: HOUSE OF CARDS :
PART FOUR : CORRUPTION
(13) - Lovers and Strangers -
She awoke later after a brief nap to find Rifkind still sleeping in the bed beside her. It was only then, alone in the bedroom with not another living soul to bear witness, that she showed any open sign of disgust and repulsion. She lay there, staring at the handsome young director for a long while with an ugly look etched onto her beautiful face.
In truth she had no reason to hate him - he hadn't beaten her, he hadn't humiliated or degraded her - but the fact that she had had to seek him out, that she had been forced to sleep with him out of nothing but mere convenience, and that he had accepted her tawdry seduction at all was enough to make her hate him. Yet even this she could have forgiven, if he had not invaded her in a way none of her previous quarries had ever invaded her before. He had done the very thing he had no right to do - he'd made her lose control of her body. For the first time she really, truly wanted to kill him, as if by killing him she could steal back what he'd stolen from her, the one thing she'd saved and set aside for the man she loved. But it was impossible. Done. Over. She'd never get it back. It was useless, pointless to dwell on it - that's what Raven would tell her. Sometimes it happened. Live with it. Deal with it. Move on.
Easier said than done.
Lying there in that hotel bed she felt dirty, damaged beyond repair, and she wanted nothing more than to step into the shower next door and scrub him off her; but there was no time. She must work with all the swiftness Mystique had impressed upon her. She must complete her mission.
Each movement made her body ache with a dull throb, but she put this firmly at the back of her mind, slowly rolling out of bed, making sure not to jar it and wake Rifkind up. Silently she slipped back into her underwear and her dress. Then, quiet as a ghost, she crossed the room on tiptoe, went to his jacket (that still lay haphazard on the floor), and rifled through the pockets. The outer ones were clean except for his cell phone, his wallet and his keys. But inside the inner breast pocket she found it. The keycard, that one thin sliver of plastic she'd given away so much for.
She didn't have time to contemplate the irony of it. Bending down, she pulled back the hem of her dress and carefully picked at the threads. Once undone, she produced a new, blank card, plain, unmarked. Then she searched in her purse, opened up a secret compartment inside the lining, and slipped out a small black box - the card-swiper Forge had manufactured. Quickly, delicately, she swiped Rifkind's card through the small device; then having pressed a small button on the side, at which a red light on the device flashed once, she swiped her own blank card into it. The red light blinked green, signalling that the data within had been copied. Silently, she slipped the device back into her purse, then slid the master card back into Rifkind's jacket pocket. All that was left was the duplicate card she'd made, the one that would gain Mystique entry into Bolivar Trask's Sentinel files. She regarded it a moment in the moonlight, a caustic grimace touching her lips. Then she slipped it into her bra, picked up her purse and left.
x
She was careful to take the utility stairs down and avoid the lifts and corridors. On the fifth floor she slid into a store cupboard where Pyro had hidden her equipment a week before. Again she unclothed, stuffed the offending green dress into one of her packs, and changed into her usual black bodysuit and old brown bomber jacket. Glad to be out of the dress at last, she slipped out of the corridors with the fluid, feline grace of a cat, heading for the back doors she knew Avalanche had secured for her that morning. There was only one thing on her mind as she reached the final passageway, as she saw those doors shining in the moonlight, beckoning her to make her escape. All she wanted was to get home, to get back to base and get into that shower, to wash off Rifkind's lewd touches, to brush the taste of him out of her mouth, to wipe every trace of his memory from her body forever, even if it could only be an illusion…
Her heart was thumping, and despite all her training she found her step quickening, her breath coming in short, sharp audible bursts as she half walked, half ran towards that ever-encroaching exit and…
She reached out for the door handle and pushed, half afraid it would still be locked, feeling it give, feeling the door swing open under her touch…
And suddenly she was on the outside once more, the sharp, cold sting of winter touching her cheeks, the air catching her breath as smoke, and she suddenly felt like shouting for joy - she'd never felt so invigorated, so glad to be out in the open air in all her life.
Mission accomplished.
Another notch on her belt, another blade wedged into her heart.
