Is This Love...?
Part 3
Morning After
Rogue had never had a hangover like this in her life. The first thing she became aware of when she awakened was that her head was thumping and her mouth felt incredibly dry. "Jesus Christ..." she winced as she slowly sat up, sweeping her hair out of her face. Even to try and open her eyes hurt; the diffused light through her closed venetian blinds even felt far too much to handle and she kept her eyes shut for a moment as she sat at the edge of the bed, trying to pull herself together. Before she'd even had a chance to properly think about anything, the nausea hit her and she leaned over, grabbing the plastic waste bin Remy had left at the side of her bed the night before, although little came up.
Oh god, last night...
She wished she'd been one of those drunks who could forget absolutely everything she'd done the night before but unfortunately, there was no such luck. Parts of the night before were definitely a slight blur. Getting to the garden, parts of the wedding, getting back to her room, they were slightly hazy. But things she remembered clearly were watching Jean and Scott's ceremony, Remy taking her to the dance floor, and Remy talking to her in the garden.
And much to her disappointment...she definitely remembered Remy rejecting her offer of some emulation of sex.
What was Ah thinkin'? She thought in disgust with herself as she tried to comb her fingers through her hair but failed due to the amount of hairspray and pins that were still in it. She forced herself to check her phone, which had been sitting on her bedside cabinet all day yesterday, the charge almost completely run down. She raised it to check the time, seeing numerous notifications where she'd been tagged for group photos had flooded her screen. It was almost half past twelve in the afternoon.
As she put her phone down (deciding to ignore all the notifications for now), a second wave of nausea hit and she leaned over the bucket and vomited violently, she held onto it close to her face so she wouldn't get the stuff anywhere else.
Oh god, Ah feel like shit, she thought miserably as she tried to pull herself together once the last of the vomiting seemed to have ceased.
She tried to pull herself together; just as she'd been considering going back to sleep she spied a bottle of Fiji water sitting on her bedside cabinet, an empty glass turned upside down, and a box of dispersible aspirin. Not caring how the items had gotten there, She picked the box up and tore it open weakly, groaning as even the sound of the box ripping in her hands hurt her damn head. She dropped two of the large flat pills into the glass and poured some of the water in, listening to the satisfying fizzing sound as she cradled her throbbing head.
Why the hell did Ah let myself get drunk like that? She demanded of herself, although she already knew the answer. Watching the man she loved getting married to someone else, being miserable the entire day, depression and anger biting at her beneath, she supposed it was only inevitable she'd have to drink to get through the entire day.
She drank down the aspirin laced water in huge thirsty gulps, wincing at the unpleasant, bitter, powdery taste, and then she got up and went to her small en-suite bathroom, feeling achy all over. She'd spent so much time standing in those badly designed stilettos yesterday that her back hurt immensely today. Her feet were blistered and she could feel a definite uncomfortable itching at her right side. She moved to the bathroom mirror, switching the light on and she raised the hem of her long – and undeniably sweaty - t-shirt up to examine her side. She could see the corset had rubbed away at the skin on her right side and it was raw and slightly weeping. She could only vaguely recall Remy saying something about a rash the night before when he'd been looking at her. She touched the rash lightly with her gloved fingers and winced as it stung.
This weddin' is the gift that keeps on damn well givin', ain't it? She thought dully as she peeled the garment off, tossed it aside and she turned the shower on, setting the water to run cool.
Her pantihose she'd been wearing the night before were now laddered, grass-stained and torn and she threw them in the trash under the sink along with the thong she'd been wearing that had matched the corset. No point keepin' that, she thought to herself bitterly as she stepped into her bathtub and the cold water blasted her. Even a creep like Remy didn't want to see that.
The shower soothed her against the heat, but the loud sound of it echoing in the bathroom and battering off the porcelain bath and the drain at her feet didn't help her throbbing headache any. She scrubbed every last trace of makeup off, trying not to disturb the lash extensions because even trying to rub near them felt like she was pulling her own lashes out. She scrubbed her body as clean as she could get it, then returned to her room and dressed in a pair of thin grey leggings and a long-sleeved but thin t-shirt, and sat on the edge of her bed for a while waiting for the last of her nausea to pass. She vomited just once more, only a little, and after ditching the contents of yesterday's indulgence down the toilet, she rinsed the bin out and then made her way downstairs hoping there'd be some coffee still on the go.
The foyer was a mess – the cleanup hadn't even begun yet. Confetti scattered all over the floor, one of the floral arrangements had fallen over and the flowers were everywhere, some trampled into the marble tiles. Every surface had champagne flutes and drinking glasses on them, piece of half-eaten buffet food sitting on napkins and paper plates lying out. A few flies were hovering near a slice of wedding cake with one single bite out of it. The smell of alcohol hung in the air heavy and thick like syrup along with the dense unbelievable summer heat.
"Jesus," she thought, her head throbbing as she passed by the mess and headed down the messy hallway towards the kitchen. The kitchen was in disarray from a half-hearted attempt at breakfast. The coffee pot had barely enough coffee left for half a mug but she supposed it would have to do. It was better than nothing and she didn't have the energy right that minute to make a fresh pot. She poured the stuff into a mug and lowered herself into a chair at the kitchen table, pushing aside someone's half-eaten bagel so she could put the mug down.
"Everything is a complete wreck."
Rogue wasn't in the mood for Kitty's slightly shrill voice at this time of the morning. She glanced over to the door at the brunette who was still in her bridesmaids dress, her hair was still in the updo, except it'd gone very asymmetrical. Her makeup was still on, but badly smudged, the lipstick smeared across her cheek a little, her mascara and eyeliner had migrated to under her eyes causing her to look almost raccoon like. It was clear to Rogue that she'd been crying again but had tried to wipe away the evidence of it, only making it look worse.
"Did you even go to bed?" Rogue asked, her voice was hoarse as she spoke and she realised it was probably from sharing Remy's cigarette and all the talking loudly over the noise at the party.
"No," Kitty came to the table and dropped exhaustedly down into a chair opposite. "I've been in the Sickbay with Lance most of the night..."
"How is he?"
"Terrible," Kitty groaned, "he's been puking all night...shaking. Magneto thinks he's..." she paused, she took a breath, her eyes grew glassy.
"Kitty? What is it?"
"Magneto thinks he's been screwing around with some weird mix of pills but Lance won't say what," a tear trickled down her cheek and she swiped it quickly. "Logan won't even tell me what he found on him when he frisked him."
Rogue groaned inwardly, "sorry..." she rubbed her head.
"He denied it...tried to make out he's just...got some stupid flu, he wouldn't own up..." the petite brunette's voice quavered. "I just...I can't believe..." Kitty shook her head. "That's not Lance..."
Guess the people we thought we knew are far from who we really thought, Rogue thought dully as she sipped her lukewarm coffee. "Where is everyone?" she queried, deciding to change the subject, hoping it might take the emotional strain away from Kitty.
"Sleeping it off, probably. Around three am things started to die off – some were still up until five."
"You made the coffee?" Rogue gestured to the mug.
"Yeah," Kitty said. "Ororo was up for a little while, she wasn't hungover but she was up the entire night, helping with the party, mingling with people...she went to bed some time around eight am just after Jean and Scott caught their cab to the airport."
