. II .
Rogue flexed her fingers irritably.
It had been a whole day now and they still hadn’t stopped tingling.
She’d lost her powers and had them return to her before, but never like this. Never with this burning sensation, never with the skull-splitting headaches. She swore to herself viciously, downing the water and two aspirins in one go. She knew how it would be. First the superhuman strength would return. Then the flight. And finally, the devastating ability to drain people’s souls with the merest touch. Hot tears stung the back of her eyelids as she smashed the glass heavily back onto the worktop. She didn’t want it back, didn’t want any of it. She just wanted to be free, to be normal. After everything she had been through, was it still so much to ask for?
“Rogue? Are you all right, child?”
It was Ororo, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, obviously having heard the thud of the glass. Rogue wiped her eyes fiercely before answering.
“Nothin’ ah can’t handle.”
Without any explanation she brushed past the taller woman, hating herself for being so cruel, but unable to face the elder woman’s kindness. She didn’t want anyone’s pity, least of all her own. That she had been caught about to cry was something of a self-betrayal. Burning inside, she made her way back to her room, only to suddenly change direction halfway there and stride towards the front door of the mansion. She couldn’t stand being there any longer, to be under the scrutiny of the others in a house whose walls had ears. She needed to be alone.
She needed to be in the boathouse.
The air outside was chill, laden with a moistness that dug into Rogue’s exposed skin. It had begun to rain. She hugged her arms about her, battling against the cold that had suddenly invaded into the midst of her strange fever. Stumbling down the grassy hill the old boathouse came into view, stark, undecorated, yet somehow comforting in its squat solidarity. Something in her heart stirred – it was a return to a once lost yet familiar sense of security. Quickening her pace she almost ran towards it, like a child back into the arms of its mother. She did not know why she loved this place so. Perhaps it was the idea that, so close to the hustle and bustle of the mansion, existed this place of quiet and solitude, next to the great expanse of water, so calm, so peaceful.
She entered the building, feet creaking on worn floorboards. She stepped inside with a reverence, looking about, lifting her head to sniff the smell of musty old wood. For some reason she was reminded of her home in Caldecott County, where she had once lived in some semblance of normality. When Mystique had still loved and cared for her, when Destiny had been still alive and Rogue had felt truly loved. It was a place and a time when Mystique’s hate and the guilt of Destiny’s death had never haunted her. Her heart ached inside her, surpassing the pain lodged inside her body. More than anything she wanted to be normal. And she wanted to be loved. She had never felt so alone inside before.
Softly she crossed the room, dragging the palms of her hands across the walls, feeling old life in their very substance. She climbed onto the windowsill and pressed her forehead against the cool glass dappled with rainwater. It didn't hurt so much then. Almost nothing did. The guilt, the pain, the love, the physical ache inside her. It was blissful to sit here in the quiet, in peace, in the dim greyness.
“Long time, no see, chere.”
She started, lifting her head and looking in the direction of that familiar voice. Remy stood, framed like a painting in the doorway, his figure enigmatically wreathed in shadows. There was something so delicious about the way he stood there in the darkness, illuminated only by the pale light from the old windows. There was something dark, sinister, romantic, sensual about the way he leaned into the wall and appraised her, eyes glowing softly, watching, waiting like some predator. It was the kind of look she’d taken pains to avoid the past week or so. Especially now, in her present circumstances. She was suddenly breathless.
“Why’re you here?” she asked, almost accusingly, levering herself away from the window. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d been spied upon in her most vulnerable of moments.
“Lookin’ for you, chere, why else?” he replied, stepping out into the pallid light. “Haven’t spoken to you in a whiles. I was goin’ to ask what you were doin’ here.”
“Needed some peace an’ quiet,” she answered peremptorily, looking away from him and out of the window again. Why did she want to be loved yet feel the need to resist him so?
“Some people might t’ink you be avoidin’ dem, Rogue,” he replied softly.
“They may be right.”
