DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything except a prescription for migraine pills that work wonders but cost hundreds - literally - and a bunch of t-shirts that are totally covered in some weird red substance that looks like oil paint and won't come off no matter how much I scream and bully and ask my mother to fix it. I don't own any red oil paint anymore, seeing as how it's apparently all on my clothes. Convenient, non?
(*in my James Mason voice* And on the *turns around and whispers* what bloody day is it? Oh, never mind, let's just get on with it! *turns back round to face audience and strikes messianic pose* On the mmphhmmtralalammpphhmmhmmth day, Valkyrien created a new chapter of WHO KNEW? and then decided to sit back and wait for reviews, perhaps from these people; LadyMageLuna, Irual, AshmandaLC, KHwhitelion, Melissa Black13, Chica De Los Ojos Cafe, Hawaiichick, ovoriel, Fostersb, b.a.n.h.s.f.c.., anon goddess, TitansRule and aiRo25; who have before let it be known that all has been well done, and who have been duly thanked and made aware of the saintliness of their beings and just how much it is appreciated. If anyone needs me, I'll be indisposed. Ciao. *takes off on hairdryer*)
Who Knew?
Part 5
He'd always known there were a great many students living at the Institute, just as he'd known that their numbers were likely to have swelled during his time away, but he had never before appreciated just what it was like to be in a place so large that could somehow still feel so incredibly crowded simply due to the addition of a few teenagers here and there. Walking down a hallway they were met by a young boy with messy brown hair who was giving chase to a large russet hound that seemed to be almost smiling and although the boy grinned at Rogue and waved, he neither slowed in his pursuit nor stared at Remy as he passed them. Rogue's own smile made the Cajun feel the need to know more, so he raised an eyebrow in question.
"Jamie an' Rahne – she left for a while when we were rebuildin' this place an' he's still one of our youngest students. She came back a few months ago and Ah guess they missed each other," she explained, and he nodded in understanding. Most of these children were either not on good terms with their families or simply living apart from them in order to ease their lives, perhaps to return at some later date when they had more control over their abilities and were not so likely to be exposed for what they were. It was only natural they develop familial relationships with those around them who knew what it was to be as they were. Bigotry and hatred were after all universal plagues...
"Rogue!" They were hailed by a dark-haired girl of average height and unnaturally muscular build, as they entered what appeared to be a very large kitchen with adjacent dining area, who was sitting at the counter with a slightly smaller girl who seemed a little older and whose sparkling blue eyes seemed awfully familiar...
"Gambit, like, hey!" And his smile widened involuntarily.
"Petite! Comment ça va?" he asked, as she hopped off her stool and approached them, giving him a light hug before smiling brilliantly and saying,
"I'm like, fantastic! And you must be feeling lots better since you're out of bed and all – that reminds me, Rogue, you promised to like, help Laura with her homework tonight because Lance is taking me out to dinner, can you still do that? Because he'll totally understand if I have to cancel!" Rogue looked past Kitty at the younger girl who was looking at Remy with an odd, steely expression in her eyes, as though she were assessing him. It was almost a soldiers gaze, he thought, and he was suddenly glad that he was holding Rogue's hand – bare, a safety measure taken to ensure no more accidents and no relapsing until he was safely back in the med bay – although why a little girl should cause him any apprehension he couldn't say.
"Y' still wit' Rocky den, petite? Remy always knew dere was sometin' special dere," he said, smiling at Kitty to distract himself from the other girl's unyielding stare, and Kitty grinned proudly and writhed in embarrassment and ill-concealed pleasure at the statement.
"Yeah, we're like, engaged – " she thrust forward her dainty little hand whereupon rested a tasteful silver band with little diamond inlays circling it, and he winked at her.
"Tres belle, petite, Remy sees why y' said yes," he flattered her, and she giggled.
"Like, turn off the charm already, I'm taken! And yeah, we're getting married when I'm done with my studies – I've got it all planned out," she said seriously, turning her attention back to Rogue.
"So can you help Laura tonight?" Rogue smiled, nodding, and transferred her own attention to the girl who was still watching them quietly from her seat at the counter.
