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………..
Moonlight shone through the hotel’s towering balcony window onto the gown Rogue had laid out carefully on the bed. Even while the corners of the room remained shrouded in half-dark—half-dark suiting Rogue’s current mood just fine—the dress shone clearly in the bright night.
Rogue stood beside the bed, wrapped in a towel, and lost in her thoughts.
Remy… Eric…
She reached out and touched the smooth fabric of the gown, appreciating the sleekness of the soft material as the skirt slid through her fingertips.
Texture was an indulgence for Rogue, something to be appreciated only in solitude. Alone like this, she would often find herself touching things, unconsciously reveling in everyday textures: the feathery softness of a blanket, the crisp paper pages of a book, the cold solidity of the bathroom counter under her bare hands.
For her, these common simplicities were an indulgence. Due to her mutation, Rogue was forced to live in an almost constant state of covered-up, head to foot and toetip to fingertip. Only when she was alone could she remove her gloves and touch the world barehanded, barefooted, and breathe easy feeling the breeze on her bare shoulders.
Rogue was alone now. However, she did not breathe easy.
Tonight Rogue’s heart felt heavy as a brick in her chest.
Remy.
He’d handled her confession of her past affair with Magneto with no outward sign of upset beyond the steady stream of cards thrown into the fire.
She’d expected a more heated response from him—shock, disgust. Maybe some yelling. Blowing something up had seemed a definite possibility in her mind…
But he hadn’t. Remy hadn’t even seem surprised. He’d just listened, impassive—a perfect poker face—letting her talk as his cards burned to ash one by one.
Rogue took a deep breath, trying to stop the memory from recycling in her mind.
She looked at the dress again. Her eyes slid to the matching elbow length gloves and satin jacket lain out next to it. Despite the matching colors and fabrics, the gloves and jacket did not enhance the look of the dress. But their purpose had never been for fashion. Their purpose was to bind up the woman, confining her toxic touch to just herself. A necessary precaution to keep everyone safe from her.
Everyone… except Eric, that is. Her touch was no threat to him.
Eric.
Long ago, her young self had been in love with the whole idea of him.
As a girl, everything about Magneto had drawn her in. His confidence, his eloquence, his ideas. He’d been like a god, offering her deliverance from a world that hated her all the way down to her genes. Couple that with his offering her that ever-forbidden ability to touch, and her young heart had fallen head-over-heels down to worship at his shrine.
But that idolized version of him had quickly cracked and broken apart. And the god gave way, exposing the demons that haunted the man.
And Rogue had run. Just like Mystique, Magneto had been unable to save her.
Rogue huffed out a breath and snatched up the dress, slipping it on in the moonlight.
As she turned to face the full length mirror, her mind involuntarily pictured Remy at her side. They would have made a striking couple, all dolled up. When Rogue had shown up on Remy’s balcony tonight, her breath had hitched at the sight of him in his white tuxedo. He’d looked so handsome.
But then again, Rogue mused with a sad smile tugging at her mouth, Remy always managed to look handsome.
From the first time she’d laid eyes on him, he’d made her heart skip a beat.
Over the years Rogue had gotten used to certain kinds of attention from men. But the only men who had dared to get close to her were men who didn’t know her, didn’t know what she was and what she would do to them if they got too close.
Except for Gambit. Gambit was different, because he knew. He knew what would happen if he touched her and still he drew ever closer.
It had unnerved her. Because he was beautiful and forbidden and an absolute dead-brain for not knowing what was good for him! Did he have a death wish or something? All she ever did was push him away, and yet somehow he’d managed to wriggle his way into her heart, like a swamp rat onto the skiff.
Rogue swallowed the lump in her throat, hating the way her aching heart scratched against her lungs when she breathed. But she wasn’t going to cry. Not anymore. She’d bawled like a baby already in the shower, and she promised herself that she was done with tears for tonight.
So she tamped down those thoughts and focused on the mirror again.
The tropical heat of the day had given way to a pleasant night, and Rogue took a moment to relish the warm humidity on her naked shoulders, her arms.
It felt nice. Not to cover up.
Rogue ran her bare hand up her bare arm, closing her eyes. It was embarrassing to admit, but this was the kind of thing she did often. She’d close her eyes, touch her own skin and imagine it was someone else touching her. Is this how it would feel? To have flesh on flesh without hurting anyone? Most often it was simple touches, everyday things, that she would experiment with. Running her thumb over her own knuckle, mimicking the motion that always caused Scott and Jean to smile at each other. Setting her hand on her own shoulder, like Logan casually did when standing behind a seated Ororo. Brushing the backs of her knuckles along her cheek, imagining it was Remy…
Rogue’s eyes flew open again and she shook her head to banish the image. That fantasy was off limits now. Taboo. And of her own doing. Just an hour ago she’d burned that bridge with her own blazing torch.
A breeze from the open window kissed her shoulder blades and she shivered. Not because the air was cold—it wasn’t—but because she could feel it.
Touch. She craved it. Like a junky always after the next fix, Rogue thirsted for touch.
Then Magneto had waltzed back into her life. And from the moment Eric had moved into the mansion, she had felt his pull, his draw. The temptation of his skin.
To a normal person that touch she’d shared with Eric, removing her glove and allowing him to cradle her hand in his, could have been nothing—a throw away, everyday interaction. But for her, it had awakened a thousand memories. Memories from so long ago it hardly felt like her own life. Memories from when she’d been known by a different name. She’d remembered her mother. Her Daddy. Even her Aunt Carrie. Remembered back to when touch was so easy and casual it had been given away for free. Touch that had made her feel loved and accepted and safe. Touch that told her she belonged.
But of course Eric’s hands holding hers had reminded her of other touch as well, a different kind of touch entirely.
Rogue told herself as she left Eric’s office that night, that what she’d done was fine, innocent. It was nothing more than what normal people exchanged a hundred times a day without a thought.
But that couldn’t explain her hot cheeks, her need to hide it, the guilt.
