, missed New Year's, even missed Valentine's day."
She remains calm externally, but he can hear the turmoil in her voice- just beneath the surface.
"It's all comin' back now, the way Ah hurt, the way Ah hated ya- but how Ah couldn't stop lovin' ya at the same time."
She curls her fingers through his, she grins when he squeezes back and turns his head to look at her. His crimson orbs pulsate and throb, she's never seen eyes so beautiful.
"All that doesn't matter now. Ya know why?"
His remorse chokes him for a moment, and when he finally speaks, his voice breaks. "Why, p'tite?"
"Cause Ah have ya back, swamp rat." She leans forward until their foreheads connect. "And Ah'm never lettin' ya go again."
Her hands go to either side of his face, and their lips mingle hungrily.
They break apart after a spell, but instead of catching her breath and continuing like he so wants to do, Rogue slaps her knee and laughs.
He pinches her sides until she yelps and begs for mercy; knowing instinctually, perhaps because of his own insecurity in the matter, that laughing at his bald head is easier than letting themselves wallow in this moment.
Somehow, they've slipped back into their old routine: it's like he never left, and she doesn't have this thing inside of her. They're deflecting just like always, and they both know it. Their method of coping is not helpful, and not even remotely healthy, but it's what they've always done. Their pain and troubles are like weeds, and instead of finding and destroying the root, they cover it with pretty roses and daises, friendly banter and light flirtation. But, they both know that some day, their pretty garden will be completely infected with the weeds. And that, when that day comes, it will be too late to salvage their roses and daises.
"Now tell me," he drawls lazily, "which are y' laughin' at: de fact dat I'm as bald as de Professeur, or de fact that your makin' out with a naked man in de middle of a park?"
"Both," she decides, and takes to the air. "Ah'll be right back with some clothes, shuga."
"Promise you'll hurry?" He hides his apprehension well beneath his arrogant smirk, but she's become more observant over the past few months. He's afraid something will go wrong and that she'll forget about him, or that she'll change her mind about loving him and never return.
He's an idiot.
She places another passionate kiss on his mouth. "Promise. " She smirks. "Ah'll bring ya a hat, too."
"Ha-ha. Make fun of de bald guy," but he's grinning just as brightly as she is.
...
The hand Jean keeps on his shoulder is like an iron vice, yet comforting at the same time. He'd pleaded with her for the past couple hours to go upstairs and rest, but she wouldn't have it. She sits in the chair next to him with her back straight and a determined glint in her turquoise eyes. She's a proud woman, no matter how exhausted she feels-she will not let any of them know it.
Scott can't help but look at the woman he married and feel admiration. As for himself, he can barely keep from jumping up and yelling in the Professor's serene face. He can't understand how Charles is taking this whole thing in stride. Logan's presence is missing and they can't get a lock on Rogue. Aren't they afraid? Or do telepaths become so desensitized from knowing the darkest thoughts of people around them that they learn to contain their emotions?
The cold, rational part of his brain tells him that yes: they are all most likely as apprehensive as he is right now, but they are just keeping it at bay for the time being. Why can't he? Where is Cyclops: the clear-headed leader?
For the first time in a long time, Scott craves the warmth and comfort his link with Jean had given him. But like their marriage, that reservoir has long since dried up.
After what seems like days of silence, Xavier lifts his head and removes the helmet. He and Jean each hold their breath.
"Follow me into the war room, I'm sure the rest of the team will like to hear this as well."
The two X-men exchange glances over their mentor's head. Xavier gives nothing away with his expression, they have no idea what to expect.
A mental 'telegram' is sent to the inhabitants in the mansion, and it takes only minutes for the present members to gather in the war room. Each individual chooses their seat around the metal table, each with varying degrees of anxiousness on their faces.
Charles wastes no time on dramatic silence. "There is good news, and there is bad news." He sighs, and steeples his fingers. "Logan and Rogue are alive, and as far as I can tell, Remy and Rogue seem to be together."
There is a tangible loosening of all the bodies in the room. However, they are still prepared for the bad news the Professor must deliver.
