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It was in the early breaths of autumn, when the air was crisp and the breeze was gentle. Everyone loved fall. Everyone except Rogue. To her, fall was just the time of year when things started to die.
She pulled her leather jacket a little closer as she sat on the edge of the rooftop ledge. Closing her eyes, she imagined his arms around her shoulders. Stray tears fell from her cheeks as she tried and failed not to think of him lying in the infirmary without her next to him. But she'd been the one to put him there, so she restrained herself from so much as a visit even though it killed her. Even though he’d want her there. Would it be enough to make him hate her?
Impossible.
The sun began to set, a brilliant pink bleeding into indigo hues. It was a beautiful sight, and she hated that he wasn't here with her to see it.
New York ain't got nothin’ on Orleans.
“Got even less on Mississippi…” She murmured back to the ghost in her head. He was still stuck there, and she hadn’t been able to look in the mirror since it happened. Not when it’d be his eyes looking back at her. This was the first time her physical appearance had been changed for so long. Usually, it wore off within an hour, and she at least looked like herself even if she didn’t feel like it. “Merde, I need a smoke.”
She knew she was holding on too tight, but she was so scared. What if all she had left of him was a voice in her head? What if he never woke up? Hank and the Professor hadn’t given her any sort of hope. She could see right through their poker faces. That was him too, never a fool except for her.
Her shaky hand lit a cigarette and brought it to her lips. The nicotine did nothing to stop her replaying the fight in her head. Stupid, reckless, rookie mistake. She berated herself incessantly until he stopped her. Now, don’ go talking ‘bout my Anna Marie that way. Rogue chuckled. So, she was Anna Marie in his mind. There was something comforting about that.
“It’s my fault you’re… like this.” She couldn’t bring herself to say how close he was to death right now. Didn’t want to speak it into existence. “Don’ see how we can go blamin’ you before the Shadow King, Chere.”
The Shadow King had only been the instigator, the puppeteer. She’d been the puppet. Her powers, her fault. C’mon, ma colombe, don’t be so hard on yourself. Though, I do admit, our first danse with dhe Shadow King was far more pleasant, non? She shook her head. Of course he’d bring that up now.
“Hush, Cajun.” She said, putting out the cigarette on the ledge. Faîtes-moi, Chère. Make me. Her legs dangled precariously off the roof. Instead of filing him away in her mind like another one of her psyches, Rogue pushed him closer to the forefront of her thoughts. “... Getting a bit close to the edge, there. Makin’ Gambit a bit nervous.” Furrowing her brow, Rogue bluffed, “It’s fine. You know I can fly.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” He tried to pull away and tuck himself safely inside her subconscious where she couldn’t reach out to him anymore. “Stop,” Rogue desperately kept hold of him like she was drowning and he was her lifeline. “Don’t lose yourself to me, Chere. You gotta let me—” “No!” “Anna Marie…” “I can’t, please? Please don’t go.”
She was sobbing now, her cheeks hot from shame and self-hatred. She couldn’t do it; she couldn’t do this. “I can’t lose you, Remy.”
“I’m not something you can lose,” She could almost feel his hand rubbing comforting circles on her back. “Je suis toujours avec toi mon amour. I’m always with you.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
With a final breath, she let him go. Lord, it felt like a railroad spike to the chest. She curled up on the ledge, head held on her knees, fingernails digging into her arms, and cried til she ran out of tears. Her head was pounding and now her nose was runny, and she knew tomorrow everything would hurt anew, but most of all, she just felt… Empty.
The night sky was now covered in its blanket of stars. With no moon in the sky, she caught sight of a falling star. Someone had told her once that wishing on a falling star during a new moon was bad luck. Gris-gris, as Remy would say. He always was the superstitious type. Rogue never believed in such things, but she kept her wish to herself just in case. It’s not as though the universe didn’t already know what she wanted anyway.
Rogue shivered from the cold. Her fingers had gone numb some time ago, and her breath came out in shaky clouds. “It's too damn cold,” she muttered. She knew she should go inside. She needed to see him. Tell him how sorry she was. How much she loved him.
A heavy coat draped gently around her shoulders. She turned around expecting Kurt or maybe Logan, but instead her eyes met black and scarlet.
“Remy,” She breathed his name out like sacred prayer.
“C’mere, Chere.” His voice was coarse and quiet and more beautiful to her ears than a Dolly Parton song. “Lemme hold you.”
Rogue moved to him before she could think to hesitate. She looked him over, only half believing he was really there. Her eyes paused at the bruises around his neck. She could almost see her finger prints in the deep blue and purple splotches. He was a few shades paler and had dark bags under his eyes despite not being conscious for three whole days. Though, she supposed a coma wasn’t exactly a power nap.
“Shhh, everything okay now.”
She was crying again. Guess she still had tears to spend.
“You’re not supposed to be comforting me right now,” She sniffled. “I wasn’t just in a coma.”
“Coma’s just a long nap.” He said, and she glared up at him. He’d all but fallen into her arms, his legs still shaky and weak. Rogue was the only thing holding him upright. Remy chuckled, “Bit uncanny looking in your eyes when they look like mine. Kinda hot though.”
She let out a broken laugh, “Scoundrel.”
He flashed that devil-may-care grin. “You love it.”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
His response came so easily, like it was something she told him daily and not something she only dared to say once in a blue corn moon. “Don't Han Solo me, Cajun. I mean it.” Rogue returned his trenchcoat, draping it across his shoulders like a cape. He’d sacrificed it to her despite still being dressed in his light linen scrubs. He was always like that— a southern gentleman to the point of self destruction. “And I know I don't say it near enough, so I'm gonna say it again. I love you.”
“I love you too.” He raised his hand to caress her face, and she instinctively flinched away, afraid once again of her power. His hand then went to her hair as it so often did when the rest of her was untouchable. “Anna Marie, I’m in pain somethin’ awful. I heard a kiss is the only cure…”
She gave a soft sigh, making up her mind. “Scoundrel.” She was gonna kiss this foolish man silly. Pulling the lapels of his trenchcoat down, she met his lips in full force. Steadying his back with one arm, she clung to him unrelentlessly. His mouth was dry, his lips were chapped, and his stubble had grown soft. When they parted, he smiled like he was seeing the sunrise for the first time.
“There’s those beautés émeraude.” He kissed her cheekbone, his eyelashes tickling her forehead. “I missed those eyes.”
“Me too.” She said, brushing her thumb under his dark eyes. “Ain’t no angel with eyes prettier than my diable blanc.”
“‘Cept the one standing in front of me.” He said with a jaw splitting yawn.
Rogue snorted, “Okay, Romeo. How’s about we put you to bed before you fall over.”
In one swift motion, she swooped him off his feet and into her arms. He nestled a tired head in the crook of her neck, his soft breath warm against her skin.
“Hmm, I do enjoy the thought of you putting me to bed. Maybe play a little nurse while you’re at it.”
“Not tonight, Sugah.” She jostled with the handle with one hand, holding him wholly with one arm. It was certainly a balancing game, one Remy seemed content making more difficult by lightly nipping at her ticklish ear. Finally, she heard the door catch, “But it’d be my pleasure to wake you up in the mornin’.”
“Your pleasure?” He chuckled, pressing another quick kiss to her neck. “Sounds like the pleasure’s all mine, Chere.”