Chapter Text
~Part One~
Rogue laid on her side facing the window with her back to the rest of the room. Her drowsy brain drifted between half-asleep and half-awake and left her uncertain if the hazy pleasant sensation lingering throughout her body was part of a dream or reality. Either way, she didn’t want to get up yet. The sun pooled golden warm through the gap in the curtains, telling her body, if not her mind, that it was time to get up. She squeezed her eyes tight, hoping to tempt a few more minutes of sleep. It wasn’t often that she had the luxury to indulge in a lie in.
Figaro curled up against her stomach, his contented purrs vibrated through her body. She tugged the covers a bit higher over her shoulders and snuggled a bit deeper beneath them. As she displaced the blankets around the cat, Figaro protested loudly, but refused to give up his cozy spot. Rogue chuckled softly and reached out from under the covers to appease the cat with a scritch between his ears. The bed was warm and comfortable and she wasn’t quite ready to leave it. Her body was so relaxed from all the recent attention she received, she felt as if she might just melt into the sheets.
Her skin thrummed with the lingering aftereffects of her husband’s expert touch. She trusted Remy, which had translated into not fearing his touch. Without the fear, without needing to hold herself in a constant state of vigilance, she could luxuriate in his touch. Brushing her fingers along her skin, she traced the memory of his touch. She followed the paths where his fingers had lingered on bare skin and had caressed her from long into the previous night and into the early morning hours. Even after all this time, each new touch, every fresh caress, sent ripples of sensual pleasure across her skin and seeped into the very core of her being. The reminiscence of his touch lingered long after gloves were restored and inhibitors in place. She didn’t know if it was because she and Remy shared some kind of special connection, or if it had something to do with the constant energy he kept barely contained beneath his skin, or if it was all in her head, but the memory of his touch remained longer than any other touch she had ever known.
Ready to begin again, Rogue sighed happily at the still fresh memories of their love making. Though her drowsy brain was still fuzzy with the edge of sleep and lingering pleasure, the headache which seemed to be her constant companion since regularly donning the inhibitors had rescinded to only an echo of a memory. Idly, she wondered if, after a year of frequent contact, her body had finally grown accustomed to the inhibitor and the headaches were a thing of the past. Highly doubtful, but she could dream.
Scratching her wrist, she stopped abruptly when she didn’t encounter the expected obstacle. Odd. She switched to the opposite wrist and found it likewise bare. This wasn’t right, the inhibitor was gone. If the clasp had come undone….No!
She scrambled among the covers searching for the missing bracelet, tangling the sheets around her flailing limbs. Figaro leapt off the bed with an irritated yowl. Her heart raced in a rising panic. Under the sheets she wore nothing. For obvious reasons, not since before they had married had she gone to bed regularly without either the inhibitor in place or fully covered. It was hard enough to control her powers when she was fully awake and conscious. What hope did she have while she slept? She stayed covered not only of her own protection, but also for….
“Remy!” Rogue called for her husband in a rising panic.
He didn’t respond. That wasn’t like him. Years of living by their wits, of fearing discovery if they let down their guards, of being both hero and villain, had trained them to be light sleepers, ready to spring into action at the slightest disturbance. With her anxious calls, he should have been immediately at her side. Whenever the misdeeds of her past, the failed missions of the present, or the echoing screams of the souls she stole haunted her dreams and she woke terrified, not knowing where or who she was, Remy was always there to comfort and reassure her. Just as she was there for him when he woke screaming from his own guilt-laden nightmares of past, present, and future.
Forcing the panic down, she held her breath ’til her head swam. Besides the thunder of her rapid heartbeat pounding in her ears, she heard nothing. No one pulled the stolen covers across the bed or made drowsy protests as she bolted upright, fighting the sheets which ensnared her arms and legs.
“Do ya like it, Cajun?” Her own voice echoed in her head as she watched herself spin, giving Remy—giving herself—a full view of the dove grey dress.
Mon dieu. Of course I like it. Remy’s thoughts flooded her memories as clear as if they were her own thoughts. She gasped for air as she experienced the speechless awe that had stolen her—no, his—breath away at the sight of her.
