. IV .
About an hour and a half later, Rogue was with him on the ice rink and already regretting her decision. It was daunting, to be surrounded by all these people whizzing around like they’d been skating for years. Embarrassing even, to see little kids doing better than she ever could. Worst of all was Remy, who’d done a full lap round the rink before she’d even managed to get tentatively to the edge. She stood there, glowering at him, holding onto the side and trying to keep herself upright.
“Ah hate you!” she cried to him, as he came rushing back up to her.
A playful grin widened across his face as he stopped beside her with an expert easiness.
“Comin’?”
“Y’know ah hate skatin’,” she protested. “Durnit, ah hate winter, period.”
“Aw, come now, chere,” he returned, taking her hand and pulling her away from the edge. “I’ll be right by your side to catch you if you fall.”
He winked at her in that old, familiar, brazen way that she had always found so irresistible. She gave in, allowing him to lead her away, feeling somehow strangely nostalgic. The way he was flirting with her made it feel just like the old days. There was some comforting about it, as well as compelling.
While Rogue had never been one for ice-skating, Remy, on the other hand, was in his element. He whirled and twirled her about with an ease that she did not share, laughing humorously whenever she slipped up. She began to think that it was his way of getting back at her.
“Remy,” she began, when he had pulled her along with him especially vigorously, “D’you think you can slow it down a bit, sugah?”
“What? You don’ find dancin’ wit’ me fun?” he joked, flashing her a grin.
“Y’call this dancin’?” she shouted back at him as he rounded a corner. Losing her balance she promptly fell right back onto her buttocks. “Ouch!”
He stopped, turning and making his way back to her with a smile. “Thought you were invulnerable, chere,” he grinned, holding out a hand to her.
“But you ain’t,” she quipped, taking his hand and getting her own revenge by pulling him down onto the ice with her. He slipped, sprawling on top of her in a most undignified manner. Despite herself, Rogue found herself laughing at the chagrin on his face. It was the heartiest she’d laughed in days.
“If only y’ coulda seen your face, cajun!” she spoke breathlessly, holding onto her stomach. “Talk ‘bout bein’ thrown off balance!”
He looked at her, the blasé look back on his face.
“I dunno,” he replied lazily, “From where I’m lyin’ t’ings don’t seem so bad.”
She stopped laughing, suddenly aware of their closeness, of the heat of his body pressed against hers. A small thrill coursed through her involuntarily. It had been so long since they had been together in any physical sense, so much so that she found herself becoming excited by the feel of him against her now. She blushed hard, hoping he’d think it was the cold. She could not help herself from suddenly wishing that if this had been another place and another time, they would be like this in the comfort of a bed, without all these layers of clothes between them and ideally with a whole lot of passion instead…
He grinned again, backing off and grasping onto a hand, hauling her up onto her feet. In a trice he had crushed her against him, catching her breath away, taking her by surprise.
“Now y’ should see your face, p’tite,” he chuckled. She caught the scent of tobacco on his face, the warmth of his breath on the chill of the air; the hard contours of his chest and stomach against her own body. She swallowed, her limbs suddenly aching. She had the sudden urge to kiss him, but hung back, feeling it would somehow be wrong for her to instigate anything between them. Making up her mind she moved to prise his hands away from her waist.
“Okay, you’ve had your fun, cajun,” she told him archly. “Now can we please get outta here and get a cup o’ coffee or somethin’?”
He resisted her attempts to pull him off her, clutching onto her waist as tightly as he dared.
“Who says I’ve had my fun yet?” he murmured with a predatory grin, leaning in to plant a chaste kiss upon her lips. Taken off guard she found herself swept up in the sudden warmth of his touch, her legs going weak at the long forgone intimacy of the contact. It was only a short kiss, and far less passionate than any of the ones they had shared in the past – but the promise of what those soft lips held, pressed so hard against her own, intoxicated her. For a wild moment she thought they would both throw their arms around one another, give themselves into the passion that still lay so ambiguously between them. But before any such action could be taken on either part, he pulled away from her, his breath catching as icy clouds on the air. For a moment Rogue thought she could see the light kindle in his eyes; then it was gone, and the wry smile had returned to his lips.
“Now we can go get dat coffee,” he grinned.
“You’re incorrigible,” she hissed at him as he released her.
“Incorrigi-wha’? Chere, what else is Gambit for, if not to steal kisses from beautiful women?” he winked outrageously at her.
“You call that a kiss?” she shot at him as he started to skate away.
“Y’ askin’ for more?” he asked, looking slyly back over his shoulder at her.
“Shut up,” she retorted, feeling oddly disconcerted. She still hadn’t quite got over the highly charged sexual tension between them. Her heart was still pounding against the wall of her chest, and the pressure of his lips still tingled on her own. It infuriated her. They’d been alone together for days now, agreeing to work on their relationship as best they could. Rogue had allowed him the space he had wanted. But now it was almost as if he were deliberately toying with her, pushing her away and at the same time drawing her near. So far they had managed to resist their mutual yearnings for one another, and Rogue had been surprised to find herself feeling oddly disappointed. Remy, she knew, was a passionate man, a sexual man. Before he had never given up pursuing her, wooing her or making advances on her. So far they had shared their moments – tender, affectionate moments; touches, hugs, embraces and now this kiss – but nothing near as risqué as she had expected. It troubled her. To make them both suffer like this – when they both still clearly loved each other – must have meant that he was still smarting from her rejection of him. Yet still he hid his pain behind his amiable air and usual quirky sense of humour.