She navigated the lot by keeping close to the walls and staying in the shadows, all the better to avoid cameras and prying eyes. It wouldn't do to get caught now. At last she reached the exit, and she paused as she stepped onto the side road and looked about her. It was a dingy street, rancid and dank, but thankfully empty. She glanced at her watch. 10:30. Technically, the night was still young. The bright young things would be out on the town now, laughing and dancing and drinking and flirting and romancing, living their lives the way young people should. A long time ago, Rogue would've been doing the same, had she ever been able to touch. And now that she could touch, she was giving away all the feeling left inside her to men whose names she would never remember, to whom she was a nothing.
Sometimes, moments like these, she missed Xavier and his dreams.
She missed them because she didn't know how to dream anymore.
She turned and began to walk towards the main street, thinking of the place she called home, thinking of a long, hot bath.
And there he was.
Leaning against the railing and watching her, as if he'd always been there watching her, waiting for her.
She half-halted and stared at him, showing no outward sign of surprise - she never did, especially since she had now come to expect his impromptu appearances in her life - nevertheless her heart had begun to beat painfully against the wall of her chest. She knew what his meetings meant by now. She knew that whenever he showed up it could only mean one thing. Yet for some reason, despite everything that had happened that evening, she wanted it. She wanted it bad.
But Ah don't need it. It's the last thing Ah need…
And so she kept walking.
He didn't stop her, didn't even say a word as she brushed past, but when she'd just about got to the main street she felt him behind her, knew he was following her just like he'd always ghosted her every move back when they'd been in the X-Men.
"What're you doin' here?" she snapped at him over her shoulder, not knowing why she didn't just continue to ignore him.
He grinned, came into step beside her as if she'd greeted him, and shrugged.
"Got my day off."
She raised an eyebrow.
"So you decided t' follow me?"
He shrugged again, a slow, sexy smile crinkling his lips, the kind of smile that had made her knees go weak back in the day.
"You're de flame, I'm de moth," he said helplessly.
Something in the words made her halt. He'd known they would have that effect on her. He stopped too, under the streetlight, lighting a cigarette while he waited for an answer. It was a year and a month to the day since she'd last seen him - yes, she counted the days - since they'd last met that fateful night at the FoH headquarters. There, under the eerie, ephemeral glow of the lamplight he didn't look much different at all - it was as if he never changed from one year to the next. He was still beautiful, still lean and strong and dangerous, his movements still as elegant as the feline and irreverently seductive, as if he invited her with his body. And as she stood there running her eyes over him, something unfurled in the pit of her stomach, something bold and animal and primitive, something wild and desperate in the face of the cold emptiness that had so consumed her.
And suddenly she didn't even have to think about her answer, she simply had to open her mouth and it all came tumbling out on a laboured breath:
"You wanna get burnt?"
He took a drag; smoke wreathed him, making him seem even more beautiful, even more mysterious to her…
"Only if you're offering."
She looked down the street, at the world spinning past, at the bright young things coming out to play in all their finery… She decided.
Tonight, this night, she wanted a piece of it too.
"You still got that place downtown?" she asked.
-oOo-
It was the same old dingy block of flats, disused and disowned by all but the inconsequential and the unknown. They'd parked his battered old Harley up outside the forecourt, their journey there having increased their impatience and hunger tenfold. She'd clung to him while he'd ridden, pressing herself against the hard contours of his body, feeling the fire in her stomach stoking into an inferno of eager expectation, so that by the time they'd arrived at their destination her breath was shallow and shaky.
They'd said nothing on the way up to his apartment; but she thought she saw his hands tremble too as he stabbed the key into the lock, pushed open the door, and let her step inside.
It smelt as musty and unused as it had done the first time she'd come here - she heard him flick on the lights behind her and she looked around, interested to see whether it was the same. And it was, superficially - still pokey and dusty and unkempt, and yet there were subtle changes here and there. Bland white towels hung over the armchair, mugs on the stove, a portable heater in the corner, a fresh comforter on the mattress. As she heard him close the door to and lock it behind her, she couldn't help but wonder how often he now came back here, whether he brought other women here too.