"So they're gone, then?" Rogue asked. She felt some vague sense of relief that they were gone, that she wouldn't have to look at them. Wouldn't need to have their happiness rubbed in her face any more.
"Yeah," Kitty replied.
Rogue sighed and stood up, "Ah'm gonna go get some air, it's hotter than tar in here," she pushed her chair in. "Ah need to wake up and let this hangover ease off a bit before Ah can even look at this damn mess."
"I'll make fresh coffee," Kitty sighed, standing up.
"No, go to bed. You're exhausted, girl. Look at you, you can barely keep those eyes open. Go shower and get into bed."
"But what about all this mess?" Kitty pointed out.
"We'll figure it out later, just go. You need to sleep," Rogue shook her head at her, "you've been on hyper duty for three days straight, go sleep."
Kitty sighed deeply, her expression one of defeat, and she left the table and the room, her bare feet padding on the floor.
Rogue raked through the kitchen drawer near the back door for some sunglasses, glad that Ororo always put people's discarded sunglasses in that drawer when she found them laying around places in the house. Finding a pair of aviator glasses she was certain belonged to Bobby, she was satisfied it'd be enough to shield her slightly sore and irritated eyes from the sun.
The moment she left the kitchen through the back door she was met with absolute blistering sunlight, and she winced even with the dark lenses of the glasses. She ran her hand through her damp hair and headed towards the pool area which was to the left of the patio where the kitchen door was; there were parasols there above the tables.
Somehow, it didn't surprise her to hear splashing in the pool water even before she had gotten near; in this blazing heat the pool was always one of the best ways to cool off. She walked to the pools edge and gazed down, just as a head popped up from the surface, a deeply tanned face looking up at her with piercing black on red eyes.
"Bon aprės-midi, ma belle," he grinned at her.
She immediately thought of the fool she'd made of herself the night before and winced inwardly. "How can you be remotely not hungover?" she asked, feeling immediately irritated he could be so damn chipper.
"Some o' us know our limits," he teased, he let his arms rest on the edge of the pool, "y' get the aspirin I lef'?"
"That was you?" she asked, mildly surprised, she sipped on the lukewarm coffee she'd taken with her.
"Who y' think it was?" he let his chin rest on his incredibly tan forearms. "The aspirin fairy?"
"Kitty..." Rogue shrugged. "She's thought of everythin' else so far," she pushed her sunglasses up her nose a little.
"Y' know I raided every medicine cabinet I coul' fin' in this joint lookin' f' aspirin f; y', not one pill t' be foun'..."
"Yeah, we don't keep pills hangin' around. It's a school," she reminded. She moved from the edge of the pool to one of the nearby patio tables and dropped into a seat beneath the welcome shade of a parasol. "Where did you find some?"
"I had t' go all the way t' the gas station up the road."
Rogue stared down at him, she was surprised he'd go to that kind of length for her. She felt almost resentful of it though, especially after the rejection of last night. "You didn't need to go out of your way for me."
"I needed smokes anyway," he shrugged, a little, watching her. "How y' feel?"
Humiliated, like a damn fool, like Ah'm worthless and ugly, she thought dully as she stared down at the glass table, she ran a gloved finger over a smudge. "Like my head is an orange and someone is juicin' it manually," she mumbled.
"Not surprised. Y' overslep' an' that always give me a poundin' head."
"Ah overslept?" she asked.
"It was ten thirty when I put y' t' bed, ma chere. Surprised y' only jus' up now."
"Ah've been missin' out on sleep for days," Rogue shrugged, "this whole weddin' thing has been stressful."
"I bet," he moved from the edge of the pool and swam to the corner where the nearest lounger was just about eight or nine feet to her left; it wasn't until then as he came up the steps that she realised he hadn't even bothered with underwear this time. She felt her face grow hotter than it had felt in full blaze of the sun and she was aware of her mouth dropping in shock at the brief glimpse of his manhood.
Just as well all the students are gone for the summer, the Professor would have pitched a fit at him walkin' about with that thing out, Rogue realised as she inclined her head away, trying to not look as embarrassed as she felt, trying to pretend she hadn't even noticed at all. How can he be so...comfortable bein' that way around people, just so...confident and full of himself? She wondered, feeling slightly angry. Behind the sunglasses, she allowed her eyes to briefly turn in his direction hoping he'd think the way her head was inclined made it seem like her gaze was where the other patio table was on the opposite side of the pool. By then he'd turned to unfold the towel, and she only briefly caught sight of his taut posterior, which was definitely as tanned as the rest of him.
Of course he wouldn't have tan lines, she rolled her eyes at herself.
With the towel wrapped around his waist, he approached the table, his hair dripping wet around his shoulders and his body gleaming wet in the sun. He took a seat opposite her, leaning back comfortably in it, his arms stretched comfortably on the armrests.
Trying to distract herself from the thought of his body, she turned to put her eyes on the flowers in the planters stationed about ten feet from the pool, watching them sway a little in the summer breeze, "what time did you leave the party anyway?"
"Aroun' six am," He replied.
"It was still goin' at that hour?" she rubbed her forehead and swallowed back a little nausea.
"Not totally. Mos'ly jus' people sittin' hangin' out drinkin' an' talkin' by that stage. Me an' some o' the guys got t' gether a game o' poker in the rec room."
"And Ah bet you won," Rogue muttered.
"Seven hun'red," he chuckled. "Iceman ain' happy. Mos' o' it was his."
"Bobby is good at poker..." Rogue commented.
"Oh yeah, for real, but he also a real sore loser," Remy chuckled, he kept his eyes on her, a smirk playing about his face as he watched her.
"Did you cheat?"
"How dare y' accuse me o' cheatin'," he raised an eyebrow at her, "I'm a gentleman, an' gentlemen don' cheat," he chuckled. "Much."
"Have you checked on Lance this mornin'?" she asked, not sure what else to converse about.
His face fell a little, "yeah. About an hour an' a half ago. He's hungover too – an' feels like an ass – righ'ly so. Shadowcat been wit' him mos' o' the night. Every time Magneto tell her t' leave, she barely gone twenty minutes an' she back," he shrugged. "Coul'n' stay away from him."
"She's worried," Rogue pointed out.
"Can't blame her, I guess," he stretched a little, "I'm not sure what gon' happen wit' him. I heard Magneto an' the Professor argue about it las' nigh' an' this mornin' but...I don' know if any conclusion came o' it."
"Do you think Magneto will kick him out?"
"This time, maybe permanently," Remy supposed. "I rather not think about it righ' now. It's a nice day, I'd rather not dwell on stressful an' depressin' stuff."
"Okay," Rogue nodded.
"So...is the hangover bad?" he asked. "Y' puke?"
"Why you askin'? Just so you can poke fun?"
"Jus' wonderin'," he watched her. "Y' were pretty hammered las' nigh'. Y' got t' be feelin' as rough as a camel's asshole 'bout now."
Rogue felt her back tense, she could feel he was privately judging her, amused about the ass she'd made of herself when he'd taken her to her room.
Better explain it off before he thinks you're some kind of loose woman, she decided. She took a deep breath, sipped her coffee and tried to emotionally prepare herself for being humiliated even more.
