DISCLAIMER: I don't own any characters, places, or anything else like that. I just own the shapes into which I've moulded them all. The story is all I can lay claim to, everything else is only available because this is fan fiction and I'm not getting paid.
Hello, everyone, guess who?
ALLREMS, TitansRule, LadyMageLuna, A Forgotten Fairy. . AKA- Fairy, Chellerbelle, ColorCoated, cougarrose47, Ashy, Theevilhillbilly, Crazyjess09, going-rogue2374, Indigo-Night-Wisp and SparklesInTheSun, thank you all for reviewing and for all the positive attention, it means so much to me. Larky, thanks for being continually awesome.
Thank you, all of you.
~ Scarlet Letter ~
What Do You Think?
Rogue couldn't have been more surprised if she'd opened her door to a procession of dead Hollywood starlets come to devour her brains. The sight of what was actually standing in her doorway was certainly just as odd.
BUMP!
"Jesus Chris', I ain'doin' that again' fer a while!" Pyro exclaimed, dumping Remy at Rogue's feet much like a cat does with a recently murdered mouse, except Remy was still alive, and John didn't look like he was awaiting praise. She stared at him for a few seconds.
"What – Ah – what?" seemed the most appropriate response to the situation, so she went with it.
"Well, it's like this – he was drinkin' himself ta the nex' life tryin' ta get over thinkin' that you were carryin' on behind his back with some other tosser, an' I had ta go an drag him out of it, so ta speak," John said cheerily, eyeing the prostrate Cajun as though to ensure he stayed put. He didn't move, but he did groan.
"But – What's he doin' here?" John flashed her an apologetic smile.
"Well now that's a diff'ren' pot o' tea! Y' see, my Wanda was all fer killin' 'im an' buryin' him somewhere in the garden, but we agreed that he had ta come here an' set things straight with you after I found out he had it all wrong." She crossed her arms.
"Mmm-hmm. An' jus' what did he have all wrong?" John's grin was even wider this time.
"He overheard you an' Angel on the phone an' thought you were makin' a date, as it were." Rogue's incredulous snorting wasn't very ladylike, but it did convey her feeling accurately.
"With Angel? Oh come on! Ah don' think there's ever been a dumber match anywhere in history!" She nudged Remy with the scuffed toe of her boot and looked at him with ill-concealed, yet slightly amused anger.
"Ya didn' seriously think Ah'd ever go for Angel, did ya? Damn fool Cajun. Las' tahme Ah checked, you were the one with the shitty track record, not me!" John nodded sagely, and Remy raised himself to his knees and looked up at Rogue blearily.
"I was a fool, Rogue... I know y'd never do a ting like dat – I love y Rogue, I should 'a trusted y'... Forgive me?" He half-whined his plea, and her stance softened noticeably.
"Well Ah jus' don' know about that now," she said haughtily.
"Maybe Ah've been too nahce about all this us-business – maybe you need ta start workin' for it!" In his eagerness to have everyone be quiet and Rogue love him again, Remy did a foolish thing.
"Anytin', chere, anytin' y' wan' – I've been an ass an' y' deserve better. Let me make dis up t' y'!" John observed the shameless toadying with mild interest, thoughts elsewhere with his pale-faced witch. Rogue smiled at Remy, Southern drawl suger-sweet.
"Ah have jus' the thang for that..." John looked away from Remy's sigh of relief that Rogue was apparently not immune to his somewhat battered, hungover charms, and Rogue said softly,
"You can go find her now, Johnny. Ah'll take this from here." John gave her a grateful smile and left at a brisk walk, intent on making absolutely certain that Wanda was perfectly alright. Behind him, Remy, with much help from the doorframe, stood up precariously and looked at his Southern Belle with complete slavish adoration. The quirk of her purple-painted lips should have alerted him to the dangers of feeling safe yet, but alas he was still far too grateful for her apparent forgiveness to pay such things much mind.
