. VI .

*

            Rogue woke up late the next morning, feeling groggy and out of sorts.  For a moment she forgot where she was, unused as she was to the dry starchy sheets and the hard bed.  After a few moments of readjustment, she remembered where she was with a groan.  A cheap, seedy motel in downtown New Orleans.  The room smelt dank, musty.  She suddenly longed with a passion to be back in the Xavier Mansion.

            Yawning, stretching and shrugging the kinks out of her joints, Rogue took a look around the room.  The chair that Remy had been sleeping in was empty – a closer look at the cheap clock on the opposite wall told her it was only a few minutes shy of midday.  Groaning again, she rolled out of bed, wondering why she still felt tired.  She was normally such an early riser; even at six in the morning she’d be up, flying with the rising sun.  Remy, on the other hand, was the one to lie in.  And where had he got to?  Getting breakfast, she supposed, as she got into the mouldy shower and swivelled the rusty tap around.  It took a while for the water to heat up, but when it did Rogue was convinced this was one of the best showers she’d had in her life.  Her body still ached from the fight against Sinister and his Marauders the other day; her exhausted limbs needed the comfort the warm water now gave her.  But her mind could not be healed so easily.  For one thing she still felt sore over her break-up with Joseph; for another, the last vestiges of the Carol Danvers personality were still flitting around her brain like a misplaced seed fluttering on the wind.  It was Carol that had brought Rogue here, to Remy’s aid – and although the urgency of Ms. Marvel’s premonitions had dulled somewhat, their insistence still tugged at her, haunted the edges of her consciousness.  She couldn’t let Remy stay down here anymore.  She had to get him back to the mansion, to safety.  Convincing him to do so was another matter.

            It was later, after she had left the bathroom and was combing the knots out of her wet hair, that he returned.

            “Breakfast,” he announced, placing the food on the nearby coffee table.

            They settled down to eat, mostly wordlessly.  Rogue wasn’t in the mood to talk – her head ached, and she still felt drained.  She noticed that Remy had brought her favourites – beignets and coffee – she didn’t know whether to take it as a sign of kindness or something more.  It irritated her that she could never be too sure with him.  Flirtation was like a second nature to him.

            “So,” he began, sitting back in his chair. “How’re you feelin’ today?”

            “A little better,” she conceded, draining the entire cup of coffee in one draught. “Ah think ah’ve managed to hold back most of Carol’s characteristics.” She placed the cup down, realising that she’d needed the short high it gave her badly.

            “Good,” Remy replied, pouring her more coffee.  She eyed him suspiciously, but he tactfully avoided her gaze.

            “Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’,” he began, casually.

            “What?” she asked, biting into her beignet.

            “How ‘bout we do somethin’ today?  Go out, have some fun?”

            “An’ where exactly did this idea come from?” she questioned archly.

            “Rogue, you been stuck indoors sulkin’ for days now.  It ain’t healthy.” He looked at her seriously. “You need t’ get out for a while, readjust, relax.  It’ll help you recover from dis whole Carol Danvers t’ing a whole lot quicker.”

            “So what’re you suggestin’?”

            “I dunno.  Mebbe we take a walk in de park.  Or mebbe we hit de town, show dese people how to dance.”

            “Ah don’t think ah’m ready for that,” she replied in a low voice, looking away.  The thought of being with all those people, the crowds of heaving, sweating, gyrating bodies made her want to retch.  Even with her powers gone, after her recent experiences the thought of dancing in a club frightened the hell out of her.

            “Den howzabout I take you to dinner?” he persisted, leaning forward. “C’mon – a nice quiet night in a nice, fancy restaurant.”

            “Are you kiddin’?” she threw back at him, “What am ah s’pposed to wear?  All ah have are these shirt an’ pants of yours.  Those an’ that goddamn awful costume Carol chose.”

            “I dunno,” he remarked innocently, “I thought it kinda suited you.” The gleam in his eye told her he thought a lot more than just that. “ ‘Sides, what’s de big problem?  I take you to de boutique, you buy yourself a dress.  How’s dat sound, eh?”

            “Why’re you doin’ this?” she levelled at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

            “Can’t a friend be concerned ‘bout a friend?” he asked, raising his hands in self-defence. “Rogue, I’m worried ‘bout you.  You been mopin’ round ever since you got here.  You’ve hardly even spoken to me.  I just want you to be happy, y’know?  So lemme treat you, ‘kay?  We do whatever you want.” He paused as she stared at him, still unconvinced. “So you tell me, huh?” he continued relentlessly. “What you wanna do?  Drown your sorrows in some dingy bar?  Sing your heart out at de karaoke?  Or mebbe vent out your frustrations wit’ some bungee jumpin’?  You want it, I take you dere.”

