Work Text:
Bring You Back
So much was still a blur for Rogue. It was a confounding muddle, loose pages of a manuscript dropped messily onto the floor. But it wasn't a story she wanted to read, certainly not now, and she had done her best to file it away on a back shelf, hoping it might be buried under a pile of dust, eventually fading away.
What did her own memories matter when Remy could not seem to find his? Would dwelling on her experiences help him find his way home?
If that wasn't the case—at least for now—she had no use for them.
Even if that had been the case, it was too painful to think of what had happened in Louisiana, to remember all that had occurred by the bayou. Rogue couldn't take it, even though she wasn't sure that those events had managed to rival the terror she had felt in many of the moments since.
And yet, as Remy became more recognizable, her unanticipated trip, their final battle with Apocalypse had somehow gotten harder to forget.
It had been an odd polka step, a swinging pendulum when speaking to Remy—Death—Apocalypse. Whoever he had been. Maybe whoever a large part of him still was.
He had taken Rogue from the X-Force bomber, though she could not remember how, but she woke up in a bedroom feeling like she had gone back in time, her head feeling like it had been chewed on by what Remy had once called a "swamp puppy."
Kurt guided her to a dining room like a sort of minor devilish Lurch, herself a more frightened Jonathan Harker to Remy's Count Dracula. The mansion was old, and the creaking of the floorboards and crackling pops in the fireplace were unambiguous in their warnings.
This simple meal was the beginning and the end, something budding and yet final, a harbinger of horrifying greater things.
Still, there were small touches that felt like home as well. Remy's favorite hot sauce—Crystal—rested on the table next to a large metal cloche, and the eyes that looked back at her—though in a face that was new to her in many ways—were soft.
They'd engaged in some familiar banter, and the warmth in her heart seemed to spread to her fingertips, making Rogue's skin hum in delight. But something was different, too, and that filled her with a latent sense of dread. Remy had always spoken with a smoothness, a sort of suavity that made him seem settled, like he belonged in any situation. But something was more stilted, disjointed even, though Rogue hadn't been entirely cognizant at the time.
Rogue just knew that she had everything she had ever wanted, and she was determined not to admit to herself that the reality that Remy was back at all chilled her to the bone.
Because the fact that amidst this madness, his words and gestures, though altered, were still familiar, meant that Remy was in there, had still come back to her. Some way. Somehow. And at least for now. And so she tried to cling to that, tried to hope for the best.
She told herself she could be excused for being wary, for feeling concern that a man risen from the dead might not be all that he seemed. And she tried to ignore that her body was crying out, had seemed to sense something far more sinister.
But there was something unmistakably menacing in the man that was surely not Remy, something terrible that even the angriest Remy would never aim at her.
Remy—Death—had touched her gently, reverently, as though he couldn't believe his luck, and yet his touches were possessive, seemed like they might easily lose their gentleness if Rogue became less gentle herself. He spoke with certainty about things Remy would not have, assumed things Remy would not let himself assume, though they were things Remy—her Remy—might have wanted if given the chance to ask. It was as though someone knew his deepest thoughts, his greatest desires and loves, and was mocking him, was showing him that they could have everything Remy wanted, and Remy could not.
Rogue supposed only Remy could share the truth of that time, if he ever came back, if he even remembered.
Rogue woke up in a haze, her chest aching, her mind moving too slowly to understand the chaos around her. She didn't remember changing her clothing, didn't remember finding her way outside, though she was lying on the ground wearing a dress she did not recognize.
She tried to take in her surroundings, which seemed consumed by a great battle. She briefly couldn't quite tell who was on which side, though she could see the X-Men, X-Force, members of both Guilds around her.
And then she realized that the Guilds were attacking the team, red-eyed automatons, an unusually violent Kurt for some reason among them, all unfeeling as they attempted to slaughter her teammates.
But she still couldn't find-
"Remy?" Rogue called blearily, looking around.
And then she saw him.
If Kurt had appeared powerful, Remy's power was truly tremendous. Cards now floated at his behest, and the bo staff he normally used was now a glowing scythe. Her teammates were skilled—likely survived the slashes of this fearsome weapon only due to training and excellent reflexes—but they could not possibly hope to evade him each time.
The rest happened so quickly, in brief flashes, and Rogue wondered whether there were parts that she could not yet recall.