"Laura honey why don't ya come over here an' say hello t' mah new handbag?" she called, a laugh audible in her voice, and the girl approached with an odd expression on her face, as though she did not quite understand.
"Handbag? You are not carrying a bag, Rogue," she said, with puzzlement layering her tone, and Rogue smiled softly.
"It was just a joke, sugah, seein' as how Ah'm totin' aroun' this 'ere Cajun," she explained, and Remy was honestly intrigued by the way the girl seemed to have not grasped Rogue's meaning.
"I see – he is the one you and the Professor went to get in New Orleans?" Rogue nodded.
"Sure is, Laura, meet Remy, Cajun card-thrower and sneak thief extraordinaire - Remy, this is Laura, she's mahne an' Kurt's adopted sister," Rogue introduced, and Remy smiled at the girl and said,
"Pleased t' meet y' petite," to which the girl replied by sniffing twice in his general direction and nodding.
"You are the one Logan told me about. You kidnapped Rogue once, before I knew her. Do not do that again, or my sister's new handbag shall be specially made by us," she said with a little smile, and Kitty laughed and shook her head at Remy.
"Don't take any of her threats seriously Remy, she's really a good kid – she just takes after her Dad a little too much sometimes!" the phaser's genuinely fond smile was almost enough to dispel Remy's apprehensions but not his curiosity.
"Her pere?" Rogue smiled evilly.
"Logan's Laura's dad – after a fashion," she said coyly, and Laura nodded.
"I was cloned using Logan's DNA by the HYDRA organisation, to be the ultimate weapon. Once, I thought that it was Logan's fault that I had been created and that I had been so unhappy, but it was never his decision that I should be made. He did not know. Logan and the Professor took me in after I destroyed HYDRA, once I had decided to return here. This is my family now; Rogue and Kitty are my sisters, Kurt is my brother. Logan is my father. This is the only family I have ever had." Laura explained it all so calmly that Remy almost believed that he was okay with what he was hearing, but deep down his heart bled for the child. He doubted she was yet seventeen.
"Ah, je comprende," he murmured, before smiling at her.
"I am glad dat y' found dis place, petite. Dese are good people an' y' couldn' ask f' a better famille." Laura's sudden grin took him aback, the transformation of her features from coolly calculating to those of a happy, and frankly lovely young girl a little unsettling.
"I do not hate him, Rogue," she said, clearly pleased, and her 'sister' laughed out loud.
"Well Ah'm sure glad y' don' sugah because he'll be stayin' with us for a while! Ya come see me later when y' need help with that homework, alraght? Ah'll be in mah room or in the med bay," she chuckled, the richness of her voice enhanced by the aftermath of mirth.
"Okay, I will. If you are going outside, wear your jacket. It is snowing," Laura advised before slipping off somewhere. Kitty waved at them before leaving the same way Laura had, and Remy looked sideways at a Rogue who seemed happier than he had seen her in a long, long time.
"She's a good girl," he said quietly, and she beamed at him.
"Don' Ah jus' know it. Sometahmes she's difficult – has a hard tahme fittin' in around here with normal kids, but she's tryin'," Rogue said, the pride in her eyes obvious.
"She's lucky t' have y', chere. Y' of all people understand how hard it can be," he observed, and she shrugged, leading him towards the kitchen door, momentarily relinquishing his hand as she took her trench coat off the peg by the door and slipped it on. The sudden absence of her skin against his was unpleasant. He missed it.
"Well c'mon then Swamp Rat – it's snowing..." she said, taking his hand again and pulling him outside into the cold white day that reminded him again of the soft skin resting against his palm and under his fingers.
"So, are ya feelin alragh' now we out – " she was halfway through the question just as they were halfway out of the door when a large wet snowball collided with the side of her head and whirled round to see whose bright idea it had been. A blonde youth in a blue parka and snowy gloves was pinned by the Rogue's angry glare and began to stutter.