No, don't think about it…
She stood stationary in the middle of the room, her emotions wavering somewhere between need and dismay, desire and dread…
It was a long moment before she felt him come up behind her, and his fingers tickled her hair softly; then suddenly he'd circled her, was in front of her, his hands on her upper arms, his eyes looking down into hers with now undisguised passion, and suddenly the animal hunger was kindled inside her again. As he leaned forward and took her lips with his own she closed her eyes, her heart swelling in her chest in an onrush of emotion so violent she could barely breathe. It was something so different, so totally divorced from what she had experienced with Rifkind before - it was magic, dark and seductive, and for once she was letting herself be seduced, she was wanting it with every fibre of her body. It was the animal inside her that returned his kiss, devouring his mouth with a feral need that had long felt alien to her. He showed no surprise, no wonder at her abrupt and fierce reciprocation - if anything his embrace became deeper, more savage. His hands slipped from her arms to her hips, pressing her against his pelvis, and she slid his arms over his shoulders, twined her fingers into his hair, grinding herself against his growing hardness, wanting to feel him, wanting that connection to bridge the aching gap inside her…
Ah need him inside me, Ah need him so bad… But not yet, not with Rifkind still on me…
The cold feeling was stealing over her again - she pushed against his chest with both hands, breaking their embrace.
"Remy…"
He was reluctant to let her go, his hands cupping her buttocks, holding her against his erection; their breaths were both coming hard, and she whimpered a little as she felt his arousal press against her stomach, telling her exactly what she did to him, exactly what he wanted to do to her…
"Mon Dieu, Rogue, you're so amazin'…" he purred, sucking her lower lip into a seductive kiss, but once more she pushed him away.
"Remy… wait… please…" she breathed - her lungs were burning painfully.
"What is it?" Another kiss, but she pulled back from it before it could become any deeper.
"Remy… Ah-Ah really need t' go have a shower…"
He paused, his eyes tracing her lips longingly before travelling to her eyes.
"Den I'll join you," he murmured; but there was no way in hell she was going to let him do that. She clung to the lapels of his trench coat, wilfully suppressing the pleading in her voice as she continued.
"No…Please… Ah just need to clean up, that's all… Ah won't be five minutes, Ah promise… It's - it's been a rough night."
Her voice trailed off, and even though he'd loosened his embrace, she was afraid he'd get suspicious at the desperation she felt sure was in her words. But he stared at her a long moment, searching her gaze, before a slight smile curled his lips.
"D'accord. I know how sweaty it can get durin' missions, but chere… You an' me are gonna get a whole lot sweatier when we're done…"
Even though she was screaming inside, she somehow managed to return the grin.
"A gal's gotta make herself presentable for her man…" she drawled playfully, toying with the collar of his duster in a perfect display of coquettish sexiness. His smile widened and he leaned in, his nose lightly touching her own.
"Just don't keep me waitin' too long…"
"Ah won't," she whispered, and he kissed her, this time deliberate, unhurried, making her toes curl.
It was all she could do to finally break away, grab one of the towels, and hurry to the bathroom.
-oOo-
It was cold and damp, but she'd been in worse places and frankly she didn't care. Her limbs were shaking violently as she switched on the shower and scrambled out of her jacket and bodysuit. The keycard was still stuck inside her bra, and she pulled it out, neatly tucking it inside one of the concealed inner pockets of her suit. Then she hurried out of her underwear and threw it aside. By the time she had done all this, she was trembling so fiercely that she could barely stand. She could still smell Rifkind on her and it seemed impossible to her that Remy could not have smelt him too.
Maybe he doesn't care…
But somehow she knew that if he had known, he would never have taken her here, he would never have kissed her with such passion, and be hanging around outside this room right now, waiting for her and wanting her…
It was a cold form of comfort.
She stepped under the shower. There was only soap, but it would have to do. She let the hot water hit her for a moment, relishing the cleansing feel of it on her skin. Then she got to work with the soap, going through the ritual she always went through when she was in the shower. Each body part, one at a time. Feet, legs, hands, arms, stomach, breasts, back, buttocks. Each movement was calculated, methodical, almost obsessive. Every iota of contamination had to scrubbed off. She saved the more vigorous part of the routine for her genitals, which always remained till last. There was a kind of brutal concentration on her face as she scoured this part of her body, trying desperately to destroy every trace of any man that had ever touched her there - she'd scrub until she was red and raw and still it wouldn't make any difference.
