She wasn't sure when exactly the safe house stopped being a run-down apartment and became 'their place'; but somewhere along the way it had happened, just as surely as the change in their relationship had happened - not in any one single moment, but over a long progression of time, events and intangible feelings.
They rode back on his
Harley in total silence; words no longer needed to be formulated between them,
being superfluous and unnecessary. When
they finally arrived, the sun had disappeared, though the heat of the day still
clung stubbornly to the air. The place
was deserted, quiet as a ghost. She
climbed off the bike first, placed a hand on his shoulder and said: “Just a
moment. Ah need to make a call.”
He nodded,
understanding, and she walked to the other end of the forecourt and slipped
into a corner. Flipping open her cell
phone, she dialled Mystique's number.
There was only one
ring before Raven answered.
“Rogue?!” Her
foster-mother’s sharp, irascible voice rasped down the line. “Where the fuck
are you?! I've been worried sick trying
to call you all evening, and you haven't even had the common decency to leave
your fucking phone on! What the hell is
going on?!”
“Somethin' came
up,” Rogue returned calmly, already long used to Mystique's short, volatile
rages.
“What the fuck do
you mean 'something came up'?”
“Ah mean somethin'
unexpected happened that Ah had to sort out.
But don't worry, it's all been dealt with. Ah was just callin' to let you know Ah'm
okay.”
“All been dealt
with?” Concern edged into Raven's voice. “Rogue, what happened? Did you get the documents off Guess? Was the tip-off right? And where is that little toe-rag anyway? Did you make him suffer?”
“He's dead,” Rogue
replied as dispassionately as she could.
Raven was silent a minute, but when next she spoke, her tone was
measured.
“Dead? You mean you--”
“Ah mean he knew
too much, Raven,” she said hastily. She
looked up. Remy was standing waiting in
the entrance of the building, casually smoking a cigarette. She lowered her eyes, dropped her voice;
added: “He knew about me, Mystique. Remember
that night at the Ritz? Somehow he put
two and two t'gether, figured out what Ah was up to. But don't worry. He's dead.
And the evidence has been destroyed.”
“He had evidence of
that night?” Raven's voice was breathless. “Rogue, are you quite sure -?”
“Yes, Ah'm
sure. Ah've done the damage control,
it's all fine.” She looked up again; Remy had his back to her and was stamping
out his cigarette with a boot heel. “Listen, Raven… Ah'm gonna be otherwise
occupied t'night. Still got some
business t' finish up. But Ah'll be back
in the mornin' t' fill you in with all the details, okay?”
“More business?”
Mystique returned suspiciously. “Rogue, are you perfectly sure this has all
been sorted?”
“Trust me. It's just that… there's somethin' Ah've got t'
do. Don't worry about me, and don't
worry about the mission.” She paused, adding quickly, “Ah'll see you tomorrow.”
“Rogue -”
But before she
could protest anymore, Rogue ended the call and switched off her phone
completely before walking back to Remy.
“Everythin' okay?”
he asked as she approached him.
“Fine,” she stated
firmly, sidling up to him and tugging on his coat lapels. “Looks like Ah'm free
for t'night. Shall we?”
His only answer was
his smile.
She'd held onto his
sleeve all the way up to the room, not quite able to take his hand in hers, but
still somehow needing the physical link between them. He hadn't denied her the connection, and it
had been another dangerous form of attachment between them, however small -
nevertheless it was as if they had both now accepted that the attachment
existed, and they were helpless to do anything about it.
Key in the lock, a
flick of the wrist; the door was open and they were sliding inside, already
kissing before it was closed behind them - she heard him working the locks and
bolts one-handed while he pinned her up against the door, his mouth warm and
hungry on hers… The door finally locked, she felt the back of his hands
caressing her cheeks, her hair, falling to her shoulders and sliding the duster
off her, his mouth nipping her lower lip, grazing her jaw, down her throat to
her clavicle, unzipping the bodysuit as he went…
It was with an
effort that she pushed him back, fighting for breath against the passionate
onslaught of his kisses.
“Remy…”
He surfaced,
touching his nose to hers and catching her lips with his own, before saying
humorously: “Lemme guess… You wanna shower…”
She felt almost
embarrassed.
“Uh huh,” she
sounded weakly.
He chuckled, deep
and husky, pushing himself away from the door, freeing her.
