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The rain had stopped sometime before dawn, but the grounds of Xavier’s mansion were still wet when Rogue and Remy found Trouble.
The storm had left everything washed clean and shining. Water clung to the leaves of the trees and gathered in shallow pools along the stone paths, reflecting the pale gray of the morning sky. The air smelled of wet earth and pine, and water still dripped steadily from the gutters.
Rogue and Remy had been walking slowly around the grounds, taking the long path that curved behind the mansion and eventually looped back toward the gardens. Hank had encouraged them to make a habit of it, particularly on the days when Remy was hurting. He had explained, in the patient way he used when he knew Remy was already preparing to argue, that pain made him guard certain muscles without realizing it. Over time, that protective tension could leave him weaker and stiffer, making the pain harder to manage.
So they walked together every day, as much as Remy’s body would allow.
Rogue had her arm threaded through Remy’s, and she kept her pace deliberately slow so he didn’t have to pretend he could manage more than he could. His weight wasn’t entirely on her, but she could feel him leaning into her more heavily than usual. Every few steps, his stride shortened almost imperceptibly, and Rogue adjusted without calling attention to it.
Today was not a good day, but it wasn’t a terrible one.
Remy had been unusually quiet, but not unpleasantly so. There was something peaceful about the silence between them.
They had just reached the back of the mansion when Rogue heard it. At first, she thought it was a bird.
But then, it came again. A thin, ragged cry from somewhere beneath the wooden steps leading down from the back porch.
Rogue slowed, and Remy felt the change in her pace. He glanced toward her.
“Quoi?”
She looked toward the steps and he followed her gaze. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then the cry came again, faint and miserable beneath the wood.
Remy’s expression softened. “Oui,” he murmured. “Heard that.”
Rogue looked down at the arm still linked through his. “You good?”
He nodded, though she could feel the slight shift in his weight as he leaned more firmly against her. “Yeah… jus’ need a second.”
She stayed beside him, letting him catch his breath before they moved toward the steps together.
When she crouched down, Rogue could see a pair of eyes in the darkness beneath them, reflecting faintly in the morning light. The animal was pressed as far back as it could go, its body small and tense.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Rogue murmured. She lowered herself onto one knee and reached carefully beneath the bottom step.
The cat hissed.
Rogue immediately withdrew her hand.
“Okay. Okay. I ain’t gonna grab you.”
The cat stared at her in fury.
She thought its fur might be gray, though the rain and dirt made it difficult to tell. One white paw was visible beneath its body, and there was a small patch of white beneath its chin. It looked thin. Not dangerously so, perhaps, but thin enough that Rogue’s heart ached at the thought of how long it might have been alone.
She glanced at Remy. “We need to get her out.”
“Her?”
Rogue shrugged. “Pretty sure.”
Remy crouched beside her, stiffly. “How you figure that?”
He leaned closer to the opening. The cat immediately flattened herself against the dirt.
Remy didn’t reach for her. He rested one forearm across his knee and looked into the darkness. “Hey, petite.”
His voice was softer than Rogue had ever heard it.
The cat stopped trembling.
Remy waited. He didn’t try to coax her. He stayed where he was, making himself quiet and unthreatening. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you,” he murmured. “You come out when you ready.”
Rogue watched the cat inch forward.
It took several minutes.
The little animal crept toward Remy until her nose was barely an inch from his fingers. She sniffed once, twice, then cautiously pressed her face into his hand.
Remy smiled. It was a small smile, almost private. “Well, hello.”
Rogue stared as the cat cautiously pressed her face against Remy’s fingers, the little body that had been tense and defensive beneath the steps beginning to relax in his hands. She looked from the cat to Remy, then back again, and a slow smile spread across her face.
“That’s how I figure.”
Remy glanced at her. “What?”
“You’ve got a way with angry women.”
For a second, Remy just looked at her. Then the corner of his mouth lifted. “Maybe she likes my accent.”
Rogue snorted. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Worked on you, chère.”