"Listen, Gambit...about-"
"Gambit?" he blinked at her, "we were on firs' name terms las' night..." he reminded, "or at leas'...you was..." he added pointedly.
Her cheeks burned at making that mistake. She hadn't intended to, and she wondered if her subconscious was trying to already disengage from him in preparation for some kind of hurt.
"Remy..." she corrected herself.
"Y' never did tell me y' name..." he pointed out.
"And Ah'm not goin' to," she responded.
"Aw, chere, y' don' trus' me? Y' don' trus' anyone enough t' tell them? I asked aroun' las' night, years here, still no one know y' real name...even ask Wolverine an' he woul'n' budge on the subjec'."
"Remy..." she frowned; why did it feel like he was trying to change the subject. She couldn't have him do that, she had to hash this out now, make sure he didn't think badly of her...or tell anyone else either.
"Mmmhmm?"
"About last night..." she sighed, she put her mug down on the table.
"Uh huh?" he asked, his voice lazy.
"Ah was really drunk..."
"Yeah," he agreed, "y' were really drunk," He looked down at the table, his expression thoughtful.
Her eyes dropped to the table, cheeks burning hot. "What Ah'm tryin' to say-"
"Everyone was really drunk, chere," he interrupted her. "Las' nigh', I saw a lot o' weird hookups. Wolverine an' Storm disappear f' forty-five minutes an' when they came back, her hair was in a differen' style, bottom o' her dress was all wrinkled an' his shirt was buttoned wrong."
"Really?" she blinked in shock.
"Gon' be a lot o' people who can't look each other in the eye t'day..." he laughed lightly.
Rogue pursed her lips, examining him, the sun cut past the parasol and cast light on his face, making the red of his eyes incredibly bright. He looked so incredibly handsome right then, and as much as she regretted making a fool of herself the night before, she still wished something had happened, so she had some kind of memory to draw on. Just something...something in her life she could call hers, an experience so she wasn't the only one left who'd been left untouched.
Even the students have more experience with sex than Ah do, Rogue thought miserably. She dropped her eyes down to the table, thinking about this. Thinking about how humiliating it was. One night to just feel vaguely normal hadn't seemed like a lot to ask, especially of a man like him.
He squinted a little in the light and smiled at her, "sure glad we ain' in that position."
She raised her eyes to him, he sounded glad of it and it hurt somehow in a way she hadn't expected it to. She hugged herself despite the heat, biting down on her cheek and looking away from him.
"Leas' we don' got any embarassin' stories t' try an' shuck, righ'?"
He didn't but she definitely did. She wondered if he'd told anyone about what'd happened. Not that anything had really happened. He'd barely been in her room five minutes, it surely hadn't been long enough for anything to have happened...surely no one would be passing around rumours about them.
"Somethin' wrong?"
She set her jaw, "Nothin'," she shook her head, and pressed her tongue against her cheek.
"Good. Y' do me a favour an' ask in a lil' while if Professor Xavier can see me?" he asked, "About the thing?"
"The thing?"
"Y' know...recruitment," he said pointedly.
"Oh...yeah," Rogue nodded, "sure. If Ah see him around, Ah'll ask."
"Great," he stood up and stretched comfortably before heading back to the pool, walking confidently to where the ladder leading up to the diving board was. He tossed the towel aside, then climbed the ladder which only went up around ten feet in height. Rogue gaped at how incredibly unabashed he was doing this fully naked without so much as a care in the world who might see. Her face burned hot with embarrassment as she tried to not focus on what was between his legs. He walked with perfect balance along the board and poised himself at the edge. "'Cause I'm ready t' dive in t' the nex' phase o' my life," he said plainly.
Rogue watched as he dove expertly into the water with an impressive flip, she felt the water splatter her cheek and neck and she wiped it off with a frown, got up and left the table, fuming but not sure if she was more angry at him or herself.
The hangover hit full swing barely after two thirty not long after she, Jubilee and Kurt had started cleaning up in the foyer. All it had taken was picking up a plate of discarded buffet food and the smell of one of the items – something curried – triggered another bout of nausea that didn't leave her for hours after.
For almost forty-five minutes, she'd been in her bedroom's en-suite bathroom, sitting on the edge of her bathtub not far from the toilet, trying to breathe her way through the bouts of sickness. Every time she thought it was just about to pass and she was near ready to leave the bathroom, it hit her again.
Not long after she'd finished throwing up and finally been able to leave her own quarters, she'd been passing by one of the bathrooms on the first floor when she'd heard some pretty violent retching from one of the men – but she'd not been able to gauge whom although her guess was either Bobby or Sam.
Least Ah'm not the only one, she thought rather gratefully as she headed back into the foyer to find that very little of the mess had been cleared up. Jubilee was still cleaning up, she was somewhat cheerful, although clearly tired having partied all night.
"Feeling better?" Jubilee asked, her eyes glimmering slightly with amusement as she was kneeling on the floor picking up pieces of dropped food and throwing them into a black trash bag.
"Not really," Rogue mumbled, "Ah should have been like you and just not had the champagne," she supposed.
"I don't like the taste of the stuff," Jubilee mumbled, "besides...Professor was watching me like a hawk all night. 'Not until you're twenty-one'," she mimicked his voice disdainfully. "Two more years to go..." she sighed.
"Not like you to listen to him," Rogue started clearing the tables, putting all the empty and half-empty drinking glasses on a large tray.
"I didn't need the headache of getting griped at. Besides which, we were warned...if anything happened, we were supposed to go out in the field – someone had to be sober. Designated defenders, and all that."
"Tabitha certainly didn't adhere to the rules," Rogue pointed out.
"She caught hell from Logan about it, he ratted her out to the Professor. Professor said he'd think of a way to punish her later. Didn't stop her from still drinking later on."
"Was the party fun?" Rogue asked, the only part she remembered was the dancing and it certainly hadn't been that entertaining in her opinion.
"Things got wild after midnight. It was so hot last night. Bobby made this massive sheet of ice out in the field, all the guys were ice skating in their dress shoes. Ororo made some snow to try and kill the intense heat – we had a snowball fight."
Rogue winced, it all sounded like things had been a lot of fun. She'd missed all the best parts by the sound of it.
"Shame you missed it," Jubilee slid under a table to pick up more of the dropped food items.
"Ah tapped out, Ah was tired..."
"And sloshed," Jubilee mused.
"Ah hadn't slept properly in days, it just hit me harder is all," Rogue refused to let Jubilee think she had been that intoxicated.
"Oh, sure. As if I didn't see you and Gambit knocking back doubles at the bar yesterday afternoon before we even sat for dinner. Every time I turned, you were pouring another glass of the bubbly."
Rogue sighed inwardly and tried to not let the humiliation get to her too much.
"I've never seen you get drunk before. Last I saw you at the wedding, you were dancing and all over Gambit, then I saw you two leaving together...you never came back."
Turning to the petite girl, Rogue gaped at her, "We went for air, that was all..."
"Jamie and Ray said they saw him carry you up to your room," Jubilee responded.
"Nothin' happened," Rogue retorted quickly.
"I know. He came down alone like maybe five minutes later. I've heard he's fast, but not that fast," Jubilee jested. "Besides which anyway, it's you so-" she stopped herself, "Uh...I mean..." she became suddenly quite flustered, "I mean you wouldn't. Not with him."
