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After Remy LeBeau died, Rogue learned the sound of grief.
It was not the screams that had ripped out of her throat in the first hour. It was not the hum of whispered condolences or even the quiet sobs she smothered into her pillows at night. It was not the long, lingering silence afterward, either.
It was quieter even than that.
Grief was the empty space beside her when she woke. The pause before she remembered. The instinct to turn her head when something made her laugh, only to find no red-black eyes watching her with that crooked, mischievous smile.
Really, grief was reaching for someone who wasn’t there. And learning, every day, not to reach.
She had thought she was getting better at it. But she had been wrong.
Because Remy was alive.
And Rogue did not know what to do with that.
He was sleeping in the room down the hall now.
The mansion had gone quiet around them. The others had finally stopped finding excuses to check on him. Even Logan, who had been particularly bad at pretending he wasn’t worried, had retreated.
But Rogue couldn’t sleep. She stood outside Remy’s door with her hand hovering over the knob. Her forehead rested against the cool wooden door.
She could hear his breathing. Uneven. Too shallow.
Then a sharp intake of breath.
A muffled sound. A shout.
Her hand closed around the knob. She opened the door.
“Remy?”
His eyes were open, twin flames glowing in the darkness, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at something that wasn’t there.
His back was pressed against the headboard, shoulders rigid beneath the thin shirt he’d borrowed from Scott. One hand gripped the sheets so tightly his knuckles had gone pale.
“Get-“ he gasped, voice breaking around the word. “Get away.”
Rogue stopped.
She had seen him frightened before. She had seen him angry. She had seen him wounded, bleeding, dying. Dead.
This was different.
This was a man who had been somewhere terrible and had not quite returned. The ghost of it traveled over his face like a shadow. For one horrible moment, she could see Apocalypse in his features. But then, she blinked, and it was only Remy.
“Okay,” she said softly. He didn’t want to see her. Not in this moment of exposure and vulnerability. She didn’t blame him.
But when she backed toward the door, Remy’s breathing came faster.
“Don’t.”
Rogue froze.
His eyes, finally, found hers. There was terror in them. “Don’t leave.”
Her heart cracked quietly inside her chest.
“I won’t, Sugah.”
She stayed where she was. For several seconds neither of them moved.
Then Remy looked down at his hands. “Could hear ‘im again.”
Apocalypse.
Rogue couldn’t help but search for him too. She watched for the shadows lingering behind Remy’s eyes, the tension of his jaw, the way his fingers curled around the blanket, so, so still. Not Remy LeBeau at all.
She wanted to tell him it was over. That Apocalypse was gone and they had won.
But she knew better than to offer him words that couldn’t reach wherever he had gone.
So she could only say, “I know.”
“No, chère.” His voice was barely a whisper. “You don’t.”
She didn’t argue. Because he was right. She could remember watching him die. She could remember what it felt like to realize that there was nothing she could do. But she had not been inside his body when it happened.
She had not felt his bones break.
She had not felt his heart struggle against what had been done to him.
She had not woken afterward with another person’s presence still crawling through her head.
She had not survived something that had already killed her once.
But she wanted to know. She needed to help him carry the pain. “Tell me.” She took a step forward, inching closer, as she would towards a wild animal caught in a trap.
Remy’s jaw tightened as he looked away. She didn’t know if it was her he couldn’t bear to look at, or this version of himself he was afraid to let her see. He was folded into himself now, shoulders hunched and trembling, his hands shaking faintly in his lap. His skin was still as pale as death, making the red of his eyes seem almost brighter in the darkness.
“I remember bein’ trapped,” he whispered into the dark. “Remember all ah it.”
Rogue sat carefully on the edge of the bed. She was careful not to touch him. Not yet.
When she spoke, she matched his quiet cadence. “You don’t have’ta tell me everything.”
His eyes flicked toward her.
“Just tell me what you can.”
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then, “It hurt.” The words came out raw, his voice flayed open with pain.
