Soul On Fire
There's a flame that leads our souls astray, no one's safe from its tender touch of pain. And every day it's looking for new slaves to celebrate the beauty of the grave. We are like the living dead, sacrificing all we have for a frozen heart and a Soul On Fire. We are like the living dead, craving for deliverance. With a frozen heart and a Soul On Fire. And again we're falling for disgrace, and hate will shelter us from the rain. We are enslaved by the sacred heart of shame and gently raped by the light of day. ~Soul On Fire- HIM
New York, 2034.
It's only a mere hour until his son's graduation dinner begins, and Ororo is running around the house in an absolute frenzy. He says jokingly that she should calm down before it starts raining and the dinner has to be cancelled. She only glares at him, obviously not appreciating his humor.
He finishes buttoning his jacket, then wraps his tie around his neck and knots it expertly. After he retrieves his black dress shoes from the closet and finishes dressing, he spurts some cologne on his wrists and slicks his hair back with gel. He yawns, and silently reprimands himself. Tonight is his boy's special night, he can't be sleepy! He should be wired, energized, he shouldn't be able to stand still!
But even as he thinks these things, his eyelids become heavy and his shoulders begin to droop.
What the hell is wrong with him?
He's forced to sit on the edge of the bed for a moment to catch his breath. Perhaps all the years of smoking are finally taking their toll.
Yet, it feels as if he's been drugged…and he's so hot, is the air conditioning acting up again? Something isn't right. This isn't the normal drowsiness that one might experience—this is exhaustion to the point of blacking out; he's nearly loopy.
He rises shakily and makes his way to the en suite restroom and once he leans heavily on the countertop. He turns the facet to cold and splashes water on his face. As he reaches to grab a towel, he catches his reflection in the mirror. For some reason this distracts him to no end and he completely ignores his fatigue. With a tilt of his head, he contemplates his own reflection. It's been so long since he's truly looked at himself, that it gives him quite the shock. He recognizes himself, of course he does, but his eyes-have they always been so lifeless? What happened to the burning crimson of his pupils? They're so dim now, so flat.
His hair is still full and shiny, and mostly auburn, with only random streaks of grey spread throughout. Deep frown lines mar his forehead, and crow's feet flag the outsides of both of his eyes. Still, he's an attractive older man, sought out by women half his age. But he knows just how revolting and putrid his insides are, sometimes he wishes he could turn himself inside out, so others can see what he has to see every day, what he knows is lurking beneath the arrogant, handsome surface.
The slight exhaustion he's felt all day bears down on him suddenly and intensely once more, like the examination in the mirror was just some sort of temporary relief, and he leans heavily on the doorframe to keep himself upright. He takes deep breaths and shakes his head, trying desperately to stop his vision from clouding over.
"Mon dieu…" He slips off his jacket and loosens his tie, leaving them both in a careless heap on the floor. The heat is stifling, the drowsiness is overwhelming.
Somehow, he manages to stagger into the bedroom, and once there, he collapses on the bed for a second time with a grateful sigh of respite. Seconds after closing his eyes, he sinks into a deep sleep, only to awaken minutes later by a strange burning on his face. He opens his eyes, and finds himself staring into the center of a glowing sphere.
He shoots up, and the little ball morphs into the shape of a butterfly- with wings made of flame. The creature lands on the arch of his ear, but it does not harm him. Instead, it nuzzles him softly and tugs on a lock of his hair.
Remy does not rub his eyes, he does not pinch himself, because his gut is telling him that this is not a dream, and if there's anything he's learned from all he's lost: it is to always trust his instincts. And so he follows the fluttering creature out of the bedroom and down the staircase. A mixture of hope, adrenaline, and joy runs rampant through his veins. Because if this is real…if this is truly happening…
"Remy?"
His head snaps up guiltily from the specter to his wife, and the butterfly vanishes into thin air. His stomach freezes over, but before he loses complete hope he feels a warm tingling on the back of his neck, and he knows his little friend is still with him.
Her gaze sweeps over him, and stops at his eyes. "Is there something wrong? You look-" She's at a loss for an adjective to properly describe the fluster her husband seems to be experiencing. His suit is a wreck and though the color in his face is paling, the flare in his eyes is quite bright.
