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Rogue knew something was wrong before Remy said a word.
It was the stillness that gave him away.
Remy was never still in the mornings. Even on the days when the pain was bad, there was usually some small movement he could not seem to help, fingers drumming against his thigh, one foot shifting beneath the covers, a hand reaching for the coffee he insisted he could manage himself.
He had always been restless, always carrying some part of himself forward even when the rest of him wanted to stay behind. The cards were always at the ready.
This morning there was none of that. He was lying on his side with his back turned to her, one arm tucked beneath his pillow and the other held carefully against his chest. His knees were drawn slightly toward himself, his body curled around the pain as though he could make himself small enough that it might have less room to find him.
For several seconds, Rogue could only watch him.
The curtains were only half open, letting the pale morning light fall across the bed in long, muted strips. It caught on the curve of his shoulder and the dark line of his hair, but there was something almost gray beneath his skin. His face looked drawn, the usual warmth in his features gone beneath exhaustion. A faint sheen of sweat rested along his temple. His lips were parted, and every breath came carefully, shallow enough that his chest barely moved beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.
“Remy?”
His eyelids fluttered. He did not turn around. “Fine, chère.”
The words were quiet, but the effort behind them was obvious.
Rogue pushed herself upright. She had learned that particular lie over the past few months. It was the same lie he used when his ribs hurt after physical therapy, when his back ached after sitting too long, when he woke in the middle of the night with panic in his eyes.
He said he was fine because saying otherwise made him feel he was failing her.
She moved closer. “You ain’t fine.”
There was a pause. Then Remy tried to shift beneath the blankets.
It was barely a movement.
His fingers tightened against his chest, his shoulders suddenly locking as pain seized through him. A sharp breath escaped between his teeth. His eyes squeezed shut, and for a moment his entire body went rigid.
Rogue’s heart lurched.
She reached toward him instinctively, then stopped herself before her hand could touch his shoulder. He was particularly fragile when in pain, and she didn’t want to cause him any more distress than he was already in.
“Where does it hurt?”
Remy swallowed.
“Everywhere.”
The answer was almost embarrassed.
She waited.
He breathed in slowly through his nose, trying to steady himself. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped to something barely audible.
“Chest. Back. Ribs. Feels like somebody drove a Sentinel straight through me again.”
Rogue felt cold spread through her stomach.
She knew the scars were there. She had seen them. She knew what had happened to him, knew where the wounds were, knew what it had meant to watch his body go still beneath her hands.
But seeing him in this much pain, when she could do nothing to help, made it frighteningly present.
She tried to push the memories away, and focused on the man in front of her. She looked at the place where his hand rested against his chest. “Is it worse than yesterday?”
He gave the smallest nod. “Much.”
She hated how helpless she felt.
There had been a time when she could have fought anything for him. She could have thrown herself between him and an army without thinking twice. She could have carried him out of a burning building, taken a bullet meant for him, flown him halfway across the country if that was what it took.
But there was nothing to fight here. No Sentinel, Mutant, or Human she could put her hands on and make answer for the pain.
There was only Remy, lying beside her, hurting inside a body that had already endured more than it should have.
She moved carefully, trying not to shift the mattress as she kneeled beside him. “Can you sit up?”
For a moment, something like irritation flickered across his face. But she knew it wasn’t directed towards her. He only ever got angry at himself. “Should be able to.”
Rogue frowned. “That ain’t what I asked, Sugah.”
He looked away, unable to meet her eyes, unable to admit his failure. “Oui, chère.”
He tried anyway.
His palm pressed into the mattress. His elbow bent. His shoulders lifted less than an inch before the pain caught him again.
His face changed immediately.
The irritation disappeared, replaced by something much more vulnerable. His jaw clenched hard enough that she could see the muscle jump beneath his skin. His eyes squeezed shut, and his breathing became uneven as he fought against whatever was happening inside his chest and back.
Rogue moved closer.
“Don’t,” he warned, barely able to force the words out between gritted teeth.
“I got you.”
He shook his head. “Wait.”
So she waited. She watched him endure it. That was somehow worse than if he had cried out.
Remy had always been good at pain. Too good. He could make suffering look like an inconvenience, something he could shrug off with a crooked smile and a joke. He’d never spelled it out for her, but she could read between the lines. A childhood on the streets. Raised by thieves who would never allow weakness amongst their ranks. Feared as the Diable Blanc, and forced to play his role.
But there was no performance left in him now. His face was pale and damp with sweat, his fingers trembling where they pressed into the mattress. His breathing came in small, measured pulls, each one carefully controlled because a deeper breath seemed to hurt too much.
Finally, agonizingly, his arms gave out from under him. Without thinking, Rogue caught him in her arms before he could fall against the mattress.
She held him as he shook.
When the worst of it finally passed, his head dropped forward. He stayed that way for several seconds.
“Thought Gambit’d be better by now,” he whispered.