“Remy!” she gasped in a strangled panicked cry. A rush of her husband’s recent memories surfaced at the forefront of her mind and overwhelmed her. The more of Remy that filled her thoughts, the less she could sense of herself. She struggled to separate her own memories from his about events of the previous evening.
Her breath came out in mangled sobs. Remy was gone. What had she done? If she had his memories, that could only mean one thing. She had absorbed him. Not again.
Flinging an arm from the cocoon of sheets, she groped at his side of the bed. It took a long moment for her panic driven brain to register the reality of the situation. His side of the bed was empty, cool to the touch. He wasn’t there. He hadn’t been there for a while. She hadn’t hurt him.
As this revelation finally broke through her blind panic, her breathing eventually returned to normal and her heart slowed. The bracelet was gone because Remy had taken it with him. He was gone because Kitty had called him—not them—in for some kind of emergency. Despite herself, Rogue grinned as she continued to roll back her memories, detangling the ones that were hers alone from the ones that they had shared.
Oh, Remy. Her sweet thief. Her rascally charmer. Her husband had shared his memories in exchange for a stolen kiss. She brushed her fingertips across her lips, which still tingled with the memory of his kisses.
Last night she had eagerly anticipated that shared stolen moment of intimacy. She’d worn that particular bracelet as an invitation which Remy had read correctly and accepted with aplomb. What she hadn’t expected was to wake up without Remy by her side. Sometimes, when they shared memories like this, the memories would resurface later. If Remy wasn’t nearby when this happened, years of instinct took over and she’d momentarily forget how she came by those memories.
“You better come back soon, swamp rat. Ah’m waiting for ya…” Rogue murmured as she rolled out of bed and headed for the shower.
****
The hot water had washed away the sharp, hard edge of fear lodged in her chest. Though not altogether gone, the blind panic had subsided and left her feeling cold. As she wandered about their apartment, she didn’t bother to call out for Remy. If he had come home while she was in the shower, he would not have been shy about coming in and making his presence known.
Rogue made her way into the kitchen, tracing her fingers along the edge of the counter. Her only plans for the weekend had been to spend as much quality time as possible with her husband. Without him, she found herself at a loss for what to do next. If he came home soon, they could pick up their plans where they’d left off. On the other hand, if whatever mission had called him away kept him busy for the remainder of the weekend, she ought to find something to keep her thoughts busy. She stopped as her gaze caught a King of Hearts left beside a plate of fresh pastries. Snapping up the card, she ran her fingers over the message Remy had scrawled across the card in his cramped hand.
My beloved Rogue, queen of my heart and love of my life, apparently the life of a hero waits for no one. I will be back soon. Until then, I leave my heart with you. Je t’aime. Love always, your husband forever, Remy
A grin tugged at Rogue’s lips as she balanced the card against the edge of the plate. It was cheesy and sweet. And, it was just like her Remy. She hoped he knew that he carried her heart as well. How long could a person survive with their heart torn asunder?
With a shake of her head, she tried to dispel the hollow feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. Soon was such a nebulous designation. Kitty’s call had come in around four in the morning and it was now well after nine. Where in the world was he? Why hadn’t he left more of a note? Or, called by now?
Well, the phone worked two ways. Finding hers, she dialed Remy’s number and waited as it rang and rang until she was shuffled off to voicemail.
****
Rogue rolled out her pie crust for the second time that day. She’d overworked her first attempt as she fretted over Remy’s continued absence and ended up with a tough, rubbery dough rather than the flaky crust she’d intended. When he left, he said he’d be back soon and it was now well past noon. If he didn’t return before long, she’d need to consider re-thinking her plans to which the pie was only tiny part. While Remy had planned last night’s activities, today was her turn.
She exhaled harshly in frustration, blowing strands of white hair out of her eyes. What was Kitty thinking? What was Remy thinking? He of all people knew better. They were supposed to have the whole weekend to themselves. It was their anniversary for crying out loud. Kitty owed them at least that much after interrupting them on their honeymoon.
