Disclaimer: Characters belong to Marvel, etc.
Rating: Rated for a bit of violence, a bit of strong language and a bit of sexy stuff. But probably nothing too strong.
Author notes: Thanks everyone for putting up with my long delays between posting... as I said, as there are only 3 more chapters I've written, and I don't envision writing more any time soon, I'm stringing this out some. I'm so glad to receive your reviews though, and to hear that you're enjoying this epilogue. I didn't expect it, so yeah... I'm feeling fuzzy inside. Thanks. :)
Jehilew - Yay! So glad you like the LeBeaus, especially Mercy! Personally I've never seen her as petite or 'traditionally' beautiful. I've never really written her much, so she was a challenge and I'm glad you liked her. :) Warrior-princess1980 - So glad this got the thumbs up! :) rmm8127 - Thanks for reviewing, and thanks for approving of Mercy! :) LEGNA - You always make me smile. Thank you so much! :) Hardkandy - My dear, I will never complain about long reviews, and I am just so happy to know you're liking the story so far. I do agree that Rogue finally needs a 'friend' and that Mercy seems to be filling that role nicely already. I've been ignoring the comics for a while now, so I have no idea where Romy is these days, but I hear things aren't good despite some recent hopes. All I can say is - thank God for fanfic! :p Guest - Obrigado! Estou tão feliz que você gosta da família! :) slightlyxjaded - So glad you approve! You know me... I like a bit of angst in my fics. Maybe a lot. There will be more. Sorry/not sorry. ;) SassC HiJinx - Hi SassC! So good to hear from you again! :D Coming from you, the approval means a helluva lot. I'm used to the 'softer approach' - it's a relief to hear it seems to be going down well. Thanks! :) x DJRyce - Lovely to hear from you again too! :) I have always felt a bit self-conscious writing the LeBeau clan, tbh. It is hard to pull them off convincingly, I think, precisely because they're so one-dimensional in the comics. I don't want to them to be too 'camp'... I feel there's always that danger with them... but maybe they're heading that way anyway. IDK. :/ Anyways... Tante Mattie will definitely be making an appearance! Thanks, as always! :) kataract52 - Hi Kat, and thanks for the great review. Having never been pregnant, I'm doing a lot of guesswork writing pregnant Rogue, and of course I'd appreciate any advice on how to better write her. Don't be afraid to make suggestions. I am always up for constructive crit! :) RRL24 - Hopefully there will be baby news next chapter, and I hope it doesn't disappoint! ;)Sparkle85- Welcome to the story, Sparkle, and I hope you enjoy this latest installment! :) Ana Xpert - Hey Ana! Yes, you guessed right, I've not been myself lately... Soldiering on through one of the worst parts of my PhD - I've no time for Romy right now. Trying to safe up as many chapters as I can in advance... And thanks again for the lovely message you sent. I really appreciated it. x
Okay, now it's time for the story!
Much love,
-Ludi x
CODA
Chapter 3
"You look nervous."
They were heading down to the dining room, Rogue busily brushing down the front of Mercy's skirt.
"Ah ain't nervous," she replied in a slightly offended undertone. "Just hopin' Ah'm lookin' presentable, is all, sugah. It ain't every day you haveta meet your 'boyfriend's' fam'ly."
"Boyfriend." Remy gave a wry little snort to himself. "Sounds like some teen soap opera." He stopped short, apparently not finding any other more suitable word, and a moment later she felt him slip a hand reassuringly on the small of her back.
"You look beautiful, chere," he murmured soothingly. She passed him a piercing look.
"Sorry, but you're kinda biased, sugah."
"Oh sure." He grinned. "But I don't t'ink dere's anyone alive who would disagree wit' me." He paused as they began to head down the stairs. "Gotta admit though, it is kinda scary."
"What is?" she asked absently.
"Dis. 'Meetin' your boyfriend's fam'ly', as you put it. Never thought I'd be goin' and doin' all dis cute, gooey kinda stuff."
"Hmph." Rogue blew a white curl out of her face irritably. "We can turn back right now if that's the way you see it, Remy. Although," she added slyly, "Ah figure you're actually lookin' forward t' this. Ah bet you just can't wait t' show me off."
The smile he shot her was wry.
"It's like I always say," he half-murmured to her. "You know me far too well for comfort, chere."
They finally stopped outside the doors of the dining room. They shared a glance; and Rogue reached out, smoothed out the collar of his shirt gently.
"Well, sugah. Here's hopin' Ah don't disappoint."
"Anna," he answered softly, sincerely, "you never do."