"Never been better in my life." He tries backing away from her, but she steps forward.
"Then why haven't you finished dressing? You do know what time it is, don't you?" Her once-over is full of distrust and suspicion.
He swallows with some difficulty, it's as if sand has been caked on the inside of his throat. "Somethin' came up…I just need to check it out real quick."
"What?" She brushes her creamy hair away from her face, and the navy color of her dress makes the color of her eyes even fiercer. "The dinner is in forty-five minutes, guests will be arriving soon! Goddess, Remy, what could possibly be more important than your son's graduation party?"
She's always doing that, always judging him, always lecturing him…most of the time she's more like a mother than an equal.
But he supposes in the state he'd been in when she found him, a mother was exactly what he'd needed. He just wishes she could get out of the habit.
"I'm not gonna miss it," impatience makes his timbre coarse. "I won' be gone for long, d'accord?" He grabs his car keys from the table and winks at her before rushing through the back door.
Ororo clutches her throat and sinks to the wooden floor.
She hasn't seen Remy's eyes glow that way since before Rogue died. And she has a very real fear that life as she's known it for the past twenty-something years is going to change in every way. Her fairytale will soon be non-existent and she can't even justify feelings anger and betrayal because this fairytale was never hers to begin with.
...
His companion had stopped guiding him some time ago, and instead rests on his shoulder, kissing his cheek every so often. However, Remy's instincts take over once again, and he knows where to go. In fact, his heart is thumping so wildly and his hands sweat so badly as he zooms down the highway, that Remy has no doubt whatsoever about the direction he takes. This is fate, and fate just…happens.
Tante always knew y' were 'touched,' homme, an' even wit all you've seen you've tried to fight it. He laughs aloud, suddenly giddy. An' it ain't got y' nowhere.
He hasn't been to the mansion since Xavier passed away, nearly fourteen years ago. A long time in any case, but Remy has not forgotten the route. He's done it a million times before, the way is branded on his brain.
He enters Westchester, then, sometime later, follows the road into Salem Center, turning left onto Graymalkin Lane. And there it is: 1407. It looms so high, it seems as if it touches the clouds. Unfathomable to believe he and Rogue had sat atop those lofty heights without a second thought.
And the gazebo is still here, though the vegetation has wound its way up he banisters and roof. It's beautiful.
Memories hit him like tiny bullets.
He and Logan used to spar in these woods, Bobby Drake had tried beating him day after day on the basketball court, he'd kissed Rogue for the first time beneath the cherry blossom tree by the horse barn, and had woken up in the med-lab a week later-a devilish grin on his face. He'd found rare calm on the roof beneath the stars and moon, needing only his pack of cigarettes and Rogue's conversation, he'd had some of the best times in the kitchen with Kitty—as long as she didn't appoint him as her taste-tester of course.
Storm never wanted to venture too far from home, so they'd moved into a nicely sized house twenty minutes away. She and the kids visit often, he does not. It's so close…yet still so far away. He hasn't been ready to come back here… until today. The thought of returning to this place and drowning in all the regret he's experienced here terrifies him. He hasn't wanted to face this place, hasn't wanted to wade through the seas of nostalgia and spirits, or look at the traitors that had turned against his chère so many years before when they were all so young and bright and hopeful and thought they'd all grow old together…A place shouldn't be allowed to hold so much pain; so many aching, vibrant memories.
He'd give everything he has to go back twenty-five years ago and do everything over. He'd fight harder for 'the dream', he'd be nicer to his teammates: not so sarcastic and secretive, he'd love Rogue the way she deserved.
He pulls into the circular drive and gets out. He gazes up at the door and nearly chokes on apprehension. Remy walks up the staircase. It's the weekend, and he's surrounded by dozens of teenage mutants who don't have to fight for equal rights, kids who roll their eyes when Professor Summers starts up on stories of Magneto, kids who have a hard time believing such a thing as Phoenix or mutant oppression ever existed.
God he sounds old.
"Gumbo, never thought I'd see you here again." Logan descends the staircase and hugs the taller man warmly.
