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: Hey guys! So this is as much as I had written of Coda before I starting posting it... From here on out I'll be writing as I go. Right now I want to finish 52 Pickup first, but I do want to finish this one too, and I kinda have a plan for where it's going - it's just a question of getting the inspiration to write it all down. Thanks as always for all the praise and encouragement - it's really because of you guys that I get anything finished at all! ;)
ferosa: I'm so glad you found this, and thanks for the lovely review! I hope this long-awaited chapter is worth it! ^-^ PKS: Hopefully you'll approve of Remy's interaction with Belle in this chapter, and that it's not too gut-wrenching! And don't worry - I'll definitely keep working on this :) bustedflipflop: Thanks, my dear, and you're very welcome for the feels! :D Hardkandy: It's definitely a breath of fresh air to write Remy from a perspective where he's less in control and more 'human', and his relationship with his family definitely brings that out in him. Thanks as always for your reviews. They always make me smile. :) WhenInRomy: I just loved writing that dialogue between Henri and Remy! Glad you did too! Enjoy the new chapter! :) RRL24: Thanks, my dear. The dynamic is definitely changing between Rogue and Remy - thanks for your thoughts on it! :) x LEGNA: Hope the cliffhanger gets a good pay-off in this chapter! ;) slightlyxjaded: Thanks for the review! It's interesting to see how the brothers have grown and matured on different paths, yet still remain close despite that. I'm so glad you liked their little chat. ;) Ana Xpert: Well, not too much pressure then! XD Hope this chapter lives up to your expectations! ;) x Randirogue: Randi! It's soooo good to hear from you again after all this time! Hope you and the fam are doing well! Thank you so much for still reading my work - I am so flattered! Miss you muchly! XXX Hali: Your reviews never cease to amaze me. This is a wonderful and insightful piece of work that really lifted what was a crazy day for me. Seriously - I opened up my inbox and read this and I died. I would love to go through your thoughts point by point, but that would be an essay in itself, so I will say thanks for so consistently 'getting' where I want to take the characters, and for picking up on all those little nuances. It did come as a bit of a shock to Rogue that she was guilty of her own selfishness, and from that I think she will respect Remy all the more for what he wants for their kid. BTW... I do want to complete this story, if only because HoC Rogue and Remy deserve their little slice of happiness. It might just take me a little time to get there, but I will in the end. Bear with me! ;)
Thanks also, as always, to Warrior-princess1980, SassC HiJinx and my nameless Guests!
-Ludi x
CODA
Chapter 6
"Hello, Remy," said the woman in the high-necked coat and the high-heeled boots, illuminated only partially by a nearby streetlamp. There was a smile on her lips, but it was the kind of smile that showed no warmth and that did not touch her eyes.
He pushed himself off the wall and turned to face her.
Surprises came his way hard and often, but never like this.
Never like they came from a dream, or the past.
"Belle," he breathed.
She had changed.
Not so much in looks, but in the way she carried herself.
She was taller and thinner, more imperious somehow, her eyes no longer the deep cornflower blue he remembered but icier, her blonde hair swept up into a severe bun. But there was something else in her. A coldness, a gravitas. She held herself with aplomb. Rigidly elegant.
She was still angelically beautiful and he found himself unable to prevent the tide of memories taking him over and sweeping him under, a whirlwind of days and nights and kisses and touches that had fuelled so many of his thoughts, his desires, his actions.
It was potent, it was visceral, and for a moment it knocked him for six.
He couldn't speak.
He could only find his voice with an effort.
"Why are you here?" he asked, and even as he said it, it came out sounding ridiculous.
If she had felt any of the things he had, she made no obvious sign that she had done so. His words seemed to be an invitation, and she took a step forward, that cold smile touching her lips once more.
"Well, I'd heard from my faithful retainers dat if you were t' be stopped in your foolish antics, I was supposed t' come and deal wit' you myself." Her tone was dry, wonderfully sarcastic. "So I decided dat's exactly what I would go and do."
