Burn the Night Away
It's three in the morning and I'm still not sleeping cause I'm running your race. The mountains you've been climbing seem like they have steepened since I decided to pick up the pace. If the whole world told me I should disappear, could I fall right next to you? Just let me Burn the Night Away, oh baby, let me Burn the Night Away. I think you're not the simple things you say to me, that get me through the day. You keep me wide awake, you keep me wide awake. ~Burn the Night Away- There For Tomorrow
Massachusetts, 2052.
Marie looks out over the balcony and sighs contentedly. It's the first full breath she's experienced all day, what with the bodice of her gown having been tightened to outrageous proportions and restricting her lung capacity for the majority of the day. It had been worth it—the tiny sight of her waist made the skirt all but burst around her, and she's never felt more like a princess than she had walking down the aisle. Couple that with last day preparations and the all-around awe that comes with marrying the love of one's life: and you get an intoxicating, exhausting, fulfilling concoction that makes her grateful for the loose slip and flats she sports now.
Warm, intermittent gusts of wind bring delicious scents from the wildflower garden below, and she smiles a contented smile. Umama really had picked the perfect venue for the reception, it's beautiful and secluded and she knows she'll never forget this night.
"What are you thinking about," Nathan murmurs, his chin rests on the top of her head and his arms are tight around her waist.
Her choppy locks of deep auburn expose enough skin to feel the movement of his throat he's so close—but when it comes to him so close is never close enough. She would devour him whole if it meant they'd never have to part.
"I'm thinking about how happy I am, cher. Can you believe we're really married?" She presses her back more firmly against his front and giggles at the physical result.
He smiles warmly and presses his lips against her ear. "It's sort of like a dream, isn't it? It seems like only yesterday I was pulling your hair and putting frogs in your spaghetti." His expression is wistful, loving.
"That was yesterday," she deadpans.
He nips the sensitive flesh of her neck and pleasant shivers go down her spine. "You're going to pay for that and more on our honeymoon, baby."
She laughs and turns into his embrace. "Why not make me pay for it tonight?" The smirk she presents him is seductive as she rests her arms atop Nathan's shoulders and connects her hands behind his head. "You know how much I like doing it in hotel rooms. Besides, it sounds good to finally get this marriage consummated."
He silences her with his lips, and for timeless moments they just hold each other. "I might just have to do that, Mrs. Summers," Nate breathes huskily. "Over, and over, and over again. Just to make sure there are no doubts of the validity of this union of course."
Their mouths connect again, and she feels it all the way down to her toes. Nate is a godsend, the man she's been unknowingly dreaming of since she was a teenager. She's gone through many a bad relationship—she's a bundle of clichéd daddy issues- and out of nowhere: he stopped being just the goofy kid she'd grown up with, and he saved her-just like when they were children running a mock around Grandpa Xavier's mansion. She'd been a fool in high school to ignore the feelings she'd had for him, but she has him now and forever, and that's all that matters.
"Do you want to go back inside? Mom was trying to sneak the wine away from dad last time I checked."
Marie laughs heartily, disappointed by the sudden lack of his touch, but tickled pink with the thought of her father-in-law's uncharacteristic show of human flaw. "While I'd simply love watching the humor that I'm sure will ensue, I think I'll stay out here a little bit longer, just for some air."
His eyes sadden with understanding; his clipped white hair, whiter than even her wedding dress had been and second in her mind only to her Umama's ivory locks, gleams in the moonlight. "He would've been here to give you away if he could have, Marie. You know that."
Her throat becomes tight. Being with Nathan has taught her, albeit slowly, that it's okay to open up, that the very flow of time won't come to a screeching halt, he won't use it to his advantage and stab her in the back when she isn't looking. Old habits die hard unfortunately, and her father's life-long absence from her life has always been a tender, vulnerable subject for her. Girl Scout meetings, prom, first dates…and now: her wedding day. Lucas Bishop, amazing step-dad he is, has never been able to fill the void. An honorable soul, he'd swept her Umama of her feet when Marie was fourteen and has been an integral part of their family ever since. He's hardly what one would call sentimental, but what he lacks in declarations of passion, he makes up for with his protective, trustworthy, and reliable ways. She couldn't have asked for a better substitute, yet substitute he is. Perhaps if she'd been younger when Père vanished, she wouldn't even know what she's been missing. Unluckily for her, she remembers all too well.