Something has changed the Wolverine over the years: love and family life have dulled his razor sharp edges and anyone who didn't know him from decades before wouldn't believe that at one point—he'd been a vicious opponent and expert fighter. Years of peace have made the mansion's residents lax and complacent and Logan chaperones field trips and outdoor activities more than he runs any DR sessions.
The dreaded Wolverine is just 'Uncle Logan' now, and he's never been so fulfilled.
Remy hugs him back and then holds him at arm's length, shaking his head in awe. "Y' really don' age, do y'?"
Logan changes the subject to something less painful. "We were on our way to your place for the dinner, but Cyke says he has to finish some paperwork first, and Jeannie's helping Rachel with some term paper that was due a week ago." The Canadian shakes his head but chuckles softly at the silliness of it all. Though he'll never admit it aloud, he doesn't know what he'd do without the daily dramas of the X-Mansion.
"What are you doing here, cajun? Shouldn't you be helping 'Ro with the party?"
"Oui, I jus' took a quick break to visit Rogue is all."
Logan promptly spits up his soda (he doesn't drink much booze these days) and stares at the beaming Remy before him. There was a time when the mere mention of Rogue or Phoenix had sent Remy spiraling into a dangerous state. But now, he speaks of her so casually, so fondly…has Remy learned to appreciate Ororo? Has his heart finally healed?
He snorts beneath his breath, knowing after all this time that with Gambit, nothing is ever simple or cut and dry.
Remy picks up on Logan's surprise, but makes no comment. "I'm gonna head on my way. I'll see y' later, oui?"
Logan nods stiffly, suspicious, and pats him on the shoulder. "See you soon, Gumbo. And whatever you're up to: you keep my kids out of it, deal?"
Remy pokes his tongue against his cheek to smother the ensuing laugh. Quips involving 'mother hen' and 'resident nanny' come to mind, but he decides against it.
The two men separate and go their separate ways, but Remy turns and calls to Logan over his shoulder: "Couldn't help but notice de way y' eyes twinkled when y' mentioned Rachel. Like mother like daughter, hein?"
SNIKT.
Remy only laughs and continues down the paved pathway to his destination.
He reaches the garden, and the smile slowly but surely slips from his mouth. All of their fallen-unless directly requested by their families to do otherwise-are here. Rogue's resting place resides mere feet in front of him, and Xavier had spared no cost on the granite piece.
The monument is a white angel with colorless, tragic eyes. Crushed emeralds are sprinkled in the ridges of her wings. She nearly reaches Remy's height, her arms are outstretched imploringly, palms turned upwards. Attached to those open palms is an urn of the same color. It's box shaped and larger than most. He has every corner, every groove of it memorized.
He stares, his hands tremble by his sides, he feels faint.
"Have you ever heard the legend of the Phoenix?"
The butterfly of white light and flame lands on the top of the urn, and Remy takes a step forward.
"…she will rise from the ashes; reborn."
He lifts the lid.
"…reborn-"
He begins scooping up her ashes.
We are like the living dead, sacrificing all we have for a frozen heart and a Soul On Fire. We are like the living dead, craving for deliverance, with a frozen heart and a Soul On Fire. Addicted to our divine despair, the venom of the cross we bear. The guilt will follow us to death. We are like the living dead, sacrificing all we have for a frozen heart and a Soul On Fire. We are like the living dead, craving for deliverance with a frozen heart and a Soul On Fire. ~Soul On Fire- HIM
He begins scooping up her ashes.
The wind has scattered her remains far and wide, the sun steadily rises in the sky, but he ignores the ache of his muscles and the sweat on his brow. He needs her, some part of her, he needs to reassure himself that she was real, that she hadn't been a beautiful, heartrending dream.
He places the ashes gently in the plastic container Fury had retrieved for him. He can't think about it in too much detail because the thought of her being reduced to being in a fucking tupperware container drives him mad. Every so often, he kisses a handful, and the scent of scorched earth and vanilla burns itself in his nostrils. Rogue's scent, Her scent, mingled together to create a painfully pleasant smell.
He senses a presence behind him, but does not bother to look, he knows it's Cyclops.
