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Nevada, 1998.
Three mutants, more than a hundred enemies behind them. The strange thing is that none of the three are worried. This seems like a game to them.
“Can someone explain to me why every time I come on a mission I end up surrounded by dozens of guys with guns?” Jubilee asked through the intercom installed in her uniform.
“Ah, petite! You must have a secondary mutation; apparently you have a strange ability to attract trouble,” Gambit replied.
“You’re the one who blows everything up!”
“Says the girl who shoots fireworks from her hands? You’re the one who called the guys chasing us idiots.”
Morph burst out laughing.
“I have to admit Gambit’s defense is technically correct.”
“Merci, Morph.”
Jubilee spun around and fired a burst of pyrotechnic energy at the enemies. The plasma projectiles caused an explosion so large that several enemy soldiers were forced to retreat.
“Gambit, nine o’clock!” Morph shouted.
Gambit immediately turned. Five kinetically charged cards shot between his fingers and exploded against an armored vehicle heading straight toward them. The vehicle instantly burst into flames.
“I love teamwork,” he said with an arrogant smile.
“That wasn’t teamwork, show-off!” Jubilee shot back.
“Of course it was, my cards go boom and you guys admire the show!”
The desert seemed endless in every direction except north, where the three had decided to run.
Under the blazing Nevada sun, ahead of them, an area of enormous red rocks rose in the distance like massive walls, while far, far behind them, a column of black smoke rose from the abandoned military facility their enemies had turned into a fortress. They had been the distraction; more X-Men had gone inside the base and, judging by the smoke they could see, Gambit, Jubilee, and Morph were certain their team had the advantage.
The wind lifted thick curtains of reddish sand across the rocky terrain and forced Gambit and Morph to keep their eyes narrowed to prevent the sand from getting into them. Jubilee was grateful to herself for carrying her neon-pink glasses everywhere to protect herself from her own powers, but on this occasion they were also helping her keep the sand out of her eyes.
They had been running, evading enemies and attacking for a long time. The path they had already traveled was littered with fallen enemies and destroyed vehicles scattered across the surrounding area. Humanity was right: mutants were a serious threat when they fought back. In the case of Professor Charles Xavier’s elite team, it took dozens, even hundreds, of humans to face a single one of his mutants, even when they were facing the youngest member of the team.
The X-Men were caught in an ambush against The Children of the Void, an organization that had begun capturing mutants with abilities they considered strategically useful. Forge had been kidnapped; his ability to invent and understand technology at extraordinary speed had made them want to force him to build weapons for them. And the X-Men had come to rescue him and, while they were at it, put an end to those lunatics. At least put an end to their Nevada headquarters.
Led by Cyclops, they had arrived with an aggressive and coordinated offensive, with the echoes of the battle fragmented across their private frequency. Every member of the team maintained tense and constant communication through the intercoms bearing the “X” emblem forged into their uniforms.
Team Blue, Cyclops, Storm, and Wolverine, had entered the enemy base, taking advantage of the distraction created by Team Rainbow (a name Morph had come up with), which had consisted simply of showing up in front of the base and letting Jubilee insult the enemies. Immediately, Gambit, Morph, and she had begun to be pursued.
While Team Blue advanced inside the base, on the front line, the situation was bordering on absolute chaos for Team Rainbow. Jubilee dodged energy blasts while unleashing multicolored pyrotechnic flashes that temporarily blinded the soldiers. Beside her, Morph changed forms frantically, first transforming into Juggernaut to smash tanks and armored vehicles, and then into an agile Psylocke to flank the enemy troops.
“Hey, guys! Next time we shouldn’t agree to be cannon fodder,” Morph joked, suddenly transforming into Captain America to block a projectile with a fictional shield.
“Less talking and more fireworks, Morph,” Jubilee replied through the communicator, firing a plasma blast that sent at least five enemies flying. “They’re regrouping on the left flank!”
Remy LeBeau moved among them like a specter of pure agility, his long coat floating like wings in the sandstorm. His glowing red pupils flashed with a mixture of hidden fatigue and lethal concentration. He shuffled a deck of cards with one hand, infusing them with his brilliant magenta kinetic energy.
“Easy, petite,” Gambit said in his characteristic drawling Cajun accent, throwing three charged playing cards that blew up an entire squad. “Remy has enough cards for everyone at this party.”
“Morph, behind you!” Jubilee shouted.
Morph turned too late, halfway through transforming into a copy of Colossus. One of the tanks’ projectiles struck his body directly. The impact was brutal. He was thrown several yards away from his teammates and fell, reverting to his original pale, bald form, completely unconscious.
“Gambit, we have a casualty!” Jubilee shouted in horror.
The Cajun charged an entire deck with a spring and threw all fifty-four projectiles in a cascading wave, forcing everyone pursuing them to retreat. Then, with feline speed, he slid across the sand, reached his teammate, crouched down, and quickly checked that he was breathing. He threw Morph over his shoulder. At that moment his knees buckled; he knew he was losing strength. His muscles protested with a stiffness he was not accustomed to. He took a deep breath, managed to stand with effort, and refocused on the mission.