"Uh – Rogue! I – uh – look dude I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to – " His apologising was cut short by a barrage of snowballs assailing him from behind and a group of teenagers charged him from over the snowy ridge that Remy could now see was a battered snow fort. A young girl with black hair astride the blonde lad's chest, busy smashing snow into his face, paused to salute Rogue and yell,
"We'll take him from here, chica!" and Rogue grinned and waved at her.
"Fahne by meh Jubes," she called back, taking Remy's arm in a firm grip and steering him away towards a quieter path, away from all the hullabaloo.
"Who are dey, chere?" he asked, mildly interested, and the Gothic girl shrugged as if she would rather pretend they didn't exist.
"Jus' X-kids. They're supposed ta be lahke us except younger, not so experienced – most of them ain' even outta high school yet. The one who got meh with that damn snowball's Scott's kid brother, Alex," she said, her tone indicating that she wished to change the subject.
"Seems like dere are more unfamiliar faces roun' here dis time dan familiar," he said casually, and to his surprise she stopped abruptly, and let go of his hand.
"What were you expectin' exactly, huh? Ya thought it would all be jus' the same? Ya thought me an' Kit would still be in school, that nothin' would have changed around here at all? How dumb are ya, Cajun? It's been three years! Years! Not weeks or months, years! What had you imagined it would be lahke?!" She was shouting, clearly upset, and he couldn't for the life of him understand what he had done to cause this other than remark on a few new faces here and there. But perhaps that was it. If he had been around, he would know... He'd know them all. He'd know Laura, and Alex, Jubes... Everyone and everything. Instead it was like he was just a temporary guest in their lives, practically a tourist, observing them as if for the first time, someone who had come into things unexpectedly and would be leaving as soon as he could. He wasn't an old friend, he wasn't even an old foe anymore, they'd come so far past that that he had become something new that simply reminded them all of someone they had once briefly met, someone who had long since passed into the realms of forgetfulness, of disinterest. And Rogue looked so hurt...
"Chere, je suis desolé, okay? I didn' tink – I didn' tink it would matter dat I don' know what y' been up t' all dis time, but I wanna know – I wanna know ev'rytin' about y', ev'rytin' y' been doin', who all de kids are – I don' wanna be jus' some dead mem'ry walkin' aroun' de place. Dat ain' fair t' y' – not when y' doin' all dis f' me..." She'd crossed her arms following her outburst and she was pouting – something that would have been devastatingly adorable if she hadn't been glaring at him.
"Ah jus' don' see why ya care about any of this when ya gonna be leavin' the second ya get well again – runnin' back t' N'Awlins lahke ya damn trench coat's a' burnin'. Why should Ah tell ya 'bout mah fam'ly an' what's goin' on with meh when y' ain' gonna stick aroun' anyway. Ah'm not with you ragh' now because Ah wanna be, Remy – Ah'm here t' make sure you get better so you can get the hell outta here again," she said angrily, and he sighed.
"Chere, I already tol' y', I'm sorry f' cuttin' on y' – I should 'a been here wit' y' but I wasn' an' I can' keep sayin' I'm sorry f' dat when y' won' let me prove dat I won' jus' be leavin' like I did las' time roun'... I'm here now an' I wan' a chance t' make dis righ' again. Y' gotta give me a chance, Rogue. How else can I prove t' y' dat I made a mistake back den?" Her demeanour shifted instantly, going from anger to indifference in half a second, and she grabbed his hand roughly and began to walk, forcing him to stagger a little to keep up with her sudden moves.
"Whatever, Swamp Rat. Maybe y' should jus' stop talkin' altogether an' then y' won' be makin' meh mad so much," she muttered, and he lowered his eyes to the pristine ground, acknowledging the lost battle, and mumbled,
"Anytin' y' say, chere..."
~****************************************************************~
He could feel her anxiety, but as they walked on through white-laden trees and the thickly falling snow, another emotion surfaced, dim at first but growing with every step she took. Sorrow. He said nothing, hoping she would speak first, but she stayed silent, keeping herself a little ahead of him at all times, as though she were trying to ignore the fact that she was not alone, that she was still relentlessly dragging him along by the hand which she was gripping so convulsively he reckoned he'd have marks later on if he checked. They came abruptly to a little clearing, the lack of shelter from the trees making it difficult to see for the thick, swirling flakes of snow drifting about in the air, but he made out the outline of a gazebo a short way away, and this was apparently their destination, for she steered them towards it with a purpose in her stride that was only belied by the burgeoning guilt and fear he could sense in her.