Scott doesn't say anything, does not wipe away his tears, just simply falls on his knees next to Gambit and helps him gather all that is left of the woman they loved.
The sight breaks Jean's heart. Guilt, sadness, pain, remorse. She doesn't know which one to feel, and so she feels them all. She tilts her head towards the blue sky and lets her eyes close. "You gave your life for me, Rogue. You saved me." She weeps into her hands, because no one has ever given her what Rogue has.
Wolverine wraps his arms around her from behind, and kisses her cheek. Sometimes in grief, what the person needs most are strong arms and silent support. He gives her both.
Emma Frost dusts off her white wardrobe, and heads towards the limo waiting to take her and the Hellfire Club back to headquarters.
She lets her hair fall forward, effectively hiding her tears. It hurts knowing she played a part in her friend's death, but at the same time, her knees tremble with sheer, utter relief. In a way, Bobby has been avenged, and no one else will ever have to die by the hand of Phoenix.
She stops halfway to the vehicle and looks to her side. Mystique is leaning over her fallen lover, surrounded by the residue of the fire storm. She closes his eyelids without shedding a single tear drop. The worst pain she's ever imagined has already occurred and though she cares for the man—nothing will ever frighten her again or affect her in the same way. The life she brought into this world through pain and screaming and beauty is gone now and she feels the chunks missing from her heart.
"I'm sorry," Emma manages. "I know what it's like to lose the man you love."
Mystique's yellow eyes bore through her. Hard, hurting. "It's nothing compared to losing a daughter." And with that, she morphs into a raven and lifts into the air.
The X-men never see Mystique again, but they do hear about Irene Adler's grizzly murder in the papers a week later. Police reports said she was attacked by some kind of wild animal.
"We have a plane ready for you all, Charles." Nicolas Fury rests his head on the Professor's sunken shoulder. "Are you ready to take off?"
"In a few minutes," Xavier mumbles, his eyes distant and watery. "We just need a little while longer…" For once, the thought of returning to his estate does not comfort him. Because they will return with yet another missing family member, and he doesn't know if he can take charge, if he can comfort the others. He hurts so badly himself.
...
They pull up from the ground and his weeping is not muffled by the whir of the helicopter's blades. Color seeps slowly from crimson and coal irises.
...
Jean waits until they get home before she approaches him. He felt her haunted eyes on him during the entire flight, and she finally corners him on the roof.
Needless to say Remy is revolted. How she assumes she has any right being here of all places—he's sure he doesn't know. They weren't the oldest students by any means, but the roof was theirs. Fights and make-up talks, even their first time physically consummating their love had been on this lofty tower: among the stars and clouds upon an old blanket with nothing covering their naked forms but sweat and the glow of being helplessly in love-
He sits on the ledge, the container pressed tight against his chest. His legs swing back and forth, back and forth.
She sits next to him, but does not speak at first. They sit in silence, letting the sun warm their skin, their insides remain cold.
In Remy's opinion: this intrusion by Jean Grey is not only disrespectful and ignorant; it's nearly cruel.
"I don't know how to-"
"Y' let her down, Jeannie." His face remains a mask of stone, there is no spark in his eyes. "She never gave up on y', mais y' gave up on her. I may have ended it, mais you're de one dat killed her."
Her eyes widen, she hadn't expected to hear her own thoughts voiced aloud, and a strangled cry escapes her throat. Remy does not sympathize, instead, he stands and turns to leave.
"Remy, wait! Please wait!" She looks so sad, so disheveled, so very remorseful. "I never wanted it to end like that, I wanted to help her, too…but Remy she would have killed us all!" She rests her hand on his shoulder. "Remy-"
He shrinks under her touch as if burned, and she falls to the ground in a crumpled, sobbing heap. He continues his retreat. Nothing more needs to be said.
They both know she should be the one in a plastic box.
New York, 2034.
For the first decade, she fought for control of her own mind. Phoenix had been greatly weakened by their death, but she was still a fierce opponent, and many a time Rogue was almost shoved to the black nothingness of the astral plane.
Of course, time in the astral plane was different than time in the living world. To her, ten years felt like ten hours at the most. All she knew how to do was survive, all she strived for was life.