“Jubilee, cover me!” he ordered through clenched teeth as he began a frantic run toward the rock formations some yards away.
As he ran, dragging his feet across the uneven terrain, a sharp, rhythmic, piercing beep began sounding from his left wrist. It was not an ordinary watch; it was an advanced Shi’ar medical monitoring device, with a flickering holographic display glowing an ominous red. When he glanced at it, the screen showed a biological bar graph dropping dangerously toward absolute zero. The red line blinked insistently.
Gambit froze for a fraction of a second.
“Merde…” Gambit whispered to himself.
The direct line to the Blackbird opened; the aircraft was flying over the area using optical camouflage.
“Gambit, is that the Aurum alarm?!”
“Comment ça va, chère?”
“Cut the crap and administer the damn dose!”
Remy looked at the screen again; then at Morph over his shoulder; finally, behind him, at Jubilee putting her life at risk. With his free hand, he pulled more cards from his pocket, charged them with an unsteady fuchsia glow, and threw them backward to help the teenager.
“I’m a little busy, sweetheart.”
“Don’t make me come get you!”
“Is that a threat? Because it sounds more like a date, and this is not the time, ma belle.”
“That’s a damn order, Gambit! Administer the dose, now!” Rogue insisted, panic bleeding through the edges of her firm tone, while Jean Grey watched the vital-sign monitors from the Blackbird’s panel, confirming the Cajun’s energy drop.
“I’ll take it soon!” he replied, finally managing to slip behind a large limestone wall, carefully setting Morph down on the ground before hurrying back to support Jubilee.
Without stopping his run and breathing erratically, Gambit reached inside his coat and pulled out a reinforced black metal case. When he opened it, the case revealed ten slots designed to hold high-pressure pneumatic syringes.
Six were empty. Only four remained. For a moment he stared at the syringes filled with a thick golden fluid that glowed with a faint artificial luminescence.
That elixir was not ordinary medicine. It was Aurum-12, a masterpiece of mutant bioengineering and molecular synthesis secretly developed by Hank McCoy. He had spent weeks working with information he had accumulated over decades: mutant genetics, Shi’ar technology, research into cellular alterations, and, especially, knowledge related to medical data recovered after the team’s encounters with the genetic alterations inflicted by Apocalypse.
When Remy returned from the dead after the tragic events of Genosha and his subsequent involuntary servitude under Apocalypse’s control, the X-Men believed they had saved him completely. They had managed to imprison the ancient Pharaoh’s spiritual essence inside a mystical containment gem that Cable now guarded in a distant timeline, and Gambit had returned to the Xavier Institute.
For a couple of days, the illusion of normality reigned in the X-corp tower; smiles, hugs, and promises of a future together filled the halls. The first few days had been wonderful. Remy had gone back to joking, playing cards with Jubilee, and arguing with Logan. He had also had several conversations with Rogue; they had talked about the past and reached agreements about their present. Life seemed to be moving forward.
Then the exhaustion began. Remy started weakening rapidly, suffering dizziness, fainting spells, and prolonged periods of lethargy. Hank took tissue samples and discovered a terrifying truth: he was technically alive, able to walk, speak, and channel his powers, but his body was constantly consuming an abnormal and monstrous energy reserve.
The conclusion had been terrifying: Remy was alive, but his organism was not functioning like that of a living person.
His body was expending an abnormal amount of biological energy just to maintain its basic functions. It was as if every cell were trying to compensate for an absence, as if his body knew something his brain refused to accept. From a strictly biological perspective, Remy LeBeau should already have been dead. So his cells were consuming themselves in a desperate attempt to sustain a system that required fuel that ordinary human or mutant biology could not generate.
Aurum-12 was the only existing biological patch. It could not cure Remy, rebuild the damaged cells, or reverse what had happened; it only provided the biological energy his body could no longer produce on its own for approximately twelve hours.
Twelve hours.
After that time he needed another injection. Then another, and another… and so on, in order to stay alive. He had to inject himself approximately every twelve hours forever, if necessary. One dose temporarily replenished his vital energy. Without it, his organs would collapse in an absolute metabolic shutdown.
“Remy, your vital signs haven’t changed. What the hell is happening?” Rogue’s voice came through again. “I’m about to—”
“GAMBIT, THERE ARE TOO MANY!”
Jubilee’s desperate scream through the communicator put the entire team on alert. Her voice was drowned out by the thunder of an energy cannon that destroyed the rock where she had tried to hide.
Forgetting his own survival, Gambit slammed the case shut, held it firmly, and accelerated to help her. He saw her on her knees, covered in sand; a few yards away he could see extremists armed to the teeth, ready to execute her.
Remy jumped over a dune and, spreading a complete fan of cards through the air, concentrated all the kinetic energy he had left in his veins. The cards glowed with blinding intensity before shooting forward in a perfect arc, sweeping across the enemy position in a series of chain explosions that sent the soldiers flying.