Rogue sighed, she knew exactly what Jubilee had meant, and she supposed she couldn't blame the girl for it either. With a sigh she picked up her tray and went to the kitchen to go take the glasses for washing, her heart sinking in her chest.
The entire day was spent cleaning on and off. No one felt like cooking, barely anyone felt like eating and for the most part, the wedding buffet leftovers became dinner when people got hungry. Rogue didn't find much appetite affecting her, and so, after she'd done as much as she could for the day, she retired to her living quarters, sinking down into her armchair with a deep sigh. She picked up where she'd left her phone, the charge had almost completely gone, but she could see the number of photos she'd been tagged in from the wedding on social media.
Rogue had to admit, the photographs of her looked almost decent despite the makeup. Her body looked fantastic, her posture was good, her hair was flawless, her fake smiles were almost convincing.
And then she found a few Tabitha had taken and posted of the dance floor, and Tabitha had made sure to zoom in and crop a few from when Rogue had danced with Remy for at least what must have been twenty or so minutes. They almost looked like they were having a good time; Remy certainly seemed to be smiling in all of the photos although Rogue couldn't help but pinpoint the look of awkwardness in her own face as she clung to the man.
Rogue plugged her phone in and immediately opened the messenger app to tell Tabitha to remove the photos of herself and Remy from her feed; Tabitha left her on read, and said nothing in response. She went back to look at Tabitha's photos again, hoping maybe the girl had gone to remove them, but after several minutes of refreshing the album, they still remained. In fact, more pictures showed up on the page, Rogue found more photos of her dancing with Remy mixed amongst the photos of the others dancing together.
She's just messin' with me now, Rogue thought irritably as she tossed her phone aside and leaned back in her chair. Her eyes caught sight of her bridesmaid's dress, it was hanging up, the hanger itself was poised on the slightly open closet door. The corset was even hanging in front of it, dangling by the ribbon, the shimmering brocade satin catching the warm gold sunset light sifting through her bedroom blinds.
Did he do that? Rogue wondered. Did he hang my clothes up?
Her head still hurt, not quite as badly as it had that morning, but the thumping had never really died out completely. Sighing, she reached to her bedside cabinet and grabbed a few more of the aspirin, popping them into the glass that'd been sitting there since the morning. She poured herself more from the bottle of water that Remy had put there at some point during the early hours. She stared into the fizzing water, watching as the pills began to dissolve and vanish into the water, turning it cloudy.
There was a quiet knock at her door, which she'd left open to let the room ventilate a little, "yeah?"
"Hey."
Rogue turned to see Remy standing at the door, he was dressed in a very old looking distressed dark grey hooded sweatshirt, the band logo was so faded she could barely even make it out. His jeans were ripped, faded and dirty looking; the ankles and calves had fine splatters of mud, showing where he'd ridden his Harley through a puddle.
"Oh...hey," Rogue responded, she turned back to her aspirin cocktail and examined it, it looked dissolved enough to drink she supposed.
"I was wonerin' if y' spoke t' Xavier yet?" he asked, he stood comfortably with his hands in the pockets of this filthy jeans; even from where he stood she could smell the cigarettes on him, and the scent of another cologne, different from yesterday, this one was a little more stale.
"Shit," she muttered, "Ah completely forgot...Ah've been swamped."
"Yeah, wit' the clean up, I gather. Downstairs startin' t' look somewhat respectable," he pushed himself away from the door, hands still pocketed, his posture was comfortable but oozing with his usual self-confidence.
"Sorry," she downed her aspirin cocktail, making a face at the bitter still powdery residue taste in her mouth. She opened her bottle of water and finished the contents of it, it was lukewarm and unpleasant, but at least it washed some of the flavour of the aspirin down.
"An' here I was thinkin' I made it so incredibly difficul' t' be anythin' but memorable since I arrived," he paced a little aimlessly.
He definitely has, Rogue realised, remembering that afternoon at the pool. She'd been trying to get that image of him out of her mind all day. She wasn't sure why it bothered her so much. Most women wouldn't have minded having that image seared into their brains. She on the other hand...she felt it was unwelcome. She supposed it might be like someone being on a diet and having a feast of chocolate and pizza on display. Remy LeBeau was forbidden fruit...she couldn't have him. She supposed in most ways, she couldn't really have any one.
"Well...I won' hol' it agains' y', I suppose," he moved to the window, "you've been so stressed out f' days an' all, can't be helped y' got y' min' on other affairs, I suppose..." he pried the blinds open and gazed out, "I'll f'give y'."
"That's big of you," she mumbled, she rubbed her head.
"Lets take a walk."
"A walk?"
"It's a won'erfully cool nigh' out there..." he tugged at the cord to pull the blinds up to the hilt and pushed the window right up with a little difficulty. "C'mon."
"Out the window?" she blinked at him.
"Shortcut down, there's a pipe righ' next t' y' window. Unless y' too scared."
"Ah'm not scared," Rogue stood up, folding her arms, "Ah'm just not twelve. Ah don't need to sneak out windows."
"Who said you need to?" he grinned at her as he began climbing out, "It's jus' more fun this way, non?"
Rogue rolled her eyes at him.
"Suit y' self," he shifted himself out and halfway disappeared out, leaning sideways to gaze in at her. "I'm goin' a walk down t' the lake, where it's cool. Y' free t' join me. Or sit an' mope. It up t' you."
She watched as he disappeared from sight, and she heard the sound of him moving on the drainpipe to the right of her window. "Idiot," she mumbled, she moved to the window and leaned out to watch him making his way down the pipe from her third floor window right down to the patio below. He made it look so damn effortless, no hesitation at all.
He dusted his hands off a little as he moved away from the pipe and he glanced up at her, "y' comin' or what?" he called up to her.
Don't be such a chicken. Just go, she thought, glancing at the drainpipe.
Sighing, she awkwardly climbed out of the window and took a moment to try and figure out how he'd managed to get from the window to the drainpipe without falling. There was a slight crack in one of the bricks and part of the brick had fallen away giving her enough room to hook the front of her sneaker there so she could climb across to the pipe and slide down. It was far more awkward than she'd thought it would be, the pipe – which had had more than a few good coats of paint over the years, and were caked in dirt and grit from the weather – felt rough on her gloves and her leggings, her sneakers squeaked as she tried to edge her way down.
Damn it, how did he make this look so effortless? She wondered angrily as she slid down foot by foot, catching herself every now and then and waiting a moment to regroup. She was getting down to the last six feet of the pipe and the paintwork felt slightly smoother, she felt her gloves slip from the paintwork, and she let out a gasp as she lost her grip.
"Gotcha!" Remy caught her back hastily before she could completely fall, and he supported her weight, pulling her free from the pipe.
"Ugh...Ah slipped," she complained.
"I ain' complainin'," he smirked at her as he held her up in the air and he turned her away from the wall. "Well, it wasn' as graceful as I did it," he let her down slowly, "but...I'd say f' a firs' time slidin' down a forty-foot drainpipe, y' did fairly well, all things considerin'."
Rogue gazed up, "is it really that high?" she wondered, never having properly considered it before.
"Maybe," he shrugged, "F' give me, I didn' bring my measurin' tape this time roun'," he nodded his head down in the direction towards the field which led down to the lake, "let's go."