"Y' know I love y', Rogue... Hell, I don' deserve y' at all," he mumbled through split lips and wobbly molars, and she smiled, shifting to one side a little and looking him up and down.
"Ah know... This new look of yours really works f' me," she said with a wink, and he grinned, wincing only very little so happy was he.
"Maybe Ah should start beatin' you up, huh Swamp Rat?" She was leaning into him, giving him free license to look down at her, and all reason deserted him. At this point she could have said anything and he wouldn't have noticed the particulars.
"Sure, anytin' y' wan', ma chere..." She tilted her head up, so that he had only to lean down half an inch to kiss her if he so chose. Her lips curved into a truly evil smile.
"Anythang Ah wan', huh? That so? Well then what Ah'd really lahke is f' you t' get gone an' not come back until you've planned me a proper date," she cooed, placing her hand on his chest and pushing him back slightly, letting him stumble a little while she half-closed her door.
"Oh, an' Remy? Have it ready by tonaght, okay? Ah'm in the mood ta get all purtied up," she laughed, blowing him a kiss before slamming her door in his face. The bemused Cajun was left staring at the door wondering just how it had gone from his forgiveness-kiss to –
"Aw, shit..."
Storm was in the kitchen with Wanda, where Logan had brought her after the girl insisted she was alright and just needed some water. She was on her second slice of triple-chocolate fudge cake when John came in. Or rather, he didn't so much come in as he stood in the doorway, looking at Wanda and Storm who were giggling over something Storm had said, with an incredibly relieved look on his face. Ororo smiled kindly at the girl and leaned in, whispering loudly,
"I think someone's here to see you, child," and Wanda turned around in her seat, flashing John a brilliant smile, although her face was still a little too pinched for his liking. He grinned back.
"Heard ol' Wolvie turned you over to the hand that feeds, luv," he said teasingly, and Storm smiled indulgently at him.
"It's no surprise the girl's still so tired when she's just been telling me how hard it is to get a decent meal at that house of yours," she scolded, smile belying the jest.
"Well, between Freddie an' the rest of us, I'll be the firs' to admit we eat like an army an' complain twice as much," John laughed, sitting next to Wanda who curled a hand around his and chuckled.
"They really do take care of me, Storm. I've just been worried about Rogue, that's all," she assured the weather witch, but Ororo just shook her head and said,
"Well whatever the reason dear, you're always welcome to join us for dinner, lunch or breakfast. No one here will ever turn you away and that's a promise." Wanda's eyes grew large and liquid and she was about to say something to the older woman when Remy appeared, looking stressed and definitely the worse for wear.
"Ladies, can I borrow Johnny f' a minute? Merci," he muttered, dragging John by the arm into the corridor and ignoring the pyrokinetic's protestations completely.
"What the hell, mate? I thought you an' 'er were square! What's the problem now? You never mucked it up again!" he sighed in exasperation and Remy shook his head and said in a low, conspiratorial tone,
"Non, mon ami, y' gotta help Remy – I have t' get a date set up f' Rogue t'nigh' an' I don' know de firs' ting!" John looked at him seriously.
"You agreed ta take her on a fancy date somewhere with less than twelve hours' notice? Jesus, how thick are ya?" Remy shushed him frantically.
"Keep it down! Noone can know about dis – I have t' come up wit' sometin' good by t'night or I'm in big trouble – I promised!" Leaning against the wall, John closed his eyes as he thought hard on the situation at hand.
"Hang on... y' had sometin' planned f' t'night, didn' y'?" Remy asked slowly, voice turning sly at the end of his question, and John's eyes snapped open as he glared at his friend.
"No way! Hell no! Never in a billion years, ya spongin' tosser! I've had tha' in the works fer ages! There's no way I'm givin' it away now!" Remy wrung his hands and begged pitifully.
