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The most dangerous missions always involve facing human militias. From the Friends of Humanity to Orchis, pitting high-caliber weapons against mutant bodies was a risk not worth taking most of the time. Those were the thoughts bouncing in Rogue’s head when the impact of a grenade sent her to the end of the warehouse. All they managed was disorienting her for a moment and making her royally mad.
Her eyes flew to the fray. Wolverine was doing his best to disable equipment instead of skewering the members of this small terrorist faction. Jubilee was doing her best to become a proper nuisance without risking lives. She couldn’t see what Gambit was doing, which was to be expected. Gambit’s job was to find their munitions, so the police could toss them into the slammer for a long time. Rogue launched into the melee. The sooner they were disabled, the sooner they could contain the damage.
“Not so fast!” Gambit’s voice reached her ears.
Despite the noise, the sound of her husband’s voice reached her with startling clarity. She barely had time to twist her head before the charged card struck the anti-tank munition aimed at her. Rogue had time to admire and begrudge his chivalry before the explosion shook the whole warehouse.
Debris was still falling when Rogue pushed herself off the floor, brushing off dust and particles. Wolverine was still hunched over Jubilee; he probably jumped to protect her as soon as he heard Gambit’s voice. She flew over the site noticing the alarms and flashing lights. The militia men were still breathing, even the one who had pointed the AT-4 at her.
Her bleeding husband was next to that irresponsible rube.
Wolverine spurred her to carry Gambit to Haven House. Despite New Orleans’ warm embrace, they couldn’t count on the local hospitals not slapping cuffs along with an IV on Remy’s arm. There was no need for discussion. The feel of his breath against her neck helped her contain her panic. She landed at the back of the house, hearing the powerful engine of a motorcycle disrupting the silence of the swamp. Alice was already clearing up the kitchen table when she walked in.
As softly as she could, she stretched Remy over the table, but his body seized into a rigid curl. His arms pulled closer to his chest; his hands formed clenched fists. Under his eyes, a purple shadow crept. His lips were dry from his ragged breathing, their color like lavender wax.
“Remy…” Anna Marie called out his name as Alice pressed a dish towel against the back of his head where the ripped cowl was letting blood gush. “Look at me, sugah, please…”
A soft moan escaped his lips, and his eyelids fluttered. She cupped his cheek to help him focus. He was struggling to comply. His left pupil almost ate the red of his eye; the right was barely a trembling dot. A drip of thin, pinkish blood ran over his lip toward the table. Anna Marie felt her breath hitching; that wouldn’t be good.
“How is he?” Jubilee’s frantic voice filled the kitchen.
Logan stopped by the door, his nose already twitching. “I don’t care what your beef is with Summers; you need to call Alaska.”
“What are you…?”
As gently as he could, Logan pulled her from the table. Anna Marie felt the need to fight him, but he was already pointing at the blood pooling over Alice’s nice white tablecloth.
“See that halo?” Logan asked, and his stern expression snuffed the last of her rebellion. Next to the blood, a dirty yellow shadow stained the fabric. “That’s cerebrospinal fluid. We need Beast.”
“Hello,” Beast greeted when the sedating agent ran its course and Remy blinked slowly. “Do you know your name?”
“Remy,” he said with a voice coarse from three weeks of a medically induced coma. He let his head lull to hide his scrutiny of the room. “Remy LeBeau. Gambit.”
“Correct,” Beast confirmed, and pressed softly on the yellowing shadow of the raccoon eyes as he aimed a pen light to see if the pupils finally held their shape. “Do you know where you are?”
“Merde,” Remy complained, jerking his head back. His hand tried to shield his eyes from the light before answering. “Haven House.”
“Excellent,” Beast replied, not to his answer but to the appropriate, yet slow reaction of his pupils. “Why are you here?”
Remy stopped. His hand hung mid-air for a moment before resting on his forehead. Around his bed, Cyclops, Magik, Rogue, Wolverine and Jubilee waited for a reply with bated breath.
“Someone attacked the mansion?” Remy replied, closing his eyes in a confused squint. “I got hurt during an attack?” He essayed a roguish smile as he passed his eyes over the people in his room. “I got you all worried, hein? Désolé…”
“You have no idea,” Rogue said, extending her hand to touch his face. She was wearing her diamond ring at the recommendation of Beast.
“Sapristi!” Remy gasped, flinching back into the pillows so hard the headboard rattled. His pupils blew wide, blacking out the red of his eyes with sheer panic, but his voice kept his silky tone. “Chérie, it’s not wise to tempt a thief with such a pretty ring… or such a pretty hand.”
He might have continued with his taunting voice, but a moan left his lips. His hand pressed on his chest and his lips twisted. Rogue almost launched forward to hold him, but Logan pulled her off the bed. Cyclops tapped Magik and Jubilee’s shoulders before pointing at the door.