Sitting on his knee during every meal, sneaking in his side of the bed to bury her face in his chest. The games and laughter and just…love. She was daddy's girl incarnate and she doesn't know if she'll ever be able to move on from that.
"I know, cher. And Uncle Logan is wonderful for doing the honors, it's just-"
"He's not your father, I know. No one will ever be able to replace your dad, baby. What you're feeling is normal."
"I'm over his disappearance, really I am." She disregards the next slew of images in which she'd sorely missed her father's presence: sports games, broken hearts, the onset of her mutation… "It just stings a little, ya know?"
Moment interrupted by the sound of the balcony door creaking open, they both turn to look as Nathan's mom comes out onto the porch. Her alabaster, cherry-streaked chignon is frazzled and her turquoise eyes are blazing. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, honey, but I need help carrying your father out of here. The old fool is drunk, and he's creeping out the waitresses."
Nathan looks back at Marie with an apology in his eyes, but she only smiles and waves him off. "Go ahead. I'll be right here waiting for you."
He kisses her on the cheek and gives her a wink before going over to his distraught mother.
"Why didn't he like getting drunk when we were young?" Jean bemoans to no one in particular. "God, he was always such a tight ass-"
Jean hangs back for a moment, verifying the full departure of her first born, and winks at her daughter-in-law; demeanor whizzing from doting wife to conspiring crone.
"I got rid of my knuckle head son so you two could have some privacy. He won't be distracted for long, so make it quick, okay honey?" She closes the balcony doors behind her.
There is really no hope of figuring Jean out sometimes, and Marie shakes her head in amusement, and descends the staircase leading from the balcony into the garden.
She stares into the pond, fighting back sadness. She isn't the kind of woman to feel sorry for herself, but is it so wrong to ache for her father on her wedding day?
A rustling of leaves catches her attention, and her head snaps up. The figure of a man leaning against a tree in the distance sends alarms going off in her brain, and her hands curl into fists and begin to glow a bright fuchsia. Hers has been a life of peace, but between Uncle Logan and Bishop, she's not untrained by any means.
"Who's there? Show yourself!"
The man steps forward away from the shadows, and the moon washes him in a romantic glow. "I see Jeannie's still sharp as a tack. Nothin' gets passed dat femme."
That accent...She quickly assesses the stranger; knowing immediately whose company she's in, yet, being too logical to accept the information. He's tall, and she can tell by the shape of the suit he dons that he is quite muscular, yet lean. His hair falls over his eyes, but she can still see the shimmering crimson of his pupils.
This handsome man is her father, though the young face before her cannot be much older than she is. She can feel it in the rapid beating of her heart, in the ache in her temple: it isn't possible and it doesn't make any sense and it can't be happening right now…yet it is.
"P-père?"
He propels himself in the air, clearing the pond, and lands before her gracefully. His grin is devilish, and his eyes go over her like a starving man looks at a feast. He wants to drink in every detail. He's watched her for years from afar, though he's made sure none of his children ever realized this( in fact, he's surprised and the tiniest bit disappointed: they're he and Ororo's to be fair, and they've both had background in matters of being guileful) but she's so beautiful up close. She's lithe and tall, like himself and her maman. Their skin tones have blended beautifully in Marie and her reddish bob sets off piercing sapphire irises. His little girl is all grown up.
Remy moves as if to touch her cheek, but then lets his hands drop to his side. The immeasurable distance he's caused between them suddenly gives way to doubt, and he curses his rash decision. His original plan had been to observe from afar as he's always done, but seeing her—glowing and ecstatic in a billowy, white cloud turned dress—awakened his all-consuming love for her and it was all he could do not to stop the wedding right then and there and take Logan's place down that aisle.
"Never thought one o' mine would marry a Summers." He shakes his head and chuckles. "Bet Scott had a heart attack when y'all told 'em." Nervousness and guilt cause him to attempt humor; he's never been good in situations such as this. He understands his attempts are completely inadequate, but from childhood his knee-jerk reaction is to lighten the mood whenever possible, lest his empathy give him a front row seat to another's unpleasant emotions.
