Chapter Text
Rogue stretched out on the cot in the med bay, her gloved fingers brushing the edge of the thin blanket draped over her. The sterile smell of antiseptic lingered in the air, mixing with the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. The med bay always felt too clean, too polished, like it didn’t belong to the chaos of their lives. Her boots hung off the end of the cot, the leather scuffed from the mission earlier, and she traced the ridges of a scratch with her thumb.
Across the room, the sound of a chair scraping against the floor drew her attention. Remy was leaning against the far wall, one leg crossed over the other, his staff resting lazily against his shoulder. His brown trench coat was slung over the back of a chair, leaving him in his tight black shirt that clung to his chest and arms in a way that made it hard not to look. His auburn hair was damp with sweat, falling messily across his forehead, and his red-on-black eyes glimmered with an amused light that said he was about to start trouble.
“Still broodin’, chère?” His voice cut through the sterile silence, low and smooth, the faint Cajun lilt curling around the words.
Rogue lifted her head, her green eyes narrowing as she fixed him with a look. “Ah’m not broodin’. Ah’m restin’. There’s a difference.”
Remy smirked, pushing off the wall with an effortless grace. The soles of his boots barely made a sound as he crossed the room, stopping just shy of her cot. He tilted his head, the smirk growing wider, and it was all she could do not to roll her eyes at the way he always looked like he knew something she didn’t.
“Coulda fooled me,” he said, his voice playful. “You got that faraway look in your eyes. Same one you had when you thought I was gonna drop you in the bayou last time we flew over it.”
Rogue shook her head but couldn’t suppress the faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She looked away, focusing on the rows of neatly labeled supplies along the wall, the gleaming edges of the medical tools lined up on a nearby tray. Everything here felt so orderly, so out of sync with the messiness of her life. “Yeah, well, you’ve got a way of makin’ a girl suspicious.”
He chuckled, dragging a chair over and flipping it around so he could straddle it. He rested his chin on the backrest, his long fingers drumming lightly against the metal frame. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms roped with lean muscle, and she hated how her eyes lingered there for just a moment too long.
“Can’t blame you, chère,” he said, his voice dipping into that honey-smooth tone he used when he wanted to get under her skin. “I’d be suspicious too if I had someone as charming as me hangin’ around.”
Before she could fire back, the door slid open with a sharp hiss, and Jean stepped into the room. Her red hair gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights, and the sharpness of her gaze immediately put Rogue on edge. Jean was always calm, always composed, but there was something about the way she was holding herself now—shoulders stiff, lips pressed into a thin line—that set off warning bells.
“What is it?” Rogue asked, sitting up straighter. Her fingers brushed the edge of the cot, the thin blanket crumpling under her grip.
Jean hesitated, her green eyes flicking between Rogue and Remy. The pause stretched too long, and Rogue’s chest tightened with unease. “During the mission,” Jean began, her voice careful, “I… might’ve overextended. I linked everyone telepathically to coordinate, but when things went south, I lost control for a moment.”
Rogue frowned, glancing at Remy, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “So? What does that mean for us?”
Jean let out a slow breath, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not entirely sure yet. Psychic connections like that… they don’t always fade right away. It’s possible there could be some residual effects.”
“Residual effects?” Remy finally spoke, his tone light but edged with curiosity. “Stray thoughts, shared dreams… sounds ominous. Think you’d enjoy a tour of my mind, chère,” he added with a teasing grin. “Spoiler: it’s mostly you.”
Rogue rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “If that’s the case, Ah’ll pass, swamp rat. Don’t need to know how much time you spend thinkin’ about stealin’ cards and chattin’ up strangers.”
Jean’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though her expression remained serious. “It’s not a joke. If either of you notice anything strange—unusual thoughts, shared dreams, anything like that—you need to tell me.”
“Shared dreams?” Rogue raised a skeptical eyebrow, leaning back against the cot. “Come on, Jean. That’s a bit far-fetched, even for us. What are the odds of somethin’ like that happenin’?”