Because it didn't matter how long she stayed in the shower, she knew she wouldn't be able to wipe the memory of Rifkind from her body - as long as she was alive, however much she cleaned herself he would be there, a part of him always inside her.
And with that realisation, something inside her broke. Suddenly there were tears spilling out of her eyes, and she dropped the soap and leant against the wall, wanting to lay down and die and escape this cruel Fate that had been handed to her. Her cage, her prison, her cocoon - one no one could save her from.
Not even him.
She cried for a long time, longer than she'd intended to, for she rarely indulged in self-pity anymore, seeing it as a sign of weakness. But her tears were silent, and she made not a sound; and that was her only source of comfort, that she'd never surrender her voice to this pain, that she would confess it to no one.
At last, tired and emotionally drained, she switched off the shower and passed a shaking hand over her face. She'd been in there too long; he'd be getting impatient, wondering what was wrong. Slowly, uncertainly, she stepped out of the cubicle and went to the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. Her face was pale, her eyes puffy. She turned on the faucet and splashed them with cold water. She smiled a wan smile to herself, and her reflection smiled wanly back. She thought, with a little regret, that while still youthful, something had gone out of her face - she looked somehow more worn, more tired. She was still beautiful, but then, beauty was such an overrated thing these days and didn't mean very much. She had been more beautiful when she was younger - beautiful in a truer sense, beautiful in a way that spoke of her soul, not just simply her looks. Now the beauty was cold, superficial. She had been a fool back then, to believe beauty was anything less than skin deep.
She wondered what he thought of her when he looked at her face.
She wondered why she came back to him at all, when all he did was what every other man did to her anyway.
Because it's the closest thing to love Ah can get.
And because to her he was beautiful, inside and out.
She picked up the towel, wrapped it round her. One last look in the mirror. She rumpled her dampened hair, pouted her lips.
She felt stretched thin, thinner than ever before, but she figured she could stretch herself a little more, just for him.
Her hand on the door, pushing: and suddenly she was out.
-oOo-
He'd been lying on the mattress staring at the ceiling when she came out the shower. There had been no more feeling in her as she'd crossed the room towards him, no more feeling but this animal instinct - her heart empty, as if her tears had drained it all away. He'd looked up at her as she'd entered, unable to hide the hunger in his face, and it had made it easier, easier for her to face this and pretend there was no emotion, there was no passion… She'd stripped the towel from her, flung it aside, sank down onto the mattress and straddled his long, lean body, snaking her palms up his torso, his rough, chiselled face, relishing the texture of him. When she kissed him it was greedy, lustful; and when he'd kissed her back, it was just as needy, just as hungry, his hands pressing her naked body towards his, no tenderness, no gentleness, just as raw and sordid and angry as she wanted, needed it to be…
There could be no more thoughts, no more feelings, nothing but instinct, nothing but touch.
She had fallen into that cruel mechanical ritual, had already pulled off his clothes and was kissing a trail down his chest, his abdomen, lower, lower… Her teeth grazing his hard flesh, her rough tongue worshipping him. All the while she kept her eyes closed - it was the only way she could cope, that she could break the connection between emotion and action, that she could turn him into a thing and not a man, a man that she cared for more than anything she'd ever cared for in all her life. And yet she hated him, she hated him because she cared for him and she couldn't deal with that, she couldn't deal with the fact that they could be nothing more than this, than a cheap and tawdry fling once a year.
And suddenly it wasn't so hard, it wasn't so hard to be violent, to make this brutal and unkind and indifferent, just like sex with every other man that used her had been. She dug her nails into his thighs as she sucked him, hearing him panting above her, feeling his fingers twisting in her hair, drawing pain, sweet pain…
"Stop."
At first she'd thought it was her own imagination, that he hadn't really said it. But when she felt his hands go slack, when she felt his body go limp against her own, she knew she'd gone too far. So she stopped and slid back up against him, unable to meet his eyes - but still she insisted on kissing him, quick, light, fleeting kisses on his collarbone, his throat, his chin; but he kept twisting his mouth away from hers so she couldn't catch it, and underneath her body his own was unresponsive.