There was a pause.
The ash from his cigarette dropped to the floor.
He stirred himself, pressed it to his lips, tried to get back his insouciance. He didn't know if it was working.
"Your poppa ain't gon' like dis," he remarked.
"Non. If he knew."
He laughed a little, smoke spilling from his nostrils. Evading parents for secret rendezvous. It all seemed so nostalgic; it all seemed so apt. Just like old times.
"Some t'ings don't change," he muttered, and:
"Non," she agreed. "But other t'ings do."
Silence fell like snow. They stood facing one another in the dark alley, and he thought of the irony of it, of having met Rogue again in a similar place after a similar absence, a similar sort of death that had never really existed.
"So," he began, deciding to give up the pretence of nonchalance, knowing instinctively that she would never buy it – she knew him well enough for that. "You come t' stop me, den?"
Her expression shifted immediately at his change in tone. The smile – cold as it had been – was gone in a flash.
"I'm here to tell you to go back home, Remy," she answered flatly. "Or to wherever it is dat you call home."
"Hm. Interestin'." He sucked on his cigarette, considering her through wreaths of smoke. "And why should I do dat?"
"Why?" Her lips were set, her mouth grim. "Because you're riskin' your life by bein' here."
He raised an eyebrow at her.
"So you mean you're here t' save me? How touchin'."
A look of barely veiled disgust crossed her face. Her eyes narrowed, her lips curled.
"Don't try my patience, Remy LeBeau," she levelled at him in the kind of dead tone that signalled more danger than a raging shriek or an insidious hiss. "Don't try my good nature. Do you have any idea of de reason why you ain't been cut down since you got here? Why you're allowed to be standin' here at all?"
"Well, now," he murmured after sizing her up a second. "Somet'ing's tellin' me it's because of you."
Something flashed in those blue eyes. The steely temper that had once so captivated him. The haughty indignation that had made him want to treat her like a queen. It was all there in a split second and then gone again. Her features relaxed. She gave that icy smile again and he found himself wishing she had her old smile back – the one that had filled him with so much joy, so much love.
"Perhaps de others were right," she commented, as though musing to herself. "Perhaps I am bein' a fool. But I was curious. I wanted t' see you again. I wanted t' see de man you'd become." Her smile faded. "Dey told me you hadn't changed, dat you were still de same stupid, mouthy boy you always were. But you are diff'rent," she said quietly. "You are."
She said the words with such soft gravity, such regret, that he was somehow touched.
"We all are," he murmured, but she shook her head with certainty.
"Non. I haven't changed, Remy. Not since de day you killed Julien. Not since de day you went away."
She stared at him, as if waiting… And he felt this long-awaited cue open up. The point where he should say it. I'm sorry. He opened his mouth but it didn't come. And so she continued.
"You didn't break my heart, Remy. You did only what every thief does. You took it away, you never gave it back. You left it in de dust and I never found it again. Belladonna Boudreaux died dat day. What you see now is what you left all those years ago. De t'ing you made and left behind."
She put her hand to her breast, as though to remind herself where her heart should be and what it felt like. She closed her eyes and tried to remember. It was a long time before she opened them again, saying: "I never met a man like you again, Remy LeBeau. I never met anyone who could make me feel like you did, who could help me find what I had lost. There's never been anyone else since you. Never. I couldn't love anyone else after you left."
And that was when the words came.
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
And when her eyes flashed this time, it was with real anger, real disdain.
"Don't say those words!" she rasped at him. "You can't say them and possibly know what it is t' mean them! You took away any chance I ever had of happiness, Remy, of a normal, feelin' life! And yet you have de nerve t' come here wit' your woman and your life and flaunt it in front of my people, in front of me! Do you know how insultin' it is, to have t' spend all dese years tryin' t' feel like a normal human bein' again, just t' have it taken away in a moment all over again? D'you know how fuckin' selfish it is for you t' be here like dis? When all I've done for all dese years is try to forget you?!"