"Sil vous plait, mon ami, I can' tink o' anytin' else, and y' Wanda don' know about de surprise – please, please, help Remy out an' I swear I'll owe y' f' life!" John poked him in the chest, hard.
"I worked on this for a week, it's gonna be perfect, an' you wan' me ta let you have it an' pretend ta your Sheila that you came up with it at the las' minute ta save your own skin?" Remy nodded, eyes pleading with John, and the pyromaniac sighed heavily.
"This is an executive decision mate. They don' go through me. I'll have to appeal to a higher power. 'Scuse me." Remy closed his eyes in silent prayer and crossed his fingers as John pushed past him and returned to the kitchen where Wanda and Storm looked up at him, both slightly amused at the turn of events. He knelt next to Wanda's chair and looked at her sadly.
"Darlin', I have somethin' ta tell you... It's abou' Rem' an' your Rogue. Now, I don' wan' ya t' get upset, we can work 'round this, jus' hear me out, okay?" Wanda nodded, a hesitant look on her face at her usually chipper Aussie's doleful expression.
"Okay. I'm listening," she said dubiously, and he took a deep breath.
"I had somethin' special planned for us tonight – spen' ages on it, really pulled out all the stops – an' I was goin' t' surprise you with it, but Remy promised Rogue jus' now that he'd take her out tonight an' he asked if he could sponge off my idea, an'... I couldn' give it away without askin' first..." Wanda gave him a curious look, eyes sparkling. Across from them, Storm was hiding a laugh.
"You had a surprise date planned for me that you want to give Remy so that he can keep a promise to Rogue?" Wanda asked slowly. John nodded apprehensively.
"Oh, John..." Wanda laughed out loud and threw her arms around his neck, kissing his cheek as he looked over her shoulder at Ororo, perplexed and not understanding her reaction at all. Storm was laughing just as hard as Wanda.
"Oh, John you're just the sweetest person in the whole world!" Wanda exclaimed suddenly, pulling away to smile at him, shaking her head and clasping his hands together.
"You didn't have to ask me about that! You should just have done it!" John smiled, relieved, and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead as he stood to go and tell Remy that they were on track for Operation Make Up.
"Had to ask, luv, it was your date," he reasoned, and Wanda giggled.
"Go and tell him then! We'll go out another night – besides, you already gave me that first real date you owed me the other day..." Her tone became suggestive of secrets between them and he chuckled.
"Well, I wanted ta spend an evening with my Sheila that was just about us and didn't include property damage, darlin'. I don' wanna be a bad influence." She flushed a little and mumbled,
"Oh alright then... Go and tell Remy to get ready and make sure he tells Rogue what to wear for the occasion so she doesn't get angry again. That stuff matters." John managed a wink and a,
"Yes, luv," before ducking out the door again, and Wanda turned back to her tea with a lovelorn sigh that did not escape Storm.
"If you ask me, dear, he's done you nothing but good. I've never seen you so happy," the older woman said warmly, and Wanda smiled to herself and then gave Storm a glowing look.
"I've never really been this happy..."
He hadn't told her where they were going or for what, but he had mentioned that she shouldn't wear heels. There were endless possibilities for guesswork in that little tidbit. And Kitty was listing them all as she helped Rogue sort through the mountainous pile of clothing on the bed.
"... and like, Lance says he might have given them some tips, but Remy totally would have let you wear heels for a fancy dinner or something, and I guess boots are like, better if you're gonna be like, outside or something, so I just don't know anymore, I mean – "
"Kit, can we jus' concentrate on what Ah'll be wearin' besides the damn boots? Ah can' show up in them an' only them. Ah kinda think Logan maght have somethin' ta say about that," Rogue said crossly, and Kitty smothered a giggle at the thought of a stark naked Rogue leaving for a date with only her boots on. Remy would have an aneurism.
"Totally, I am so on it. I'm sorry Rogue, I'm just really excited! I mean, it's your first real date and it's bound to be something really special even if you didn't give him much time to plan..." Kitty trailed off, considering where you could get reservations/tickets/anything six hours before the fact while Rogue threw another top onto the floor.