“Okay,” he said
good-naturedly. At least he seemed to
find her habit amusing. She edged away
from the door, her knees like jelly, the fire still in her stomach, realising
that she didn't want to stop - she needed him too bad…
She half turned
back towards him, looked expectantly over her shoulder and drawled: “Maybe yah
might wanna join meh…?”
*
This time, as
always, it had been different to the time that came before it.
This time even
Rogue had surprised herself. She'd had
no compunction about where or how she made love to him, just as long as it had
been fast and hard and wild and graceless, and he hadn't disappointed her - but
then he never did, not in anything. By
now, she was completely comfortable with him, and he with her - not only were
they lovers now, but they were bold and confident ones, ones who'd lived and
seen through danger and knew they could cheat it. They were now so completely secure in their
clandestine relationship that they couldn't even conceive of the possibility
that they might not meet again. They
were indestructible and inviolable, and that in a way made their love affair
even more exciting and illicit.
This time it had
not been awkward, nor soulful, nor desperate, nor poignant or touching. It had been gleeful, joyful, abandoned -
they'd explored and experimented with one another's bodies with a freedom
neither had felt before. They had been
exhilarated, elated by this, their own secret and private war against the world.
Of course, this
deepening sense of collusion could not but deepen their sense of emotional
partnership - but by now they had both accepted this with a kind of resigned
helplessness, undesirable though it ultimately was. Because both knew that it could not last,
that one day they would reach a point where both mutual feeling and mutual
secrecy would become untenable, and that they would have to make a choice - to
leave behind their differing worlds for one another, or part ways forever.
But while the
knowledge of this eventuality was very much present inside both their minds,
neither heeded nor made any allusion to it.
It was so dangerous neither of them wanted to touch it for fear of
facing the fact that their entire relationship was built upon a teetering house
of cards, one that must one day inevitably come tumbling down.
“Maybe this wasn't
such a good idea after all,” Rogue murmured half to herself, while she bent
over and re-taped his wounds. Below her,
Remy merely pulled a face.
“Chere, for de last
time, it's nothin'. I'm fine. B'sides, what's pleasure without a little
pain?”
She raised an
eyebrow at him.
“Ah'm beginning t'
think there's just a little bit of the masochist in you, Remy LeBeau.”
His expression was
voluptuous.
“You only just
noticed?”
She grinned wryly
to herself. “Somethin' tells me this ain't the first time you've messed around
while at death's door,” she commented.
“I get a lot of
broken ribs in my line o' work. I also
happen t' get a lot o' fun on de sidelines too.” He shrugged. “You learn to
live with it.”
“Sounds like a
lotta hard work,” she noted sourly, pouting.
He smirked and reached out, caressing her pout with his forefinger.
“It's a lot of hard
work when you're not around,” he
bantered teasingly, making her poke him a little too roughly, and just as she'd
finished up taping his ribs. He winced.
“Count yahself
lucky Ah even agree t' come round this pokey li'l place and make out with you
at all,” she grumbled.
“I do,” he answered
solemnly, though his eyes twinkled brazenly as he watched her vigorously pack
away the first aid kit, a begrudging expression on her face. “Every minute of
every day.”
She threw the kit
over the side of the mattress and stretched herself out beside him, frowning.
“Ah am so just your fetish,” she
complained in a murmur.
“Mebbe,” he agreed
after a moment. “You were always de unattainable goddess on her pedestal,
remember? And it just so happened I was
de one who managed to attain you. It's a
bit like a fantasy made flesh, isn't it?
I get to debauch de pure, innocent virgin and turn her into a passionate
sex goddess. There isn't a guy alive who
wouldn't be jealous.”
Her frown was in
serious danger of being permanently etched onto her face. Is that
all Ah ever am to men - a fuckin' sex object?
“Well Ah'm so glad
Ah've had the pleasure of bolsterin' your male ego for you, you insufferable
jerk,” she growled sarcastically, rolling over and poignantly turning her back
on him.
“If you're so
bothered about it, I ain't keepin' you here under lock and key,” he noted
acidly behind her. “You're free to leave at any time.”
“Ah'd leave if you
really wanted me to,” she threw back at him in an equally caustic tone. “If Ah
knew you wouldn't turn up in another six month's time and beg me to come back
up here and play your freakin' sex slave.”