The cat rubbed her cheek against his knuckles again. Remy looked down at her, clearly pleased with himself.
Rogue only shook her head, already laughing “Poor thing ain’t even been here ten minutes and she’s already charmed.”
Before Remy could answer, the cat crawled completely out from beneath the steps. She paused for only a moment before climbing directly into Remy’s lap.
Remy laughed under his breath. The sound was warm and surprised, and Rogue felt something in her chest loosen at hearing it.
The cat turned in a circle, settled against his thighs, and began to purr.
Remy looked down at her.
“Guess we gotta do somethin’ with this one.” His voice held fake annoyance, but he scratched gently behind the cat’s ear, and she purred louder.
They took the cat to the mansion. They told themselves it was temporary, and that was the story for approximately three days.
The cat was examined, fed, cleaned, and given a warm place to sleep. Hank declared there was no microchip, and when asked, no one in the surrounding area seemed to be looking for her.
Rogue made a bed for her in a laundry basket lined with a towel.
The cat slept between them instead, curling into Remy’s arms the moment the two fell asleep.
Rogue bought food.
The cat ate from Remy’s plate. He claimed he had no say in the matter, but Rogue noticed if the cat sat beside him, chirping for pieces of his meal, then Remy was somehow more likely to finish his plate instead of pushing it away after a few bites.
Rogue bought toys.
The cat ignored every single one and spent most of her time sitting on Remy’s boots.
Eventually, Rogue stopped pretending the animal wasn’t staying.
“What are we calling her?”
Remy looked up from the book he was reading. The cat was curled in his lap, the end of her tail hitting the pages.
“We ain’t calling her anythin’.”
“She needs a name.”
Rogue stared at him, hand on her hip. Remy looked back down at his book. The cat purred loudly and twitched her tail.
Rogue smiled. “You’ve already named her, ain’tcha?”
“Non.”
“You have. What’s her name?”
Remy sighed, giving up on the book in favor of running his fingers absently over the cat’s back.
“Trouble.”
She laughed. “Course it is.”
Trouble opened one eye as though she’d heard them discussing her, then closed it again.
Remy looked at her for a long moment.
“Like you say, chère, trouble always find me.”
Rogue began noticing things about Trouble that she couldn’t explain.
The cat was affectionate with everyone, eventually. She tolerated Hank’s attempts to examine her. She allowed Jubilee to carry her around the mansion for exactly thirty seconds before becoming offended. She developed an inexplicable fascination with Logan’s shoelaces.
But Remy was different.
Trouble followed him everywhere.
If he went to the kitchen, she eventually appeared in the doorway. If he sat on the back porch, she found him. If he disappeared into the library, she would wander down the hallway and scratch lightly at the door until someone let her in.
Rogue found it amusing at first.
Then she started noticing what happened when Remy wasn’t feeling well.
Remy had come back from physical therapy one afternoon looking exhausted. There was a stiffness in the way he moved that told Rogue his body hurt, although he insisted otherwise when she asked.
He showered, changed, and disappeared into their room.
When Rogue came in later, he was sitting against the headboard with his eyes closed. Trouble was curled across his stomach. Her small body rose and fell with his breathing. Remy’s hand rested loosely over her back.
Rogue stood in the doorway for a moment.
She knew the signs of pain by now. The slight tension around his mouth. The way he held his shoulders. The stillness that wasn’t rest, but the effort of keeping himself from moving because movement hurt.
She also knew he hated being watched when it happened, so she kept her voice quiet. “Bad?”
Remy’s eyes opened. She could see him considering a lie.
Then he sighed. “Little bit.”
“How little?”
His mouth twisted. “Six?”
Rogue sat beside him. “You want anythin’?”
He shook his head.
She reached toward him, then stopped.
Before she could decide whether to touch his arm, Trouble lifted her head. The cat stood carefully on Remy’s stomach, stepped onto his chest, and curled herself beneath his chin.
Remy’s eyes closed again.
His breathing changed.