“You’re going to be dizzy for a few weeks. You banged your head pretty bad,” Beast explained, holding Remy’s head with soft pressure at the temples. “Try not to move too suddenly.”
“You are going to remain here while we sort out the mess,” Cyclops said, leaning on the footboard. Beast had given him instructions for seven different cases and he was following the better fit. “Rogue, Wolverine and Jubilee will keep you company.”
“Gambit doesn’t need no babysitters,” Remy protested, but the bravado was thin; his voice quivered as he fought the rising bile in his throat. “You’ll need them for…” his mouth remained open, his brow furrowing into a pained, deep squint as the thought simply vanished. “For…”
“We can manage without them,” Cyclops cut short the discussion, but his voice was a touch too dark when he added: “The team is big.”
“In the meantime, Gambit,” Beast said, pulling the blankets closer. “It’s my medical opinion that you sleep as much as you want, eat plenty, stay hydrated, and take it easy…”
“How…?” Remy asked, closing his eyes with an exhausted expression. “Haven House… how?”
“Rogue reached Tante Mattie,” Beast reassured him, his fingers checking the bandage behind his head. “She suggested this place.”
“Ah, yes…” Remy accepted the explanation with a deep sigh. “Makes sense.”
They were sitting around the table, coffee mugs almost forgotten. Jitter had made a platter of beignets for the visits; her power lasted until she had to separate the dough. No one was in the mood for sweet things. The sun began to dip below the horizon, and the symphony of the swamp filled the kitchen.
“Of course,” Beast continued, closing his hand around the biggest mug of the house. Next to his massive hand, it looked like a toy cup. “I don’t have any frame of reference for his mental state, but his body is healing. I do repeat, we were mighty lucky to intervene when we did, but Swiss cheese is a proper metaphor for his cognitive paths right now.”
“He recoiled when I tried to touch him…” Rogue said, and her voice was almost a sob. Her fingers kept busy twisting her diamond ring around her knuckle.
“He seems to believe we’re still in the Mansion, before Krakoa, Utopia…”
“Memory reset point,” Beast confirmed with a nod. “We’re lucky we didn’t have an anchor further back. But let’s see the bright side: he knows his surroundings and the people who will serve as helpers in his recovery.”
“That’s the bright side?” Rogue asked, and no one missed the light hitch in her voice. “He thought we couldn’t touch.”
“It could be worse,” Cyclops pointed out, reaching for his mug. “He could not know you.”
Silence fell like a blanket around them. Jubilee reached for one of the cold beignets and bit it. Magik followed suit.
“I’d never been on the recovery side,” Wolverine said, knowing the women weren’t going to ask and the Alaskan team had to return to their Merle Headquarters soon. “Give me the do and don’t list.”
“Don’t overwhelm him. One or two visitors with 20/20 rule,” Beast said, venturing toward the beignets. “Twenty minutes of stimulation, twenty of rest. Don’t contradict him. If Gambit says he wants to return to the mansion, tell them it’s not habitable yet. Give him something to occupy his mind without too much investment, sorting coins, counting bills…”
“Poker?”
“If he still knows how to play.” Beast shrugged and washed down the beignet. “Try to keep meals predictable, keep track of what he remembers.” He stopped for a moment. “Be patient. I know it’s easier said than done, but he’s not confused. His whole neurological system is backfiring. He’s even more afraid than you are…”
Rogue sat next to the bed, watching Remy sleep. He had slept almost eighteen hours a day over the last week, but his steady breathing was the best comfort she could hope for. Remy was thin; his cheekbones were a lot more marked now and his cheeks hollow. Recovery would be a long road, but she was willing to walk it with him. She had spent the first week wondering why he intercepted the AT-4 shot, but it made sense after a while.
Remy couldn’t stand idle while she got hit, even though she was nigh-invulnerable.
With care, trying not to touch her husband, she pulled the sheets around him.
“What did they feed you in Massachusetts, p’tite?” Remy asked Jubilee while she helped him to the bathroom. His vertigo spells were less frequent, but they were still worried about him hitting the floor. “I swear you’re a whole foot taller than I remember you.”
“Oh, you know,” Jubilee replied, patting his arm. “Puberty does wonders to your body.”
“I figured as m…” Remy said, reaching for the door frame.
Jubilee stopped when she saw his brow furrow. The word died on his lips and he was moving his mouth like he had just tasted something bitter and was trying to spit it out. His hair fell like a curtain over his features, highlighting the short hair at the back of his head. So short it couldn’t hide the scars yet.
“Gambit?”
“Désolé,” Remy said after a moment. “I just… you’ll laugh… I saw you riding a dragon.”
She barked a fake laugh, blinking rapidly to contain the tears. “What a silly thought!”
“Non,” Remy said, heaving himself to the inside of the little room, “It didn’t seem silly at all.”