The dining room had been decorated festively, reminding Rogue that Christmas was only a few days away. The space was warm, light, flooded with the fragrance of wine and spices, the sound of laughter, talking and music. As soon as they entered there were eyes on her – but that she was used to, and for once she allowed herself to bask in the curious looks sent her way.
"Anna." It was Jean-Luc, crossing the room to greet them, two glasses of wine in each hand. "So glad t' see dat you made it." He handed the wine to them, a smile on his face. "Everyone's been lookin' forward to meetin' you."
Rogue cast Remy a withering glance.
"Ah sure hope Remy here ain't been settin' y'all up for a disappointment," she quipped; and Jean-Luc's eyes twinkled.
"I don't t'ink so." He looked like he was about to add something more, but consciously refrained from doing so. After a few more moments he said; "Well. I'll let you get on meetin' de fam'ly. I'm sure Remy's dyin' t' get you acquainted."
He turned abruptly and walked away, over to Henri and Mercy, who was waving at her from their corner.
"What was that all about?" Rogue asked Remy as she waved back.
"Dunno." Remy shrugged – he'd already finished half his glass of wine. "Prob'ly he was gonna say dat he'd already been disappointed enough wit' what happened wit' Belladonna." His expression was stoic, and Rogue wasn't quite sure how much of it was bravado or not. She decided, on reflection, not to push the subject.
"D'you want some of mine?" she asked, seeing that most of his wine was already gone.
"Huh? You don't want it?"
She gave him an arch look.
"Remy. In case you've forgotten, alcohol is firmly off the menu." She touched her stomach lightly, meaningfully. "Here. You have mah glass, and Ah'll have yours. That'll make it seem like Ah drank some already."
He stared at her a moment, before willingly swapping glasses with her.
"Are we hidin' dis or somet'ing, chere?" he asked her curiously.
"Well, Ah hope not," she replied with a sniff. "But until yah decide to come clean with your daddy, Ah don't want people here speculatin'. No offence, but it seems t' me like they're pretty good at it."
He grimaced.
"Point taken. And bon Dieu knows dere are more'n a few people here who are likely t' start their tongues waggin'. Speakin' of," he added, glancing over her shoulder, "here's Emil and Theoren."
"Who?" she asked, looking over her shoulder and seeing two men approaching, both about Remy's age – one unusually short but robustly-built and ginger-haired, the other tall, gangly and dark-haired.
"My cousins," Remy replied under his breath, just as the men descended on him with jovial exclamations and hearty slaps on the back.
"Remy! Late as always, mon ami! Almost thought you weren't gonna make it!"
"Now why wouldn't I?" Remy asked pointedly of the ginger-haired man who'd addressed him, clasping first his hand, then the other's in a manly expression of affection that made Rogue smile.
"I dunno. Figured maybe you were gonna try and sabotage dis li'l bet Theoren and I have goin'…" He trailed off, his gaze moving curiously to Rogue. "Well, ain'tcha gon' introduce us, mon cousin?"
Remy rolled his eyes expressively, but there was an uncomfortable look on his face which suggested to Rogue that he didn't trust his cousins not to make a fool out of him in front of her.
"Anna, dis Emile." He gestured first to the fairer man, then to the taller one. "And dis Theoren. Theoren, Emile, dis Anna."
Neither man was so formal as to shake her hand, both immediately kissing her exuberantly on both cheeks. Rogue wasn't quite sure whether it was a ploy or not. Both of them were passing conspiratorial looks to Remy and Rogue couldn't help but feel that she had been the subject of several conversations already.
"Looks like you owe me 50 bucks," Theoren murmured not so subtly to his companion, and Rogue's suspicions were instantly confirmed. She shot an unimpressed glare at Remy, who had the good grace to look abashed.
"Nice t' know you boys have been havin' fun at mah expense," she commented with a sardonic smile.
"Not at your expense," Theoren insisted earnestly. "More like his." He jabbed a thumb in Emile's direction. "Rem swore to us dat you were taller den Emile here. But he wouldn't have none of it. So we bet on it. Looks like I won," he added slyly, glancing over at his cousin, who returned the look with an expression that clearly said shut de fuck up.
And Rogue couldn't help it. She laughed.
"Ah'm sorry," she said apologetically when she couldn't laugh any more. "It's just… It was the last thing Ah was expectin'…"
"Yeah, well, you guys can laugh it up all you want," Emile retorted in a huff. "I don't happen t' t'ink it's dat funny."
"You two are such a couple of fuckin' idiots," Remy commented, shaking his head in mock disbelief.
"Yeah, but, I was taller den Genevieve," Emile protested, his male pride wounded, and Theoren scoffed, saying: "Yeah, but we were kids back den, Emil, she prob'ly grown since…" whilst Remy added with a wince; "Can we please not talk about Genevieve…?"