Whatever it would have been to someone else, between the two of them that hand hold had been anything but innocent. That touch had been forbidden, and evocative, and charged with something beyond Eric’s electromagnetism. It was just their hands, but it had meant more and they both knew it. It had awakened a long repressed hunger.
And like an addict, Rogue knew she needed more.
Rogue sighed, looking at the bed where her jacket and gloves lay loudly.
Without those, Rogue could kill Remy tonight. By accident. With her, Remy would never be safe.
She was no good for him.
But since when did Remy LeBeau ever chose what was good for him? Since never! He gambled, he thieved, he chased danger like a drug. And just like his cigarettes, sooner or later, if he didn’t give her up, Rogue knew she would kill him one day.
Remy…
He had been so stoic tonight, detached. All up until he’d asked her what she planned to do next. The unspoken question of what about them?
Them.
What were they anyway?
They were two people pretending to be in love, that’s what.
Once (and only once!), in an intimate moment between the two of them, Remy had joked about finding her a power negating collar. That comment had been the start of one of the hottest rows they’d ever had. Rogue had tossed Gambit across the room and screamed at him with a passion that had drawn curious heads popping out from every room in the mansion. Then she’d flown off leaving Remy wincing and yelling after her.
It had taken Rogue a hot couple of hours busting up boulders and racing through the sky to even understand why Remy’s suggestion had made her so mad. Because on the face of it, maybe power suppressing technology seemed like a viable option, a fix that could give them a semblance of what other couples had.
But everything about that felt wrong, and the painful secret that she realized that day had changed the trajectory of their relationship forever.
But of course she didn’t talk to Remy about it. Instead, she’d bestowed upon Gambit a silent treatment that would’ve put the dead to shame; which he’d matched with his own equally cold shoulder. But both were hiding their hurt behind fronts. Although her pain was always louder and less polished, she knew Remy kept his true feelings bottled behind a mask of nonchalance and arrogance.
The two of them had never been very good at communication, had they? Banter. Flirtation. Even fighting with each other. They were world class at those. But honest conversation and vulnerability? Naw, not their style.
Sure enough, over time, the two southern rats had soon resumed their back and forth, their overt flirtations and playful teasing; their fight pushed under the parlor rug like a broken heirloom. But in her heart, Rogue had taken a permanent step back that day.
Because Remy’s comment had been proof that as she was, she was never going to be enough for him. And why she’d ever thought she could be just made her out as the stupidest lovesick gal on the planet. How could she, the girl with the poison skin, ever hope to keep Remy Lebeau—known ladies man extraordinaire—pinned down in a relationship that could never give him what he wanted, what he needed?
So anytime Remy would even hint at making things more serious, Rogue would backpedal. Because she knew deep down, that what they had could never last.
Sure, she’d be his Chère. For now. But it was an act. A little dream to make-believe until Remy got tired of the chase and decide to pursue someone that could be caught.
This was why she had never allowed anything official between her and Remy. So they both could leave when the time came, with no ties to cut.
But frankly she had never imagined that it would be her who walked away.
But Eric had returned. And this place, Genosha, had won her heart in a single day!
Being here in Genosha, seeing this place! Mutants in the streets, unafraid and out in the open together! It had triggered a realization that deep down, Rogue still wanted the dream that Eric had planted in her heart so long ago. She wanted a safe place for mutants, for kids like she had been, to live and grow and feel normal. Perhaps here she could shelter others from the rejection, abuse, and manipulation she’d experienced because of her mutation.
Rogue had been so young, so broken when she and Eric had explored their possibility. But she was older now. She knew Eric was just a man—not a god—a man with trauma that could lead him to make dangerous choices. But he was trying to be better, and she thought—well she hoped—that maybe she could help to temper his extremes, help him to rule Genosha with the moral code she’d converted to in Xavier’s house. With her by Magneto’s side, perhaps she could help provide the balance that these people, her people, needed.
This is what she’d tried to help make Remy see. That her choice wasn’t just about them.
But she hadn’t known it would be so hard.
Some things be deeper than skin, Chère.
Not this.
Not this… Right?
Remy was lying to himself if he thought he would want her forever. Not with their… challenges. But then again, Remy was an alpha level liar. That man could lie to an angel and it would follow him blissfully right down to hell.
A solitary tear sliding down his cheek…
Had Remy lied so well this time, that he’d even fooled himself?
Well she was done lying to herself.
Rogue looked at the gloves and jacket on the bed…
With Eric she had a future. A purpose. This is what she wanted.
Turning her back, Rogue walked out the door.
………….
Gambit had attended his fair share of grandiose parties (some of which he had even been invited to), but even in his rather vast experience, the Genosha National Gala was among the most ostentatious he’d seen. Colored lights pulsed and changed with the beat of the music, music that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Indoor waterfalls fell several stories from the top level of the impossibly high ceilinged ballroom—a ceiling decorated with hanging crystal chandeliers large enough to double as dance floors for mutants gifted with flight. Wait staff served impeccably designed hors d’oeuvres and drinks to the hundreds of mutants milling around the ornate ballroom, while open bars were available for those who preferred a seat and a specific drink.
Remy was always one to appreciate fine taste and a good spectacle, but not tonight. Tonight he saw little more than the bar top in front of him.
His ears were still ringing from the bomb that Rogue had dropped on him just hours ago. He’d already known that something was amiss, suspected the woman he loved wasn’t being entirely forthcoming with him. So at first when he’d sat in front of the fire he was apprehensive but prepared to listen, grateful that she was finally choosing to communicate with him.
Rogue didn’t talk much about her days before the X-Men (which was fair since neither did he), so he knew right away that her being willing to share this with him was costing her something. He was not entirely surprised to find that a younger Rogue had interacted with Magneto in the past—he’d already suspected that much—but hearing the extent to which they’d been “acquainted” was a gut punch.