Rogue felt her chest tighten. “You are gettin’ better.”
“Don’t feel like it, chère.”
She didn’t think he meant only the physical pain.
Yesterday he had walked farther than he had the day before. The day before that, he had spent nearly an hour downstairs with the team. He had even laughed at something Jubilee said over breakfast, his head tipped back and his eyes bright in a way Rogue had not seen often enough since his return.
He had been improving.
But he still flinched at shadows. She still caught him in the middle of the night, breathless after a nightmare that he refused to talk about. He barely spoke to anyone except her, and the rest of the team kept their distance even after months of Remy proving over and over that he was not a danger.
There were days when he could move through it. Today was not one of them.
Rogue slowly lowered him back onto the mattress with as much tenderness and care as she could manage.
His eyes remained closed. “Can’t keep doin’ dis, chère.”
Rogue’s heart stopped for a beat. Maybe foolishly, she thought he meant her for a moment. Being with her. Letting her in. Had he changed his mind? Did he go longer forgive her for Magnus?
“Doing what?”
“Bein’ like this.” His voice cracked slightly “Needin’ help gettin’ outta bed. Needin’ Hank to tell me what I can an’ can’t do. Havin’ everybody watch me like I’m gonna fall apart if dey look away.”
She let her hand fall against his shoulder, rubbing tight circles with her thumb. “You ain’t falling apart.”
“Gambit can’t even sit up.” There was no anger in his voice now. Only shame.
Rogue reached toward him again. This time, she let her hand settle gently against his hair.
He didn’t flinch.
She stroked her fingers slowly through the dark strands at his temple, careful and unhurried.
“You’re hurtin’, Sugah.”
His eyes opened.
He looked at her with an expression she had begun to recognize. He wanted her to tell him that this didn’t matter, that he should be stronger, that tomorrow would be better.
But Rogue wasn’t going to lie to him. She couldn’t promise tomorrow wouldn’t hurt. Every day hurt for him, and promising otherwise felt cruel.
She could only tell him the truth. “You’re having a bad day, Remy.”
His mouth tightened. “Feels like goin’ backward.”
“You ain’t.”
“How you know?”
“Because yesterday happened.”
He stared at her.
Rogue continued running her fingers gently through his hair.
“Yesterday you got up. You walked downstairs. You sat with everybody. You laughed. You ate breakfast. You came back upstairs when you got tired One bad day don’t erase yesterday.”
Something in his expression softened. Only slightly. But she saw it.
“You make it sound easy, chère.”
“I ain’t saying it’s easy.” Her thumb brushed lightly across his temple. “I’m saying you don’t have to win every draw.”
His eyes closed again. For a while, neither of them spoke. Rogue continued stroking his hair.
She could feel how warm his skin was beneath her fingertips. Every so often, a tremor passed through him, so subtle she might have missed it if she had not been watching. His breathing remained shallow, but gradually it began to settle.
She wanted to do more. That was the hardest part. She wanted to make the pain stop.
She wanted to take it from him, even if only for an hour. She wanted to pull it out of his body and carry it herself. She wanted some enemy she could fight, some wound she could heal, some tangible thing she could put her hands on and destroy.
Instead, all she could do was sit beside him.
After several minutes, Remy shifted his head slightly against the pillow. His eyes remained closed.
“Want me to get Hank?” she asked, softly. Remy hated taking anything strong for his pain. Another tell tale sign of how he grew up, and something he would never talk about.
A pause.
“No.”
Rogue opened her mouth to argue, but then he added quietly, “Not yet.”
She nodded. “Okay.” She could give him a few more moments of peace.
His hand moved beneath the blanket. For a moment, she thought he was trying to adjust himself. Instead, his fingers emerged and rested against her wrist.
Rogue went still. He didn’t look at her.
It was such a small thing that someone else might not have noticed it. But Rogue did.
For weeks, every touch between them had been something they had approached carefully. A question. A permission given and received. There were still moments when Remy startled at an unexpected movement, when his body remembered something his mind had not intended to remember.
Now, hurting and exhausted, he had reached for her without being asked.
Rogue turned her hand beneath his and let their fingers rest together.
A faint smile touched his mouth.
She smiled too.
Then the expression disappeared as another wave of pain moved through him.
Rogue watched it happen.
His fingers tightened around hers. His face went pale again. His shoulders drew inward, and his breath caught before he could stop it. She felt his grip become almost painfully tight, but she did not pull away.
She kept stroking his hair with her other hand.
Slowly. Steadily. Again and again.
“Breathe, Sugah.”
He tried.
The breath came out shaky.
“That’s it.”
Another.
She stayed beside him through the next one.
And the next.
The man who had once faced armies with a grin was now lying helplessly in her bed, too exhausted to move, too proud to admit how much he hurt until the pain had already overwhelmed him.
After several minutes, Rogue realized the pain was not passing.