There was enough here to both amuse and confuse Rogue considerably, and after a while the subject of the conversation became so obscure to her that she couldn't hope to follow. Seeing that Remy was deep in reminiscence with his friends, Rogue moved slightly aside, finding herself suddenly and inexplicably drawn to a life-sized portrait which had been set over the mantelpiece.
It was of a woman, a small, pretty, dark-haired woman wearing a Halston evening dress and sitting upright on a low divan. Her black eyes gazed out of the frame wistfully, seeming to look everywhere and nowhere all at once; the attitude of her pose was elegant and yet alert, her body tilted slightly forward as if about to stand and approach the viewer.
There was a quality about her – almost otherworldly, almost fey – that struck Rogue for a moment; and she stood there for a long moment, caught under the omniscient gaze of the image, barely realising that Jean-Luc LeBeau had come up to stand next to her.
"Beautiful, isn't she," he remarked softly, and Rogue glanced at him sideways.
"Is she your wife?"
"Was," he answered grimly. She thought he would say something more, but when he didn't she felt compelled to break the silence.
"Ah'm sorry."
"Well," he rejoined with false levity, almost breaking the spell of those dark eyes, "such is life. We live, we die. A thief knows better than to try to steal any more than his allotted timespan."
The smile on his face was strained. She half turned to him.
"What was she like?"
His brow hitched; he let out a breath. She sensed that this was a question he hadn't been asked in a long time.
"Generous. Brave. Witty. Stubborn as a mule."
He ran off the words as though each one were muse-inspired. The memories seemed to stir something in him. This time his smile was not forced.
"Was she a thief too?" Rogue asked curiously.
"Non." He gave a sad laugh and shook his head. "She came from another world altogether."
"The Assassins?"
And this time he looked almost shocked.
"Non. Not an Assassin. I wasn't quite dat stupid. Not like mon fils." He shot a glance over at Remy, who was still talking exuberantly with Emil and Theoren, before resuming. "She was the daughter of a voodoo priestess. Old world, just like the Guilds; and perhaps just as dangerous. Our people never had much t'do wit' hers."
"But you still fell in love?"
His grin was wide then, the wrinkles round his eyes crinkling warmly.
"Wasn't too hard. But then, dese t'ings never are." He gave her a short, intense look. "A thief can pick and choose who he steals from, but not who steals his heart."
She couldn't help but cock a wry smile.
"Yah say that: but Ah think Remy did a pretty good job of stealin' hearts for a livin'. Believe it or not, Ah was no exception."
"Perhaps not. But dere was clearly somet'ing diff'rent 'bout you." He glanced over at his son again thoughtfully. "He cares about you. Dat much is obvious."
He didn't elaborate on the statement, and before Rogue had a chance to interrogate him, he looked back up at the portrait and informed her with a small smile: "She was de one who agreed t' take Remy in."
She glanced at him with surprise.
"Ah thought you did…"
"Non. I did, eventually. But it was Marguerite who insisted first."
This was news to Rogue, and again she was about to question him further when Remy sidled up and slid an arm about her shoulder.
"I hope you ain't scarin' my woman," he smirked over at his father, and Rogue rolled her eyes expressively.
"Pfft. Your pop is a perfect gentleman, swamp snake. Which is more'n Ah can say about you." The words were barbed, but she couldn't help but slip a finger into the front pocket of his shirt and tug it affectionately and he grinned.
"I can almost certainly guarantee you, chere, dat dere was a time when mon pere was definitely not a gentleman."
"And yet," Jean-Luc cut in sardonically, "you find me here, a respectable man heading a respectable establishment, in a respectable house with a respectable fam'ly. Except for you, of course," he added, with a conspiratorial grin.
"Sapristi!" Remy countered with mock gentility. "You all wound me!"
"I'm sure you'll get over it, sugah," Rogue told him flippantly. "And for your information, your poppa was just introducin' me to your momma."
"Ah. Mamere." Remy's expression grew softer. He looked up at the portrait on the wall with an aura almost of reverence. "De angel dat watches us."
There was no sarcasm in his voice. Rogue knew that Marguerite LeBeau had passed away when he was young, but she had no clear idea of when, nor how much he really remembered of her. For all she knew, this portrait was all he really knew of his foster-mother.
Her curiosity, however, would not be satisfied, because at that moment Mercy made an appearance.
"Enjoyin' yourself, Anna?" she asked cheerfully. "I must say, you clean up pretty well."
"Thanks to you," Rogue grinned briefly, determined not to take any of the credit on this particular score; but Mercy just waved her hand.
