If it had been a normal Monday, Marie would have been on her way to the classroom for her one o'clock self-defense class. Instead, she was brushing her teeth in the bathroom of her former home, and wondering if she wanted to get dressed and go out for brunch, or stay in her pajamas and eat that can of chili she'd seen in the cupboard yesterday.

Staying in meant terrible coffee. But going out meant effort. It was a toss up.

Seeing as she didn't hear any movement from the other end of the house, she assumed that Remy was still asleep. Either that, or he had already left. But she doubted that he would've gone yet. They'd barely scratched the surface of a conversation yesterday, and there were still a lot of things for them to discuss.

On her way to the kitchen, she paused at the doorway to the front room. Remy was indeed fast asleep, sprawled out on the couch with Granny-Mae's blanket over him, just like he'd said. Though, she didn't for a second believe that he actually preferred it to the bed. He couldn't even stretch out all the way. His one leg was bent, and the other was hanging off the couch.

With everything that had been going on last night, Marie hadn't really stopped to fully appreciate Remy. He still looked much the same as he had, it was just that now everything was a little more refined. The angles of his face had gotten sharper with age. His long hair, which had always been unruly, seemed intentionally styled in a way that made it look like he hadn't done anything to it. And that stubble on his jaw...made her mind go places that were best left unexplored.

It was no surprise that she was still attracted to him, but it was a dangerous thought to entertain. If she wasn't careful, she'd start thinking about how his strong arms had enveloped her last night, shielding her from the rest of the world. And if she thought about that, then she would definitely ask herself when the last time that anyone had held her like that had been. And she knew that she wouldn't like the answer.

It was best not to think of it at all.

Marie entered the kitchen and was surprised to see a loaf of bread and bag of coffee (the kind she actually liked) sitting out on the counter. She opened the fridge. It had been re-stocked with the essentials. She didn't know when, but Remy had been shopping.

It didn't mean anything—he had to eat too, after all—but a little voice in her head questioned if he might have done it for her. She had a sneaking suspicion that if it had just been him at the house, then he wouldn't have bothered.

The least she could do was make him breakfast.

The man of the hour wandered in, blinking away the last of the sleep from his eyes, while she was whisking eggs in a bowl. He ran a hand through his hair to comb it back off his face, and stared dumbly at her.

"'Mornin'," she greeted, even though it was afternoon. "I was just about to wake you."

He watched her pour the eggs into the skillet on the stove, and then finally said, "I thought I'd dreamt it."

And she knew exactly what he meant. "Will you set the table?"

Remy nodded.

Once the eggs were done, Marie carried the skillet and the plate of bacon over to the table. She'd made half of the bacon exactly the way she liked it, and the other half she had nearly burnt. "I hope you still like it extra crispy," she said, as she set the plate on the table.

"Is there some other way to eat it?" The question seemed innocent enough, but Remy's eyes danced with mischief.

It was a trap. "Oh no, it's way too early in the day to get into an argument with you."

Remy chuckled and snagged a piece of bacon off the plate. "It's past noon. I'm pretty sure that's late enough to argue by polite standards."

"Early in my day," she clarified. "I haven't even finished my coffee yet."

"Hmm, good point. If I was home, I'd probably still be in bed." The implication there being that he would have been out on a job all night.

Marie served herself a portion of eggs. "I can't even remember the last time I slept in past nine. If I was at home, I would have already finished lunch by now."

"Home's Georgia, right?"

She looked at him in confusion.

"I saw the plates on your car," he explained.

"Oh. That's just a rental. I'm actually living in New York." It felt odd to tell him that, even though it wasn't a secret, because it reminded her of just how little they knew about each other's lives anymore. She speared a clump of scrambled egg with her fork. "What about you? Did you go back to New Orleans?"

He nodded. "I've got an apartment in the French Quarter."

"You've moved up in the world," she said.

"It helps that I don't have Jean-Luc taking most of my earnings anymore."

That had always been a sore spot for him. The two men used to argue all the time about Guild dues and the Patriarch's 'special' cut. Jean-Luc hadn't even stopped skimming money off Remy's take after they had gotten married. Marie wondered what had changed.

But before she could ask, her phone buzzed and she looked down to see who was calling. Bobby. She let it go to voicemail.

"Was that him?"

"Was that who?" she asked.

"The man whose ring you're wearing."