She remembered Cable taking aim at Remy with a weapon she had never seen, saw the professor's hands at his temples as he stared Remy down.
"No!" she had cried.
"Apocalypse is in there!" Cable shouted.
And then his shot rang out, and Rogue heard herself scream.
For a moment, Remy was still on the ground, Kurt and the Guild members all lying collapsed nearby.
Everyone was still, serenaded only by the sounds of the bayou.
"Oh God."
Rogue clamped a hand over her mouth, giving in to a cascade of tears.
"Remy…"
And then there was a terrific roar.
Everyone drew back, watching in horror.
Remy's body rose and grew, contorting painfully, consumed by glowing light, accompanied by agonized wails.
Rogue gripped her burning chest, which ached painfully as Remy's metamorphosis began.
When the smoke cleared, Rogue could have guessed what she might see, though nothing could have prepared her for the vision in front of her.
The man facing them stared back with hatred, towered over them in the way Apocalypse always had. The body was Apocalypse, the mechanical suit was Apocalypse, even the eyes and striking blue lines across his skin were characteristic of Apocalypse. But the face in front of them was undoubtedly Remy's. Standing above them, laughing contemptuously, something altogether more terrifying than one or the other.
Rogue saw his eyes scanning, inspecting his underlings, sneering at the teams who had dared to fight him though they could not succeed. She wondered what she would see when his eyes met hers, and when they finally did, there was nothing of the softness she knew, no sign of recognition, no hint of the mischievous twinkle she loved.
Cable gasped.
"It wasn't supposed to happen this way!"
"Fool!" the monster in front of them cried. "This is always how it was meant to happen."
And of course it was.
Apocalypse had chosen Remy as a vessel, as a powerful wedge to weaken the team. There might be other reasons he had chosen Remy, but possessing one of Xavier's pupils would certainly sting, and dead men cannot resist capture.
Apocalypse had never planned to die, might never have planned for Remy to live in the end.
And for now, he certainly had never intended to allow Remy to be free.
Apocalypse would never have chosen to reunite her and Remy, would never see someone Remy had once—and hopefully still—loved and be guided by sentiment. Their dinner together had been a farce, a reminder to whatever was left of Remy that there were consequences for disobedience, for not doing what Apocalypse wished him to do.
The bargaining chip was me.
However much agency Remy retained, he would not risk harm coming to her. If any part of him could fight back, wanted to fight back, the wind had been taken from his sails.
And that meant that, if any part of Remy was able to fight back now, Rogue would have to be the one to set it free.
Jean's hands were now also at her temples.
"I- I can't reach Gambit's mind. Apocalypse has completely taken over."
Cable raised his gun and took aim.
"Not for long-"
Scott held up a hand.
"Hold your fire, Nathan. That's what got us into this." He turned back to Apocalypse. "Remy, if you're in there, we don't want to hurt you!"
Apocalypse grinned, his face filled with disdain.
Don't think he believes you, sugar.
Apocalypse raised his scythe again, and Rogue felt her eyes widen as the people around her took battle stances in response.
Apocalypse would fight them to the end. They would all die. Remy would die again.
Rogue clenched her fists—her bare fists—and as she had always done when Remy was in danger, she leapt before she looked.
She took to the air as Apocalypse scoffed.
"You mistake weakness for virtue," he said. "And that is why you will always-"
Rogue's hand touched his face.
Rogue could still feel the excruciating pain traveling up her right arm, raw power searing her skin as she fought to siphon all of the evil from the man she loved.
She could hear Xavier calling to Remy, maybe inside her head, maybe inside his.
Remy, if you can hear me, come back to me!
And she had sensed Apocalypse's rage, something else like fear and a different sort of anguish.
Apocalypse flooded her then, and she once again found herself on the ground. She was told that she'd managed to contain him somehow, that overwhelming power seemed to fill her, crackling around her and through her before escaping to the sky.
Maybe she might remember that part some day. She didn't particularly want to.
Rogue also wished she could forget what followed.
Remy was on his knees, restrained. She must have been out longer than she'd realized, because a suppression collar adorned his neck. His skin was still gray, his hair still a blinding white.
He looked down at the ground, his face a mask of blank defeat and resignation.
But she had taken everything she could, and Apocalypse was surely gone now.
"Remy!" she cried, scrambling toward him.
She landed in front of him on her knees, put her hands on his shoulders.
