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: No author notes this week as I'm rushing this one out. Please forgive the quality. I just want to say a huge thanks to all my lovely, kind, considerate and helpful reviewers so far. I have enjoyed reading every single review and have been humbled by your generous and insightful words. I hope you continue to enjoy this story, such as it is.

Much love,

-Ludi x


CODA

Chapter 5

By the time she'd got out of the café, the queasiness had dissipated a little, and Rogue stood in the cool Winter air, breathing deep, trembling slightly in the aftermath of whatever it was that had taken her.

It was only a few seconds before Remy followed her out.

"Rogue," he called, as he walked up to face her, getting in as close as he dared after his big revelation, his hands lightly cupping her shoulders. "You okay?"

"Ah'm fine," she snapped at him, giving a little shrug of her shoulders to tell him that he was a little too close for comfort right now; he acquiesced and dropped his hands. "Ah just felt a li'l bit sick, that's all. Musta been that insane story you just told me. Anyways. Ah'm fine now."

He looked at her. It was an expression she'd seen often enough, one that usually made her want to slap him hard.

"You're mad at me," he said in a low voice, and:

"Yah think?" she shot at him belligerently.

She turned away from him pointedly, needing to have just that little leeway of space between them. He was too close right now. She didn't like it.

"Rogue," he answered calmly, "I know none o' dis sounds pretty, but I couldn't hide it from you… I had t' tell you some time, chere…"

"Some time," she muttered, vexed. "Remy, I get it. Of all the places to take me to talk about somethin' like this, you take me here. Ah ain't stupid. You took me here 'cos out here Ah wouldn't give you a faceful of mah knuckles in front of a hundred people. But Ah can tell you right now that Ah'm seriously considerin' doin' it anyway."

She couldn't see whether he winced or not – but she sincerely hoped he did. After a moment of tension he reached out to touch her arm – realised it would probably tip the scales into receiving that 'faceful of knuckles' – and gestured round the side of the building where they could have slightly more privacy.

"Let's step in here a minute, chere," he suggested softly. "Please."

There was an anxiety in his voice that told her he didn't want to have things like this between them. And whilst it was too late for that, she allowed the knowledge of her own power in this situation to let her cut him some slack. She allowed herself to be guided into the alleyway and round the back, which immediately cut down the hubbub of the city to a humming murmur.

"Okay," he started on a long breath, once they were facing each other – her still holding her arms about her defensively. "I made a mistake. We shoulda done dis back in de big house. I'm sorry."

She allowed herself to steal a glance at him and she saw he wasn't just being glib. He meant it. It was enough to soften her, just a little.

"Remy, Ah appreciate your honesty. And Ah'm guessin' you saved tellin' me the truth about this… whatever it's called… until you were certain there was no possible way. But you should've told me. Even contemplatin' somethin' like this… … Look, Ah know the things we've been through. The things we've seen or should never have seen. The craziness and the tumult and the pain. But fuck me, Remy, this is a whole new level of asinine. Things are different now, we don't need this shit in our lives."

He looked like he was trying to be patient. He really did.

"Rogue, it's precisely b'cause t'ings have changed dat I need t' do dis." He halted as a couple walked past, only continuing in a harsh whisper; "We're gon' have a kid, and how can I bring my kid t' see their fam'ly when de Assassins could murder me every time I stepped into de city?" The words came in a fierce hiss and she glared at him, forcing him to consider his next words carefully. The couple had gone out of earshot by now and he took in a shuddering breath to calm himself before speaking again. "Dis is for us, Rogue. Dis is for our kid."

Despite her chagrin, it surprised her how much he actually appeared to have thought of their child as a part of his future. It was an uplifting thought in its own way, but not enough to soothe her current rancour.

"No, Remy," she retorted coldly. "This is for you. Don't kid yourself about that. Our kid will always have a home in New York, with people that love them. Jean-Luc can visit. It ain't rocket science, Rem. You want this to ease your conscience. You want this to erase your past. It won't."

As she said the words she stood as if squaring up to him, and there were a few breathless heartbeats where she thought she'd seriously pissed him off. But he swallowed it – visibly, and with an effort – before admitting in a low, controlled tone.

