Give 'em Hell, Kid
Oh baby here comes the sound! I took a train outta New Orleans and they shot me full of ephedrine. This is how we like to do it in the murder scene. Can we settle up the score? If you were here I'd never have a fear. So go on live your life, but I miss you more than I did yesterday. You're beautiful! ~Give 'em Hell, Kid - My Chemical Romance
New Orleans, Louisiana. 2017.
He pulls away from his family and the remaining X-men, complaining of a headache. "I'll meet y'all at de church," he murmurs.
The day had been chock-full of last minute preparations, wardrobe tweaks, flower arrangement melt downs, and stupid, clueless guests he doesn't even know.
Mercy and Tante regard him with pity all day. They've always known more than they like to let on.
He's always assumed his wedding (if he ever decided to settle down of course) would be simple and quiet. All he would need is a pastor and the woman he loves by his side. If she wanted a big wedding, however, he'd give it to her, but he never saw her as that type. If he had his way, his tux wouldn't be stiff and uncomfortable like it is now. And his bride wouldn't have stuffed herself into a too-small, ridiculously decorated get-up that makes him want to laugh and cry at the same time.
Instead of pulling her white locks back from her head and clipping it in a bun, his bride would wear her chestnut curls down, free and hanging by her breasts. He'd find burning love and passion in her emerald eyes, not tamed contentment in icy blue ones. And her porcelain skin would glimmer in the light just like always, he'd resist the urge to kiss her supple, red lips before the preacher even began-
He goes pale at the direction of his thoughts. Once again feeling guilt that Ororo has to love a shadow of a man.
After entering the house and trying to regain his composure, Remy stops and looks into the old, bronze-trimmed mirror along the wall.
As a child, he'd made faces in that mirror and smeared all kinds of things on it. As a teenager, he'd popped the rare pimple and checked his hair before a date. And now, as he looks into the mirror a grown man, his eyes close because he does not like the pathetic, helpless person staring back at him.
"I always knew y' was touched."
"What y' doin' in here, Tante?" He turns from the mirror as a sign of respect, and rests his eyes on her old frame. She is thin and twisted from arthritis now, no more than a bag of bones. She's in a wheel chair all the time , and half the size she used to be, but her black eyes are still witty and sharp, and she reads him just as easily as she's read him his entire life.
She doesn't dignify his question with a response. "De day yo' daddy die, he tell me dis: 'Mattie, dat boy touched. If he shows up t' bid me farewell, kill me first, cause dat a devil child and he'll steal my soul.'"
He raises his eyebrow, uninterested in anything having to do with Jean-Luc. "An' what did y' say?"
"I said he was a damn fool, dats what I say." She snorts and wraps her withered fingers around the armrest. "Y' see, I knew y' was touched, mais not de kind of touched y' père an' other folk thought. From de very minute I saw y' huddled in dat alleyway, I knew y' were somethin' special."
A wave of love he hasn't felt for Tante, or anyone else for that matter, in so very long washes over him suddenly and he wonders how he ever left this woman's side. They've survived so much, he and Tante, and they are both here, breathing and going on. Living on the streets, losing the love of their life: they have so much in common, so much to reminisce about. Why have they never confided in each other before?
"It didn't matter how mean dey were or what dey said, y' knew y' were special an' didn't care 'bout dem other folks, til one day." Her sagged cheeks fall, tears form in the corners of her eyes. "De night y' killed dat boy, de spirits around y' changed. Y' were exiled before I got de chance to protect y', an' I'm sorry fo' dat."
Remy smiles and shakes his head. "Wasn't nothin' y' coulda done, Tante. What happens, happens. Remy survived."
"Did y', boy?" Her gaze strips him of all lies and he stands before her, bared. Oh, yes-this is why he never confided in her, because Mattie Rose is one woman that can't be charmed, distracted, or lied to. And, now that he thinks about it, he doesn't want to lie or charm her. For once, just one time in his entire life, he wants the chance to be completely honest.
He wants to show Tante the honesty he never showed Rogue.
"I watched dat girl, watched her like I was a hawk. I was waitin' for a sign, for de spirits to whisper in my ear, mais she disappeared an' I knew I was too late."
He frowns, suddenly confused. "What girl? Too late for what?"
She rolls her eyes, impatient at his slowness. "De girl y' were meant t' marry, de girl dat cursed y' with her own life."
Oxygen leaves his lungs and he trembles. "Belle. Y' talkin' 'bout Belle."