Remy hadn't been exaggerating about how much cooler it was out tonight. Last night, it'd still been warm at this hour, the air had still felt slightly humid and close. Tonight, there was more of a slight chill in the air, sweeping in on a gentle wind every now and then. As they walked down to the lake, the bushes scattered across the area stirred and rustled softly, it was the only sound for miles it seemed other than the sound of their feet on the grass.
"This nice," Remy said, "mus' be nice livin' here, havin' so many places t' go t' jus' get peace an' unwind," he admitted, his hands in his pockets again as he walked.
"It's got a lot of nice spots," Rogue admitted.
"Where's y' favourite spot t' go?" he asked.
She walked with her arms folded, "the boathouse."
"The boathouse?" he kept his eyes on her as they walked.
"Yeah, it has the nicest views of the sunset. It's own little pier, a little bench out the back Ah like to sit on and get peace to read on the nice evenin's," she pointed down to the east side of the lake to the boathouse, the place had definitely seen better days, it's grey-blue paint was chipped and worn, the glass was so dingy that it was impossible to even see the inside.
"What's the inside like?"
"No clue. Ah've never been in."
"Not even opened the door for a peek?"
"It's been locked for years," she shrugged. "The windows are so filthy on the inside Ah can't even see what's in there. Probably just storage for the Professor's stuff."
Remy took his hands out of his pockets, "Now I'm kin' o'...intrigued."
"Huh?"
He grabbed a hold of her by the wrist and started pulling her down towards the direction of the boathouse, "c'mon."
"It's locked."
"Don' y' know who y' speakin' to?" he laughed.
They jogged towards the boathouse, and despite Rogue knew the place wasn't technically off limits, and that there'd never been any rule about not going down there, she still looked over her shoulder every now and then during the walk just to check that no one was going to catch them.
She'd always felt it was an unspoken rule that because the place was locked up, chained and padlocked, that obviously, no one was supposed to ever go in. She'd never asked about the place, never felt it necessary to ask.
They stepped onto the porch and walked around the foundation, the wooden boards creaking slightly beneath their weight.
"Where's the door?" Remy asked, glancing at the dingy windows, ducking and trying to see through.
"Facing the lake," Rogue led the way, she checked over her shoulder once more just to make sure no one was watching. She hoped no one was watching from any of the mansion windows.
"You're actin' like a kid about t' get caught," Remy teased as they got to the door of the boathouse.
"Ah'm not sure we're really supposed to be here."
"Xavier ever tell you to not go in here?"
"No..." she supposed.
"Then what's the big deal?"
"It's locked. That kind of indicates no one is supposed to go in," Rogue supposed.
Remy observed the lock, his expression almost smug for a moment. In the pale white light at the end of the small pier, he went into the back pocket of his jeans and withdrew a small wallet. He knelt down by the door unfolding the thing and revealing the glinting of silver tools within.
She frowned, "you always carry lockpicks?"
"I'm a Thief. What Thief doesn' carry the tools o' his trade?" he asked as he got down onto his knees at the door and began selecting tools, "here, hol' this," he gave her the wallet.
"Can you pick it?" she asked, holding the wallet.
"Course. It's a standard mortice," he replied, he slid one of his tools in and he stared off into space, feeling about for a moment before sliding the second in, "three lever. Interestin'."
"Is that bad?"
"Means whatever is in there ain' that important," he supposed. "If y' wan' a lil' more security, y' go wit' a five. A three barely strong enough f' a shed door."
"Like Ah said...it's probably just storage," Rogue watched him, listening to the clicking of the tools. "Is it tricky, doin' that?"
"Kin' o' takes a lil' practice," he frowned, his eyes staring into space still.
"Don't you need to look?"
"Nah, this like makin' love in the dark, cherie," he smirked a little, "y' jus' got t' feel y' way aroun'."
Rogue felt her cheeks flush a little, she wondered if the comment about making love was his attempt to remind her about the night before and humiliate her once again.
Remy stood up after a turn of the tools and a click, and took his lockpick kit from her and put his tools back in their pockets, "course, if y' gon' be good at makin' love in the dark...it take a man t' know what he's lookin' f'," he supposed, he folded the wallet and slipped it into his back pocket, "which is that sweet spot," he grinned.
She rolled her eyes at him, pretending to be unimpressed and not remotely affected by the joke. She was sure he knew she was still thinking about him and the night before.
"Bit stiff."
"Ah bet," she rolled her eyes again, sure it was a euphemism.
He twisted the handle; the door stuck a little in the frame. "Wood does that, swells in the heat, shrink a lil' in the col'."
He's tryin' to wind me up, she thought irritably.
Remy thrust his shoulder into it as he turned the handle, the door budged a little. He did it again and the door gave way, swinging open into a dark interior.
"Got y' phone?" he asked.
"Ah left it plugged in upstairs."
Remy reached into the pocket of his sweatshirt and removed his own phone and raised it, turning on the flashlight and moving the beam across the dusty and cobwebbed interior of the inside.
"After you," he gestured to her.
Rogue stepped forward inside, gazing around curiously at the interior that for years she'd spent wondering about. She felt slightly disappointed.
There were old wooden crates stacked against one wall, boxes stacked on top of cabinets and pieces of scattered furniture beneath dust sheets. A canoe was wedged between the support beams of the apex ceiling. The moment the door had been shoved open, dust motes had begun falling from the ceiling and they danced in the light from Remy's phone.
"Oh," Remy said "it's jus' a guest house..." he moved to the small kitchen area and he opened the door to the nearest wall cabinet, the thing fell right off completely clattering loudly on the floor.
Something dropped from the ceiling and landed on Rogue's shoulder, clinging to her sweatshirt, moving behind her back and she let out a cry and jumped into Remy, "get it off!" she screamed.
Remy smacked whatever the thing was that'd landed on her and Rogue heard a soft thump on the floor at her feet. Remy dropped the light down to the floor and the pair of them saw a grey blur quickly scuttling off into the dark, disappearing between two cardboard boxes by a wall.
"Jus' a lil' mouse, chere..." he held her by the waist.
"That was a rat."
"A mouse," he snorted, amused, he looked down at her, and in the darkness the most she could make of him was the light in his eyes. "Y' scared?"
She disentangled herself from him nervously, "just startled..." she lied. She was certain it'd been a rat. It'd felt too large to be a tiny mouse.
Remy moved the light around, "nothin' much special here..."
Rogue moved carefully around, trying to watch her feet in the light cast from Remy's phone. It wasn't quite enough to light the entire room. She could see two more doors to the back of the room.
Remy stepped back, raising his light, "mus' be a break in the exterior wall somewhere – there a pigeon nestin' up there..."
"A pigeon?"
"Yeah, can't y' hear it cooin'?"
She shook her head and headed to the back of the room, Remy following at her back. She tried the door handle and it swung more easily than the front door had, revealing a small bathroom within which was in dire need of cleaning. There was a rather large house spider crawling in the bath. "Ew."
"I thought you goth girls liked spiders," Remy teased, she felt his breath tickling her ear.
"Ah've never liked spiders," she muttered, elbowing him away from her. "Or rats."