Surely a few days to celebrate wasn’t asking too much?
No, Rogue sighed. When your job was saving the world, apparently you weren’t allowed to dictate your own schedule. And Kitty had probably forgotten her promise to leave them be. Their fearless leader had been rather on edge lately. So much so that when her old Excalibur teammates had asked for hers and Kurt’s help, she’d agreed without a second thought. It was also why Rogue and Remy had decided against trying to take a trip for their anniversary this year. (Then again, being in space hadn’t stopped a call for help from reaching them). During her upcoming absence, Kitty had asked Rogue to cover for her as headmistress and team leader. Rogue had agreed to help her friend because she knew that it couldn’t be easy to see them celebrating on the day that should have been the other woman’s anniversary.
Not all anniversaries were good, Rogue thought with a sigh. They marked turning points in lives—momentous decisions for good or ill. Fingering the cool, gleaming metal of her wedding band, Rogue reflected that she could count the number of good anniversaries in her life on one hand and not even use all her fingers. Mainly, her life with Remy and joining the X-men and even those had their share of hard times. The list of negative anniversaries, on the other hand, was much longer. As for Kitty, Rogue suspected that time would eventually dull the edge of the pain, but they were only a year past the event and anniversaries had a habit of bringing all the emotions you thought you had dealt with to the surface.
Only thing was, Rogue hadn’t expected Kitty to sabotage their plans by calling Remy away mid-celebration. It wouldn’t have been half so bad if they’d been sent together.
Rogue grimaced as she took her frustration out on the pie and pressed too hard on the rolling pin, creating an unwanted, too-thin furrow in the dough. She backed away from the counter, not wanting to accidentally ruin another pie. Already this one was going to be far from pretty, but at least it’d be edible.
What was Kitty thinking, calling Remy in on a mission? Without her. Rogue paced the apartment, her frustration seething around her in almost tangible waves. Not even the cats wanted to be in her presence. She didn’t blame them—she didn’t want to be in her own presence either. For some reason, this mission left a sour taste in her mouth. The source for this feeling of wrongness wasn’t something she can put her finger on. Only, Remy shouldn’t be out there alone.
Rogue shook her head, trying to clear the doom and gloom crowding her thoughts. Though she might have psychic, seer, and prophet imprinted on her psyche, this dark presentiment was definitely all her own. Of course Remy wasn’t out there alone. Kitty wouldn’t have sent him without a team. Or, backup. Or….Or…. Rogue blew the white fringe out of her eyes. Why hadn’t she been sent with him?
She gripped her hair and yelped as she the hairs pulled sharply against her scalp. Tears welled in her eyes at the sudden pain and the growing frustration that was morphing into anger. With the back of her hand she swiped at her eyes. She was not going to cry. She needed to do something, channel her energy into something useful.
The jarring ring of her phone pulled Rogue out of her spiraling thoughts. Snapping up the device like it was a lifeline, she held the phone to her ear before the peal of the second ring.
“Remy, sugah, where are ya?” She knew she sounded like an anxious school girl, but couldn’t keep the worry out of her voice. Over the years of their relationship, they’d spent enough time apart, that she knew he could handle himself. While he didn’t need her, that didn’t stop them from wanting to be there for each other. They were better together, a nigh on unstoppable team. And then there was that whole ’til death do you part thing.
“‘Bout an hour into Ohio, I t’ink.” Though he kept his tone light, almost bordering on carefree, she could hear the underlying irritation lacing his words. Something only she could discern.
Despite knowing he was equally irritated with the situation, Rogue couldn’t help but let her own anxiety bleed through. “What in the world are ya doin’ there Cajun? We have plans. What hare-brained scheme does Kitty have ya wrapped up in this time?”
If it weren’t for the background buzz of traffic from a nearby interstate, Rogue would have thought the call had dropped.
“Sugah….?” The unease eating away at the pit of her stomach intensified as she waited for an answer.
“’m sorry, mon coeur. I’ll make it up t’ you.” Remy’s tone reminded her of the one he used whenever he thought he’d disappointed her.