More home truths. Homing in on him and stabbing into already raw and open wounds. He could give no voice to the sudden shame and guilt that consumed him at her words. He knew no more sorries would be tolerated by her.
"If dat's how you feel," he asked her quietly. "Den why are you tellin' me t' leave? Instead of lettin' yourself or de other Assassins have your revenge?"
Whatever rage was in her seemed to have burnt itself out in her tirade. That cold demeanour fell over her once more like a frosted mantle, and it was only then that he fully understood what it was he had done to her – when he saw how utterly and completely she wreathed herself in this hard diamond shell.
"There's a part of me," she rejoined with a bitterness that was only slightly tempered by sweetness, "dat still cares about you, Remy LeBeau. Dat still loves you. Despite everyt'ing you did t' me. I feel it even more, now dat we're face-to-face. I thought that seeing you again would remind me how much I should hate you. But you're not de boy you were. I see pain in you. And I don't know why dat should hurt me, but it does." She lifted her gaze to his, an infinite sadness in her blue eyes. "I want to forget you, Remy. I can't do dat wit' your blood on my hands. If you died here, in dis city, if you died at my hands… You'd haunt me forever. I'd never let you go."
His cigarette had burnt down to the stub. He dropped it and ground it out with his heel.
"I can't turn back," he muttered.
"You still want de Winnowing," she rejoined in disbelief. "Why? We will never let you return t' de Thieves Guild. Is liftin' de exile worth such a price? You have a life outside of dis city now. You have someone new to share it wit'. You don't need dis life anymore. You don't need it back. Don't risk your life for somet'ing dat's dead. Turn back, go home. My people will kill you. De Winnowin' will be their vengeance."
"But not yours?" he asked her quickly, right on the tail end of her sentence. He needed to know. Somehow it mattered.
The question took her aback. She seemed to fold in on herself.
"I can't forgive you, Remy," she answered quietly. "But I don't want you t' die either. I know what it is t' be dead – I can't love anyone any more, not the way I remember lovin' you. But you can. You don't deserve t' die, not for de price of de freedom t' walk dese streets. There are better t'ings t' make sacrifices for. Dis ain't one of them."
She was so sure, so certain in this conviction that, once again, he was moved by it.
"And what if," he told her softly, "dat ain't de price at all. What if I told you I was doin' dis for somet'ing else. For somet'ing more den just my own benefit?"
She stared at him. Her eyes widened.
"For her then?" she questioned, more to herself than him. She didn't understand. He could see it.
"I ain't gon' change my mind, Belladonna," he told her in a low voice. "I'm sorry 'bout how difficult dis makes t'ings for you. Believe me when I say dat I never wanted for you t' be hurt when I came here. God knows I hurt you good enough de first time round." He took a heavy breath, began again. "But I can't back out on dis now. Even if I wanted to, it's too late t' turn back; I've got dis far, and you have no idea of de t'ings I've been through t' get to where I am, t' figure out dat dis is where I want t' be."
He walked, meaning to brush past her, but as he did so he caught her scent – lily-of-the-valley, a fragrance from his youth, one she hadn't changed in all the years since he'd known her… And he stopped. He stopped beside her and his throat closed over; he swallowed down the sudden memories her perfume conjured, memories more instinctual than even the sight of her could have evoked.
It almost made him want to weep.
"I'm sorry it has t'be dis way, Belle," he murmured. "Believe it or not, I still… care about you. If I had known, if I had thought about de way dis would hurt you, maybe it woulda made me change my mind about dis. Maybe not."
"If you cared for me," she returned softly, and for the first time he heard real regret in her voice, "you would leave dis place now and take your woman wit' you."
He looked down at the floor, a sad smile tugging at his lips.