Rogue swallowed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Remy shook his head, the motion almost violent. As if trying to physically shake Apocalypse from his mind. “You don’t understand.”
“No,” she said quietly. “I don’t.”
His shoulders dropped a fraction.
“But I watched.”
His eyes closed, head bowing as he retreated further into himself. She wanted to grab him. To shake him. To beg him to come back to her.
“I watched you die, Remy.”
He flinched, and Rogue’s breath caught. She had never seen him flinch before. Not like that. Not out of fear.
But she pressed on, because now the words were pouring out of her, because he was finally here to hear them.
“I was so angry. I was angry because you were gone. Angry because I couldn’t stop it. Angry because I thought I’d never get to tell you…”
Her voice caught. She took a breath.
“How much you meant to me.”
Remy stared at her. There was no mischievous smile, no cocky tilt of the head to pull her along. He was shaking. He was scared.
“Rogue…” He looked down at his hands. “You no want Gambit like this.”
Something inside her went still.
“No.” She shook her head, reeling as if he’d slapped her. “You don’t get to decide that.”
Remy looked at her, confused.
“You don’t get to decide what I want.“
His expression tightened. “I saw you with Magneto,” he said quietly.
There it was.
The wound beneath all the others. The choice that had haunted her. Rogue felt something inside her crack open.
“I don’t want him.”
Remy stared at her, eyes burning. “You did, chère.” His jaw tightened. “I saw the way you looked at him. You was happy.”
The words were so quiet they nearly broke her heart.
“Remy…”
“You had him.” His voice faltered. “I figured you didn’t need Gambit anymore.”
He had died believing he wasn’t enough for her. And now he was alive, and he still believed it.
She moved closer, slowly enough that he could stop her if he wanted.
“I need you.”
His eyes lifted to hers.
“I needed you when you died. I needed you every day after. I needed you when I was angry at you for leaving me, and I needed you when I hated myself for being angry.”
Her voice trembled. Her eyes filled.
“I needed you when I woke up and forgot for one second that you were gone.”
A tear rolled down Remy’s cheek.
“I needed you when I think of your voice without remembering that I would never hear it again.” She swallowed. “So don’t sit there and tell me I don’t need you.”
“Don’t you get it?” He snapped, suddenly. “I’m broken goods now, chère. You don’t want Gambit no more.”
“I’m so sorry, Sugah.” She reached for his hand but stopped just short of touching him. She was openly crying now, shoulders heaving. “I’m so sorry I made you think you weren’t enough for me. You think I need some perfect version of you. The man you were before all this.”
Remy looked away.
“But that’s not who I’m looking at.”
His breath caught.
“I’m looking at you.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Rogue whispered, “And I love you.”
His face crumpled, just enough for her to see how badly he had needed to hear it.
“You chose him,” Remy whispered, words wet with tears.
“I know what it looked like.”
“It looked like you chose him.”
She was done with excuses. She was done lying to herself, and to Magnus, and to Remy. “Please forgive me.”
His eyes met hers.
Rogue leaned forward slightly.
“I love you. I always have. I always will.”
The words hung between them.
“I loved you when you were alive. I loved you when you were gone. And I love you now.”
Remy’s eyes shone. “I don’t deserve that, chère.”
Rogue’s heart twisted. “Why?”
He laughed once, without humor, like it should’ve been obvious. “Look at me.”
“I am.”
“Really look.”
She did.
There were shadows beneath his eyes. A healing cut along his cheek. Bruises fading yellow beneath his collar.
She knew, beneath the blankets, his body carried evidence of things he couldn’t yet say aloud.
But beneath all of that was Remy.
The same man who had once leaned against her shoulder and called her chère. The same man who had made her laugh when she wanted to cry. The same man who had loved her despite every reason not to.
“I am looking at you, Remy.”
He shook his head. “Then how can you-“ His voice broke. He stopped, gathering himself, finding the words.
Rogue waited.
Eventually, he managed to speak again.
“I hurt a lot of people.”