"The bad news is this: though I've been able to sense Logan, the signal is dim and I have not been able to make direct contact with him. The telepathic energy surrounding him is enormous, and the distance between him and us is great."
"How great, Professor?"
He does not answer at first. "Not on this earth, my dear Kitty. Or, to avoid preamble: our Wolverine is in space. Quite literally I'm afraid."
Her mouth falls open in stunned silence and her teammates gasp around her.
"How is that even possible? Could Rogue have…"
Xavier shrugs helplessly. "At this point, I can only hypothesize. Though that was my first guess, with Jean having been able to travel in space while she was Phoenix's host. However upon closer examination I sensed that the static around him is different from both Rogue and Phoenix's, leading me to believe this is the work of some outside interference."
"But…" Scott grows more and more concerned. "Who? And for what purpose?" He shakes is head, suddenly exhausted. No matter how astronomical the situation: it can never be just one life-changing drama thing at a time for them-multiple situations happening at once seemed to be the norm.
"I can only hope this and more questions will be answered when we retrieve Wolverine."
Kitty gulps. "You mean, we're like, going into space…?"
"That is the plan, my dear. I plan on enlisting the help of both Forge and-"
Beast enters with stacks of loose paper escaping his hands and pockets. "That may be unnecessary, Charles. If the readings on the satellites are correct, which they always are, well, besides the unfortunate incident with Mr. Drake freezing the receptors on the roof last summer-"
"Please, Hank. Stay focused."
The furry doctor clears his throat sheepishly and continues. "Pardon me. Simply put, the receptors are picking up massive movements approximately five miles outside of the hemisphere-"
"Meaning?" Scott snaps.
"An unidentified air craft with incredible power is on its way to earth. Towards us to be more specific."
You could hear a pin being dropped.
Paris, 2014.
The gut-wrenching feeling that plagued her during the flight returns with near brutality. She shivers and the downpour outside increases and pounds relentlessly against the tin roof. Her emotions are in too much torment for her to even attempt calming the weather.
Up the narrow staircase she goes. The steps creak and the buzzing light washes everything in a sickly, yellow glow.
She reaches the decrepit door to the apartment in question. She can't help but begin to re-think her rash decision to come here. What if Logan and the others are right? Can her long-time friend and unrequited love really be too far gone to save? Perhaps they are correct in their theories, but she finds herself not caring. She knew the very day of his disappearance that she could not rest until she found him, and at least tried helping him.
She knocks, and waits.
And waits.
And waits.
She tries again, this time much faster and more rapidly. Still nothing.
"Remy?" She knows there won't be an answer, because even if he's heard her, he probably won't come to the door.
And so she has no choice but to break in. She still knows how to pick-locks, that particular talent is something she can never forget. It takes only minutes, the lock is poor quality and her growing adrenaline rush makes her mind sharper.
The door creaks horribly as she pushes it open, and she winces at all the noise it makes.
"Remy?" Her voice goes into the darkness and disappears.
She chances a step inside. "Remy?" She shouts, knowing that if he's here, he has to have heard her.
Sure enough, a pair of glowing orbs appear from nowhere. A light flips on, she gasps at this ragged, thin man. This can't be Remy, not her Remy.
But he's never been hers—has he?
His face remains expressionless. "Never thought I'd be seein' y'all again. De rest of dem with y'?"
She can barely hear him above the roar of her heart. "N-no. Just me."
He nods, and heads to the tiny kitchen, never straightening from his slouch; feet dragging heavily on the floor. "Wanna beer? S'all I got."
This is not how she imagine this meeting would go. She expected hugs and tears, maybe even kisses...but not this. Not his detached demeanor. Five years he's been gone, and the only thing he can do is offer her a beer?
She shakes her head, and looks around the one-bedroom apartment. Beer cans and other various liquor bottles litter the cracked floor. His blankets are strewn carelessly across the dirty-looking sofa. The ashtray is completely overflowing, some buds flowing over onto the small table it rests on. Judging from the smell of the place, he hasn't cleaned in years, if ever. And judging by his own appearance, he hasn't been cleaning himself either.