"Rogue..." His voice was unsure, as hesitant as he felt, and he wasn't even certain what it was he wanted to say to her other than he wanted to be released from the overwhelming emotions flowing from her only a little less than he wanted her to be released from them. She set foot on the deck of the structure and turned to face him.
"This is where it happened, you know," she said quietly, and he looked out over the drop beyond her, suddenly understanding.
"Mystique," he said, stating, not asking, and she nodded, letting go of his hand to wrap her arms around herself as though in a hug.
He felt momentarily grateful that the waves of sadness she was generating weren't as strongly felt now as they had been when their hands had still been joined but that was quickly smothered in his own guilt at even feeling relieved. He couldn't begin to understand the hurt she felt at being here, the memories of what she had done clinging to the very air she breathed at this spot – memories that would likely remain as fresh and poignant as they were now for the rest of her life. He had no right to be relieved that he wasn't feeling it as deeply as she was right now – he had taken advantage of this pain before and he half wondered if she hadn't brought him here to see how he would react to that revelation. The hurt in her eyes, in her silence, was the same hurt he had used against her all those years ago to manipulate her into doing his will, and now he was feeling the pain she had felt, raw and cutting. And he knew that he deserved it. He hadn't pushed Mystique off a cliff – he'd done other things similar to that in his illustrious career as a general all-round villain – but he felt as choked as if he had murdered his own mother just the same. He wondered briefly if the pain had abated somewhat or grown at the learning that Mystique was still very much alive for the young woman in front of him, and realised that if he himself had thought he had been responsible for the death of his mother – however much he might have hated the woman – if he had later found out that she was still alive he would have felt a thousand times worse.
"She wasn' a mother to meh, an' she wasn' a mother to Kurt either – Kurt's German parents are the sweetest people alahve an' they loved him the way a mom an' dad should. Ah met them las' Chris'mas – Professor X flew them up here so we could be a fam'ly on the big day... Kurt's mom said she wished she could'a foun' meh along with him..." Rogue's voice broke suddenly and although he couldn't hear her sobbing, he couldn't restrain himself from stepping forward and wrapping his arms around her either, in the hug she shouldn't ever have to give herself.
"It's okay, chere... All dese people love y', y' got y' very own fam'ly righ' here an' dey'd all do anytin' f' y'... Dat blue bitch don' matter agains' dat kind o' love..." She allowed him to hold her as they stood in the snow, the roof of the gazebo not protecting them from the way the icy stuff whirled around them, whipping their coats about and stinging their cheeks as if the flakes were really just minute daggers instead of harmless particles of frozen water borne on the wind.
"Ah'm not cryin', Swamp Rat," she said in a tone that was only a half-hearted warning, and he shrugged, smiling subtly.
"Never said y' were, chere... Jus' holdin' y' 'cause I'm gettin' cold out here an' I wan'ed t' steal y' heat... I'm not used t' all dis snow like y'self," he said lightly, and she pulled away from him, concern in her overly liquid eyes.
"We should prob'ly be gettin' back – y' haven' been outta bed yet before this an' Ah don' wanna have ta listen to Dr McCoy if this makes you worse," she said seriously, and he grinned.
"Don' worry chere. I feel fine," he assured her, and she took his hand and fixed her bangs with a derisive snort.
"Ah ain' interested in how fahne y' are, Cajun..."
~**************************************************************~
The hot chocolate burned his tongue but he swallowed it down nonetheless, intrigued by the oddities around him. Upon returning to the mansion, the door had been opened for them by a motherly Storm who had insisted they join the triumphant snowball warriors in the living room for hot chocolate and scones, and although Rogue had protested that he'd tire himself out, Remy accepted the offer eagerly. Here was a chance to see the people Rogue lived with every day – her family. A chance to be more than the weird, out of control mutant patient confined to the bowels of the Institute for treatment and recovery. Not to mention the fact that he had been feeling decidedly out of touch with reality since his moment with Rogue at the gazebo and wanted a taste of the real world before he accepted his return to the med bay for some rest. And so here he was, sitting extremely close to Rogue, sipping hot chocolate and observing the people around him with nothing short of wonder. Professor X really had managed to make his dream – a haven for mutants, no matter their abilities or difficulties – a reality, and Remy was incredibly pleased that he had.