"You're right, Rogue, o' course. We can set up in New York, near Mystique, and Logan, and de others. But dey're not my people, Anna," he continued in a strained voice, "dey're your people. And dey don't have a lotta love for me. You're de only t'ing dat keeps me dere – dat, and an exile from dis place." For a second there was real emotion on his face, and he looked away from her, his jaw taut. "How do I tell our child, Rogue? How do I tell dem 'bout my past and deny them a part of it? How can I hide them from all de good t'ings dat ever made me?" He looked back at her, his dark eyes piercing. "It ain't fair, Rogue, for you t' be de one dat carries dis relationship, dat carries de role of a parent wit' a clean conscience while I gotta play second fiddle."

By now she should hardly have been surprised at the level of honesty he was laying down before her, but somehow this still came from leftfield. The simple, heartfelt passion with which he had laid this all down before her was enough to quell her anger; enough, in fact, to make her feel ashamed that she had believed that his actions had been born from pure selfishness. Even more, it was enough to make her acknowledge her own selfishness in believing that she alone could provide the warm centre of their family – when and if they ever got it – without letting him have even so much of a look in.

She knew why she had felt that way.

It was because she had always assumed he would never want to be troubled by the dynamics of bringing up a family.

But being here for the past 24 hours had taught her that family actually meant a hell of a lot to him.

So she consciously reined in her irritation and reluctantly let it go.

"Ah understand what you're sayin' Remy," she replied quietly. "And you're right – it is selfish of me to think that mah world should be the centre of our world. But, Remy," she murmured, sliding a hand up his chest, "yah ask how you can possibly deny our kid the life you've had here. And Ah keep askin' mahself, how can Ah tell them you ain't here 'cos you're dead?"

His hand slipped over her hers, curling through her fingers lightly.

"Dat ain't gon' happen, Anna."

"How do you know that?" she asked him. "Yah said yourself people have died from this ritual you're plannin' on doin'. Seriously, Remy. Yah can't tell me it ain't possible."

His countenance was sad.

"After everyt'ing I've been through, everyt'ing I've seen… d'ya believe I could die here? Now? Like dis?"

She gave him a rueful look.

"Remy, your crime against the Assassins Guild was a huge one. They all have a stake in seein' you suffer. They will make you suffer. An entire Guild against one man. No matter how controlled the environment, no matter how many rules there are t' safeguard your life… Ah still don't like it. Ah don't."

He was just about to say something when his phone went off.

"You answer it," Rogue said when he looked hesitant to answer. "You know where Ah stand on this, Remy. At the end of the day, it ain't up to me. It's up to you."

And she turned and walked back round to the storefront, both to give him privacy and to vent out any lingering vestiges of rage she might feel.

It wasn't easy. Chewing on this new and unwelcome piece of news. For some reason it was even harder to stomach the fact that her own motivations in this might even be driven by a streak of selfishness.

It was a couple more minutes before Remy returned.

"Dat was Henri. Him and Mercy are just round de block. Said dey'd come and meet us, but I said we'd probably jes' want some privacy…"

"Nah," she cut in decisively. "It's fine. This ain't the right place to talk about this. B'sides, Ah think we've said most of what we wanna say. We ain't gonna get anywhere talkin' about it again now. We can do that later."

He looked a little ticked off at that.

"And you get to decide dis?"

"Remy," she began tiredly, "it's called a compromise. Like it or not we gotta get used to it if we're gonna be t'gether, which Ah assume is what you want. Ah know you've got kinda used t' makin' decisions for me the past few years. But Ah'm sorry t' tell you that shit ain't gonna fly no more."

And on this point she knew she was right. He didn't have to like it – not yet anyway. Before he could make any retort or comeback, however, they were interrupted by Henri and Mercy's approach.

"Hey," Henri greeted them – there seemed to be enough tension in the air for neither to attempt the usual florid native greeting of hugs and kisses. "We interruptin' anyt'ing?"

"No," Rogue replied firmly, pointedly ignoring Remy. "We're all good. You guys out shoppin'?"

"Shoppin'?" Mercy gave a snort. "Not likely. Not wit' dis one here." She gave Henri a short, affection pinch on the bicep, which he just barely winced at.