The thought of the proud, handsome man he'd once been compared to what he's become makes her head throb, and she begins to weep into her hands.
She hadn't expected it to be this bad. She hadn't expected to find him in this decrepit state.
She's greatly underestimated his love for the belle.
Present Day.
She's greatly underestimated his love for the belle.
Everything she tells him about the current situation seemingly goes in one ear and out the other. He is unconcerned that the woman's mental state is entirely unstable, or that she can destroy both himself and his family. The one known as Wolverine remains extremely loyal and protective of the woman, and Lilandra knows she will not be able to deter him from protecting her.
She can only hope some of his teammates will see the truth in her warnings, and join her quest.
But she doubts it. If the rest of the X-men are like this one, this mission will be even more difficult than she'd originally planned.
"How much longer?" He leans against the jelly-like wall, his restraints long removed. He puffs a cigar, despite Lilandra's voiced dislike of smoke.
"We'll reach your home within minutes. Our ship has sent a message to your people, hopefully they will let us land without aggression."
"Once they find out what's happened…"
"We'll come to that when I meet with them, won't we?"
Shrugging, he decides not to push the lady any harder. After all, she and her strange crew have treated him decently, and that's something a prisoner can't expect often.
Hell, if the woman wasn't trying to off his teammate, he'd like to get to know this princess a little better…
"Majestrix," a uniformed man enters the room, arm across his chest. "They have granted access. We'll be landing in two minutes and counting."
"Very well. You're dismissed."
The man nods and bows again, sending a curious glance to Logan before departing.
"You really need to get those suckers a new get-up. They look like damn fools."
She turns to regard him harshly, but a smile breaks across her pale lips before she can stop it. "They do not wear those uniforms for fashion, Logan, they wear them for practicality and the representation of our nation, Aerie."
"Yeah, yeah. You told me that earlier, remember?"
"I recall that conversation, yes. What I do not understand, is how you find it acceptable to judge them, while your uniforms are made of…'spandex', I believe it's called."
He raises his eyebrows. Well would you look at that, maybe miss Ice-Princess has a sense of humor after all.
"Prepare for landing." A voice drones on the intercom.
Lilandra nods to a seat next to her, and Logan follows suit.
The massive ship somehow fits in the hangar, and Logan can see the X-men from the window, uniformed and ready for whatever comes their way.
They land and the door drops open. Logan steps out, putting some of his teammates' worries to rest.
Lilandra is close behind him, two guards on either side of her. "You must be Charles Xavier. What an honor it is to meet you."
"The honor is all mine, your highness." He takes her hand and places a kiss on it.
If Logan didn't know any better, he'd think 'ole Chuck is flirting with the broad.
When the rest of the introductions are made, Xavier invites Lilandra and her escorts inside, to a 'more comfortable place for discussion'. Their politeness is only a cover for the discomfort they feel.
"What can you tell us about Rogue?" They've barely entered the war room before Scott pounces on the princess.
"Cyclops," Xavier scolds, "please. I'm sure our guest is weary from her long journey."
"No," she sighs, sitting next to the Professor's chair, "he's right. Unfortunately, this trip allows no time for pleasantries."
"Very well. What have you come to tell us Lilandra? And why was Logan necessary for your purpose?"
Wolverine grunts from the corner of the room.
"Logan's presence on my ship, though enjoyable, was not planned by any means. You see, we'd been on earth for some time, searching for Phoenix, or, as you know her, Rogue."
The faint good-nature the X-men had completely disappears.
She continues nonetheless. "I'd been keeping a close eye on her, and wanted to evaluate her mental state. I tried peeking inside her mind." She winces and holds her temple, as if remembering an old pain. "As soon as my force touched her walls, Phoenix was instantly on alert, and she lashed out in fear and confusion. Logan was critically injured during this ordeal, and for that, I am greatly sorry. We brought him with us, but soon discovered our endeavors were not necessary, as Logan has amazing regenerative abilities. Rogue, however, may have suffered some mental trauma...but it could not have been helped. She was prepared to chase down our ship, and we were forced to flee.