"Ah'm not so sure he hasn't had somethin' planned before now, but with ev'rythang the way it's been... Ah guess it's just been a little fast, you know?" Rogue sighed, and Kitty put a hand on her arm reassuringly.
"If it's the right thing then there's no fast or slow," she said wisely.
"You just go it at your own pace and tell him where the line's drawn. Trust me on this one – Lance had real issues with timing when we first started dating." Rogue gave her a wry look.
"Ah'm sure Ah'd love ta hear what Mistah Romance himself wan'ed ta speed up back then sugah," she teased, and Kitty put her hands on her hips.
"This is not about me! We're totally trying to make you look hot, this is about you!" she squealed, and Rogue laughed and held up a ruched-front, mesh-sleeved black top with the miles-of-cleavage dipped v-neck and silver hook-eye closures.
"This hot enough for a date with a Cajun, Kit?" Kitty's eyes widened, and she made a high-pitched noise of approval.
"Like, where do you get this stuff? You're going to look totally too good for him!" she exclaimed, and Rogue shrugged.
"I do shop, y' know. Skirt or pants with this?" Kitty took a step back, snatched the top, held it up in front of Rogue and squinted like the makeover professionals on TV.
"Pants. But make them tight, you can pull that off with this and still be dressy," she assessed, and Rogue looked down at herself.
"Is that gonna be okay with boots? Ah mean, won' that jus' make meh look lahke Ah fel' a little boob-happy this mornin' when Ah was pickin' out mah clothes?" she asked with some hesitation, and Kitty sighed, picked up Rogue's tight leather pants from the bed, shoved them and the top into the Goth's arms, pointed towards the bathroom and said,
"Go and change." Rogue took them, eyeing the Valley Girl dubiously, but she went anyway. Kitty sank down onto the bed and pulled out her phone, fingers delivering the message that all was underway as swiftly as they could. It took under two minutes for the response to arrive in her inbox.
'Brilliant. I'll let Wanda know post-snooze. Don't let the Sheila change, it's apples as is.' Kitty read it to herself silently, having to look at it twice before she realised that Pyro was indeed not using text-speak and was apparently running the operation from the Brotherhood while Wanda got some rest. Everything was going according to plan.
Wanda was in her room with a red washcloth over her eyes, taking a moment to recover from the ordeal of healing Remy so as to make him presentable for his date. It had indeed been a long, arduous two days for her, first worrying over Rogue before John had brought the wayward Cajun back to face the music the previous night, then a fitful night's sleep, plagued with nightmares, and then the transportation of said Cajun to the mansion and using her powers more than once – finally only twenty minutes ago to heal the idiot who had caused all the upset. John was with him now, coaching him on details for that evening's entertainment.
She could have done without Remy's taking her date, but she had realised that she'd make sacrifices for him and Rogue long ago, so she could easily get over it after John's promise to come up with another date for the two of them. And it wasn't as if she had all that much energy to spare to be upset over something so trivial. Now all she was miffed over was that she didn't have a handsome Aussie to cuddle up to in her hour of weakness. He made an excellent pillow.
She felt herself slip into a light doze and welcomed it. She had really overdone it the other day, destroying that hateful prison that had shackled her and stolen so much from her since the day she had been incarcerated there. For all she now felt a deep sense of peace at the thought that it was erased from the face of the earth, that she had cast it into ruins the same way her life had been since the moment she had set foot in the place, Pietro's reaction and the subsequent fatigue from such emotion and usage of her powers had cast a shadow over her mind and she felt incredibly tired.
The boys were all being so helpful towards her, helping around the house and making sure she was alright every five minutes, but in the end what she longed for was peace and quiet and maybe some alone time with John. She wanted to build her future from here, come to terms with the hatred that still coursed through her at the thought of her father, out there somewhere, alive and unpunished for his transgressions against his children, and she knew that with the lengths John had already gone to for and with her, he was the one to talk it over with. He understood her so much more than anyone she had ever met before, felt her on a plane that she wasn't certain was for the average human.