However, one of the wounded commanders managed to activate his weapon before falling and fired at point-blank range. The laser beam struck his arm directly and the case he was holding went flying. The impact disintegrated the container and sent the golden vials scattering across the sand. Furious and exhausted, Remy lunged at the soldier, knocking him unconscious with a solid strike from his extendable staff.
“That was amazing!” Jubilee shouted.
“Oui. As soon as this mission is over, you and I are going to a bar and you’re buying all the rounds tonight.”
“I’m eighteen!”
“D’accord, we’ll go get a milkshake then.”
In the distance, the desert began to vibrate again; a second wave of armored transports was approaching on the horizon. Remy tried to help Jubilee to her feet, but a sharp, stabbing pain rose through his chest. It felt as though the air had turned to lead inside his lungs; his vision began to blur around the edges with a sepia tint, and violent dizziness threatened to knock him down.
“Gambit, what’s wrong?” Jubilee asked, gripping him by the shoulders. Remy pointed toward the case. Jubilee turned in the direction he was pointing and saw it.
“The Aurum, I need…”
Then a shot grazed his coat; Remy hurriedly threw them both to the ground. The syringes were several yards away and the enemies were beginning to close in. Remy looked at the syringes, then looked at Jubilee and made a decision:
“Run.”
“What?”
“Run toward the rocks!”
The two began to move.
At that moment, the static of the intercom came alive with a triumphant transmission from inside the underground base. Scott Summers’s firm, disciplined voice echoed through every X-Man’s channel.
“Cyclops here. We’ve located Forge. He’s weak and injured, but he’s safe. Logan is securing the rear. Storm will be arriving soon with Forge at the aircraft. The rescue has been an overwhelming success. Prepare the Blackbird for immediate evacuation.”
The collective relief lasted barely a second before Rogue’s voice cut through the communication like a whip, completely ignoring the mission report.
“Where’s Gambit?!” she exclaimed, raw, unfiltered panic vibrating through the intercom speakers. “Does anyone have visual contact with Jubilee?! Morph?! Respond!”
“Storm, can you give us a reading from the sky?” Jean Grey asked from the jet, trying to maintain analytical calm as she began the launch systems.
“The sandstorm is blocking my thermal visibility,” the Weather Goddess replied, flying above the upper clouds with Forge in her arms. “I know they were in the northern sector of the canyon. Jean, open the exit ramp. We’re here.”
Logan broke into the line with his characteristic growl.
“Jubilee, answer.”
Silence.
“Damn it, kid! Quit screwing around and turn that damn communicator on right now!”
“Hey, hey, calm down! We’re surrounded. We hid in a rocky area, but they’re right on top of us… We need backup now!”
“Are the three of you together?” Rogue asked, heading toward the Blackbird’s exit ramp to receive Storm.
Jubilee looked at Morph, unconscious on the ground; then she leaned toward Remy, who was slumped against a rock, pale, sweating, and breathing far too quickly.
“Yes, we’re together, but Morph is unconscious and Gambit… he…” Jubilee’s voice faded and white noise returned to the transmission.
Remy had stretched out his free hand, pressing the intercom button on Jubilee’s chest with weak but firm fingers to interrupt her transmission. He did not want Rogue to hear the truth about his collapse; he knew too well the guilt eating away at her.
Anna blamed herself every night for what had happened in Genosha; she blamed herself for the conversation they had had before the ball, blamed herself for accepting Magneto’s offer, for not being fast enough, for letting him die at the hands of that Sentinel. Remy did not want her carrying the weight of watching him fade away again because of a missed dose.
He pressed his own transmitter, forcing himself to let out a hoarse laugh that sounded terribly strained and shaky.
“Everybody relax… Team Rainbow just… just needs a little rest under the sun.”
On the other end of the line, Rogue’s heart stopped for an instant. She knew every inflection of that voice, every breath. She detected the weakness hidden behind the artificial Southern charm.
“Why are your vital signs still dropping?! The second I get my hands on you, I’m going to tell you to your damn face how stupid and irresponsible you are for continuing to come on combat missions without following your treatment to the letter! You’re playing with your life!” Rogue shouted, her voice breaking with a fury born from absolute terror.
Storm reached the Blackbird’s cockpit with Forge in her arms. Jean stood to help him.
Below, in the rocky hideout, Remy let himself fall backward against the rock behind him, feeling cold sweat soak his forehead. His eyes no longer glowed, they were two dying embers. The ground seemed to sway beneath his body.
“Chère…” he whispered, finally abandoning the act. “The case was destroyed by a shot. The last syringes are in the sand, but we had to take cover.”
The silence that followed was worse than any scream. Then the team heard Rogue’s cold voice.
“Get up and go get one.”
“Rogue… n-no, I can’t…”
“Get one damn syringe right now!”
Remy opened his eyes. His vision was beginning to cloud. Jubilee hunched her shoulders and covered her face, feeling desperate.
“I think… it’s time to admit we need help. Urgent help.”