She nods, her chin trembling from exhaustion. It's been a long time since she's spoken this much, but she knows it's almost time and she has to tell him this before it's her turn to rest. "I lived on de bayou for forty years, I grew up wit magic: good magic, black magic, an' everyt'ing in between. Curses are especially easy to sense, I can smell one from a mile away."
He takes in her determined stance and tears, and he laughs. "Wait, y' tryin' to say someone put a curse on moi?"
"Belladonna put a curse on y', I-" She whips out her cane from nowhere and shakes it at him. "Boy if y' don' stop laughin' at me, I'll beat y' like y' was little!"
He clears his throat sheepishly and motions for her to continue.
She glares at him a little longer before speaking. "De curse she put on y' is rare, mainly because suicide is de only way to activate de curse."
The remainder of Remy's smirk slides from his face and he's left in a state of realization and painful shock. "Non…"
What he's thinking can't be true, no matter how much sense it makes. He believes in magic, voodoo, curses and all that, how can't he? Growing up where he did means believing in spells and witches, and respecting those who have the power to wield such abilities.
Belladonna didn't have that kind of power, her soul was too shallow and her mind too dim. She couldn't have cursed him, her suicide had been just that: a suicide.
But then he begins to remember the words she'd spat at him: "Y' a selfish man, Remy LeBeau…"
Tante does not say anything, does not offer comfort or an explanation. She just watches him with those endless, black eyes. He feels faint, he can't stand up anymore.
"It may not be now, it may not be twenty years from now, mais someday de God y' don' believe in is gonna make y' pay."
He should have recognized the words, such a simple chant. He should have watched, he could have seen the power crackling from her fingers. And her eyes, the way they'd captured the moon's light had not been normal.
Using her own life as payment, she'd cursed him. Sinister, the Morlocks, the death and anguish and shit that had racked his life after that night is all because of her, isn't it? He isn't one to push the blame on others, he can see his own faults, but did he really deserve that much? If Belle hadn't cursed him that night, would things be different? Would he have some sort of success to show for his life? Would he be happy? Would he still have her?
"Someday de lord is gonna hurt y' like you've hurt so many people."
And hurt he has. He's hurt for years, every day, every second of every minute of every hour. When he lost his woman, his Roguey, he lost everything, he's nothing without her.
It hits him out of the blue, and causes him to weep. It all makes sense now, he understands why Tante has to tell him this.
Rogue.
He shall never receive peace from her memory, will he? There will always be something or someone that reminds him of her. He'll never be able to watch the cherry blossoms flitter to the ground without thinking of her innocence, he'll never be able to examine an emerald without thinking of her eyes.
He's cursed, and it's so simple yet so complex it blows his mind.
"Belle's curse is de reason Rogue's dead, isn't it, Tante?" His voice sounds tired and hollowed out, even to his own ears.
"I can't say dat fo' sure, her fate could have already been decided before Belle made de curse."
"Mais it's de reason I can't let her go, it has to be! Why else would I feel dis terrible every day of my life? Why am I dyin' inside?"
His eyes plead with her for some kind of answer, but she doesn't have one to give.
She wheels over to the kneeling, weeping man and rests her hand on his shoulder. "She died for dat curse cause she had nothin' left, she made it powerful. It could be de cause of de green-eyed girl's death, it could be why her death is still so painful, or it could be somethin' different all together. All I can say is dat de only way to lift dat curse is wit death. A life for a life."
He lifts his head and buries it in her lap. "I'm so tired of hurtin', Tante. I'm so tired of livin' without her."
"Ain't no rest for de weary, chile." She pats his head, connecting herself to the spider web of dark energy surrounding him. "A life for a life," she repeats.
By the time he understands it's too late. Tante is dead and he can feel that his soul has been freed.
His vision goes black.
Well I'm a total wreck and almost every day. Like the firing squad or the mess you don't I look pretty walking down the street in the best damn dress I own? If you were here I'd never have a fear. So go on live your life, but I miss you more than I did yesterday. You're so far away. ~Give 'em Hell, Kid- My Chemical Romance
His vision goes black.
He wakes in a hard bed hours later, bruised and disoriented. The monitors beep at steady intervals and the white sheet feels more like sandpaper than cloth. He even hears Hank shuffling papers and smells the coffee brewing in the doctor's office.
He's definitely in the med lab, but what for? The last thing he remembers, he and Rogue were-
Rogue.
He sits up, ignoring his protesting back, and searches the room with wild eyes. It takes him only seconds to discern that Rogue is not in the room with him, and his first reaction is to think the worst: were they in another battle he can't remember? Is she dead?
