. VIII .
Remy woke the next morning to find Rogue already up, dressed in one of his T-shirts and standing by the window, her back to him. It wasn’t exactly what he had expected.
“Rogue?” he asked, his voice still slurred from sleep. “Watcha doin’, girl?”
“Somethin’ ain’t right,” she murmured. He half sat up, only just barely hearing her.
“Huh?”
“I said somethin’ isn’t right, Remy,” she repeated, this time louder.
“Right.” He yawned, patting the space beside him. “Come back t’ bed, chere. It’s gettin’ kinda cold down here.”
She ignored him.
“Tell me, Remy,” she spoke up in a low voice. “Why does Sinister want you?”
This time he was wide-awake.
“I thought you’d be de one who knew de answer t’ dat, Rogue,” he answered softly. “To tell you de truth I’m not caring much why dat bastard wants me.”
“Ah’m scared, Remy,” she said, drawing her arms about her as though cold. “Ah can’t stop these dreams…An’ ah can’t stop worryin’ about you. Ah don’t want you t’ leave again, y’ hear me? You can’t leave again. None of us can.”
He sat there, staring at her, not knowing what to say. Her voice was so strange, so lilting, so far-away; her words seemed so natural and at the same time so contrived and ambiguous. God no, he thought to himself, don’t let her be losin’ control again, not now…
“Rogue,” he began at last, uncertain. “I’m not gonna leave you, chere.”
Something in his words seemed to comfort her. She turned and smiled wanly before walking over and rejoining him on the bed, putting her arms round him and holding him tight.
“You believe me, don’t you, Remy?” she whispered, pulling him down and snuggling against him. “You believe in the dreams, right? In the lights? In the Seven?”
He embraced her, puzzled. These were words he had heard her refer to during the couple of days she had been trying to recover from Carol Danvers’ personality. They were, he suspected, a product of Destiny’s precognitive powers, but what they meant were beyond him, and more than that, they were somewhat distasteful to him.
“I believe they mean somethin’ t’ you, chere,” he finally returned.
“You’re one of us,” she continued, her tone dreamy. “That’s why you have t’ stay. That’s why you can’t leave. She’s scared of us, Remy. Irene’s scared of you.”
“Me? Why?” He rolled over, looking deep into the green eyes that were suddenly bright and pellucid. “Tell me, Rogue. What do I have to do wit’ all dis? Why does Destiny want me? Why does everyone t’ink I’m one of de Seven?”
She perused his face, brow furrowed. “Ah can see, but ah can’t understand it,” she murmured at last. “There’s somethin’ you can do, an’ she’s scared of it, she’s scared because she can’t do it an’ she wants it so bad…” Sudden tears were in her eyes and he had no idea why. “It’s like you flow into it, an’ you fly away…You fly far, far away, an’ you never come back…”
The tears gathered like limpid pools in her eyes but she did not spill them. Flow into what? Fly where exactly? He wanted to ask her what she meant, but a part of him was afraid to know the answer. And she looked so upset just talking about it, so quiet and upset that he couldn’t push her any further. Instead he stroked her cheek gently, willing her back to her normal self. Rogue, he thought, don’t do dis t’ me now, don’t go talkin’ all dis mumbo-jumbo an’ losin’ yourself again. I just got you back, chere, an’ I ain’t gonna lose you again now, not after everythin’.
“Shh, chere, s’okay,” he crooned soothingly. “I said I wouldn’t be goin’ nowhere, didn’t I? I’m here wit’ you now. We’re both safe. Dat’s why you came for me, isn’t it? T’ keep us safe together.”
She half smiled. Something in his words seemed to have struck a chord with her – she almost looked pleased to hear them.
“Hm-mm. T’ keep us safe. An’ t’ take you away from Sinister. Don’t worry, Remy. Ah won’t let him get t’ you. We’ll be safe at the mansion, the two of us, together. We will, won’t we?”
“We sure will, chere.”
He sighed, stroking her hair gently. He needed to snap her out of it, and he wasn’t sure how. Slowly he extricated himself from her arms and sat up again.
“Sounds like you need somethin’ to wake you up, mon ‘tit chou-chou,” he grinned as easily as he could. “How ‘bout I go get you some coffee, hmm? An’ in de meantime, you phone de mansion an’ get ’em to come an’ pick us up, all right? No point in stayin’ in dis good-for-nothin’ dump.”
“Okay.” She smiled, reaching out and stroking his chest lazily. “Don’t be gone too long, sugah.”