"What is it?" she murmured between kisses, intent on catching his lips, but he'd grasped her head between his hands, trying to look into her face. She dodged him, persisting in planting those light kisses on his chin - she didn't think she could take him staring into her eyes and seeing the pain that lay within. "Don't Ah please you?" she asked, deliberately dropping her voice to something seductive. She didn't understand what she'd done wrong… After all, every man she'd seduced the past year and a half had liked this kind of foreplay and she didn't doubt for a moment that he was really an exception to the rule…
He was still clutching her head between his hands, still trying to get her to look at him, but she couldn't do it.
"Somet'ing's different," he murmured breathlessly. "You're diff'rent…"
"No, Ah'm not…" She kissed his chin… "Ah still wantcha somethin' bad…" …His jaw… "Maybe Ah just ain't afraid t' show it anymore…"
She pressed herself against him harder, wanting him to hate her, to use her, to abuse her any which way he wanted just as long as he didn't have to make her feel…
But his hands were on her face, forcing her to look at him, to meet his gaze… And when she looked into his eyes, those deep, dark eyes, there was no anger there, no violence, none of the leering lust she saw in the eyes of so many men when they looked at her… Instead his gaze was tender, it was questioning, it was all things she didn't want from this one night; and it was breaking her heart, making her fall for him even more…
Tears rose in her throat, but she held them back because she never cried when she was with a man, and she wasn't going to cry for him.
"Let's go slow," he murmured, delicately brushing her cheek with the back of his hand, his eyes so open, so trusting… "Okay?"
She couldn't find the words to answer; but he needed no none anyway. Gently he rolled them both over, never breaking eye contact with her, searching her face as his body settled, warm and strong, into hers; and suddenly the helpless desperation in her was quelled; suddenly there was no more fight left in her. His mouth was on hers, kissing her slowly, moist and soft, the texture of velvet, caressing a kiss back from her with his tongue, making her shudder, making her moan… The defences she'd erected around her heart had crumbled haphazard around her. Without knowing it she was kissing him back with eyes closed, shyly, deeply, her arms involuntarily reaching out for him, holding him as if to hold him too close would be to break him. And suddenly it was different. Suddenly she was feeling.
He'd left her mouth and was now kissing a lazy trail down her neck, her clavicle, lower still, slower and gentler than the kisses she'd lavished on his body before. She didn't dare to open her eyes in case he stopped, in case it ended. Unable to help herself she twined her fingers in his hair, guiding him onward as his lips drew lower still, over her stomach… His tongue lathing her navel, leaving her core tingling in a glow so intense she thought she would burst with it.
And then it hit her.
What if he could tell, what if he could taste all those other men on her…?
"Remy…"
But his mouth was already there, kissing her with that same, reverent slowness, his tongue fluttering inside her, and she caught a breath, her pelvis involuntarily rising to meet his kiss, her mind reeling with pleasure and horror… A cold fire was in her heart, in her throat… Because however much she scrubbed herself in that shower, however long she spent under that water she never felt clean, she would always come out again feeling dirty and defiled -
Stop!
For a second she thought he must have heard her, for his kiss became less intense, and then he stopped altogether, and she thought with a certain dread, that he must have known, he must have been able to tell that he was not the only one…
She lay there panting, feeling his weight sinking in against her once more, and as his face came back into view, she saw that there was no accusation on his face.
"You okay?" she felt more than heard him whisper.
She swallowed, nodded.
"You were so tense…" he murmured, brushing loose curls from her cheek once more, his expression questioning.
"F-first time," she lied. He smiled.
"Sorry." He kissed the tip of her nose. "I jus' thought… De way you were comin' at me earlier on, you'd be ready…" His mouth opened hers again in another soul-stirring kiss, his way of apologising - but she didn't think she could take much more of this whimsical foreplay without bursting into tears, without telling him she loved him.
She twisted her lips from his, even though it killed her to do so.
"Remy…"
"Hmmm?"
"Now…" she whispered.
There was a pause, and a different shade crossed his face; but she knew he wouldn't, couldn't refuse her. He'd dipped his head once more, kissing her with open eyes; but she'd closed her own when he entered her, not wanting to see the look on his face when he first pushed inside her. Because something had changed, and now it was different to all the times before. Because this time she was answering him with every ounce of her being because she wanted it like he wanted it, and it was almost too much for her to handle, to even comprehend. The previous times she'd been with him she'd been uncertain, unsure, letting him lead her; she'd been a child-woman, an infant with touch. And all the other times she'd been with other men for the sake of the mission, she'd been divorced from her body, a cold automaton with no emotions, no heart, no feeling.