He pulls the tape from the IV's and rips the tubing harshly from his arm, splattering droplets of blood across the too-white sheet. His hands shake, and when he scoots to the side of the bed and hops up from the side, the world turns upside down and he must lean against the flimsy mattress to stop himself from falling over.
After a few deep breaths things stop spinning around him, but the fatigue doesn't leave his legs, and his hands don't stop trembling. He must have gotten hurt pretty bad to be this weak. Even a hard knock to the head wouldn't have him-The Indestructible Gambit-feeling this badly.
Deciding to take his time, he sits back on the bed and tries remembering past the last five minutes. He and Rogue…he and Rogue what? He recalls the feeling of her curvaceous body molding into his hands, the heat and passion of her lips, and then: nothing. No pain, no fighting, just pleasure and ecstasy. Now he's here, wrapped in a hospital gown that smells like it's had better days, and a soreness in his muscles that leads him to believe he's been here longer than a couple days.
Whatever happened to send him here, his gut is telling him Phoenix has something to do with it. Doesn't she always? But this obvious fact does not explain exactly why he's here, or where the hell Rogue is or if she's okay.
She must be hurt, too, why else would she not be here, watching over him while he recovers?
He pushes all negative thoughts from his mind and focuses at the task at hand. Steadying himself, he puts one foot in front of the other. His head throbs but he makes progress before running into an invisible wall. Ouch.
The hopeful pounding of his heart disappears as Jean rounds the corner instead of Rogue. "What's de big idea?" He ridicules, motioning at the telekinetic wall. "What if I had broken dis perfect nose a' mine?"
The red-head snorts and retracts the shield. "Now get back to bed, you shouldn't be up."
He ignores her request. "Isn't it Hank's job to patrol the patients?"
"Yes, but he needs a little help with the more difficult ones, and that's why I'm here." She takes his arm and leads him the few feet back to the bed. "It was a good attempt by the way, trying to change the subject like that." She ignores the glare he sends her and pushes him back against the pillows.
"Y' sayin' I'm difficult?"
She smirks and pulls a fresh pair of clothes from the pantry. "I had 'Ro bring you some fresh clothes. Wanna shower or something?"
His pulsating eyes flash naughtily. "Aren't patients supposed to get sponge baths from de nurses?"
"Good thing I'm not a nurse," she deadpans.
The Cajun slumps in the bed with true disappointment. "Oh well, maybe Roguey will give me one, neh?"
Something like a wince goes over her face, but she smothers it before he can get a good look.
"I'm going to put these in the bathroom, I'll be right back."
The apprehension comes back and he needs to know where Rogue is. "Is Rogue sleepin'?"
"And don't get out of bed!" She walks through the glass doors to the med lab bathroom without stopping to answer him.
He knows now that something is horribly, terribly wrong, and he won't be able to wait for Jean's return to figure this all out.
It isn't as painful or tiring to get out of bed this time, and by the time he reaches the end of the room and goes into the hallway he's walking normally. Despite the ease, sweat forms on his skin and he leans heavily on the wall for support. But he won't rest until Rogue is here, laying beside him.
He finds her right where she said she'd be, in the bathroom reserved for patients. Her back is towards him, she's already started the shower. His gaze goes briefly over her lithe body and he tries to hide all traces of exhaustion.
"T'inkin' 'bout joinin' me in dere, p'tite?"
She gasps and whips around, her red hair surrounding her like a moving, liquid flame, it's quite a breathtaking sight.
She's beautiful, is she not?
He's always noticed that Jean's attractive, but he's been so thoroughly wrapped up in Rogue since he'd come to the mansion, he's never really noticed just how gorgeous she is.
"You scared me half to death!" Her brows come together in a frown, he loves it when she gets angry...doesn't he?
"And what the hell are you doing out of bed, I told you to-" As soon as her hands touch his chest lighting strikes, and for a moment all he wants to do is undress her and shove her in the shower with him.
It's only natural. Feral, instinctual human need.
It's obvious from the reddening of her cheeks that she feels this strange, unfamiliar lust as well. "Y' don' wan' me to fall over in dere, do y'?" The words leave his mouth in a much huskier tone than he imagined in his head. Confusion makes his thinking slow, she comes closer before he can stop her. Being this near to her is not good for some reason, he shouldn't- but he needs her, he needs her and Rogue abandoned him—
Sweet, mortal child. You always knew this would happen, do not feign ignorance now. She's too good for you. Why would an incredible being such as my precious Rogue choose you when she can own the galaxies?