"However, before I lost consciousness I was able to feel the temperament of her mind, and the news is grave. Phoenix has completely fused her mind with Rogue's, thus eliminating any chance of your friend's survival."
Scott shoots up, fists curled against his sides. "You mean you just tried breaking into her mind, like it was nothing? She could be out there hurting because of you!"
"Phoenix's pain is of no concern to me. If we are lucky, the probe may have weakened her."
Both Warren and Bobby go on defense. Only Jean, Betsy, and the professor show no outward displays of outrage.
"And who, understand I mean this with the utmost respect, are you to decide the fate of our friend?" Had he not said it so politely, Lilandra might have been insulted by the Beast's inquiry.
"Of course, how forgetful of me. I am Princess Lilandra Neramani of the Shi'ar empire. Phoenix once served my people millions of years ago. But, she has lost her focus, and has become a dangerous monstrosity. She cares not who she hurts or what planet she destroys so long as she gets what she desires. My father, my father's father, and so on, have all dedicated their lives to stopping her, no matter the cost. And now, this duty has befallen me. For two years I have been searching, and finally, I've found her. I will destroy her, and, while I'd like your support and possibly your assistance, I will not abandon this mission, should you not agree."
Scott looks to the professor, waiting for him to throw this insane woman out. He waits for Storm to offer to come with him to search for Rogue. He waits for any of his teammates to disapprove as strongly as he does.
"This is ridiculous. Professor, tell her we've got this taken care of. Jean and Betsy can-"
"She nearly destroyed our minds, Scott," Jean murmurs. "There isn't a telepath on this planet strong enough to contain her."
His heart drops to his stomach. "Then, what are you saying?"
"No one is saying anything, Scott. We're just discussing." He turns to Lilandra. "We don't have much of decision, as I take it?"
"That is not the case. You can either help us stop her, or you cannot. Whichever you choose, Phoenix will be destroyed."
"If you could just give us some time-"
"There is no time! Already she walks this earth, in the body of a normal woman. Do you realize that within a blink of an eye, she could destroy both this planet and the surrounding planets as well? And it would not phase her. She'd simply find another galaxy to wreak havoc upon."
"You mentioned earlier that Phoenix has fused her mind with Rogue's. This did not occur when she inhabited Jean. Does this not show Rogue has some control over the situation?"
Lilandra sighs. "I knew you'd catch that particular point. But don't you see? If Rogue had control, why did she destroy part of your mansion? Why did she nearly kill Logan?"
"Now that ain't far," Logan snaps. "If you hadn't a been poking your nose around in her mind, she wouldn't of gone all psycho."
"Even so-"
"If I'm not mistaken," Hank begins, "Your people have a custom, an oath that cannot be broken? I seem to remember reading up on this when our Jean was inhabited by Phoenix, in the hopes of learning more about what we were dealing with."
The feathers atop her head quiver. "Don't you dare utter those words! This is not just my life or my peoples' lives at stake, it's the entire universe! All the galaxies! I will not have those lives on my head!"
Charles reads the words from Hank's mind. "I see. If I were to say these words, you would have to fight us for Rogue's life in a duel."
"Yes," she grounds out through her teeth. "But before you do, I suggest you really think about what you're about to do, Charles Xavier."
It takes him only moments to decide, his only hesitation being the unexplainable and fierce connection he and the princess formed when their minds very first connected. It's as if they've met somewhere before, possibly in a dream?
He murmurs the sacred oath, giving no further time to fantasies.
"You are a fool, Charles. A brave fool, but a fool nonetheless." She stands, fury making her pale cheeks red.
"You have twenty-four hours to find her and bring her back here. My subordinates will begin enhancements on our plane to provide space travel." Her monotone is more frightening than her earlier shows of emotion. "We will take us to an uninhabited location, where no population will be threatened."
"Thank you, Lilandra."
"Do not thank me for putting all of our lives in grave danger." She stops in the door to look at him. "I do not plan on losing."
"Nor do we."
And they leave just as suddenly as they'd arrived. So much had been decided in such a small period of time, Scott feels his head spinning.
"So what are we waiting for?" Scott can barely keep the relief from his voice.
