PART 38
The last remnants of daylight fade into darkness. Often,
Rogue's gaze drifts elsewhere, mirroring her wandering thoughts.
Remy remains quietly by her side, allowing her moments of
introspection. Sometimes, he squeezes her hand. Sometimes,
she acknowledges the squeeze with one of her own. Jean and
Scott bring her dinner and visit briefly. Kurt looks in on
her, but quickly leaves just as Rogue realizes he's in the
doorway. Remy wonders at the sudden chill between the two,
but doesn't comment. It's been a rough day all around.
"Penny f'r your thoughts, girl."
Rogue averts her eyes. Her lower lip trembles. Her voice,
when she finally does speak, is soft, regretful.
"Maybe ah deserve this."
Sudden tears spill onto her cheeks. Remy eases onto the bed
and pulls Rogue closer. She settles her body carefully against
his. Remy's breath catches in his throat as the woman he loves
finally accepts his embrace. Without reservation.
"Y'can' be keepin' dis inside, chere. Talk t'me."
"Ah was just thinkin'--'cause o' what ah did to Carol
an' all--maybe this is some way o' balancin' everything."
Remy sighs. He understands only too well. During his months
in New Genosha, his own thoughts kept returning to Seattle,
trying to find some reason, some purpose for his torment.
Rogue studies his face, trying to read the distant expression.
"Penny for your thoughts, sugah."
"Seattle."
Remy's arms tighten around Rogue, drawing as much support
from her as she does from him. Rogue slips her arms around
his waist.
"Ah know a lot o' people died."
"Dozens."
Rogue untangles her arms from Remy's waist, shifting position
until she guides his head to rest on her breast. She holds
him in her arms, gently stroking his hair and quietly coaxing
him to tell her everything. Unconsciously, Remy's body curls
into a fetal position next to Rogue.
"I'd been hearin' rumors in de back alleys a the Big
Easy. Went on for months. Seemed like a good joke at the time,
y'know? Figured some a de guild jus' havin' fun at my expense.
An' if the police had to let me go 'cause one witness swore
I was here an' another swore I was elsewhere, well, I wasn'
about to be puttin' myself behind bars. N'est-ce pas?"
Rogue giggles at the thought of Remy willingly handcuffing
himself and surrendering to the police. She brushes tears
of laughter from her eyes.
"Oh, lordy--ah can jus' see it now, Cajun! Ooooo--ow!"
She bites her lip at the sudden twinge.
"Y'okay?"
Rogue nods.
"Pain medication wearin' off."
"Y'need Moira?"
Rogue shakes her head.
"The i.v.'s set up for automatic doses. Ya see a white
cord with a box on it?"
Remy runs a smooth palm along the sheets, finally retrieving
the i.v. control line. He ties it loosely around the bed rail,
putting it easily within Rogue's reach. He steadies her hand
as she pushes the button. As the i.v. fluids drip into her
arm, he feels her body again relax against his. The grateful
smile she flashes sends a rush of warmth through his blood.
"Better, p'tite?"
"Mmmm...."
She brushes the hair from his eyes, then lets the back of
her hand drop down to his cheek.
"So, sugah, how did ya end up in Seattle?"
Remy exhales slowly.
"One night de Assassins set me up for de kill. Guess
I been too much underfoot what wit' me an' Belladonna gettin'
serious."
Immediately he feels Rogue's muscles tense at the mention
of his ex-wife's name. He gives her a gentle hug.
"De kill was quick an' clean--real professional. Only
one problem."
"It wasn't you."
"Non, but it could a been. I tell you true, cherie,
my own mama maybe not able to tell who was who. Lookin' at
de body--felt like I lost one a my own. Both guilds wanna
know what's what so we start askin' around, makin' contacts.
Ev't'ing come back to one point--Seattle. Few days later,
I get my own invite."
A bitter smile draws his lips into a thin, hard line.
"Nothin' like a night at de theater, eh?"