He’d assumed Rogue to have certain… naiveties, her mutation seeming to allow no alternatives. But Remy couldn’t condemn Rogue for who she’d slept with in the past— his own romantic history was far too extensively shaded to cast any judgement on her. This didn’t mean he liked what he heard—the narrative stank of manipulation by old Mags for one thing—but Remy held his emotions at bay.
Pasts were past. Remy cared far less about her confessions than what they meant for them now.
“You gonna accept his offer?”
His lady, the Queen of Hearts, burst into flames at her reply. Then and only then did his composure fail, the betrayal breaking through. His words were sharp, accusing. And her reply desperate.
“Ah can’t touch you, Remy!”
There is was. The obstacle they could never get past. A wall so thick and tall and wide and deep they could never go beyond it.
Except that he had. Unbelievably, Remy had accepted that he may never get to touch Rogue, and he wanted her anyway. Having her in his life was enough. She was enough.
But he wasn’t enough for her.
So Remy had let her go. Locking so many true words behind his teeth, leaving them unsaid lest he cut her with them.
Growing up amid the feuding guilds of New Orleans had shown Remy how little was to be gained from striking back. For generations the Thieves and Assassins had returned hurt for hurt, suffering for suffering, only to deepen the feud, to pass on the pain to their children’s children’s children. But inflicting more injury never lessened a loss.
If Remy wasn’t what Rogue wanted, he couldn’t fight it, not without hurting her. And he didn’t want to hurt her.
“A drink for our dashing Cajun?”
Madelyn had found him amid the crowd, no doubt with help from a psychic scan. He knew she was there to offer him company, solace. Remy accepted her offered drink, but felt no solace as the new King of Genosha entered the room.
“Not enough drink change the fact that others be more dashing.”
The alcohol burned in his throat.
Remy’s red eyes followed Magneto as his entourage welcomed him with ingratiating smiles. The old man accepted the ego stroking with practiced ease.
Magneto claimed to be a changed man. But Gambit didn’t trust him. Hands that have dripped in that much blood can’t ever scrub clean. (Remy should know. Even though he needs, as much as anyone, to believe that they can.)
Big picture politics didn’t interest Remy much; he’d ignored Rule of Law for most of his life anyway. What he cared about here was far more personal. Rogue was being upgraded from a Pawn to a Queen. But she was still a piece on the board. And Remy didn’t trust who was playing the game.
Gambit felt a strange degree of detachment when he looked at Magneto. He only hated old Mags for having what he coveted most—the ability to touch Rogue. But he wouldn’t make this some cock fight. Because beyond how the man had come between Remy and Rogue, Gambit didn’t give one damn about Magneto.
The energy in the ballroom shifted, and all eyes turn skyward. Her gravity pulled him to his feet without knowing it.
Rogue looked achingly beautiful, her dress hugging and flowing in all the right places. She’d pulled her two-toned curls up, exposing the forbidden milky skin of her arms, her shoulders, her back. No gloves in sight.
She is breathtaking. Literally. He cannot breathe.
Remy cannot take his eyes off her.
But she has eyes for another. She extends her naked hand towards Magneto and he rises to follow her, his palm mirroring hers in the air before…
The close of their hands reverberated through Remy’s empty chest like the final sealing of a tomb. And he is leaving. He still isn’t breathing, but he’s gone before any more of his insides can be harrowed apart.
………………
Rogue’s entrance made no small stir in the bright and spacious ballroom, the beat of the music seeming to intensify just for her. She could feel all eyes turn towards her as she floated down from the high ceiling in her gown.
Rogue had been turning heads since she was a teen, and she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t enjoy the attention. Mystique used to say that Rogue’s beauty was a gift. Mystique had encouraged her to use her allure as any other tool; use her body to disarm, bring her opponent’s guard down, make them come to her.
But as her powers had continued out of control, Rogue had become more and more protective of her body, covering up every ounce of skin. Attention from men had become less and less welcome.
As she’d grown older she’d begun to wonder what kind of sick creature she was—born with a body that attracts prey, only to more easily drain them dry. She began to resent the shallow attention she garnered with her body. It was only a lure, right? Like a light on a deep sea predator, attracting its prey right to the lips of death.
She’d seen Eric almost immediately, felt his eyes on her. His gaze was focused, in a flattering way, on only her, and she drank it in. This man she could entice without fear. It made her feel bold.
Rogue had left Eric earlier that night with no answer. He had proposed to her, offering her power at his side as the queen of Genosha, and she had left him without a response. He’d encouraged her to think about it, and to give him her answer tonight at the ball.
She’d sensed the double edge of his offer, knowing that his claim of needing her to help him lead was only half of his reason for wanting her at his side. The interaction left an aftertaste of manipulation. But she knew that. And Eric wasn’t even trying to hide it. She could play that game too.
She invited him with an outstretched hand, and he flew to her. Eric’s eyes never veered from her; he was confident of her answer—and he was here to claim it.
As his hand extended toward her, she reminded herself that she won’t hurt him, and presses her palm into his. It feels so bold, so evocative. She feels giddy, a thrill surging in her core knowing that tonight she’s just like anyone else—touching, dancing. It may seem a simple thing, but for Rogue, who has always had to watch from the safety of the sidelines, it’s a forbidden pleasure she’s fantasized about since she was twelve.
Eric does not hesitate, pulling her close.
She knows he’s old enough to be her dad. If she was a normal human, that might bother her. But when you’re an outcast, you find what commonalities connect you, not what separates. She and Eric share a common dream, one they’ve both converted to and are trying their best to uphold. They have history together. And hopes for Genosha’s future. And of course, they have touch—something she cannot share with anyone else. Age seems such an unimportant factor for someone as chronically isolated as the two of them.
They spin and fly. He takes the lead, so sure of himself, his hands never leaving her. He spins her close to him, his palms against her body, his forehead against hers. She can feel his breath on her bare neck. Her head swims, his skin on hers intoxicating, making her thoughts muddle. It’s all sensation, no thoughts, just feel. She is drunk with it.
