The bar was just starting to fill up with the after-supper crowd, so Remy sat down at one of the game tables and shuffled through a deck of cards. He had a meeting later, but there was plenty of time to kill before he had to leave. Sure, he didn't need to swindle the tourists for the money, but better him than someone who didn't care and who would milk them for every cent they had. He just wanted to teach the frat boys that came down for spring break, and thought that they could take advantage of a dumb southerner, a little lesson.

Besides, he gave the money to various children's charities anyway. So, in a way, it wasn't even stealing.

Two rounds in, his phone went off with a text alert. There had been movement at the house. He barely paid it any attention, and went back to the game. He got those alerts all the time. Usually it was a mailman, or a well-meaning neighbor, or a nosy neighbor, or some kids riding bikes through the yard. Nothing to call the cops over. But then he got another alert, this one from the sensor on the front door. And there was a picture.

"Merde!" He sprang up, bumping the table with his knee and toppling the piles of chips.

"Hey, if you leave, you forfeit," one of the guys said.

"It's all yours," Remy hastily replied, and sprinted toward the back, nearly knocking over a patron who had gotten in his way. When he burst into the office, Thierry looked up in alarm.

"What happened?"

Remy threw his hat on the desk and grabbed his trench coat off the small sofa. "I've gotta go!" Whatever Thierry said to him in response, he didn't hear, because he was already out the door and sprinting through the kitchen. Seconds later, he was in the side alley where his Chevelle was parked. The car had been built for flying down straight open highways, and he intended to push it to the limit.

The drive to Meridian, which Remy had made innumerable times in his life, normally took three hours if there was no traffic. That night, he made it there in two.

He hadn't run all the way to Mississippi, but by the time he turned onto the road that their house was on, he felt as out of breath as if he had. He was so afraid that Marie would be gone by the time he arrived. But he was even more afraid of what she was going to say to him if she was still there.

When he approached the house, his headlights picked up a car parked on the street out front. It had Georgia plates. He pulled into the driveway and parked under the carport. The lights were on in all of the rooms, at least from what he could see out front. The curtains were closed, however, so Marie wouldn't have seen him drive up, but she might have heard the car.

Remy didn't get nervous, but sometimes, before a big job, he felt an anxious sort of energy, in anticipation of the unknown. The job could go perfectly as planned, or it could go completely sideways. He could never be certain that he'd be able to walk away unscathed. That was how he felt standing outside the house. Anything could happen, but he was fairly sure that his wife hadn't returned to cook him supper and welcome him home from work.

If anyone had told him on the day that he got married that this was how it would all turn out, he wouldn't have believed them.

He had been eight when Marie first appeared in his life. He routinely snuck over to the D'Ancanto's property to steal cookies, which he now suspected that Granny-Mae had left on a plate on the kitchen windowsill specifically for him. But at the time, he thought he was being a clever thief. One day, there was a pretty girl sitting on the edge of the porch, swinging her legs, and for the first time ever, he disobeyed the Guild's teachings and stepped out of the shadows in order to say hi.

She'd introduced herself and then promptly told him that it was a stupid name. Did he know how many girls in the first grade had been called Anna-this or Anna-that? Six! The whole year she'd had to put up with this indignity.

"How 'bout if I jus' call you Marie?"

She paused, as if that had never occurred to her, and then finally said, "I'd like that."

Of course, then she'd taken to calling him 'Swamp Rat' not long after, so he didn't know why he had bothered, but she had been 'Marie' ever since.

Remy opened the front door with his guard up. It felt a little strange walking in unannounced, but it would have been even stranger to knock on his own front door. He just hoped that he didn't scare her. One, because he didn't want her to run again, and two, because she might mistake him for an intruder and try to attack him.

It turned out not to be an issue. Marie was asleep on the couch, with the afghan that Granny-Mae had knitted pulled over her. Her hair, which was tied back in a ponytail, had a white streak in it. That was new.