            Despite herself, Rogue laughed.

            “You jus’ don’t give up, do you?”

            “Some t’ings you gotta give up on, chere,” he answered seriously, with a whole wealth of implied meaning. “But dis,” he grinned charmingly at, “I ain’t gonna take no for an answer.”

            “Okay, okay,” she relented, throwing up her hands. “Ah give in.  But you’ve got t’ promise you’ll do whatever ah say.”

            “Promise,” he said solemnly, making a quick sign of the cross. “No clubs, an’ no dancing.  So how ‘bout de bungee jumpin’?”

            “Shut up,” she scowled at him, throwing a leftover crumb of her beignet at him, which he ducked deftly.

            “Ooh, look at dat,” he joked, resurfacing with a wide grin. “I do believe she’s recovered.”

            “You’d better hope not,” she muttered, throwing another crumb at him for good measure.

*

            They left by late afternoon, primarily on a quest to buy Rogue a new dress.  She had decided to accept his invitation to dinner, and his offer to buy her the appropriate clothing.  It was not the sort of offer she would have turned down anyway, but she was more than just mildly surprised when he took her to the most expensive boutique in town.

            “Remy, this is not necessary,” she said as he ushered her inside the shop.

            “C’mon, chere, indulge me.  Non, forget dat, indulge yourself.  What you want, I get.”

            “How can you afford it?”

            “Chere, I’m a t’ief, an’ de t’iefs run dis town.  Now are you gonna choose somethin’ or not?”

            Naturally it took Rogue a good hour or so to decide on something.  Remy was little help, deciding he liked her in everything she tried on.  After a while she became infuriated, wondering why it was so vital to her to have his approval anyway.

            “Ah would sure appreciate some constructive crit here,” she frowned at him when she’d tried on her ninth dress.

            “I dunno, chere, dey always say it’s wise to tell a lady she looks fine in whatever she wears,” he replied lazily.

            “Well, it ain’t helpin’ me much, mistah.  Now are you gonna be honest or not?”

            “All right, all right already,” he cried. “I was only tryin’ to please you.”

            “Yeah, right,” Rogue muttered, stalking back into the fitting room.

            “Women,” Remy mumbled to himself under his breath. “You jus’ can’t win wit’ dem.”

            Two more dresses later, Rogue finally decided on a simple jade green silk dress that came modestly down to just above her knees, except for a single slit that reached daringly up to her thighs.  The low neckline was held in place by six spaghetti shoulder straps, and the cut hugged the curves of her figure in just the right places.  She glanced at herself in the full-length mirror for a while, liking the classy look of the gown, enhanced by just a hint of suggestiveness.  A wicked smile played across her face.  She’d have her revenge on Remy yet.  She’d make him gawk at her that stupid way he did, and she’d enjoy the helplessness on his face as she made him suffer.  Tantalized by the thought, she strode out of the cubicle, her expression jubilant.

            “Well, swamp snake, whaddya think?”

            She posed outrageously for him, and he stared at her, for a second entirely lost for words.

            “You want my honest opinion?” he finally forced out.

            “Of course.” She turned, flashing that all-important trace of thigh.

            “Well,” he swallowed. “You look…nice.”

            “You don't sound too enthusiastic, sugah,” she grinned at him, “Maybe I should try on another one.”

            She made as if to turn, but he stopped her.

            “No, Rogue, de dress would be…” He stopped, staring openly at her legs again. “…Just perfect.”

            “You think?  Ah wasn’t too sure about it mahself, but hey, if y’ think so then…Oh, what the heck, ah’ll take it.”

            Needless to say the store clerk was more than relieved when they had at last paid and left.  The weather was warm outside, and Rogue hung a thin shawl about her shoulders for modesty.  She felt a lot better since the incident at the boutique, almost her old self again.  There was a lightness to her step and a smile on her lips that she had not worn in days.  She had to admit that Remy’s idea to get out of the motel had been a good one.  It was somehow exhilarating to step out into the world, to feel the breeze on her bare skin, to have no care or worry, even if only for a single day.  With a sigh she lifted her head and breathed in the mild evening air.

            “Ah, so you be smilin’ now,” Remy remarked from beside her.  They were walking towards the banks of the Mississippi, to one of the fanciest restaurants in New Orleans.

            “Can’t help it if ah’m feelin’ like smilin’, cajun,” she replied, “Even if ah am feelin’ a little…underdressed.”