"Remy, you're going to get sicker." She leans in even closer, his hands seemingly form a mind of their own and touch the small of her back, then her waist, his thumb presses into the sensitive flesh beneath her hip bone and she whimpers.
It's her whimper that eradicates all sense of thought and reality, and Remy does not want to deny this feeling any longer. His hands run all over her, his mouth hovers above hers. "I'm gonna kiss y', Jean."
He does as he says and their tongues mingle together. He's here for something, he needs to ask her something, but all his mind can process is this heated lust and the feeling of Jean's hand against his stomach.
In a hot frenzy, the fatigue he felt earlier leaves him and he lifts the thin woman easily, pressing her against the wall and pushing her legs apart to grant him access.
"Remy, no, we can't-" But she's putting up the same resistance as putty in his hands.
His fingers knead the inside of her thigh, rising higher and higher until her teeth clamp down around her knuckle and she finally can't stop herself from begging him for more. He gives her more. He plays with the spots he knows will drive her crazy, especially through clothing. He likes the sounds of her pleasure, but he's strangely detached: like he's not really here, like he's watching a movie through the actor's eyes. It all seems surreal, like a dream.
Nothing wrong…just instinct my darling…
Faster than either of them expected, Jean's clothing piles on the floor and Remy takes advantage of all that exposed flesh. He touches her in ways that make her stomach muscles contract, and uses his mouth to kiss and nibble her while his hands are full.
Just touch, just feeling, just sensation—
It isn't long before all his undivided attention shoots Jean to the top, and she melts in his oh-so experienced hand.
Her release spurs him on all the more, he suckles her bottom lip harshly. He knows he must take her, knows he can no longer ignore the need wreaking havoc in his very bones.
He pauses, and looks down at her. Her cheeks are flushed and her lips are swollen. Desire has made her pupils dilate and her breathing rate soar. But when he focuses, when he takes the time to look at this situation and really think, it makes no sense. There is fear and confusion along with lust in her sea-colored eyes, and before he knows it he's pulled away from Jean.
He backs away from her like she's a predator and he's a scared animal. When his back hits the wall he turns away from her, nausea rocks his stomach. He holds his head in his hands, trying to separate emotion and want from thought and logic. Jean's attractive, she's beautiful, though he's admittedly a man more attracted to curves, but he's never wanted her like this.
When he turns back to face her she's muffling her cries in her hands, her discarded shirt is wrapped around her chest.
"I'm so sorry, Remy." He tries to sympathize with the remorse in her wavering voice, but all he can do is watch and try to ease the horrible feeling bubbling in his gut. "I knew, and I still let something like this happen-"
"What are y' tryin' to say, Jean?" He tries to sound calm, but his burning eyes give him away. "Stop wit all de bullshit. Tell me where de hell Rogue is and why dat just happened."
The red-head nods and steels herself against all her emotions. "Phoenix is powerful, but she's still in the body of another, meaning there's still some resistance. Rogue has one of the most intricate and difficult minds I've ever worked with, and the Professor thinks the same. In order to achieve full assimilation, Phoenix has to break Rogue's will, no friends, no family, no you. You're the only reason Rogue is still fighting Phoenix's hold. If Rogue loses trust in you-"
It all makes sense now, and he can barely speak around the rage fuming inside of him. "She did dis, didn't she?"
Jean's lip trembles, she nods. "I tried avoiding you, I knew something was going on—just like I knew Phoenix never really left Rogue. She was only waiting for you to leave, Remy. She's the player and we're all just pawns in her game." Jean pulls her blouse over her head. "I'll bet anything she's forcing Rogue to see what just happened. The less allies Rogue feels like she has, the easier assimilation will be." Her control shatters and her cries start where they left off. "-but she's so powerful, and it's been so long since Scott and I…since we-"
'Giggle.'
"And Rogue? Where is she?" He knows cutting her off is cruel, but he's in no mood to discuss the fact that, not too long ago, Scott didn't have time to fulfill his duties as a husband because he was too busy performing afore mentioned duties on Rogue, or thinking about those duties with Rogue.
She runs a hand through her mussed hair. "I don't know details, Rogue was hysterical when she brought you to the med lab."
"Try." Desperation makes his tone harsh.
"Everything was normal, then in the middle of the night Rogue began screaming. Of course we all got up to investigate, but by the time we found you she'd already teleported to Hank. She said she blacked out, and when she came to, you were on the ground, completely unconscious."
"What was wrong wit me?"