But that night was the first night she realised the difference between sex and lovemaking, between lust and intimacy. For the first time they were both equals in this act, and for the first time she had felt something change in the nature of their relationship, something tangible yet ambiguous, something they'd never be able to reverse again.
In that one insoluble night they ceased to be mere strangers, comrades, teammates, colleagues, friends.
From that night onward, they were lovers.
-oOo-
It must've been hours later when they stopped, exhausted yet for the first time curiously satisfied in a way they had not been satisfied in years. Satisfaction was a strange thing to come by these days, and they were both so full on it, they now felt bewildered. So they lay together, silent and bemused on the dusty mattress, for they'd never in their wildest dreams guessed that they would ever be satisfied again.
She hadn't counted the times they'd made love, each time more desperate and violent than the last. It was as if a barrier had been broken between them, a dam had been cracked and the floodwaters had come gushing out. Everything that they'd ever wanted to say to one another but were still unable to seemed to manifest itself through their bodies - they knew they'd never be able to vent it any other way. It was still an unspoken rule that they never ask the other about their lives, their loves, their emotions. Despite the sudden and subtle change in the balance of their relationship, they still knew that tomorrow they would part again and go back to their dark and monotonous lives. Whatever their feelings, their connection could never break the bonds of the physical. The physical was the only form of communication they had.
And this time, when she cuddled against him and he put his arms around her, it wasn't just the embrace of two incidental outsiders coming together out of a mutual need for warmth and comfort. Not anymore. It was the embrace of a couple who now felt they shared a singular bond - a camaraderie, a conspiracy almost, something no one else could touch.
Neither voiced the sudden realisation that this unwitting collusion now existed, but as they lay there entwined together in the silence of the night, each could not help but quietly acknowledge that it did.
To Rogue, it was the most frightening and exciting thing she'd ever known.
As if, in making love to him, she was fighting against the world.
Despite these subtle changes, something of their previous rituals still remained. Afterwards they would say very little; he would smoke a cigarette or two, and she would nestle into him and hold onto him as much as she dared. But this time round she couldn't help touching him, feeling every inch of his body that she could reach - she wasn't scared of his sexuality anymore, nor of her own - in fact she was greedy for him, because he was the only thing she wanted but could never truly have.
"I swear de past couple of years you've gotten better at dis," he suddenly murmured out of the blue, breaking their prolonged silence.
"What?" she asked, running her fingers down over his taut abdomen and lower still with a playful lightness, feeling him tense then moan as she tickled him mercilessly, feeling devilish.
"Dat," he groaned, removing her wandering hand before she could do anymore damage.
"Why, you complainin'?" she asked boldly, surrendering and letting him have his way for now.
"Nope," he replied, but as she looked into his face she saw doubt in his eyes, the same shade that had passed over his face before he'd first entered her.
That look, that long questioning look sent her heart cold.
Could it be that he can tell? That he knows Ah've been with other men…?
She waited for the accusation to come, but it didn't. Instead he half smiled, touched her cheek and quipped: "Never thought I'd live t' see the day de Rogue became a sex goddess."
She grimaced derisively. Is that all he cares about, how Ah measure up against his stupid standards? If he knew what Ah did for the sake of the mission, would he be so picky then?
"Lucky Ah have such a great teacher then, huh?" she muttered disdainfully, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. His expression was slightly wounded.
"Don't get like dat. I'm payin' you a compliment."
"Yeah. Now Ah'm just about as good as all the other women you fuck. Great."
She could tell that he was slightly bewildered as to her sudden agitation. The last thing she wanted was for him to question her - if he did she knew she'd break down and the truth would have to come out. So she rolled over onto her side, turning her back on him. There was a confused silence before she felt him spoon in against her back, felt his breath in her hair as he said: "Rogue, we've talked about dis before. You know you're not the only woman I sleep wit', so-"
"Yeah, Ah know," she snapped before he could continue. "And Ah'm fine with it, Remy. Fine."