There was a short
silence before he returned in a curious tone of voice: “And if I did do exactly
dat… Would you still say yes?”
She paused, knowing
she would say yes because she was dangerously infatuated with him and that
every night since they'd last been together she'd been longing for him in a way
that wasn't just down to mere lust…
“Yes,” she
confessed in a belligerent tone. He
laughed.
“You wanna make
threats, chere, you better learn to seriously mean them,” he heckled her; she
was sorely tempted to give him another injury at this point.
“But if Ah did walk
out on yah,” she pointed out cynically, “if Ah decided to disappear off the
face of the earth, and you couldn't find me no more… You'd miss me then,
wouldn't you.” She rolled back over and propped her head up in her hand,
looking down into his face with a testy expression. “Wouldn't you?”
“Okay, okay!” He
looked harassed. “I'd miss you. Maybe
just a little bit.” He sighed theatrically.
She glowered, but
couldn't help breaking into a laugh when she saw he was really joking.
“Don't worry none,
sugah, Ah'm sure you'll find your kicks elsewhere.” She settled down into the
pillows, finding she wasn't really bothered about it that much if he did. Just as long as he was alive and happy… He
shifted slightly onto his side so he could look into her eyes.
“Nah… I'd miss you
for sure.” He smiled and stroked her chin tenderly with thumb and forefinger.
“I'd be pining too much t' even so much as look at another woman.”
“Pfft. You'd only miss the sex.”
“Heh. Too right.
Who woulda thought dat de untouchable ice queen would turn out to be
such a dirty little girl?” He paused, a slight frown touching his lips. “Still
can't get over it…”
The way he was
looking at her, so intense, as if he could capture the truth from her with his
eyes, instantly told her what was on his mind, and for once she didn't shy from
it - she was ready for him, ready for the inevitable question…
But it didn't come.
“If you wanna say
it then say it, Remy!” she broke out, frustrated.
C'mon, ask me if you're the only one, ask me
if Ah've been with other men, ask me if Ah'd leave them all behind for you and
Ah'll gladly say 'yes'…
But he said nothing, still
giving her that half-penetrating, half-troubled look.
He still can't spit it out…
Irritated, hurt and
angry, she hit his chest hard, hard enough to hurt, hard enough for him to reel
over onto his back and she pressed her hands against his breast, glared down at
him and cried: “Just what is your problem?!
Ah know you sleep with other women, Ah even accept it; why shouldn't Ah
be able to see another man?!”
He stared right
back at her, calm, grave, serious.
“Is there another man?”
It was so quick, so
unexpected that for a moment she was taken aback, unprepared; and suddenly
something within her faltered and she couldn't confess it, somehow she knew it
would hurt him too much.
“No,” she finally
breathed. “No, there isn’t.”
A terrible
half-lie, a terrible half-truth, because her heart would always belong to him
while her body would always belong to many…
His expression
hadn't changed; it was still closed, still watchful, and she sank back onto the
mattress, turning her back on him once again, her eyes smarting, unable to bear
the look on his face. At last he spoke,
breaking the dense blanket of silence.
“Of course, if
there ever was anyone else… If you
ever wanted t' be with another man…”
“Yeah, Ah know,”
she snapped, cutting him off; she didn't even want to hear him say it. …If you ever wanted to be with another man
go ahead, I wouldn't care…
She almost wanted
to tell him that he didn't have to worry, that she'd never want another man,
but somehow she knew it was going too far.
She lay there, staring at the wall, until she felt his lips press
against her shoulder blade, his breath on her skin as he asked, “You mad at
me?”
“Nope,” she lied.
Silence.
“I'm sorry,” he
spoke up.
“For what?”
“For makin' you
mad. And for havin' fun when I'm not
here with you.”
He'd picked up
enough negative vibes to know that she wasn't in the mood for afterplay. She felt him roll away from her.
“Don't bother
apologisin',” she fumed at him.
“Okay, I don't
apologise for it. Geez.”
She heard him reach
for the packet of cigarettes in his discarded trench coat pocket; the next moment
there was the sharp click of the
antique gold lighter he'd no doubt stolen somewhere down the line, and she
smelt the aroma of burning tobacco.
“Seriously though,”
he spoke again after a short silence, “ain't you jealous?”
She pretended to
think about it.