Agatha had once said that there were as many planes and states of being and feeling as there were humans and their connections with others, and a few more that were unreachable to most but still existed seperate from the rest of them. Wanda was almost certain that the level of communication between her and John, the understanding between them, must be based on such a plane, untouchable to anyone but them, certainly not understandable to anyone outside the two of them, and in a strange way, she felt the same connection between Rogue and Remy, although she felt only the energy and was not a part of it.
Pietro couldn't hope to ever understand that sort of bond, the one they themselves had shared as children, that Wanda now had the training necessary to identify and mourn the loss of. He hadn't the fine-tuning to sense just how lost it was, how futile it was that he attempted to rebuild it when the foundations were so corrupted. Her hatred and fear, and his intolerance and inability to open himself to the parts of her that were not as those she had had as a child contributed to the continued erosion of their bond and he was blind to it.
She loved her brother. They had formed out of one, as one, and to some extent they always would be connected, but everything had conspired to tear them apart and now it seemed as though they could never be reconciled. She wanted more than anything to be able to feel Pietro on the same deep, safe level she felt Rogue or Kitty on, perhaps even to share something with him as special as what she shared with John, to be one half of a whole again with him, the way they had once been, but to reach that stage he would have to accept her the way she was now, and he seemed unable to do so...
Oh, he said that he blamed John for corrupting her, leading her astray, but it wasn't what he felt. She knew him well enough still to see that his real anger lay in helplessness, the knowledge that it wasn't some external influence that led her to act or feel as she did, but her own impulses, caused by the crimes he had been unable to prevent, done to her all that time ago. She saw how his guilt warred with the image he still had of her as the innocent child he had lost, how he longed to hold onto that because if he accepted what she was now, he would have to really see the scars he had had a part in inflicting upon her.
She knew that she was not so innocent now. She felt the anger, felt the all-encompassing hatred that before had blinded her to life, to living, and she felt also the old despair that still threatened to engulf her at times even though she knew herself to be safe now. She knew that inside, she was very different to the little girl that had once chased Pietro around the house to get her dolls back, so very different from the loving sister that had patched him up with Superman band-aids when he moved faster than he had the sense to control yet and banged into things. But she still loved him, and she wanted him to see that beyond the repulsion she saw in his eyes when he looked at her. The guilt.
After all... if she could look at him and wish for their futures to be connected in love when he so reminded her of the one who had so very nearly destroyed her completely for such little reason, could he not accept the differences in her and embrace her as the twin she still was?
In the periphery of her conciousness, she felt the warm hand on her cheek, heard the assurance that all was taken care of, that she was loved and safe, and she smiled and sighed at the clarity of her knowledge that it was indeed true. Sleep overtook her without further preamble, and she slipped into it to dreams instead of nightmares, something that was quickly becoming the rule rather than the exception.
Remy LeBeau had seen a lot of women in his time. He'd seen stunners, mingers, total babes and average women striving towards the exceptional. But never had he seen anything as beautiful as Rogue. Descending the stairs like a vision in black, green eyes flashing as they flickered over him only to be obscured by errant snow-white bangs again – just the way he liked them...
She paused on the second-last stair and put her hands on her hips. His heart almost gave out at the way her lips curved into that oh-so-special smile.
"Well...?" she asked, the sparkle in her eyes and the tease behind the accent going straight to his head.
His courage nearly failed him until he noticed that for all she was looking radiant, there was a shadowy pink flush in her cheeks that denoted that special kind of shyness only good girls had it in them to display.
"Chere, y' look... well, y' tres belle," he said honestly, taking her hand as she stepped that little bit closer to him with a coy smile.