People are watching, but her head is a million miles away, unable to process anything but an overwhelming barrage of physical overstimulation. Her eyes are open but she sees nothing, hears nothing, experiences nothing beyond the touch of skin on her skin. She feels wild and out of control. It's nice. Since ‘careful’ and ‘controlled’ have been the tedious constant of her life.
Eric spins her in, pulling her back up against his chest. His lips graze her neck and she shivers, his palms running all the way along her naked arms. He turns her to face him, and her eyes focus for the first time since Eric first touched her hand.
She blinks, like being dragged unwillingly out of a deep dream. He’s looking at her, asking her. And her heart drops. That’s right. Her answer. He wants her to choose him. To choose Genosha.
This was a show, a transaction. A sign to all gathered—to the whole world in fact—that she was taking her place by Eric’s side as his Queen of Genosha.
Because that’s what she wants. Right?
So Rogue brings her lips to Magneto’s, and kisses.
A kiss had once been her signature weapon, back when Rogue had fought with the Brotherhood. Mystique had encouraged it, telling Rogue that it made the most practical sense. Her face was usually the only skin she left uncovered; a kiss wasted no time like removing a glove. And more often than not her prey would have already been eyeing her lips, leaning unwittingly into their own firing squad. Rogue used to get a kind of hardened glee, kissing someone senseless—served them damn right for lusting after a mutie.
Mystique had taught her that a kiss meant nothing—her mother long ago having embraced her own body as a deadly tool to be wielded without hesitation or regret. And Rogue could have agreed for some time, even after joining the X-Men, until… until she’d found out for herself that that was a bald faced lie.
Because she’d felt a real kiss—one so wrought full of meaning it blew apart her known universe, realigning it all over again with him at the center.
Remy’s kiss.
It had happened in the savage land when their powers were negated. She’d been afraid, and he had cradled her in his arms, telling her he loved her and then showing her with a kiss. And she knew she could never be the same. Compared to that, all other kisses were cheap imitations, plastic copies sold for pittance.
Including this one.
Rogue pulled away, ending the very public kiss that was meant to be her answer. And in a way it was, not the answer she thought she was giving, but certainly the one she needed to receive.
“Thanks for the dance, Sugah.” She covered Eric’s lips with her fingertips, gently distancing herself. “But Remy was right. Some things are deeper than skin.”
…………….
As his feet stepped out onto the marbled rooftop terraces—away from the throbbing music and lights from inside—Remy was finally able to take a breath.
In his haste to escape the ballroom, Remy hadn’t paid much attention to where he was going—just away!—so it was with a small degree of curiosity that he found himself in a garden on top of the grand pyramidal building. The humid night air was still warm, the lush green from the garden’s array of large leafed plants serving as a visual reminder that this was indeed a tropical island. The night sky vaulted over the marble terraces in a vast solemn blanket full of stars—a welcome escape from the flashing lights and pounding base inside the ballroom.
Remy wished he could escape his own pounding heart as easily.
Kinetic energy sizzled beneath his skin. Remy shoved his hands into his pockets to try to rein in its buildup. His hands grasped the gloves he’d gotten into the habit of always having with him. About a year ago Remy had woken panicked from a dream where Rogue was dying, and he unable to help her with his bare hands. Since then he’d stared bringing gloves with him wherever he went, for Rogue, just in case.
The gloves were an insult to injury now—like drowning in water that smelled like her perfume—forcing his mind to relive the scene he’d just escaped from.
That moment—watching as his Rogue’s naked hand close harmlessly with Magneto’s—was a hundred emotions at once, and every one of them dialed to 10.
Until it happened, until he saw for himself, he half expected (hoped?) for old Mags to drop like a stone from the sky, sucked dry by Rogue’s poison touch. The other half had held its breath, fearing another failure, aching for Rogue to finally have what she’s hungered for—and been denied—most of her life.
Then their hands had closed, the not-knowing snuffed between them like a candle. Hope and fear both gone, his insides hollowed into black smoke. His body turned away of its own accord, his legs at maximum restraint not to run. Escape was the only option—unless Genosha wanted to burn pink as he turned the whole damn room kinetic.
Jealous was an understatement. Violent fantasies of charging Mags’ stupid helmet (with his stupid head still in it of course) appeased the rabid, angry dogs in his gut, postponing them from eating Remy alive. Her betrayal burned like bile in his throat. But all the while he knew he couldn’t—didn’t—blame Rogue.
Saying he was happy for her would be a lie, because he felt nothing at all resembling happiness. But he begrudged her nothing. He wanted her to have touch, the connection she craved most. He just wished—more than ever—that it could be him to give it to her.
But that simple hand in hers was more than he could ever offer her, no matter how deeply he loved her.
Remy surveyed his surroundings, a thieves’ habit too ingrained in him to override. He wasn’t alone: an open air bar to his left served a group of laughing partygoers, while several more mutants milled about the gardens in twos and threes under hanging canopy lights. Sharp angled stairways led up to higher or down to lower terraces, paths all lit by burning tiki torches turned this way and that disappearing into the lush green plants.
Remy noticed the woman seated at the bar: long legs, backless dress, sexy smokey eyeshadow (not to mention a sinuous tail that seductively slid from her miniskirt, its movement dexterous enough to intrigue any hot blooded man.) Her eyes lingered on him in open appreciation.
Pursuing her could be easy. Like a moth to a flame, all drawn in without even thinking twice.
It would be so easy, to fall into his old ways, to lean into his natural charm and smother his hurt in carnal distraction.
The woman raised a pristine eyebrow at him, inviting him over.
Remy turned away.
He knew enough of distraction—whether it be boozes, gambling or women—to know that none of that would help this pain.
Because Remy had experienced more fulfillment in pursuing a woman he couldn’t even touch than all his years of slating his lusts with beautiful but nameless women ever had. They’d been nothing more than a game, notches on his belt. Empty. And he had no interest in going back to that. Not tonight. Maybe never.