In the final moments of battle, her psyches appeared from the darkness and rested their hands on her chest. Her power increased, she forced Phoenix closer to the edge.
She'd felt strong hands on her shoulders, warm, sweet breath against her ear: "Touch her, chère."
His strength flowed through her, she did as he said, and for the second time: Phoenix was absorbed deep into her soul.
Only this time, she would stay locked away for all eternity.
Rogue had felt tears in her eyes, she heard Phoenix tell her not to weep for her, that she was at peace now.
Rogue buried her face in Remy's chest, and then he too joined the other psyches in the process of eternally binding Phoenix. If only she'd been able to accomplish the feat when she'd been alive.
It was over so quickly. Phoenix's demise wasn't spectacular or epic, it was quiet and sad: like the last twinkle of a fading star seen from miles and miles away.
When she felt that her mind was empty and that she was alone, the nightmare that had plagued her months prior to her death came to pass.
She felt herself being dragged down a never-ending black hole, claws and fingers pinched her cruelly and tore away her flesh. For five years she remained in this Hell, though it only felt like a few hours.
When she escaped she slept. She lost all sense of thought, feeling, and emotion. Her mind was broken, shattered even, it needed the rejuvenation only a long slumber could bring. She dreamt, but of things she did not know. She recovered, she healed, and some twenty-five years after her death (it still felt like twenty-five hours to her) light blinded her, and she called for the one she knew would come.
"Remy?"
Present Day.
"Remy?"
His eyes snap open, the intensity of the sun makes him re-think the idea. He lifts his head and brings the pillow over his face. He breathes in deeply, it still smells like her.
The knocking increases. "Remy it's time to get up, you need to eat something before the ceremony."
"I'm up, Ororo." His voice slurs. He drank so much the night before he will undoubtedly be drunk for the funeral.
Rogue's funeral.
The thought makes him colder, more numb. He gets in the shower and turns the water as hot as it can get, he registers that it burns his skin but he can't truly feel it.
He throws on his suit sloppily, leaving his slacks wrinkled and his shirt untucked, and doesn't bother shaving. Rogue had always said she liked the feel of his stubble, anyway. He brushes his teeth, keeping his gaze downcast so he won't have to see himself in the mirror.
The funeral is a drunken, grieving blur.
Everything spins around him, he shivers from the rain and from the anguish. The minister's un-inspiring sermon goes in one ear and out the other. He feels supportive hands rest on his shoulder. He collapses at some point, mud smears across his cheek. The Professor speaks to him: "…she will rise from the ashes; reborn." And Remy wants to believe him, wants it more than he's ever wanted anything in his life. But he can't, so he doesn't. He hops on someone else's bike and rides until he runs out of gas somewhere in Lower Manhattan.
He abandons the motorcycle and stumbles into a nearby convenient store, and spends his only fifty dollar bill on bottles of rum.
Ororo will eventually find him four years from now, but until then, he will drink himself sick, and walk through life in a daze.
He takes the first burning gulp right outside of the liquor store, barely taking the time to peel the wrapping off the bottle. He sits in the rain amongst cigarette butts and passing traffic and finally, he's able to weep.
New York, 2034.
Seeing her again for the first time is...different.(1) It isn't over-dramatic, or cheesy. It's heartfelt, sincere. He nearly collapses from the awe of seeing her again. She's perfect. Really and truly perfect.
He brushes the ash from her perfect, porcelain body. He lifts her easily and brings her to his chest. He kisses her perfect forehead, weightless, joyous tears fall from his eyes and land on her face.
She examines him carefully with her big, perfect green eyes, and then raises her hand to wipe away his tears.
Don't cry. Those perfect eyes say, I'm here now, and I'll never ever leave you alone again.
He presses his nose against her perfect cheek and smiles. "I know, chère. I know."
He wraps her naked form in his jacket and brings her to the car. He can't stop watching her throughout the duration of the ride home, and every so often, she would look at him and grin her perfect grin, and he cries from the beauty of it. Because this is reality, she is really beside him, she's alive.