She frowned. Here they were, at it again. She knew what this was all about. It was, of course, all her fault. Ever since they’d kissed the week before, she’d done everything she could to avoid bringing up the whole thorny issue of their relationship again. She hadn’t liked to admit that she was scared of her feelings for him. It wasn’t simply that when her powers came back she would be unable to touch him again. It was also that, in the time she had spent with him while being able to touch him, the voracity of her passions had been so overwhelming that she’d scared herself off. Better to push him away, than to have to face the pain she knew would come when her powers returned.
“If dis has anythin’ t’ do wit’ last week…” he began, but she cut him off quickly.
“It ain’t that, Remy,” she lied badly, and she knew it. “Ah just need t’ be alone right now.”
“It is ‘bout last week, isn’t it?” he said. “What did we do dat was so wrong?”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. When she made no move to speak he crossed the room, gently placing a hand over her shoulder. She froze, her breath suddenly deepening. Why did she feel this way? Why did her heart hurt so much, why did it thrum with such ecstasy? Through the dull ache in her body she felt the warmth of each finger through the cotton of her blouse, dispelling the pain that had been haunting her on and off for so many days now.
“You’re so tense, Rogue,” he murmured, and whether he intended it or not there was a seductive element to his voice that suddenly made her shudder. “What’re you so afraid of?”
She was suddenly angry at him, for trying to charm her, for almost succeeding. With one movement she shrugged his hand away – she was too afraid to touch him with her own hands.
“Why are you here, Remy?” she asked him, her tone hard. “Did you come here t’ talk ‘bout this? To taunt me?”
His arm dropped to his side. He looked out of the window, suddenly smiling, his expression wry.
“You t’ink I’m here to taunt you? No woman I ever met thought that b’fore, p’tite.”
She decided to ignore that statement. At least he had backed off. “So why are you here?” she asked him acidly. He looked down on her silently for a moment.
“Actually, I came here to ask you a question.” He paused. “I want you to answer me honestly, Rogue. Have you got precog powers?”
If any of her previous words had caused her to freeze, they were nothing compared to this. Fear suddenly gripped her. How on earth had he known?
“How did you find that out?” she questioned, her voice barely a whisper.
“Came across some information,” he answered obliquely. “But I had t’ know de truth.”
She glanced up at him, recognizing the look on his face. Anger surged within her. “You went pryin’ into Sage’s computers, didn’t you,” she accused hotly. “You had no right t’ do that!”
“I wasn’t lookin’ up anythin’ to do wit’ you, chere, I swear,” he protested. “I jus’ came across de info by accident.” He halted, suddenly enlightened. “You absorbed Destiny, didn’ you.” She didn’t answer, swivelling her head to look out of the window again. Her cheeks were hot. She could not deny it. “Why didn’ you tell anyone?” he asked when she did not speak.
“S’ mah business,” she replied defensively, wishing he would shut up, wishing she had the strength to walk away from him.
“Sage an’ de Professor are thinkin’ dat mebbe it has somethin’ t’ do wit’ de Diaries,” he told her shortly.
“Maybe,” she replied evasively, not looking at him.
“C’mon, chere. You absorbed Destiny. Surely you can find a way t’ stop her. Surely you can see what she’s gonna do next.”
“Ah never developed those precog powers,” she explained quietly, her voice hard. “Ah never wanted to. Ah don’t ever want to.” She didn’t know why he wanted to speak to her about this, why he seemed so eager. She hated those Diaries. She didn’t want to have anything to do with them.
“Chere, what is it?” he asked, gentler now.
“Nothin’,” she said. She knew he would not believe her, but she couldn’t look at him. She was afraid of her feelings for him, what they might make her do.
“Liar,” he stated softly, “First you be tryin’ t’ avoid me, now dis. You wanna tell me what it’s all about?”
“Ah told you, Remy, it’s nothin’!” she persisted, the edge rising in her voice. “It’s jus’ those diaries! You keep on an’ on talkin’ about them, an’ ah don’t want t’ have anything t’ do with them! Ah hate them! Ah don’t want t’ be a part o’ them anymore!”