He rubs his thumb slowly across his fingers, wishing for
the familiar feel of a cigarette. His voice softens to a whisper.
His gaze becomes distant.
"...nothin' like dat night...before or since..."
"Not even New Genosha?"
"...non..."
"Remy?"
He nuzzles the warmth of her breasts, tightens his hold on
her waist.
"Seattle was a bleedin' a de soul."
"What--what did you see?"
"The devil himself."
"Sinister?"
Remy nods.
"An' his clones. Lookin' at row after row of his bastards,
I started understandin' jus' what he stole from me. I could
feel de anger, de fire, burnin' through my veins. More den
I could control--an' I jus' knew if I didn't let it out, I
would die."
Rogue closes her eyes, letting herself slide into the lethargy
of the pain medication and the familiar rhythms of Remy's
voice. Something that he said nudges the fuzziness in her
mind. Something important. She frowns, trying to grasp the
elusive bit of information. A single word, "clones",
passes fleetingly through her thoughts. Distracted by the
weight of sleep creeping into her limbs, she lets the thought
fade.
"Didn't ya think about what would happen?"
"Wasn' t'inkin' 'bout much at all. Jus' seein' all dey
men I might have been. All dey ways Sinister had twisted my
genes into whatever he wanted. Wasn' jus' me, Rogue, it was
all a us, all a de X-Men. Mostly Sinister was testin' how
my genes could be cloned in combination wit' Scott's."
He waits for words of comfort that never come.
"Rogue?"
"She's asleep, Remy."
Remy frowns as the looming shadow of Scott Summers intrudes
into what had been an intimate moment. He lithely rolls off
the bed and faces Cyclops squarely.
"Sneakin' up on a body like dat good way t'get y'self
dead real quick, mon capitan."
A tight smile plays across Scott's lips as he glances first
at Rogue, then back to Remy.
"I came in to check Rogue's i.v. Besides, you weren't
exactly in an attack position."
Remy's lips broaden into a sardonic grin.
"Don' know 'bout dat. T'ink maybe I was in a good 'nough
position to advance an' conquer, eh?"
A sudden blush creeps across Scott's face at Remy's double
entendre. The Cajun's low chuckle echoes softly. Rogue stirs.
Remy's face softens as he turns to her and soothingly caresses
her forehead until she settles back to sleep.
The sudden change in attitude from cavalier to concern does
not go unnoticed. Scott studies the couple, considering the
possibility that maybe, just maybe, Remy is as much a victim
of Sinister's machinations as he has been.
He senses Jean's presence as she comes to his side and slips
her hand across his back. Suddenly, questions he cannot answer
surge through his mind. Thoughts of Madelyne--the clone Sinister
made of Jean. Curiousity about what might have happened to
Remy in Seattle. Doubts about what he himself might have done
in the same situation.
He feels the familiar touch of Jean's mind with his.
>>Scott?<<
>>Maybe I was wrong.<<
Jean squeezes his hand warmly even as she sends her reassurances
through their psychic link. Through their connection, she
understands that he's referring to the reservations the X-men
have had about being able to trust Remy LeBeau.
>>Maybe we all were.<<
As Jean moves to check Rogue's bandages, she catches Remy's
eye. He gives her a curt nod of acknowledgement. Scott crosses
over to the i.v. and quickly checks the settings. Rogue groans,
then rolls over onto her side, sighing deeply as she snuggles
into the pillow. As Remy draws the sheets across her shoulder,
Scott catches his arm.
"You and I still have unfinished business."
Sensing the rush of tension emanating from Remy, Jean rests
her own hand lightly on his shoulder.
"You need to talk....please, let us help."
Remy raises a curious eyebrow. He spares a quick glance towards
Jean before turning a more appraising gaze to Scott. Disdain
thickens his voice.
"You wan' help me?"
"Yes."
Scott's answer, quietly firm--unwavering--touches Remy's
scarred soul. He kisses Rogue's covered shoulder, then follows
the older X-men into the corridor.
Continued in Chapter
39.
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