“Remy LeBeau…”
“Dis job’s important, chère. If Kitty’s information is correct, well, it could very well be a matter of life an’ death for us all.”
“So, where ya goin’? Surely ya can tell me that much?” Rogue headed to the bedroom where she kept a spare uniform. It was still on top of the dresser where Remy had left it this morning when he still thought she’d be going with him. And now, she would. At the speeds she could fly, it wouldn’t take long for her to catch up.
Remy groaned. “Kitty made me promise not t’ tell anyone where ’m going. 'Sides de line's not secure and we can’ risk de details gettin' out.”
“Then why’d ya call if ya can’t tell me anythin’?” Rogue fumed, regretting her outburst the moment it came out of her mouth.
“’Cause I couldn’ leave town wit’out tellin’ you.” If words could be a caress, that was how he spoke.
She swallowed hard, hating every aspect of this situation. “You ain’t playin’ fair, swamp rat.”
“I’m a t’ief, chère, fair’s not in my vocabulary,” he teased. She heard his cocky, charming grin and her heart melted a bit.
Swallowing hard, Rogue slipped the king of hearts from her pocket. A flirtatious tease mingled with the tight edge of her unprecedented fears as she attempted to match his tone. “Ah got your note. Ya know, you’re a hopeless romantic, Cajun.”
“Can’ help it, mon coeur. I’ve finally got my heart’s desire and I ain’ lettin’ go. Anyways, like you’re de one to talk.” His voice dropped to a low purr which sent shivers up her spine. Desire pooled in her depths and, for a moment, she could almost pretend he was across town rather than across several state lines.
Rogue blushed scarlet. He was right about her being a hopeless romantic. She had once thought she’d given up on her dreams of a fairy tale life when she’d fallen for Gambit. As a scoundrel and a thief, he hadn’t met the classic definition of Prince Charming. Yet, despite everything working against her—against them—she had held onto the hope of happily ever after long after everyone else, except Remy, would have given up. After years of holding onto the fantasy, she’d finally come to understand that reality was so much better than the dream could ever be.
The receiver caught the slight whisper of a card threading around his fingers. She bet she knew which card had captured his attention as they talked. “Ya got the Queen?”
“Oui.” The cars stopped fluttering with a snap. A murmur of words she couldn’t quite catch was muffled as he pressed the card to his lips. He tapped against the sturdy leather of his duster, presumably over the pocket where he kept the card. “I keep her right over my heart.”
“Good, ‘Cause, ya know, the pair of them shouldn’t be separated. Ah’m countin’ on you to bring her back soon, Remy.” Though Rogue tried to sound stern, she couldn’t hide the ghost of a smile from echoing in her voice as they fell into the familiar pattern of banter.
“Un instant, ma chère.” In the background of the call, something clicked loudly and Remy was momentarily distracted. When he returned his attention to the call, all traces of teasing were gone and he was once more serious. “If everyt’ing goes accordin’ t’ plan, I should be home in un week—deux at de most. Should be back ‘fore you’re done bein’ headmistress. We can pick up where we left off. I’ll even take you away dis time. Promise.”
Promise. The word sunk to the pit of her stomach, mixing with the roiling unease and dark presentiments she had been trying to keep at bay. Rogue had been in the hero-ing business for too long not to expect the worse at the pronouncement of those words. She knew all to well that words like those had a propensity to foreshadow tragedy. “Remy, please, come home….”
“Désolé, mon coeur, I can’. Not yet. Soo—“
“Remy? Remy! Remy…”
Only silence answered her plea.
She tore the phone away from her ear and stared at the screen as it alerted her to the dropped call. Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the phone at full strength. Glass splintered and metal twisted into unfamiliar contortions. She wanted to scream. Instead she threw the useless lump of technology across the room. The former phone cratered the door before it bounced off and landed harmlessly on the floor. This hadn’t been the first phone she destroyed with her super strength and it probably wouldn’t be her last, but at the moment, it was her only connection to Remy. If he tried to call back, he wouldn’t be able to reach her, and she had no idea where to find him.