She halted, realizing the fear that had penetrated her words, the awful evidence of her weakness. She jumped down from the sill, wanting to run; but he caught her, grasping her by the shoulders and turning her around, forcing her to stare into his eyes. Even as their gazes met her stomach lurched and her knees weakened; her heart filled with certain dread and desire.
“Rogue, you don’ have t’ do dis,” he told her urgently. “You don’t have to avoid me, chere. I understand what you’re goin’ through. I understand how much it hurts you to know that it’s your own mother that’s responsible for all dis…”
“You don’t understand!” she cried, and this time the rage was plain in her voice. “Stop pretendin’ that you understand!”
“Rogue, what…?” There was so much confusion in his eyes, so much confusion and love that she couldn’t bear it. She struggled out of his grasp violently, shrugging his hands away from her shoulders, angered at his words and the warmth of his touch, infuriated to hear the evidence of her own shame and remorse. This was her madness; and suddenly she could fight it no longer, she could hide from him or herself no more.
“Don’t you get it?!” she cried wildly, tears stinging the back of her eyelids. “It was mah fault! All this, the Diaries, everythin’ in them…It’s all mah fault!” She covered her face with her hands, ashamed, terrified that all the guilt she felt inside demanded that she should confess it all to him. “Ah was responsible for her Irene’s death, Remy! It was me that killed her!”
He stared at her suddenly shocked into silence, his eyes wide, disbelieving.
“Dat can’t be true, chere…”
“It is!” she cried vehemently, dropping her hands, staring at him through flashing eyes. “You don't know how it was! She was dyin’, Remy, dyin’ by her own hand, an’ there was nothin’ ah could do t’ stop it from happenin’! Ah wanted so badly to connect to her, to love her before it was too late an’ she was gone. Ah was stupid – allowed mahself t’ slip up, only for a second, but it destroyed everythin’. Ah touched her – not even intentionally, just by mistake. Not only did ah permanently imprint some of her power, but ah…ah finished her off… Ah did the job for her.” She began to cry again, unable to help herself. “All ah wanted was t’ be able t’ love her, ‘cos she was mah momma, but instead ah ended up killin’ her, one of the only people that ever loved me.” She allowed herself to weep then, as she’d always needed to, long and loud, unafraid anymore of the violence of her anguish and pain. “That’s why you can’t understand, Remy, that’s why you’ll never be able to understand…”
There was a silence during which only her sobs permeated the cold little room. She wished that he would be disgusted with her, that he would never want to speak to her again, that he would leave. She knew he would not. She knew he loved her too much, despite everything. She knew that above all, he would want to comfort her.
“Rogue,” he spoke at last, his voice low. “You t’ink I can’t understand dat guilt? Even after everythin’ dat went down b’tween Sinister an’ me?”
“It ain’t the same,” she shook her head stubbornly.
“You’re right,” he returned soberly. “It ain’t. You had no idea what you were doin’. What I did, I did out of my own free will.” Gently he reached out for her with one hand, touching her cheek, smoothing away her tears with his thumb. “It wasn’t your fault, chere,” he whispered. “You know Irene would’ve gone anyway.”
To hear his voice, so soft, so dangerously soft, would have been enough for her to fall into his embrace without concern for where such an action would lead them. But still she resisted, stepping away from him, breaking her gaze from the depth of his dark red eyes.
“Remy, please…” she stammered, her cheeks suddenly burning. “Please don’t.”
“Why?” He sounded confused, frustrated even. “Why won't you let me touch you, chere? Dis be de only chance we ever had, an’ I want t’ touch you so much…”
She quivered involuntarily at his words. Every single syllable he spoke drew out the ache inside her, the ache she knew he shared. It was too late, far too late for either of them to act upon it now.
“S’ mah powers, Remy,” she answered quietly, a lone tear streaking down her face. “They’re comin’ back. It’s dangerous…” She trailed off. More than that she could not explain.