He disappeared inside the room, where he could brace himself on the walls and furniture. Calmly, Jubilee moved to Rogue’s nightstand and picked up a small journal. She sat on the bed and wrote a note. It was bittersweet that the first new thing Remy remembered in a fortnight was Shogo and their time in the Otherworld.
“You should go to bed, Gumbo,” Logan said, folding his hand for the third time tonight. Their Cajun definitively remember how to play cards.
“Let’s play another hand,” Remy said, picking up the cards.
“Something tells me you don’t want to climb the stairs.”
“I can manage the stairs,” Remy said, contemplating the shuffling cards like a kid watching his first firecracker. “At least I can do it without feeling like I need to puke my guts every three steps.”
“Did you wet the bed?”
“Dieu, non!”
“So, what’s the problem?”
As Remy continued his fancy shuffling, Logan wondered what his issue was. It could not be the sounds of the swamp; it was late enough for the room to be dark and quiet. He had stopped asking about the kids; he commented he felt bad about how quiet the Outliers were. Remy was still thin, but had been more active this week. He even tried to wash the dishes after dinner. All of those signs pointed to progress.
“You know Rogue?” Remy asked, dealing five cards each. His eyes trained on the cards as if they were the most important things in the whole world. The fact that he stopped calling her by her name was the saddest part. “I like that woman, moi, and… I’m confused.”
“About what?”
Remy put his cards face down on the table and took a sip from a beer that had to be warm because Logan was finishing his third.
“She’s wearing a ring,” Remy finally said, picking up his cards. “That’s a wedding ring.”
Logan felt the need to shout that Remy put that ring on her, but that would only increase his confusion. “Have you asked her about it?”
“She said it was her most precious possession.”
“Don’t read more than that,” Logan advised, and put two cards on the table. “Hit me.”
“But I don’t get it,” Remy gave him two cards. “The room where I sleep?”
“What about it?”
“There are men’s clothes hanging next to hers.”
“Those are yours.”
“They are too big for me.”
“You’ve been unwell,” Logan pointed out. He only had three jacks. “But trust me, they reek of you.”
“I… eh…” Remy babbled, planting his hand on his temple. Logan wondered how he could have a full house already. “Head’s killing me!”
“That’s because it’s past your bedtime,” Logan said, tossing the cards to the table.
The wolf whistle startled her. Rogue almost dropped the earring.
“Dressed to de nines and purty as a picture,” Remy, leaning on the rail, gave voice to his appreciation. He had been doing it more frequently lately.
“I’ve a meeting with the Mayor, Sugah,” Rogue said, fixing the earring to her naked earlobe. “I need to show my best side…”
“Keep us in the loop,” Wolverine said, lifting his coffee mug.
“Count on…” she started speaking, but then she noticed her husband’s strange expression. “Remy?”
His eyes were fixed, with a haunted expression. His lips slackened and the piece of toast in his hand trembled. Rogue took a step toward him, extending her naked hand without thinking. Remy moved his lips, but no sound escaped his mouth.
“Gumbo!” Logan barked. His voice sounded panicked.
The sound of his weight made the veranda shake, and Remy blinked slowly. Then, Rogue noticed it. The toast was glowing pink under the morning sun.
“Toss the toast,” Logan commanded, turning Remy toward the open space in front of the house. “NOW!”
Remy finally noticed the grenade in his hand and he tossed it with an elegant flick of his wrist. He was on his knees, holding his head even before the toast made a twin crater to match the one Sadurang carved on their front lawn. Remy was shaking and moaning with his hands buried in his hair.
“Don’t keep the Mayor waiting,” Logan said, kneeling next to Remy. “I’ll take care of this.”
“Are you sure?”
“I can manage,” Logan assured her, and his expression told her it was the best for Remy.
Rogue dithered for half a minute before Logan dispatched her with a hand wave. Struggling at the thought of leaving Remy suffering, she took two steps back before gaining flight.
The wind scattered her tears through the swamp.
Night had fallen when Rogue returned to Haven House. Her business in the city was concluded quickly and without pain; hearing political empty promises was never a protracted affair. She spent the rest of the afternoon hitting stores, trying new outfits, drinking coffee… pretending that the love of her life remembered her and waited for her. Returning home, knowing his powers were out of whack, felt worse than pulling teeth.
The house was quiet when Rogue pushed the seldom locked door. She didn’t bother climbing up the stairs; she floated over them to avoid making noise. As a distraction, she checked on the kids. She found them all on their beds, accounted for and safe, but there were signs. Calico was clutching one of Remy’s shirts; a stack of medicine books burdened Jitter’s nightstand. Ransom was sleeping rough Deathdream was actually asleep, a situation so strange they seldom witnessed it.
Finally, she pushed the door of their room. Rogue had been camping with Jubilee since the emergency, but their room had been kept more or less the same to jog Remy’s memory. The moonlight highlighted the planes of Remy’s sleeping form. She felt the tug toward the bed, the need to pull him closer to her chest, to feel his breath against her skin.