He only wanted Rogue. Technically Rogue was as nameless as women came, since nobody even knew her real name. But that didn’t matter to him. Rogue could’ve remain nameless as long as she’d wanted, as long as she’d still been in his life.
So much for that.
Remy turned to follow a path leading deeper into the gardens.
What was he doing here? Tomorrow he knew he would leave. Leave Genosha, sure. But… what about the X-Men?
In the beginning, he’d come for Stormy. She’d asked him to and he’d thought it could be a new thrill, pretending to be a hero.
And it’d felt nice. Fighting for more than his own skin. But even back then he’d known he didn’t belong, and he wouldn’t be staying long.
But then there’d been Rogue…
He still remembers the first time he saw her. Storm had been showing him around the mansion, taking him to his new room. As they’d walked by the rec room, Remy had seen her—Rogue—leaning over the pool table in a game with Wolverine. He’d stopped to admire her, a low whistle escaping on his breath. The little man had popped his claws and growled at him to keep moving.
But Remy’d caught the girl’s eye. He’d winked and she’d rolled her eyes in exasperation. But that didn’t matter because he could feel her green eyes still on him as he’d followed Storm out.
His smirk must have tipped off his friend though, because no sooner had they reached his room than Storm had warned him about Rogue. To keep his distance. To not get his, or her, hopes up.
An untouchable girl that looked like that? Fate had never struck him as quite so cruel. She was art. Art so beautiful it hurt to look at—so naturally he planned to look deep and long, his thieving fingers twitching.
When he met her again the next day, he’d said something overtly flirtatious—he can’t remember what—and she’d opened that beautiful, full mouth and lashed him with a southern tongue sharper and meaner than a whip. And he’d known then that he had to have her. Seduce the unseducable? Oh yes, that was exactly the kind of distraction he’d chase. He would steal her heart or he could never walk away.
And so he’d stayed. For her. He never said so, and had barely admitted so much to himself, but he knew it was true.
And somewhere along the way, she had pulled the old bait and switch, and she’d stollen his heart when he’d been after hers.
Rogue had turned out to be brash, and sassy, and tremendously fun (and easy!) to fluster. He began each day seeking to get under her invulnerable skin; their daily banter keeping his devil’s tongue in peak condition. Rogue was flirtatious, but rebuffed his advancements every time, which Gambit found unendingly attractive.
However, over time Remy began to see that beneath Rogue’s quick wit and even quicker temper, there was hidden a passionate and supremely lonely girl. A girl who in such a short life had already been scarred deeply: by a father who’d kicked her out for being a mutant, a mother who’d used her villainously for the same reason, and a mind so full of voices that it’d betrayed her into forgetting her own name.
Who knew the invulnerable girl was so… vulnerable?
Remy’s wander through the gardens was brought up short as he walked into a secluded corner—a corner already occupied by a pair of mutants fully engrossed in each other. Not bothering to find the stairs, Remy scaled a short wall that led to the next terrace up. He wanted to be alone, to be somewhere that he could let his facade down.
As a thief he had an affinity for high places. In the thieves guild he’d been taught—counterintuitive to the natural human tendency to prefer the safety of solid ground—to head upward in a pinch. His père had taught him from the time he’d first been adopted by the LeBeau clan, that height offered vision and options, at worst a long drop, where the ground too often left a thief cornered.
So it was no surprise that from early on the rooftop of the Xavier mansion had become his favorite place to clear his head and relax (and yes, to also bypass the institute’s smoke free policy). The fact that the roof had already been Rogue’s preferred place of retreat had only enhanced the draw. The two of them had spent many late hours up there talking when everyone else had turned in for the night.
Remy scaled one more wall and found himself on a white granite overlook tucked away in a corner of the top terrace. Deep black soil planted with palms and giant taro leaves veiled the space to his left, making it feel private. To his right beyond the white granite deck boasted an incredible view of the bay. A torch burned solitary in the corner.
With no where higher to go, Remy walked to the ledge and rested his elbows as he watched the deep black ocean ebb and flow in the bay below, contemplating his next steps.
Rogue, like him, had not always fought on the side of the angels. But unlike him, she’d fully bought into the whole superhero ideal. She believed it, and sacrificed and fought for the right thing with her whole heart. He admired that, and found himself being a little more heroic when he was with her. Whether it was to impress her, or just because that kind of commitment was catching, Remy wasn’t sure. But one thing he did know for sure was that Rogue made him a better man.
What kind of man would he be now without her?
And without the X-Men? Because he knew he wouldn’t stay. Not with their new big boss shacking up with the woman he loved. He had enough self respect not to put himself through that kind of torture.
Remy grimaced and pulled out a pack of Camels, tapping out a single cigarette. He didn’t carry a lighter anymore, but no matter, a flash of magenta at the tip of his finger, and the end of the cigarette flared to life.
He’d been trying to quit. He hadn’t had one in 91 days. But tonight his fingers seemed to work all on their own when they lifted this pack off of one of the servers.
… guess self-improvement could wait for another day.
Remy took a long draw on his cigarette, then blew smoke into the balmy night over the dark ocean below.
Gambit didn’t like spending too much time thinking about his future (or his past for that matter. Maybe that’s why he was drawn to so many risky behaviors—hard to focus on anything but the here-and-now when you’re a hairbreadth from death.) But when he did imagine his future, he’d gotten into the habit of picturing Rogue in it with him. He knew he may yet win her back—he had no faith in Magneto to treat her as she deserves—but not having her now made his future feel all the more bleak, ever tainted by his past.
He wasn’t lying when he’d told Kurt that he didn’t deserve any white picket reward. He knew that karma would come for him one day and he’d pay in full for all his bad choices. But that didn’t mean he’d never thought about it; asking Rogue to marry him, that is. But she’d always resisted any kind of “defining their relationship,” and he’d been okay with keeping things unofficial.