It took a little time, but slowly the muscles in his shoulders relaxed and his jaw loosened. His fingers moved through Trouble’s fur in a slow, repetitive motion.
The cat was purring so loudly that Rogue could hear it from where she sat.
“Good girl,” she said softly.
Remy’s mouth curved. He didn’t say anything else.
The second time it happened, Scott and Remy had been arguing for nearly five minutes, which, as far as anyone in the mansion was concerned, was nothing unusual.
Their arguments had a familiar rhythm after so many years: Scott insisting that Remy needed to take something seriously, Remy deflecting with a joke, Scott getting more frustrated, and Remy becoming more amused the more frustrated Scott became.
The argument started over something small, the way most arguments between Scott and Remy seemed to. They were in the kitchen after dinner, with the rest of the team scattered around the mansion. Remy was leaning against the counter drying the dishes while Rogue cleaned up beside him. Scott had been going over something that had happened earlier that day, but Rogue could tell Remy was only half listening, occasionally offering a comment that made Rogue hide a smile.
When Scott mentioned Apocalypse, Remy’s expression shifted into something lighter, almost deliberately so.
“Well, least Apocalypse can’t complain about me anymore,” he said. “Hard to argue with a dead man.”
The joke landed badly.
Scott went still.
For a moment, Remy seemed not to notice. He reached for another dish, still wearing the faint smile he’d used to soften the words.
Scott’s voice came low and sharp. “Don’t joke about that.”
Remy’s hand stopped, and he looked over “Just jokin’, Slim.”
“I know it was a joke.”
“Den what the problem?”
Scott’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know what you put us through, Gambit.”
All at once, the tension in the room shifted. Remy’s smile faded.
Scott looked away for a second, as though he regretted saying it, but whatever he had been holding on to for all this time had already broken loose.
“People were hurt, Gambit, and now you stand here making jokes like it was nothing.”
Remy straightened slowly. “Slim-“
Rogue dropped the dish she’d been cleaning in the sink, and whirled around. “Now you listen here-“
“No.” Scott’s voice rose, interrupting the both of them. “You don’t get to make that into a punchline.”
Rogue glanced at her partner. She was geared up to punch Scott in the face; but the look on Remy’s face drained the fight out of her.
The humor had disappeared. His shoulders were drawing inward, his body becoming rigid in that particular way she had learned to recognize. He wasn’t angry. Not really.
He was trying very hard not to be frightened.
Scott was still talking, the words coming faster now that his own anger had taken over. “You think we don’t remember? We had to fight for our lives-“
“Enough,” Rogue snapped, slamming her hand against the countertop. A crack spiderwebbed from her palm across the marble.
Scott stopped.
Remy pushed away from the counter “Sorry.”
He started toward the doorway. But to Rogue’s surprise, Scott followed. “Don’t just walk away.”
Remy kept moving. Rogue made to follow, but she wasn’t quick enough.
“Gambit.” Scott reached for him and caught his wrist. “Stop.”
Everything in Remy locked.
Scott’s fingers were wrapped around his wrist. “You’re going to listen to me for once.”
Rogue saw Remy’s face change.
His eyes went unfocused. His shoulders pulled tight. His free hand curled against his palm, and his body made one small, instinctive attempt to pull away before he seemed to realize where he was.
Rogue closed the gap. She seized Scott’s wrist and yanked him away. Scott let go.
Remy stumbled back half a step.
For a moment no one spoke.
Scott’s anger vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by confusion. He glanced between Rogue’s fury and Remy’s sudden silence.
“Remy?”
Remy looked at him. Rogue could see the exact moment the mask fell back into place.
“Gambit said he sorry, Slim.”
That was when Rogue spied Trouble. The cat had been lying beneath the table throughout the argument, unnoticed by them all. Now she slipped out and crossed the kitchen floor, ignoring everyone else completely. She went straight to Remy and pressed herself against his legs.
Remy looked down. As if moving on autopilot, he crouched down, gathering her into his arms.