“I won’t,” he grinned, pulling on his pants and shirt before leaving for the next door cafe. At least now she was talking more like the Rogue he remembered. It was several minutes before he returned and Rogue already seemed to have recovered from her earlier bout of …whatever it was that she was suffering from. The come-hither look on her face was unmistakable.
“Can we skip the coffee?” she purred, pulling aside the bed covers suggestively.
“I dunno,” he answered smoothly, placing the plastic cups on the bedside table nevertheless and slipping into bed next to her. “We might need somethin’ t’ keep us awake.”
“Ah’m afraid coffee just ain’t gonna cut it, swamp snake,” she murmured, lifting her lips to his.
“An’ neither is this very stupid li’l T-shirt,” he teased, reaching out and sliding his fingers underneath the suddenly rather unnecessary garment.
It was afternoon and a shower later that the Blackbird came to pick them up. Remy was still towelling his hair dry when Hank, Storm, Logan and Sage entered the small room expectantly.
“She’s still in de shower, just in case you were t’inkin’ I’d spirited her away or somethin’,” Remy informed them when they looked around rather uncomfortably. They all knew the circumstances of his departure from the mansion, and no one really wanted to bring the subject up. Logan, on the other hand, was sniffing around the place like some bloodhound, a scowl etched upon his face – not that that was anything particularly out of the ordinary.
“So you found her then?” he grunted without so much as a greeting.
“More like she found me,” he replied with a sarcastic smile. “De girls jus’ can’t stay away from dis cajun.”
Sage rolled her eyes. Logan had merely ignored him and moved onto another subject.
“Hm. That’s Carol’s scent all right,” he remarked, lifting up the bathing suit Rogue had been wearing before. “An’ gunpowder.” He grimaced. “Looks like Chuck estimated wrong.”
Remy passed a questioning look at Hank, who was happy to offer an explanation.
“We spent a couple of days searching for Rogue through Cerebro. For some reason Charles thought that Destiny was the personality that was dominating Rogue. When there wasn’t a match we searched for Carol, and found her here.”
“Why de fuck didn’t you come sooner?” Remy asked, throwing the towel down.
Hank looked a bit uncomfortable before speaking. “Cerebro picked up on the fact that the Carol personality was diminishing. We thought it would be a good idea if Rogue – uh – stayed with you a few days to recover.”
“Oh,” Remy replied innocently. “Well you probably weren’t wrong in dat assumption.”
Silence. Hank coughed, Logan smirked and looked away. There was a small smile on Storm’s face, but Sage as usual, had her attention focused elsewhere.
“So,” Remy asked, grinning brightly. “Anyone want somethin’ to drink?”
Later on they all sat in the room, eating – breakfast for Rogue and Remy, lunch for the others. Sage was tapping away at her virtual computer, sitting a little way from the general conversation. Something about the way she was acting was irritating Remy, but that was par for the course, and for once he chose to ignore it.
“So you’re coming back to the mansion then?” Storm asked of Remy neutrally as he devoured a buttered croissant rather inelegantly, famished as he was. “For good?”
“For as long as I can stand hangin’ round wit’ de Brady Bunch,” he answered good-naturedly.
“Then I hope we don’t become too much for you,” Storm retorted sardonically. “Every time you return it seems you’ve only just got there before you leave again.”
“Well, you know, Stormy,” he grinned, mouth full. “What goes around comes around an’ all that.”
“By the bright lady, that’s what I’m afraid of,” Storm muttered.
“Ororo,” Rogue asked, after having elbowed Remy in the ribs for his lack of manners. “Is Joe…is he okay? Ah mean, after everythin’ that happened, ah don’t want him to feel sore or anythin’…”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“Rogue,” Storm finally spoke up, gently, “Joseph left the Institute.”
There was consternation on Rogue’s face. “Left?”
“Soon as we figured where you were, he left,” Logan said, but his voice was uncharacteristically soft. “I think he was feelin’ guilty ‘bout the whole thing that went down before you split. He left a note with Chuck for you, though.”
Rogue’s face fell. “He shouldn’t have gone,” she said quietly. “We needed to talk. What happened wasn’t his fault, it was all mine…”
“Hey,” Logan cut in soothingly, rubbing her shoulder. “None of that talk, y’ hear? Joseph needed some space – y’ can’t blame him for that now, can you, darlin’?”
“Ah guess not…” she replied doubtfully. She had thought that, considering the state of her mind during their breakup, she had thought he would’ve stayed to talk things through with her. They hadn’t exactly separated on the most unambiguous of terms. Of course, her being in New Orleans probably meant that he had known she was going to find Gambit, and perhaps that was a reality Joseph just couldn’t face. She wondered where he was, and whether, despite everything, he was still thinking about her.