"So why do I get de impression you're not?"
"Don't flatter yourself. This doesn't mean anything, does it? You said it yourself. You made it perfectly clear last time we were here that this is just sex."
There was another pause, thick and pregnant, and she lay there, her heart pounding horribly as she realised… Ah'm sayin' too much, Ah'm givin' too much away…
"And does dat bother you?" came his voice, soft, low and unreadable…
Ah've said too much…
She rolled over quickly, looked him in the eye, and without once wincing, without even blinking, said: "No."
A horrible lie, a challenge in the face of all the hurt and pain and suffering that consumed her days, that would never stop consuming them till the day she died.
She didn't wait to see his reaction. She knew he'd heard what he wanted to hear. Leaning forward, she kissed him, long and hard; and he responded with equal roughness, pulling her closer to him. The embrace was bold, daring, the last defence she had against the truth. And when they pulled apart she ran a hand through his hair, content to watch him, content to let him watch her.
"It doesn't bother me," she murmured at last, decidedly. "Y'know why? Because after everythin' yah said t' me last time we were here… After all that bravado yah came out with… Yah came back after all. Yah came back, Remy."
He smiled at her, beautiful, guarded…
"I didn't mean t' say those things t' you last time," he returned in an undertone, his eyelids heavy. "I was just angry wit' you, chere."
"Maybe," she said contemplatively. "But what you said was right. This doesn't mean anythin', does it? Not out there." She looked away, to the window. "Out there is the reality. And this is just some sorta fucked up wet dream. But Ah guess we'll dream it again, someday." She chuckled softly. "When Ah saw you outside the Ritz t'day, Ah was pissed. Last year yah told me Ah shouldn't wait for yah, that you weren't gonna come back. And then there you were, right outside that hotel, waitin' for me anyways."
His arms were still snugly round her hips; his fingers idly tickled the small of her back.
"Guess I just can't stay away," he murmured.
She chuckled again lightly.
"Ah hope that means that someday, you'll be back hangin' round mah door again, sugah."
She didn't wait to hear him say yes or no. She didn't want to; she didn't want to know if or how long she would ever have to wait to be with him again. Instead she closed the gap between them, putting her arms round him, holding him close when all she really wanted to hear him say was, this does mean something, it isn't just sex, you mean something to me, Rogue, even if we can't be together…
But she knew that if he did say it, if she did hear those words, she wouldn't be able to leave this room, she wouldn't be able to leave him… She'd never be able to go back to the life she now led, the life of a terrorist, an outlaw, a whore…
Because she wanted all or nothing, and she knew that was something he'd never be willing to give her.
And yet was it only her imagination that he seemed to cling to her a little too tightly; that as she drifted off into sleep his embrace was more secure, more protective than it had ever been before?
-oOo-
Her sleep that night was strangely untroubled, and when she awoke the next morning she felt more refreshed than she had done many mornings past. But his embrace, which had so tenderly lulled her into sleep the night before, was gone. The only sign that he was still present was the sound of running water in the bathroom.
Reaching out over the edge of the mattress she fumbled for his watch, which he had left on the floor, and cast a bleary eye at it. Seven. She groaned, not wanting to get out of bed, not wanting to leave the place where so many of her happiest moments had been. Nevertheless she knew she couldn't stay much longer. By now Mystique would at best be worried about her, at worst foaming at the mouth. Best not to incur her wrath much more than was possible - she knew how anal Mystique could be about the slightest thing, and her absence the previous night meant she was already going to get more than just a stern talking to.
Even though her body protested at every movement, Rogue rolled out from under the covers and staggered across the room, her limbs wobbly. Her bodysuit and underwear had been slung over the back of the chair; her pack had still been left in the corner, untouched. She slipped on her underwear, deciding not to get into the bodysuit since a shower would be best before she left. Though her bag looked secure enough, she wondered whether he'd rifled through her things while she'd been asleep, whether he'd seen the dress she'd worn to seduce Rifkind, whether he'd seen the butterfly pendant tucked inside the inner pocket for good luck. She wondered whether he had any interest in her 'other' life at all. Maybe he didn't want to know. Maybe he wanted to keep as distant from her as possible. It lessened the risk of attachment, of guilt and regret. She could understand that. But somehow she secretly wanted him to go through all her personal belongings, she wanted him to seek a connection deeper than that which their trysts encompassed…
She suddenly wondered if Irene had ever foreseen these dalliances they shared, and whether she knew, and always had known, that this morning Rogue would be here, whether Rogue would always be right here… …
It was while she was standing there, tying up her hair into a ponytail and mulling over these things, that he finally emerged, naked but for a towel round his waist. He seemed surprised to see her up already, instantly becoming awkward, brushing past her to retrieve his clothes with an air of forced insouciance.