            “Rouge,” he interrupted quickly. “You look jus’ beautiful.”

            There was an inscrutable look on his face as he said it, and Rogue didn’t know whether to feel flattered on uneasy about his statement.  Not for the first time she felt the tension between them, the tension that had lain between them ever since she’d found herself in this godforsaken situation.  It puzzled her, unnerved her even.

            “Thank you,” she said at last, feeling peculiar about it.

            “You’re welcome,” he grinned at her, and for the moment the uneasiness was gone.

            The restaurant was French, situated by the river in a large white building decorated in an elaborate art deco style.  Unsurprisingly to Rogue, all the waiters already seemed to know Remy.  They did not seem too surprised to see him bringing Rogue in tow either, instead passing knowledgeable smiles and looks to each other.  In truth she was beginning to feel disconcerted at the attention being thrown her way.  For some reason it had never been a problem when she had been unable to touch anyone – with no risk of anything serious, she’d liked to play the men as much as they played her.  She’d always had an excuse for flirting outrageously and getting away with it.  But now she found it almost intimidating to be stared at in the way she was.  If she was approached by anyone, she didn’t know what she would do.

            There was Remy to protect her of course.  But that somehow made matters worse.  At first it had been fun to tease him, but now, in her present mood, she wished she hadn’t been so bold.  It only served to heighten the tension between them.  Rogue didn’t like to admit that she still had feelings for him.  Meeting him again had been an awkward moment for her, bringing to the surface all the emotions that she’d buried for so long.  She had tried to manage with their recent close proximity, only to find those old emotions bubbling to the surface.  Now, as they sat across from each other in a cozy little corner, Rogue realised that this special day out for her had been no more than a veiled attempt to be close to her, and she to him.  She had allowed it because she had wanted it.  She had wanted to remember what it was like to be with him again.

            “You got dat wondering look on your face again, chere,” he said, jolting her from her thoughts.

            “Just feelin’ a bit…y’know, out of place,” she replied, slowly.

            “Fake it,” he grinned. “You’re usually good at dat.”

            How can you pretend, she wondered, exploring the easy look on his face.  How can you act as if there’s nothin’ b’tween us?

            “Ah’m a li’l too nervous for that,” she confessed instead.

            “You want to leave?” he asked.

            “No.  Let’s just get some wine.  Maybe that’ll relax me.” She had no intention of chickening out just when things were getting interesting between them.  Rogue was never one to back out of a challenge.

            “Now we’re talkin’,” he smiled.

            “So,” he began after they had ordered. “How’s today been so far?”

            “Pretty good,” she nodded.

            “Den my idea has not all been in vain, non?” He sat back, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket, lifting it up as if to ask her whether she minded.  She shook her head, and he popped it into his mouth, lighting up with an expensive gold lighter she had not seen before but that suited his Armani ensemble down to the ground.

            “One of your better ones,” she agreed, sipping at the wine.

            “Ah, for you, ma cherie, I have no problem workin’ dis poor brain of mine overtime,” he smirked, taking a drag on his cigarette.

            “Seems so,” she returned, trying not to sound too sly. “Or do you just say that t’ every woman you date?”

            “Hm.” He pretended to think about it. “Only t’ de ones dat trust me, chere.  Far easier to be honest den, don't you t’ink?” There was a self-deprecating note to his tone, as if he were mocking himself.  It was the sort of tone that made her refrain from the jibe she had originally planned in reply.

            “So tell me,” she began lightly instead, “Since you’re bein’ so ‘honest’, why did you really take me out t’ dinner, Remy?”

            He passed her a quick look, an almost imperceptible red gleam flashing in his eyes. “B’cause you asked me to, chere,” he replied at last.

            “You asked me, Remy, ah only agreed,” she returned with a raised eyebrow.

            “Well den, we could go out an’ try de bungee jumpin’, if you’d prefer,” he offered sarcastically.  She scowled heavily at him.

            “No, dinner’s fine, thank you.”

            “I thought so.  Didn’ t’ink dat dress’d be ‘propriate for high jinxes now, would you?”

            “Depends on what kinda high jinxes you mean,” she shot back, smiling wickedly.

            They chatted a while over their food, gradually warming into their conversation.  For a while Rogue almost forgot the walls they had built up between one another, the bitterness, the regret, the anger.  As they sat there and discussed their friends, the X-Men, those who had come to be more of a family to them, the happier times they had shared, it was almost as if nothing had happened.  It was as if the intervening months had been stripped away from them, and they were once more indulging in the early heady days of their friendship-cum-romance.  It had always been that way between them – an irresistible attraction masked under the cover of playful banter and flirtation, denied by the one obstacle that lay indomitably between them – her inability to touch.  What they shared now was nothing more than a play-act – she, with her powers gone and only freshly out of a relationship with another man; he, pretending that he had never said those words to her when they had last parted.  But the danger lay implicit beneath it all, the threat that despite the feigned innocence of their exchange there lay feelings between them that Rogue felt should still remain unspoken.