Rogue answered a second later.
“I’m on my way. Hold on.”
Rogue ran full speed down the Blackbird’s ramp, followed by Storm; both leapt into the desert void and used their flying abilities to propel themselves forward like meteors. She pressed the intercom button again.
“Team, move toward the northern sector right now. We don’t have much time.”
Then she tried to contact Remy again.
“Gambit.”
Nothing.
“Gambit, answer me.”
Nothing.
The transmission that answered was Jubilee’s.
“He’s unconscious.”
“Is he breathing?” Rogue’s voice tried to remain calm, but everyone heard it tremble.
“I think so.”
“Kid, this isn’t damn quantum physics, it’s a very simple question: is He breathing, yes or no?!” Wolverine shouted over the intercom in an aggressive, almost military voice.
“Yes, yes, he’s breathing! Please, please hurry, I’m alone!”
“Calm down, Jubilee, keep your composure,” Cyclops said in a firm, serious voice.
“Easy for you to say when you’re not surrounded by tanks and guns!”
“I see them! I have visual on their position from the air!” Storm announced, descending from the clouds surrounded by lightning that cleared the sand. “I’m going to establish a safety perimeter!”
“I’m right behind you!” Rogue shouted, flying at a speed that pushed the limits of her own body, the tears drying instantly in the desert wind.
From her hiding place, Jubilee peered toward the sands; about twenty yards away, half-buried in the sand, one of the intact Aurum-12 cylinders gleamed.
“I’ll get the syringe!” Jubilee announced over the comms, preparing to run.
“Don’t you dare go out there, Jubilee! It’s too risky!” Logan roared.
“I can see it from here, Wolverine! It’ll only take a few minutes, Gambit doesn’t have time!” Jubilee replied determinedly.
Without waiting for an answer, the young mutant put her glasses back on and jumped out from the rocks, unleashing an immense burst of fireworks as a distraction. She ran with her heart pounding in her throat, dodging plasma blasts that struck inches from her feet and sent clouds of sand into the air. She slid onto her knees, stretched out her hand, and her fingers closed around the glass cylinder.
As she stood to return to the shelter, three soldiers emerged from between the curtains of sand, pointing their assault rifles directly at her head from very close range.
“Don’t move, mutant scum!” one of them shouted.
Jubilee froze completely. They were too close and her powers would take too long to charge enough to repel three simultaneous shots. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable impact, clutching the cylinder against her chest. She heard the gunshots, but felt no pain; she only felt a shadow cover her. When she opened her eyes, she saw Rogue standing in front of her, taking the impacts. Jubilee dropped to her knees behind Rogue, seeking her protection. Rogue endured several more shots; the fury in her eyes made the enemies’ skin crawl. She prepared to launch herself at them and attack.
Snikt!
Rogue stopped when she heard the familiar metallic sound of adamantium claws tearing through the air; then she heard the soldiers’ cries of pain. Logan appeared like a whirlwind of savage fury, attacking from one side, slicing through the enemy weapons and taking down all three soldiers with lethal, ruthless efficiency. Behind him, Scott Summers opened fire with his optic visor, unleashing a crimson beam of force that swept across the rest of the enemy lines.
“Get the hell out of here, Jubilee!” Logan roared, his eyes bloodshot as he turned to face a new wave of soldiers. “Rogue, take her and get back to Gambit and Morph! We’ll handle the rest!”
Rogue nodded, grabbed Jubilee over her shoulder without giving her time to protest, turned around, and flew low over the ground, hearing screams, gunfire, and the chaos of a battle that was only moments away from ending behind her. She returned to the shelter of the rocks just as a gigantic shadow descended from the sky. Storm landed, creating a wind shield intended to deflect enemy projectiles.
Without losing a second, Rogue set Jubilee down and snatched the syringe from her trembling hands. She ran toward Remy and dropped to her knees in front of him. In one second her eyes scanned his inert body. His skin had a terrifying grayish tone and his lips were blue. With a violence born from desperation, Rogue drove the pneumatic syringe into the top of his thigh and pressed the activator; the golden fluid disappeared into the Cajun’s bloodstream.
Rogue threw the empty device aside and, with one gloved hand, placed two trembling fingers directly against Remy’s carotid artery; she could feel nothing.
“Storm, please come check his pulse!” she pleaded.
She hated herself in that moment. She hated her damn mutation; not even being able to check the pulse of the man she loved made her feel pathetic and useless. Storm approached and knelt beside her, giving her a comforting look before checking Remy’s pulse and bringing her ear close to his mouth to assess his breathing.
Jubilee, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, began sobbing quietly, her burning tears washing clean trails through the dust on her cheeks.
“Is he going to be okay, Storm? Please, tell me he’s going to be okay…” the young woman sobbed.
“He’s breathing. His pulse is low, but he’s alive. Please, Jubilee, check on Morph.”
“Yeah... can someone think of me?"
The voice came from the ground. Morph had begun to regain consciousness, rubbing his bald head and grimacing in pain.