"It was definitely a mouse..." he moved past her and into the bathroom. "Looks like this place ain' had any one stay in it f' decades. In dire need o' repair..." he pulled the old fashioned cord near the door to try and turn on the light but nothing happened. "Wonder why it's not used any more."
"Probably 'cause it's full of spiders and rats," Rogue folded her arms, feeling a little creeped out.
"Guessin' nex' door is the bedroom," he passed by her and moved towards the door; this door stuck a little and he had to give it a good push to get it open. The door creaked unnervingly as it moved inwards and Remy focused the light inside, a bed was beneath dust sheets, they saw something scuttle beneath the bed quickly.
"Another mouse," Remy said, he squatted and shone his light under the bed to see, "Mus' be a hole or a crack in the floor...they sure is gettin' in somewhere..." he reasoned.
"We should get out of here," she cringed at the thought of there potentially being more vermin somewhere.
"Y' one o' the X-Men, y' really afraid o' mice?" he chuckled at her.
"They carry disease."
"We got natural immunity t' such things," Remy remarked.
"What?" she turned and looked at him.
"Mutants have a natural defence agains' certain bacteria an' disease. Magneto tol' me so."
"Bullshit," she turned and looked at Remy.
"It's true," he moved closer. "How y' think Morlocks live in the sewers wit' out gettin' sick? They down there wit' all the shit an' piss an' festerin' rat carcasses – no one die. Y' never won'er how that even possible?"
"Ah don't know, over exposure?" she asked.
"Mageto say our bodies handle disease differen', natural antibodies, we burn things off faster..."
"No way. We get sick all the time," she pointed out.
"Yeah, but we also burn it off far faster than a normal human woul'," he pulled a dust sheet from the top of the dresser, knocking over a vase that'd been beneath the thing. He examined the dresser, "Antique...but a lil' worse f' wear," he said absently, looks like it's seen some wood glue a few times...see this crack here?" he asked, pointing to the edge on the left side of the unit.
"If we're so immune, how come we still get the flu like the regular humans do?" Rogue asked pointedly, ignoring his furniture appraisal.
"Flu adapts differen' – leas' that's what Magneto said," Remy replied, he picked up the vase that'd been under the dust sheet and examined it, turning it upside down.
"You actually listen to him?" Rogue scoffed.
"Occasionally, when he's not ravin' about how humans are gon' start the nex' holocaus' an' we're all gon' be killed," he turned the vase around in his hands, lighting the inside of it for a moment to examine it.
Rogue shuddered a little at that idea. "He really thinks that?"
"Oh yeah," Remy mumbled, "get him durin' one o' his real depressed moods...he'll tell y' all about what he saw as a kid in the concentration camp his family were at."
"He doesn't look old enough to have been there," Rogue considered, not for the first time. "Shouldn't he be like a hundred?" she made a face. "He barely looks fifty. And he's built like he's in his forties."
"He got de-aged at some poin', don' know by who though. Physically, he younger than y' Professor. Mentally, he's far ol'er – an he ages a lil' slower too, like Wolverine do."
"Oh."
Remy put the vase back down and muttered the words "piece o' junk. Reproduction...made in Taiwan," he rolled his eyes. "Ain' Wolverine like two hundred or somethin'?" he asked after a moment.
"Ah don't know, actually, no one does, really," Rogue hugged herself.
"I heard rumours his history go back as far as at leas' the Civil war...that he was right there."
"No clue about that," Rogue confessed.
"Y' been in his head..." Remy pointed, "surely you got some idea," he let his backside rest on an old dresser, shining his light towards her.
"Well...yeah, Ah've absorbed him but...it's not always easy to decipher someone's life," she squinted in the light.
"How come?" he asked curiously.
"It's...like...watchin' the trailer of a movie...you see...bits and pieces of stories," she explained, "sometimes with no context whatsoever."
"So you don' even got a guess t' how ol' he coul' be?"
"He's been a soldier in several wars, Ah know that much," She stared into space, trying to remember bits and pieces she'd remembered, "First World War for definite."
"When was that?" he asked, "F' give me, I failed high school history."
"Nineteen fourteen," Rogue replied, "He fought beside Captain America, you know."
"F' real?" Remy seemed impressed, "he fought wit' the Cap?"
"Yeah. Ah saw it in my head," Rogue shrugged, "Saw bits and pieces of their time together when Ah had to absorb him for his healin' factor..." she smiled a little, "Captain America was a little...straight-laced for Logan's taste. Wouldn't even let Logan cuss in his presence."
"Bet he loved that," Remy chuckled.
"He doesn't talk about it, really. Ah mean, occasionally, if it's relevant or...he's a little...drunk, he'll maybe talk about it...not that he stays drunk very long...Ah've only seen it happen maybe three or four times in all the time Ah've been here."
"Imagine the stories Wolverine must have with livin' a life that long..."
"He has a lot of memories and history, but...he lost a lot of it, the rest of his memories are...broken," Rogue moved to look out of the nearby window, she ran her glove across the dingy window and cleared a small spot so she could look out at the lake.
"Wolverine got fucked up in the head durin' the Weapon X program, righ'?"
"How'd you know that?" Rogue asked.
"I work f' Magneto. I worked f' him when we was all enemies. Was my job t' know my enemies. I did some diggin' – wasn' much t' fin' out about the Weapon X program, a lot o' what Magneto had on him was redacted...all I know is that he was the only successful tes' subjec' t' come out back then."
"Yeah..." she shuddered, thinking of it.
"It upsets y' thinkin' about it..." Remy realised, he put his phone down on the dresser with the light facing upwards, the light was enough to bathe the room in a pale white glow.
"Ah...saw it all through his eyes..." Rogue admitted.
"What'd y' see?" he asked, "I only ever read about it but...I don' know what actually happened..."
"Ah...don't want to go into it. All you need to know is that the pain was...was like nothin' Ah've ever felt before..."
"Y' felt it?" he asked with concern in his eyes.
Rogue nodded, "Ah experienced it through his eyes...through his memories...like Ah was there...body was on fire...blood boilin' in my veins..." she took a breath. "Sometimes Ah...dream of it. Sorry, this is...sort of personal, Ah shouldn't be talkin' about it."
"It ain' like I didn' know about it," he pointed out. "Never knew y' experienced it y'self though, t' a degree."
"Nature of my powers...Ah touch someone, sometimes Ah get more than their memories and their powers..."
"Y' ever experience se-"
Rogue felt something crawl across her foot and she let out a shriek, kicked it away and she jumped towards Remy, grabbing onto him. Rogue felt his arm wrap around her waist and he swung her into a sitting position on top of the dresser so her feet were off the ground.
"It's jus' another mouse," he laughed at her.
"It was a fuckin' rat!" she retorted, gripping onto to the front of his hooded shirt.
Remy's red irises glowed faintly, flickering with amusement.
Rogue swallowed hard, feeling a sudden tension building as she recalled so vividly the night before.
Why couldn't Ah have forgotten the entire thing? He could have pretended like nothin' happened...it'd have been easier to deal with...
Clearing her throat, Rogue sighed, "can we get out of here now?"
"Relax, they not interested in hurtin' us," he chuckled softly, "we invadin' their territory far as they concerned...they jus' curious s' all."
"There could be dozens of them," Rogue looked around the floor, still holding onto him.
"Never pegged y' f' such a scaredy cat," he teased.