"That's the ahdea, sugah. Ya promised me a date, so here Ah got mahself all dolled up an' ready ta go. Where we goin'?" Her Southern drawl ate away at his restraint but he bit back the ungentlemanly impulse to suggest they – ahem – stay in – and instead gave her another long, appreciative look.
"Somewhere nice, chere. Like I promised. Good ting y' Mississippi filles clean up good," he remarked, leading her outside, and she shoved him playfully before he could wrap an arm around her waist and pull her against him, glowing eyes taking her in as though he couldn't tear them away – which in truth, he really couldn't.
"Lahke y' ever had any doubts that we do!" she said huffily, but her smile was brilliant and he knew he was still on the safe side when she added,
"Ya jus' remember what's at stake here, Swamp Rat. Less o' the wise-crackin'," and then pulled away from him and swayed towards where his bike was parked.
"Got mah helmet?" she asked, and he presented it to her gallantly, watching with some covert fascination as she tucked her hair away under it in that strangely feminine way that all girls had about them when they needed it. He stifled a wistful sigh and she gave him a funny look.
"Y' starin' at me sugah..." she said slowly, and he grinned at her and got on, holding out his hand to help her on behind him, but she declined it and did it herself.
"Hold on tight, chere," he mumbled, and she settled against his back and laughed quietly.
"You jus' focus on drivin', honey – Ah'll take care of the rest jus' fahne on mah own..."
She realised why he'd specified boots but otherwise had no real suggestions as to her dressing when she recognised the route they were taking along the seafront that led to nowhere in particular that she knew of. If there was nothing out here, then it was unlikely that he was taking her to some fancy restaurant or anything like that. Which led her to the perpetual question of where exactly the hell he was taking her.
It wasn't that she didn't trust him. She trusted him to know what was good for him and not try anything stupid or anything too out-there, but right now all she could say for sure was that geographically they were pretty out-somewhere and she suspected strongly that he was indeed trying something, being the Cajun idiot he was.
She hadn't expected much from him in his current state, although she had meant what she'd said earlier – in the strangeness of circumstances lately she'd been far too lenient with how their relationship was progressing. She was a lady and expected to be treated as such. She wanted to be taken out properly, shown off, dated, for lack of a better word.
So when he pulled up on the side of the road and helped her disembark, she was disappointed to say the least.
"There's nothin' here, Swamp Rat," she said, a hint of hell to come in her voice, but all he did was pull the bike behind a bush and then return his attention to her, taking her hand and leading her deep into the shrubbery.
"Ah swear, if this is some kinda trick you are gonna be – "
"Chere, d' y' trust me?" He asked suddenly, cutting through her burgeoning tirade and placing a tender hand on her cheek. Dumb with feeling, she just nodded, and the light in his eyes pulsed softly with emotion.
"Den let me lead y'," he said quietly, leaning in to brush a quick but sweet kiss against her lips, and she let him pull her forwards through the low-hanging branches and the grass swishing against her boots. When he pulled aside a thickly-leafed branch and she stepped past him at his beckoning, she was assaulted twice over by the heavy, sweet scent of home and the view of a full, luminous moon hanging in the heavens like an irregular teardrop from the eyes of God himself, illuminating the sea and making it spark and hum with the frenetic energy of nature beneath them. The overhang was enclosed and thick with sweet-blooming plants, most of which Rogue had never seen yet in this well-groomed or else plant-less state. Weeds, wild and choking and heavy with flowers that she recalled from her youth. It was beautiful. It was like coming home, if she closed her eyes and heard the water below them she could imagine the river, and with the wind carrying away from them, all she could smell was the pleasantly oppressive scent of the organic paradise around them, free of the salty tang of the ocean.
She turned to Remy, who had spread out his coat on the grass and was watching her take it all in with a pleased expression on his face. She felt tears threaten to overcome her but fought them down hard and threw herself into his arms instead.
"Oh, Remy, it's beautiful – Ah couldn' 'ave imagined – here, of all places – how did you – ?"