She shakes her head. "We're not completely sure yet. There was some obvious physical damage, like bruises and cuts, but the real trouble was your mind. You suffered severe mental trauma."
He can only imagine the guilt his beloved must have felt. "So she just, left?"
"She never left your side at first, but the guilt made her mind slip and when we came down to check up on you, she was gone."
His head spins from all the information, but he still does not know where she could be. "Did y'all look for her? Did y' even try?"
"Of course we did! We searched for days on end! But Phoenix is in control now, Remy, and if she doesn't want to be bothered, she won't be."
His heart thuds in his chest. All this wasted time sleeping, he should have been out there searching for her! What if he was too late? What if he'd lost Rogue for good?
"How long I have been out, Jean?"
Her face fills with sympathy, and he knows her answer will kill him. "You've been out for three weeks, Rogue's been missing for two."
The haze around his mind fades suddenly, he'd been a fool. "I have to find her," he murmurs.
He runs from the room, leaving the woman alone with her tears and regrets.
...
"Make it stop. Now." Her head lolls to the side, her eyes fill with hurt.
The image of Remy, her Remy, kissing and touching another woman, Jean Grey no less, vanishes from sight, and the sympathetic face of Phoenix watches her from behind the dying oak.
"I didn't want you to see that, my love. Humans are fickle. I assume they wanted 'payback—'or whatever phrase it is mortals use in situations like this."
Rogue does not answer, instead she slides to the ground and looks around at her dying mindscape, wondering when everything had changed. The once lush fields and greenery that decorated her mind-world are all dead. The bark on the trees has turned black, the grass is patchy and brown, the sky is grey all the time and lighting strikes regularly.
Her mind hurts just like her heart hurts just like her soul hurts.
"I wish you would let me help you-"
"Ya can't help me," she snaps. Her nails dig into her own palms. "Yoah makin' things worse!"
Phoenix kneels next to the distraught belle, the only difference between them being the color of eyes and dress. "But I can." Her arms go around Rogue, she kisses the top of her head. "I can make all the pain go away, if you would just let me."
Rogue does not fight her embrace, instead she holds her back and weeps into her neck. "Ah love him, and Ah put him in a coma."
Fury sparks in her golden eyes, but she hides it and places another kiss on Rogue's plump lips. She can see why that human man would change his entire way of life for her. "You mustn't always take the blame, what about what he has done?"
Phoenix has a very distinct scent, and Rogue loses herself in it. It is fire and smoke, it is crushed earth and flowers, it is power and beauty-: all rolled into one. It fills her mind with images of what has been and what can be. The universe is her plaything, each individual planet, moon, and sun has the same significance as a marble.
Sensing her weakening, a slow, triumphant smirk appears on Phoenix's lips and thunder rumbles in the background.
"Let me take you away from here, far away. We can soar the galaxies together, travel to places you've never even dreamed of." Rogue goes even limper, Phoenix's hands travel over her breasts and send waves of pleasure washing over her. "I will love you, always. I will take care of you."
It sounds nice, so very nice. Despite her fiery attitude and infamous determination, all she's ever wanted is love. Simple, unconditional love. She wants to be protected for a while, to take a vacation from fighting and hiding and just rest.
"Let go, my love. Let me end your suffering and make you happy." Her finger travels from Rogue's breasts to her stomach, the waves of ecstasy follow, until Rogue is like dough in the being's grasp.
"Ah'm just so tired of it all." Even as she says this, a yawn escapes and her eyelids grow unbearably heavy.
"Then sleep. Dream of all the adventures we'll have, all the dimensions and times we can explore."
Rogue smiles as warmth cocoons her. She thinks of Remy, she hasn't forgotten him, he'll wait for her. She only needs a few hours of sleep to deal with the pain, then she'll be strong again, then she'll fight for she and Remy's love.
Phoenix brushes her hair back and gazes down at the slumbering beauty lovingly. "I'll never let any of them hurt you again, I promise you that." With that, she lifts Rogue easily and carries her to the middle of the field, where a tangle of roses and branches still live.
She sets Rogue down in the cushiony center, and when she pulls her hands away, the shrubbery crackles and twists around the belle, forming a sort of protective shell.
She turns away from the scene, her stride becoming more purposeful with every step she takes. A new power begins surging through her body, and she knows she's done it. The last tie connecting Rogue to her old life is gone: she finally gave in. And now, Phoenix has full control over this body, nothing can hold her back anymore.
She jumps into the river with a running start, and when she returns to the physical plane she's laying atop a building.