A surge of guilt pierced her. She had never meant to hurt him. In fact, she had only meant to save them both hurt, by breaking the relationship before they would have entered into another stage of their romance where they would no longer be able to touch one another. To her it had been a painful but necessary evil. To him, it had been just one more in a series of rejections.
She couldn’t blame him for his emotional standoffishness.
It still didn’t stop it from hurting.
The cafe sat overlooking the ice rink, bathed in the pallor of a cold light. Rogue and Remy had taken a window seat, sitting opposite one another, warming their hands with cups of steaming coffee. There was an abstract look on Remy’s face as he gazed out onto the whirling dancers on the ice, his eyes oddly dull. Rogue stared at him, trying to keep her expression neutral. She wished she knew how he felt, wished she knew what to say. She resented him being like this, so silent, so solitary. If he was angry with her, why didn’t he shout at her, swear at her, pick a fight? At least then things would be out in the open.
“You wanna talk?” she asked at last, her voice stiffer than she had meant it to be.
“’Bout what?” He gave her that nonchalant look, the look that told her that whatever she was going to say he was going to rebuff it.
“Y’know,” she tried to swallow her growing frustration, “’Bout us.”
“Ain’t nothin’ we ain’t discussed b’fore, Roguey,” he answered, bringing his cup to his lips and sipping the hot liquid. There was a note of finality to his voice that warned her to back off. She bit her lip, attempting to cut off any caustic reply she would have made. Obviously he didn't want to discuss anything at the present moment. She would have to respect that. At least for the time being.
She just couldn’t wait forever.
With a sigh she lifted her mug to her lips, only to burn her tongue on the scalding liquid.
It was even worse by the time they got back to the apartment. Remy was even more silent than he had been before, and for the first few hours she had let him sulk all he wanted. Something had happened on the ice and she hadn’t known what. Was it the kiss? If it was, it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t the one who had instigated it. What had he wanted her to do? Kiss him back, make up and let everything go? If that was the problem, why hadn’t he just told her so? Instead he’d plumped himself down on the sofa, switched on the TV and sat there for a good long while watching the soccer. She wasn’t even aware that he actually liked soccer. It was all most perplexing, not to mention irritating. Sitting cross-legged beside him, cupping her mug of warm cocoa between two hands, she had sat there with a growing sense frustration. Things couldn’t possibly stay the way they were. If he didn’t want to make a go at their relationship, then fine. But she certainly wasn’t going to let it go down without a fight first. On a sudden streak of anger she grabbed the remote control and punched the off switch.
“What de hell was dat for?” Remy cried, leaning over to retrieve the control tower. “I was watchin’ dat!”
“No you weren’t!” she retorted bitingly. “You were jus’ sulkin’! Now are you gonna tell me what’s wrong or not?”
“I don't know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout,” he glowered.
“Yes you do! Why won’t you talk t’ me, Remy?! Ah thought we were here t’ work this out, but whenever ah try t’ talk ‘bout it you push me away!”
“Can’t stand any of your own medicine, dat it, Rogue?” he answered cuttingly. Rogue fell silent, shocked at his words as much as at the acid tone to his voice.
“That ain’t fair, Remy,” she finally spoke up quietly. “Ah had a reason to keep you at arm’s length. Ah only did what ah did t’ stop from hurtin’ you.”
He turned to look up at her, eyes blazing.
“Did you ever once stop t’ t’ink dat mebbe it was de keepin’ me at bay dat was gonna hurt me?” he returned hotly. “How many times did I have to tell you, chere? Dat no matter ‘bout your powers, I’d always be dere for you? It’s never been ‘bout your inability t’ touch, Rogue! It’s always been ‘bout you, only you were too damn tied up in your own self-pity t’ see it!” He stopped, seeing the shocked look on her face, the guilt and shame at the knowledge that he had spoken the truth. He looked away suddenly, his tone growing calmer. “Why d’you t’ink I don’t wanna talk ‘bout dis Rogue? Truth is, I’m tired of fightin’. I’m tired of havin’ words wit’ you, tired of havin’ to prove myself, to justify both myself an’ dis relationship. It’s like everythin’ I do, everythin’ I try can never make it right. I’m fed up, Rogue. I’m fed up of tryin’.”
His words cut her to the core, wounded her more deeply than she’d ever known. His lies, his checkered past, his affairs, his untrustworthiness – all had dealt her injuries in the past. But none had hurt as much as this.