Marie glanced down at her left hand. Realistically, she hadn't expected Remy not to notice the ring, and he didn't seem bothered by it, but that didn't mean that she was prepared to tell him about Bobby. How exactly did one explain to one's husband that she was engaged to another man anyhow? All those etiquette lessons that she'd had while growing up hadn't prepared her to handle that particular faux pas.

"He's a mutant too?"

She nodded.

"I figured, if he's okay with your powers and all," he said in between bites of egg. "Being a mutant probably made it easier, huh?"

That had always been the problem though, Bobby wasn't okay with her powers.

Oh, there was a time when she used to think that he was. Back when she first arrived at the mansion, she had been the reluctant one, and he had been the one who had eventually convinced her that a relationship could work. He'd come up with a bunch of ways for them to work around her skin—just until she got control, he'd said. But then control never came, and instead, he watched her use her mutation over and over. Stealing what she could, and using it to her advantage. Almost killing in the process. Sometimes forgetting who she was—and wasn't.

Sure, he'd told her that it wasn't a problem, and that he could deal with it. But because she had seen some of his memories, she knew that those were just empty words. Deep down, he was afraid of her. If he had known what she had already done before they had even met, he would've never let her get within an arm's length.

It figured that the one person who had the most reason to keep his distance didn't seem to view her as a threat at all. Marie didn't know why she had implied to Remy last night that her skin was still a danger. Maybe she had wanted to see how he would treat her, thinking that she was untouchable. Or maybe she had wanted to have an excuse handy in case he had kept his distance. Instead, he'd held her close and invited her to stay in his home.

"I took the cure." She usually felt some shame in admitting that, which was probably a side effect of living with so many mutants. Like she was a traitor. But if anyone was going to understand why she had needed to rid herself of her deadly skin, it would be Remy.

He looked up from his plate, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"

"I just thought if there was a chance to be normal..." she trailed off because it all seemed so pointless now. She pushed the food around on her plate as she debated telling him the second part. "You know what they don't say on the news though? In twelve percent of cases—if the mutation is too powerful—it's not permanent."

He put two and two together. "It wore off."

"Not completely, but I can feel it happening. Sometimes it flips back on when I don't want it to."

"Maybe that's a good thing."

Wow. She knew he was never going to forgive her for what had happened, but she hadn't expected him to say that. "Yeah, it's real great that eventually I won't be able to touch anyone ever again. That's what I deserve, right?"

"What? That's not what I meant, no." He reached across the table and hovered his hand over hers, like he was covering it, but without touching her. "Maybe, if it's coming back slow, then you'll be able to ease into it this time. Figure out how it works."

She blinked. That thought had never even occurred to her. "Like a do-over," she murmured.

"Makes sense, don't you think?" He removed his hand and then took a sip of coffee.

Her brows furrowed. It did. Was that what was going on? Had she been learning how to control it without realizing it? Marie had been so worried that her powers were coming back at all because that had to mean the worst-case scenario, but what if Remy was right? Was it possible that the cure had already fully worn off? It definitely gave her a lot to think about.

Her phone rang again. She didn't want to take this call either.

"I guess Ring-boy didn't take the hint."

She shot Remy an unamused look. "It's Papaw."

In response, he held out his hand, palm up, and motioned with his fingers. She gave him the phone.

"It's Remy," he answered.

"How's Marie?"

Remy looked at her. She mouthed the word 'fine' at him.

"She slept, and we just finished eating," he told Papaw.

"Good. Listen, there's some details about the funeral that we have to figure out. There's going to be a family meeting tomorrow morning."

Marie shook her head vigorously. She had no desire to be part of that.

"She'll be there," Remy said.

Ooh! She kicked his foot under the table, but before she could do anything else, Remy quickly stood and backed away. Then she couldn't hear Papaw anymore.

"Yes sir, I'll tell her. Bye."

She dropped her head down on the table in frustration. "Why did you tell him that I'd be there?"

"Because I think you probably should be. But you know, you could always call him back and tell him that you don't want to go."

Ha. Like it was that easy to turn her grandfather down. "There was a reason why I didn't answer it myself."

"I know."

She lifted her head, remembering that she had handed over her phone to a man that had both the moves and the curiosity of a large cat. As expected, Remy was looking down at the screen, and his fingers were busy. He could have been going through her photos, or texting Bobby, or really doing any number of nefarious things.

Marie jumped up and grabbed for the phone. "Give it back."