"You're up early," he noted somewhat accusingly. She bristled to hear his tone, so harsh, so reproachful, but managed a shrug in the face of it.
"Ah slept better last night."
She thought he'd show some sense of remorse but he merely grunted. She heard him drop the towel and a part of her wanted to turn and look, but another part knew it would invite something more sensual between them, and she knew that with the night over there could be no more hope of that. Still, she resented the enforced coolness of their relationship come the morning - it was always as if he felt ashamed of being with her. She knew he did it because he didn't want them to become too dependent on one another; but if he could just show her some sense of affection, some sense of acknowledgement that the night before had actually happened at all…
"Remy…" she began, while he continued to dress behind her.
"Yeah?" His tone was gruff, abrupt. She hesitated, continued quietly: "Thank you. For last night, I mean."
She heard him pause behind her, surprised; but a well of emotion was brewing up inside her and she needed to get it out, she needed to talk about it even if he didn't want to hear it...
"Ah know you probably don't wanna hear this," she spoke slowly to the wall, "but Ah just wanna let you know that…" She paused, her breath catching slightly. That it did mean somethin' t' me, that it did make all the difference t' this gal's life… She blinked, her eyes suddenly smarting. "That Ah'm really grateful, that's all. Ah-Ah really needed it; last night. So yeah. Thanks."
She stopped, feeling oddly relieved at having made some allusion to her feelings, however inadequate. He said nothing. After a moment she heard him continue to dress, then move to the other corner of the room where she knew his bags were. Her throat constricted. They'd spent five minutes in one another's presence and he'd spoken a grand total of four words to her.
Even after last night, even after the strange certainty that they were now no longer simply friends but lovers, he was still treating her like this, still denying that anything existed between them…
But then suddenly he was right there behind her, his body heat warming the length of her back, and she started when she felt him press a kiss against the nape of her neck, a delicate, lingering kiss that said more than words ever could have done.
She didn't wait to rationalise it. Turning, she wrapped her arms round his body and buried her face in his chest, flooding her nostrils with the spicy scent of his aftershave, the faint aroma of tobacco, of leather and motorcycle grease, all the smells she couldn't help but associate with him whenever she came across them. She knew it was bold, she knew it was dangerous, she knew it went against every unspoken rule that lay between them, but she couldn't help it.
"Ah don't want you to go," she whispered, and she thought he'd be angry, that he'd push her away and remonstrate her for being such a fool, but instead he inhaled a long breath, a breath she read like a sign; and suddenly she was overjoyed because she knew he was hesitating, she knew he was wavering too…
"I've gotta go," he murmured into her hair - a reminder, low, apologetic. She clasped him a moment longer, taking a deep breath of him before letting him go and stepping back.
"Take care of yourself, Remy," she half-whispered. "Stay alive."
He stood mute, his arms hanging by his side, his expression even, imparting nothing; then suddenly there was a ghost of a movement, and she thought he had meant to enfold her in his arms once more; but a split second later the impression had gone, and he had merely given her a short nod of the head.
He turned, picked up his bags, walked to the door, and with that image of him she thought her heart would break; but she tried to hold the agony deep inside her, tried to hold it back, and it was breaking through her defences, seeping out into her veins, into her skin, and a wail was forming inside her, scrambling into her throat, leaping to make its escape…
"Remy."
He halted at the name, so softly spoken on a drawn-out breath.
She paused, gathered all her courage, managed a smile. "Until next time."
He half turned, a small grin suddenly on his face, brazen as ever.
"Until next time, chere."
It was the last thing she saw, that sultry smile, before he'd shut the door behind him, and was gone from her life once more.
-oOo-