“Y’know, Rogue,” he began again, looking at her. “When you first suggested dis time away from de others t’ sort t’ings out, I was mad. I was mad b’cause as soon as you gain control of your powers, y’ t’ink it’s safe to be wit’ me. Y’ always asked me whether I was willin’ t’ commit t’ you even if I couldn't touch you, an’ I said yes, I could try, for you. Funny t’ing was chere, it was you who couldn’t commit, you who kept pushin’ me away.” He looked away bitterly, the anger within him rising again. “An’ now, everythin’s okay, an’ I’m meant to come runnin’ back t’ you?! Rogue, relationships don’t work like dat. Y’ hurt me, chere! Am I supposed to come back to you wit’ open arms?”
She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat.
“Remy…ah never meant…”
“I know, chere!” he interrupted her fiercely, standing up in sudden frustration. “You never mean it! Neither of us do! But year in an’ year out, you’re allowed to get away with it, ‘cos all your life you been hurt, and you figure that means it ain’t fair for you to get hurt no more! But how d’you think I feel?! Didn’t you ever once stop t’ think about me?!”
For a moment she couldn’t answer. His words, his voice, the way he stood, the way he could not look at her…Until that moment she had not known just how much she had hurt him.
“Don’t do this, Remy,” she begged him desperately. “Please don’t. You’re right. Neither of us shoulda hurt the other, neither of us shoulda done what we did. Please don’t make us hurt even more…”
“Hurt!” She had stood, reaching out to touch him, to comfort him; but he turned, and the wildness in his eyes caught her off guard and she held back, shocked. “Don’t talk t’ me ‘bout hurt, Rogue! You have no right! Shall I tell you why? B’cause hurt is what you left me to, chere, when you turned me out, when you left me t’ deal wit’ Sinister!” He said the name, and something in his voice suddenly broke, and she was amazed and horrified to see tears in his eyes, to see the evidence of all the suffering that she had bestowed on him. Nothing he could have said to her could have distressed her more than what she now saw on his face as he said that name. “You looked so happy when you said you could control your powers, so condescending when you promised that you could give me everythin’ I ever wanted from you! Ain’t you proud dat it was your love also gave me a world o’ pain? Don’t it make your heart glad t’ know that that was the freedom you gave me?!”
He had never spoken to her that way before, so full of reproach, so full of agony. Tears of her own stung her eyelids and spilled onto her cheeks. All the times she had chided him for being unable to show her how he really felt, and now for the first time he had thrown his heart before her, and she realized the depth of the love he had held for her. To see it there, so battered and mangled before her very eyes, the thing she had always thought so precious, caused her more anguish than anything their arduous connection had inflicted upon her before. Each word he spoke rent into her like daggers, daggers she herself had drawn the moment she’d turned him away. She couldn’t bear it. To know that she had killed the both of them, that she had been so cruel to believe that she had been right, that the passion they shared was now built on a love gone stale.
“Please stop,” she pleaded, clutching onto his hand, holding his fingers to her face, weeping, holding on hard because she knew he would not. “Please don't say it…We made so many mistakes, did so much that was wrong…But ah love you…Ah didn’t want to hurt you…Ah never meant it…”
He jerked his hand away, but she held on fiercely – for some reason he did not resist, but the look in his eyes was hard.
“You still can’t say it, can you?” His voice wavered with grief, with disbelief. “You still can’t say that you’re sorry. All de times you pushed me away b’cause I couldn’ say I loved you, an’ now you can’t even say that you’re sorry!” He took her by the shoulders, his grip like steel. “What’s de matter wit’ you?! Are you so damn hypocritical dat you can’t say it?! Is it so damned hard to admit dat you were in de wrong?! Even now, when you stand every risk of losin’ me, an’ you still can’t say it?!”
She surrendered to his grip because it was the only way she could beg forgiveness. She could not even look at him for fear of facing the tears she knew were on his cheeks.
“Ah’m…sorry… So sorry…” she stammered through dry sobs, because she was; she could say no more because she knew how pathetic ‘sorry’ was in the face of all she had done to him.
He could have laughed. He could have hit her. He could have shaken her, or relented and held her, and accepted her feeble apology. To her mind he would have done any of those things, except the thing that he did next. He simply let her go. Let her go and looked at her, with pain and regret and anger and longing in his eyes. She understood then, why he had taken her here, despite everything. She could see the longing in his eyes.
It seemed a long time before he spoke but when he did his voice was calm.
“I know you’re sorry,” he breathed, so oddly calm and quiet. “But it’s too late Rogue, chere. It ain’t enough. Just like love ain’t enough right now.”
He turned, his back to her; he raised his head, thinking.
“What’re you gonna do?” she asked, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater.
“I don’t know,” he answered softly, lowering his head again.
“So…” she ventured again, holding her breath. “Is it over? Don’t you love me anymore?”
“Don't ask me that, Rogue. You know I can’t answer that right now.” He paused before he suddenly reached for his trench coat and pulled it on, turning towards the door.
“Where’re you goin’?”
“T’ clear de air, Rogue,” he answered simply, opening the door. “An’ t’ think.”
One cruel second and he was gone, slamming the door shut behind him.
Alone, in the cold, in the dark, Rogue stood in that room and wept.
*