“I just need five more minutes.”
Jubilee hurried to help him.
“You scared me so much, idiot.”
“Me? Look at him, always stealing the spotlight. I take the hit and he gets the sobbing.”
Rogue, without turning to look at them, her eyes fixed on Remy’s serene and exhausted face, replied in a voice that tried to be a rock but trembled noticeably with every syllable:
“If he wants the spotlight so badly, he can open his damn eyes right now…”
The thunder of a nearby explosion reminded them that the battle was not yet over. Storm placed a firm hand on Rogue’s shoulder.
“You are safe here. The rest of the team will take care of finishing this. I’ll go help Logan and Scott. We’ll give you all the time you need to stabilize him. Don’t worry about anything, Rogue, just keep an eye on Remy. I promise my storm will protect you.”
Rogue nodded, holding back her tears, unable to tear her gaze away from Gambit’s closed eyes.
Storm returned to the battle.
Rogue hurriedly removed her leather jacket, carefully folding it to place it as a pillow beneath Gambit’s head, protecting him from the hardness of the rocks. She was deeply shaken; a primal terror constricted her chest, although she tried to hide it beneath her field-leader facade. With infinite gentleness, she ran her gloved hand across Remy’s sweaty forehead, brushing aside the strands of brown hair stuck to his face. Her body curled closer to him, and she lowered her face to within inches of his, desperately searching his features for any sign of life.
“Please, Remy…” she whispered, and the first tear fell. “Please, react.”
For several seconds the only sound was the distant roar of the battle as Rogue lowered her gaze, suffocated by a sudden wave of guilt. She had already watched Remy die once and knew that absolute emptiness all too well: the nightmares that never let her sleep, the guilt that drove her mad, the pain in her chest that suffocated her, the thoughts filled with “what ifs” that made her lose her mind.
When Remy returned, she had made the mistake of believing they had recovered him completely. They celebrated, laughed, and thought Apocalypse’s nightmare was over, unaware that something invisible had returned with him. A hidden presence that now chained them to a syringe every twelve hours, forcing them to live with their eyes fixed on the clock.
Despite that strict routine, that morning she had allowed him to come on the mission. She had blindly trusted that he would bring enough medication and that he would not do anything stupid; in short, she trusted him. Now, undone by her own mistake, she remained kneeling in the sand, counting his breaths one by one.
She had allowed him to come on this mission. She reproached herself internally for giving in to Remy’s insistence that “an X-Man doesn’t sit on the bench while his brothers are bleeding.”
While Jubilee helped Morph slowly get to his feet, Rogue’s chest intercom continued broadcasting the dynamic and chaotic exchange of orders from the rest of the team, who were fighting fiercely on the other side of the rocks.
Remy remained completely still, his skin was still damp with sweat. Suddenly, a slight tremor appeared throughout his body. Rogue took his hand.
“I’m here, keep fighting.”
She did not know if he could hear her, but she said it anyway. Several minutes passed. Rogue never stopped monitoring every breath.
Then she felt his fingers move; it was barely a small twitch.
“Darlin'?”
There was no answer, but it happened again; this time his fingers closed weakly. Rogue stroked the back of his hand.
“That’s it, easy, we’re taking care of you.”
The grip disappeared; Remy became completely still again. Jubilee and Morph remained standing in front of them, waiting.
“Is he coming back?”
“Of course, Morph.”
Rogue said it because she wanted to believe it, but it was still not enough. A minute passed, then another, then several more. Suddenly Remy inhaled deeply through his mouth and then slowly exhaled. His face stopped looking so tense. The trembling in his body diminished. Rogue felt desperate to check his pulse, but she knew that with her gloves it was useless to try.
Minutes later, Remy’s eyelids moved. Rogue caressed his face, she felt her own breathing quicken. She saw his eyelids trembling, but he could not open them. Rogue leaned toward his ear.
“Take it slowly, sugah, you’re safe. I just need you to open those beautiful eyes of yours, please.”
Little by little, almost imperceptibly, the scientific magic of Aurum-12 began to take effect within the Cajun’s body. The subtle bluish tint of his lips faded, replaced by a natural flush. Remy’s breathing became deeper, rhythmic, and steady. Beneath his closed eyelids, his eyeballs began moving more, and at moments his body had small spasms, indicating that cellular energy was beginning to flow through his veins again, rebuilding the bridge over the abyss Apocalypse had carved into his being.
The gusts of wind filled with sand continued battering the rock formations, but in the small enclave where the team was attempting to regroup, the physical tension had given way to overwhelming emotional pain.
Jubilee remained standing beside Morph; both watched Rogue and Gambit. The teenager’s shoulders began shaking violently, and the big amount of tears that had been held back until then by the adrenaline rush carved clean trails down her cheeks. She stared at the empty syringe lying in the sand and at the unconscious Remy.
“It’s my fault…” Jubilee sobbed, her voice broken by a guilt that was choking her. “If I hadn’t gotten trapped in the middle of the battle, if I hadn’t been careless with those soldiers… Remy would have had time to take his dose on time, just like Hank ordered.”