Sinking onto the bed, Rogue fingered the end of Remy’s forgotten charge cable. Lost in the ardor of the previous night, neither had thought about the mundanities of charging phones or picking up clothes. The battery had probably drained while he crossed the country on Kitty’s fool’s errand and he’d used the last of its reserves to call her. Not that a missing charger should prove much of an impediment for her man, but it was just another complication. He was probably trying to find an alternate way to contact her at this very moment. She wished she hadn’t crushed her phone.
As if sensing her distress and her need for comfort, the cats crawled from their hiding places and settled about her. Lucifer nuzzled against her elbow with a plaintive mew while Figaro swished his tail rhythmically against her knees. Boldest of the three, Oliver curled up on her lap. Idly, she scratched the grey cat between his ears. He purred in response and closed his eyes, as if to say that everything would work out in the end. She wished she shared his sentiments.
****
“Merde!” Remy cursed under his breath as he stared at the useless brick of a phone in his hand and resisted the urge to throw it to the ground. He’d forgotten to charge it and now, when he needed it the most, it had failed him.
Though Rogue had tried to sound nonchalant during their brief conversation, he didn’t like the underlying tension to her voice. Tight and on edge.
Bad dreams, he supposed. It nearly broke his heart that he wasn’t there to comfort her as she always comforted him whenever he’d wake, voice raw from screaming, hands clawing restlessly at images that weren’t there. Bad dreams were an occupational hazard in their line of work. Since they had taken to not only sharing a bed, but a life as well, he had found the dreams manageable for the first time in his life.
Bad dreams or not, the worry in her voice left a bitter taste in his mouth concerning this job. Though she hadn’t said anything, he knew in his gut that she had sensed something was amiss. And, it wasn’t only the guilt sitting heavy in his heart because he had left his belle femme alone in bed on their anniversary while he drove across the country on Kitty’s errand.
With the gas tank full and the fuel paid for, Gambit ought to be back on the road. He was on a time table which didn’t leave room for lollygagging in the middle of nowhere. Still, Remy hesitated. Giving his phone another glare, he pocketed it. Even once he managed to recharge the useless thing, he couldn’t risk calling from it again. He’d already pushed the limits of what he’d dared. Kitty would likely murder him for telling Rogue as much as he already had—which was no where near enough. He was on the job. Part of the contract was no contact with anyone until the first part was completed. Even then, all he was supposed to do was report in and receive further instructions.
Surely Kitty would explain it all to Rogue. She had to.
He shook his head. No, she wouldn’t risk it. Not only was Kitty about to leave town for a bit, she wasn’t likely to trust Rogue to behave rationally about the situation. His wife wasn’t happy about being left behind and in the dark. Her temper was bound to flare. And, Lord help you if you got on the wrong side of that temper. Of course, Rogue had every right to be angry about the situation. He was more than a little upset himself. But, it would be worth the temporary separation in the end, he'd seen to that...
If Kitty told Rogue even half of what Remy was about to do, his wife would no doubt follow. He wouldn’t mind the backup, but that wasn’t the job. Still, he hoped Kitty would see reason.
Unable to any longer contain the energy building inside his body without some sort of release, Remy scooped a stone from the ground and infused it with a small kinetic charge. Tossing it in the opposite direction of the gas station, he watched as the fuchsia explosion created a blackened divot in the gravel alongside the road. He flexed his fingers and forced the remaining energy to redistribute within his body. It wouldn’t do to create an explosion here.
None of this made him feel any better. The restless energy jarred and left his nerves dancing on edge. His mind, his emotions, were all too volatile at the moment. Best he focus on the task at hand.
But first, there had to be another way to contact his wife and let her know that he was okay. Pushing his sunglasses up and settling them on top of his head, Remy pinched the bridge of his nose, and massaged small circles at the juncture. Surveilling the area appeared to be somewhat of a lost cause. Nothing but winter wheat nearly ready for the early summer harvest surrounded the small, drab, brick building which served as gas station and convenience store for this rural community.
