Chapter Text
The jet had landed more than half an hour ago, just before twilight fell, yet he still sat on the mansion roof staring at the closed hanger doors, his arms braced on top of bent knees. A forgotten cigarette had burned down to the filter held loosely between long fingers.
How did he want it to go, truly? He still wasn't certain. Either way promised the resurgence of pain. Perhaps happiness wasn't his forte. His gaze flickered to the butt in his hand. It started to glow pink and he tossed it away into the gathering darkness, the filter exploding into ash with a faint pop over the gutter where the debris wouldn't fall on anyone.
"Remy?" His head lifted briefly at the sound of his name, then lowered again. He lifted his hands to cross them over his knees again rather than light another cigarette. Soft, sure footsteps sounded on the shingles behind him. Not the right ones.
"You did not meet us, my friend," Storm said as she seated herself beside him on the roof.
"Enjoy da trip, Stormy?" he said, resuming his irrelevant watch of the hanger doors. A slender hand rested briefly on his shoulder, squeezing once before falling away.
"You sent Mystique to her," she said quietly, ignoring the pet name. That usually meant bad things. He learned nothing else from her tone. But then Ororo was mistress of more than just weather control.
"Hehn. She her maman. Seemed right she know da truth."
"That was very brave of you, my friend."
Lowering his head to lay it sideways on his folded arms, he met her cool blue gaze with his own weary red-on-black one. She frowned in concern. He had dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept since sending Mystique to Florida the day before and his face was drawn and pale.
"Not so brave, mon amie. Sitting up here ain't I?" The thin smile was lacking his usual easy charm and her heart ached for him. Her gaze searched his for a long moment, only her perception allowing her to see the pain, the uncertainty and the fear hidden in their shadowy depths. She sighed deeply, her hand rising to rest on his hair. His eyes fluttered closed at the caress, like a child drawing strength from its mother's comforting touch.
"Ah, my friend, we owe you far more than an apology," she said softly. His eyes flashed open to swiftly narrow at her, his head jerking away from her touch.
"Non, Stormy," he said quietly. "Leave it be. Enough of da past gets dredged up 'round here wit' out dat too."
"Nevertheless, my friend, the X-Men greatly wronged you," she said on a deep sigh. "And someday full amends must be made."
"Leave it be," he repeated somberly, pain flaring in his eyes. If it had simply been anger or pride, it would have been easier to insist, but his quiet pain pierced her heart. She nodded finally, her blue eyes troubled.
"As you wish, my friend," she said quietly. "But there is no reason for you to wait up here. Jean followed Henry's theory and it worked. Rogue successfully blocked Raven last night - she has returned with us."
"Knew dat much," he said shortly. "Forge looking for her dis morning."
"Are you not happy for her, Remy?" Storm said, her expression faintly concerned. "She is managing to control her powers - with help, of course, but it is possible for her to lead a more normal life now."
"I am happy for her, mon amie," he said quietly, his expression at odds with his words. "Had some time t' do some t'inking, is all. If she can learn t' touch who she wants . . . " He shrugged with apparent casualness, but looked away, she noted, so that she could no longer see his eyes. "It's a whole new world fo' her."
"I believe that would do both of you a grave disservice, my friend," Storm said sadly, her own heart heavy as she realized what he was saying.
"She told me herself, Ororo, dat she needs t' grow up - become a woman," he said, raising his head and looking out at the distant, shadowy trees. Night was swiftly advancing, the sky that peculiar blue-purple of early evening, gleaming white stars appearing high in the velvety sky. "Now she has dat chance. Dere's a saying - 'if you love somet'ing set it free'. Maybe it time t' set Rogue free."
Storm sat beside him in the gathering darkness, suddenly at a loss for words.
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As she did every night now, Rogue flew as fast as she could through the darkening sky, trying to deny that the tears that streamed from her eyes were from anything other than the speed of her flight.
He'd left the X-Men. Without a word to anyone other than Storm.