            But on the other hand, Rogue was caught in a dilemma.  Over the past few days they had spent in each other’s company, the emotions she had tried desperately to bury since her relationship with Joseph had begun to bubble to the surface.  She had tried to hold them down, only to wonder why.  Her powers were gone; her attachment to Joseph was over; she had nothing to lose.  Except, maybe, her pride.

            And to Rogue, that meant a lot.

            “Somethin’ wrong, chere?”

            Rogue started, realising that she had become lost in the gulf of silence that had suddenly emerged in their conversation.

            “Oh, nothin’,” she answered quickly. “Jus’ thinkin’.”

            “Bad habit,” he remarked sardonically, dipping some lobster into the sauce.

            “With that attitude, no wonder you come ‘cross as so dumb, swamp snake,” she retorted, a little too acidly.

            “Dat’s de Rogue I know an’ love,” he smiled.  His tone was easy, but there was an undercurrent to his voice that made her uncomfortable.  An awkward moment of quiet followed, during which Rogue bit her lip, wondering why she had spoken the way she had.  He didn’t deserve it, not after everything she had put him through, but his smart-alec one-liners infuriated her so.  She wished she didn’t find him so damned attractive.

            “There you go, gal,” she thought to herself crossly. “You’ve only gone an’ admitted it to yourself.”

            “An’ here I was t’inkin’ I’d be lightening you up dis evening,” Remy remarked, seeing the frown on her face. “Guess I’m not de master planner after all.”

            “Oh no, this is fine,” she spoke up quickly, “Ah guess ah owe you one, tryin’ t’ cheer me up an’ all.”

            “S’okay.  You’ve been lookin’ like de dog who lost his bone recently.” He paused; and when next he spoke his voice was softer. “I’m sorry t’ings didn't work out b’tween you an’ Joe.  I know t’ings musta been difficult for you, what wit’ all dose mem’ries floatin’ round in your head. S’never easy when a relationship ends.  I jus’ hope de two o’ you can patch t’ings up.”

            That surprised Rogue, just a little.  They hadn’t spoken much about Joseph at all since they had met again, and Rogue had certainly not wanted to go rubbing the relationship in Remy’s face.

            “Remy,” she began slowly, setting down her knife and fork and feeling suddenly embarrassed. “There’s somethin’ ah gotta say…b’fore the guilt starts eatin’ me up…” She paused before continuing quickly. “Ah…ah was in the room that day, b’fore you left the mansion.  Ah told Joe that if you ever came knockin’, he should say ah wasn’t there.  Ah was just too much of a coward t’ face you.  That’s why he lied.” She raised her eyes to look at him. “Ah heard what you said t’ him that day, Remy.  You didn’t have to do that, y’know.  It musta been hard on you.”

            “I meant what I said,” he shrugged, but his eyes betrayed his underlying seriousness.

            “Really?”

            “Really.  I didn’ like him, chere, and I sure as hell didn’ like de thought o’ you two together.  But he was your man, Rogue, an’ if he made you happy, I wasn’t gonna put a spanner in de works, no matter how much I wanted to.”

            So that was the true reason he hadn’t put up a fight, why he’d walked away and left her, left the mansion.  She’d almost resented him for that, for not trying to win her back to him.  She had thought him childish, petulant, immature.  Had she really been so selfish and blind?

            “Tell me I didn’t do wrong,” he said, seeing her expression.

            “No…no, you didn’t Remy.  Joseph…he did make me happy.  Ah don’t regret a single moment the two of us spent together.  Ah guess it just wasn’t meant t’ last.”

            He looked down at his plate, a reflective look on his face.

            “As long as he didn’t hurt you, chere, den it was easier to let go.  An’ dat man, I knew he would never hurt you.”

            “You were right.  He never did,” she answered quietly.  He looked up at her again, his eyes searching.

            “You miss him?”

            “Yes.  But now…” she paused, a little afraid to admit it. “…Less so.”

            “Missin’ someone you love don’t go away easy,” he replied gently.  She caught his gaze for a moment, reading clearly between the lines.

            “No,” she answered finally, firmly. “It doesn’t.”

            Something in that barrier went then, and for the first time in many days, Rogue felt assured.

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