“I hit him with something Beast left behind,” Logan’s voice almost made her jump out of her skin. “I consulted McCoy first.”
Rogue took a step back and closed the door. If Beast needed to be called, this medical development couldn’t be good. Logan didn’t give her time to think; he got into her space and began to walk toward the stairs. Confused, Rogue took a step back.
“It was a convulsion. His brain overheated, Rogue,” Logan almost growled as he imparted the information. “He tried too hard to remember something and hit a scar inside his brain.”
“What are you trying to say?” Rogue almost hissed. For some reason, it felt like Logan was blaming her.
“Stop.” The word was an order, no way around it. “I need you to look at something.”
Without another word, Logan handed her his phone. On the screen, there was a close-up of her during her wedding day. She was smiling, with her hair tumbling over her ear. The fleeting question of where Logan got that picture crossed her mind, but then she remembered Jubilee was in attendance, and Gabby too.
“What are you trying to say?”
“To your right.”
Anna Marie turned her head to the right and looked at her reflection. Her hair was tucked in a bun and a barrette held her bangs. The earrings were different, long curly pieces of metal instead of three balls and a pendant. But there was enough to make the connection.
“Don’t lose hope, darling,” Logan said, recovering his phone. “Under his confusion, despite his lesion, that man loves you so much he’s losing his head.”
Without another word, Logan turned around. As the sound of his footfalls filled the hall, Rogue blinked slowly to hold back the tears.
“J’ai la quéquett’ qui colle,” Remy sang, brushing the dishes with suds. Apparently, the epilepsy drugs added to his meds unlocked the French after three days. “J’ai les bonbons qui font des bonds. J’ai la quéquett’ qui coll’ Ah! Dansons sur le pont d’Avignon.”
“Watch your mouth,” Logan warned, smiling at the dirty ditty. “Calico might know French.”
The bright smile on Remy’s face was almost endearing. “C’est vrai?”
“I don’t know, sugah,” Rogue commented with a smile. “It could be. She’s into ballet and that fancy horsing.”
Remy chuckled and returned his eyes to the dishes. Rogue fought the urge to caress the back of his neck; she had been used to the casual touch. Since the emergence, Remy had been keeping his distance and almost fell into panic attacks each time she extended her naked hand toward him. Today, Rogue was wearing long sleeves; her gloves were tucked on her waistband.
“Eh? Chérie?” Remy called out, stopping his washing. “Did I ever gift you earrings? Silver rhomboids with a blue gem?”
Logan grunted; Rogue almost let go of the dish she was drying.
“No, sugah,” Rogue said slowly. “But I had a pair like that once. Betsy gave them to me.”
“I dreamed of the earrings,” Remy said, lifting his head with his eyes fixed on the windowpane. “I dreamed I would dance with you.” His hand began to shake, splashing the soapy water. “I dreamed about being happier than I’d ever been...” Tears rolled down his cheek. “Impossible dreams are cheap.”
“That’s it,” Logan intervened before Rogue could get emotional. “You’re tired, Cajun. Time for a nap.”
Rogue laughed; she couldn’t help it. Bored with the picnic, Kurt and Remy had been challenging each other to acrobatic stunts. Remy had kept the pace for ten minutes as the aerial pirouettes and jumps became more complex, but the last one proved to be too much. Remy fell face-first before he could find a place to brace himself. They were luckily practicing on soft swampland, covered with new grass. Remy himself got up, brushing himself off and laughing.
“Does my pain amuse you, chérie?” Remy asked, plopping by her side.
His dejected expression could be a ruse or real; it was hard to know these days. Logan sniggered as he poured Calico another glass of lemonade. Jubilee leaned to his side and rubbed his shoulder in silent consolation.
“Of course not, Sugah,” Rogue protested, shaking her head. “It surprises me you failed that hard.”
Logan had raised his head; his eyes locked on Remy. As discreetly as she could, she stole a glance. Remy’s eyes were closed; his chest expanded, as if he was holding his breath. Her heart tumbled against her ribs, but he opened his eyes with a smile.
A couple of minutes later, his hand rested on top of her gloved hand.
The screen flickered and the colorful animation threw itself into a musical number. Remy stopped shuffling cards and dealt five to Ransom and Logan; his own cards appeared in his hand with a flourish that extracted a clapping bout from Jitter. Confused, Deathdream did his best to clap, although it was clear he didn’t understand the reason for the accolade.
They played a hand of poker while the princess poured her heart from the screen. Kurt was perched over the back of the couch, trying to guide Ransom’s strategy. Logan was not playing to win; his eyes were trained on Remy’s foot. He had been following the rhythm with soft taps on the carpet.
“Don’t start a ruckus during the movie,” Rogue warned, bringing two bowls overflowing with popcorn.
“You won’t hear a peep from me,” Logan said, rearranging his cards to hide his smile.