Remy shook his head. "Not yet." He smiled, held up the phone, and took a picture of himself. "Now you can have it."

He handed it back, and when she looked down at the screen, she saw that he had entered in his contact information. Except, instead of his name, he'd typed Hubby #1. "What the—?"

He gave her a playful wink. "So that you can tell us apart."

She scowled at him, and then edited his name. When she was finished, she turned the phone around to show him.

He laughed. "When you say it, it's a term of endearment."

"'Swamp Rat'?"

He nodded. "You're supposed to meet your family at the funeral home tomorrow morning at 9:30. Papaw's going to text you the address later."

"Great," she said, flatly. Maybe she could claim that Remy told her the wrong time or that she had never got the text. Probably not.

"Listen, I'm going to go in for a quick shower, and when I get out, we'll—I dunno, figure out what to do for the rest of the day, okay?"

"Okay."

While Remy was in the shower, Marie got dressed, and then sat on the bed and checked her voicemail. There was one from Jubilee telling her not to worry about missing the party and that her phone was always on if she wanted to talk, and Bobby's was more or less him dutifully checking in. She texted a quick 'thanks' to Jubilee, but didn't want to start a conversation with Bobby, so instead, she texted Logan with an update.

Not one to be able to sit idle for long, Marie decided that she would clean up the brunch dishes, and then make a shopping list. She was going to be there for a few more days at least, and what Remy had bought that morning would not last long.

On her way out of the bedroom, however, she stopped in front of the door across the hall from her. The rest of the house hadn't changed, it was a good bet that room hadn't either.

No one would ever force her to go in there. If she wanted to, she could pretend that the room was empty. And if she didn't open the door, then who was to say that it wasn't? She could go back to New York, and never have to face that part of her past.

But ignoring the room meant that Remy would be left to take care of it on his own. Which he would, and without complaint, because that was the kind of person that he was. It wouldn't be fair to him, though. Especially since none of it was his fault.

Marie didn't want to go into the room. She was already dealing with more emotions than she could handle. Strangely, though, that made it easier. What was a little more sadness to add to an already enormous pile?

When she pushed the door open, Marie was hit by a wave of memories that she thought she had forgotten. Buying the patterned white and gray curtains on a whim, but then discovering they were too long, and having to ask Mama to shorten them. Enjoying how excited her parents had been for a grandchild after the initial shock had worn off. Trying to explain to Remy that the whole room couldn't be done in a Saints theme, and then almost relenting when he'd brought home that tiny football jersey. All good memories.

They were in contrast to the sight of the unopened boxes, and the crib that they hadn't finished assembling. The memory of coming home alone, walking around the house in a daze. Feeling numb because she'd already done her crying at the hospital.

On top of the chest of drawers, there was a vase of dried flowers and a small silver box that she didn't remember. She picked it up. On the lid was a label that read, Baby Boy LeBeau, followed by the date that he was born and died.

"They called the day after you left to say that the ashes were ready to be picked up," Remy said from behind her. "I didn't know what else to do, so..."

He had done what she hadn't been able to. Remy had brought their son home.

Marie ran her thumb over the label on the box and her vision blurred. "We should have named him."

"We still can."

Pain stabbed her chest, causing her to inhale sharply. And the worst wasn't even over yet. She set the box back down and turned to face him.

Remy was standing in the doorway, watching her with a concerned expression. As nice as he was being to her, it only made her feel like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She took in a shaky breath and then let it out again. "Just say it."

He frowned. "Say what?"

Was he really going to make her spell it out? "That it was my fault. That you blame me. That you hate me for what happened. Anything. All of it. I just need to hear—" She choked on a sob.

"Marie, no." Remy crossed the room in two strides. "It wasn't anyone's fault. It just happened."

If only that were true. Oh god, if he really didn't know, then she was going to have to tell him. It was no wonder that he was being nice to her.

He attempted to pull her into a hug, but she pushed him away. "You don't get it. I did this."

"You didn't."

"I did! That's how my powers work. I drain people dry, and because the baby was inside me, I couldn't stop it. I took all of his energy!" She'd finally said it out loud—given voice to the dark thoughts that she'd been trying to ignore for more than seven years. Then, she let go of her darkest secret, "He's dead because of me."

"No, he isn't," Remy said, gently.

In all the time that she had known him, she had never once seen him cry. So, when she saw the unshed tears in his eyes, she lost it, and sobs racked her body.