"Dat ain't possible, Belle. You're right – I've changed. And you and I both know dat too much time has passed since what we had t' make me change my mind now. I respect and love de person dat you are – I always will. You have no idea of de person you made me into – all de good, all de bad. It's de man I am now. And de man I am now needs dis. It ain't about redemption, it ain't about absolution. It's just about havin' a future. Dat's all. And we… we're de past, Belle. I know what I owe you, I know what I owe your people. Take dis chance, ma chere. Take it like I have. Let yourself move on from what I did. Let your people move on. Let me move on, if you can stomach it. I can. I know I can now."
He looked at her. She looked at him.
Her guards were down, no more coldness. Her blue eyes were imploring. Trapping him in so many memories.
"If you die," she murmured. "There is no movin' on. I'm stuck here forever."
And he closed himself off from them. All the little things that had brought them together.
"Belle, I was dead t'you for all dese years. How would my real death make any difference?"
She blinked. It was almost as if she was stunned to hear him say it.
"Don't you get it Remy? You were never really dead t' me. Not in all those years." She chanced something risky then – the riskiest thing she could have done. She reached out with her left hand, placed it on his chest. It was a movement she'd made so often before, in a world that seemed so very far away. He felt his heart quicken involuntarily beneath her palm-print, the way it had all those years before. "You were always alive, in here," she continued in a near-whisper. "And to see you here, now… it's de worst kinda pain, Remy. It worse b'cause de man I kept alive in here isn't de man I see before me now. You are deader now t'me den you were in all de years we were apart. I just never thought it would hurt so much."
His heart twinged. He put his hand on hers and remembered its pattern, its texture.
"So let's take dis as a resolution, Belle," he murmured. "Let me die here for you. I'm in love wit' someone else now. You can be too. You can live again."
And he removed her hand from his heart. He walked away.
And just as he got to the corner, he heard her speak.
"It's funny," she said, and he halted. He looked over his shoulder and saw her standing there, still with her back to him, staring at the ground. He waited. He waited for her to continue.
"All dese years I thought I couldn't love anyone else b'cause I was so consumed wit' my hate for you." She paused, and he heard it plainly – the coldness twisting back into the bittersweet softness of her words, the shields snaking up around her once more. "And now dat you're here, Remy, I haveta come t' de painful realisation dat dat might not be de reason at all. Maybe it's because I still loved you, despite all de resentment, all de hate. Dat I've wasted all dese years hatin' you and lovin' you, t'inkin' your exile was my lastin' vengeance when all it did was forge you a new life, a new love. It hardly seems fair, does it. Dat I wasted all dat time while you got to move on."
He half turned back towards her. She wanted an answer from him, she wanted a resolution. He could give her none.
"Dat's why de Winnowin' makes sense, Belle," he told her quietly. "Have your vengeance; have Julien's vengeance. Draw a line under it when it's done. Walk away. Move on. Live."
She didn't stir, didn't speak. But she hung her head, and when he knew she had nothing more to say, to give him, that's when he finally walked away.
-oOo-
The shopping trip with Mercy had ended up not happening at all. They'd only got as far as the next block when Mercy had piped up, saying:
"You look exhausted, Anna. Musta been all de fun we had last night. Maybe you'd prefer to head back t'de house?"
Rogue had never been so grateful for the opportunity to bail out, but even so she'd hesitated. She didn't want to seem rude, but then she also didn't think she could handle an afternoon spent shopping with the exuberant (and evidently high-maintenance) Mercy.
"Yeah… If you don't mind," she replied. "Didn't get much sleep last night…"
Mercy gave her a small smile.
"Of course I don't mind!"
She linked her arm familiarly with Rogue's and together they walked back in the direction of the LeBeau mansion, Mercy regaling her with amusing tales of her youth with the LeBeaus.
It wasn't long before they'd reached the big house, and Rogue was grateful to Mercy for not directly bringing up her obvious spat with Remy. By the time she'd got back to the mansion she'd been ready to address things with him calmly and rationally again; but since he hadn't arrived home yet, and so she found herself wandering into the library, a large, inviting room that nevertheless didn't seem as if it saw a lot of traffic.