“So,” Hank interjected, clearing his throat delicately. “How are you feeling Rogue? Have the headaches improved yet?”
“A little better,” she replied, a little absently. “But they’re still botherin’ me. Not so bad as before, but they’re there all right.”
“And the dreams?”
She frowned. “Ah…They still haven’t gone either.”
Remy passed her a look, which she didn’t return. The suddenly troubled countenance on her face only served to exacerbate his own sense of foreboding. Why hadn’t she told him she was still feeling the effects of her ordeal with Carol Danvers? The episode that morning had been unnerving enough.
“Your neural patterns are still highly unstable, Rogue,” Sage spoke up from her computer. She stopped typing and looked over the table at Rogue gravely. “Since suppressing Carol Danvers’ psyche, you’ve been going through a lull in your symptoms. But they’re far from over, I’m afraid. My preliminary test results tell me that your condition is likely to worsen again, sooner rather than later. I do suggest that you take a course of psychic therapy from the Professor. The consequences could be infinitely more serious than they were a couple of days back.”
There was an inflection in her voice that told Rogue exactly what she was thinking but couldn’t say. Irene. It all came back to this terrible worry that Irene might take over her. Remy saw her anxious look and sat up indignantly.
“Tessa, d’you think you could just lay off Rogue for a bit? She’s been through a lot, an’ now you’re already talkin’ ‘bout tests an’ therapy? Give de girl a break!”
“Remy, you may not happen to think so, but it is vital that I keep an eye on Rogue’s progress,” Tessa answered coolly. “We haven’t seen her for several crucial days of her condition. The last thing any of us want is for her to go off the edge again. Perhaps you ought to regard her with the same level of concern.”
Remy leant forward, eyes blazing.
“Are you suggestin’ dat I…?” he began, but Logan stepped in.
“Save it, gumbo,” he interrupted warningly. “Tessa’s right. All of us have Rogue’s best interests in mind. An’ I don’t think it’s useful for us to argue ‘bout who cares about her most.”
“But…” Remy started, only for Rogue to cut in angrily.
“Can everyone stop speakin’ for me here? In case y’all haven’t noticed, this is mah life an’ mah body, an’ ah get to do what ah choose with it.” She turned to Remy. “Tessa is right. Ah don’t like it, but ah have t’ face the fact that ah have a problem, an’ ah need to sort it out. Ah have to, otherwise ah could end up hurtin’ all of you.”
“Bullshit,” Remy glowered. “You’re stronger than that, Rogue.”
“Remy, you saw what ah was capable of when ah was Carol. Think of what ah’ll be capable of when Irene takes me over.”
“If Irene takes you over,” Remy muttered, his appetite abruptly gone. Suddenly he wasn’t looking forward to going back to the mansion so much.
“It’s a possibility,” Rogue replied quietly. She turned back to Sage. “Ah’ll do the therapy, so long as it ain’t gonna make things worse. But isn't there any foolproof way of curin’ me?”
Sage hesitated for one split second, but her expression remained quite unperturbed.
“Not yet,” she answered shortly, smiling slightly. “But just give me a few more weeks, Rogue, and I’m sure I’ll be able to work something out.”
Even though Tessa’s face was motionless as an icy pool, Remy heard that one split second of hesitation like a bell. He gazed at the pale, dark-haired woman with sudden dislike.
You’re lyin’ Tessa, he thought grimly. An’ when I find out exactly what it is you’re lyin’ about……
*
Later Rogue lay asleep in the Blackbird, nestling gently inside the crook of Remy’s arm, lulled into a slumber by the steady sound of his heartbeat.
But what she heard now was Irene’s slowing heartbeat as she sank into it, in that time and place so long ago and far away. Destiny grasped onto her bare hand, and reeled her in like a fish on a hook. And this time she remembered lying into Irene’s bosom and sobbing as she and the thing called Fate became one.
Touch them.
The voice was hers, or Irene’s; or it belonged to both of them, she could not tell.
Touch the Seven.
“Ah can’t,” she whimpered. “Ah don’t want to. If ah do then…”
Imprint the Seven, you have to.
“No!”
She sat up, dragging herself away from the boundless space in Time that she and Irene now shared, wrenching herself from those manifold futures and all that she understood must come to pass.
“Irene, momma,” she whispered. “Tell me what ah should do. Please. Ah’m scared. Please tell me what ah should do.”
But Irene was already dead.
And when Rogue woke up, she had forgotten that they had ever shared those last parting words at all.
*