“No,” she replied
at last. “Ah want you t' be happy. The
happiest that you can be.”
As long as there's always someone to keep
you warm…
He chuckled a
little, but the laugh was light and appreciative rather than mocking.
“Are you happy?” she asked him curiously.
“As happy as I can
be,” he replied honestly. “You?”
She said
nothing. She couldn't very well tell him
the truth; but on the other hand she couldn't bring herself to lie either.
“Things are okay,”
she said at last, letting it lie at that.
She swivelled round again, changing the subject before he could question
her further. “What's the time?”
He reached over the
edge of the mattress again for his watch, stared at it.
“Twelve twenty
five.” He placed the watch aside again. “You gotta get back early tomorrow?”
“Ah should get back
before midday,” she murmured, thinking about what she should say to Mystique
when she reported back tomorrow; not to mention what Mystique would have to say
about it. “What about you?”
“Gotta job
tomorrow,” he grunted, taking a drag and blowing smoke. “Shouldn't have agreed
t' go and do your dirty work earlier today - I'm totally busted up.”
“Should've rested
up instead of screwing me senseless,” she told him archly.
He laughed quietly,
sat up and grabbed a grimy old ashtray from the nearby nightstand, tapping his
cigarette against it.
“Wouldn't be me if
I didn't test all de boundaries of sense and reason every once in a while,
chere.”
She hummed her
agreement, propped her head up against his thigh, absently stroking his calf
with the back of her hand.
“Thanks
though. For gettin' me outta that
bind. It means Ah get t' keep my head
when Ah report back tomorrow.”
“You already
thanked me,” he said, tapping more ash into the ashtray.
“Not enough.”
“We could go
another round, if you really want.”
She ignored his
cajoling tone.
“Ah mean it. Trask would've killed me for sure.” She
sighed and lifted a lock of her white hair, stared at it miserably. “Guess
Ah'll have t' dye my hair now, huh?
Trask'll be lookin' for a gal with a white streak in her hair - he'll be
stoppin' every gal on the street who fits the description just t' get his hands
on me.”
He looked down at
her.
“Why de long face?”
“Ah happen to be
attached to mah skunk stripe, thank yah very much,” she scowled back up at him.
“Hmm. I'm kinda fond of it too. But you're right, chere. It'll have to go.”
She sighed.
“Ah hate this,” she
muttered.
“Would you rather
be wit' de rest of de X-Men right now?
Or a Hound? Or dead?” he asked.
“Ah'd rather be
bustin' the X-Men out of those internment camps right now,” she replied
angrily. “Instead of blowin' up random factories and hackin' into the odd
database now and then.”
“Small steps,
chere,” he reminded her matter-of-factly. “We'll get there, Rogue.”
He blew smoke,
stubbed out the remnants of his cigarette, placed the ashtray back on the
nightstand and slid back down under the comforter, putting his arms round
her. She snuggled into him, shivering
slightly at the relative coolness of his body against hers.
“Will we ever get there?” she whispered.
“I promise,” he
said. “We'll get de X-Men back and be one big happy family again.”
She laughed
mirthlessly.
“Happy family,
huh? Half of them are dead already.” She
lowered her voice, continued: “Everyone who ever meant anythin' t' me is
gone. The Professor's dead. So's Kurt.” She paused. “Ah never got t' say
goodbye t' him.”
He stirred,
nuzzling his face into her hair. “You ever hear from Mystique?” he asked.
“No,” she answered
simply, after a short silence.
Strangely, it wasn't hard to lie to him.
“Guess she could be
anywhere… Doin' anythin'… Bein' anyone, for dat matter…”
“Yeah.”
“And Destiny? You ever hear from her?”
“Destiny?” She
thought about Irene, always calm, always quiet, always going along with Raven's
whims without question… Yet orchestrating all Raven's operations, believing
that all this pain and suffering was for some end purpose after all… “She must
be dead too,” Rogue said at last. “If she were alive, she'd be findin' a way to
sort out the good future from the bad one… Maybe this whole fucked up regime
would be over already.”
“I dunno,” Remy
replied neutrally. “Remember what de Prof always used to say? Dat tryin' to fine-tune events so dat they
fit de future you want is near next to impossible? Could even drive a person insane.”
God, please don't let that be the truth…
“You mean Mystique
and Destiny may have always been following just a pipe-dream?”