Remy had stopped trying to move altogether. He lay curled slightly onto his side, one hand pressed against his ribs and the other gripping hers, his face drawn tight with exhaustion. The worst of the pain seemed to come in waves, easing just enough to give him a moment to breathe before another one moved through his chest and back. Each time it came, his fingers tightened around hers, and each time it passed, he seemed a little weaker.
Rogue watched him for another few seconds before making a decision.
“I’m getting Hank.”
Remy’s eyes opened. He looked at her, exhausted, wary, and gave a tired nod.
Her stomach plummeted at how easy it had been to convince him. She brushed his hair away from his forehead.
“I’ll be right back, Sugah.”
His eyes searched hers for a moment.
“You promise?”
“I promise.” Rogue leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Stay right here.”
She slipped from the bed and left the room, closing the door carefully behind her.
Hank was in his laboratory.
He looked up from his work when she entered, his expression immediately changing when he saw her face.
“Is something the matter?”
“It’s Remy.”
Hank straightened.
“He’s in pain. Worse than anything I’ve seen. He can’t breathe.”
Hank was already reaching for his medical bag. “How long has this been going on?”
“‘bout an hour? Been gettin’ worse.”
“And he’s conscious?”
“Yes.”
“Any loss of sensation? Weakness beyond what you’ve observed? Difficulty speaking?”
“No.”
Hank nodded, thinking.
“Then we shall begin with pain management and a careful examination. Given the nature of his injuries, there is no virtue in allowing him to suffer.”
Rogue let out a quiet breath. “That’s what I told him.”
“I rather suspect he did not listen.”
“He did, actually.”
Hank gave her a knowing look. He knew how averse Remy was to any sort of help. “I see.”
They returned to the room together.
Remy looked toward the door when they entered, and Rogue saw the apprehension immediately return to his face.
“Just Hank,” she said softly.
Remy nodded.
Hank approached the bed slowly, giving him plenty of warning before sitting beside him.
“Remy, I understand you’re experiencing considerably more pain than usual.”
“Oui.”
“Would you say it is localized primarily around the previous injuries?”
“Chest. Back. Ribs.” Each word took a large breath, and sounded agonizing as his lungs filled and emptied around it.
Hank only nodded.
“I’d like to examine you, if you’re agreeable. Afterward, I can give you something to bring the pain down while we determine whether this is simply a particularly severe flare or whether something else is contributing to it.”
Remy hesitated. When he looked at Rogue, she held out her hand. He took it.
Hank noticed, but wisely said nothing.
The examination was slow.
Hank listened to his breathing, checked his pulse and oxygen saturation, and carefully examined the areas around his chest and ribs without pressing directly over the most painful areas. Whenever Remy tensed, Rogue felt it immediately through their joined hands. She kept her thumb moving slowly over his knuckles, giving him something steady to concentrate on while Hank worked.
Eventually Hank straightened.
“I don’t see anything immediately suggesting a new injury, which is encouraging. However, your body has been through an extraordinary amount of trauma, and recovery from injuries of this severity is not linear. You will have better days and worse ones.”
Remy looked away.
“Thought Gambit was s’posed to be gettin’ better.”
“You are.” Hank’s voice was gentle but firm. “A particularly painful day does not invalidate the progress you’ve made. Nor does it mean you’ve somehow failed at recovery.”
Remy was quiet.
Hank prepared the medication.
“I’d like to administer this through an IV rather than asking your stomach to tolerate another oral medication at present. It should give you more consistent relief while we observe you.”
Remy nodded.
The IV took only a few minutes to establish. Rogue remained beside him the entire time.
She watched his face as the medication gradually began to take effect. His shoulders slowly relaxed. The lines around his eyes softened. His breathing deepened by degrees until he could finally take a fuller breath without immediately tightening against the pain.
He looked exhausted, but at ease.
Hank gathered his things.
“I want you resting today. No training, no missions, and no attempting to prove to anyone that you are capable of doing more than your body currently allows.”
Remy gave him a tired look. “Wasn’ plannin’ on it.”
“I am relieved to hear it.”
Hank glanced toward Rogue.
“Keep an eye on him. If the pain increases again despite the medication, if his breathing becomes more difficult, or if you notice anything unusual, come and get me immediately.”
Rogue nodded. “I will.”
Hank paused at the door. “And Remy?”
Remy looked over.
“Feel better.”
Remy allowed a small grin, and winked at the Hank. “Merci.”
Beast gave him a small, knowing smile before leaving.
The door clicked shut behind him. The room became quiet again.
Rogue looked down at their hands. Remy’s fingers were still curled around hers.
“You okay?”
His eyes were already beginning to close.
“Better.”
“Good.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then, almost reluctantly, he said, “Thank you.”
Rogue brushed her fingers gently through his hair.
“You don’t gotta thank me.”
His eyes closed again.
This time, when the pain eased, he didn’t try to hide it. He let himself rest. And Rogue stayed beside him.