"You make it easy," she insisted, before turning to Jean-Luc and saying: "De food's ready. T'ink you should get everybody sat down."
"Ah." Remy's father gave a curt nod. "Best not to keep all de guests waitin', neh?"
He was about to leave when Remy stopped him.
"Is Tante Mattie here, pere? I ain't seen her since we got here…"
Jean-Luc's expression was grave.
"She's at de Boudreaux mansion, Remy," he replied in a low voice. "She'll be back tomorrow, don't worry."
And with that he left.
Rogue glanced at Remy's face, seeing the consternation on it. She'd heard him mention Tante Mattie several times, always with great affection. It was plain to her that his mysterious 'tante' had acted as a surrogate mother to him after Marguerite LeBeau's untimely death.
It was also plain that the idea that she could be with the Boudreaux's right now was something that disconcerted him.
"Ah'm sure it don't mean nothin' Remy," she reassured him lightly, slipping her arm through his own, and he couldn't help smiling down at her.
"Mebbe not. She's as much a friend of de Boudreaux's as she is wit' de LeBeau's, but still…"
He didn't finish the statement. At that very moment Jean-Luc called the room to attention and dinner began.
The next few hours were a maelstrom of delicious foods and sumptuous desserts, freely flowing wine and much lively chatter. Rogue was sat between Remy and, thankfully, Mercy, who did her best to keep her new friend informed of all the guests' names and backgrounds. Rogue was grateful for all this, especially when Jean-Luc paused the feast to give a formal toast to his 'guest of honour' – it was all so far removed from Rogue's usual experience that she found herself blushing with pleasure – not even the old Rogue had been treated to such extravagant hospitality (Southern though she was), and she accepted it with all the embarrassed sincerity she could muster.
After the meal – during which her and Remy had yet again surreptitiously swapped glasses – she was treated to a whirl of enthusiastic introductions from the extended LeBeau clan, and after a while she began to enjoy the attention, much as she had always been suspicious of it in the past. Remy, of course, was on fine form, unable to suppress a tell-tale slither of pride that Rogue had so eagerly and easily been accepted into the family he had himself only so recently won back.
It gave Rogue a different kind of glow to know that she was giving her lover pleasure in this unexpected way that was no less deep or meaningful, and it was a pleasure that she basked in the reflection of.
The evening, however, showed no signs of stopping, and a couple of hours into the whole thing Rogue was beginning to feel exhausted, overwhelmed, and just a little bit nauseous.
When there was a silent moment in-between all the attention, she tugged on Remy's sleeve lightly.
"Sugah, y'mind if we call it a night? Ah'm feelin' kinda tired…"
It was an understatement, but the look on her face must've given her away because he immediately looked concerned.
"Are you okay, chere? You look more'n jes' tired…" The concern on his face deepened, and he took her hand and squeezed it slightly. "Let's get you outta here…"
They left as quickly as politeness would allow, pleading exhaustion after a long day of travel and festivities.
"Mah stars and garters," Rogue announced, yawning heavily as she and Remy trudged back upstairs to their room, "Your fam'ly sure is hard work, Rem. In the nicest possible way though," she added quickly, to which he laughed.
"Chere, they're hard enough work for me, and I belong to them!"
"Ah know," she grinned mischievously. "It does kind of explain where you get some of your finer traits from, sugah."
"Somehow," he answered humorously, "I knew you were gonna say dat, chere." He slipped his hand round her waist, murmuring, "You okay, chere?"
She nodded, though perhaps half-heartedly.
"Yeah, Ah'm okay. Ah think the day's just catchin' up on me…"
They climbed the rest of the stairs in silence, and Rogue could tell that there was something on his mind. The day had been a rollercoaster of emotions, so many highs and lows that she was drained by them, and she felt sure he felt the same too. And she sensed that were other things on his mind, things that he wasn't quite ready to divulge, and whilst she appreciated and understood that fact, it unnerved her a little to see him so despondent during what should have been and was a moment of happiness for him.
There was silence as they finally got back into the room, and Rogue gratefully slipped off her boots and undid her hair, letting all the tension bleed from her after the tumult of the evening. On an impulse, she threw open the doors to the balcony and stepped out into the fresh air, breathing deep, feeling her nausea recede somewhat.
There was no place in the world that could have compared to the Xavier mansion, but as she stood there and watched the lights of the Big Easy twinkle in the moonlight, she felt that this was close… at least, as close as she had ever been in a long, long time.
She leant against the old, iron railings and ruminated.