Rogue frowned at him. "It's not funny."
"It's kin' o' funny," he decided, he placed his hands on the top of the dresser. "Y' one o' the braves' women I now in the fiel'. Why y' so scared o' mice an' spiders?"
"Ah don't know, Ah just...don't like 'em..." she shuddered.
"I protec' y' from them," he grinned, and he snapped his teeth at her playfully.
She chewed her lip, looking at him, feeling her sense of unease and insecurity growing more intense with each passing moment.
"Maybe ain' them y' scared o', non?" he teased her.
Her eyes locked to his and she felt immediately and accurately measured by him, her stomach seemed to swirl and her throat tightened a little. She tried to think of something clever and confident to say.
"Rogue, could you come see me please, if you have a moment?"
She gasped and pulled away from Remy quickly, sliding down from the dresser as she pushed him out of the way. The intrusion of the Professor's voice in her head had her wondering if the Professor knew where she was, knew she and Remy were intruding in the boathouse.
"What is it?" Remy asked, touching her arm.
"The Professor just asked me to come see him," Rogue rubbed her head, she felt that odd tingle that always came when he telepathically communicated with her.
"I didn' hear anythin'..."
"He said it telepathically," Rogue replied, "Ah have to go...come, we should get out of here," she started heading for the door, she heard his footsteps following, the light from behind her lighting the floor to lead her way. She paused at the porch and turned to look at him, "maybe you should probably come too..."
"Yeah?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her, his face lit up by the post light at the end of the small pier.
"We can ask about recruitment...if you're still into the idea."
"Course I am," he grinned, he pulled the door shut, having to give it an extra hard tug to get it to shut back into the swollen frame.
"What about the lock?" she stared at the door.
"I don't think anyone gon' min' if it left unlocked. Who gon' even break in? Nothin' o' value inside anyway. C'mon."
They went back to the mansion and Rogue led Remy towards the Professor's office to the back of the mansion. She gave a curt knock at his door first, and then entered on command, taking Remy in with her. The Professor had his chair turned towards the left of his L-shaped desk, his eyes focused on his computer.
"Rogue...I hope I didn't interrupt anything," the Professor admitted, he tapped something into the keyboard and then switched the monitor off, he turned towards them and noted Remy's presence. "Oh, Gambit. I didn't realise-"
"Gambit wants to have a word after we're done, if that's okay," Rogue admitted, she approached the desk.
"If this is a personal issue y' need t' discuss, I can wait outside," Remy offered to Rogue, hanging back a little.
"It's fine," Rogue decided. She was certain nothing the Professor had to speak to her about really could be regarding personal issues – she didn't have personal issues to expose. And besides, she was more convinced the Professor might have figured out she'd been in the boathouse and that was why she'd been asked there. If he was about to pick at her about it, better she have Remy there to take the adequate blame since it'd been his idea to break in and enter the boathouse in the first place. "What's up?"
"I've been meaning to have a word with you for the past few days," the Professor looked past her at Remy, "but I just didn't quite find a good time."
"Uh huh?" she asked.
"Sit down, please," the Professor gestured to the chesterfield couch by the wall.
Rogue moved to the couch and sat down as the Professor moved his wheelchair around the desk and approached.
"Things have been so hectic, we've not had much time to talk, and I apologise for that. This wedding has...been of great distraction."
"Things have been crazy," Rogue supposed, she glanced towards Remy who was hovering near the unlit fireplace, he'd picked up an ornament and seemed to be checking for any makers marks on the bottom. Did he always have to appraise everything? "None of us have had a minute to ourselves lately."
"Indeed," Professor Xavier agreed. "But now that things are winding down a little, I realised that I've overlooked something I was supposed to do before the wedding."
"Oh?" Rogue asked, she rubbed some dirt away from her leggings, she couldn't quite decide if it'd come from the drain pipe outside of her room window or from the boathouse.
"Did...Scott talk to you at all before he left?" the Professor asked, his cool eyes locked to her face.
"Uh...we didn't really get much chance to talk at all this past month, actually," Rogue admitted, "He's been pretty distracted," she felt slightly unhappy at this. Even his last days of being an unmarried man, and he hadn't found any time for her. She glanced over to the fireplace, noting Remy turn and give her an odd look. She supposed her tone of voice told him how hurt she was by Scott's neglect. "You know how it is. Weddin's are stressful...he's been focused on all his own stuff."
"I see. So he didn't approach you about plans?" Professor Xavier queried.
"Plans?" Rogue asked, starting to feel slightly apprehensive. "What plans?"
"Plans for the team," the Professor explained, he moved closer. "And where you fit into them."
Rogue shook her head, confused, "is...somethin' goin on? Am Ah bein' cut from the team or something?" she felt her anxiety rise a little in her chest, her heart skipped a beat at the thought of it. If that happened, where would she go? What would she do? How was she going to support herself?
"No, no..." the Professor gave an awkward chuckle, "in fact, quite the opposite. Scott had intended to ask you to become his second-in-command. And...effectively leader of the team in his absence."
Rogue fell silent, not sure how to feel about this revelation. She gazed into the Professor's piercing grey-blue eyes confused. She tried to comprehend it. Second-in-command? How long had this plan been running around inside Scott's head? He'd had since they started planning the honeymoon to discuss the team's future while he was gone and hadn't said a word to her.
"Congratulations on the promotion, cherie," Remy spoke up, sounding almost sincere.
"Second-in..." she repeated the words, unable to finish.
"The team needs a field leader, with Ororo and Logan's hands full here trying to train the next generation of students and also needed on separate missions at times, we need someone we can trust out in the field with the others. They won't always be able to go out into the field with you. There needs to be a capable field leader...and Scott felt you were the most capable...the most dependable."
"Me..." she laughed in disbelief.
"Yes."
"But...surely...Kitty or...Kurt would be better suited?"
"Scott's first and only choice was you. He felt you were the only one serious enough and dedicated enough to take the lead."
Rogue blinked, "But...he...never said..."
"Odd. He discussed it with me many times before the wedding."
"And yet...he...didn't breathe a word of it to me..." Rogue felt incredibly offended. She wasn't sure how to take it. Part of her wanted to be flattered that Scott had thought this highly of her at all, but a larger part of her said that there was a motive behind it...that she was being burdened with Scott's problems and she hadn't even been given any warning before he'd just taken off with Jean. And the worst part was she realised there was very little choice in this. It'd been appointed without her say so.
"With the impending chance of anything happening at any given time, you should to be ready to lead, Rogue."
Rogue scoffed, "even if Ah wanted to be leader while he's gone, no one is gonna listen to me," she pointed out.
"You have far more respect here than you think, Rogue. I'm sure the others will listen to you."
"People barely listen to me outside of the field. No one is gonna wanna follow my orders out in the field," Rogue huffed, rolling her eyes.
"I'll follow 'em," Remy spoke up, he looked at her pointedly. His expression said it all - now was the time she was supposed to ask about his recruitment.
Rogue groaned inwardly, "Professor, while we're here...Gambit wondered if there's any chance we're recruitin' for the X-Men. If the team isn't too full."
"Our team is never too full. And with Jean and Scott gone for the next month, we're actually slightly under-staffed, as it were..." the Professor turned his chair towards Remy. "You're stepping down from the Acolytes?"