"Marie," he pleaded, "let me hold you."

But she didn't deserve that. She backed further away from him.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked.

It was tempting to say yes. But then they'd each be alone again, and that wasn't any better. They had already spent a big chunk of their lives dealing with their loss separately. Maybe they needed to grieve together for a change.

Marie's tears subsided and she sniffed to clear her nose. "No, don't go."

"Okay, how 'bout this?" Remy sat on the floor with his back against the wall, and patted the carpet next to him. "Let's you an' me talk down here for a few minutes. See if we can't figure a few things out."

She eyed the spot on the carpet with reluctance. There wasn't anything to figure out, and he was only going to try to make her feel better about what had happened.

"Or, I can do all the talkin' from down here, but after a while my neck might start to hurt from lookin' up at you." Remy was putting on his charming, 'aw shucks, I'm just a simple country boy' act.

"I know what you're doing," she told him.

"Is it working?"

"Maybe. A little." She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and sat down next to him. It was better that way anyway. When they talked, she wouldn't have to look him in the eyes.

"I've thought about that day a lot," he said.

"So have I, and I know what my mutation can do."

But Remy pretended not to hear her. "See, because for a long time, I blamed myself."

"Why would you—"

"Because I got you pregnant, and I'm a mutant."

"The first part is only half your fault, and what does being a mutant have to do with it?"

"The baby would have carried the X-gene. I was convinced that was why you manifested powers."

"That's not how it works."

Remy nodded. "I know that now, but it took me years, and a long conversation with a doctor before I could accept it. I thought you blamed me too, and that that was part of why you left."

There was so much that was hazy about that time in her life. But the one thing that Marie had held onto was the memory of being told that she was a mutant. Her life had already been irrevocably changed, but that was the moment which had brought it crashing down around her.

"When they said I was a mutant, I just...knew. It was my fault. How could I ever face you again after that?" She hadn't been able to bear the thought of telling him that she'd killed their son. What if he had looked at her like she was a monster?

"I guess we were both too busy blaming ourselves to bother to remember things in the right order."

She turned her head toward him. "What do you mean? What 'right order'?"

"That morning...you were already losing the baby. Before your powers manifested. It was a while before I realized that."

She felt like he had just dropped a house on her. "No, that's not—" But somehow it didn't feel like a lie. "Are you sure?"

"I definitely touched your skin when I helped you out of bed. Do you remember? Then I called the doctor, and was getting ready to take you to the hospital."

Marie searched for the memories, but she had tried so hard to forget that day, that she had boxed them up and buried them deep. Like she did with all of the other bad memories she absorbed. She had to force herself to lift the lid and remember.

"I woke up because of the cramps," she said. And then she had seen the blood.

"That's right. Now, this is just a guess," he said slowly, "but I think that your mutation was late to manifest, and that the trauma of losing the baby was what triggered it. It was just really bad timing."

What Remy said made sense, but it couldn't be right, could it? She knew that her mutation had been responsible. Her terrible, not good for anything, life-taking mutation. But the more she thought about that morning, the more details she remembered. Like how Remy had helped her clean up and put on a new nightgown. All without passing out.

It wasn't until they were walking through the kitchen on the way to the car, that her skin had turned on. She had doubled over with a bad cramp, and Remy had taken hold of her arm to help steady her. That was when she absorbed him.

It had all been so confusing. Not knowing why he'd passed out. Thinking that she had gotten his powers because there had been something wrong with him. Yelling at him to wake up while trying to keep everything she touched from exploding. It was only by some small miracle that she had managed to call 911.

And then she came out of surgery, no longer pregnant, with a husband who was in a coma, and reeling from the knowledge that she was a mutant. It had been a lot to process in such a short amount of time. The one thing she had found comfort in was knowing that at least she'd have her parents' support. But then even that had been taken away from her too.

"It hurt so much," she said. It still did.

"I hate that you had to go through it alone. You have no idea how much I wish I had been there with you."

She hadn't exactly been without him, but that was a conversation for another time. "You would have been there if you could have," she said. Remy hadn't left her willingly. "Unlike me."

And when she thought about it, about him coming home to an empty house, and losing everything too, she felt a burning shame. He had been all alone, not really knowing why she'd left, thinking it was somehow his fault, and he hadn't deserved that. She started crying all over again.