More than ever now she felt the weight of this responsibility she held, and whilst the night had been instructive, even comforting in a way, she still felt a creeping sense of unease. The day had been bewildering… so many new places, new faces, new thoughts and feelings… After all those years spent in the warmth and familiarity of the Xavier mansion, the tight clutch of the Brotherhood, the lonely company of Remy and the comradely safety of Logan's band… this was a slice of life she'd never become accustomed to. A whirlwind of elegance and exuberance that she had never before experienced.
She heard Remy step up onto the balcony behind her, felt his arm encircle her waist, his lips kiss the bare dip of her shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
"For what?" she asked.
"It's been a crazy day. You must be exhausted. I shoulda taken you outta dere sooner."
He rested his chin on her shoulder, followed her gaze out onto the city lights.
"That's okay," she whispered back. "Sometimes it's easy t' forget things are… well… different now. And yeah. Your family is kinda full on…"
He chuckled.
"I know. M'sorry."
"Don't be. It's kinda cute. Ah'm gettin' to see why you are the way you are more and more every minute."
He made a dubious noise in the back of his throat. She knew he felt uncomfortable, letting her see so many intimate aspects of his past… And she was grateful, more than she could say, for the fact that he was willing to let her in at all. She knew things had changed for him the past few weeks, but still… she knew this had to be a big – a huge – leap for him.
"When are you gonna tell them?" she questioned him after a long moment of comfortable silence.
"Tell them what?" he murmured absently.
"About this." And she pressed his hand against her stomach. "They need to know, Remy. They need to know half the reason why you're doin' this. Jean-Luc does, if nobody else."
He was quiet. They hadn't really talked about the baby since that first day he'd come back to her from New Orleans, but she'd known instinctively that a major part of the reason why he'd decided to make peace with the Guilds was because of it.
"I know," he replied at last. It was only when he acknowledged the fact that she turned in his arms and drew her own about his shoulders.
"Are you gonna tell them?"
He looked at her, eyes flickering in the dimness.
"Don't t'ink I could keep anyt'ing a secret in dis house…" he muttered, but the words were said without humour. "Was plannin' on tellin' Jean-Luc tomorrow. S'pposed to be havin' a meetin' wit' him." He sighed.
"Be honest with me, Remy," she spoke seriously. "Is this really what you want? Ah know things have… changed since what happened with Sinister and Rachel and the Phoenix, but… honestly. Deep down, in your heart of hearts, is this what you want?"
He blinked, his eyes glowing with a slow burn.
"I never know what I want, chere," he answered quietly. "But I know I've always wanted you."
The smile that touched her lips was sad.
"Havin' me will always mean that a non-negotiable extra will haveta be thrown into the bargain now…"
His gaze was still so intent, still so serious that she couldn't turn away from it.
"And if I told you to get rid of it," he began in a flat voice, "would you?"
The question almost sucked her breath away – almost dug a hole deep in the pit of her stomach. And yet, despite the brutality of all it entailed, she knew exactly what her answer would be.
"No," she answered truthfully – firmly. It was something she had thought about – in the lonely hours she had spent by herself back in the safe house, waiting for him to return. She couldn't even say why, but she had always been certain that getting rid of it was not an option. "We can call it a day on us right here, right now, and Ah will walk away from you and never look back if that's what you really want, Remy LeBeau," she continued decidedly. "But Ah won't get rid of it. Ah won't."
She made to disengage herself from him, but he squeezed her waist gently, said again: "M'sorry. I shouldn'ta said it like dat. I jes' wanted t' know what you thought… what you really t'ink. I would never ask you t' do dat, Anna. I may be a lotta t'ings about dis kid, but I don't want dat."
The expression she threw him must've been nettled because he held her tighter, pressed his forehead against hers and continued: "Fuck, Rogue. Do I need to say it? I'm fuckin' scared, chere. And here you are, all brave and determined and confident as hell – all de t'ings I usually am but can't be, not wit' dis."
He closed his eyes; and his expression was laced with such pain that she was taken aback.
"You think Ah ain't scared, Remy…?"
"Bein' brave doesn't mean not bein' scared, Rogue. It means bein' brave despite bein' scared." He opened his eyes again, his gaze bleeding in the darkness. "You know dat, chere. You've always been one t'ing, and dat's brave. Now ain't an exception. And right now… there's a part of me dat wants to run. It wants to run a mile and you're de only t'ing dat holds me back."
He took in a short breath, kissed her forehead gently and let her go.
"I'm sorry, chere. I didn't mean to say what I did. I didn't mean to hurt you."
He turned and walked back into the room, and, after a heartbeat of a pause, she followed.
"Remy…" she called out, not knowing what else to say. She watched on as he stood by the bed, unbuttoning his shirt, his cuffs.
