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This was how it began. A rooftop. A woman. A blanket.
The rooftop was at the Xavier Institute. It was one of those perfect fall nights in upstate New York. The sky was clear, and stars blazed above the mansion. Birds sang to each other from the trees, and frogs croaked loud enough to be heard all the way down at Breakstone Lake. Jubilee and Xavier laughed in the grounds below, as they skated in circuits around the basketball court.
The woman was Rogue, and she could not see the stars except as a dim haze against the darkness. She’d been blind for days, since Strobe had blasted her with concentrated light and damaged her optic nerves. Beast had started treatment, Moira MacTaggert had told her she'd be fine with time and rest, and Gambit had volunteered to be her eyes in the meantime, but she was tired of all of them fussing over her and prodding at her and leading her around by the hand. She wanted to be alone.
Guess that was too much to hope for, she thought, as she heard soft footsteps on the tiles behind her, smelt the acrid sweetness of cigarette smoke.
Remy. He was the last person she wanted to see. He was the only person she wanted to see.
“Pardon the intrusion, chere, but according to Dr. MacTaggert, you’re still recovering from the optic damage Strobe caused. She’s restricted you to complete bed rest.”
Bitterly, “Don’t tell me, Gambit. You’re here to fill the prescription.”
“That wasn’t my intention, no. But, since you brought it up…”
You try anything like that, and you’ll be on your ass in the medbay too. The words were on her lips - the vinegar to his honey, the push to his pull, the no to his yes - but she couldn’t bring herself to say them. She was so tired. She was so sick and tired of pretending that this was enough for her, even though it was more than she’d had before with any man, and she had no right to be greedy with what she could offer.
“Remy, if you have any feelings for me - any at all - leave me alone.”
“S’funny,” he replied, yat thicker than usual, “My feelings for you are the very same reason I’m staying.”
She wished she could see his face, so she could try to read what those feelings were. He wanted her, that much was for sure. If it hadn't been for her powers, they would have ended up in bed weeks ago, and he would have absolutely ruined her for any other man. But she sometimes thought he saw her as a friend. He signed up to train with her, sought her out in their free time, asked her to join his games of pool and cards and basketball, offered her bites of the food he cooked, sat next to her as often as he did Ororo. Maybe she could speak to him as one tonight.
“It ain’t fair. Again, I’m hurt - slugging it out against some equally pathetic mutant for a place in a world that doesn’t want any of us. A world in which I don’t ever have a chance of finding happiness. Fine. Life as an X-Man. I can deal with that,” she clenched her fists at her sides, "It’s the personal side of my life where everything falls apart. All I ask - all I need - is somebody to hold me. Stroke his fingers through my hair. Promise me that everything’s going to be fine, that all the cuts and bruises are worth it in the end. More than anything, Remy, I want that person to be you. But that ain’t never going to happen."
It was the closest she’d come to admitting her real feelings for him: how she had fallen in love with him, without hoping he would return it, without believing it could lead to anything real. She heard his coat sleeve rustle as he reached out towards her. To hold her. To stroke her hair. To give her what she needed. She wanted to let him, and it hurt so much that she couldn't.
“Don’t you get it? It won’t happen ‘cause it can’t."
She slapped his hand away from her, suddenly furious at him for never understanding that their game of push and pull was all that they could have. She could never be anyone's girlfriend, lover, wife. She had told him that over and over again, and he still persisted. He still pushed her; he still wanted more. Maybe this time, if she was honest enough, if she laid the whole ugly truth of herself out for him, he would get it.
“My entire mutant power is about restraint. I can’t touch another living person without fear of swallowing that person whole. Their thoughts and hopes and dreams become mine. I got no control over my abilities."
She was hot with anger, her breath was coming too fast and her heart pounded in her chest. She wanted to hurt him, “And you? You got no control over yourself. Charging an object up and throwing it away - that’s your special gift."
She knew the words were unfair as she said them. Remy wasn't his powers, not like she was. From her time with him and Belle's memories, she knew how disciplined he could be, how he’d been raised with the focus and tight control that any child of the Thieves' Guild had, how he used his ability with precision and finesse. It wasn't his fault that he had what she wanted, that he was what she wanted.
The anger went out of her. She slumped in on herself, drawing her legs into her chest.
“I ain’t an object, Gambit. I’m a woman. If you can’t - if you won’t - treat me like one, then please leave me alone.”
She waited for him to respond - to agree with her, to argue with her, to comfort her, to tell her he’d seen her as a woman all along - but he said nothing. The fabric of his coat flapped as he stood and turned away from her, then, his footsteps receded towards the window. It was enough of an answer.
She gave herself until the count of ten to hope that he would return, and didn't stop hoping even after that. It was only once she heard his motorbike start up, engine purring like a satisfied cat, that she forced herself to accept that he was not coming back to her. She had driven him away.
Tears rose hot and painful in her damaged eyes, and she scrubbed at them. Stupid girl. This is how it was always going to end. You were going to ask him for more than he was willing to give to a woman he could never touch - maybe more than he was willing to give to anyone - and he was going to walk away from you. He’s on his way to Harry's and another woman. It's all over, and you let him break your heart.
—--------
Charging an object up and throwing it away … That’s your special gift. I ain't an object, Gambit. I’m a woman.
Rogue's words echoed in Gambit’s head, as he rode his bike down the mansion’s driveway and turned into the road that led to Salem Center. The wind was crisp and cool against his face, and smelt of autumn leaves and exhaust fumes. He told himself that he was just doing what she wanted. She’d asked him to leave, and he’d left. Simple, clean. Just like he kept all his relationships since he’d been exiled from New Orleans and Belladonna.