“Thanks for the ‘corn,” Remy said and turned; out of the blue, he leaned in to land a peck on Rogue’s cheek.
The adults in the room froze—Remy first. He had caught himself in the act and his pupils were big with panic. His lips too close to Rogue’s rapidly reddening cheek for his comfort. Kurt’s mouth opened in a silent circle, Jubilee’s hand clutched Deathdream’s shoulder, and Logan looked at the scene with the detached look of a predator.
Remy was the first to react. His cards were tossed to the pile as he got up without finishing that kiss. His long strides toward the kitchen were drowned by the song’s crescendo. Rogue stood there, not quite seated, not quite straight, but completely bewildered. Kurt tapped Logan’s shoulder and followed Remy.
“Rogue,” Calico called, pulling her down. “It’s OK.”
“Wow,” Ransom said, recovering the cards. “It was almost like normal.”
“I think it is sweet he tried,” Jitter added, sitting on Remy’s spot and tossing her arms over Rogue’s shoulders.
“Thank you, kids,” Rogue accepted the comfort and kissed both girls before getting up. “I’m OK, don’t worry.”
Logan grunted and rested back. Ransom began to try to shuffle the cards in the style of Remy. Rogue was crossing the kitchen door when Logan’s laughter caressed her ears. From the well-lit kitchen, Rogue could see Kurt and Remy on the backyard deck. She stopped by the doorway, unsure if she should interrupt whatever was happening between them.
“Mais, je l’aime plus que la vie elle même. Je l’ai presque touchée. J’ai presque…” Remy said, resting his head on the rail. “Je l’ai presque condamnée a vivre avec mes erreurs.”
“Mon frère, ne t’inquiète donc pas. Tu ne l’as point fait,” Kurt said. One of his hands was resting next to Remy’s hand while the other warned Rogue not to approach. “Il est tout à fait naturel de chercher un instant de tendresse…”
“Non,” Remy denied, shaking his head. The moonlight was enough to show the patch of short hair on the back of his head. “Pas quand t’aurais pu faire de sa vie un véritable enfer.”
“Rémy, Il n’y a qu’un seul homme pour elle au monde,” Kurt said as he pulled Remy softly from the rail before pointing at him: “C’est toi.”
Remy jerked back as if that finger was an accusation before he let out a low chuckle and his eyes fell to the dock. Rogue was too far away to tell, but Kurt’s smile made her hope there was a blush.
“Est ce que je t’ai déjà menti ?” Kurt said softly, extending his hand toward Remy’s shoulder. “Allez. T’as grand besoin de sommeil.”
Rogue watched them disappear in a cloud of brimstone. Once the deck was left vacant, she stepped outside, looking up at the moon. Her head was filled with questions, but her heart was threshing grains of hope.
Rogue looked at the bed one last time. Remy was sleeping as deep as he could with one hand rising and falling every time his belly moved. Sleep was good for his poor, battered brain, but she missed her husband so much it almost hurt. In the darkness of the room, she changed her sweaty shirt. The chain around her neck with Remy’s wedding band swung from her neck as she applied another coat of antiperspirant and opened the closet.
Then, she stopped.
She was spoiled for choice. Dozens of tops in every color lay spread at her disposal, yet none of them felt right. Her hand reached to the other side of the closet, less populated, but more attractive. Her fingers caressed Remy’s Saints mesh jersey on its hanger; it was light enough for the sweltering heat. She pulled it free and buried her face in it. Detergent couldn’t wash away the faint whiff of his body. She closed the door and moved out of the room, slipping the jersey over her head.
A bank holiday was the quietest time in Haven House. The St. Juniors usually took a short family trip, probably to give Chelsea time away from all the X-madness. Jubilee and the Outliers liked to raid the mall. This time Logan wanted to do some personal shopping and Kurt tagged along. The whole house was free for her and Remy.
She caressed the back of the sofa on her way to the kitchen; during a normal bank holiday, they would sit together to catch up with Remy’s sci-fi shows, topping up their cuddle and kisses tab, and enjoying their time together. Sometimes, they would even fit a bit of afternoon delight into their crammed agenda. This time, Rogue would follow in the footsteps of many Old South wives and would bake a pie. Remy’s memory might be a sieve, but his eyes still lit up with pleasure when he had a bite of her pie in his mouth.
She sieved the flour and mixed the salt before grating frozen shortening into it. The familiar sensation of the dough taking form under her fingers was strangely soothing; with each spoonful of cold water, her heart beat slower. She rolled the dough with care; for years she had ruined more than one batch by using too much strength. She had learned moderation, and as she filled one of Alice’s baking pans, her smile signaled her success.
The crust went into the freezer, and she began working the filling. She creamed the butter and sugar by hand. She added syrup, eggs and vanilla with care; each new ingredient filled the kitchen with a symphony of sweetness. When the mix was soft to her taste, she began chopping pecans. She could leave them whole, but Remy liked the texture of finely crushed nuts with his praliné, and her strength rendered the effort almost negligible.