Remy knew that what he felt for Rogue ran deep—deeper than he should have ever allowed. Because she’d hurt him today. Hurt him more than anyone else could, because Remy kept people at a distance. He knew people didn’t trust him, didn’t really know him, and he preferred it that way. Mystery and distrust kept most people from getting too close, close enough to strike at his heart. With all the women he’d wooed and won, with his angel’s smile and devil eyes, none had touched his heart. They’d laid their bodies bare to him, but he could always walk away, with a smirk and a kiss, and broken hearts left in his wake.
And yet Rogue had somehow gotten past his guard—right to the center of him, lodging herself between his ribs without even a touch. And even though he was hurting, writhing inside right now, he had no desire to strike back, to make her hurt too. Quite the opposite. In fact he’d strained the limit of his acting skills to mask his own pain, to let Rogue believe he was alright. Because heaven above knew that girl had already born enough ache for a lifetime. Remy would do all that he could to spare her any more.
……………..
Magneto grasped at her hand as it fell from his lips. Eric was a man not used to rejection, and it was clear that her gentle refusal surprised him. He’d been so sure of her answer.
Rogue turned to go, but he didn’t release her hand. They both knew he couldn’t restrain her if he wanted to, but she allowed him to turn her back towards him anyway.
“But Rogue…” his eyes search hers for what might convince her, the master tactician calculating what bargaining chip would convince her best. “Genosha… Genosha needs you,” his words plead for the nation, but the hurt in his eyes plead for himself.
Rogue ached. This was the second time tonight she’d hurt a man she cares for.
“Eric… Genosha is everything we’ve wished for. But Ah can’t…”
“Rogue—I know your… feelings… are divided. But rest assured I can offer you everything—”
But her head was already shaking gently. “Ah’m sorry Sugah, but we’ve turned the pages in this book before, and rereading ain’t gonna change how the story ends.”
“No! We can rewrite it!” Eric’s voice was sharp, frustrated. But he softened immediately, taking a deep breath. His next words were quiet, pleading. “I can’t do this without you, Rogue.”
Magneto was always so confident, so sure of himself. Leadership fit him easily. It was testament to how he had changed for him to recognize that he needed support, he needed balance.
But she knew, deep down, that she couldn’t be the one to give it to him. And it broke her heart all over again.
“Ah wouldn’t be who Ah am without you, Eric, and Ah cherish that, Ah cherish you. But you and Ah both know that we done plowed that field and nothing grew. And now my heart’s gone and planted somethin’ beautiful with someone else…”
Eric pulled back, holding both her hands in his, but with a distance that let her know he would not push her further. “Gambit is a lucky man, Rogue,” he said with a sad smile, his blue eyes holding hers. “I may never forgive him for claiming you from me, but I begrudge you both nothing.”
Rogue smiled, squeezing his hands. “Walk me out? We still got a whole heap a eyes on us right now, and Ah don’t wanna set tongues a waggin’ anymore than Ah’m sure they already are.”
With a sad smile Eric offered her his arm and she took it. He flew her to a balcony and then walked her out into the night. Rogue tipped up on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek.
Then she took off into the night to search for Remy, hoping with all her soul that she hadn’t ruined for good what her heart had decided was the only choice for her.
……………
Gambit’s second cigarette was nearly gone when he heard her voice call his name.
He turned around to find her coming down from the sky behind, red dress fluttering as she landed a few paces away.
“Hey,” she said tentatively.
“Hey,” he replied, his own dang heart betraying him as it struck up pounding hard at the sight of her.
“Thought Ah might find you way up here on the rooftop,” she said as she approached him.
Remy LeBeau had never been reserved in his open admiration of a beautiful woman. But looking at Rogue tonight… she was so beautiful it hurt. Her mutation had always made Rogue unattainable, but their new status as “just friends” made her more forbidden than ever. And Remy found himself dropping his eyes, turning back to look at the sea instead.
“Dis old thief too predictable, non?”
Rogue stepped up beside him and leaned her bare forearms on the ledge next to him, looking out over the night sky and the dark bay below. “Look at those stars—like God poured a jar of fireflies across the sky. It’s a right pretty night, ain’t it?”
His dark eyes slid surreptitiously over her achingly beautiful body. “Only thing I see dat’s right pretty is you, chere.”
She exhaled a soft mirthless laugh and examined her hands, bare and uncharacteristically exposed. Her next words came out small, “You still think that? After how Ah’ve treated you today?”
“Truth be de truth,” Remy shrugged, trying to smile his usual grin, but failing.
Rogue’s eyes searched his face, so he turned his gaze to the bay and took another drag from his cigarette to escape her scrutiny. Remy couldn’t muster his usual bravado tonight, and he felt exposed without it.
An awkward silence settled between them.
Finally Rogue broke it. “Thought maybe the two of us could go into the city again tomorrow. There’s still so much of Genosha we ain’t—”
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he cut her off.
Her mouth fell open in surprise, “Wha—? Where you goin’?”
Was she serious? She couldn’t possibly think he’d stay now.
“World a big place, chere. Plenty of places to go.” None of which could hide him from his heartache, he knew. “‘Bout time old Gambit move on anyway.”
“Move on? Like… leave the X-Men?!”
Remy took one last draw from the tiny stub of his cigarette, before charging the butt in a pink glow and tossing it out into the night with a small arial boom. “Oui.”
Rogue bit her full bottom lip, trying to contain her distress.
“Why look so sad, chere?” Remy teased, trying to keep things light between them. “You know Remy can’t stand to see a damsel in distress.”
“Don’t think Ah count as a damsel,” she scoffed. “You know Ah can bench press a train, right?”
“Hottest damsels bench press trains.”
Despite herself, she laughed, that deep, husky sound that makes him want her more than ever.
“You’re hopeless you know that?” she teased, shaking her head. But the jibe hit a bit too close to the truth tonight, which made him annoyed.
“Surprised Mags let you outta his arms, once he had you in them.” I wouldn’t have, he thought, the jealousy making his words come out more biting than he means.
As expected, Rogue bristled. “Ah don’t belong to him. Not to nobody!”