"I've been wit' them this pas' year or so an'...it jus' don' suit me well. Bein' wit' the Acolytes is like wearin' an ill-fittin' shoe, y' know? As far as practicality goes, it fits an' all, but eventually it starts t' rub the wrong way an' get real uncomfortable."
"Have you spoken to Magnus about this?"
"I've tried. He ain' really interested in listenin' though. I got shoehorned int' the role o' leader there."
Rogue couldn't help but identify with Remy right then. Now she completely understood how he'd felt about being leader of the Acolytes. She'd been just shoehorned into the role here into a leadership role herself, the same way he had.
"I see," the Professor paused, "you'd be welcome of course..." on the mantel a clock gave a soft chime and he turned to look at it, "it's getting rather late. We can discuss more of this tomorrow – and find a more permanent room for you once the last of the wedding guests have vacated."
Remy nodded, "course."
"I'll talk to you about the leadership more tomorrow, Rogue. Before we make a proper announcement to the team."
Rogue sighed inwardly and stood up. "Okay," she agreed as she and Remy headed for the door.
Leader...Ah can't goddamn believe he'd do this to me, leave me in this spot and just run like the wind without even askin' first, she thought irritably about Scott.
"By the way," the Professor spoke up before Rogue had had the chance to get her hand on the doorknob.
"Uh huh?" Rogue asked, looking over her shoulder.
"What condition is the boathouse in, inside?" the Professor asked. His expression was incredibly knowing. Surprisingly, he didn't seem remotely angry though.
Guess he sensed us there, Rogue realised as she felt her cheeks burn scarlet, "uhm..." she turned to look at Remy in a panic.
Remy spoke up, "dirty, dusty, y' got mice in the floor an' the walls, spiders everywhere...an' a pigeon livin' in the rafters," he answered plainly. "It need a lot o' work. New bathroom f' sure...the kitchen is...fallin' apart."
"I lost the key to that place years ago," the Professor made a face, "I suppose you used your skills to pick the lock?"
"Oui," Remy responded, without any shame or apology.
"Is it liveable?" the Professor raised an eyebrow.
Remy leaned on the door for a moment, his expression thoughtful, "Wit' a clean, an' an exterminator, some floor repairs an' some new furniture an' a bit o' paint, I don' see why not," he shrugged.
"Once Jean and Scott get back from their honeymoon, they're going to need somewhere to stay," the Professor realised, "somewhere with a little more privacy than the mansion itself can offer..." he supposed. "I was thinking of gifting it to them."
What?! Rogue thought in dismay. She couldn't believe it. Her favourite spot...just taken from her and given to Scott and Jean?
"Soun' like a good idea t' me. It'll free up two rooms, non?"
"Yes, which will help relieve the cramped situation we have at the moment," the Professor supposed.
"That gon' work in my favour," Remy smirked.
"It's getting late," the Professor reminded.
"Yeah..." Rogue supposed, still flabbergasted about the revelation to give the married couple the boathouse.
The Professor smiled, "We'll talk tomorrow about your inclusion in the team then."
"G' night," Remy said, and he opened the door for Rogue and gestured for her to leave.
Rogue walked out in front of him and kept moving down the hall, with every step she felt anger building more and more, her fists curled, her steps quickened.
"Chere? Y' okay?" Remy asked, he caught up once they'd gotten to the end of the hall.
"Ah'm fine," She fought the urge to snap at him, she turned the corner and began across the foyer, heading towards the stairs.
"Y' sure?"
"Yes," she responded, trying to fight her anger. She began her way up the staircase, aware of him walking at her back. Aware of his perception, aware he could sense her anger. She sped up a little, wishing he wouldn't follow.
She got to the second floor and turned to go down the hall to get to the staircase leading up to the third floor, she was aware of him still on her heels even though he should have stayed on the second floor where his temporary room was on the west wing.
"If y' ain' okay, it's okay t' say," Remy said once he'd gotten to the top of the stairs as she started for her room at the end of the hall.
"Ah said Ah'm fine," Rogue retorted, attempting to fight bitterness creeping into her tone. She entered her room – the door still open the way Remy had left it when he'd entered earlier, and she almost slammed the door in his face as he followed quick at her back. He caught the door with a grunt and entered, shutting it behind himself.
She stood in the centre of her room, her eyes caught the bridesmaid's dress hanging on the closet and she angrily grabbed the hanger and took the dress towards the window, intent to toss the damn thing and the corset that belonged with it outside.
"Chere, don'," Remy caught her wrist and held it firm before she could do so. "That's expensive..."
"Ah don't care," she snapped at him and fought to pull her arm free.
"Chere," he warned, "Y' don' wan' do that."
"Yes Ah do," she growled, fighting him. "Let go."
"No."
"God, she gets everythin'. Isn't bad enough she's got the beauty, the body, the brains, the strongest powers of anyone here...she's gonna be a doctor...she got him..."
Remy held both her wrists tight to stop her from discarding the dress, his eyes locked on hers.
"And now she's gettin' my favourite place too..." Rogue felt her eyes blurring with tears.
"It's full o' rats an' hairy spiders, anyway," Remy reminded her, his voice softened, a tone she wasn't too familiar with coming from him.
Rogue sighed, looking away from him. "That's not the point..." she sniffed.
"She's not takin' these things from you. They were never yours t' begin wit'," he reminded her. "An' if y' didn' get them, then they weren' mean' t' be yours..."
She pulled her wrists away from him angrily and tossed the dress to the floor, kicking it out of the way stubbornly. She turned her back to him, staring out of the window and gazing down towards the boathouse. Her heart sank at the idea it would no longer be her place any more.
Another thing Jean had taken from her. Another piece of the solace she'd found in this place now falling effortlessly into Jean's open arms.
Remy gave a soft sigh, "Diff'ren' things are mean' f' you..."
"Nothin' but bein' reminded of everythin' Ah can't have," She sighed inwardly, staring down at the boathouse unhappily. She understood that Remy was right, that the boathouse...Scott...they had never been hers, but she still felt cheated and she couldn't help that. Her body was that of a twenty-one year old woman but her heart still felt like that of the fifteen year old girl she'd been when she'd first come to this place. She couldn't quite shake that teenaged jealousy, as immature as she understood it was to hold onto it.
He stepped up to her from behind and took a hold of her shoulders, squeezing. "The only one sayin' y' can't have things is you. Maybe it won' be everythin' y' wan'. Or the way y' wan' them t' be...But there's still opportunities. There's things y' can have...jus' got t' take some chances an' risks..."
"Ah've tried that before. It never works."
Remy squeezed her shoulders "There's got t' be meanin' behin' it, not jus'...some whim that what's there is gon' suffice."
She realised he was talking about last night. She winced inwardly.
"I'm gon' go' t' bed. Sugges' y' do the same. Things be differen' in the mornin'...y' gon' see."
In the reflection of the glass pane of the window she saw him lean in, felt him kiss her hair. The gesture caught her off guard, and she turned her head a little to look at him, noting how he gave her a reassuring nod.
"Nigh', cherie. Sleep well..." he let go of her.
She turned to watch him leave her bedroom, the only thing that lingered of him there was the scent of his cologne and cigarettes.
End of Part 3