Wolverine growls in agreement, the animal in him yearning for the upcoming fight.
"None of you truly comprehend this," Jean hisses, and leaves.
Charles can only hope he hasn't let his heart doom them all.
...
She carries him bridal style, delighting in his shivers and cries.
"How much longer," he whines.
"We're here, shuga."
She lands near the river, not wanting to draw attention to herself and her lover. Their feet sink into the muddy bank, and the smell makes her eyes water.
Though she's been away for five years, this is still home, and she hasn't realized how much she missed the sticky air and the mighty river until now.
She isn't sure why or when she decided to bring him here. But, during the tiny space of time in which she'd left to find him clothes, to her return, she'd fallen madly in love with the cajun all over again and wanted to show him somehow. She's tired of the secrets and the lies. God, she'd almost lost him for good, and he'd never even seen where she'd grown up.
She wants him inside of her, in every context of the phrase, and what better place to start than her childhood?
Remy is more than willing to accompany her, eager to see this part of her, this hidden tidbit she's never confided in him before.
She grins up at him, he takes her hand.
He can't help getting slightly excited and nervous. "What's y' mère like?"
"Dunno. She died when Ah was little."
"Desole, chère ."
She smiles as he kisses her cheek. "No need to apologize."
"An y' père?"
A dark cloud passes over her face and her eyes lose some of their spark. "He died a few years back."
"Don' remember y' goin' to a funeral…" something tells him he should just stop speaking, but the way her face looked when he asked about her father fills him up with dread.
"That's 'cause Ah didn't go. Me an' him…" she bites her lip, she wants to tell him so badly, but—being closed off for all these years has proved more comfortable than exhibiting vulnerability.
He stops walking and tugs on her hand. "Thought we got passed all dat lyin' and dem secrets?"
The words leave her chest and fill her mouth, but her lips won't part. And so she reverts back to old ways, and lashes out at him.
"What do ya want me to say, huh? He was a pervert, Remy. He liked kids." The truth starts to flood and she can't stop it. "He threatened to kill me if Ah ever told. He used to just do it at bath time, but that changed the older Ah got. He beat me if Ah didn't swallow it, he told me Ah was dirty and that good little Christian girls always did what their Daddies told them."
Sometime during her confession, she forgot about Remy and the things around her. But now, she looks at his blanched face and quivering mouth and she can't stand it.
She drops his hand and runs to the bank, vomiting in the river and sobbing all at once.
Remy's own eyes produce tears and he holds her hair back. Saying: "Dat bastard, dat bastard-" over and over again.
She falls back against his chest, closing her eyes and letting herself get lost in the feel of his lips against her temple.
"Why y' been keepin' somethin' like dat a secret for, girl?"
"Cause Ah'm a fool, cause Ah didn't wanna think about it, cause ah was…scared."
"Scared of him?"
"No, Ah stopped bein' scared of him a long time ago. Ah was scared of what people would think. Of what you would think. Ah didn't want ya thinkin' that Ah was weak, that Ah didn't fight back."
He's silent for a long time. And then: "Y' are a fool."
They continue on for some time.
Her hand tightens in his as they glance up the hill to the big white house. It was surrounded by a fancy iron fence. The gates are decorated with complicated designs.
"This is it," she breathes. There is something false about her smile. "This is where Ah grew up."
He doesn't give her an answer, he's too overwhelmed to come up with a response. She's bringing him to her first home, the place she was raised. In a way, she's letting him see her childhood. She's letting him inside, letting him peek into her past.
It's more than he's ever done for her.
He can just imagine it: a younger, less curvaceous Rogue, wandering these hills with overalls and scabs on her knees. Her hair would've been in braids and her cheeks splattered with mud.
"See that window? The one on the left? That was my room. Ah got to paint it myself. Ah had this brilliant idea of mixing all these colors together, thinkin' it would make some cool, multi-colored shade." She chuckles at the memory. "It turned a real ugly brown, and Ah never really got around to changin' it."
And on it goes, she narrates her tales and adventures to him without taking a step towards the house.
He completely understands why she doesn't want to venture closer.