Her heart pounded hard in her chest.
He'd left her. This time, he'd abandoned her. Had he gotten what he wanted after all? The unattainable? To touch her, kiss her, make lo . . . no, she broke the thought off sharply, she would call it what it had been, sex, pure and simple. Despite the words he'd spoken, the tenderness. Her heart shuddered painfully. He'd wanted to be her first - and he had. Had it been the thief's goal all along? To succeed at the impossible, the ultimate challenge?
She'd been viciously angry for more than a week. The rest of the team treading lightly around her - Storm watching her with sad eyes. She'd hated him then, dragging out like never before every faded yet still terrible memory of his to examine and judge. Eventually, the anger had faded. For along with each memory came his pain and regret and self-hatred. Overlaid at every instant by the love he'd had for her. In Israel. In Antarctica. The impossible love that he felt was simply ironic punishment for his sins.
He'd sent her mother to her, a rash act given her terror of failure, in an effort to try to break down her resistance to trying again. To give her the opportunity to learn to be more normal. He hadn't coddled her, or warned her, he'd simply presented her with her mother's love again. Against all odds, it had worked. Then he'd left. Angry and hurt and defiant, she'd gone to every teammate, every X-Team, every student and practiced her blocking. She could do it now instantly. The control she'd longed for forever was finally hers.
And strangely, she still wasn't happy.
Even though she tried to harden her heart, she still longed for him. They'd shared too much, gone through too much for her to truly convince herself anymore that it had only been a game to him. He'd never told her he loved her like that before or risked so much to show her. Then once he'd succeeded - but how could she argue with his actions? He was gone.
She flew on through the night, faster and faster, letting the wind dry her tears.
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The invitation was mysterious, delivered by a uniformed courier, a young woman with dark hair and a serious mien. The envelope itself was elegant and rich - a thick, heavy paper that crackled when she opened it. Letters of gilt and black on the matching card invited her to a certain location, at a certain date and time to receive a gift from a friend, who would remain anonymous.
Surprised and intrigued even more when she realized the address was only a few miles down the road from the mansion, she showed the invitation to Storm. A raised brow and a puzzled smile was the weather goddess's only comment. Rogue had Bishop and Scott run a thorough background check on their neighbor. To their surprise, they learned that the estate had been sold a few years earlier to an out-of-state businessman who had never taken up residence. It was inhabited by several live-in servants, but not by it's owner. It was currently run as a horse farm. A deeper check on the owner revealed no obvious pro- or anti-mutant connections. Simply a trophy house or a tax write-off, was Scott's disgusted conclusion. The rich had too much money to play with. After a little more digging, Bishop reluctantly accepted that result as well.
Rogue, her curiosity and interest stirred by something now for the first time in weeks, was determined to go.
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Rogue stepped out of the car cautiously, slipping the strap of her purse over her shoulder and brushing out her slim green dress as she looked the house over. While not being on the grand scale of Xavier's hereditary mansion, the house was quite respectably sized and many would call it a mansion as well, if on a slightly smaller scale. She stared up at the white-pillared entryway, feeling a strange sense of comfort. It was vaguely southern in style, reminding her somehow of sleepy plantations and lush backwaters despite it's location. The driveway had been much longer than theirs and she guessed this estate boasted even more land than Xavier's estate. She had seen horses running behind some of the white-painted board fences. She moved around the front of the car, walking slowly on the flagstone drive, cautious of her heels. Invulnerability was no protection from a turned ankle, she thought ruefully.
As Rogue approached the door, it swung open to reveal a tall, slender woman with cocoa-colored skin and dark hair cropped close to her head. The other woman was dressed in black slacks topped by a cheerful yellow blouse, a multicolored woven belt around her waist and low black shoes on her feet. A casual and somehow welcoming ensemble despite the elegant locale. Rogue smiled at her tentatively.
