. III .

Morning grew slowly, pushing away black clouds; last vestiges of rainwater streaked across the windowpane, sending a shaft of dappled sunlight across Rogue’s sleeping face. She groaned, twisting onto her side. Her head was throbbing painfully, her nerves were on fire. And the burning sensation on her skin was excruciating. With a cry she sat bolt upright, dropping her pounding head into her hands, trying desperately to still the pain. It was coming back. She knew it, with every fibre of her being. Tears both of sorrow and agony stung her eyes. She didn’t know how she summoned the strength to look at Remy lying beside her, but she did. Asleep. He was asleep, when all she wanted was for him to hold her as she slid back into the old skin from the new. Despair swamped her. Without thinking she sank into him, drawing her arms around him, resting her head against his chest, connecting herself to the beat of his heart, so that she became a part of it, lost and not wishing to ever come back.

Too dangerous. She couldn’t risk hurting him. There was so little time left. Letting go she sat up, looking into his face, running her hands through his hair, and suddenly she was glad he wasn’t awake. It was hard enough to leave him as it was.

“Ah love you,” she whispered, kissing him softly, so softly it made the hot tears in her eyes spill over and onto his cheeks. Gently she wiped them away, willing herself to turn away, not to look back.

Just do it, girl, she told herself fiercely, swiping briskly at her eyes. It was as she slid out from under the covers that the spasm jangled through her, the very fabric of her body racked with a violent pain that shook her to the core and off the edge of the bed. Falling to her knees she forced the scream back into her throat. She didn't want to awaken him, didn’t want him to hear her agony, her anguish. And then suddenly, there was nothing, and the pain was gone as quickly as it had done. She knelt there, breathless, sweat coursing down her forehead. The old skin had grown back over her at last.

She dressed, silent, tears no longer coming to her. She could not even bear to look at him.

It wasn’t until she had left the room and shut the door behind her, that Remy opened his eyes.

*

Later he sat by the lake, perched in that peculiar bird-like way of his on the fence, smoking thoughtfully on a cigarette. There was an odd sense of guilt in him as sat there, crouched, huddled in his duster, red eyes gazing out dully over the waters. He felt guilty for having pretended to be asleep that morning, while Rogue had wept over him, while her powers had come so violently back to her. He had wanted nothing more than to comfort her, put his arms round her and press her to him, telling her that everything was going to be okay, that he would be there for her.

But it had been exactly the knowledge that it would not and never would be okay, that had made him refrain from doing so. He knew that, should he try to console her, she would only have pushed him away, out of fear of hurting him – and the guilt of that would have only hurt them both all the more. And so he had held back from comforting her as he had so wanted to, as every sense in him had told him to do so. The dilemma of such a parting would only have destroyed them.

Remy removed the cigarette from his mouth, blowing the smoke out dismally into the frosty air. God, he’d finally been able to express his love for her, and for what? It had been one night he had fantasized about so much but had given up hoping for. Only the reality had far out-stripped the fantasy. He’d never made love to a woman and come out the other end feeling so fulfilled. He’d also never woken up the next morning to find himself being the one walked out on. It hurt. He knew Rogue had her reasons. He knew she hadn’t wanted to compromise him, to wound him. But God, it hurt. To love a woman that badly, to finally make love to her after all this time (and, he admitted miserably, it had been some damn incredible love-making at that) and not to be able to touch her again – even worse, to be unable to even say good morning and goodbye to her when they woke up. It just wasn’t fair.

He sighed, stumping out the cigarette on the wooden fence. He’d known it would come to this. That they’d confess their love for one another, get carried away, indulge in great sex and then be forced to part ways again. And someone expected them to take this? He didn’t believe in God, so he had no one to rave to on that count. What about genetics – how could he have his revenge on the laws of nature? It was nobody’s fault, and he hated to admit it.

“Damned fuckin’ mutant-haters,” he muttered, jumping down from his perch, knowing they had nothing to do with it but feeling nevertheless better for it. How was he expected to keep his hands off her, now that he knew exactly how delicious she was? How was he supposed to stand it? To be able to recall the taste and perfume of her, but not to relive it?

No. Life, Remy thought, was an unjust thing. And with Rogue the odds had been stacked against him from the beginning, when he was so used to getting what he wanted. He’d never found any use in being petulant about these things. If something didn’t work out, you just accepted it and moved on. But with Rogue, Remy found himself clinging on and simply coming back for more. He had liked to think it was that she had outwitted him in this game he called life.

The truth though, was far more callous, yet painfully bittersweet. Love had been the dealer, and it had outwitted them both.

*

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