"Rogue, lissen to me," he began quietly, thoughtfully. "There's only one t'ing I know. Dat kid is goin' to be a mutant. It's goin' to have Essex's DNA. And I know we've talked about dis, but… Have you thought about it, chere? I have. A lot. I've thought about how I was made; I've thought about what Essex had planned for me. I've thought about what I could've been if I hadn't ended up here instead of right where Essex wanted me t' be." He halted, looked up at her, his gaze burning. "For de first two years of my life, I didn't have a father. I didn't have nobody. I could've been somet'ing else than what I am now. And I don't want dat. Not for anyone, but definitely not for my own flesh and blood."
There was something in his eyes – a pain, an anger, a conviction – that spelled out to her just how deeply he'd thought about this.
"You're right," he carried on, stripping off his shirt, baring his tortured past to her with his scarred body. "Me comin' here is a lot t' do wit' dat. There are things I can reclaim, Rogue. Parts of my past dat I can make mine again. Parts of me dat I can pass on t' my kid, so dat I don't haveta go creepin' round, keepin' secrets and makin' up stories about de rest of my life. I wanna be de father Jean-Luc was for me, Rogue. I wanna have somet'ing else to pass on to my kid other den shame and guilt and lies."
He looked aside, unable to face her any longer when he had laid so vast a piece of his own soul bare. And despite everything he had just said, with all the righteous certainty that she knew he possessed… She could see everything he wanted to cleanse himself of right there on his face. The shame. The guilt. The lies. All right there, dirty, naked and exposed, for her to see.
She didn't waste a second thought.
She crossed the room to him, took his face between her palms and made him look at her.
"Is that what you think, Remy? That all the bad things you've done, all the bad things that've haunted you, will be passed on to our child?"
He said nothing, but the tautness of his lips said it all – and she kissed them lightly, ran her fingers over the stubble on his cheeks, whispered sadly, earnestly:
"Why didn't you tell me any of this?"
And he replied quietly, sardonically, still unwilling to meet her gaze: "You t'ink I coulda told you all dis, chere? When I couldn't even tell myself till now?"
She pressed her lips together ruefully at the shame in his voice, still trying to catch his gaze but unable to. At last she told him, softly, firmly, "Yah can't think that, Remy. Ah won't letcha. You said yourself the two of us could never make a bad thing together, and you know you're right. And yah know another thing too? If we call it a day on us now, if either of us walks away from the other… Ah will always tell our kid that you love them. Ah will always tell them that it was love they were born from. Nothin' else."
It was only then that his eyes flickered to hers and she caught his gaze, pinned it with her own, knowing he wouldn't look away now.
"Yah think Ah ain't thought about it, Remy?" she murmured sadly. "About what things might be like if you walked away? Ah've been preparin' myself for it. Every day Ah steel mahself for a life without you. Ah've thought about it enough to know that Ah would never hold it against you where our kid's concerned. They'd only ever know the best of you, sugah. They'd only ever know about the good man you are."
At her words the tension bled slowly from his face; and with a short exhale of breath he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and murmuring, heartfelt; "You're too good for me."
She caressed the line of his cheekbones with her thumbs, shook her head imperceptibly.
"No. Ah'm not. And it ain't our DNA that makes us bad, Remy. Ah mean, look at you. Look at all the shit you've been through – look at the person you are despite all that. And Ah can see why now, now that Ah'm here. It's right here, in this house. All the people in it have a lotta love t' give, and they gave it all to you. We'll give it to our child too, Remy. D'yah honestly believe we could make somethin' bad with all the love we have ta give?"
He opened his eyes, a shadow of a smile tugging at his lips.
"You could make me believe anythin'…"
"Only 'cos it's the truth. You know it, Remy. You can be afraid of what it takes t' be a father; you can be afraid of bein' tied down for the rest of your life. But you can't be afraid of your own kid. You can't be afraid of what it isn't yet. You can't be afraid of your own DNA. And you've gotta stop bein' afraid of Essex. Because he's dead."
She'd said it all in one breath, and when she was finally finished he put his arms round her, put his face in her hair, whispered; "Rogue… What would I do without you?"
And she almost smiled to hear him say it.
"What you've always done, Remy. Make your life, be who you are. Walk your own path. Ah don't make you. Ah never have."
He leaned back slightly then, looking into her eyes soberly.
"If only you knew," he murmured, "just how much you have made me, Anna. Just like Jean-Luc made me who I am; how Irene made you. We make each other, all'a de time, every day. You're right – we shape each other's lives – we'll shape our kid's. Essex can't touch us now. Not where he's gone."