So engrossed she was in her labor that the fingers caressing her back spooked her. She shot her head up and met with the ghost of Remy’s burning eyes on the glass. His whole hand spread over the line of her bra band and his warmth made her breath shudder.
“I didn’t know you were such a fan, chérie,” Remy said in a soft whisper. Lust made his voice dark and syrupy, like a praliné mixture flowing onto wax paper. “I’m tempted to believe it’s my smell you like,” he continued and his thieving fingers cupped her tit. “A man can dream, non?”
“Remy…”
“Don’t you worry none,” he cut her short while his other hand caressed her flat belly. “I’ll just touch de shirt. I wear it right next to my skin, me…” The thought trailed off with a sigh as his adventurous fingers traced the curve of her nipple. If hunger wasn’t nagging her, Rogue would be almost shy at how quickly those little bits of flesh perked up in attention. “Dis is almost like... like my skin is touchin’ yours, chère.”
“Sugah,” Anna Marie almost moaned. His soft touch made her knees weak and drove the pecans completely out of her mind.
“I love you, Rogue,” Remy said, trailing his lips over her shoulder. The vibration traveled through the thin fabric. “I need you more than de very breath in my own lungs...”
“Remy LeBeau!” She almost shrieked, pushing him off with a soft bump of her bum. “Control yourself!”
Remy took the hint. His footsteps were the counterpoint of their jagged breaths in the kitchen. Anna Marie turned slowly, trying to stop the frantic pace of her heart. Remy stood in place, looking at her with eyes so dark with lust he looked almost dangerous. His fingers were trembling; despite his confused brain, he was respecting her boundaries. That only fanned the flames of the tinder he had lit up.
This was her husband longing for her almost as much as she longed for him.
“Take it easy, Cajun,” she said as her fingers unhooked her bra.
“Chère?” Remy asked in a breathless tone. His chest heaved when she removed her arms from the straps.
“I want to enjoy this.” She took off her bra and dropped it to the floor. “So go at it gently.”
The faint click of the hooks on the wood rang clear through the air. Remy received the sound and shook like a tuning fork. Anna Marie had the time to take a couple of deep breaths before he approached and pressed his hands on her ribcage. Almost elegantly, he heaved her onto the counter. Anna Marie had the presence of mind to shove the pecans out of the way.
Remy’s hand roamed her now-free tits. Each one of his deep breaths made her shiver. His caress dragged the light fabric over a skin so alive with sensation it almost broke out in goosebumps. His eyes locked on hers as his thumbs pressed and teased her nipples with the habit of years of marriage. His memory might be gone, but he knew the meaning of the sigh that escaped her mouth.
His hands slid under her armpits as he dipped his head. He wasted no words; his lips were engaged in a sweeter task. Each flick of his tongue reverberated through Anna Marie’s flesh; he always knew how to pluck the most sensitive parts of her nerves and make them sing their sweetest tones. His fingers caressed her back, sometimes tracing the line of her shoulder blades, sometimes running over the muscles covering her ribs. Through the haze of her desire, she noticed his thumbs were still.
“Move your hands up, sugah,” she demanded when his breath caressed the drenched fabric.
“Non,” Remy denied, changing his target. “You ticklish…”
That word fell over her head like a bucket of cold water; if he noticed, that didn’t stop him. He learned she was ticklish during their honeymoon, before that they had little time for extended explorations. Remy prompted her to open her legs by running his finger through the central seam of her shorts; to keep her balance, she planted her foot in his hip. This new angle allowed Remy to play the rough fabric against her rapidly softening flesh. Anna Marie felt her breath shuddering, she wanted more.
So much more.
“Gambit,” She called out, tapping her feet against his body.
“Oui?” Remy stopped completely, turning his whole attention to her face.
“Do you see this?” Anna Marie said, lifting her hand and letting the light get to the diamond.
Remy’s brow furrowed and his eyes went soft. Slowly, he let go of her and took two steps back.
“You belong to someone else, non?”
“No, Sugah,” she said, refraining from flying to his side. “I told ya it was my most prized possession, didn’t I?”
“Dat’s a weddin’ ring,” Remy insisted with eyes shiny with welling tears. “You taken.”
“Made completely out of diamond?” Anna Marie tried to keep it amusing, she hated to hurt him like that. “No, Cajun. It’s magic.” She pulled the chain from inside the shirt to show him its match. “If you wear de other half... you can touch me. For real.”
Remy’s eyes lit up with hope. He watched like a hawk as she opened the chain and retrieved the ring.
“Do you wanna wear it?” Anna Marie hooked her ankle to the counter and held the ring with two fingers.