His brow furrowed. Had she come back looking for him, but then fallen asleep while she waited? He closed the door quietly behind him, at a loss of what to do. From the sound of her breathing, she was sleeping deeply, so he was reluctant to wake her.

There wasn't any luggage sitting out in the front room, but her purse, phone, and keys were on the coffee table. Keys with the New Orleans Saints keychain that he had given her still attached. It was almost enough to give him hope. A travel-size package of tissues and some wadded up ones were next to the keys. She had been crying.

It wasn't surprising—Lord knew he'd done enough of that himself over the years, and on that very couch—but it probably meant that she was still working through unresolved emotions. Maybe he had the advantage there.

He did a quick sweep of the rest of the house. In the kitchen, several of the cupboards were open, and he didn't know if she had been looking for something specific, or had just been rummaging in general. The cast iron skillet was sitting out, so maybe that had been the object of her search. He didn't for one second believe that she was actually planning to cook for him. He shut the cupboards.

Next, he checked the bedrooms. The door to the small one was closed, and he doubted that she would have gone in there, but the master bedroom was open. It didn't look like it had been disturbed, however. The closet and drawers were all shut. Marie's wedding ring was still where he'd left it. Where she'd left it.

He went back out to the front room and shrugged out of his coat before sitting down in one of the chairs to wait. He watched her while she slept—something that a better man probably would have felt guilty about—and couldn't shake the feeling that every time he blinked, she wouldn't be there when his eyes re-opened.

It wasn't like it hadn't happened before.

There was a gap in Remy's life. A critical three weeks, during which he had lain unconscious in a hospital bed while his life had fallen apart around him. The only reason he knew anything at all was because he had managed to piece several things together after the fact.

Marie had been in the hospital too. She had needed surgery, and had pulled through fine, but the baby hadn't made it. The nurses told him that she had been up to visit him every day since being discharged. Every day, except the one on which he woke up. If that wasn't a message, he didn't know what was.

Remy had pretty much always known that he was a mutant, but Marie's energy-draining powers had appeared out of the blue, a couple years after the average age that most people discovered they had a mutation. Back then, he thought that the only reason Marie had manifested powers was because she had gotten pregnant. Mother and baby shared blood, and the baby was half his, so it seemed reasonable that his genetic material was somehow the cause of her mutation. And if he had come to that conclusion, then surely Marie had as well.

So, when he had come home from the hospital to find her gone, and no note—no goodbye of any kind—had been left behind, he was not entirely surprised. He figured that he was the last person she would have wanted to see right then. Between coping with the loss of the baby, and dealing with her new mutation, it was understandable that she needed some time away from the house. He assumed that she had gone to stay with her family, and only discovered later that had not been the case.

For a long time, Remy was convinced that Marie would return because the alternative seemed impossible. They had loved each other more than anything, there was no way that she could have walked away from that for good. But after a year, and then two, he finally had to accept reality. As hard as it had been, he'd picked up the pieces and moved on with his life.

And from the diamond ring he could now see on her left hand, she had done the same. Maybe more successfully. That was his answer, then. She hadn't come back for him, she'd come back to ask for a divorce. He had imagined that scenario before, and realistically, had always known it would just be a matter of time before it played out.

xxx

About an hour later, Marie woke up, and Remy slipped effortlessly into character. He had already decided that whatever she wanted, he would give to her without a fight, but that didn't mean he had to tip his hand. After all, she was the one who had left him, and he might've still felt a little hurt about that.

As she reached across for her phone on the coffee table, he asked, "D'you have a good nap, cher?"

She yelped in surprise and rolled onto the floor, taking the blanket with her.

He didn't even attempt to hide his grin. "Don't tell me you don't recognize your own husband?"

To her credit, Marie recovered quickly. "I recognize him. I just didn't think he'd be here when I woke up."

Remy raised his eyebrows. "In my own home?"

"You don't live here anymore than I do."

"Actually, I live here a lot more than you do, considering you haven't been back in seven and a half years," he pointed out.

Marie frowned. "You know what I mean." She untangled herself from the afghan and got back up on the couch. "I don't suppose it's a coincidence that you're here?"