Marie does not speak. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is open. She's in shock, because even though as a child she hadn't believed her father was dead, she never thought she'd be seeing him. But here he is, right in front of her. Younger, but still the same man.
"What happened to you?" She wants to end the small talk, there is betrayal in her eyes. "Why did you vanish into thin air? Why do you look like..."She sweeps her hand across his youthful body. "...this?"
The Cajun heaves a sigh and clasps the back of his neck. "I was afraid you'd ask dat-"
"Of course I asked it," she snaps. "You show up out of nowhere after eighteen years, you let me think you were dead." Stormy's infamous frosty anger shines through her daughter at that very moment and pierces him where he stands. It's so familiar to his former wife it's nearly amusing. If not for the situation: he might have even laughed. "Goddess, you could have at least reached out to me. Could've given me even the slightest hint that you weren't stiff and decaying in a grave somewhere."
Outwardly, she's stone-faced and closed off. Her father's empathy tells a different story; she's becoming hysteric, and Remy rests his hands on her bare shoulders. "Calm down, p'tite. I know dis is hard for y', mais I wanted to see my girl get married, I wanted to tell y' dat I t'ink of y' and de boys every minute of every day-"
She jerks from his hands as though she's been burned and distances herself from the pleading man. This is too much for her, it hurts too badly. Even though it's all she's ever wanted and technically, she's witness to a miracle. A miracle years and years too late.
"All these years…what did you expect? Did you expect to be able to waltz in here and that I'd run to you like a child? Did you just expect me to forget all the hurt you caused me and welcome you with open arms?"
It's with a fierce, stubborn scowl she keeps her tears at bay, and it reminds him of another Marie in another time.
He smiles a sad smile, his hands return to the pockets of his trench. "I didn't t'ink dis would be easy, I knew it wouldn't. But I had t', p'tite. Couldn't help myself. Been watchin' from de sidelines too long. I t'ought dat maybe I could make y' understand why I did what I did."
"Well forgive me for not being sympathetic. Nothing you can say will erase the past. I cried every night for five years, my trust in men is so bad that I constantly hurt the man I love-" She hides her face in her hands and weeps, angry at herself for no longer being able to maintain her apathy. "You hurt me so bad, père."
His arms go around her, and she does not pull away. Instead, she presses her face against his solid chest and breathes in his cologne. He still wears the same cheap fragrance, and he still smells like the same aftershave and he still smokes the same cigarettes.
This can't be a dream!
And she's missed him so much she can no longer revel in her anger: not now. Later—yes. He has so much to atone for…but tonight is all magic and wildflower aroma and bright stars. She's high off of love and hope and deliriously happy and so, for now, she's able to push aside her suffering for another day. "Je t'aime, père."
"J'taime, aussi." His voice is raw, and with a start, she realizes her father is crying, too.
He kisses both of her cheeks, and then her forehead. She stares deep into his red-on-black eyes, and she smiles. He left her, he hurt her, but he has always loved her, of that she is sure. Like a slideshow, memories rush by her mind's eye and instances once unclear click into place. The ridiculous sums of money her mother would receive, unable to explain its origins, the candies and other precious trinkets that she'd find under her pillow in the morning, the 2038 Mustang that had suddenly appeared at Caleb's dorm, the random presents left in Jeremy's room- it had all been him.
She'd suspected it then, but she knows it now.
"So belle," he croons, "jus' like 'Ro. Y' maman, how is she?" He's kept tabs on Ororo and the children of course, but he wants to know how she is mentally and emotionally, he wants to know if she's happy, if she hates him-
"She's doing great. She got remarried, to a wonderful man named Bishop. He's been wonderful to us." 'He still wasn't you' hangs like humidity in the air around them. They both sense, though, that tonight is not the night to lay it all bare.
"I bet she was de prettiest bride dere ever was," he murmurs warmly.
He drags the sleeve of his duster across his eyes but does not take his free arm from around her shoulder. "Dat boy…he treat y' right?"