"Chère ," he asks when she goes silent and they sit on the grass. "What happened after y' left?"
She plays with the frayed hem of her shirt. "My aunt Irene showed up one day, right outta the blue. She was a precog, so Ah imagine she knew what was goin' on. She asked me if Ah wanted to go with her, Ah said yes, an' she took me up to her mansion in northern Mississippi. Daddy tried gettin' me back a few times, but she said she'd tell the police what he'd done if he ever bothered us again." She brushes her hair away from her face, and revels in the cool shade the tree above them provides. "It's weird, even after all he'd done, Ah still loved him, still felt bad for him. Am Ah… am Ah messed up or what?"
"Non." He chuckles dryly. "Y' not messed up, chère . For some reason I'll never understand, I still love m' own père, even though I fucking hate him at de same time. Dats messed up."
She chuckles and lets her head fall to his broad shoulder. "Guess we're just two messed up kids in love, huh?"
He grins. "Guess so. Mais, I like it like dat, don' y'?"
She nods, and he kisses her beneath the tree.
Paris, 2014.
He scratches the back of his head awkwardly. "Uh, de bathroom is over dere if y' wanted to clean yo'self up…"
"What happened to you?" She's becoming hysterical. She should go into the bathroom and calm herself down like he suggested, but she can't. She's loved this man too long to just give up on him, why can't he see how much she loves him? Has always loved him?
She won't let herself think that maybe he does know, and just doesn't care. That thought is too painful, and she's too stubborn; too determined.
"I don' t'ink comin' here was a good idea." His face has turned to stone, the lazy slackness leaves his lanky form and he becomes stiff.
She recognizes that look, though she never thought she'd be on the receiving end of it.
"Is this what you do all day?" Thunder rumbles in the background. "Sit here and get drunk? Don't you have a job? Don't you wash? Don't you care?"
Finally, anger sparks in his eyes. Not the emotion she wanted to get out of him, but any reaction is better than that blank, hopeless look.
"I cared once, I cared a lot. An' look where it got me, p'tite." He sweeps his hand across the room. She notices even more dirt and grime than before.
"It doesn't have to be this way, Remy," she murmurs. "Come back with me, just until you get on your feet. Please…I, I know Rogue, and she wouldn't want you living like this-"
At the mention of her name his face goes white, and he crumples to the ground right before her eyes. He sobs harshly and she kneels next to him. The weather goddess has never witnessed him in this state, not once has he allowed her privy to his true emotions…not like with Rogue…
"This isn't what she would have wanted for you." Now is not the time for that stirring of hatred.
He rips away from her harshly, his eyes blazing and burning. "An' y' t'ink I do? D'y' t'ink I like livin' like dis?"
"Then don't." She reaches for him again, and when he doesn't shy away, she wraps her arms around his shoulders. "Live, Remy. Pull yourself together, accept the help I'm offering you!"
"I can't," he cries into her breast. "'Ro I can't, it hurts too bad! I-I," his tears flow freely and he can't finish. He hasn't said the words aloud in so many years…he can't do it now. All he wants is to stop hurting, to get drunk, to sleep.
"How many times must I tell you? It wasn't your fault. You did what you had to, Remy! She was too far gone at that point. She would have killed us, she would have killed you!"
He's stopped crying, but does not release his hold on her. "Death…death sounds like a blessin' right about now."
Her lip trembles and she shakes him. "Don't you dare talk like that, Remy LeBeau! Do you hear me? You're not going to die, I won't let her take you away from me again!" She pulls him even closer, as if shielding him from the rest of the world around them. "She may be gone, but you're still breathing. And I'm going to keep it that way."
And so he lets her lead him, lets her fight for the life he no longer wants.
She's like a barrier between him and the memories. The memories of the horrible day he murdered the love of his life.
We're just crawling Angels and Demons disguised. The truth you don't know so try to be sure when your Angels and Demons arise. But we're still not sure which way we should go when the Angels and Demons disguise. Just confusing our brains with their lies. Enticing emotions, revolting devotions. The Angels and Demons telling me lies! ~Angels and Demons- Angra