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Published:
2025-06-15
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2025-06-22
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2,986
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3/3
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here in this lonely place

Summary:

Written for the RomyCon quick fanworks challenge: “AoA redo”

Notes:

This takes place in between X-Men Chronicles #2 and X-Men: Alpha. The title comes from the song “Fear” by Sarah McLachlan, because if I have to revisit AoA, y'all get refs to the music I angsted to when I read it the first time around.

I put in the tags, but TW for pregnancy loss.

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

“Who told ya?”

Rogue’s voice is brittle against the night; her breath plumes in the air. Their current base is up in the mountains, and it’s cold. Especially sitting out here on the edge of this boulder, where the wind can cut right through her.

Right down to her bones. Scour out the hollow spaces.

Behind her, Remy says, “Stormy.”

Figures.

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment; neither does he. Too much hangs between them, most of it hurtful. Then she hears snow crunching as he shifts his feet, like he’s leaving, and she blurts out, “You can stay.” 

A pause. He might - but no. He drops down beside her, close enough she can feel the heat radiating off him.

She looks at him; he’s looking at her, eyes glowing, steady as a home fire. Like it hasn’t been the better part of a year. Like she never broke his heart.

Suddenly it’s too much, it’s all too much, and she’s crying and confessing in a jumble, “It’s my fault, it’s - I didn’t - the way things are, I didn’t want to - and I must have - my powers -”

He puts an arm around her, then another, and gathers her close. Murmurs, “Désolé, chére,” over and over again into her hair while she cries into the front of his uniform. Big, wracking sobs, for the tiny life she failed to protect. That she killed.

She hasn’t cried yet. Not really. Erik hasn’t, and she’s tried to follow his example. It’s just - it’s exhausting sometimes, that example. 

She shouldn’t be crying now. Shouldn’t be practically sitting in another man’s lap, grateful he’s holding her so tight. Grateful he’s tucked his half-cape around her. Grateful he appeared out of nowhere, right when she needed him. 

She closes her eyes. Breathes in his smell. Cigarettes, leather, burnt ozone. Familiar. Painful. “Why’re you here?”

He huffs a half-laugh; one hand strokes through her hair and down her spine. “Thought you might need a shoulder to cry on.”

She stiffens. Pulls away a bit. “I’m married.”

“And grievin’,” he adds, gently. His hand presses warm against the small of her back, urging her to lean into him again. “ ‘s why I’m not here for any foolishness.” 

It’s true. Nothing lascivious in the way he’s holding her. Just comfort.

She’s crying once more. These tears are quieter. Less of a flood. She could tell him everything, she knows. Could say Erik was so pleased and I felt it was my duty, but I never wanted a child I couldn’t touch. 

She could say I feel twice as guilty because I’m also relieved.

Or, most traitorously, I’m not sure I still love my husband.

His hand starts moving up and down her back. Soothing. “You had a name picked out?”

“Wanda for a girl, Charles for a boy.” She wipes her eyes on her gloves and closes them again. “It - it was a boy.”

His grip tightens. “Désolé.”

Erik had been away on a mission when it happened. Ororo and Clarice had gotten her through it. Cleaned up. Taken the little husk of a body away. 

When she woke later, everything aching, Erik had been there. But he’d just kissed her on the forehead, told her to rest, then left for another mission.

She can’t talk about this anymore. She pushes away, gets to her feet, steps away. Lets the cold slice at her and dry up the tears. “What’ve you been up to?” 

She hasn’t kept track. Erik has, but - it’s easier not to know, she’s told herself. 

Easier how? Why? She’s never dared examine that. Not before today.

He stands too. Gives her a crooked smirk. “Runnin’ jobs. Robin Hood stuff, mostly. Got me a crew now, yeah? Jubilee and Sunspot. Good kids.”

She nods. Swallows. Says, as casually as possible, “Seein’ anyone?”

He pauses. The smirk fades. “Nothin’ serious.”

It shouldn’t sting. She folds her arms across her chest. Tucks her hands in. “Maybe I’ll come join you.”

“Only if you want to.” She must look surprised or skeptical or both, because he shakes his head and says, “Non. I pushed you to choose before, and when I didn’t like your choice, I left. Took your choices away.” 

She opens her mouth to protest - that’s not exactly how she remembers it - but he puts his gloved fingers over her lips. Stops her flat.