She walked along the shelves, peering every now and again at the titles lined there, column by variegated column. Many of the books there were old, leather-bound affairs in blue, green, magenta and tawny yellow. Classics: Dickens, Austen, Poe, Twain, Hawthorne. Further along there were other, more modern tomes, mostly reference books: geography, sociology, psychology, a lot of history. Nothing interesting, nothing fancy. It was only near the end that she saw more novels, from the 60's, 70's, early 80's – supernatural thrillers, fantasies, romances. There was one there that Rogue recognised, that she had read before. She slid it out, ran her fingers over the cover. She remembered it sitting on the nightstand of her room back at the mansion, well-worn and dog-eared. The corner of her mouth twitched in a nostalgic smile.
"You like romances?"
At the unexpected voice Rogue whirled round, seeing Tante Mattie standing in the doorway.
"Ah did," she replied after a moment, slipping the book back in-between its brothers and sisters. "Was a time Ah couldn't get enough of them."
She turned fully. Mattie had moved into the room, pushing the door quietly shut.
"Den you share somet'ing in common wit' Marguerite," Mattie remarked, before pausing and explaining: "Dat's Remy's mamere."
"Ah know," Rogue replied. "Jean-Luc told me about her." She ran her hands slightly across the books on the shelf. "So these were hers?" she asked.
"Oui." Mattie walked up, and together they stood, side by side, looking at the colourful spines standing together like soldiers. "Time was Marguerite couldn't get enough of dese either. She always was an incurable romantic."
Rogue reached out, ran her a finger down one of the gaudy spines.
"Jean-Luc told me she was the daughter of a Voodoo priestess…"
"She was." Mattie nodded. "Her mere was my friend. She died young, and Marguerite became my ward. I came here wit' her when she married into dis fam'ly. It wasn't what we had planned for her. But it was her choice."
"And did you regret that choice?" Rogue asked her softly. Mattie laughed gently.
"A little. At first. But de LeBeau's are a good fam'ly. Dey took care of her. And me." She gestured to the books at the other end of the wall, the old, Victorian ones. "Those belonged to Jacques LeBeau. Jean-Luc's father. He started dis library. Books were his favourite t'ings to collect."
Rogue smiled a little wryly.
"Aren't all thieves 'collectors'?"
Mattie looked over at her, a grin on her face.
"After a fashion. For Jacques it was books. For Jean-Luc, paintings. And Remy…?"
"Cards," Rogue rejoined without missing a beat. "Usually of the hearts variety. And mostly just to throw away."
Mattie turned to her, eyebrow raised.
"And you? What do collect?"
Rogue chewed on her lip, thought about it.
"Mem'ries. Other peoples'. At least, Ah used to. It weren't all that."
If Mattie found her answer strange she didn't say anything. They stood a long while in silence, pretending to read the titles of the books lined before them. At last Rogue found the courage to speak.
"Jean-Luc said it was Marguerite who decided to take Remy in," she murmured. "Is that true?"
The glance that Mattie sent her was sharp, penetrating.
"Oui." The word was heavily loaded, and she looked away suddenly, as if gauging what to say next. When at last she spoke her voice was slow, measured. "She believed he was Le Diable Blanc – the White Devil. She felt it was her duty to protect de child."
"Ah've heard that name before," Rogue murmured. "'Le Diable Blanc'. What does that mean?"
Mattie sighed. She seemed suddenly very old.
"Dere was a prophecy amongst my people," she explained darkly. "De only prophecy shared we shared wit' de Guilds. In time, dey chose not t' believe it no more. Our people did. We never forgot it.