Kitty had left to get ready for her date with Lance, so she wasn't there to make his entrance into their midst easier, but Rogue managed to smooth his way by glaring at the 'open-mouthed starers' and smiling wearily at those who apparently knew what was going on. The girl from earlier – Laura, he recalled – had entered the room shortly after they had and was perched on the armrest of Wolverine's large, overstuffed armchair, both hands cradling her purple mug as she laughed and joked with what was easily the most aggressive and short-tempered man Remy had ever met. The oddest thing was that even if he had not known that Laura was Logan's 'daughter', it would have been easy enough to tell – the way he looked at the girl, laughed with her, it was exactly the same way in which he had always responded to Rogue. Remy noticed that Laura was actually not very tall and was now wearing an oversized, worn black hoodie bearing the faded white depiction of what appeared to be a mistreated corpse under a spiky, chaotic heading that might have read 'Carcass' and some other text that he could not quite make out from where he was sitting. Her bottom lip was pierced in the middle, the silver ring winking in the light from the fireplace, and her black trousers were embellished with o-rings down either side from hip to knee. Her boots were black and scuffed, and he vaguely recalled seeing Rogue once in a very similar pair, and he wondered if perhaps they were hand-me-downs. They certainly had that old-but-well-loved look to them. In fact, most of what she was wearing had that look to it – her 'sister's' influence, no doubt, or simply Rogue's wardrobe being extensive enough to accommodate Laura as well as the Southern Belle. Secretly, he was not a little ecstatic that Rogue was still very much the same as she had been when he had gotten to know her. It proved consistency of character, as well as generally suiting her down to the ground.
Looking around he saw a lad of roughly nineteen sitting with a pleasant-looking dark-skinned, dark-haired girl who could well be Brazilian or some such by the window, her fingers busy stroking his brown mop of hair as he spoke quietly in her ear, eliciting a giggle every once in a while. In front of the fireplace lay the large dog he had seen earlier, but the boy who'd been chasing it was in another chair nearby, sharing it with a very young girl with thick, curly chestnut hair who was enshrouded in a black shirt many sizes too big for her and wearing very large gloves that resembled the kind used for heavy gardening, albeit seemingly made from soft black leather – new and shining. From Remy's perspective it appeared that they were communicating via sign language, the boy taking care to be as close to the girl as possible without touching her, and Remy could clearly see the look of adoration in his eyes and the way his attention remained exclusively on the girl's face and hands. Ah, young love... The scenario playing out between them caught at something inside him and he paused to give it thought. The way she was decked out, the gloves, the way she was covered up, right down to the flinch when the boy got too close – it reminded him of Rogue. He wondered if this child had powers reminiscent of Rogue's, or if they were quite different and required the same level of precaution only. And then he wondered if Rogue had ever been sitting in the same overstuffed armchair as a young man who was clearly infatuated with her, desperately trying to avoid physical touch while communicating all the same, oblivious to the efforts of the poor youth beside her...
She was sitting with him in one of these convenient, room-for-two, snuggly, cushioned affairs, leaning into his side as she sipped her hot chocolate with one hand, the other casually resting atop his on his black-clad thigh. He could smell the perfume of her hair, feel her breathing against him, slowly, deeply, as though she were sleepy or just very comfortable, and his empathy was letting him gauge the level of her comfort accurately. She was at peace apart from a little thing that seemed to nag at the periphery of her emotional sphere as she surveyed the people lounging around them, mingling, the familial air of the situation a cosy blanket of safety lying over them all. She sighed minutely – he only knew because of their proximity to one another – and he allowed himself to submerge his mind in the flow of her emotions for a while. It was... soothing... to feel the same as she was feeling. Usually his empathy was either useful or annoying, and certainly he never felt particularly fantastic when he was reading the mood of someone else or sifting through their emotions, but wallowing in her emotional output was strangely calming. Almost soporific. He tried to put it down to the fact that she was perpetually linked to him via the draining effect of her powers, the flow and feed-off of that amplifying the effects of his empathy and causing this, but he couldn't shake the notion that it wasn't anything to do with their situation or the interference of their powers. It was simply being this close to Rogue that felt good...