“I got nothin’ but love for you, always,” he says. Low. Serious. Eyes burning bright, so close to hers. “But you decide what that means.”

A disappointment, Erik had told her today. But next time everything will go perfectly.

Her breath sticks in her lungs. “I don’t know,” she manages to whisper against his fingers.

He steps back. “Offer stands.”

It’s tempting. But. She’s made so many vows. To Erik. To the X-Men. To Wanda, even. None to Remy, who stands there, silent, as she stammers, “I… I haveta go,” and flies away. Fast. Cowardly.

And if her eyes are wet when she gets to the base, it’s due to the cold air. That’s all.

.

.

.

Remy’s divvying up boxes of stolen food for humans at the safehouse when Jubilee pops around the corner. “Yo, boss! Visitor!”

“Who?” he asks, irritated, not looking up.

She shrugs. “Mutant lady. White streak in her - hair? Hey!” 

The last is because he’s pushing past her in the narrow hallway, all but running. Like a dumb kid with a crush. 

And it’s her. Talking to Roberto. Too thin, too pale, shadows under her eyes - he could break Erik’s skull for not treasuring her - but she’s still so beautiful -

She sees him. Smiles.

He’s smiling, too. Nothing’s changed in this hellscape of a world, but everything’s better. He doesn’t even mind Jubilee going oooh! in the background. “Rogue.”

“That offer still good?” she asks, almost shy, as he crosses the room. Takes her gloved hand in his.

He kisses the back of her knuckles. Holds on tightly. “For the rest of my life, chére.”

Chapter 2: so much to lose

Notes:

This chapter's not part of the challenge, but I got the idea and had to write it.

Chapter Text

“Gambit was here,” Erik says the next morning.

They’re supervising a training session in the small valley below. “Sure was,” she says. Brisk. Pretending to focus on what Bobby’s doing so she doesn’t have to look at her husband.

Everybody grieves differently. Near as she can tell, Erik’s not grieving at all. But maybe that’s her fault. Maybe she hasn’t made him feel like he can share that burden with her.

Lord knows she hasn’t shared hers with him.

“What did he want?”

“He came to give his condolences.” She adds, papering over her guilt, “Generous of him. Considerin’.”

Below, the session comes to an end. Erik draws her close. Tilts her face up. Says, warmly, “No, my love, you are the generous one.” Kisses her. 

She allows the kiss. Tries to welcome it.

He lets her go. “Be careful, Rogue. He may try to manipulate you.”

And you're the only one who gets to do that, she thinks. It blazes across her mind in an instant, so unexpected and so - so wrong that she goes hot and cold all over. 

She steps away. One hand flies to her mouth. To stop her from speaking it. To stop her from throwing up.

Erik frowns. Concerned. “Rogue?”

She’s already leaving. “I just - need to lie down.”

.

.

.

Time passes.

The team relocates to the dead zone north of Apocalypse’s capital. Hiding in plain sight, in the ruins of Charles Xavier’s old mansion.

Apocalypse’s war grinds on. So do the X-Men. 

Rogue’s not cleared for combat yet, but there’s always plenty to do. She takes care of Erik. Makes sure he eats. That he rests. 

He thanks her. Same as ever. 

But now she realizes: he never reciprocates.

In fact, aside from calling her my love and kissing her, he treats her exactly the same as he treats Pietro. As a subordinate. Not a partner.

She walks around the crumbling mansion, carrying out her duties on autopilot, flayed to the bone. Dizzy with revelation. Shame. Fear. 

Nobody notices.

.

.

.

They’ve always shared a bed. Nominally, anyway; mission timelines don’t always overlap. And Erik hasn’t pressed for any intimacies while she’s been healing.

But tonight the stars align. 

She should be happy. It’s been so long, after all. A chance to reconnect with her husband. And she used to love it: the excitement, the luxury of touch. Nevermind feeling like a clumsy student, trying to hide her inexperience under enthusiasm.

Tonight she can’t find that enthusiasm. Everything feels good, but…

Maybe it’s because she’s too in her head. She just needs to try harder. She loves him; she made vows, and she meant them.

But.

Eventually he notices. Pauses. “What’s wrong?”

Guilt gnaws. “Nothing.”