Hearing her words, Rogue closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The hardness of her training and the weight of her role as a leader were reflected in the straightness of her back. She slowly turned her head toward the teenager, fixing her with an intense gaze, devoid of any trace of condescending pity, but filled with a deep and protective truth.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
Jubilee wiped away her tears.
“Don’t carry a burden that doesn’t belong to you. You were incredibly brave, you risked your life to retrieve the last dose. You didn’t shoot that case, and you didn’t decide to ignore a medical alarm to go play hero in the middle of a firefight. The blame for this disaster isn’t yours, Jubilation Lee. The blame belongs solely and exclusively to the stubbornness of this stupid Cajun, who is incapable of accepting his own limits!”
“I love it… when… you say sweet nothings to me, chère…”
Rogue froze completely when she heard that thread of a voice.
She turned her head.
Remy’s eyes were half-open.
Her green eyes widened, unable to hide the wave of relief and pure emotion that swept away her entire defense of severity. Her breathing, until that moment restrained and rigid, suddenly became unsteady inside her chest.
“Remy?” she called his name in a trembling whisper, as if she feared that saying it aloud might make him disappear like a desert mirage.
Gambit sought her gaze. Those red pupils glowing against the black background of his eyes once again held that spark of life, faint but unmistakable. His mouth curved into a small, tired half-smile, but one infused with the charming arrogance that defined him.
Seeing that smile, Rogue could no longer hold herself back, the barriers of control she had imposed on herself throughout the mission completely collapsed. With a quick, coordinated movement, she slid her arms beneath Remy’s back and lifted him from the ground, pulling him into a desperate embrace and holding him against her body with a strength that came close to the limits of her physical control.
“You scared the damn life out of me, Remy LeBeau!” she confessed, burying her face in the crook of his neck as her shoulders shook with the emotion she had been holding back.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, no, I don’t forgive you! It’s too soon to forgive you! I’m so, so, so angry with you!”
Rogue pulled back just enough to look at him.
“I thought, I thought that you…”
“Rogue, I’m okay.”
Remy pulled her back into his arms. Sitting in the uneven sand with his legs stretched out, he wrapped his arms around Rogue’s back, visibly weak. His muscles still protested the violent cellular restart Aurum-12 was triggering throughout his system, but he clung to her with the devotion of a man who knew he had returned from the edge of the abyss because of her hands.
They both remained on the dusty ground for several seconds, wrapped in a space of absolute emotional vulnerability that made the chaos of the battlefield outside seem to disappear completely.
“Cyclops here for Blackbird and support team.”
The static from the intercom on Rogue’s chest abruptly broke the moment. Scott Summers’s voice came through clearly, without embellishment, maintaining the urgency of a commander who knew that time in hostile territory was a luxury they did not have.
“You mean Team Rainbow,” Morph clarified.
“I need an immediate update on the condition of your team,” Scott continued, ignoring Morph’s complaint.
Rogue pulled slightly away from the embrace, although she kept one arm around Remy’s back. She pressed the button on her suit, forcing her voice to recover the authoritative tone the team expected from her.
“Gambit is conscious. We’re all okay.”
“Understood,” Scott replied on the other end of the line, with an obvious note of relief in his voice. “Storm is covering our retreat. The enemies in the desert quadrant have been eliminated for now, but our scanners are detecting thermal signatures approaching from the south. More reinforcements are sure to come. We can’t stay here waiting for them. We need to take off immediately.”
“We’re moving toward the Blackbird for evacuation right now,” Rogue finished.
A few steps away from them, Morph finished shaking the sand from his face. Seeing the urgency of the situation, his body began changing shape in a flash of white light, expanding until he completely transformed into the imposing, winged figure of Archangel, his large metallic wings extended and gleaming beneath the desert sun. He approached Jubilee and effortlessly lifted her into his arms, positioning her securely.
“All right, lovebirds, luxury air transport is ready,” Morph said, perfectly imitating the deep, somewhat aristocratic voice of Warren Worthington III. “I suggest we hurry before those fanatics decide to use my wings for target practice. Let’s fly!”
Rogue put on her jacket again. Gambit, visibly struggling, placed his hands against the rocks and tried to stand. Rogue immediately intercepted him, gripping his shoulders in a firmness gesture that allowed no argument.
“No! Don’t even think about it.”
“I have to…”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
“I can…”
“I said no! You’ve done enough stupid things for one day.”
Without giving him time to protest, Rogue slipped one arm beneath his knees and the other around his back, lifting him from the ground with her super-strength as easily as she would carry a puppy. She looked toward Morph and Jubilee, giving them an affirmative nod.
“It’s time to go home. Let’s not waste any more time here,” Rogue said.