"Remy- Sugar-" she babbled.
And then he looked up, and the words caught in her throat.
He looked at her in confusion, no hint of warmth, no grain of recognition. Just nothing, like he was looking through a window, like there was nothing on the other side.
Her mouth fell open.
"I-"
She looked around plaintively, her eyes stinging, not sure she could stand.
She felt a hand on her arm.
"Let us get him home," Kurt said gently.
But it wouldn't be a home without Remy.
Rogue tried to focus on the meeting, but Remy had slept fitfully overnight, no doubt still recovering from the terrifying episode of yesterday, and it was difficult not to fret. She'd hoped he would say something again this morning, but it was as though the extra effort of speaking after his heart momentarily ceased to beat, after coming so close—once again—to death had been too much.
"There is much to be encouraged by, but we must still be cautious," she heard Professor Xavier say.
Hang on.
Rogue looked up.
"Are you sayin' you don't believe he's really in there?"
"I am saying we must be mindful of Apocalypse's abilities."
"After- Remy spoke. Multiple times. He's recognized some o' us. Has even been a shit in ways we all recognize."
That made Logan snort.
"What more we got to see?"
"Rogue-" Scott cut in.
"You likely to be this cautious if it was anyone else, or just Remy? Or me?"
"Meine Sis, that is not-"
"Y'all really think I got my head in the clouds so much I can't see what danger looks like? I'm allowed to want him to live. And that don't mean I can't tell if he's a threat."
"That is not what anyone's saying," Scott said.
"Then what are you sayin'? Either you saw that monster disappear or you didn't."
"I am saying that we cannot know for sure-" Xavier began.
"Meanin' you ain't gonna give Remy a chance?"
"Meaning it will always be possible that Apocalypse remains a threat-"
"Then-"
Xavier held up a hand.
"But we also do not know what damage Apocalypse has done," Xavier finished.
"Meanin' Remy himself might be a threat?"
"Meaning that attempting to reach Remy may be a threat to him."
Rogue blinked at Xavier.
"What?"
"Remy may not have the strength to return to us. Even if we do not attempt to search his mind once again."
"But-"
Hank shrugged.
"His body is still weak. We have seen some changes in his appearance and abilities, but he is still fighting a difficult fight. And there is no precedent for healing from an injury such as this."
"Attempting to find his consciousness may simply be too dangerous," Xavier added.
"So we just ain't gonna try?"
"It is a decision that should not be made lightly. There are a number of things that could go terribly wrong. And we would be wise to be prepared," Xavier said meaningfully.
Rogue felt like she'd been slapped.
How hadn't she thought of this?
Always so ready to fight everyone and sure o' myself and can't even see what's under my damn nose.
She realized that she had begun to cling to hope, that she was far more encouraged by the small signs Remy was healing than she ought to be. But after all this, she could still lose him anyway.
It had always been possible, likely even. She just hadn't let herself see.
"So he could die. Again," Rogue sniffled. "Assumin' Apocalypse don't come back to kill us."
Hank nodded gravely.
"I would not want to give you false hope, my dear."
Rogue wiped at her eyes.
"Is there anythin' we can do to improve his chances?"
"I do not know," Xavier said. "But if we are able to successfully reach him, and if he is able to fight for life himself, he may just succeed."
Rogue nodded.
"Alright. Then let's try."
It was so quiet, too quiet.
Rogue had thought hellfire would be accompanied by weeping and screams, voices begging for help, railing at the universe.
But instead, Genosha was silent. Silent except for her, sobbing as she knelt in the middle of a crater, holding the battered remains of the person she loved more than anyone else.
Remy's charred skin was still warm, but she could already feel it cooling, should not have been able to feel it regardless.
She had chosen him, wanted a life with him, love with him. He would never know. And she would never get to have either.
Rogue thought bitterly of her stupidity and fear, of the reasons that seemed so ridiculous in the face of this unbearable loss.
You did this to yourself, some part of her seemed to whisper.
But she didn't matter anymore. She had done this to him.
How could she possibly survive this if he had not? How could she live another day without remembering with certainty that she was somehow to blame?
"Sugar," she wept. "I can't feel you…"
It was dark, a sort of nothingness that seemed to stain Rogue's skin and seep into her, as though it was blanketing her and causing her to fade.