He shook his head. "You tripped the perimeter and the front door sensors."

She seemed to take this as a personal failure. "Damn it. I didn't even think to check for an alarm."

"I don't know why not, it looks like you checked everything else. Kitchen cupboards included." He jerked his thumb behind him at the kitchen. "Did you finally come back for the good dishes?" And then he added hopefully, "Or maybe the ugly ones?"

She started to smile, but it didn't ever reach her eyes, and fizzled out pretty quick. "Daddy's dying."

And just like that, Remy abandoned his act. He thought of how clinical Papaw had been relaying the diagnosis, but how he could hear the fear in the old man's voice, and ran his hand through his hair. "Shit. I thought they were optimistic about the operation."

"Then you knew more than I did. I didn't even know he was sick until Friday."

"Kinda hard to keep you in the loop when you cut everyone out of it," he said. It was not his proudest moment. When he looked up, she had a stricken expression on her face, but then quickly dropped her gaze.

"I shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry." She stood, picked up her purse, and collected the tissues and her keys off the coffee table.

In less than ten seconds, she was going to walk out the door again, and there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that she'd ever be back. Whatever resentment he had been feeling, he hadn't meant to make her leave. He just wanted to talk.

"Marie, wait."

She stopped, and looked up from her purse.

He grasped for something that would get her to stay, and what came out was, "Let me make you some coffee."

"You don't have to."

"I want to," he insisted.

"Why?"

"Because—just—please don't go yet." He didn't even care that he sounded desperate.

She watched him with a guarded look.

"C'mon." He gave her a warm smile to put her at ease, and gestured for her to follow him into the kitchen, not giving her a chance to refuse.

Remy got to work making the coffee while Marie sat down at the table. It was only after he opened the cupboard that he realized the severe flaw in his otherwise nice gesture. The only coffee he had was the kind with chicory, and while it was his favorite, Marie had never really cared for it. He hadn't kept the "regular" stuff at the house since she'd left.

Tastes changed, though, didn't they? And palates evolved as one got older. Maybe if he didn't draw attention to it, it wouldn't be an issue.

Things were off to a spectacular start.

The mugs in the cupboard also gave him pause. He almost exclusively used the Star Trek one that she had given him for his birthday, but that felt too intimate. So instead, he pulled out a couple of generic mugs. One from a fishing tournament neither of them had participated in, and another that had come free with some groceries.

Remy set the powdered coffee creamer, sugar packets, and two spoons on the table and then went back for the coffee. After placing one mug in front of Marie, he sat down across from her.

"Thank you." She added sugar and creamer to her coffee, and avoided meeting his eyes. It made it tough to get a read on her.

He must have gone through this conversation with Marie a thousand times over the years, and yet he still didn't know which version she would want to hear. Did she blame him? Should he apologize? Did she want him to beg for forgiveness? Because he'd do that. Even if he hadn't caused her mutation like he'd once thought, he was still at least partially to blame for how things had turned out. If he could go back in time and give his younger self a lecture about always using a condom, he would.

"I can practically hear you thinking," she said.

"Sorry."

She shrugged. "It's not like I haven't thought about this moment a million times too."

"How's it usually go in your head?"

"Depends on the day." She sipped her coffee.

"I know what you mean."

Marie took another sip and then looked down at the cup with a grimace. "This coffee is terrible."

Oh hell. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

She glanced at the can, which was still on the counter, and then back at him. The accusation was clear on her face.

Remy put his hands up in defense. "It's all we had."

"I said I'd leave, you didn't have to poison me first."

"It's not that bad." He took a big sip to prove his point.

Not bad, but not exactly good either. When had he bought that can? Last year? Two years ago? It definitely wasn't any time recently. He would've offered to make tea instead, but any teabags that were in the cupboard had to be more ancient than the coffee.

"It somehow tastes even worse than I remember," she said.

"Well, upon reflection, it might have gone a little stale in the extraordinarily long time it's been open."