He sits up. Regards her gravely. “You’ve been… distant… since he visited.”

More guilt. But also - anger. She sits up too. Draws the blanket around her. “Since I lost the baby, you mean.”

He sighs. Admits, heavy, “It was a loss, indeed.”

There. He is grieving -

“However, there’s no reason we can’t try again.”

She’s out of the bed in a flash. Paces the room because she can’t hold still. Says, frustrated, “I don’t want to try again.”

He follows, pulling on his dressing gown. “Whatever nonsense Gambit may have told you -”

She rounds on him, pointing an accusing finger. “This ain’t about Remy. It’s about you and me.” 

He says nothing. Watches, frowning slightly, as she snatches up her clothes and starts yanking them on, because she’s sure as hell not getting back into bed tonight. 

“When I lost Charles,” she says. Challenging. “Did you cry?”

He looks affronted. “Of course.”

“Did I cry?”

Now he looks stricken. They both know the truth: he has no idea.

She shakes her head. Wipes at her face, because she’s crying all over again. “Erik, I don’t want a baby I can’t touch.”

He steps forward, embraces her, and it’s so familiar and safe and comforting. All she wanted from him, two months after another man already gave it to her.  

She says, barely audible, “I felt him die. Don’t - don’t ask me to do that again.”

He kisses her forehead. Holds her close. Strokes the back of her neck. She thinks, grateful, relieved, He understands.

I was wrong.

We’re gonna be okay.

Then he says, “We will find a way to control your powers -“

All the hurt - guilt - resentment - boils over into rage. She shoves him away. “No. No! All these years and the only person I can touch is you, thanks to your powers. And that’s real convenient, ain’t it?”

She says it to wound him. She says it to wound herself.

It works. 

Emotions flicker across Erik’s face before they disappear behind the blank, remote expression he wears as Magneto.

“I can see you’re overwhelmed,” he says after a long minute. Gently. Kindly, even. But very much on his dignity. He lifts a hand toward her; lets it fall without touching her. “We’ll speak in the morning.”

He leaves. 

She decides: it’s time she does the same.

.

.

.

Clarice finds her as she’s writing the note, red-eyed, having traded her distinctive cape for a brown cloak.

For a moment the two women look at each other. Then Clarice sighs. “He operates out of a place near the Temple of Human Redress.”

“I know.” She checked.

Reluctantly: “I can portal you there.”

“Thank you.” It’s close enough to fly, but why risk being caught by Apocalypse’s forces?

A portal blinks open, glowing pink.

Rogue passes over the folded piece of old paper. “Tell everyone goodbye for me? And - make sure Erik gets this.”

Clarice nods. She’s loyal. Won’t read it. Not that there’s much to read.

Erik - I’m sorry. I love you, but I can’t be what you want.  

Inanely, she signed it Take care . As if anyone can, in this world. Best you can do, sometimes, is grab at happiness. 

Even if you can’t touch it.

“Good luck,” Clarice says.

Rogue pauses on the portal’s threshold. Half-smiles. “You too, sugah.”

Chapter 3: speaks to me of comfort

Notes:

And here we go one! more! time! (with another part that doesn't count towards the challenge, but that I was compelled to write nonetheless)

What an amazing, fun, whirlwind of a week RomyCon has been. I can't wait for next year!

Chapter Text

She wakes up to the smell of food - and the sound of laughter.

For a long time, she just lays there, smiling, listening to Remy and Sunspot and Jubilee in the common space nearby. There’d been plenty of laughter among the X-Men, but it tended to fade out when Erik came into the room.

Her smile fades out, now. 

Last night she was a wife, an X-Man, a leader. Fighting for the dream. 

And what is she today? Raw. Unsteady. Scared.

Jubilee’s voice suddenly gets louder: “I hope she likes these flowers you made me go out and steal at the ass-crack of dawn!”

Remy’s voice is too quiet to pick out the words, but his tone is admonishing. 

“She’d better get up, or this food’s gonna be cold,” Jubilee says. Slightly quieter. Then, loud again: “Mr. Cool Mysterious Loner made us clean, too!”

Rogue’s smile is back. She buries it under her blanket before it can turn into snickers.

Sunspot says something that has Jubilee cackling. Remy says “Get out, both o’ you couyons,” with more amusement than annoyance.

There’s more noise, then silence. It’s not lonely, though. It’s warm.