His daughter beams and the euphoria seeping from her form fills him both with joy and regret. It's all he's ever wanted for her—true love. If only he could have witnessed it blooming. "He's great, so don't start pulling the 'protective father' thing. I already get enough of that from Uncle Logan…"
Remy purses his lips in thought. "Nathan: y' love him-don't y'?"
Her expression softens. "With all my heart."
"What would y' do to stay with him?"
"Anything." And she means it.
He focuses his attention on the moon then, his voice lowers to a whisper. There is no excuse for his abandonment, nothing he can say for himself except that he was, and is, helplessly, irrevocably in love. "Would y' give up your mortality? Would y' leave y' kids because he went to a place they couldn't follow?"
With age comes wisdom, and in wisdom: compassion—and her bitterness takes a back seat to the realization that her father had been trapped. Looking back, her mother and father had never behaved giddily or passionate the way she and Nathan do. Her mother remains tight-lipped on the issue, even all these years later, and other than idle gossip Scott or drunken Aunt Betsy have let slip over time—she knows nothing of her father's plight.
She'd like to. Some day.
She understands what he's trying to say. "Père, you're talking about that woman, aren't you? The one all the oldies talk about?"
He speaks around the throb in his throat, unable to even crack a smile at the nickname his former teammates have earned. "Oui. She's de one. Fell in love wit dat girl de first second I seen dem eyes, even though I didn't know it at de time. Ever since den, I've been addicted, p'tite. I lost myself when I lost her."
Marie racks her brain, trying to remember the face of the woman who had enraptured her father so thoroughly. She thinks back to the mansion…back to the photo albums with her smiling plump lips and her blazing emerald eyes.
She remembers the Christmas of her seventh year, when Umama had taken her for a quick visit to the mansion. There'd been a photo on the mantle, she'd asked about it, and her mother had hardened like concrete and said simply: "Rogue." She hadn't said anything else the rest of their visit.
She recalls thinking the woman had been beautiful, too beautiful. She'd been indescribable, too gorgeous, too heart-breakingly exquisite for words! She'd been like a fallen angel, a woman crafted by the most talented hands in Heaven.
No wonder her father held on and never let go. He chose 'Rogue' over everything. His family. Even Marie herself: his baby girl. She'd be lying if she says it doesn't sting.
"I'm sorry, Marie," he says simply, but his voice is packed with so much emotion and sorrow it takes her breath away.
She wants to wipe away his tears and assure him that she loves him too much to hold a grudge. "It will take time, but…I forgive you, Père." Her words are a glorious gift.
It's a start. Neither is naïve enough to believe their problems end on this night.
"I want y' to know how y' got y' name." And just as he promised eighteen years ago, her Père tells her his adventures in the sky.
…
Humming to herself, Jean Grey-Summers gives herself a mental pat on the back as she enters her and her husband's upstairs suite. She's ecstatic for her daughter-in-law and proud of Remy for finally exposing himself. It can't have been easy.
A quick splash of water for her face and a freshening up of her hair and outfit sounds lovely, and she sinks onto the bed gratefully.
The others are still enjoying the fine dining, and it's in her every intention to rejoin them as quickly as possible. Fate seems to have other plans.
Jean doesn't sense her until she's right there. Remy's aura had made itself known from a mile away. Being the most powerful telepath on earth allows for some form of arrogance, it's been years since anyone's been able to sneak up on her in such a way. But Phoenix, no, Rogue- 'She tamed the entity in ways you never could.' She reminds herself, is a stealthy being, undetectable and too unfathomably powerful for detection unless she chooses to be.
"R-Rogue?" Her heart freezes up from within.
She kneels there, in the window sill. Breeze and night sky her backdrop. She is silent for a long time; still in a way only the supernatural and truly timeless can be. Jean fears for her sanity, until the belle's face resumes animation.
Rogue slides from the window sill and onto the carpeted floor with the fluidity of rain water. Her feet are bare, and a Grecian-style fabric of shimmering, translucent silk glides across moon kissed skin.
Ashamed but unable to resist, possibly due to some morbid convulsion for self-inflicted pain, Jean's cataracts-hazed eyes go enviously—hungrily—over Rogue's form.