Her golden eyes scan over the city lazily, she can easily shut out all the thoughts and emotions of others that filter through her mind, but she chooses not to. She revels in the ability of knowing and seeing all, of being able to change and manipulate each individual like a chess piece.
Without hesitation, she steps off the eight-story building and rockets down to Earth at a startling speed. She comes to a stop just feet from the bottom, and lowers herself to ground gently.
The streets are chock full of humans, but none of them managed to see her recent feat. She joins one of the many mobs, blending in easily. A human male cannot seem to take his gaze off her, she basks in his lust before sending a telepathic attack to his mind. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk and screams, then drops to the concrete, blood pouring from his nose and ears.
She just continues on her way as those around her panic and call for help. He'd been quite the annoyance.
She notices things mortals can't. Like the sand and pebbles that make up the sidewalk, the stench of death following un-expecting humans. Foolish humans. They are around for only a short time, but the drama and unnecessary complications they create within their brief lives is of cosmic proportions. She'll enjoy feeding from this planet, from these humans.
A clothing shop catches her attention, and she frowns before venturing to look in the window. For some reason, the black dress with the red detailing makes her chest cavity ache. Nothing is physically wrong, which means the residue of Rogue's feelings and emotions is still quite strong.
It's twilight and they've just left a soul food restaurant. Remy has maintained a pleasant tipsy-ness instead of an all out drunken stupor for once, and their night has gone of, so far, without a hitch. It allows her to hope.
He spins around to face her, cheesing recklessly as he walks backwards to maintain eye contact.
"How'd I get so lucky? Walking aroun' New York wit de most beautiful girl the world's ever seen?"
She rolls her eyes, but his festive mood is infectious. The good vibes of the night are wrapping them both in warmth and giddiness and their characteristic clashing seems to have taken leave, for now anyway.
"Ah'm sure Ah don't know." But she is smiling, and grateful for him, too.
Reaching up and touching her cheek in confusion, Phoenix regards the moisture coming from her eyes in awe. Curiously, she licks her lips, she tastes salt. Tears.
The street lights shine high over head, and, drunk from the night: she gazes around and takes in her surroundings with a sweet ache in her chest. One shop in particular catches her eye, and Remy follows her stare before she can avert it.
"Y' like dat dress, p'tite?"
Rogue shoves her gloved hands in the pockets of her peacoat. "Maybe in another life," she grumbles, regretting even looking at all.
"Y' know," he pushes, noting the longing on her features when she'd been regarding the garment, "S' not as impossible as y' t'ink. An' y' could always play dress up for Remy."
He winks, and she can't help but to burst into laughter; his goofiness is truly irresistible.
"Offerin' to buy it for me, shug?"
He comes close, too close, but she's against the shop window now and his warm breath is intoxicated. "I'd buy you de world if y' let me. An' when y' get control-and oui, I said when, y' gotta promise to-"
She forces the flashback into submission, not willing to feed into this nonsense any longer. She'd been weeping for that fool.
She silently curses Remy LeBeau, but phases her hand through the glass and takes the dress anyway. She doesn't know what size it is, but Rogue's heart isn't listening to reason.
She ducks into an alleyway and strips off her jeans and ripped shirt. She pulls on the dress over her head, it fits like a glove and hangs just above her knees. The satiny material of the bodice clings to her frame, then falls away into loose, swaying ribbons of silk. And resting just beneath her breasts, is a thin line of red velvet.
She leaves her feet bare, then soars into the sky. She blocks all thoughts of crimson and coal eyes from her mind.
...
It will be the greatest battle to ever take place, making other wars seem small and insignificant.
Her hand can barely keep up with all the images of destruction and demise that flood into her mind. Death and chaos: the two things Phoenix loves most.
At least, before she met Rogue.
With that observation, more images come and she draws two Rogues.
One with vivid emerald eyes and matching slip, the other with hellish saffron eyes and a black slip. A bleeding, moving heart links the two of them together.
In all her wildest aspirations, such a strong bond forming between Rogue and Phoenix never entered her mind. Her goal had been for Phoenix to enter her body and cleanse the Earth, she'd never expected things to go so brilliantly.
There won't be any structures or signs of human life around them- only golden, swaying fields of wheat and the violet hue of the night.
She assumes this means the fight will begin far away, where the mortals assumed no one would get hurt.
Don't they understand that it isn't worth it? That no matter how far away they travel, Earth will still be fed upon and everyone will undoubtedly perish?
The skies will be black from smoke, with steady, raging fountains of flame surging up spasmodically.