"Well, if yah fancy it," Rogue offered, "we can go have a looksee at some of the boutiques Ah saw round the corner? You could start work on helpin' me build that wardrobe you were talkin' about."

To her credit, Mercy seemed to sense that something more was going on, and Rogue was relieved that she was more than willing to play her game.

"Now that," she grinned, "is an offer a femme like me just cannot resist." She offer her arm to Rogue. "Shall we head?"

Rogue took the proffered arm, sending Remy a look that was both meaningful and conciliatory. She left enough of a promise in it that they would resolve this later, that she just needed some time out. She knew he'd understand, even if he wouldn't fully like it.

Once the two women were out of ear-shot, Henri turned to his brother with raised eyebrows.

"Drink?"

-oOo-

They'd often sat like this, back when they shouldn't have, back when they were kids, best friends, brothers. In their favourite booth, their poison of choice brought to them by the pretty waitresses Remy had charmed into serving them. Listening to the jazz and talking nonsense. He loved this place for all the times it had held, stupid, meaningless times he'd spent with a brother he had thought he had lost forever.

They ordered a bourbon each – on the rocks for Henri, neat for him. They listened to the music just as they had all those years ago. They tried not to think about all the wasted time in between.

"So," Henri broke the silence first, "you gon' say somet'ing or not, mon frere?"

Remy looked at him. It had always been like this. Henri the level-headed one, him the loose cannon. The one who never wanted to see reason, who needed reining in. They'd slid back into the roles as comfortable as sliding back into discarded skins.

"Ha," Remy sounded sarcastically. "I would if I even knew where t' start."

"Well," Henri slouched back in his seat, swirled around the contents of his glass – the ice clinked melodiously, "y'could start wit' de fact dat you're seriously t'inkin' of doin' de Winnowin'. But I guess dat I ain't de only one who's been askin' you 'bout dat lately, so I won't."

"Huh." Remy took a long swig from his glass. "Pere sure knows how t' keep my secrets."

Henri gave him a look. It said, really?

"Rem," he started patiently, "I'm our father's eldest son. Heir t' de Thieves Guild. You're my brother. I got a stake in dis. An' before you say it's none of my business, dat don't stop me carin' about you and what you do. You t'ink I ain't gonna pry into anyt'ing when your welfare might be at stake?"

It was Remy's turn to give him the look.

"Dat is tres cute, mon frere. But you're right. I don't wanna talk about it right now. So let's not."

He knocked back the rest of his drink, gestured for another. Henri considered him closely.

"Look, I really don't wanna go pryin' into your private life, Rem. And I know you and Anna have prob'ly been havin' words about dis whole situation, but knockin' back bourbons like dat ain't gonna help."

He tried not to bite back at his brother, but it was getting incredibly hard not to.

"Look – no offence, Henri – but you don't have de first clue what's goin' on b'tween Anna and me. So back off, okay?"

Henri was unfazed.

"You mean like de fact she's pregnant?"

Well, that was unexpected. Remy slapped his now-empty glass noisily on the table and glared at him.

"Did Jean-Luc tell you dat too?" he asked heatedly.

"Non," Henri returned calmly. "But Mercy noticed you swappin' drinks last night. Was only one reason you could be playin' dat ol' game."

Remy's second drink had come. He got most of it down in one gulp.

"Well, shit," was his only remark.

Henri continued watching until he'd finished his second drink.

"Were you gon' tell me?" he asked quietly.

"Of course I was," Remy retorted, vexed – the world was already beginning to turn hazy. "I jes'… I needed to tell Jean-Luc first. I needed him to understand… I only told him dis mornin'… I don't even know if he was happy or not… Thought I'd pissed him off some…"

Henri threw him a helpless smile.

"Rem, y' coon ass. Of course pere's happy." He paused and took a sip of his whiskey. "It'll be his first grandchild."

Remy looked up at him sharply, saw the look that his brother was trying unsuccessfully to hide. It was enough to take the edge off of his irritation. He ran a hand through his hair haphazardly, saying as he did so, "Aw, fuck. Look, Henri, I'm sorry… I didn't mean t' bring all dis up."

"You didn't." Henri's voice was firm. "I did. And let's not talk about Mercy… About dat. Pere is happy for you. So 'm I. What we both are is concerned. Concerned about where all'a dis is comin' from. You're gon' have a fam'ly soon, Rem. You really wanna potentially wind up dead?"