Trouble tucked herself against his chest and began to purr. Remy’s eyes closed.
Scott stared at him, finally seeming to realize that something had happened, even if he had no idea what.
Rogue stepped carefully between them. “We’ll finish up here, Summers.”
Scott looked at her. Then at Remy. His expression had shifted from wild rage, to regret. “I didn’t mean-“
“I know,” Rogue said quietly.
Remy didn’t look up. He was too busy holding Trouble.
Her purring filled the silence between them, steady and uncomplicated, and little by little, Rogue watched Remy’s breathing begin to slow.
Scott eventually walked away.
Rogue waited until she heard the conference room door close before turning to Remy.
He’d let himself drop into a chair. Trouble was still pressed firmly against his chest.
“Hey.”
Remy opened his eyes. “Gambit okay.”
“I know.” She paused. “Can I touch you?”
He nodded.
Rogue rested her hand against the back of his neck, her thumb moving gently beneath his ear.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Remy’s eyes dropped to Trouble.
“Didn’t mean to upset him.”
“I know.”
“Was just a joke.”
“I know, baby.”
His throat moved.
Rogue leaned closer and pressed a hard kiss against his cheek. “You don’t have to take care of anybody else right now.”
Remy breathed out slowly. Trouble purred louder.
“I hate this, chère.”
Rogue’s heart twisted in her chest. “I know, sugah.” She kissed his cheek again, then rested her forehead against his. “You don’t gotta fight it. Just breathe.”
He did, his chest rising and falling, as Trouble purred for him.
The third time, there was no mistaking it. Remy was having a nightmare, and Rogue woke before he did, stirred by the way his breathing had changed beside her; too fast and shallow.
His body was rigid beside her, one hand twisted into the sheets. His face was pinched with something that made him look younger than he was, almost lost beneath whatever memory had found him.
She reached for him.
“Remy.”
He jerked awake.
For a moment he didn’t seem to know where he was.
Then he looked at her.
His breathing was still uneven.
“Hey,” Rogue whispered. “You’re here.”
He nodded. The words weren’t enough. They never were, really.
Then there was a small weight at the foot of the bed. Trouble had been asleep in the doorway.
Now she was awake.
She walked across the mattress and climbed onto Remy’s chest without hesitation. As if she belonged there.
Remy stared down at her.
Something in his face broke. His hand came up and rested over her back. His entire body bowed over her, cocooning the small bundle of fur against him.
“Hey, Trouble.”
The cat pushed her head beneath his chin. He let out a long, shaky breath.
Rogue watched him hold her. Minutes passed and his breathing gradually slowed.
The room remained dark except for the faint light coming through the curtains, and outside the window the trees moved gently in the night breeze. The mansion was quiet around them, everyone asleep, the usual distant sounds of pipes and settling wood softened by the hour.
Eventually, Remy broke the silence. His voice was quiet, rough with sleep and whatever was still lingering at the edges of the nightmare.
“Don’t know how she does it,” he whispered. “But she always seems to know when somethin’s wrong.”
“Maybe she just knows you, Remy.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then down at Trouble again.
“Don’ know what I’d do without my girls.”
The words were barely above a whisper, and something in Rogue’s chest tightened at the tenderness in them. She looked at him for a moment, taking in the exhaustion still written across his face, the way his fingers continued to move slowly through Trouble’s fur as though the steady rhythm was the only thing keeping him anchored.
“Can I touch you, Remy?”
His eyes lifted to hers. He hesitated for only a second before giving her a small nod.
Rogue reached for him carefully, sliding her hand along his arm until her fingers curled around his. She squeezed gently, letting him feel that she was there.
“You don’t gotta talk about it,” she murmured. “You don’t gotta explain none of it to me. Just stay right here with me, okay? You’re safe. You’re home.”
Remy swallowed, his eyes falling shut for a moment.
Rogue leaned closer and pressed a hard, lingering kiss against his cheek, then another against the corner of his temple. She held there for a moment, her lips warm against his skin, before pulling back just enough to look at him.