He embraced her and inhaled deeply before speaking to her, his voice soft and deep and emphasising the sense of being back home again. The syrupy gravel of Cajun phrasings dripped from his tongue and eased her into uneasy bliss, so she listened with her eyes turned to the sky and her lips pressed to his shoulder.
"Johnny camped out here once, mentioned it t' Remy, an Remy t'ought his belle chere migh' enjoy de atmosphere here more dan some restaurant, non? Y' like it Rogue?"
It seemed his Rogue did indeed like it, because he found himself lying on his trench coat with her in his arms, his hands stroking back her beautiful hair while she whispered sweet Southern somethings in his ear and he let his empathy run rife, drowning in every aspect of her, from emotions to the scent of magnolias that clung to her skin and made him feel ill with need.
Remy LeBeau was very much a part of the instant gratification generation, it was such an ingrained aspect of his personality that he had to restrain himself with some effort from rolling out his lady-killer act and spoiling the moment. His Rogue was a real woman, not some floosy, and she'd only hate him for pulling that kind of move on her when he'd gone to such pains to emphasise that she could trust him. But still, he couldn't deny the fact that it was frustrating to be in the perfect place at the right time with the woman he loved more than his own life and have to be content with just lying with her. He'd just have to get used to moderating his desires to suit her pace.
She tipped back her head to look at the stars again and he let one gloved finger slide over the contours of her glowing white throat, lost in the feel of her and wishing he could see the rest of her glowing in the moonlight. He deluded himself that if he could have that he wouldn't need to touch her, but reality touched down in his head and reminded him who he was and that if he could have that, he'd want something else pretty quickly afterwards. He wouldn't call himself a patient man.
She was talking, and he listened with half an ear, drinking her in, but he was brought back to the land of the doghouse-confined when she narrowed her eyes and said,
"Y'aren't listenin' to a damn word Ah say, are ya?"
He had the grace to feel guilty, and the prescence of mind to make sure he looked it.
"Desolé, chere, 's been a long day an' nigh' an' y' looked so belle Remy lost his head dere f' un moment…" he mumbled, and she huffed, blowing errant locks of hair out of her face.
"Ya know, you're not exactly stupid, Swamp Rat, but there sure are tahmes when y' seem ta be operatin' on a much lower level than Ah personally think is enough," she opined, and he shrugged. He couldn't feel insulted when it was probably true.
"Dey say love makes y' blind, chere. Makes Remy stupid, apparen'ly," he said, with little concern for the admission of his own blatant lack of intelligence whenever she was around him, and she pulled a face.
"Oh, great – so Ah'm saddled with a great lump of a Cajun who can' string t'gether two words t' say to meh because he's too lovesick ta think?" she grumbled, and he had to smile.
"Non, ma chere, Remy jus' put in a li'l more effort t' lis'en, hein? Or maybe he stop takin' y' t' beautiful places so y' won' be extra distractin'. Maybe Remy wear a blin'fold round his chere from now on so he can keep up wit' de conversation," he teased, and she wrinkled her nose at the thought.
"Urgh! Don't you dare do any such thang, y' hear?"
"An' why not?"
"'Cause them eyes are way too pretty ta go coverin' up, even if they do belong ta some gumbo-eatin' Swamp Rat," she shot back, her own eyes wide and green and sparkling. Remy felt like his heart would go bursting right out of his chest if she kept looking at him with those eyes, even if he wasn't much of a poet.
"Remy glad y' like 'em, chere…" he said quietly, gathering her to him and holding her, feeling her pleasure at being held as acutely as if it had been his own. He supposed in a way, Rogue's pleasure was his own, or at least the two coincided in such a way as to make it almost so. He was happy if she was happy. And she was happy so long as he didn't screw up. Lord only knew how long that would last, though…
"What's wrong?" she asked suddenly, and he looked up into her lovely face, the painted lips pursed in concern.