She uses charcoals and red to create the skies of this day. In her vision, she chokes on the smog, her eyes water. She wonders, if by this point, she'll still be alive or not. She'd love to be there when this takes place in real-life, but she does not feel she will make it.
A mob of both mutants and humans come together and surround Phoenix. She'll be wearing a black dress, it will make her look even more ethereal. The dress will reveal the lily-white tops of her generous breasts, and the toned whiteness of her thighs and legs. The moon will make her pale skin appear luminous.
She isn't sure of the significance of the dress, or if it even means anything, but she thinks not. After all, Phoenix is a universal creature, who cares not for the frivolity of humans. The dress is probably worn out of sheer boredom, perhaps she'd grown curious.
Her glowing eyes will be the same color as melted gold, the dangerous smirk across her blood red lips does not waver, even after the battle begins and the mass around her attacks all at once.
The pages of her diary fill up faster and faster, she's never had a vision tire her so. Years ago, when Rogue still loved them and she'd had this vision for the first time, she'd fainted and hadn't woken up for days-it took that much out of her. But after years of experiencing this same thing over and over again, she can handle the immense power of knowing Earth's destiny.
She'd seen it weeks in advance that Rogue would accidentally absorb Mystique and find out the truth, well, the truth that was necessary. She'd known Rogue would leave them for the X-men, thus absorbing Jean Grey and sealing her fate.
She wonders sometimes if things would have been different if Rogue had absorbed her instead. Maybe if Rogue had been able to experience the supremacy and beauty of the future first-hand, she might have embraced her fate, instead of running from it.
The last page is colored with bright flares of orange, yellow and red: colors made to represent the final night of earth. The last explosion ends it all, everything is bathed in blinding light. Nature, cars, living things, non-living things, all will be swallowed whole by this light, no sound will be able to filter. Phoenix will delve into the core, and she will feed off all that the world has ever been.
She will lift her head from her meal, her wild mane will blow epically in the wind, and her torn dress will flap about her thighs.
The only thing still remaining from before the battle will be Phoenix and her twisted smirk.
Irene shudders, the book falls from her lap.
She'd like very much to hold Rogue one last time.
...
They return to Earth with triple the size of their original army, their armada blots out the light of the sun.
"Majestrix."
She turns to Gladiator and regards him lovingly. Sometimes, she looks at him and wants to weep. He's the only one of her Imperial Guard to survive, a constant reminder of her failure as a ruler. She let them down in a way, but their lives will not be in vain.
"They are ready for your message."
She nods. "Thank you, Gladiator."
He bows respectfully. In his opinion, it was his hesitation that caused his comrades their lives, and he will do anything to avenge them.
Televisions all around the world fizzle out, but then Lilandra's face appears on the screens and people stop what they're doing to watch this strange news cast.
"People of Earth, danger is upon you."
Mentor simultaneously translates the broadcasts based on the location in which the recording is being received.
Some think it is a joke, some watch in interest, some grow angry when they cannot turn the channel or shut their television off. One thing is true: by the end of the feed, all will fear for their life.
"You have been infiltrated by an extremely dangerous terrorist wanted by authorities across the galaxy."
Lilandra's speech comes to a close. "In conclusion: we are not here to hurt you, but to eradicate a very real threat that poses danger to both our worlds. Stay out of our way and this process will go smoothly."
The screen goes back to fuzz before shutting off.
Logan has never seen the serene, patient Professor really get angry before, but that changes today. Hands curl around the armrests of his wheelchair, his face and bald head go beat red. Charles is the embodiment of rage.
"Does she realize what she's doing? She's complicated things beyond repair! Now it's only a matter of time before the government and National Guard get involved, and then everything will go to ruin."
The rest of the team had congregated to his office during the lengthy 'broadcast', and stare at him helplessly now that it's over.
"What do we do?" Ororo asks simply, confident that, as usual, the Professor will be able to come up with the best answer to solve the problem.
He rests his chin on his hand, weariness taking the place of fury. "I do not know. This has gone farther than I ever imagined, and so much is at stake-"
"You're not saying what I think you're saying, are you?" Scott's hands bunch into fists, a vein in his forehead throbs.
"I'm not saying anything, Scott, just thinking aloud."
"What's to think about? Let's search for her like Remy is, let's fight for her!"
Not even Logan will come to the distressed leaders' aid.