Jean met her gaze evenly. “Stranger things have happened, Rogue. You’d be surprised what the mind is capable of, especially when it’s connected to someone else’s.”
Rogue snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well, if Ah start seein’ Remy’s ridiculous fantasies, you’ll be the first to know.”
Remy chuckled, his grin widening. “Don’t worry, chère. My dreams’ll keep you entertained, I promise.”
Jean’s expression softened, though the faint tension in her shoulders didn’t ease. “Just keep an open mind, both of you. Residual effects from psychic links can manifest in unexpected ways.”
With that, she turned and left, the door sliding shut behind her with a soft hiss. Rogue watched her go, then shifted her attention back to Remy, who was now spinning his staff idly between his fingers.
“Well,” Rogue drawled, her tone dripping with sarcasm, “Ah ain’t worried. Psychic links, shared dreams—sounds like a bad sci-fi movie.”
Remy leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest with a smirk. “Guess we’ll see, chère. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get lucky and dream ‘bout me tonight.”
Rogue rolled her eyes, snatching a pillow and hurling it at him. He caught it easily, laughing as he tossed it back onto the cot. “As if! Last thing Ah need is you showin’ up in my sleep.”
He stood with the fluid motion of a cat, his staff spinning once in his hand before he planted it firmly on the floor. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice smooth and teasing as he headed for the door. “If I do, chère, I’ll make sure it’s a good dream.”
Rogue shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips as the door slid shut behind him. She leaned back on the cot, staring up at the sterile white ceiling. “Shared dreams,” she muttered to herself, her voice laced with disbelief. “What a load of nonsense.”
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The hum of the fluorescent lights buzzed softly in the background, a steady, mechanical rhythm that somehow made the med bay feel even emptier. Rogue exhaled slowly, her chest rising and falling as the tension of the day began to ebb away. She flexed her fingers, feeling the slight resistance of her gloves, the smooth fabric pressing against her skin. A familiar barrier. A constant weight.
Her body sank into the cot, the thin mattress offering little comfort, but exhaustion tugged at her limbs, making her muscles feel heavy, leaden. The antiseptic smell that lingered in the air seemed to dull, replaced by something softer, something warm. Her eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment, she let herself drift, the hum of the lights fading into a low, rhythmic murmur that matched the beating of her heart.
The world around her grew hazy, the edges of the med bay blurring until they dissolved entirely. The cold, clinical space gave way to something else, something alive. The scent of magnolias filled her senses, rich and intoxicating, and a faint breeze stirred, carrying with it the low, mournful wail of a saxophone.
Rogue opened her eyes, and she wasn’t in the med bay anymore.
The air wrapped around her like a warm, silken blanket, thick with damp earth and a sweetness that made her head swim. She looked down, her boots crunching against cobblestones that shimmered faintly in the dim light, like the stones themselves held the memory of sunlight. She glanced up, and the world seemed to stretch and twist at the edges, its borders hazy and dreamlike. Towering wrought-iron balconies lined the narrow street, draped with blooming vines that pulsed faintly, their deep red flowers glowing like embers in the lantern light.
The lanterns themselves floated midair, their golden light flickering in a rhythm that seemed to match her breath. Shadows on the walls shifted like living things, stretching and twisting with each pulse of light. The cobblestones under her boots vibrated faintly, as if the city itself was breathing in sync with her. The entire place felt alive, not in the way a city typically does, but with an otherworldly energy that prickled at her skin.
She spun slowly, her brows knitting together as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. “Where…?”
“Bienvenue à la Nouvelle-Orléans, chère.”
The voice came from behind her, smooth and teasing, with just enough of a drawl to send a shiver down her spine. She turned, and there he was—Remy.
He stood at the end of the street, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the lanterns. His auburn hair caught the light, the strands gleaming like polished copper, and his trench coat billowed faintly in the warm breeze. His posture was relaxed, one hand casually resting on his hip while the other twirled a single playing card between his fingers. Behind him, the street seemed to stretch infinitely, disappearing into a haze of golden light.