Was this really what was left of Remy? Emptiness somehow more consuming than a black hole?
He may come back more easily if he senses it is you, Xavier had told her.
Though Rogue had no idea if that was true, she had needed no convincing to try.
But in this wasteland, any hope she held seemed to dissipate, and light was overtaken by darkness, was something that felt like it didn't belong here. Something that felt like it didn't belong with her.
She looked and listened, wished she could feel something, wished she knew something that might send her on the right path.
Sugar, I can't feel you…
Her heart ached.
Why wasn't there something here? Anything that might be a clue. Remy had spoken, had looked at her with recognition. How could she hear that in his voice, see that on his face, but not find it here?
This will be your mind's interpretation of your experience, Xavier had told her.
That was food for thought.
Rogue had spent a long time wanting to find Remy, more recently had tried desperately to convince herself that—however he might be returned to them—Remy was a second chance she was allowed to take.
Maybe this darkness was a sort of terrible penance.
Or maybe he don't think I deserve to find him.
She was surprised to find herself fighting back tears, felt a wave of annoyance that she couldn't stop crying even when she was inside Remy's head.
Rogue felt her irritation turn to fury, as it so often did.
What was she even supposed to do now that she was here?
Mighta given me a mind bugle or some mental bloodhounds, sugar.
It had been a joke, but the idea snagged on her mind.
Hmm.
Maybe she needed to draw attention to herself, to ring a veritable bell letting Remy know that she was here, that she was ready for him to come back.
Had stupider ideas, she thought.
Remy certainly had as well.
Here goes nothin'…
"Remy?" Rogue called, somehow expecting her voice to echo, though her words seemed to fall down a silent well instead. "Remy, sugar, if you're in here somewhere, I need you to tell me."
Her chest began to feel tight.
"Baby…" she sniffled. "I know you probably got a lotta questions. Or maybe you think I hurt you too much. Been talkin' to you all the time, but maybe- Guess I can't know for sure what you could hear. But if you can hear me now, I need you to say."
She listened.
Nothing.
"I could kill you myself for thinkin' dyin' on me wouldn't break my damn heart."
Nothing.
"Remy… I chose you. All I wanted was you."
She wiped her face again.
"Even if that ain't enough, please come back. Even if it ain't to me-" her voice caught.
Rogue looked around desperately, rage once again bubbling over as something occurred to her.
"If he ain't talkin' 'cause you're still in here, you monster, you let him go! You took enough from him already. You want anything else from him, you take it from me instead! I don't care if I walk away from this, but you're gonna let him go. And Remy, you'd damn well better let me take him instead!"
Still nothing.
She wanted to scream.
Rogue pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.
"Damn it, Remy."
She looked up with a start. There had been a faint sound. Like someone shouting in the distance.
"Remy??"
She spun, tripping over her own feet.
"Remy, it's me!"
Help me, please! the voice shouted from somewhere.
Rogue looked and looked and looked. And then she saw.
It was hazy, almost an outline of a man seeming to writhe in pain. He was floating in the darkness, his movements visible only in contrast to the stillness around him.
Rogue managed to run toward him, though as she approached, her feet seemed to sink into sludge, a sort of quicksand trying to pull her down.
She pushed on, getting closer, fighting all the way, and as she got nearer, the darkness blanketing him seemed to fade.
The man before her now, trying to break free from whatever restrained him, had beautiful brown hair, had skin that was no longer a lifeless gray.
The Remy in front of her was the man she knew and loved.
"Remy, can you hear me?"
She was so close, but the darkness now gripped her feet, holding her in place.
"Please!" he cried out, a wail of agony and despair.
"Remy, I'm right here."
She held out her hand, reaching for him, and his flailing hand almost brushed hers.
"Just turn this way, sweetheart, and we can go home," Rogue choked out.
She stretched her arm again.
"Come on, sugar-"
Their hands met, and she gripped his firmly.
Remy appeared to start, and his movements instantly halted.
He looked her way, though he couldn't seem to see her.
"Chere?" he asked in confusion.
Now that she had him, Rogue could move again, and she yanked Remy toward her, pulling him into her arms. He held onto her firmly, his body shaking in what might have been fear or pain.
Rogue tightened her grip.
"You're okay, baby. I've got you."
Audio/Podfic Version
(read aloud by me!)
Length: 27:42
Listen: Bring You Back mp3