"Greetings," the woman said, inclining her head graciously, her clear voice carrying only the faintest hint of an accent - so faint that Rogue couldn't immediately place it. "I am Dor' St Cyr, the steward here at Fair Haven."
"Pleased ta meet ya, Ms St Cyr, Ah'm Rogue," she replied, holding out her gloved hand to the other woman. Expecting the usual inquiry about her name, she was surprised when the tall woman just shook her hand gravely.
"We have been awaiting you, Mam'selle Rogue," the steward said, releasing her hand.
"Excuse me, but are ya French, Ms. St Cyr?" Rogue blurted out, her voice tight with emotion. The other woman shook her head, a brow lifting in mild surprise at the question.
"No, but I was born in New Orleans."
Rogue flinched, her face going white. The other woman looked at her with concern. "Ah'm okay. It's just that Ah knew someone from New Orleans, once." Rogue smiled weakly at the other woman, then shrugged, faintly embarrassed by her own reaction. She sensed a flash of sympathy in the other woman and was puzzled by it.
"Please, come in," the tall woman said, stepping back. Rogue walked inside, her heels sounding on the floor, and looked curiously around at the elegantly appointed round foyer. The floor was polished woods inlaid in a pattern like a sunburst, two sweeping staircases splitting to go up to the second level over an arched corridor that led to the back of the house. Off to either side of the main foyer, opened airy rooms, filled with light and sunshine. She walked to the center table, dominated by a tall crystal vase containing a spray of exotic flowers, and looked up in wonder at the delicate crystal chandelier that hung up by the domed ceiling. A ceiling that was elegantly trimmed in gilt and painted with a view of pale blue sky and delicate clouds. Xavier's sported comfortable elegance - this was a glittering showplace that somehow still felt like a home.
When she heard the door close behind her, she turned and struggled to hide her dismay as the other woman walked toward her with a heavy limp. She seemed to move without pain, but with definite difficulty. The other woman observed her reaction, her expression flickering momentarily.
"An accident," she explained with a twitch of her lips. "I was most fortunate to survive."
Rogue flushed. What was wrong with her manners? "Oh, was Ah starin'? Please forgive me."
"Understandable," the other woman said, gesturing gracefully to the left doorway. "Please, step inside."
Rogue moved ahead of her, torn between wariness and embarrassment. She entered the room, looking around in quiet appreciation of the elegant furnishings, the discreet color scheme, the art on the walls. She gawked for a moment as she thought she recognized a famous painting, but shook her head. Probably only a very good copy, she mused. Couldn't be the real thing - wasn't it in a museum in Spain or somewhere like that?
"Mam'selle Rogue, if you would make yourself comfortable the purpose of this invitation will be made plain to you," the steward said, gesturing to the elegant couches in the center of the room. Rogue obligingly moved to one and sat down, folding her gloved hands in her lap over her purse, and feeling very out of place. This was the kind of opulence she'd once dreamed of as a girl. A fairy-tale home. With a brief reassuring smile, the steward turned and limped her way to a set of double doors at the back of the room. She opened one and passed inside, carefully closing the door behind her.
Rogue waited for several minutes before the door opened again, enjoying the room and it's bright charm. Outside, the sun shown on bright flowers and rolling green fields. Her attention snapped back when a tall, and elegantly handsome older man, his long hair drawn back in a neat queue, entered the room alone. She rose to her feet, sensing the command in his presence. Then she realized she knew him.
"Jean-Luc!" she said, shocked to recognize Remy's adoptive father. Father and head of the New Orleans Thieves' Guild. What was he doing in New York? And in this house? Had he issued the strange invitation?
"Rogue," he said coolly, gesturing her to resume her seat. She sat down, her heart now pounding wildly in her chest. He took the couch opposite her, settling down with much of the unconscious grace that Gambit would exhibit. Perhaps it had something to do with thieves' training.
"Remy," she said desperately, her eyes wide with sudden fear. "Has somethin' happened ta Remy?"