De prophecy spoke of Le Diable Blanc. A child who would come to us, who would wield a frightenin' power in his hands. De power was frightenin' not in and of itself, but because it could be used in service of either good or evil and was beholden to neither." She spread out first her left palm, then her right palm, saying: "In de one hand de child would hold de power de destroy de world. And in de other, de power to save us all." She was silent, showing her bare palms to Rogue as if to offer her the lines of her fate. After a while she dropped them, concluding: "Dat was de prophecy. And Marguerite believed it, when she saw de child, when she looked into his eyes. She took him in to prevent him from becomin' de t'ing dat would destroy us all. She gave him all de love she had to give, and when she died she passed dat mission on to me. She made it impossible for him to hate."
It wasn't until she'd finished that Rogue realised she'd been holding her breath. She let it out slowly, feeling another piece of the gargantuan puzzle Irene had left her slotting into place.
"She was right," she spoke at last. "He had a choice. Many choices. He always took the path she would've wanted him t' take. He did save us all."
And Mattie's smile was broad and warm.
"I know, chile."
This was said with such conviction that Rogue stared at her.
"Yah do?"
Mattie chuckled.
"I may not be able t' see de future, but I seen t'ings. De Thieves Guild have eyes in faraway places. Dey watched him as closely as dey could. And de spirits…" she drew in a breath that seemed to speak of weariness, of loneliness, "…dey show me t'ings. As dey always have. I always knew what Remy would face. De dark, de light. De timeless threads dat weave us all t'gether. As you have."
She put a hand on Rogue's shoulder, squeezed it with a gentle pressure.
"De spirits have shown me de threads, ma chere. Dey don't show me often… but dere is one t'ing I am sure of, and dat is de ties dat bind you." Her eyes dropped to Rogue's abdomen. "You'll have a bebe of your own before long. And soon you and Remy will both have to decide whether it walks the path of dark or light."
Rogue looked at her sadly, a hand instinctively going to her stomach.
"Ain't that a choice we all haveta take?" she whispered, and Mattie nodded, answered:
"Oui. But only for some of us does it become a question of life and death."
-oOo-
It was late when he came back.
Rogue was lying on the bed on her side, head propped in her hand, reading a book, dressed only in one of his shirts that had, inexplicably, become on her favourite items of clothing to sleep in.
She looked up at him as he came in, and though he had been expecting anger or irritation or sarcasm at his late return, he didn't get any of those things. She just looked at him, waiting for him to speak.
"I'm sorry," he said, thinking that there was really nothing else he could say.
"Me too," she replied; and there was enough sincerity in her words that he could finally move into the room, peel off his coat and throw aside his keys.
"Had a nice time with Henri?" she asked him lightly. She heard her turn a page.
"Hmm-mmm. Didn't do much. Jes' some catchin' up. You?"
"Well, yah know," she answered disinterestedly. "Ah got some things. Your sister-in-law sure is high maintenance though."
He grunted humorously in agreement.
"You shoulda seen her when we was pups."
"Hmm."
He chucked his coat over the back of a nearby chair and looked over at her. She was still on the bed, reading her book. He kicked off his shoes and joined her, mirroring her position. She ignored him.
"Watch'u readin'?" he asked her when she wouldn't take the bait. She said nothing but lifted the book, showing him the cover. He recognised it.
"I remember dat book," he noted. "You read it at de mansion."
She glanced up at him then.
"You remember a lot," she remarked.
"I remember almost everyt'ing," he corrected her. "Where did you get it?"
"From the library downstairs," she answered, continuing to read. "It was your momma's, or so Tante Mattie told me."
"Oh." He didn't quite know what to make of that. "And did she tell you anyt'ing 'bout de bad t'ings I did as a kid, huh?"
She looked at him full-on then.
"Maybe. Why? Would it worry you if she did?"
"Non." He shrugged. "T'ink you know worse t'ings about me den Tante Mattie ever did."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Is that so? And here Ah was thinkin' Ah had only scratched the surface of your depravity."
He passed her a wicked smile, thinking that the comment was the signal of a truce and an open invitation to more banter.
"Where you and I are concerned, chere, dere's still plenty more scratchin' t' do."
Her lips gathered into a pout that told him that maybe he'd misjudged her humour just a little.