"I didn't know what else to do," she forced out between the sobs. As soon as she had gotten the call from the hospital saying that he'd woken up, she had panicked. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

His arm slid around her, and this time, she rested her head on his shoulder and let him hold her.

"I never blamed you for leaving, chérie. I just missed having you around is all."

She had missed him too, even if she hadn't let herself admit it.

"We were so young," she said.

"Too young." The weight of his response indicated that he had been thinking the same thing.

Too young to know how to cope with a loss like that. Too young to know how to make a marriage work after a tragedy. Too young for any of it.

They sat there for a long time, and Marie sifted through memories, good and bad.

Remy, apparently, was doing the same. "I remember when we picked out the paint for this room."

They had looked at so many different paint chips, intent on finding the perfect one. Nothing less would do. "You wanted Fifty-yard Green."

"And yet we came home with Agreeable Mint."

She smiled. "It had 'agreeable' in the name. We had to get it."

"Mhm. It was the better choice anyway."

"I told you."

"You didn't have to get up at three in the morning to try to prove it," he said.

But she had been excited to see it on the walls. Remy had sent her back to bed, and then stayed up to finish off the one wall before morning.

There had been so much potential back then. Once again, she could see the life she would have had playing out before her, like a movie. Bringing the baby home, changing him, Remy falling asleep with him on his chest after a midnight feeding. Watching him grow up, and then redecorating the room to match whatever cartoon character was his favorite. In a way, it helped. She liked to think that in an alternate universe, their little family lived on.

"Did you mean it when you said that we could name him?" she asked.

"I've been thinking it would be a good idea for a while now. He deserves to have one."

She nodded against his shoulder. "And then we can bury him, or scatter the ashes somewhere nice." Otherwise, the house remained a mausoleum. And maybe that was the real reason why Remy had kept it all those years.

"Do you reckon that we'll be able to come up with a name we both like?"

Marie thought about the many arguments that mundane things like choosing dishes, picking out paint, and buying coffee had caused. "No."

Remy shook lightly with a quiet chuckle. "Yeah, me neither."

Eventually, though, they would probably be able to arrive at some sort of compromise. They had narrowed it down to a list before. But there was no rush this time.

She let go of him and sat up. "This probably wasn't what you had in mind when you said we'd figure out what to do for the rest of the day."

"No, but it was a conversation that needed to happen."

"True." And as tough as it had been, Marie felt better. Like she had shed some of the weight that she had been carrying around with her.

"Me, I just figured we'd play Monopoly," Remy said.

She snorted a laugh. "Do you still cheat?"

"It's not cheating," he said indignantly. "They're house rules."

"Remy, putting money in Free Parking is a house rule. Seeing how much you can steal from the bank and the other players without anyone noticing is cheating."

"Thieves' house rules," he amended.

Marie imagined a table of thieves sitting around the Guild headquarters playing Monopoly, and all trying to steal hotels and railroads from each other. It must be chaos. And it kind of sounded fun, actually.

She stood up and stretched. "Well, I might be persuaded to play after supper, but the kitchen still needs to be cleaned, and at least one of us should go to the store and buy more food."

Remy made a face as he stood.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I have to go back to New Orleans."

Internally she panicked. She wasn't ready for him to leave yet. "But—"

"Not for long," he quickly added. "I just have to take care of a few things, and if you want me at the funeral, then I have to get my suit."

"I want you there." She hadn't even questioned it. She had just figured he'd be there. And assumed that he'd be staying at the house with her the whole time.

"I wasn't going to leave this afternoon, but I talked to Thierry before I got in the shower, and that moved up the timeline. I should be back by tomorrow night at the latest."

"Thierry?"

"He runs my bar. Poorly, unless I'm there to supervise, apparently." He flashed her a smile. "You're looking at a legit business man."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Mostly," he said. "I still work for the Guild. But the bar is separate from that."

It was a reminder that Remy had a life. One that she knew nothing about, and one that he had left abruptly, all so that he could deal with an uninvited houseguest. He hadn't signed up to take a ride on the emotional roller-coaster ride that she had forced him onto.

"You know, if you have to get back to the bar, or a girlfriend, or the Guild, or whatever, it's fine. You don't have to come to the funeral. I don't want to keep you from anything more important." There, that sounded nice and casual. Adult, even.

"It's all right," he said. "And there's no fiancée waiting for me to come home."

For some reason, that stung worse than if he had said that there was.