Remy stared blankly down into his empty glass of whiskey, feeling suddenly numb.

"I t'ought we weren't gon' talk about dis…"

"We will. If you wanna." Henri was stoic, decided. More so than Remy had ever heard him. He marvelled at it whilst his brother ordered a jug of water for the table, realising that, in the years that Remy had been gone, Henri had changed. Grown. Matured. Begun to move into his rightful place as Jean-Luc LeBeau's heir. And he, Remy, had missed it all. Missed the making of his brother. It was weird, but it made him… sad.

"I wanna," he said at last, mostly to himself. "But none of it is easy for me t' talk about, t' explain. Talkin' wit' Anna about it is hard enough, and she knows where I'm comin' from. But you, here, after all dis time…" He trailed off, not knowing how to continue. The water came, and Henri poured him a glass before ordering another two bourbons.

"T'ings have changed," Henri said soberly, sliding the glass of water over to Remy. "We ain't de couyon kids we used t' be. Dat's clear 'nuff."

He paused, and whilst Remy drank the water he sensed that he was probably reminiscing about the years when they had been couyon kids.

"We've changed, Remy," he continued softly. "Let's not kid 'bout dat. But I can still read you like a book. And I can tell a lot's happened t'you since you left Nawlins. A lot more den me or any of us here will probably ever be able t' understand. But dat don't mean dat I don't wanna try t' understand. Whatever it is you're plannin', we're a part of it, Rem. You owe us your trust. You owe us the truth about why it is you're doin' dis."

The bargirl came and slapped down their drinks. Remy slid the nearest one towards him and looked down into its golden liquid depths.

"If I tried t' condense de past 10 years into some pocket-sized pint for you, none of it would make a lick of sense t'ya. But okay. I play dis game a bit." He made to lift up his glass, but he couldn't stomach another mouthful. "I found out who my real parents were," he spoke instead.

Henri stared at him.

"Let's just say," Remy continued when his brother said nothing, "dat dey weren't de kinda parents who woulda brought up a stable kinda kid."

That was when he drank. Long and deep.

"Turns out I had a lot t' do wit' my real father, without even knowin' it at first," he murmured after a long silence. "He knew exactly who I was before I knew who he was. He took what he could from me, in de years after I left here. Kept me close. Watched me. Tried t' make me like him. Tried to make me him." He swallowed down the sourness in his throat, added; "And he nearly fuckin' did."

He swigged down the rest of his whiskey and looked at the table. He couldn't meet his brother's eyes.

"I did bad t'ings for him, Henri," he muttered shamefully. "Stuff dat de Thieves or even de Assassins wouldn't'a touched. Stuff I ain't proud of. I let myself be manipulated into it. It was a life I accepted. Even embraced. I walked a path, Henri. And it was dark. It was dark, mon frere."

The silence lingered for a long while – at least it seemed so before Henri finally stirred.

"I see," Henri spoke after a moment.

"D'ya?" Remy rejoined miserably. Sometimes, he barely saw it himself.

"Oui. Dis a way of makin' t'ings right. Of squarin' your past wit' your present, your future. 'Cos how can you bring a child into dis world when all you've ever done is do your best t' destroy all de good t'ings in it?"

Remy glanced at him sharply. Blinked. It was as if someone had pulled back the curtains on something he'd been striving to uncover fruitlessly for so many long, sordid years. And his brother had got it. In one fell swoop.

The simple revelation stunned, floored, broke him.

He dropped his head into his hands and felt the truth surge up and over him. Nothing it brought with it was simple. There was relief. There was pain.

"I did bad t'ings, Henri," he muttered in despair.

"So have I," Henri replied softly. "So have we all. It's what bein' a th'ief means, mon frere."

"Non." Remy lifted his head, shook it. "You ain't done de t'ings dat I've done." He looked away, swallowing hard, again not able to look his brother in the face. "You have no idea of de t'ings I could've done and wanted. How can I look my kid in de face, Henri? How like a look dem in de eye after all de lives I've destroyed? How can I?"

"And you somehow t'ink de Winnowing can absolve you?" Henri asked, ignoring his questions. Remy looked back at him ruefully.