Remy breath hitched. He pressed his lips together before taking a step forward. His usually steady hand was shaking when he extended it, palm up. A begging child’s hand in want of mercy. Anna Marie looked into his eyes and let it fall. Remy took a quick step back, his eyes roamed the whole circle with the appraisal look of a seasoned thief. Then still shaking he slipped in his finger; her heart almost sang to see that sacred relic of their love back in his hand.
“It fits me.”
“Magic,” Anna Marie insisted with a cheeky shrug.
Remy looked at the ring, then at her. His breath was so rough he shook with each inhalation. With thieving grace, he took a step toward her, extending a hand shaking with hope toward her face. His fingers touched Anna Marie’s cheek, spreading his natural warmth.
“I can touch you,” Remy said with a marveled whisper as he cupped her face. Happy tears rolled down his face. “Pas digne…”
Anna Marie didn’t even try to decipher the French; she extended her hand and pressed her fingers against the scar in the back of his head. Her lips latched to his with hunger and gratitude. Remy kept caressing her face, tracing the lines of her face; it behooved Anna Marie to guide his hand toward the zipper of her shorts. Remy’s smile when he lowered it so slowly that they could feel each tooth unlatching was more luminous than the sun outside the kitchen window.
They kissed in earnest as his thieving fingers slid over her soft, warm and slick folds. Each of his teasing touches tore a moan that he hastened to catch with his eager mouth. She rocked her hips, trying to press the heel of his hand against her throbbing nub; he chuckled and used his free hand to catch one of her breasts. The soft yet insistent pressure of his hand, the almost casual way his thumb brushed her nipple were maddening. Anna Marie held his head against her shoulder and let out a triumphant cry.
When Remy’s hand abandoned her breast, it went directly to her bottom. Anna Marie knew that movement and lifted her weight from the counter, allowing him to swipe her shorts from under her. Remy tossed her shorts over his shoulder and knelt. While she was still unstable, he brought her down and buried his face between her parted legs. Anna Marie held her weight against the counter, tossing her head back as she sank into the haze his most devoted kisses squeezed out of her flesh.
Before her cup could spill, Remy got back up, pressing her legs around his body. Anna Marie crossed her legs behind him and passed her arms over his shoulders. His shuddering breath got lost among the locks of her hair. Frantically, she clawed the tank top off his back; trying to help, Remy took a couple of steps back and bumped against the table. The exquisite friction of his hard flesh against her core made her ravenous. As she unfurled his shirt over her head like a conquering banner, she freed one of her legs and reached for the floor.
Remy extended his hand, searching for a spot to brace himself. It landed on one of the chairs, making it spin. Anna Marie saw her chance, latched her fingers on his waistband and pulled his shorts down. The most concrete proof of his love for her sprang free and nuzzled it as she pushed Remy down onto the chair. It wasn’t a hard task. Desire had turned Remy’s knees to jelly.
On her knees, she contemplated her husband. Remy was naked, blushing a lovely shade under his stubble and twitching with desire. She pushed his knee aside and, courteous as always, Remy obliged. His foot left the bunch of clothes and hooked on the side spindle, giving her space to work. With her thumbs, Anna Marie pulled the front of the jersey behind her head and gave him a mischievous smile. When Remy smiled back with his wickedest grin, she brought forward her breasts and pressed his hard-on between them.
With a soft grunt, Remy darted his hand and caressed her face as she rubbed her tits over his twitching cock. She leaned into his caress and flickered her tongue against the round head peeking between her breasts. Remy tossed his head back and trembled while holding back a moan. While he was distracted, she closed her lips around his tempting hard cock. Her tongue twisted, searching every fold; she had dreamt of his unmistakable taste for months.
Broken French phrases were escaping Remy’s lips when she finally had enough of teasing him. She jumped to her feet, pulled her panties down and floated toward him. Remy was already extending his hands, welcoming her to his lap. She sat on his legs and wrapped her arms around his head as their lips met again. They kissed with the taste of his longing and the fire of her waiting.
They worked like a well-oiled machine. Remy’s hands, without prompting, found their spot supporting her bottom. She heaved her weight by balancing on his hipbones. When his cock slotted into her warm folds, they clicked like the bolts of a lock. As Anna Marie ground her hips, he buried his face in her bosom. The bottom of the jersey flapped against her buttocks with each hip thrust.
“J’adore, ma colombe,” Remy whispered, raising his head to meet her eyes, ready to surrender to the pleasure.
Those words she had waited months to hear tossed her over the brink. Between the arms of her beloved, Anna Marie arched. The cry that left her mouth was more a challenge to fate than a grateful expression.
The kids ran toward their room carrying their purchases upstairs. Jubilee and Kurt were making small talk in the front yard; they had spent the whole ride arguing about cookie flavors and this seemed to be a continuation of the same. Logan entered the house and stopped. Under the overwhelming smell of hot pecan oil, his nose detected something primal, almost animal. The smell was fading; the trail was an hour cold or so.