With a powerful push of her legs, Rogue rose into the air, breaking free from the desert’s gravity in a clean, ascending flight. Beside her, Morph beat his metallic wings forcefully, rising alongside Jubilee as they headed at full speed toward the camouflaged silhouette of the Blackbird waiting several hundred yards above the canyon. In the middle of the sky, surrounded by the howl of the wind and the distant roar of the storm Storm kept under control to cover their escape, Rogue held Remy extremely close to her chest, protecting him from the turbulence with her own body.
Remy, his head resting firmly against her shoulder, looked up at her while feeling the wind whip against his trench coat. The ruby glow of his eyes seemed to stabilize thanks to the constant flow of Aurum-12 through his veins.
“Thank you for coming for me,” he whispered sincerely, allowing vulnerability to completely replace his usual bravado.
Rogue kept her eyes fixed on the horizon, guiding her flight toward the jet’s open ramp with a rigid, stern expression.
“Since you don’t seem to care very much about your own life, LeBeau, it’s clear someone on this damn team has to take care of you all the time.”
Her voice, when she answered, sounded unusually aggressive, charged with a tension she still could not release. Remy raised one eyebrow slightly.
“Are you really angry at me?”
Rogue shook her head sharply, keeping her eyes fixed ahead.
“Remy, shut up.”
It was in that specific inflection of her voice, in that subtle break when she pronounced his name, that he understood what she was feeling. It was not real anger; it was the lingering echo of horrifying terror. Rogue was not angry; she was terrified of experiencing again the unbearable emptiness she had felt in Genosha. She was reliving the trauma of watching the man she loved become a corpse in her arms.
Understanding the magnitude of her pain, Remy’s expression softened completely. He gently lowered his head against her neck, allowing physical closeness to speak for him.
“Forgive me. I’m truly sorry I scared you like that, petite,” he said with infinite gentleness. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”
Hearing that sincere apology, completely free of his usual arrogance, something in Rogue’s expression finally gave way. The rigidity in her features softened and a small, almost imperceptible smile filled with immense affection appeared on her lips. She tilted her head just enough to place a long, tender kiss on Remy’s tousled brown hair, a gesture that served as an invisible protective barrier.
“Bien, la voilà, ma chère.”
“Do you ever get tired of talking, huh?” she asked, this time with a soothing tenderness that erased every trace of aggression. “The danger’s over. You’re safe and we’re all going home. So do me a favor and close those red eyes of yours and get some rest already.”
He obeyed.
Couple of hours later, the Blackbird cut through the sky at high speed, having left the Nevada desert behind and settling into a safe route back toward X-Men headquarters. In the main cockpit, the atmosphere remained professionally focused and quiet. Logan firmly held the flight controls in the captain’s seat, with Jean Grey beside him monitoring the jet’s navigation systems and optical camouflage, while Scott, seated directly behind them, communicated with the Professor and reported the tactical details of Forge’s successful extraction.
In the rear of the aircraft, in the integrated medical bay, the activity was peaceful. Storm stood beside one of the medical beds, using medical compresses and antiseptic solutions to clean and bandage the superficial wounds and plasma burns Forge had sustained on his arms and torso during his captivity. The mutant inventor nodded gratefully, visibly exhausted but relieved to be back with the team and beside Ororo. He had thought about her every day during his captivity.
On another of the medical beds was a scene filled with deep intimacy and protectiveness. Rogue sat with her back completely supported against the metal headboard of the structure, her legs stretched out across the surface.
Between her arms, comfortably settled between her legs, was Remy, without his uniform and wearing only soft lounge clothes, in an attempt to give his body the rest it urgently needed. The Cajun rested naturally against her chest, allowing himself to be loved, held, and protected by her without the slightest resistance. Remy’s body was completely covered up to his shoulders by a thermal blanket, which served not only to help him regain body heat but also as an absolute barrier preventing direct skin-to-skin contact, allowing them at the same time to enjoy the physical closeness they both desperately needed.
“What a disaster of a team we were, mes amis. Next time I’m asking to be on Storm’s team.”
“There’s no room on my team, Remy,” Storm joked from the other medical bed.
“I think the treatment is working, Jubilee. He’s already recovering his ability to annoy us,” Morph said.
“Yep, he’s definitely better,” Jubilee added.
Remy placed one hand against his chest with an exaggeratedly offended expression.
“How sweet. It almost seems like you guys love me.”
Jubilee pointed at Rogue.
“She definitely loves you.”
Remy turned his head slightly to look at her.
“Oui.”
The answer was simple and came without any joke or flirtation this time. It was a simple certainty that made Anna feel a very warm sensation in her chest. She caressed his cheek with her thumb.
“A lot.”
Although he had regained consciousness, Rogue knew he was still far too weak, something he tried to hide with small smiles, jokes whenever he managed to gather enough breath, and that carefree expression he always used to convince the world that nothing could affect him. But Anna knew him far too well: she had seen the tremor in his arm when he tried to stand and had felt the alarming lightness of his body when he had completely surrendered against her. In her mind, the devastating thought that she had arrived too late kept repeating itself; even though it was not true, even though the dose was working, the guilt had already taken root inside her when she remembered his ragged breathing through the transmitter and all of Remy’s broken promises about following Hank’s instructions.