Rogue’s stomach flipped, her heart hammering in her chest. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”
Remy tilted his head, his smirk widening as he sauntered toward her. His footsteps echoed softly, the sound oddly muted against the shimmering stones. “Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms, though the gesture felt more defensive than defiant. “Ah don’t remember signin’ up for a tour.”
He stopped a few paces away, close enough that she could see the glint of mischief in his red-on-black eyes. The lantern light reflected off his irises, making them seem even more luminous than usual. “Can’t say I planned this either, chère, but… I ain’t complainin’.”
Rogue looked around again, her gaze sweeping over the surreal scene. The city felt alive, pulsing with a rhythm that seemed to sync with her own heartbeat. The air carried the faint sound of jazz music, distant but unmistakable, as if the city itself was humming a tune just for them.
Her stomach twisted. “This ain’t real,” she muttered, mostly to herself.
Remy raised an eyebrow, his grin softening just a bit. “Dreamin’, then?”
She nodded slowly, her arms dropping to her sides. “Yeah. Must be.”
Remy took another step closer, and this time she didn’t back away. The faint vibration in the stones beneath her feet intensified, almost as if the city were holding its breath. “Well, if we’re dreamin’, might as well make it a good one, non?”
Before she could respond, he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against her bare arm. Rogue’s breath caught in her throat. She looked down at his hand, at the contact that should’ve sent a jolt of power surging through her, but… nothing. There was no spark, no pull, just the warmth of his skin against hers.
The hum of the cobblestones grew softer, almost reverent, as if the dream itself was responding to their connection.
Her eyes shot back up to his, wide with disbelief. “How…?”
Remy’s smirk returned, softer now but no less charming. “Ain’t gotta explain it, chère. Just enjoy it.”
Rogue hesitated, her gaze flicking to the floating lanterns above, their light pulsing faintly in time with the melody of the distant saxophone. The air felt heavier now, charged with a warmth that seeped into her skin, urging her to let go. To just be.
She stared at him, her mind racing. It wasn’t possible—it couldn’t be—but here he was, touching her like it was the most natural thing in the world. And for the first time in as long as she could remember, she wasn’t afraid.
He took her hand in his, his thumb brushing gently across her knuckles. “Dance with me.”
“What?” The word came out sharper than she intended, but she didn’t pull away.
Remy tilted his head toward the soft strains of music drifting through the air. “C’mon, Rogue. Don’t tell me you’re gonna turn down a dance.”
Her lips parted, a dozen excuses forming in her mind, but none of them made it past her throat. Instead, she let him lead her to the center of the street, his hands warm and steady as they guided hers. The cobblestones felt cool underfoot, the faint glow of the lanterns casting long, shifting shadows as he pulled her close.
His hand settled on her waist, the other still holding hers, and she let out a shaky breath as they began to move. The music swelled, wrapping around them like a living thing, and for a moment, the rest of the world fell away. It was just the two of them, moving together under the soft glow of the lanterns, his touch grounding her in a way she hadn’t thought possible.
“You’re quiet, chère,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “Ain’t like you.”
Rogue looked up at him, her heart still hammering. “Ah don’t know what to say.”
He smiled, his fingers tightening slightly on her waist. “Don’t need to say nothin’. Just be here.”
And for once, she let herself. She let herself sink into the moment, into the warmth of his hands and the easy rhythm of their movements. She let herself forget the fear, the walls she’d built, and the ever-present reminder of what she couldn’t have. Here, in this strange, impossible dream, none of it mattered.
But even as she let herself lean into him, her cheek brushing against his shoulder, a flicker of doubt stirred in the back of her mind. Dreams didn’t last. And when she woke, this would all be gone.
Wouldn’t it?
Rogue’s breath caught in her chest as she swayed against him, every nerve in her body alive and thrumming with sensation. The warmth of his hand on her waist felt impossibly vivid, grounding her in a way that left her dizzy. She could feel the calluses on his fingertips as they traced small, absentminded circles along her hip, the rough texture sending shivers through her. His other hand enveloped hers completely, their fingers interlaced, and the pressure of his grip was firm yet tender, as if he were afraid she might vanish if he held on too tight.