He doesn't know how or why, but details don't matter to him now. Because she's here, and his heart is so full his very pores leak all the ecstasy and love he feels. He can't contain himself, he feels as if he just started living again, his crimson pupils pulsate brighter than they ever have.
His chère has come back to him, and he feels himself falling in love all over again.
.
He lays her in the middle of the bed, and tucks the blankets tightly on each side of her, so she won't fall off in her sleep.
He kisses her cheeks again, and she sighs contentedly, her lids close. He stands there for countless minutes, and then goes downstairs. He's ready to face the guests, he's ready to make every moment with his children count, because he knows this will be his last night with them. And to his shame—he feels only slight guilt at this fact.
Throughout the entire dinner he hugs his sons and Marie close. He keeps whispering in Marie's ear how much he loves her, how special she is to him, how beautiful she is.
She looks at him with her mother's eyes and asks: "Père, are you going somewhere?"
His heart breaks, and he wraps his arm around her. He wants to lie, to tell her he'll only be gone for a few days, and then after that, they can be together forever. But he knows what it's like to hope year after year, waiting for someone to show up that never will. It wasn't until Tante found him that he had finally accepted his parents weren't coming back for him.
"Oui, p'tite. Y' père has to go away."
Her eyes widen, tears brim over. "But why? Where are you going?"
He kneels so that he's eyelevel with her, and tugs her pig tail with a smile. "How about dis: someday, when y' become a big girl, I'll come back an' tell y' all my adventures, d'accord?"
More tears fill her eyes, but she nods. "Promise?"
"Cross my heart."
She throws her arms around his neck.
When the dinner ends, he searches for the Summers' and finds them in the den. Jean is sitting on her husband's lap, and Scott is talking about something that makes her throw her head back and laugh. She looks so much like her younger self when she laughs like that.
He clears his throat and steps in the room. They both stand quickly, Jean takes Scott's hand in hers.
"Gambit," Scott nods.
"Cyclops," He returns, and then laughs, because they're acting like they're stupid, young fools all over again, but Remy can afford to be generous with his forgiveness now. He's in love again. He has hope again. Rogue wanted him back then and she still wants him now…he wins. Can one even hold on to anger when euphoria drips from him like sweat?
How many years have they acted this way towards each other? Of course Remy knows it's mostly his fault. His hatred for the fearless leader had been fully unleashed after Rogue's death, and he winces now at how cruel he'd been. For years Scott has tried making amends, but eventually he'd given up and got just as bitter at Remy as Remy was at him.
Remy can't really blame him.
Jean smiles at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak. He smiles back at her.
Dear, sweet Jean. Jean, who still looks just as beautiful as she had when she was twenty-five. Jean, who's crinkled smile could brighten a room, who's white and red hair set off her wise, turquoise eyes. Jean, who never stopped loving him, even though he hasn't muttered two words to her since that day on the roof, when she asked for his forgiveness and had been cruelly rejected. She's always kept her distance, but always checked in on him, always sent Ororo home with presents for him on the holidays and inquired about his well being.
Instead of speaking, Remy rushes farther into the room and embraces the both of them, letting tears roll down his cheeks. "We sure have been through a lot, de three of us, huh?" He feels Scott loosen and accept his hold, feels Jean's trembling arms wrap around his waist.
And it's so easy. They've fought together, lived together, lost together-and Remy's sudden epiphany is sweeping over them all. The ice of the bitterness over the years is nothing compared to the warm potential that is brewing in his heart.
"Mais we're still here, still whole, still X-men."
"I-I truly do care about you, Remy," Scott stutters, his cheeks go red at the confession. "And if I could go back—"
"I know, homme. I care about y' too, wit all my heart:figure dats why we fought like cats and dogs back den. An' I'm so sorry for everyt'ing."
Scott clears his throat, overcome with emotion, and only nods. "I am, too. More than you'll ever know. Looking back, I thought I had it all so together…but I was just as lost as can be."
He sits with the couple in comfortable silence for a time, memorizing their faces in detail.
.
"Dieu, de memories." And the stories begin.
.
"Remember when you put those obnoxious rims on Charles' wheelchair and Scott gave you extra DR sessions for a month?"