“You figure de same t’ing dat happened to Irene is gonna happen to me?” he questioned softly. “Is dat why you kept on avoidin’ me? It ain’t gonna happen, Rogue. All I want is t’ touch you. You need me t’ touch you, chere.”
“It ain’t enough,” she murmured. Her shoulders dropped; she tilted her head sideways and a lock of hair fell down over one pink cheek. He said nothing. He suddenly understood. The meaning was displayed right there in front of him, in the profile of her face, in the way she held herself, so vulnerable, so completely open to him.
It’s dangerous. She had said that not because of Irene but because one touch would never be enough for the two of them, after all this waiting, all this wanting… But now he knew what she wanted, and he knew it so clearly that he could not restrain his desire any longer. This time he reached for her without uncertainty, pulling her into his embrace even though she struggled, holding her because he knew she needed to feel the strength and promise of all he could give her. After a while she stopped fighting him, lifting her head and gazing at him, pleading with her eyes for him to tell her why. He could make no answer. He knew that words would only betray them. All they had was this thing that lay between them, this thing that pounded so strongly in their veins.
Lightning flashed, and in the next moment he had taken her face in his hands, folding his mouth across her own, holding her fiercely as though to dare her to break away. He was neither surprised nor perplexed that she should reach out for him without hesitation, reciprocate his kiss with equal passion, her arms suddenly trembling as she held him closer with a desperation that belied all her inner fear and insecurity. It was with a form of madness that they clung to one another, feeding one another with the secret thing they shared, their urgency leaving them breathless as they finally pulled apart. The look she gave him spoke her helplessness, her submission.
“Ah want you, Remy,” she murmured, her voice suddenly husky, her eyes dark. “Ah want you, but ah was scared…Ah was so scared o’ lovin’ you… Don’t let me scared anymore…” She pressed her body against his, knowing, needing, surrendering, offering. He sucked in a breath, understanding both her desire and her fear. Outside, thunder cracked, rain rattled against the windows on a sharp gust of wind. Her face shone in the brightness. At that moment when he saw the light in her eyes, he knew he would take her.
“Rogue, darlin’, we don’ have t’ do dis. You be a virgin, chere. I might hurt you.” he whispered, tracing her cheek with a forefinger.
“It don’t matter,” she answered softly, leaning into his caress with eyes closed. “Ah want t’ know how it feels. Ah want t’ know how it feels to be a woman. An’ most of all ah want t’ know what it feels like t’ be with you.”
He burned, hearing those words spoken with such urgent eloquence, with such disregard for consequence, for everything outside the moment. Why deny it? It was what he wanted too. Leaning forward he kissed her again, bringing their mouths into liquid union. He claimed her mouth without violence, without arrogance, knowing her own need, her own desire. His fingers, soft, unrepentant, slid underneath the hem of her blouse, touching her waist with lustful delicacy. Flesh connected with warm, smooth flesh; with a single soft sigh she acquiesced, reaching out to wind her hand in his hair, drawing him closer, her body, her senses awakened to him. Not until that second had she realized how much she had needed to know what it felt like to be touched the way he touched her. In that one exchange, all doubt was forgotten.
They broke apart, savouring the taste of one another, reluctant to be separated again. Still his fingers climbed her body, light, curious, moving to caress the softness of her breast through the simple cotton of her bra. She inhaled lightly, her hand still at the nape of his neck, breathing in the scent of him, feeling the warmth of his breath and his cheeks.
“Chere, are you sure…?” he murmured, the caution implicit beneath the hunger in his tone.
“Ah ain’t afraid,” she whispered. “Ah’m only afraid of never havin’ known what it is to have you t’ let go of in the first place.”
There was no reason left to reason. He was afraid of the same thing. Talking was overrated anyway. They already knew they would not turn back. Why pretend otherwise? Instinctively his hands went to her hips, crushing her against him. For a moment the full effect she was having on him pressed hard against her pelvic bone, and she held her breath, understanding his wordless warning and proposal. He held her there, torturous though the position was, held her until her eyes dulled and her breath came hard, and the soft moan escaped from her throat, the sound that signalled her acceptance.