Her gaze fell to their joined hands, mesmerized by the sight of her ungloved fingers against his skin. She could see every tiny detail: the faint lines etched into his palm, the slight roughness at the base of his thumb. She tightened her hold experimentally, the sensation of his hand pressing back almost too much to bear.
Her heart pounded, the sound loud in her ears, and her chest heaved with shallow breaths. For years, touch had been nothing but a phantom—a cruel reminder of everything she couldn’t have. But here, in this impossible dream, it was more than real. It was overwhelming.
The soft fabric of his shirt brushed against her bare arm as they moved, and she nearly gasped at the texture: smooth, warm, alive. Every inch of her skin seemed to buzz with the foreign sensation, her mind struggling to process it all at once. She leaned into him unconsciously, her forehead brushing against the hollow of his shoulder, and the heat radiating from his body made her feel lightheaded.
“Remy,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “This… this is…”
He tilted his head down toward her, his breath warm against her hair. “It’s somethin’, ain’t it?”
She nodded mutely, unable to find the words to describe what she was feeling. Her gloved hand drifted to his chest, resting just above his heart. She could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips, each beat sending a wave of sensation coursing through her. It was hypnotic, the rhythm anchoring her even as her world tilted dangerously off balance.
“I can feel it,” she murmured, her voice filled with awe. “Ah can feel everythin’.”
His lips curled into a soft smile, his voice low and soothing. “Ain’t no reason to hold back, chère. It’s just us here.”
Her eyes fluttered closed as her hand explored further, sliding up over the curve of his shoulder. The muscles beneath his shirt shifted and flexed under her touch, and she marveled at the way they felt so solid, so alive. Her fingers traced the line of his collarbone, the faint stubble on his neck brushing against her palm as she moved.
The sheer intimacy of it all made her chest ache. Her powers had always been a barrier, a shield that kept her apart from the world, but here, there was nothing between them. She could feel everything: the warmth of his skin, the slight roughness of his jaw where it brushed against her temple, the way his breath hitched when her fingers lingered too long in one spot.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, unbidden and impossible to stop. “Ah didn’t know it’d be like this,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Ah didn’t know touch could feel… so much.”
Remy’s hand slid from her waist to cradle the back of her neck, his thumb brushing softly against her hairline. “You deserve this, Rogue. You deserve to feel it all.”
Her chest tightened, the raw emotion in his voice undoing her. She looked up at him, her vision blurred by tears, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade entirely. It was just him—his face, his touch, his steady presence holding her together.
And then, like a thread snapping, it was gone.
She jolted awake, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she sat bolt upright on the med bay cot. The blanket tangled around her legs felt stifling, too heavy, and she shoved it aside with trembling hands. The sterile hum of the fluorescent lights overhead buzzed harshly, cutting through the lingering warmth of the dream.
Rogue sat frozen, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Her hand lifted to her cheek, trembling slightly as her fingers brushed against her skin, searching for the lingering warmth of his touch. But all she found was the unyielding coolness of her glove. She pressed harder, as if the pressure might summon back the impossible sensation. When it didn’t, her hand fell limply to her lap, her fingers curling into a fist against the ache spreading through her chest.
Her gaze darted around the med bay, searching for something—anything—that might ground her. But the space felt colder now, more clinical than ever, as though it was mocking the impossible intimacy she had just experienced. The hum of the lights, the faint antiseptic smell, the neatly ordered supplies—everything felt out of place, foreign, compared to the dream’s vividness.
Her fingers slid to her temples, and she leaned forward, her elbows braced on her knees. She could still hear his voice, low and warm, telling her she deserved to feel it all. The memory made her chest tighten, her breath hitching as she fought against the wave of longing that threatened to swallow her whole.
The med bay door hissed open, and Rogue flinched, her head snapping toward the sound. It was just Hank, his arms full of medical supplies, his expression unreadable as he glanced in her direction. He nodded politely before disappearing into an adjacent room, leaving her alone once more.
And somewhere, in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but wonder: if it had felt that real to her… had it felt the same for him?