“You hear me?” she whispered. “You’re here. With me. Ain’t nobody taking you anywhere.”
His expression crumpled slightly, and Rogue’s thumb brushed gently over his knuckles.
“Want me to stay?”
Remy nodded.
“Then I’m staying.”
She settled beside him, one arm around him, her hand still wrapped around his. She didn’t ask what he’d dreamed about or whether the nightmare had taken him back to Apocalypse. None of those answers mattered more than the fact that he was here, breathing beside her, with Trouble warm against his chest and Rogue’s hand holding his.
Sometimes loving someone meant knowing when all they needed was to be held and reminded that they weren’t alone.
After that night, something shifted in Remy. It was subtle enough that no one would have been able to name it, but the team noticed all the same. He seemed a little brighter, a little less guarded, and when Trouble was nearby there was a softness to him that hadn’t been there before.
They noticed the way the cat followed him through the mansion, the way Remy stopped pretending he didn’t like having her around, and the way Trouble seemed to find him whenever he disappeared somewhere alone. They began making room for her without discussion, as though everyone understood: the cat wasn’t a stray anymore.
If Trouble was curled against Remy’s chest, the others gave them space.
Logan stopped making jokes about Remy’s “little shadow.”
Hank quietly made sure the cat had regular veterinary checkups.
Jubilee started leaving toys outside Remy’s room.
Even Scott learned not to disturb them when Trouble had decided Remy needed her.
Rogue never voiced it out loud to anyone, but she was stupidly grateful for the cat. Trouble couldn’t fix him; there was nothing to fix without time and love. But the cat could give Remy a comfort that even Rogue could acknowledge she lacked the ability to give.
Trouble just loved Remy LeBeau.
One afternoon, Rogue came home and found Remy asleep on the couch.
Sunlight had finally broken through the clouds, spilling warm rectangles of gold across the living room floor. Dust floated lazily through the beams of light. The television was playing something quietly in the background, forgotten and unattended.
Remy had one arm resting along the back of the couch and Trouble was sprawled across his chest. Her paws were tucked beneath her, her gray fur rising and falling with every breath.
Remy’s hand rested over her back.
He looked peaceful. There were no lines of tension in his face, or muscles wound tight with pain. He was resting, truly resting.
Rogue stood there for a moment. Then she smiled and she pulled out her phone.
The camera clicked softly.
Remy’s eyes opened. He stared at her.
“Chère…”
Rogue lowered the phone, quickly stuffing it in her pocket.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You took a picture.”
“Maybe.”
He looked down at Trouble. She purred and did not move.
“Delete it.”
“No.”
“Rogue.”
“You look cute.”
“Gambit is not cute.”
“That you are, sugah.”
He sighed and looked back at the ceiling. For a moment, he seemed embarrassed. Then his hand moved slowly over Trouble’s back.
The cat responded with a quiet, contented purr.
Remy’s expression softened.
“Don’t tell nobody.”
Rogue sat down beside him.
“I won’t.” She looked at the cat. “Mostly.”
Remy just smiled at her, resigned to the cruelty of being caught.
Outside, rain began tapping softly against the windows again.
Trouble didn’t stir.
Neither did Remy.
Rogue looked at the two of them, and found herself realizing that she had been waiting for this. She’d thought that healing would appear as some big breakthrough or a moment when everything suddenly felt easier. One day the sun would rise, and Remy would not feel pain, and he would smile at her as if Apocalypse was a far away memory. And maybe that would still happen.
But healing was also this: a quiet afternoon, the warmth of the room, Trouble curled comfortably against his chest, and Remy, eyes half closed, dozing in the sunbeams that stretched across the room as rain drizzled against the windows.
Trouble didn’t know what Remy had been through. She didn’t know why some days were harder than others, or why he sometimes woke from sleep afraid. As far as she was concerned, Remy was hers, and when he hurt, she stayed close.
And Remy did not push her away.