"Don't start that now, Remy," she pleaded with him seriously. "Ah ain't in the mood right now."
Okay. So she wasn't in the mood. Fair enough. He stayed silent and waited for her to speak.
"The truth is," she began after a moment, her eyes downcast, her fingers playing with the edges of the page she was on, "Ah've been thinkin' about what we talked about earlier on today. And Ah meant it. Ah'm sorry. Of course you have every right to want your child t' have a safe and lovin' relationship with your fam'ly. Ah feel terrible for not bein' more sensitive to that fact."
There was one thing about her that never failed to impress him. It was this – her honesty, her constant ability to be true to her emotions, even if they demanded she humble herself and admit she'd been wrong. Of course there were times she could be as stubborn as hell and piss him off no end, but… times like these always won out with her. The right thing was always the right thing to her, and she had to abide by it.
He couldn't help it. He reached out and closed his hand over hers, the one that was still on the book.
"And I meant it too, Rogue," he said softly. "I'm sorry for keepin' dis from you. I shoulda told you what I was t'inkin' sooner. I shoulda known it woulda hurt you more t' tell you later rather than sooner."
She smiled up at him then, turned her palm so that his rested in her own.
"Ah don't guess Ah can talk you outta this, Remy," she spoke helplessly. "Ah know you're hell bent on it. And Ah understand that you want t' give your kid the best of the childhood you had. Admit it, Remy. To raise your kid to be good and true would be the biggest 'fuck you' to Essex you could ever dream of."
He couldn't deny it. He gave a small, sarcastic laugh.
"Yeah. It would."
"And Ah get that," she answered earnestly. "But Remy, think about it. Our child will be a mutant. It will always be at a disadvantage in this world. It'll know violence. Probably death too. No matter how much we want to show it only the good in humanity, there'll always be the worst followin' right on its tail. You can't avoid that."
He looked into her eyes – beautiful eyes that had so captivated him from the very first moment he'd met her.
"Rogue," he returned quietly, threading his fingers with her own, "dat ain't de point. You know it. A kid can't learn de worth of happiness unless dey know how t' be sad. Dey can't learn what it means t' be safe and warm unless dey know violence. Dat's de only t'ing I wanna be able t' give dem. Same as you, chere."
She searched his face, looking as if she was trying to find any element of deceit or uncertainty there, apparently not finding any. She squeezed his hand gently, said, "Yeah. Same as me."
And he smiled.
"Bon." He disengaged his hand from hers and would have stood, except that when he saw her expression there was a look in her eyes that told him that there was still something she wanted to say. "What?" he asked her.
"It ain't nothin'," she said.
"Yes, it is. Go on. Tell me."
He watched on as she closed her book slowly, carefully keeping her gaze from his.
"No – it ain't really nothin'… Ah was just wonderin', is all. D'you remember your momma at all?"
Well. That wasn't what he'd been expecting. He shrugged.
"Not much. A little. She died when I was about five. De mem'ries I do have are vague."
Her eyes were on his now.
"What was she like?"
"I don't really know. It's hard for a kid t' say. But she hugged me a lot. And I remember her laughin' a lot. She had dis big smile. Other then dat…" He shrugged again. "Tante Mattie was more of a mom t' me, t' be honest." He looked at her questioningly. "Why?"
"Ah dunno." It was her turn to shrug. "Ah just wondered, y'know. Ah think…" and her eyes dropped again, "Ah think maybe she'd be proud of yah. If she could see the person you are now."
"Hmph. Yeah. Well… more den my real mom would be anyways…"
"Or mine…" she whispered.
He caught her gaze once more. Mentions of her parents were rare in the extreme; and besides, he was kind of wondering where this was all coming from.
"Do you miss them?" he queried. "Your parents?"
Her eyes were clear.