Glossy, cocoa and crème curls fall just below breasts that are full and high. Her stomach is flat and toned, her hips defined, her back side plump and perfectly proportioned. If anything, the lost X-Man looks younger than she had before.
Jean internally flinches away from her petty jealousy and insecurities; and finally makes eye contact with her visitor. The patient, earnest gaze that greets her turns her cheeks red and abashment broils her innards. There is no doubt Rogue has heard her mental chatterings and self-doubts—she has Phoenix's telepathy after all: the greatest in the universe. Not even she can cloak herself against that.
Rogue's scarlet lips turn up just slightly, a play at a smile perhaps, but Jean feels all of the feeling behind the underwhelming gesture.
"Hey, shug."
Immediately, foolishly she thinks, tears: hot and thick and choking—well up and her vision is blurred. The scalding droplets sear down her face. Her chest aches; because just now she saw Rogue, saw her friend and foe and sister and teammate—wrapped up inside the ethereal creature before her. She weeps because she is repelled by every perfect gesture, by every flash of her unbelievably emerald irises, by the way in which she appears to be earth incarnate; yet not of this earth at all. A blessing, an abomination. She's more of a Venus de Milo sculpture, or a William Clarke Wonter portrait than flesh and blood woman…but how to explain the life in her movement? The color in her cheeks, the limbs that are mobile and young and moving toward her…
Jean—no longer young or beautiful; hair that is all mostly white now and sagging skin that's far too gone for her to try and wave it off as 'laugh lines'—human, mortal Jean, who loves her children but resents the ravages of pregnancy to her body; who, fifteen years ago around her fiftieth birthday, began noticing the droop of her chin and has been wearing scarves militantly ever since and suffers daily from arthritis and aches and the all around torment of growing old. Rogue is outside of time, outside of the methodical workings of mother nature.
Jean quakes, and shrinks away from Rogue's offered hand. The belle—who's shown her nothing but detached fondness and understanding, has treated her like a glass doll in need of tender care—lowers her arm without the least bit of fuss or dejection, or(most importantly to Jean Grey) pity.
Jean wants to thank her for this, to hug her, to question, to apologize for everything…anything but this pathetic cocoon of shock she's wrapped herself in—but nothing comes out except: "What are you doing here?" She hates that it's presented as an accusation and not the pleading, unblemished question it was meant to be.
Rogue, showing no reaction to the rejection, only backs away a pace or so in respect for Jean's obvious need for breathing room.
The slight smile Rogue gives her this time permeates with sadness. "We've got a lot ta talk about, Jean. An' most of it ain't good."
Her voice ebbs and flows with resonating, yet attenuated power. The world drops under Jean Grey-Summer's feet.
…
"An' when she was revived, I knew dere was no place left for me in dis world." Remy's head slumps forward—his partially gloved hands clamp down into fists. "I don' want y' to ever t'ink I didn't love my family. I love y' and y' frères. An', believe it or not, y' maman, too. Yo' old enough now to understand dat—"
His sudden sob and the trembling of his shoulders beg for forgiveness. She reaches for her father: no more than an apparition and unfulfilled emptiness for so long.
"Père—"
"Marie?"
She whips around and looks up at the balcony. Her husband's concerned face makes her panic.
"Were you…talking to someone?"
"Of course not," she lies smoothly with a chuckle—not willing to share this moment, not yet. "I was singing, cher, that's all." She gives him a wink and blows him a saucy kiss. "I'll be in soon, Nate."
He knows her too well to believe what she tells him, and she knows it. But one of the great things about Nathan is his patience, and she knows he won't pester her until she's ready to tell him.
"Alright, baby. I'll see you inside when you're ready."
Releasing a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, Marie slips back to the hidden bench. "That was-" Her father isn't sitting there when she turns back around. It's just her, the moon, and the crickets.
"No-" She bunches her dress in both hands and bounds up the stairs and into the reception hall.
So don't look back, the hour glass is running empty. You've got me buried with your every move, your fine lines have me at a loss of memory. I'm right beside you in an empty room. If the whole world told me I should disappear, could I fall right next to you? Just let me Burn the Night Away, oh baby, let me Burn the Night Away. I think you're not the simple things you say to me, that get me through the day. And it's so hard to catch your feelings when you always run away. ~Burn the Night Away- There For Tomorrow
He finds her hovering, arms spread, in the parking lot where he'd left her, and takes the chance to appreciate the shine of her waist-length curls, the shape of her trim body in the flowing, silk dress she dons with an elegance that seems effortless.