Epilogue
Scott found Remy on the back porch.
The mansion had gone quiet, and he was sitting on the top step with Trouble curled against his side, one hand resting absently on her back. He was staring out across the darkened grounds, his thoughts somewhere far away.
When Scott opened the porch door, Remy glanced over his shoulder.
“Rogue told me you’d be here,” Scott said.
Remy gave him a small nod. “Slim.”
Scott stepped outside and let the door close behind him. For a moment, neither of them spoke. He stayed several feet away, giving Remy plenty of room, before finally looking at him.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
Remy glanced down at Trouble. “Figured you might.”
Scott took a breath. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For grabbing you.” The words came without hesitation this time. “I shouldn’t have done that. I was angry, and I wasn’t thinking. You were trying to walk away, and I put my hands on you. That wasn’t okay.”
Remy looked toward the yard.
“Don’ worry ‘bout that.”
But Scott shook his head. “No, I need you to hear me anyway. What happened to you isn’t your fault. Your death isn’t your fault. What happened today isn’t your fault. And I don’t blame you for any of it.”
Remy swallowed. He hadn’t realized until that moment how badly he needed to hear those words from someone who wasn’t Rogue.
He tried to smile, keeping his eyes firmly focused on the grass stretched before him. “Gambit knows dat.”
“I don’t think you do.”
Remy couldn’t help it. He turned, looking at their leader with tired eyes. He was always exhausted these days.
Scott moved to the porch railing and leaned against it, leaving the space between them untouched.
“You make jokes. You shrug things off. You act like none of it matters. Maybe that’s how you get through things. But I need you to understand that I don’t blame you. What I said was unforgivable.”
Remy’s fingers moved slowly through Trouble’s fur. He knew Scott was waiting for him to speak, but Remy let the silence settle. Before Apocalypse, Remy had always struggled with uncomfortable silences. He’d filled every pause with a joke or wisecrack. But he was beginning to understand the value of taking the moment as it was.
“Been hard,” he admitted, finally, his voice quiet even to himself.
Scott waited, ever patient.
“…Since I got back…”
The words felt strange in Remy’s mouth. Too honest. “Keep seein’ things.”
Scott’s expression softened. Remy both appreciated and hated the understanding in his face. “Flashbacks?”
Remy nodded. “Sometimes when I’m sleepin’. Sometimes when I’m awake. Don’t always know what sets ‘em off. Sometimes it’s a sound. A smell.” He paused, his fingers going still against Trouble’s back. “Sometimes somebody grabs me, and for a second…”
He looked away. He had to. He couldn’t bear to see Scott’s pity.
“I’m back there.”
When Scott did speak, it was more gentle than Remy had ever head it. The strong leader persona Remy was so used to fighting against was gone. He barely recognized this version of him.
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Didn’t want anybody to know.”
“But why, Gambit?”
Remy gave a faint, humorless smile. “Didn’t exactly seem like a good look.”
Scott shook his head. “Remy, you came back from the dead. You went through something none of us can understand.”
Remy’s gaze flickered down to the cat in his lap. She turned her face towards him, blinking owlishly, as if in encouragement. “Like you said… I’ve hurt a lot of people.”
Even without looking at him, Remy heard
Scott’s sharp intake of breath. “No. Don’t do that.”
Remy looked up. “Don’ do what?”
“Take what I said in there and turn it into proof that this is your fault.” Scott’s voice was firm now. “It isn’t.”
He stepped a little closer, careful not to touch him as he lowered himself to his knees so that they were eye level. Remy wondered if Scott was scared of setting him off again, or if he’d really become that easy to read.
“I was angry. I was scared, and I was angry, and I said things I shouldn’t have said. When I told you that you didn’t know what you put us through…” He paused, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put that on you.”
Remy remained quiet.
“You didn’t choose what happened to you. You didn’t choose to die. You didn’t choose what Apocalypse did to you. And you sure as hell didn’t choose to come back carrying all of this with you.” His voice softened. “So don’t sit here and tell me you deserve it because other people got hurt. You don’t.”