A smile creased her lips then, and he kissed it, tender, fleeting; and afterwards she filled in the pause with a kiss of her own, finding she didn't want to let him go; and for a long while after, their kisses did not stop.
-oOo-
It was dark in Remy's room, its details only picked out by the tawny hue of the low lamplight.
Rogue lay on her back and contemplated the shadows cast over the ceiling.
"You ain't bad," she murmured into the silence.
Remy stirred, his thumb absently stroking circles over her upper arm.
"Hm. Coulda been some badass motherfucker though."
The doors to the balcony were still slightly ajar, and she watched the shadows of the gauzy curtains quiver across the ceiling, teased into movement by the mild breeze.
"Yeah, well," she answered quietly, "if Essex had had his way, Ah would've been pretty fuckin' badass mahself. Ah could've absorbed you, drained you dry, and you woulda been nothin' more than a footnote on mah epic ass."
A mirthless laugh sounded in his throat.
"Yeah, I know. I know exactly what Essex had in mind for you. He was in my head for weeks, after all." He paused, adding only on an afterthought, "Dat's one fuckin' t'ing I'm glad de Phoenix burned out of me at least."
She looked over at him, seeing him staring up at the ceiling pensively also, his lips caught in a frown and his brow furrowed. This was the first time he'd ever talked about his time as a receptacle for Essex due to the Cronos Project, and she wasn't quite sure whether she should continue the subject with him.
"Seriously," she told him, deciding to play it from another angle. "You need to get over this 'Ah'm a bad man because I'm Essex's son' thing. You ain't bad – you ain't even halfway to bein' bad – and so as far as villains go, you don't even nearly qualify."
"Hmph."
The sound was one of ambivalence, and it was enough to tell her he wasn't quite ready to discuss it further. Somewhere outside she could hear the sound of wind chimes tinkling in the breeze; the curtains shuddered again at the fancy glass doors. Rogue lay and listened to them for a moment. The sound was familiar, comforting, drawing her back to her childhood with an aching nostalgia she rarely felt.
"It's gettin' cold," Remy remarked, more to change the subject than anything else. She felt the mattress shift as he got out of bed, walked across the room, and slid the doors shut. The sound of the wind chimes became a barely-there whisper. For a long moment he stood there at the doors, silent, with his back to her.
"I have flashes sometimes," he suddenly admitted, quiet, unprompted. "Just bits and pieces of mem'ries dat come back t' me when I ain't t'inkin'. Moments… impressions… Like… splinters, of Essex's life."
He halted and she said nothing. She wanted to say she knew how he felt. How her absorptions had given her exactly the same experiences. But this was his moment – a rare instant of honesty. She didn't want to destroy it.
"Back before we saw de Phoenix," he continued quietly when she made no reply, "he was in my head 24/7. I remembered his life like it was my own. In a way, it was better. It was easier to understand, to work through de kind of person he was and why he did what he did. Now all I have left is these splinters. And I can't get them out." His laugh was quiet, humourless. "I guess one day dey'll fade. And then it'll make it a whole lot easier to accept dat I ain't my father; dat I ain't de man he wanted me t' be. It'll be easier t' forget."
He pulled the curtains fully to and walked back over to the bed, the weight of him settling in next to her as he lay down on his stomach beside her, propped himself on his elbows and looked down into her face.
"Was dat how it was for you, chere," he asked in a whisper, "after you absorbed me? Is dat what you saw? Splinters of my life?"
He ran his thumb across her hairline, tenderly brushing the tousled locks there, and she whispered back, "Yes."
He gave that wry smile she knew so well.
"Well, least now I know how it is for you." His smile grew even more crooked. "Can't say I envy you, chere."
"Yah get used to it," she murmured back, reaching up to trace the line of his cheekbone with just the tips of her fingers.
"I don't t'ink I ever could," he answered wholeheartedly. "Not in a million years. I am so glad," he added with firm sincerity, "dat I'm not in your head anymore."
She laughed softly.
"Don't say that. He was a nice guy."
He pulled a face.
"'Nice'. De very idea of it makes me cringe. I can't imagine a me dat was 'nice'."
"Oh, you are very nice, swamp snake," she bantered back suggestively, running her foot up and down his calf. "More than you let on. Much more. The only difference between you and him was that he didn't feel the need to go round puttin' on this 'whole world be damned' front to the rest of humanity."
Again he looked unimpressed.
"Maybe 'cos de rest of humanity wasn't dere t' see him," he rejoined witheringly. "And de only person he had to impress was you."
She slid her hand round the base of his neck, studied his face intently.