Remy tapped out a new cigarette from the pack. That’s his Rogue, feisty and independent as always.
The two of them both looked out unseeing into the bay. He can tell she’s agitated, has something to say but isn’t saying it. Remy doesn’t particularly want to hear it either. Being a pity case to appease the guilt of his ex (or whatever they were or weren’t to each other) was not something he welcomed.
Remy brought the cigarette to his lips again, to avoid having to say anything.
“You gonna put that out?” Rogue huffed. “Ah thought you’d quit.”
Remy blew smoke slowly out toward the bay.
“I did.”
Rogue scoffs.
“What ‘bout you?” he accuses. “Thought you chose Magneto.”
“Ah did, but—“
“Well then run along, Chere.” Remy quipped, his frustration mounting. “Old man’s getting cold without you drapin’ y’self all over him, keepin’ him warm.”
“Ah wasn’t—!”
But Gambit’s patience snapped. “Oh please, Rogue, I got eyes! Ain’t nobody didn’t see.”
Shame colored her cheeks and her spine straightened unnaturally upright, her hands fidgeting on the railing. “Uh…about that, Remy, Ah didn’t mean to—“
Gambits eyes flashed red hot. She didn’t meant to? What, throw it in his face?! Well she did.
“Sure you didn’t,” his sarcastic words cut though clenched teeth.
“No, Remy, Ah want you to understand—”
“Why you here, chere?” he cut her off, his irritation getting the better of him. “Gambit don’t need nobody’s pity.”
“I’m not—pity’s got nothin’ ta do with this!” Her temper was rising now as well.
“Den why? You come to see old Gambit licking his wounds?”
“No! Ah… Ah came here for you!”
“Yeah, to kick me while I’m down, neh? Femme traîtresse!” The angry words barged right past his best intent not to hurt her. “Gambit don’t like to be nobody’s yo-yo, not even yours.”
“You trying to piss me off or what?”
“Maybe. Beats the alternative.”
“And what’s that?” she demanded hotly, both hands on her hips as she rose to the fight.
Gambit flashed her a look of frustration before turning away mumbling something in French into a long drag on his new cigarette.
“What was that now?” Rogue hollered. “Speak up! Ah don’t speak yo pigeon, you know that!”
“I said I gotta either piss you off or kiss you senseless!”
Rogue barked one bitter, cynical laugh. “That kiss’d make you senseless more like it!”
“Maybe I’d welcome a little oblivion right now. Be the only good thing ya powers ever done for me!”
Remy regretted the words immediately as pain flashed on her face and she turned away from him.
Gambit didn’t want to be like that. He didn’t want to lash out at her; didn’t want to let his own hurt ruin any chance this woman he loved had of grasping happiness. And yet he’d let his pain spill out and hurt her.
As always there was a large difference between the man he wanted to be and the man he was.
Remy sighed, putting out his cigarette and turning towards her, “I’m sorry, Rogue. I didn’t mean dat.”
Even with her back to him he could see her palm wipe a silent tear.
“No more tears, chere. Don’ listen to me. Go find Magneto, claim your throne. Genosha right lucky to have you. I can’t imagine a better queen for ‘em, Rogue. Honest.”
“Ah turned him down.”
Remy’s brain halted, her words not computing. All he could respond was a confused, “Que?”
“Ah told Eric Ah won’t be his queen.”
One, two, three heartbeats.
“…Why?”
She turned angry, tear filled eyes on him. “Guess it’s like you said, ‘Some things are deeper than skin!”
He swallowed, not daring to jump to the obvious conclusion, the one he ached most for.
“I..I’m not sure I be understandin’, chere.”
Rogue let out an exasperated sigh, turning back towards the bay, her forearms leaning heavily on the railing once more.
“Ah made my decision, was sure that was what Ah wanted—needed—but then…” her hands wrung together, “well, it wasn’t like Ah thought. The touch was everythin’ Ah remembered, made me drunk—drunker than a possum in a moonshine jug. But…” Rogue’s shoulder lifted and fell heavily in a one sided shrug, “it wasn’t enough, wasn’t right. It felt… empty.”
Remy’s heart began to pound as she continued.
“Ah guess at some point my stupid heart decided that if’n it wasn’t your fool self doin’ the touchin’, then Ah didn’t want it.”
Kurt’s words echoed in Remy’s head: Love is best measured in what we forgive.
“But now… Ah guess Ah gone and burned all my bridges—burned ‘em right to the ground.”
At the time, Remy had been focused on how much he needed forgiveness. But in this moment, all he wanted was to extend it.
Rogue’s body seemed to sink smaller into herself as she continued, “Ah know how awful Ah treated you today… and Ah’m feelin’ lower than a snake’s belly in a ditch…”
“Cher—”
“Ah know that ‘sorry’ ain’t enough…”
“Cher—” he tried again.
“…and if’n you want me to just go away, Ah can do that—”
“Rogue! You gonna listen ta me or what?!”
She stopped her rant and looked up at him, her green eyes finally fixing on his red ones.
“As much as I like hearin’ you apologize (something I’m pretty sure I ain’t never heard your prettyhead do before)—how ‘bout we skip straight to the good part?”
Remy reached for her, sliding his palm around her slim waist, pulling her towards him.
“Careful, Remy! My skin!” she held her arms up to keep them away from him. “Some bright idea Ah had wearin’ this—‘bout as bright as a burnt-out porch light! Stupid, reckless…”
Disregarding her protest, Remy pulled her even closer. "I’ll forgive you, but only if you promise to make it up to me…” the innuendo in his low voice was unmistakable.
Rogue’s eyes blew wide. “Remy, don’t ask me! You know Ah can’t touch—“
“Make it up to me…” Remy interrupted, stepping back and holding his gloved hands up for her in waltz position, “with a dance.… and maybe a sweet smile too, no?”
“Wha-?” Rogue looked totally dumbfounded. “You brought gloves?”
“Aw, you know, in case I need to steal something.” Remy wiggled his fingers, smug cheshire smile exposing his lying teeth.