None of the X-Men would have expected anything different from him, though he might have to avoid Wolverine for a while. They all had been waiting for him to break Rogue's heart, even Ororo who loved him like a brother. Remy, are you sure about what you’re doing? Rogue is more fragile than she appears. That had stung, even if it shouldn’t have, even if he had deserved it.
So, his choice was clear, right? Take the road down to Harry’s, buy the first beautiful person a drink, and see where the night took him. Move on.
But then he didn't get to go back to Rogue, and he liked Rogue. (He wasn’t willing to acknowledge the possibility of the other word yet.)
He liked how she was fire and sass and sweetness, a kiss after a kinetic explosion, a middle finger in his face before parted lips, hot fury covered in the pie she’d spent four hours baking him.
He liked how she’d felt pressed against his back on his bike, strong arms wrapped tight around his waist, warm breath on his neck. It didn't hurt that she'd looked incredible in that red dress too, the thin silk clinging to her breasts and hips and ass in a way that was barely decent. It had been far too formal for drinks at Harry's, and he’d thought, mon dieu, no one has ever taken this girl out before, and a pang of guilt had shot through him. But then Wolverine and Jubilee had appeared behind her, and she had flashed him a triumphant grin, and he had realized that she had outplayed him.
He liked how she had refused to let him go down to New Orleans alone after the death of his brother, even though he’d tried to scare her away from coming with him. After all she’d gone through for his sake on that trip, he’d started counting her as his family, the same as Ororo. He wasn't used to that kind of loyalty, knew how rare it was. On the last night, he’d told her it was past time they had gotten serious. He’d meant to tease her with the suggestion, and was surprised to realize that he’d been serious. When she’d flown away from him, he’d been what? Relieved? Sorry?
Now, it was Rogue's turn to ask him for more. Be honest with yourself, LeBeau. That girl didn’t want you to leave. Didn't want you to charge her up and throw her away like an object. She’d called him on his bullshit on that rooftop; told him that she was done with their game and wanted something real, even though she kept denying that was possible for them. She wanted him to figure out how to make the impossible happen, how to be with a woman he might never be able to touch. He’d never been one to turn down a challenge, but she wasn't just a challenge to him anymore.
“L’enfer."
—-----
Finally, the blanket.
Dawn had flushed the sky pink and orange, and the stars were beginning to fade by the time Remy returned to the rooftop.
Rogue was still sitting there, watching the light change. She should have gone back inside to the medbay, she was surprised Moira hadn't sent out a search party for her, but she didn’t want to be around the others yet. They’d look at her, and they’d see what had happened, and they’d pity her even more than they already did. She couldn’t take their pity about Remy. She had known what he was and how their time together would end and had made her choices anyway. There was nothing to pity in stupidity.
Remy’d pulled into the mansion driveway a short while ago, sooner than she’d expected. She’d thought he had more stamina. The other woman can’t have been pleased with the time she’d had, but then maybe one night stands were like that, hot and quick and over before either party could have regrets. She wouldn't know. Carol had never been into them.
She heard his footsteps on the tiles behind her. Her first instinct was to fly away from him, take to the sky and not look back. She forced herself to wait, bouncing her knees up and down, chewing at her lips. She didn’t know what she was waiting for: an apology, an explanation, a resumption of their usual banter. She didn’t dare to hope for anything specific.
He wrapped a soft blanket around her shoulders, rested his arm on top of it. He smelt of cigarette smoke and the spicy cologne he always wore. She leaned into him and he ran gloved fingers through her hair. She let herself breathe.
"Everything's gon be fine, chere.”
"Promise?”
“Promise."
—----
This is how it continues. A rooftop. A woman. A blanket.
This time, Rogue is spreading the blanket out on the rooftop, and setting a picnic out on it. Charcuterie. Smoked salmon. Julienned vegetables. French bread and cheese. Strawberries swirled in chocolate. Champagne.
She thinks of the girl who’d sat up here years ago, and how sure she’d been that she'd never find happiness, how she'd given her heart to a man who’d throw it away as easily as he did one of his charged cards once he got bored with her and their game.
Now she hears his footsteps on the rooftop, and he’s the only person she wants to see.
“Everything’s gon be fine, chere?” Remy reads off the card he’s holding. He’s dressed up for the occasion in a tailored black suit and emerald green shirt, and is freshly shaven. He is still the most beautiful man she has ever seen, and she doesn't care that he knows it, "That’s the only clue I get?”
"You figured it out, sugar,” she says, "And, if you hadn't, I’da had all this champagne to myself. Win-win for me."
"Glad I did," he sprawls down the blanket next to her, pulling her into him and kissing her deeply, “Maybe I’m smarter now than I was as a pup."
“Guess it's true what they say about marriage and couples getting to be more alike.”
"Oui? That explain why you’re sexier than usual, Mrs LeBeau?” he looks at her appreciatively, runs a hand up her bare leg and lets it rest on her thigh. She feels a warm throb of desire, and wishes he’d continue moving upwards. She's wearing a new dress, short, tight and shockingly fuschia. She knew Remy wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her. She planned for it: cold food, a deserted mansion, even a couple of pillows.
"No, sugar, that's the two hours I took getting ready for this,” she laughs, a little embarrassed, "This all seemed like a great idea when I first had it, but then I started worrying about it being enough for our first anniversary. It ain't easy being married to the most romantic man in the whole dang world.”
“It’s perfect, Anna. You’re perfect,” he cups his hands around her face and leans in for another kiss, “Happy anniversary, ma colombe.”
“Happy anniversary, Remy.”