Trying to be unassuming, Logan surveyed the common areas. He had expected a touch of destruction, at least a broken glass, but everything seemed to be more or less in place. His nose drove him to the kitchen. The smell was stronger there, mingled with the sticky aroma of caramel. The back door was open. Rogue was standing on the deck, apparently absorbed in her thoughts.
“Where is Gumbo?” Logan asked, crossing the doorway. “I came back ready to toss ‘im into de sack.”
“He’s sleepin’,” Rogue said. The wind toyed with her hair as she sipped coffee from a pink mug. “We fucked.”
The next three steps Logan took were particularly heavy. He stopped next to her and placed his elbow on the railing.
“What.”
“I rode ‘im harder than a bareback bronc,” Rogue replied, looking right into Logan’s eyes. “You need me to draw ya a diagram?”
Logan almost smirked. He always liked that side of Rogue. Despite how amusing he found her question and her bravado, he should check to see if she was aware of the implications of that reckless choice.
“That’s your man and your business,” Logan finally said, diverting his eyes towards the swamp. “But you’re playing with fire. The guy doesn’t even know what year it is half the time.”
“We can’t keep paddin’ his way forever.”
“I’m just questioning the wisdom of overloading his brain. Ain’t exactly a safe bet.”
“Maybe it was not wise, but it felt right.” Rogue matched his posture after another sip of her coffee. “He’s still in there, somewhere. Gambit’s lost his way, I know... but at least now he knows where he belongs.”
“For people without a mighty powerful healing factor, the road is long, darling.” Logan paused. “And tortuous.”
“Then I’ll walk with him every blessed step of that long road ‘til he reaches home. And if he never remembers everythin’? Well, then we’ll just deal with it together.”
“In sickness and in health…” Logan snarked. The smile touched his lips almost against his will.
“No. We didn’t go for those traditional vows,” Rogue corrected him, pushing herself away from the railing. “I promised to always find my way back to Remy. I’m just tryin’ to honor my word.”
Rogue walked back to the kitchen to mind her pie.
A dark room was a weird experience. Since they arrived at Haven House, the sun warming her bed was one of the little pleasures she enjoyed every day. Remy’s injury required darkness and silence to help his brain heal; heavy curtains were placed over a blackout shade before they even brought him back from Alaska. She could stand the darkness for the chance to share his warmth. His hand darted toward her hair as soon as she shuffled against him. Remy’s thieving fingers ran through her hair with a soft and sure caress. His breathing was still deep, heavy with sleep.
“I know I love you,” Remy whispered without stopping his caresses. “I jus’ don’t know how I got so lucky to be right here, chère.”
“We’ll discover it all together,” Rogue promised, resting her head against his chest. “Don’t you worry none ‘bout dat.”
“Is dat a promise?”
“A solemn vow,” Anna Marie replied as she dragged her fingers over the soft patch of hair over his sternum. The diamond ring around her finger caught the measly light of the room.
His deep breath became slow. His brain demanded frequent rest; he drifted more easily into sleep nowadays. Anna Marie closed her eyes without any hurry to start the day. She could enjoy his warm embrace and peaceful sleep for a moment longer.
“People, people!,” Remy called out the next Saturday morning, his voice cutting through the usual racket of the breakfast table. “May I have your attention, please?”
That request had a strange effect on the table. Marcus and Alice looked at him with curiosity; during the whole ordeal they had been chugging along without paying any mind. For them, Remy was an old friend going through a rough patch and nothing else. The kids barely stopped shoveling food into their eager mouths; bless their brains trained in multitasking. Kurt, Logan and Jubilee turned their eyes toward the spot in the kitchen where Remy had dragged Anna Marie. The toast in Jubilee’s hand broke and Logan’s mug shook.
“Ja?” Kurt’s voice was a faint and gentle whisper.
“I just need to let you all know,” he started, his eyes sparkling with mischief. Remy pulled Anna Marie’s ring-bearing hand to his lips. “Dis charmin’ lady and me... we’re an item. In case any of you was still wonderin’.”
“Weren’t you already?” Deathdream asked, tilting his head over his shoulder.
Jubilee let out a decidedly unladylike snort; Kurt chortled in reply. Jitter pulled Deathdream closer to explain to him the nuances of the situation. Ransom punctuated the announcement with a rude ‘duh’ that earned him a playful swat from Calico.
“Took you long enough,” Logan commented before returning to his breakfast with a ghost of a smile across his face.
“Congratulations,” Alice acknowledged with the rest of her Southern politeness.
“May it last many years,” Marcus wished, returning to his grits.
Rogue tried to swat Remy’s chest playfully, but he caught her hand. Gently, he pushed that mischievous hand down and leaned in for a kiss. Their lips met in a brightly lit kitchen, surrounded by the love of the family they had built.
The world seemed to fall back into its rightful place for the first time in months.