"Scott-" Hank begins, his voice and face sympathetic. "You must think about what you're saying. Even if our morale was up for it, we are severely outnumbered against the parties that will be present. What with the tragic deaths of Bobby, Kitty, and Piotr, Emma's recent deflection back to the Hell Fire club, Remy's endless searching, and those of us who are still recovering physically and mentally from our last encounter with the Shi'ar, there is just no realistic way we can protect her this time." Tears fill the gentle giant's eyes, and he wipes them away with the sleeve of his lab coat. "It is unfortunate, but logical."
"Well no one's asking you to fight," he sneers. "Wolverine, you're on my side, aren't you?"
Something like shame comes over the Canadian's face, but then his jaw steels, decision made. "I thought that maybe I could let her go, but dammit, that southern spitfire has snuck in my heart, and now she's there for good."
"I couldn't agree more." All turn to regard Jean in shock. She takes her husband's hand, and for the first time in a long time, the smiles they gave each other are genuine and warm. There is hurt there, but the potential trumps even this.
"I'll be prepping the Blackbird. If you're coming, be ready to go in fifteen minutes and counting." He turns to look Charles in the eye one last time, all sense of respect he'd ever had for the man tainted in some way. He leaves soon after, Jean's hand still in his.
...
The feed ends and the strength in her legs leaves her. She slumps in the uncomfortable, metal chair.
"So this is the great 'Beginning of the End' you and Irene always spoke of." The regal-looking man smiles, making the skin around his vibrant blue eyes crinkle. "How extraordinary."
Her mouth is dry, it's hard to get the words out. "I never thought this would really happen. Irene assured me that she was sure this time, that this vision came too frequently to be nothing." Her yellow irises disappear, hidden behind indigo eyelids. "I never truly believed her."
He kneels next to her, she can smell his attractive cologne and the kind of aftershave he uses. His thick, white hair tickles her cheek.
"Are you going to try and stop this?"
She glares at him. "If I could I would. Don't throw my helplessness in my face!"
He puts his hands up in a universal sign of surrender, good humor still in tact. "I'm not throwing anything at you, darling, simply inquiring."
She sighs, vehemence gone. "Are you…frightened?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Not in the least. Of course, I had many things I'd wanted to accomplish before I finally keeled over, but I've had a long, full life. And like you said: why try and stop something that can't be stopped? At least it's a mutant destroying all of us, instead of a few homo sapiens."
She rolls her eyes, but he has eased some of her worry and she's able to stand again. "You're no help to me."
He chuckles and shrugs.
Her gaze travels to the window. The rain is harsh and unforgiving. "I-I have to be there, Erik. Even if I can't help her-I brought life into this world and if this is really the end…"
He frowns, he's never seen his partner and lover so…emotional.
"You truly love her, don't you, Raven?"
"What has love ever done for anybody?" He can hear the thickness in her throat.
"My darling," he murmurs, and takes her into his arms.
...
He removes his gloves and trench coat and lets them fall to the ground. His legs throb and he lets himself collapse to the ground. He leans his back against the side of an abandoned farm house and closes his eyes. The chilly night air blows over him and cools his heated skin, he lets his eyes close.
How long has it been since he's rested like this? Three days he's spent scouring the entirety of New York. He'd barely eaten anything, hell, he was hardly able to finish his shower before passing out.
The swaying wheat contrasts beautifully against the night sky and full moon, he hears birds settling in for the night and frogs hopping about in the nearby pond.
He wonders how he got here, to this old farmland in the middle of nowhere. He'd been driving down the road not far from here when he'd seen the swaying fields and something just pulled him here. He couldn't resist the mysterious tranquility, the peace.
He looks up at the large, tragic moon, and thinks about dying. He'd like to die someplace like this, someplace where he wouldn't be disturbed, where he could finally just sleep; forever.
He falls in the place between slumber and awakening. In this dark, surreal place is the truth. He knows that he never deserved Rogue, that he was pretending that things would work out when they never would.
He knows he can not save Rogue, and that he has lost her.
His eyes snap open, instantly alert. He turns to find the cause of the frigid shivers going up and down his spine.
All of the hoping, the searching, and here she is: sitting in this barn like she's been waiting for him here the entire time.
She smiles prettily, the breeze tangles her curls. "Hello, Remy."
If you were here I'd never have a fear. So go on live your life, but I miss you more than I did yesterday. You're so far away, so c'mon show me how. 'Cause I mean this more than words can ever say. Some might say we are made from the sharpest things you say, we are young and we don't care. Your dreams and your hopeless hair. We never wanted it to be this way, for all our lives. Do you care at all? ~Give 'em Hell, Kid- My Chemical Romance
Still working on the review responses, I didn't want to make you guys wait, I'll get 'em posted soon!