Jean-Luc eyed her thoughtfully for a long moment, then finally shook his head. "I was t' ask you da same t'ing, petite," he said quietly. "Haven't heard from dat boy in ages - 'cept a note dat said he's leavin' da X-Men."
"So ya don't know where he is?" she asked, her expression at first relieved, then anxious.
"Non," Jean-Luc said shortly. "He be banished from Nawlens, as you know. I came t' da house here t' see if he was 'round. But Dor' hasn't seen him for weeks."
"This is his house?" she gasped, her eyes wide. Jean-Luc frowned at her.
"Didn' you know, petite? He bought it few months after he joined your X-Men. Told me he'd finally met da woman he wanted t' be his wife an' he needed a house fine enough for her t' live in." The older man's eyes watched her speculatively as he said this. He glossed over the fact that it had triggered a violent argument about duty between the two of them.
"N-no, Ah didn't know," she said weakly dropping her gaze down to her clenched hands, her mind in a whirl. For her. This elegant house. He'd bought it for her and never said a word.
"He's already married, y' know," Jean-Luc said, his voice rough. Her gaze snapped up to meet his. She was surprised to see regret, guilt and pain in his eyes - surprised that he'd show any of his emotions to her, not that he'd feel them. "But dey never . . . well, da Church would annul it if petitioned. The boy jus' didn't wan' t' stir up trouble 'tween da Assassins an' da T'ieves."
"Ah know that," she said, her voice small, lost in memory.
Jean-Luc watched her for a moment, his heart heavy in his chest. He'd wanted other things for his adopted son - so many other things than just the promise of le diable blanc, despite the pressures of the Guild. The boy had stolen his heart all those years ago along with his wallet, and broken it many times since. As he'd broken the boy's. There was much to set right between them. Before him was a chance: this confused young woman was his son's heart's desire.
"Ch're," Jean-Luc said gently, moving over to sit beside her. She looked up as he dropped a big hand comfortingly over her gloved ones. "Da Archbishop, he tell me Remy ask for dat annulment few weeks ago. 'Tho it mainly a formality, seein' as Belle died once an' all, but da Church have a hard time wit' dat."
Her head snapped up, her emerald eyes wide and glittering with hope and tears. A few weeks ago, she thought wildly. Just before he'd left the X-Men.
"Do ya know much 'bout me, Jean-Luc?" she asked, staring back down at her gloved hands, the hope fading as swiftly as it had come. The older man's hand was strong and lean, resting on top of hers, he gave her a reassuring squeeze. "Just dat my boy love you like not'ing else, ch're," he said gently. "And dat his pere was a great fool fo' not seeing da trut' right in front of him." She swallowed hard, trying to keep the tears out of her eyes. Jean-Luc had finally accepted her as well.
"We've been cruel ta each other, very cruel," she said, her voice soft and broken. "Ah'm a mutant too - Ah drain the thoughts an' energy of anyone Ah touch. For a long time, Ah couldn't control it. A few weeks ago, Remy. . . helped me learn how ta touch him. Then Ah started learnin' how to touch others too."
"An' dat's when he left," Jean-Luc prompted when she'd fallen silent for a while, silent tears slipping down her face.
"Yes," she said, squeezing her eyes shut.
"You touch all da people you want?" he asked quietly.
"No, Ah just don't wanna touch anyone but Remy now," she admitted, glancing at the other man. He smiled gently at her, his hand squeezing hers again. His heart lightened. The girl was just as smitten as the boy. If only the two would just get together. He sighed heavily. "Mon fils is a stubborn one, petite. He get ideas in his fool head an' can' no one talk dem out."
"Ah know," she said with a heavy sigh. "So am Ah. We're a dangerous pair."
"But after da fighting, petite, da making up is sweet, non?" The smile was charming and light.
"Sometimes," she admitted with a watery smile. "We only had three days together. We didn't have time to fight much. . . " Then she blushed, she couldn't believe she was discussing this with Remy's father.