“You weren’t yourself, Sugah.”
“But it was my body.” His breathing began to change. “I could feel it. I could feel myself doin’ those things. Couldn’ stop it.”
Rogue’s chest tightened.
“And now I can’t-“ He stopped again. His hands curled into fists. “Can’t let you touch me. Anybody. I might - he might hurt you again.”
The confession came out like shame. Did Gambit really think he was responsible for all Apocalypse has done?
Rogue understood then. Not everything. She didn’t think she’d ever understand it all. But enough.
She moved slowly.
Very slowly.
She lifted one hand.
She stopped halfway between them.
“Can I?”
Remy stared at her hand. His breathing remained uneven.
Then he nodded.
Rogue placed her palm gently against the back of his hand.
Nothing happened.
His skin was warm. Her fingers trembled. She let them.
“See?”
He looked down.
She squeezed his slim fingers as gently as she could. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
“I ain’t afraid of you. I’m afraid of me.”
Rogue’s heart broke again.
She turned her hand beneath his and threaded their fingers together.
When he tensed, she stopped immediately.
“Too much?”
A long pause.
“No.”
“Then we’ll stay here.”
His fingers slowly loosened around hers.
They sat like that. Her hand under his.
Being together, that was something they would have to learn all over again.
After a while, Remy whispered, “You really mourned me?”
Rogue looked at him. “I couldn’t breathe without you.”
But his eyes closed, shuttering the emotion. “I thought you were done with me.”
Rogue leaned closer.
“Look at me.”
He did. His eyes opened and once again she could see the life that burned behind them.
“I love you.”
The tears came without warning. He turned away as though ashamed of them. Rogue reached for him.
Then stopped.
She remembered.
She let her hand hover.
“Can I hold you?”
He couldn’t answer. But he leaned forward.
That was enough.
Rogue wrapped her arms around him.
At first he stayed rigid. Every muscle in his body seemed prepared to flee. Then, slowly, his weight settled against her. His forehead pressed into her shoulder. His hands gripped the fabric at her back.
When he cried, it was a muffled, quiet sound, like he was afraid of taking up the space.
That somehow made it worse.
Small, broken breaths against her neck. The occasional shudder that moved through his entire body.
Rogue held him tighter. She didn’t tell him it was all right, because it wasn’t. Their friends were still dead. The world still hated them. They’d both hurt so many people.
She whispered the only thing she knew for certain.
“I’m here.”
His fingers tightened.
“I’m here.”
Another shudder.
“I’ve got you.”
His breathing gradually slowed, the tension began leaving him in pieces. His head grew heavier against her shoulder.
Rogue looked down.
His eyes had fallen closed. He was exhausted.
For the first time since he had returned, his face looked young, the fear smoothed from the lines of his face.
She brushed her thumb gently along his hairline.
He didn’t flinch.
Rogue stayed perfectly still.
She could feel his heartbeat beneath her hand. Steady. Alive.
The word still felt impossible.
She lowered her cheek against his hair.
“You don’t have to earn being loved,” she whispered. His breathing remained slow “You don’t have to be the man you were before.”
A pause.
“You just have to be my Remy.”
He didn’t answer.
He was asleep.
Rogue stayed awake, watching shadows pass over the window.
Her man slept in her arms.
For months, she had dreamed of holding him again. She had imagined a thousand different versions of it.
None had looked like this. None had been so fragile. So quiet.
She remembered the last time she had held him. His body had been broken. She’d felt him, void of life, and begged.
Now he was here. And this time, when his body trembled, she could hold him. This time, she could tell him he was loved. This time, she would do this right.
So Rogue tightened her arms around him.
And when the nightmares came again sometime before dawn, when his breath hitched and his fingers curled against her shirt, she woke him gently.
She didn’t let go. She didn’t ask him to be brave and she didn’t ask him to forget.
She held him until he remembered where he was. Until he remembered who she was and what he meant to her.
When that morning finally came, Remy was still asleep in her arms.