“Maybe. But if they're alive, and searchin' for an
answer… I hope they find it.”
Against his chest,
she half-smiled.
“Me too.”
They were quiet
after that, him stroking her hair and lulling her towards sleep. Despite the fact that she wanted to savour
every moment of this night right down to the very last second, she felt her
eyelids grow heavier and heavier, and finally drop as she unwillingly gave into
unconsciousness.
*
Just like almost
every one of their previous encounters, when she woke up the next morning it
was to find him already dressed and ready to go.
She blinked, her
eyes smarting in the pale, frosty sunshine, before she saw him walk into her
periphery of vision, consumed in his own thoughts as he slammed his bag down
onto the crotchety dresser and stuffed some random items into it.
“On your way out
already, huh?” she croaked into the silence.
He started, paused, looking back briefly over his shoulder towards her
before continuing his packing.
“Uh huh.”
“'Cos last night
was last night, an' that was just sex, and today is back to business?” she
persisted, watching his movements which were now jerky, stilted. Still, there was a little strength, a little
resolve left in his voice when he replied: “Yup.”
His back was still
on her, feigning indifference - and this time she knew he was feigning. She'd always hated the false detachedness of
their partings, necessary though it had been, and for the first time she knew
he'd always felt the same way, that he had never really wanted to leave either.
Yah so stupid Remy… Even if we can't be
somethin' more than 'just sex', it doesn't mean we have to go make this hard on
ourselves…
She threw back the
covers, ordered him in a husky voice: “C'mere.”
He paused again,
looking over his shoulder at her, eyes widening when he saw what she was up
to. But then a small smile creased his
lips and he left the dresser and came to her, slipping in under the comforter
as she let it fall over them again like a blanket of snow. Gently she took his hands in her own and
placed them on her hips, letting him feel her, letting him hold her as she
pressed her naked body against him; his eyes flashed, sudden desire rekindled,
but she held his face between her palms, whispered: “Then every business day
until Ah see you again, Ah ain't gonna be thinkin' of anythin' but you.”
He gave no answer,
no confirmation of his own feelings, but she needed none. Instead she opened his mouth with her own and
kissed him, and it was enough to know how he felt when he kissed her back.
And when at last
they finally pulled back, she felt satisfied.
“All right,
sugah. Yah can go now.”
She lay there
smiling to herself as she watched him slide out of bed and go back to the
dresser. She was okay now. She could go back to life on the outside
without remorse. They shared a bond
they'd never share with anyone else and she didn't care if it wasn't out of
love. It was enough for her, enough to
keep her living through the dark hours.
She wouldn't be afraid to face the days without him anymore. She could carry on in some semblance of peace.
By the time he'd
finished she'd almost fallen asleep again, but five minutes later he shook her
gently into wakefulness, a cup of coffee in his hand.
“You stayin'?” he
murmured.
“Just another few
minutes or so,” she drawled. “Ah'm tired.”
“Then I'll leave
dis here,” he replied, placing the mug down beside the mattress. “But you might
wanna drink it 'fore it gets cold, chere.”
“You got a coffee
machine in here?” she raised a lazy eyebrow.
“Installed it after
de last time we were here,” he grinned.
“Mah stars and
garters, this is turnin' into a regular homestead,” she bantered.
“Don't joke about
it,” he half frowned, half laughed.
“Ah s'ppose the
next time Ah'm here you'll have a dishwasher too.”
“Hmm. I'd figured on gettin' a TV.”
“Don't need one,
sugah. Watchin' you get all hot an'
heavy is entertainment enough for me.”
He laughed this
time, a genuine laugh, and when he'd finished he almost looked sad that he had
to leave.
“Drink up now,
chere,” he said softly, “I gotta go.”
“Ah know.”
He pressed a kiss
to her forehead.
“You take care
now.”
“You too, sugah.”
He stood up,
shouldered his bag, headed for the door.
She thought he'd pause before he went out, look back at her and say
something, anything. But he pulled open
the door, walked straight out and shut it behind him with a firmness that
filled the empty chasm of silence with an ominous echo that made her heart
ache.
She lay there,
staring blankly at the ceiling, listening to his footsteps fade into the
distance.
Then, they were
gone.
*
Go to Chapter
15 : Go to Chapter 17