Barely eighteen years have passed since Rogue's resurrection, and her body has not yet been fully restored to its twenty-two year old self. They get looks on the rare occasions they do decide to venture out into the world of mortals. He looks his age when all of this began. Neither of them could care less. She simply kisses him harder and assures him she doesn't give a damn when someone is intrusive enough to make a negative comment. From then on, he hasn't cared, either. Besides, her eyes are much older than their years.
"Chère!" He calls up to her, but she does not respond.
He isn't alarmed, because this happens often, quite frequently actually. Though Phoenix is gone for good, Rogue still absorbed her powers and abilities during their battle on the astral plane, and along with them came the burden of the all-knowing mind. She can hear the thoughts of every living thing in the universe, and sometimes she loses herself in the sea of voices.
But he'll always be here to reel her back onto land.
"Ohhhhhhhhh cheeerrrrrrriieeeeeeee!"
She whips around as if waking from a dream, and beams when she sees the figure of her lover. "Remy!" She lands on her bare feet, and throws her arms around his neck.
When she'd been a toddler, he'd allowed her to play around their ranch barefoot. He hasn't been able to convince her to wear shoes since.
"I missed y'," he whispers in her hair. He's been gone a total of an hour, but when two people are as connected in body, mind, and soul as he and Rogue, even that short of a separation is painful.
She kisses him on the lips, instantly noting the rawness beneath his eyes. He's been crying. "How did it go, shuga?"
"Better den I could have ever imagined, chère. We talked, we hugged-she…she forgave me."
Seeing him happy makes her heart soar, and she laughs and weeps right along with him. "Oh, Remy." She holds his face in her smooth hands, "Ah'm so very happy for you! Ya deserved this, ya earned this."
They still deal with his self-persecuting ways. Her lover needs to hear this.
"It must have been so hard, tellin' her goodbye." The belle looks up at him, face full of aching sympathy. "Ah want to hear everythin'."
Remy opens his mind, and she enters him gently, handling the precious memories with care and love.
"Remy," she removes her fingers from his temples. The haziness there is easily surpass able with her telepathic attributes, but she wants him to share of his own accord. They've come a long way from distrust. "There's somethin' in your thoughts…did anythin' bad happen?"
And after a few agonizing moments: he does.
Remy shudders, his eyes go distant. "Not until I got real close to her." He trembles in her embrace. "I could feel her dyin', slowly mais surely. I could sense dat she was agin'; every second she speeds closer and closer to death at a pace I'll never know 'gain-"
He knows he's said the wrong thing by the crushing of her face. Rogue believes she's done wrong by him, she regrets giving him part of her essence and making him immortal. Not because she doesn't love him and want him by her side every waking moment, but because he has so many ties still left in the world. She's made peace with the fact that she cannot see the X-Men, except from a distance. He has not.
When he'd snuck into his old home and planted gifts for his children in years past, there had been hurt and remorse written all over her. She's not disillusioned in any way. Essentially, she's nothing more than a home wrecker. Her pull on him is like his pull on her—irresistible. Addicting. Only, he had something to lose when she reappeared in his life.
Remy watches all of this play over her face and wishes she could understand just how much he needs her.
"I know what y' thinkin', chère." The Cajun pats her rotund backside playfully. "An' stop it. Y' know bein' wit y' is like bein' in Heaven without dyin', an' I would make de same choice a million times."
She holds him tight.
Smiling in her lavender-scented curls, he says in mock reproach: "Y' hear me, girl? Where's dat pretty smile?"
She tilts her head and smiles for him, and his insides fill with warmth. "Dere we are. Dis is much better, non?"
He always knows how to stop her hurt.
"How'd it go with Jeannie?"
The briefest of clouds flickers over her expression before smoothing into acceptance. "As well as can be expected Ah suppose."
The Cajun only nods, understanding without needing further detail. "She completely against it," he deadpans.