Scott continued, quieter now.
“I meant what I said before. I don’t blame you. You saved a hell of a lot of lives in Genosha.”
He held Remy’s gaze.
“I blamed you tonight because I was hurting. That was mine. Not yours.”
Remy’s throat tightened.
Scott gave a small, regretful shake of his head.
“I’m sorry, Remy.”
For once, there was no argument waiting between them. Just the apology. Remy didn’t trust himself to speak, so he let the moment shift into a gentle silence between them.
Scott was quiet for a long moment before continuing.
“I’ve been angry because I’m scared.”
That made Remy look up.
Scott stared out across the grounds.
“When you died, I thought we’d lost you. We lost so many that night. And just after Nathan…” His voice tightened. “And after that, every time someone leaves the room, every time somebody goes on a mission, every time someone doesn’t answer a call…” He exhaled slowly. “I think about losing someone else.”
Remy listened without interrupting. Scott finally looked at him. “Your death affected me because I care about you.” The admission sat heavily between them. “I missed you.”
For all the arguments they’d had over the years, all the times Scott had irritated him and all the times Remy had returned the favor, he’d never really thought about what his absence had meant to Scott.
“Missed you too, Slim.”
Scott nodded. “I know you probably think I was angry at you.”
“Were.”
“I was angry.” Scott looked down. “But not at you.”
Remy considered that. “Who, then?”
Scott gave a small, tired smile. “Everybody. Apocalypse. Me. Sinister. Myself. The universe, probably.”
That earned a quiet huff of laughter from Remy. “Sounds like you.”
Scott smiled faintly. “I just didn’t know what to do with it.”
Neither spoke for a while.
The night air moved gently through the trees, and somewhere in the distance an insect called from the grass. Trouble shifted against Remy’s side, turned once in a small circle, and settled more firmly against his hip.
Scott glanced down at her. “So that’s the cat.”
Remy looked at Trouble. “Yeah.”
“She always with you now?”
“Pretty much.”
Scott nodded toward her.
“She seemed to know something was wrong tonight.”
Remy’s hand stopped. “Yeah…”
“She got to you before Rogue did.”
Remy looked down at the cat.
“She always does.”
Scott was quiet. Then he said, “Good.”
Remy looked over.
Scott shrugged.
“You always needed somebody who knows when you’re lying.”
Remy’s mouth twitched. “She’s pretty stubborn.”
“Good.”
“So’s Rogue.”
Scott looked at him.
“That’s probably why you need both of them.”
Remy laughed softly, the sound surprising him.
Trouble lifted her head at the sound, then settled again.
Scott pushed away from the railing.
“You don’t have to tell me everything.”
Remy nodded.
“But if you need help,” Scott continued, “you can ask.”
Remy looked at him for a long moment.
“Yeah.”
Scott waited.
“Gambit’s workin’ on that.”
Scott nodded. He stepped toward the door, then stopped.
“One more thing.”
Remy raised an eyebrow.
“You’re still going to meetings even if you’re not attending missions.”
Remy groaned.
“Ah, there he is.”
Scott smiled.
“Goodnight, Remy.”
“Night, Slim.”
Scott went inside.
Remy remained on the porch, listening to the door click shut behind him.
Trouble stirred and pressed herself against his side again.
He rested his hand on her back.
For a long time, he simply sat there.
He still remembered the kitchen. Scott’s hand around his wrist. The words that had sent something cold through him. The feeling of being somewhere else before he could stop it.
But now there was something else, too.
Scott’s apology.
His confession.
I missed you.
Remy looked down at Trouble.
“Got a lotta people worried ‘bout me, don’t I, girl?”
Trouble answered with a soft purr.
Remy smiled.
“Guess I better start believin’ ’em.”
He leaned back against the porch railing, one hand resting over the warm little body beside him. He would go back to Rogue soon, and they would sleep. Maybe tonight he wouldn’t dream.