Before giving it up as a loss cause and returning to the road, Remy spied a sun-faded blue and white sign tacked to the side of the building—a phone booth. He hadn’t seen a working one in ages. If anyplace was likely to have a working pay phone, surely this time displaced corner of the universe would still have one.
All hopes were dashed as he rounded the corner of the building and found neither phone book nor phone. Nothing, but an empty shell of what once was. Nobody cared about the empty booth anymore, except those like Remy who were desperate for a miracle that would not come.
With a wry grimace, Remy pulled a card at random from his deck—two of clubs—and tucked it in the gap where the dented and cratered platform met the graffitied back plate of the plexiglas and aluminum cubby. It would be a foolhardy to leave a message more overt than a simple playing card.
Most people would see it and think someone had simply left another piece of refuse to gather in the corners of a forgotten time. But, he knew his wife. He was absolutely certain that Rogue would look for him. She wouldn’t let not knowing where he was or where he was going stop her. The least he could do was leave her a sign that he’d been there. He hoped it would ease her concern for him.
While Remy was busy failing at his attempt to phone his wife, a beat-up brown pickup truck had pulled up to the opposite side of the gas pump. The driver, a short, heavyset man with a stained baseball cap pulled low over his brow, greeted Remy with a nod. After beginning the process of fueling his truck, the man cast an appreciative gaze over the X-man’s motorcycle.
With an irritated sigh, Remy shifted aside all appearance of worry and slipped on the laissez-faire demeanor of a man traveling without a care in the world. Jamming his hands into the pockets of his duster, he fingered the edges of ubiquitous deck of playing cards he always kept close at hand.
“Hey,” the stocky man said in a dialect that was pure mid-America. “That your bike?”
“Oui.” Remy snapped more curtly than he had intended. He knew he was being short with the man, but he didn’t want to spend the next fifteen minutes discussing the weather or the pros and cons of bike ownership or whatever else passed as smalltalk ‘round here. The sooner he finished the job, the sooner he could return home.
“She’s a beaut. Custom job?” The man persisted on continuing the conversation despite Remy’s obvious disinterest.
Of course the bike was a custom job, even a neophyte could tell that. Remy simply nodded, and drawled a lazy, “Merci.”
The man left his truck to continue filling by itself while he crossed the divide to study the bike more closely. Crouching down on his haunches to get a better view of the engine, he grabbed the handle bars to steady himself. He swiped at his forehead with the back of his hand, unsettling the green cap with a yellow John Deere logo. “So, are you like French or something?”
“Or, somet’in’. N’awlins.” Remy allowed his dialect to thickly infuse his words. At this point, it’d actually be drawing less attention to himself if he chatted with the other man for a moment.
Never taking his eyes from the bike, the man pushed on with the unwanted conversation. “Hmm, never been there. Where you headed?”
“Wherever da wind blows, homme.” Remy shrugged, playing himself off as nothing more than a vagabond traveller. Besides, it was an easy role to assume because once upon a time it had been true enough. These days he had a place—a person, really—he called home. She drew him back to her time and time again like an unerring homing beacon.
For the first time since the conversation began, the man met Remy’s eyes in a steady stare. Despite the man’s genial manner, there was something hard in those cold, blue eyes. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”
“Nothin’. Contacts.” Remy pushed his glasses down and straddled his motorcycle. He needed to be more careful. He was better than this and he couldn’t afford to slip up. There was someone precious waiting for him on the other end of this job and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make it home to her. “I should be goin’. Still have miles t’ go ‘fore de night.”
Before the man could reply, Remy revved his motorcycle with a roar and peeled out of the gas station, spewing loose gravel in his wake. Amid the noise and his hurry to get back on the road, Remy almost missed the low rumble of the truck as it followed suit and pulled out onto the street behind him. For the next hundred miles or so, Remy kept a wary eye behind him for any signs of the beat-up brown pickup truck.
Long after Remy had lost any sign of the truck as he sped down the interstate crossing from Ohio to Indiana and beyond, the uncanny feeling of someone following him remained. He cursed under his breath. Contacting Rogue again would need to wait until he was certain that no one was on his tail.