They gave her a room in their hideout last night. A little cubbyhole, really, but there’s a pallet to sleep on and a door for privacy and a candle in case she needs it. 

She gets up. Finger-combs her hair. Wraps the blanket around her. Takes a deep breath. 

Goes out into the unknown future - the one she chose.

Remy’s sitting at the battered old table in the middle of the room, staring at the mug in his hands. But he looks up at her as she enters. Grins, wide and easy. Happy.

She smiles back. Abruptly shy. She nods at the pretty riot of color in the center of the table. “The flowers are nice.”

“Heard that, huh?”

“I reckon the whole city did.”

He laughs. “Here, sit down, chére,” he says, standing, gesturing to his chair. “The drink’s yours. Been keeping it warm. I’ll get you some food.”

She sits. Sips at the drink. It feels weird - uncomfortable - to be waited on. “Sorry if I messed up any plans.”

“Nah,” he says. He puts a bowl of some kinda stew in front of her. Hooks a chair with his ankle, drags it over, sits beside her. “We got a heist tomorrow night, but you don’t gotta be involved if you don’t feel like it.”

The food’s good, and hot, and she’s starving. “Stealing what?”

“Liquor from Heaven.” He smiles at her surprise. “We resell it on the black market, give the proceeds to the humans.”

“I’ll help,” she says, sounding more confident than she feels. She knows how to take out Infinites; raiding a nightclub’s booze stash is something else.

“Bien.” He watches her eat for a minute, then shakes his head and says, rueful, “Never really thought this would happen. You bein’ here. I thought… ‘I ain’t got anything to offer her.’ Not like Erik does.”

“That’s not true.” She swallows the last bite of food; it threatens to become ash in her mouth. Doesn’t quite smile. “He never got me flowers.”

His face darkens. “But he treated you okay?”

“I think he loved me as much as he could.” It’s true. Doesn’t make her feel much better, but it’s true. 

What a sad obituary for a marriage. He loved me as much as he could.

She looks down at her hands in her lap. Fiddles with her gloves.

Remy lays his gloved hands over hers. Warm and solid. 

“Rogue,” he says. Quiet. Soft.

And the words come spilling out: “I don’t how this is gonna work. If it can work. I don’t even know if I wanna be in a relationship for a while, but if we tried, and I hurt you - I can’t touch you, I can’t kiss you -”

He touches her chin with one finger, lightly urging her to look at him. “Then we don’t kiss. Simple as that. Maybe that’s just fine right now for me and you.”

She searches his eyes. What she sees makes the tears spill, too. “You’ll get tired of waiting.”

“Maybe.” He fishes out a hanky from god-knows-where and presses it into her hand. “But maybe it’s worth it.” 

Lord, she’s tired of crying. She wipes her face. Shakes her head.

He squeezes her free hand. “Some things are deeper than skin, chére.”

“Maybe,” she says. But her heart lifts a little.

His grin flashes out, with a wink this time. Cocky as hell. “You’ll see,” he says, standing, grabbing her empty bowl. “You want seconds on that?”

She does; when he returns, she says, determined, “Tell me all about this heist.”

.

.

.

A year later, Erik shows up.

The X-Men need Rogue’s absorption power, he explains, to look into the mind of a mutant they recently rescued. A man named Bishop. He’s been ranting about a different world, one where Xavier lives and Apocalypse doesn’t crush the world beneath his boot. Bishop’s probably crazy, but if he’s not…

“I’ll do it,” Rogue says, calmly. She takes Remy’s hand in hers; they’re both wearing gloves, since she hasn’t quite gotten control of her power. It doesn’t matter. Not to them.

Remy gives Erik a narrow look, then turns to her. “Anna, you want company, chére?”

She smiles at him, because she loves him. Because he asks her instead of ordering her. “Thought you had a bridge to blow up.”

“The kids can do it,” he says, casual. Like they haven’t spent weeks planning. “They got Guido with ‘em, they’ll be fine.”

Rogue looks at Jubilee and Sunspot, who’re trying to be cool about the prospect (and failing miserably). “All right.” 

Erik’s face is impassive, his voice neutral, as he touches his comms and says, “Blink. Open a portal.”

She’s still holding Remy’s hand as they step into the portal.

And that’s how the end of the world begins.