"How could I ever forget? Couldn't wipe my own ass for a week I was so sore-"
.
Peals of laughter, joy, tears, clasping of hands. Sometime during the reminiscing, Hank joins the storytelling with his wife Tessa. Warren and Betsy arrive from the airport soon after.
.
They all congratulate Betsy on getting the cover of Middle-aged Beauties.
.
"Ah the Legacy Virus…an incredible, terrible creation, one I hope I'll never have to see again. If it hadn't been for the brilliant mind of Forge, I would never have found a cure."
"…of course I was angry Beast! Bloody hell, do you know how hard it is to get blue fur out of white suede?"
Logan joins them, and shrugs when they all turn to stare. "You all were loud enough for me to hear you from outside. Figured I oughta put my two cents in," he grumbles.
.
"Hey Scott, what was it like, how bad did it hurt?"
"How bad did what hurt?"
"Gettin' dat wooden board lodged in y' ass?"
Warren leans against his cane and guffaws.
"Shut the hell up, Remy. You too bird-boy."
Laughter.
"He's got a point, Scooter. You always were kinda stiff…"
.
Inevitably, at gatherings such as these, the stories become somber, heartfelt.
"Kitty had the most deceiving little face, didn't she?" There are tears in Henry's eyes. "Sweet as a Twinkie, but the girl could hack into the government's database in less than fifteen minutes. Believe me, she demonstrated numerous times." He shakes his head. "She just had so much potential…"
.
"I always knew Piotr fancied Kitty, but when I found his journal in the rec room I knew for sure." She pauses. "They would have made a right jolly couple."
.
"…I thought we were goners for sure, but then Bobby came out of nowhere and froze the damn sentinel just before it blasted us!" Scott smiles wistfully. "That boy didn't give a damn about danger, just so long as he had us with him."
"Emma was kind of a bitch, mais she was real nice to look at, eh boys?" His grin fades, he becomes solemn. "I heard she passed away five years ago-from an overdose. No husband, no kids, no friends. Poor t'ing, she never did recover from Bobby's death." He knows what that is like all too well. He's just grateful Ororo got to him before he ended up like Emma.
.
Tears, watery grins, aching hearts. Remy looks around at them, his friends, his family. He loves them, loves them so fully that it hurts to breathe. He wants to take them all with him, he wants to make them young, he wants to re-live the past.
But at the same time, he's experiencing something new: acceptance. Acceptance of his current life and the decisions he's made.
He needs to find Ororo.
Remy stands from the group, and heads, unseen, for the door. He can't help but take one last glance over his shoulder. He examines each and every one of them, committing each of their faces to memory. He'll never forget them. How can he? These people love him, they shaped him into the man he is today. Without the X-men...well, he doesn't even want to think about that.
He feels a tap on his shoulder when he enters the hallway, and turns to find a smiling Jean behind him.
"What's wrong, p'tite?"
She shakes her head. "Nothing's wrong, thanks to you."
He frowns in confusion. "Moi? What did I do?"
She rests her face on his chest. "You brought us all back together again, Remy. You healed the bond we all shared. You revived the X-men." She chuckles quietly. "You really don't give yourself enough credit, honey. You never have."
They hold each other for a moment, and then Jean pulls away, dabbing at her eyes. "You should go find 'Ro. She needs you."
He bends and kisses her on the lips. "I love y', Jean." It's strange, the words that have always been so hard for him to say are slipping from his mouth so easily. He loves this woman, hell, he even loves Scott! A dam of love has been released inside of him, and he wants to shower it on all of them.
"And I love you."
He walks away with a lightness in his chest.
"Remy?"
He turns around once more.
"When she gains her memories back, will you tell Rogue I dreamt of her every night? And that I say thanks?"
His mouth falls open, and she laughs at him. She taps her temple as if to say: I'm the world's most powerful telepath you idiot, remember?
They look into each other's eyes for just a little longer before Remy heads upstairs.
He opens the door to their bedroom, thrilled with the promise of seeing his belle. He battles with the thought of waking her from her slumber: after all, he imagines she's had plenty of rest over the years—and there's so much they have to catch up on, so much he wants to show her and tell her.