"Woo now, dat's my Remy, petite," Jean-Luc said with a pleased smile. She shook her head at his attitude, seeing now where Remy got it.
"You weren't expectin' ta see me here, were ya?" she asked quietly, the idea striking her suddenly. Jean-Luc frowned at her, surprised by her abrupt change of topic. She fumbled in her purse anxiously and drew out the elegant invitation. With a shaking hand, she held it out for Jean-Luc to inspect. He took it curiously, studying it carefully in the light.
"Don' know, ch're," he said with a shrug. "Taught dat boy t' forge anyt'ing. Could be his."
There was a gentle clearing of a throat across the room and they looked up to see the steward, Dor', watching them apologetically from the doorway.
"I sent it," she said quietly. Jean-Luc handed the card back to Rogue and frowned briefly.
"Meddling 'gain, Dor'?" he said. The other woman smiled gently. "Your authority doesn't extend here, Jean-Luc," she said. He frowned back at her sternly, "Once a t'ief, always a t'ief, ch're."
"You're a thief too?" Rogue said, astonished. Dor' shook her head and limped heavily over to the facing sofa, sinking down onto it with grace despite her handicap.
"I'm retired, obviously," she said with a smile, gesturing to her weak leg. "Guard shot me off a roof, shattered my hip. Remy gave me refuge, helped me find a place away from all my memories. He's a good friend."
"He takes all da best," Jean-Luc said with a grumble. Dor' laughed at his put out expression.
"Not everyone can still make the pinch, Jean-Luc, despite thief training. Remy gives injured or burned-out thieves options, ways to find other things to do."
"Not makin' dat boy popular wit' da Guild. Skills should be passed."
"There are still plenty to do so without me, or the others. You should be glad you don't have us moping around anymore." Jean-Luc snorted, his expression dubious. Rogue watched the interaction between the two thieves curiously. It seemed to be an old argument, one with no real heat left in it, but startling information for her.
"So yer sayin' Remy gives homes to injured thieves?" Rogue said, her eyes wide with shock.
"Not just homes, but work, here on this estate. We breed and train racehorses," Dor' said proudly. "A fine stable, starting to win with some regularity now too." Inside, Rogue reeled. Remy? Running what was basically a retirement home for thieves? What other surprises did he have for her?
"So why did ya send me that invitation?"
Dor' stayed silent a long moment, staring down at the elegant Persian carpet between them. When she raised her head, her dark eyes were serious, meeting Rogue's green gaze directly.
"Remy's not happy. He passed through here a few weeks ago and I was afraid he'd been hurt, he looked so bad. He wasn't, at least not physically." Rogue swallowed hard, part of her rejoicing that he suffered as much as she did, part of her regretting the constant pain they put each other through. "I know about you and Remy - I am still a thief, after all. And I know about Xavier's just down the road - you're kind of hard to hide." Dor' said the last with a small smile, watching the alarm rise in Rogue's expression. Rogue glanced from Dor' to Jean-Luc warily. He gave a Gallic shrug that indicated it hadn't been him. But as her alarm faded, Rogue ruefully admitted she was right. The X-Men were hard to hide. How many times had the mansion been leveled? And how many alien invaders and giant robots and supervillians had they fought off? Hard to keep a casual observer completely in the dark, much less someone who had special interest in one of the X-Men themselves, as Dor' obviously did.
"When I asked Remy what was wrong," Dor' continued quietly, "he just said he'd set an angel free to see if she could fly."
Rogue gasped, a hand rising to her throat as tears rose to her eyes. Storm had said much the same thing. But somehow it had more impact hearing it again from this stranger.
"Remy won' 'preciate y' spreadin' his secrets, Dor'," Jean-Luc warned softly. Dor' shrugged, continuing to watch Rogue. Rogue was looking thoughtful, her tears subsiding as she turned over what she'd learned in her mind.
"Maybe," Dor' said. "But it's not really a secret, is it? He's helped a lot of us, as well as others."