Unexpectedly, Marie laughed. Then she seemed to remember where she was and stopped. "Ignore me. I'm just sleep-deprived."

"I missed that," he said.

"What?"

"Making you laugh."

"Remy..."

He'd really missed hearing her say his name. Sometimes, he used to imagine he'd heard it. But it never sounded like that in his dreams—heavy with something that bordered on pity. If he wasn't careful, he was going to let her break his heart all over again.

There were so many things that he wanted to ask, but it was a delicate dance around her feelings and his. He started with the most neutral and current of his questions. "How did you find out about your father?"

She let out a long breath. "Mama sent me a letter. If you can call it that. A whole three words. I don't think she figured I'd actually show up at their house."

His brows shot up. "They knew where you were?" He had just assumed that because her grandparents hadn't been in contact with her, that her parents had been as equally in the dark.

Marie nodded as she stirred another packet of sugar into her coffee. "I reached out years ago, but that was the first I'd heard back."

What the fuck? Why hadn't Sam mentioned that to his parents? How many times had Remy heard Granny-Mae worry over the years that something bad had happened, and that Marie was lying dead in a ditch somewhere?

"They disowned me after... At the hospital no less."

"Why would they—" But then the answer hit him like a brick. "Because you're a mutant."

"Mama can't even say the word. She's been dancing around it for the past two days. I thought that the letter meant something. But then she said some things to me this morning that— Let's just say, it was clear that nothing had changed."

Marie's parents' opinions about mutants were unflattering at best, and they'd always kept his status hidden from her family specifically for that reason. But to turn out their own daughter—especially while she was grieving? That wasn't just cold, it was heartless.

She looked up at him. "She knows you're a mutant too. I didn't mean to tell them. It just came out that day."

Which explained why the one time he had gone to see her folks, they had refused to even open the door. He had just figured that they blamed him for her leaving.

"I don't care," he said. "What's the worst she could do to me?"

"Give the Friends of Humanity your name?"

Which might be an amusing way to spend an evening. "Let them try to attack me. I'm more worried about what she's going to do to you."

"I got taken to church this morning," she informed him. "Probably to see if my soul could be saved."

"Was she surprised when the building didn't catch on fire as soon as you walked in the door?"

"I think so." She gave him an amused smile. "We sat all the way in the back, with about three feet between us in the pew, and she refused to share the hymnal. But honestly, I was fine with that."

"You only mouth the words anyway," he said with a grin.

She nodded, like she hadn't expected him to remember.

It would have been easier if he had been able to forget. Or had woken up from the coma with no memories at all. Easier, but maybe not better.

Marie's hands were on the table in front of her, maybe a foot away from his. The thief in him was curious about how her mutation worked. All he really knew was that her skin had the ability to siphon energy. He'd only touched her arm before, but since neither of them had understood what was happening, he hadn't let go until he'd passed out.

Powers were often out of control when a mutant was young, however, and it had taken Remy a long time to hone his. It might have been the same for Marie.

"Did it take you a while to figure out your powers?" he asked.

She pulled her hands in closer to her body. "You could say that. I never got control."

Never? Hearing that was like a punch to the gut. How fucking hard must that have been for her? Not being able to touch anyone. She didn't deserve that. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "Don't be. I found a way to live with it, and anyway, it's not like it was your fault."

It was a surprise to hear her say that. He cleared his throat. "You know, for a long time, I thought that it—"

But her phone rang and interrupted him. She paled when she looked down at the screen. "It's Papaw." She hesitated, but then answered it.

Remy heard the old man's voice clear as day in the quiet kitchen.

"You'd better get back here, honey. Quick as you can."

"Right." She ended the call, and stared at the phone like she was lost.

It wasn't his place to protect Marie anymore, and he had no business inserting himself back into her life. But when she looked at him with tears forming in her eyes, something inside of him broke. If he could have moved heaven and earth in order to spare her the pain of what was to come, he would have.

Remy couldn't stop the inevitable, but there was one thing that he could do. "I'll drive you."