"No. Not really. Most days, Ah barely think about them." She leaned back over her shoulder, placing the book back up on the nightstand. The nightshirt rode up her thigh as she did so, and he couldn't help but feel his eyes drawn to it. It was a little thing, but for some reason it prompted him to tell her the truth.
"I saw Belladonna earlier," he said.
And that got her attention. She turned back to him, surprised.
"Belladonna?"
"Oui." He nodded.
"Oh." He saw her expression change, the fine control she managed to maintain over it, to cover over her sudden agitation with composure. "What did she want?"
"I called her out, if you remember," he explained slyly. "Back when we met dose Assassins at de city limits. So she came lookin' for me. She tried t' get me t' leave, t' go back. I told her dat wasn't possible. So yeah… dat was pretty much it."
There was this look on her face, a look he'd seen often enough before to make the mistake of misreading. It wasn't a suspicion that he was lying, exactly. Just this look that clearly said she didn't believe he was fully coming clean with her.
"That ain't all she coulda said," she retorted pointedly.
"Isn't it?" he asked innocently.
"Remy." She gave him a withering look. "You were once willin' t' kill for this woman. Yah can't tell me that the two of you just exchanged pleasantries and that was that."
"Sure," he admitted. "It was a little more den pleasantries, chere. And sure, dere were a lot of feelin's dere. But all three of us know dat what happened b'tween me and her is dead and buried. So you can rest easy on dat score, Anna."
"It ain't that that Ah'm worried about, sugah," she told him soberly. "It's whether she understands that."
"After I murdered her brother, you t'ink she'd still want me?" he quizzed her, but he should've known by now that she was too astute to be taken in by this kind of game.
"Feelin's are a little more complicated than that, Remy. They don't just go away. And love doesn't so easily transmute into hate when it's over. Let's just say," she added quietly, "that Ah know how Ah'd feel if Ah was her right now."
He was intrigued by the statement.
"Really? So how would you be feelin', chere?"
"Confused. Maybe angry. Wonderin' whether Ah'd made a mistake in lettin' you go all those years ago. Wishin' there was a chance to find out."
Her gaze flicked to his and held it. There was a whole wealth of meaning in there.
"And you're prob'ly right," he murmured. "We been round dat whole block ourselves several times, neh? But honestly, chere. Dere ain't no need to feel insecure."
"Ah'm not insecure!" she broke in, her eyes flashing dangerously, but he cut her off calmly, saying:
"Yes, you are. Even if it's only just a little bit. And it's okay to feel insecure. I'm just sayin' dere ain't no need to be." He reached out, played with the hem of her nightshirt. "I told her I loved you. It's up to her what she wants t' do wit' dat knowledge. Dere ain't anyt'ing more I can say den dat t' convince her."
She made no reply to his statement, but he still chanced it. He put his bare palm on her thigh and felt her skin, warm and smooth and soft to his touch.
"I've loved you a lot longer den I ever loved her," he continued in a low voice – and this time it was his eyes that couldn't quite meet hers. "So if it's a contest, you'd win it. Straight up."
That was when she laughed. A husky laugh, with the flavour of honey and molasses.
"Sugah, if there was a contest, you'd be the winner. Every time. As long as yah had someone t' spend the night with…"
"I used t' t'ink dat," he interrupted her in a hushed tone, no attempt now at humour. "It's been a long time now since I have though. I dunno what de Phoenix did t' me… But I can't even hide it from myself anymore."
He still couldn't look at her, his eyes fixed on his hand, still splayed out on her thigh, his tanned skin on her pale own; and she reached out with her foot, hooked his calf and whispered: "Yah keep blamin' it on the Phoenix, sugah… Maybe it's just you. Maybe it's just you bein' ready."
"Ready for what?" he asked her, and she ran her leg up his own, inching slowly closer, and he couldn't stop himself now – he looked at her. And there was no mistaking that smouldering expression in her smoky green eyes.
"Ready t' quit playin' around and be honest with yourself. Now shut up and kiss me. Unless you're gonna tell me you love me again."
-oOo-