A long silence fell, broken only by the sound of birds beyond the windows. It was a beautiful day outside. Rogue's heart pounded in her chest as she made up her mind.
"Do ya know where he is?" she asked Dor' once again, her voice trembling.
"I do, yes," Dor' said, glancing at Jean-Luc. Jean-Luc shot her an outraged glare for her earlier lie. "But I wanted you to know more about him first. You X-Men seem pretty busy, I doubt you get much time to just talk."
"And 'sides, ya don't talk with Remy, ya yell," Rogue said with a watery smile. Jean-Luc and Dor' both laughed, short barks of sympathetic laughter. All three exchanged such knowing looks, that if Remy had been present, it would have sent him into outraged protest. Rogue stood up suddenly, and Jean-Luc rose politely to his feet. Dor' made to stand too, but Rogue gestured for her to remain seated.
"Don't get up for me," she said with a gentle smile. "Ah've got some thinkin' ta do now. Ah appreciate yer tellin' me this stuff 'bout him. He is okay, isn't he?" She added the last question anxiously. Dor' met her gaze calmly.
"He's as well as you are," the other woman replied softly. Rogue sighed deeply. It was an evasive answer, but the kind she was used to getting from thieves. And in this case, only the truth.
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Rooftops in New York City were busy places, Remy LeBeau thought to himself as he stared out from his penthouse balcony into the warm summer night. Why in the last hour alone he'd seen Spiderman swing by, the Avengers' jet take off and a swarm of strange creatures climb up the Fantastic Four's tower. He'd been tempted to go check on the Richards and see how they were handling the invasion, but from all the light and noise and blasts that had emitted from the tower, he'd quickly deduced it wouldn't be necessary.
Maybe dey ol' frien's dropping by for a nightcap, he'd thought to himself with a ruefully amused smile after a particularly loud explosion echoed across the city. But the battle was swiftly concluded. He had watched the FF mop up the aftermath with only a glimmer of professional interest. In the superhero business, not knowing the true sides in a fight was one of the trickier hazards. Most heroes stayed out of each other's way unless a battle went obviously wrong. Kind of an unstated part of the hero code, he smiled grimly to himself, and not one he was normally good at following. Gambit loved a good fight. But tonight was different. Tonight Remy LeBeau was brooding.
It was two months that very night.
Two whole months since he'd left Westchester - and his heart - behind.
Despite it's loss, it was paining him still. He'd hoped, without too much faith, that it would fade, but like so many of his disappointments it tore at him, leaving him shaken and without even anger to keep him going any more. He'd had everything this time and walked away. For her sake. To give her the chances, the choices she'd never had before. For Rogue.
Being selfless was Hell's own torment, he thought, sighing deeply. He didn't even watch the two cards he held in his hand as they flipped skillfully from finger to finger.
The Queen of Hearts and the Jack of Spades.
He stopped the cards in their endless motion, the Jack coming up on top as he'd intended. Then he plucked it out with his other hand, staring at it for a long moment. L'idiot, he thought bitterly, then weary and disgusted with himself, he charged it and flicked the glowing pink card harmlessly out into the night. It exploded with a faint bang, the sound lost in the distant scream of sirens and alarms responding to the aftermath of the FF's battle across the city.
"Just how many decks o' cards do ya go through in a month anyway, sugah?"
The words floated down out of the night. Whirling, his heart pounding, he looked up to see Rogue hovering in the air high above him, beyond the range of his senses. They stared at each other for an endless while, both frozen in place. Finally she drifted down closer, a tiny smile crossing her lips.
"Hi, Remy," she said, her tone shy and cautious. He could only stare at her, drinking in her features, noting both the sparkle in her eyes and the shadows under them. But she was smiling tentatively at him.
"How'd y' find me, ch're?" he asked, his heart in his throat, the Queen of Hearts forgotten in his hands.
"Dor' told me where ya were," she said, drifting slowly lower.
"Merde! Dor'?" he said, eyes widening in shock. "Y' been t' da house den?"