Dipping his head he kissed her, making his promise in the only way they both understood.
*
Ororo must be in some mood tonight, Rogue thought to herself. ‘Cos this storm ain’t lettin’ up any time soon.
It was later, and Rogue lay curled against Remy’s chest, unable – unwilling even – to go to sleep. Still, she had been lulled into a deep sense of security, cradled as she was in his arms, soothed by the lullaby the rain played upon the roof and the windows. Her first night ever, and with the man she loved – nothing could have been more perfect. She had thought he would have found her innocence and virginity unattractive, had been afraid that she would have flinched at his touch; but he had been candid yet gentle with her, understanding that beneath her uncertainty lay a desire that only needed to be tapped. She had been inexperienced as he was experienced, and had worried that that fact would daunt her – but instead she had found his assuredness and confidence incredibly stimulating. She had almost surprised herself with her voracity. Having tasted him, she did not believe that she would ever want anyone else again, much less that she would ever want to leave him.
And therein lay her dilemma.
Here she lay, knowing that slowly, steadily, her powers were coming back. She could feel them, tingling through every nerve in her body. By the next evening it was entirely possible that her leeching ability would return to her – perhaps even earlier. She didn’t want to sleep. She didn’t want to miss out on one moment with him, lying next to him, familiarizing herself with the wonderful touch and scent and taste of him, the man she loved.
“Still awake, chere?” he asked in that drowsy drawl she found so sexy. She had assumed from the regularity of his breathing that he had fallen asleep.
“Mmm-hmm. Don’t want t’ sleep,” she replied, snuggling into him. He remained silent, as if he knew the real reason for her not wanting to do so, but he put a hand in her hair, stroked it lazily.
“How come you ain’t sleepin’ yet?” she asked, looking up into his face.
“Jus’ thinkin’,” he answered, rearranging a few stray locks of white hair that had dripped over and onto her forehead.
“You? Thinkin’?” she joked.
“A man could get de feelin’ you’re mockin’ him,” he stated wryly.
“Ah didn’t mean tah,” she sighed, nevertheless hearing a serious note in his voice. Gently she traced a finger over the sculpted lines of his chest. “If you wanna know the truth, ah was thinkin’ too.”
“I know,” he replied simply, shifting to lie on his back. Wondering at his evasiveness, she climbed up to rest her elbows against his chest, staring down into his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothin’ bad, chere.”
“Anythin’ you want t’ tell me ‘bout?”
“Hmm,” he suddenly grinned in that charming way that no one, man or woman, could resist. “Dat you’re de most amazin’ly sexy woman I ever met an’ dat I want t’ make love t’ you all night long?”
“Now look who’s mockin’,” she frowned. His words had touched a sensitive nerve in her – she was afraid to give herself to him again, afraid that they might hurt one another, afraid to spoil what they had already. He saw the disconcerted look on her face and gently titled her chin between a thumb and finger so that he could view her better.
“Or maybe I’m jus’ t’inkin’ dat I love you, Rogue, mon amant belle,” he murmured, drawing her towards him for a kiss. She sighed, yielding to him. Maybe it was just the fact that she found the way he spoke French so downright seductive; or maybe it was simply the fact that she loved him too, with all her heart.
The kiss was long and passionate, and when it ended they were both breathless.
“S’funny,” she smiled dreamily, “Ah was just thinkin’ that ah love you too, cajun.”
His face turned serious again, and he sighed, holding her face in his hands and assessing her silently. It was the first time she ever thought she’d heard him sigh.
“Are you afraid?” she asked him then.
“Only of losin’ you,” he replied, more honestly than she had ever known.
“Ah’m sorry,” she said forlornly. “Ah shouldn’t have asked for this. Ah shouldn’t have asked for you.”
“Rogue, darlin’,” he answered softly, “ I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”
*