He felt the rush of surprise and joy in her before he felt her jerk up and into a standing position as she cried out in what was definitely not unhappiness and the room resounded with an echoing ~bampf~ and was treated to an unpleasant, sulphuric odour as she was suddenly wrapped in what appeared to be a tall, muscular, furry blue demon with an impressive tail who was competing with her for 'loudest overjoyed squeal of the month' and twirling her around at the same time.
"Roguey!"
"Kurt! Ah'm so glad you're alraght, Ah was that worried an' all – "
"Don't worry about it, I'm just glad you're okay!"
"You're better now, raght? Ah mean, you're all healed up?" she checked him over, holding him at arms length and he flashed blindingly white fangs at her and nodded.
"Fit as a fiddle – and less stiff," he joked, and she swatted his arm playfully.
"Ya great lump," she cooed, hugging him again and kissing his cheek as he went a delicate purple colour and rolled his eyes.
"Seriously, Liebling, I'm fine," he said, emphasising the word fine heavily, and she smiled and ruffled his hair.
"Alraght, alraght – jus' promise meh you'll say hey to Amanda from meh an' don' do anythin' strenuous over there – Ah don' need you lyin' aroun' down that sick bay anymore makin' meh feel all guilty an' whatnot," she said with a raised finger, and he bowed gracefully, saluting with his tail.
"As mein Lieblingsschwester commands," he said seriously, before teleporting off with that strange ~bampf~ noise and the cloud of smoke the only indicators that he was ever there. Rogue moved to sit back down beside Remy, but was hailed by the dark-haired girl, Jubes, that Remy remembered as being especially fierce with her snowballing prowess, who popped her head out from behind a sofa and waggled her eyebrows comically at the Southern Belle.
"Hey chica, how do you always know when that brother of yours is going to see Amanda?" she asked with a grin, and Rogue shrugged.
"He brushes his fur, that's all Ah can tell ya Jubes. Doesn' Angie do somethin' special when he's goin' out with you?" The tease in Rogue's voice was apparently not meant for Jubes, but rather for the owner of the muffled and indignant voice from behind the sofa that called,
"It's Angelo! Angelo!" Jubes' thrilled expression caused Remy to believe this Angelo could well be her significant other and she giggled and dove back behind the sofa with such enthusiasm that he hardly needed his theory confirmed any further than that. Rogue plopped down next to Remy again and curled her fingers around his before settling against him and sighing contentedly. A petite blonde girl walked in closely followed by a small boy with greenish-grey skin and a prominent forehead, whose large eyes swept the room with interest before lighting up at the sight of Rogue, who was too busy immersing herself completely in the worship of her hot chocolate. The child seemed to notice this and smiled happily, following the girl to the dog lying in front of the fire and sitting with her by it's side, stroking the reddish fur and speaking softly to it. Remy wondered vaguely whose children they were – the girl couldn't be more than twelve and the boy must be about that too. It didn't seem important enough to focus on though and he felt himself slipping into a doze, his eyes feeling incredibly heavy as he leant into Rogue and closed the delicate red and black organs.
To whom it may concern (read: to anyone who made it this far without closing the window in disgust that shite like this is actually legal and freely available to young, impressionable children) : GO AND READ ANY DAMN THING ON EITHER ANON GODDESS' OR ASHMANDALC'S PROFILES OR LIVE WITH THE KNOWLEDGE THAT YOU SIR - no, I dont care that you're wearing ladies undergarments and call yourself female, as Monty Python, Little Britain, and countless people whom I unfortunately know intimately have shown us, that's no guarantee - HAVE MISSED OUT. BIG TIME. TAKE THE SHAME.