"It's lovely, Remy," she said quietly as she settled gracefully onto the balcony between him and the doors. Not that he was trapped by any means, not while there were no bars around him or chains upon him, but he couldn't make himself move. Her eyes held him prisoner. "Ah never suspected that's where ya went some of the times when ya went wanderin'. Guess Ah just always thought ya were cattin' around in town. Not very nice of me, was it? An' Ah never bothered ta ask. Ah'm learnin'."
He stared at her, his expression torn between hope and devastation. "Why y' come here, ch're?" he asked softly. She swallowed nervously, twisting her gloved hands together. Then, looking pointedly at her hands, she tugged the gloves free, dropping them down onto the decking.
"Ya don't say much, even 'tho ya talk a lot sometimes, Remy. An' ya don't ever tell 'bout the good ya do, just like ya never brought up the bad," she said, looking at him from under the wind-blown fall of her white forelock. Her green eyes glittered strangely in the starlight. "Ah've been visitin' with yer papa and Dor'. They both told me 'bout yer makin' a place for burnt-out thieves - an' 'bout the stuff ya do for street kids." She stared at him, her face working a little with some emotion. But in the poor light - or was it through his own torment - he couldn't read it clearly.
"Jus' money, ch're," he said with a depreciating shrug, wary now. "Money earned from t'ieving."
She stared at him, surprised even now by his unassuming behavior. About physical skills or questionable activities he could be one of the biggest braggarts on the planet, but about things that truly mattered to him, she was painfully learning, he kept silent, taking no credit at all and assigning truckloads of blame for failures. His self-hatred and guilt had kept the gentler things from her during that kiss in Antarctica, she now knew, blocked away by the feeling that he could never atone for the terrible consequences of his actions. But most of them had been beyond his control, she finally acknowledged consciously, though her heart had accepted it weeks ago. She felt the instant lightening of her heart.
"Seems like most folks want what they can't have. Ah'm no exception. For years Ah blamed everyone else for mah troubles - momma, you, Carol. Thinkin' I just wanted ta be normal," she laughed then, a bitter sound, thinking about all the strangeness and perils the X-Men had faced through the years. The suffering endured and averted. "What's normal anyhow? Ah thought Ah wanted mah powers gone, but, ya know, Ah just don't think Ah can give up flyin'." She shifted her feet, looking embarrassed, yet defiant. He smiled gently at her.
"Flyin's freedom, ch're," he said with patient understanding, his red-on-black gaze locked onto her as he willed her to continue, not quite daring to hope.
"Make's me feel like a hypocrite is all, but enough of that." She shook her head, her green gaze meeting his. "What Ah really wanted ta tell ya Remy, is that once ya left me, Ah didn't wanna touch anyone anymore. Sure, Ah could and did learn how ta block, but Ah just didn't have reason ta. All my reasons left with you. Ah guess Ah only want ta fly with you." Shimmering emerald eyes latched onto his soul, drawing him toward her. He stared down at her, not knowing just when or how he'd crossed the space between them. Her lips trembled, white teeth nipping at them in trepidation. She was so beautiful, his breath caught in his throat. Uncharacteristically, his hands hung frozen at his sides. She glanced down, seeing the card still between his fingers. She tugged it gently free, staring at the pasteboard with a wistful smile.
"There she is," Rogue said softly. "The Queen of Hearts. Ah lost mine somewhere."
"Je t'aime, Rogue," he whispered, his eyes burning in the darkness. She closed her eyes and shuddered. Then her arms were around him, tight, the card in her hand rubbing in his hair. He held her to him just as tightly, burying his face in her hair, his lips on her cheek.
"Remy, Ah love you, don't ever leave me again," she said into his neck, her voice muffled but the words plain. His heart soared and he drew back to look into her eyes again. Eyes that shimmered with love and hope and wonder.
He bent down, his lips feathering against hers as he whispered, "Never, mon coeur, never again."
- - fin - -