Ororo is sitting on their bed, the bed they've shared for two decades. He stops in his tracks.
She holds Rogue in a pink blanket, and gently rocks her back and forth. She's singing some beautiful African lullaby she'd sung to her own children, she doesn't look up at his entrance.
"I'd always heard the legends," she murmurs, playing with the tuft of white and brown hair on Rogue's tiny head, "but I never truly believed until now."
Remy does not know what to say. "I don' know what to say, 'Ro."
She smiles her beautiful smile, and stands close to him. "You don't have to say anything, darling. This is fate, a miracle sent straight from the Goddess herself." She looks down and tickles the belle's tummy, knowing that if she makes eye contact with him he'll see the anger and bitterness that is within her. "I can't stand in the way of fate, now can I? Besides, I've seen a vigor and spark from you I haven't seen in years. She's brought you back, Remy. She's changed you so much in only a day. I could never try and stop a love such as this."
Her selflessness and bravery break his heart. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for everyt'ing-" He reaches for her, and she brings her free hand up to stop him.
"It is I who should apologize. It was wrong of me to try and change you. I tried to make you love me, even though I knew your heart would always belong to Rogue. I took advantage of you in your most vulnerable state."
"Don' say dat!" He shakes her softly. "Y' saved my life! If it wasn't for y' I'd still be in dat shitty apartment, drinkin' myself to death. Maybe I wouldn't even be alive at all."
Tears fill Storm's eyes, and it begins to sprinkle outside. The helplessness she feels is absolute. It seems nothing: not the years of devotion, the sleepless nights lying awake with him when he woke up from nightmares, the vomit she's cleaned when he went through detox—nothing will stop Remy from loving Rogue and besides her children: her life has been wasted because she fell in love with a man who has no love to give anyone other than his belle.
"Promise me you'll watch over our babies when I'm gone, even if it's from a distance. And our grandbabies, too. And-"
"And our great grandbabies, and deir babies…I'll make sure nothin' happens to our family, I promise y' dat." And his eyes burn so intensely that there is no room for doubt.
"And tell Rogue…that I'm sorry. I never appreciated her as I should have."
As if understanding her words, Rogue falls forward and leaves a big, slobbery smooch on the weather wielder's cheek.
Ororo laughs joyously and gives the child one last squeeze before handing her back to Remy. Her great pride won't allow her to beg him to stay.
As soon as she's back in Remy's arms Rogue begins squealing and cooing. He kisses her chubby cheek.
He leans towards Storm. "I'll never forget y' Ororo Munroe. Not if I live to be a million years old." He wraps his free arm around her waist and kisses her with more passion than he's shown throughout their entire marriage.
Ororo feels as though her legs will liquidate if he keeps up what he's doing—despite his abandonment she can't help but fall for him.
Rogue begins making grunting noises when she feels the kiss has gone on longer than is necessary, and the two adults separate, laughing.
"Y' always were de jealous type, weren't y', chère?"
She beams her toothless grin at him. "Uh! Uh!"
"You're stuck with him for the rest of time, Rogue. Are you sure you can handle his shenanigans?" Ororo hopes her smile fools them both.
She blows a spit bubble and claps her hands excitedly.
Ororo smiles softly. "If there's anyone who can make him mind, it's you, dear." I could never tame him.
She and Remy embrace once more before she goes downstairs to be with the X-men; her family. If she had any kind of backbone, she'd berate him for what he's about to leave behind. But she doesn't—and maybe that's why he's never truly loved her.
When she leaves and Remy is left with his giggling bundle of joy, he brings her close to his chest and looks towards the ceiling. He is so happy, so heart achingly joyous.
Thank you.
He has his heart back.
We are like the living dead, sacrificing all we have for a frozen heart and a Soul On Fire. We are like the living dead, craving for deliverance with a frozen heart and a Soul On Fire. With a Soul On, Soul On, Soul On Fire. Soul On Fire. With a Soul On, Soul On, Soul On Fire. Soul On Fire. ~Soul On Fire- HIM
So don't kill me...but I was never happy with the last chapter and I'm still not to this day. I promise I'll get it posted soon, so come on back to the conclusion of Scorch!