"Jus' tinkin', chere, don' worry," he reassured her, but Rogue was Rogue, and she had a rightly suspicious mind when it came to him.
"Ah do worry. Don' tell me when Ah can an' can't worry. What's wrong?" She'd see right through any attempts at evasion, he knew that as surely as he knew they were brushing up against another argument if he didn't come clean with her, so he gently shifted her off his chest and propped himself up on his elbow to talk to her. Hell, he'd never done so much talking to one woman in all his life, bar perhaps his Tante Mattie, and family didn't count. Rogue mirrored his gesture and awaited his explanation.
"Remy tinkin' 'bou' de future, chere. 'Bou' y' an' moi, what y' migh' want later on in life, how Remy gon' figure in any plans you migh' have, whet'er or no' he gon' be able t' give y' de life y' deserve..." It was a sketchy outline of the truth, but he wouldn't go into detail about any of this unless pressed. Some things he'd only part with under heavy interrogation from her side. She seemed to take it in and then said,
"Raght."
And that was it. She rolled onto her back, looking up at the sky, and left him waiting for the prompting or the demand for more information in vain. After two minutes, he couldn't take it any longer.
"Dat's it? No questions? Notin'?" he asked incredulously, and she shrugged, and said,
"Ah don' need t' know any more. 's enough knowing y' think about these thangs. Ah don' need proposals or promises raght now – Ah jus' wanna be young and see how this goes. What were you expectin'?"
He sat up and threw out his arms expansively in a fit of Southern melodramatics.
"Je ne sais pas! Anytin'! Plus de questions, curiosité, quelque chose, peu vaut mieux que rien! Sometin' more dan dis!"
"Ah don' know why ya can' just enjoy what we have raght now, " she said, a hint of anger creeping into her tone, and he made a derisive noise.
"Because I know y', Rogue. Y' ain' dat easy. Dere's always more t' everytin', an' I been cut down tinkin' tings were alrigh' as dey were wit' y' before. Remy ain' gon' make dat mistake anymore."
"Well then let me educate you in the ways of the Rogue, Swamp Rat. Ah am just another girl who hasn' had the best start in lahfe an who hasn' had a whole lotta reasons to trust people. Ah wanna enjoy bein' young and feelin' what ah feel while Ah still have that opportunity. Ah don' wanna go makin' plans an' talkin' about the future lahke Kitty does, because mah future's not a sure thang. Ah've learnt that the hard way. So for once, Ah wanna live in the moment. Is that so hard t' understand?"
She was angry underneath the reasonable explanation, and he felt the emotion pouring off her in spiky, hostile waves. It wasn't that he couldn't understand where she was coming from, it just didn't seem like the way she usually handled things, and any shift in her patterns alarmed him. And when Remy was uncomfortable or in a situation he didn't know how to or if he could control, he reacted badly.
"Chere, I get what y' sayin' t' moi, but I jus'… I wan' t' make plans. I'm not a man f' dat sorta ting, but wit' y'… I ain' goin' nowhere. Remy ain' gon' leave y', chere. An I tink you an' I we have as much righ' as anyone t' plan a future, maybe even t'gether, non? Y' don' have t' agree, 'm jus' sayin' – why be scared o' makin' plans when y' young? Y' can change 'em anytime…"
He tried to form the words so as not to anger her again, so as not to slip up and trigger yet another no-go impulse that would dig an even deeper grave for him in the end, but at the same time, his own argumentative nature compelled him to be insistent. He wanted her to see that she could do whatever she wanted as long as she didn't hide from herself or the fact that she was entitled to live her life, to have what everyone else had. To deny herself the fleeting pleasure of life, such as planning for the future or wishing or dreaming, was just unfair. She had as much right to those things as anyone else. Perhaps more.
She shrugged, turned her eyes to the heavens again, but her gloved hand found it's way into his, and he held it as tightly as he dared.