"It gives me de right t' sit here wit' you, like dis," he answered. "Free and out in de open. Wit'out havin' to look over my shoulder. Wit'out de worry dat an Assassin's gon' stick a blade between my ribs. Don't you t'ink my kid deserves dat?" Henri looked at him long and hard at that, and he lowered his eyes, admitting; "And yeah. Maybe I do subconsciously t'ink it'll help me make up wit' all de shit I did for all those years. Merde. I dunno."

The admission had been tougher to make than he'd imagined. He knew that Henri knew him well enough to sense it. When his brother leaned forward closer to him, it was with that same mantle of stoic calm that he seemed to have taken on since Remy's exile.

"Remy… we're t'ieves. Dis it what we spend our lives tryin' t' come t' terms wit. Wit' de bad t'ings we haveta face because we are who we are and we do what we do. It's what our pere taught us since we were kids, neh? De Guild code…"

"Oui. 'Respect women, your fam'ly and de good Lord, before you can respect yourself'." He said the words bitterly, the code that was supposed to save a thief in the darkest of hours, to give him a sense of his own moral firmness, that there were some lines he would not cross. It was a form of protection, a pentagram he drew around himself to save him from his own inner conscience. "I'm 'fraid I didn't do much of any of dose t'ings, Henri. I let go of all de t'ings I learned here dat were worth learnin'. After de exile, after losin' control of my powers… dere didn't seem a lot worth carin' about, worth respectin' anymore. Figured I was already pretty much dead." He paused, looked back down into his glass. "It's only when someone reminds you dat you're alive dat you realise how fucked up your life's become."

Henri considered him, head cocked to one side.

"You're talkin' about Anna," he stated rather than asked.

Remy lifted the glass to his lips again. There wasn't much left in there to drink.

"Mebbe…"

"And she helped you wade through all dat shit."

Remy looked at him over the rim of his glass. He'd never really thought about it quite that way before.

"I guess…" he replied slowly. He couldn't deny that, all those empty years working for Sinister she had been there – not physically per se; but the idea of her, the knowledge that she was alive and walking this world – it had somehow held him together in some way, given him something to strive for, to keep him waking up each morning. She had helped him. In small, intangible ways that he couldn't explain. She'd kept him caring. Feeling. Loving.

He couldn't deny the truth of that.

"Rem," Henri broke in on a small smile, "you don't need t' be cagey wit' me on dis point. Dat woman means a lot to you, otherwise you wouldn't still be wit' her. T'ink about dat for a moment. T'ink about de person you woulda been if she wasn't dere. T'ink about de person you'd be now wit'out her." He was quiet a few heartbeats before adding in a softer voice. "Now tell me again how fucked up your life has been and how much you need absolution."

Remy put the glass down. He opened his mouth. He thought better of it.

"If it's absolution you want, Remy," Henri spoke again, "you'd best go see de priest and do yo' confession. We've all fucked up. Some more, some less. I have. I'm willin' t' bet Anna has. Redemption is for those who are ready t' accept dey fucked up. Accept it and move on. You got some good stuff in your life. Stuff dat kept you afloat. Be thankful they didn't let you go under."

The glass was empty.

And in a funny way, that was exactly how he felt. Like he'd been purged. Lanced by this enormous needle with all the accumulated decade's worth of shit oozing out.

He stood, stared down at his hands on the table top.

"I need a smoke," he muttered.

He turned and went for the door.

-oOo-

This was it.

His final smoke.

Darkness had fallen early, and Remy stood in the dimly lit alley, letting the wall hold him. He tilted back his head and blew smoke at the moon.

Let it go.

How do you let go of something that's consumed you for so long? How do you let go of all this shit?

He felt like a man trying to hold his guts, trying to keep them inside his stomach. Afraid of what it would mean to let it all go. Afraid of losing this toxic life that had defined him for so long.

"Henri's right," he murmured to himself, to the moon above. "He's fuckin' right and you're a coward. You can't move on."

He put the cigarette to his lips and took a drag.

That was when he heard someone step into the alleyway beside him.

"Remy LeBeau," said a voice, soft and deep and feminine.

He started, he turned, he looked.

It was Belladonna Boudreaux.

-oOo-