Rogue snorts and turns in his embrace toward the distance and lights coming from the city. "Can't blame her. It ain't natural, Rem."
"We have no other choice, mon coeur. De visions—"
She zips back around. "The visions have been wrong before!" Her fingers curl into the lapels of his coat. "The psyches were gone when Ah came back. Irene's voice is gone and all Ah get are flashes—"
A single, nimble finger presses against the fullness of her mouth. "Dat's why we have t' find de diaries, oui? De story didn't end wit Phoenix as originally t'ought, an' we've got to fill in de rest."
Remy grins then, scooping her up bridal style before she can sink too deeply into her apprehensions. "Dey have years, chère. Dey live full lives until we figure out what's goin' on, d'accord?"
Rogue can't deny the truth of her lover's words. The end game of all of this is set in stone, the only choice being how she chooses to react from here.
"What now?" she asks suddenly, good mood restored. "Where should we go next? Italy? Russia? We've got lotsa places to go and only a few decades to get there." Rogue laughs in excitement and tugs him along eagerly.
"As long as I'm wit y', don' matter." His pulsating eyes make shivers go down her spine.
"Ah love ya, Remy."
"Love y' too, Roguey, for as long as I live." They both know he means forever.
…
Marie N'Dare LeBeau-Summers bursts through the doors of the reception hall and, as always, her gaze inevitably finds Nathan. She is guilty for having kept this secret, and now it will be bared for all to see before she even has the chance to come to terms herself.
They all stare at her heaving chest and glittering eyes.
"Marie?" Nathan approaches her slowly. "Is something the matter?"
She shakes her head and tears of joy pool beneath her eyes. She'll have so much explaining to do, but for now she runs to her mother's side. "He's here! Umama, he's here!"
Ororo, startled—but a master at quelling strong emotion—stays cool and stands to grip her daughter's shoulders in an effort to calm her. "Who, child?"
"Dad! Dad came and spoke to me!"
Logan hops from his chair next and kisses his pregnant wife. "I told you I smelled that sonovabitch, Rachel! He's been keeping Rogue to himself all this time-" His grey eyes glitter eagerly.
Storm, who goes by Ororo most of the time now, remains speechless and Bishop's hand finds her lower back reassuringly. Jean, who'd joined the dinner party after regaining her composure, thinks on her conversation with Rogue and knows without question that all of their lives will change and never be the same.
All of the guests, young and old, make it outside just in time to see the Phoenix flap her massive, fiery wings and take off into the night sky.
"Oh my stars and garters..." Henry, more silver than blue these days, dabs at his cheeks with his handkerchief.
Warren drops his glass of champagne, and for once, Betsy is struck speechless.
"That young man..." Ororo murmurs, "-it really is Remy! Goddess…"
"And look," Scott slurs and leans even more heavily on Jean for support, "She's carrying him in her chest, right where her heart should be."
All cease movement.
Jean only smiles and pulls her husband close, sopping in the normality and simplicity of their life before it all comes caving in. she isn't sure when, or how, but fate has shifted and no one will be left unaffected. For now, though, she will relish the marriage of her son and the company of those she's come to see as family.
She's the first one to turn away from the night sky. "Who's ready for some cake?"
I am sooo sorry that took so long! In my defense: bill paying and a teething baby are quite distracting. I'll more than likely never stop re-reading this and finding things I want to change or edit, but as far as all-around plot changes, I think this piece is as far as it's going to get.
Yes, you're not imagining it: I definitely left this open for a sequel...and me, being the scatter-brained sort of gal I am, decided to begin a rough outline on the sequel instead of revising the old works first :]
If anyone felt the re-introduction of Rogue and Jean was super weird-I promise it's intentional. You've got to think how flustered Jean would be, and if I had a blast from my past swoop in at an old age I'm sure I'd have some petty thoughts as well-we're only human after all.
Also, the conversation is purposefully cut-off :)
This is technically the second ending of Scorch, but it's just as difficult as the first time-this is my little fanfiction baby. I appreciate all the feedback and support over the years, and I can't wait to continue hearing from you all in later works.
Until next time: take care and join me for the next installment to the Scorch series: Frore-coming soon.
Lovingly,
Merr2.
Feedback is encouraged.