Rogue pursed her lips fighting a smile. It was clear she knew he was lying and is trying not to be too touched, realizing that he had gloves in his pocket for her sake. Just in case…
Rogue swallowed her emotion, and stepped up to Remy, placing her hand in his right gloved palm, her other on his shoulder as his left hand wound around the small of her back. She shivered at his touch.
The party’s music was inaudible from this far-flung corner of the gardens, but Remy moved them both in sync to his own internal tune. As always he’s elegant, the lack of music not hampering him at all.
Still Rogue seemed tight, all nerves about her exposed skin.
"Looks like you’ve got your armor off and you’re feelin’ a bit bare, chere.”
“Sorry, Ah know Ah was dumber than a stump not ta cover up.”
“Non. I’m not talking ‘bout your skin, chere—I like that.” Remy guided her into a spin, giving her an indulgent and appreciative once over that left her blushing. “Tu es magnifique!”
But then he pulled her into a close embrace, their clasped hands resting on his chest, their dance slowing to barely a back and forth, as Remy spoke softly into her hair. “I’m talking ‘bout that heart of yours—it’s lookin’ awfully exposed. Let me fix it up right; keep it safe like a treasure in a locked chest.”
Rogue rested her head on his chest, draping her arm over his shoulder. Remy could feel her fingers teasing though the ends of his ponytail. “Locks ain’t never stopped your slick fingers, Monsieur Thief.”
“Never said it was meant to keep me out.”
He felt her laugh against his chest, letting him know she accepted, that her walls were coming down.
Rogue looked softly at their clasped hands, her’s uncharacteristically uncovered. “So… you brought gloves? Even though you knew we weren’t gonna be together tonight?”
Remy grinned, goading her, “Oh well, chere, that was just at the start of the evening. Never underestimate the power a ol’ Remy’s charm—it’s alpha level ya know…”
She scoffed, her accent drawling deeper as she teased, “Only thing that’s alpha level here is your arrogance, Gumbo! You’re lookin’ puffed up like a frog ready to croak!”
“Ain’t unfounded from where I stand, ma chère. Whose dancing with the lady in the end, neh?”
Rogue snorted that husky, sexy laugh of hers, and Remy’s chest swelled. He was tempted not to push his luck, to just accept the grace he’d been given tonight just to have her in his arms right now.
But he knew things between them had changed, reached an impasse. They couldn’t just pretend anymore.
“So what now, Rogue? I go back to playin’ your swamp rat?”
He could feel her playing with his ponytail again, a sensation he liked a lot.
“You’ll always be a rat and you know it,” she sidestepped, trying to joke her way out of having this conversation.
He stopped dancing and held her green eyes in his devil’s gaze.
“You really gonna make me say it?” she whined, heat climbing up her cheeks. She tried to step back, but he held her close, still in a faux-waltz position.
“Oui.”
“You really are the worst, Cajun,” she evaded.
“Absolument,” he grinned, flirting, but his red gaze serious.
Rogue sighed, dropping her eyes to the side, contrition furrowing her brow. “Eating humble pie don’t taste near as good as Mama’s pecan.”
“Chew slow, chere, you’ll get through it.”
She sighed, giving in.
“Ah’m sorry, Remy. Ah honest didn’t never wanted to hurt you. Ah thought Ah knew what Ah wanted. And Ah did…” Rogue’s voice hitched, “‘cept, all the touch in the world won’t change the fact that it’s you Ah want ta do the touchin’.”
She stepped back from him, but Remy kept her hand in his, not letting her retreat too far.
“And that probably ain’t never gonna happen…” She shrugged in resignation. “Guess that leaves us right where we started, huh? This stupid girl is just a hopeless cause, Ah guess.”
Remy tucked one of her white curls behind her ear, then lifted her chin with a gloved finger, coaxing her to look at him.
“Lets see how things deal out, Rogue. You an’ me? A pair of hopeless causes might be a fine start to a full house hand.”
“You so confident in us, Remy? That’s a high-stakes game you’re playin’.”
"I’m dealin’ my heart to you, chere. I’m just here hopin' you’ll raise the stakes."
“You’re just wishin’ for a miracle.”
“I don’t have to touch you to love you, Rogue. And I do. I love you.”
Rogue’s green eyes glimmered in the light of the torch, so vulnerable any man worth his salt would fight armies to protect her. (Even if his girl was a one-man army all by herself.)
And then she said the words—
“Ah… Ah love you too, Remy.”
—that he’d been waiting what felt like his whole life to hear! Hearing them come from her beautiful mouth while breathing out his desperate name made his heart strike up like a full orchestra!
Course he wasn’t going to let on. He had his reputation to keep up, so outwardly he accepted her words calm as a cucumber.
“So… this make us official den?”
“What? Like you’re my boyfriend or somethin’?” Rogue jeered.
Remy breathed a low laugh. “Or somethin’,” he agreed.
“Boyfriend,” Rogue scrunched her nose, “sounds like we’re twelve and goin’ out for a soda. I hate that term: ‘boyfriend’.”
“We don’ have ta call it like everyone else do. What you wanna call me?”
“A few less-than-savory names come to mind, ya scoundrel,” she teased narrowing her eyes at him in mock-distaste.
He waited, and she soon cracked, her answer honest. “Well, in my head, Ah guess Ah been callin’ you ‘My Man’ for a while now.”
Remy smiled. He liked it. Fits them.
“What about you? Am Ah gonna be your ‘girlfriend’?” She rolled her eyes at the triteness of the term.
“Non. Nothin’ so plain for you,” Remy said pulling her in to him, their bodies so tight they could share a heartbeat. He bent her back in a supported dip, bringing his lips so close to hers that he felt her breath hitch.
“Don’t need no nation, Rogue. To me you’ll always be…”
Remy conjured a red Queen of Hearts card between his two fingers like it came from thin air.
“My Queen.”
And he kissed his Queen, a card’s breadth from oblivion.
…………………