"Maybe…" she murmured; but he was already continuing his own train of thought, adding reflectively: "It does kinda make me wonder though. What kind of a person I would'a been if Essex had had his way. T'ink about what I woulda been like if I'd stayed wit' de Black Womb project, chere. If I hadn't ended up here, wit' de Thieves Guild."
Her gaze focused on his, and she had the sudden urge to confess everything she knew to him – that it was Irene that had rescued him from Sinister's clutches and brought him to the Thieves Guild. But she knew – without a doubt – that that was a truth he was far from ready for, and so she bit back on the confession and said nothing.
"Well, sugah," she said softly, stroking the nape of his neck with her thumb, "let's just be thankful that here is exactly where you ended up. At the very least," she added on an afterthought, "Ah ain't sure I woulda ever got ta meet you if you hadn't made your way here. Maybe Ah woulda married Cody and lived happily ever after." She ruminated on the thought a moment, whilst he busied himself staring at her mouth intently, looking like he was considering which angle was best to attack it from. It was normally the kind of look that would have made her stomach flip-flop, but she was too lost in her own reminiscences that she missed it.
"But hell," she continued morosely, "every way Ah look at it, Ah woulda killed Cody. Ah woulda ended up runnin' away from home and bein' recruited by Raven into the Brotherhood."
She still didn't quite like to admit that that fact was an almost inescapable aspect of her past. That killing Cody had been an inevitability, and that her running away had been the only response she could have made when she knew her parents had always feared and secretly despised what she was.
"Was he in your head too?" Remy asked her suddenly, still staring at her mouth. "Cody, I mean?"
For some reason the question took her unawares.
"Yes," she answered presently. "Why?"
He shrugged, but nevertheless continued; "What was he like?"
She wasn't sure she knew where this line of questioning was coming from, but it wasn't a bad one and so she replied, "Smart. Curious. Energetic. So full of life." It made it all the more poignant for her to remember that this – his most endearing trait – was the one thing she had sucked him dry of completely. "Ah don't think Ah've ever met anyone who was so unafraid."
His gaze had left her lips now. They were on her eyes.
"Would he have made you happy?" he asked outright.
She looked up at him. She swallowed.
"Ah think so," she finally whispered. "Would Belladonna have made you happy?" she couldn't help but throw back at him.
"I think so," he replied, without missing a beat.
They stared at one another a moment.
"So what does this all mean then?" she questioned out loud of no one in particular.
"I don't t'ink it means anyt'ing, chere," he murmured, his eyes back on her lips. "But I wanted to know anyway. Dere's a part of me dat wishes I was de only man you've ever wanted. I'm selfish like dat. 'Specially when I made a point of spreadin' myself around so much. But I don't know what de fuck it matters. Not when we're in de here and now and I'm pretty fuckin' content wit' it."
She thought of Irene and again she said nothing. She thought about all the futures – all the presents – that they had made and were making every living second, and it scared her. It scared her to know that Irene could've seen them all.
"Ah guess what matters isn't how we got here," she murmured in an undertone, "it's the fact that we're here in the first place. And this… This is real. I'm here with you and you're here with me. And everythin's good b'tween us."
He made a small sound of agreement, the pad of his thumb circling her temple as he mused;
"One t'ing I do know, chere. Whatever Destiny said, Irene could never see to dis point. Everyt'ing we do is outside of her Diaries, outside of Fate now. De choices we make are real."
She said nothing. She wasn't convinced that Irene hadn't actually seen everything that was to come. But she knew he wouldn't like to hear it and so she let it lie.
The expression on his face told her that for him the matter was concluded. And even though she still had the nagging sense that Irene knew, that Irene could still see… she let him conclude the matter for her too. Let him finally lean in and kiss her mouth like she knew he'd been angling for, let him cover her body with his own.
Because he was right.
Whatever Irene had seen or known it didn't matter. Neither of them would ever know what she had known. In that sense, they were outside of destiny.
"Remember dat day we first met?" he asked her in a low undertone, when their kiss had finished.
"Round the pool table? How could Ah forget?"
He smiled, warm, seductive.
"De feelin' I got when I first laid eyes on you, chere… It's de kind of t'ing no one on God's fuckin' earth could make up."
She slid her legs round his hips, pressed him close.
"You just saw your next lay, Cajun," she bantered back silkily. "Don't pretend you didn't."
"If only," he quipped humorously, leaning in just close enough to be a featherstroke away from a kiss, and she couldn't help but ask him; "If you'd been able to touch me back then, would you even be here now?"
And he brushed his lips against hers, answered:
"Maybe there's a timeline out dere where I fucked you once and walked away." He parted his lips slowly and just as he kissed her he added thankfully: "But dis sure as hell ain't it."
-oOo-