He had almost lost his life because he decided to delay a dose, but part of her could not escape an even more painful question: why hadn’t she noticed sooner? She had been listening to him through the transmitter, noticing that his voice sounded different, and yet it had taken her precious minutes to understand the seriousness of the situation. Minutes that, as she knew all too well while clenching her teeth, were sometimes more than enough to change everything. Rogue shook her head, trying to push all those thoughts away, while Remy smiled and turned his attention back to Jubilee.
“See? I’m easy to love, even you love me; otherwise you wouldn’t have risked yourself to go get my formula.”
“You’re insufferable. I only did it because you saved me first.”
“Then we’re even, petite.”
Jubilee’s expression softened as she nodded and let out a little laugh.
Despite the lingering weakness in his body, Remy’s playful spirit was already back in full force. He maintained a lively conversation with Jubilee and Morph, who had taken seats on the rotating stools beside the medical bed.
“Of course we almost got ourselves killed, we started off on the wrong foot the moment we let Morph choose the team name,” Remy said, gesturing slightly with one hand poking out from beneath the blanket. “Team Rainbow sounds like a Disney movie. Team Noir, now that’s a badass name.”
Jubilee let out a clear laugh as she spun from side to side on her stool and then added:
“Actually, nobody took our team name into account, Cyclops even spent the whole mission calling us the ‘support group.’ I’m filing my complaint as soon as we get back.”
Morph gave a mocking little laugh and instantly changed his face into Professor Xavier’s, imitating his serious voice.
“Of course, Jubilee, you are absolutely right. Scott, come here, I’m informing you that starting today Jubilee will be the leader of the X-Men. She has more style than you and she can also name more colors than you.”
“It’s true! It seems Scott only knows two colors, blue and gold. There’s a whole spectrum of possibilities!” Jubilee replied.
“Team Noir… It’s too cool for the X-Men, I’m using it for the Thieves Guild.”
The laughter grew louder.
Rogue watched and listened to the scene from her position, and a soft, sincere laugh escaped her lips. Her gloved fingers moved slowly and rhythmically across Remy’s face, caressing the line of his jaw and gently combing through the strands of brown hair falling across his forehead. Seeing the happiness reflected on her friends’ faces and hearing the lively tone of Remy’s voice, Rogue leaned down and placed a long kiss on his head. She did not pull away immediately. She kept her lips against his hair and closed her eyes as she inhaled the familiar scent, a mixture of light tobacco, leather, and the subtle metallic smell of Aurum-12. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, offering a silent and profound prayer of gratitude to the universe for allowing her to arrive in time to save him.
For several seconds, the sound of the engines and the team’s conversation faded into the background. Anna remembered the moment she had found him unconscious and the syringe in her hands. She remembered the fear she had felt, watching Remy’s chest maintain a weak rhythm of breathing and the horrible terror she had experienced at the possibility of arriving too late. She felt a knot in her throat. She remembered the desperation as she waited for the dose to begin working and the almost unbearable relief when she finally saw his eyelids move. She had arrived in time.
“Thank you.”
She did not know exactly whom she was thanking. Perhaps Hank for discovering the treatment or Jubilee for keeping Remy alive until they arrived. All she knew was that, a couple of hours earlier, she had thought she could lose the man in her arms again, and now she could feel his warmth.
Maybe it had been luck.
She thought about her Christian upbringing and also thanked God.
Regardless of whoever or whatever had been able to give Remy more time, she silently said it anyway.
“Thank you for letting me arrive in time.”
“Thank you because he’s still with me.”
She had arrived in time, she had saved him. Remy was still there. Her arms tightened slightly around his body.
He noticed.
“Chère…”
She opened her eyes.
“Yes?”
“We won.”
A small smile appeared on Anna’s face.
“I know.”
Remy took her gloved hand and squeezed it with the little strength he still had. Anna lowered her gaze toward him. He was still pale and weak, but he was conscious, he was talking, and he had recovered enough energy to joke again. He was alive. She kissed his hair once more.
The other team members present in the medical bay quickly noticed the atmosphere of deep intimacy surrounding the couple. Rogue’s body language, the way she held Remy, and the way he completely surrendered himself to her care made it clear that, behind the jokes, they both needed some time alone to process the trauma of the biological collapse.
Morph, with his usual perceptiveness hidden behind his clownish facade, suddenly jumped to his feet and looked at Jubilee with a mock-alarmed expression, breaking the moment with a playful shout that echoed throughout the rear section of the jet.
“Where the hell is Logan?! I think Jubilee and I are ready and in perfect position to go find the old grouch and receive our mandatory daily lecture!”
“He sounded really angry last time. I think we’re in trouble,” Jubilee said without a hint of humor.
“Come on, move! Better to have him yell at us here than tomorrow at breakfast, I’d hate for him to get indigestion.”
For the first time since the mission had begun, Rogue let out a genuine laugh. Remy smiled as he felt her chest vibrate with laughter.
Jubilee immediately caught the hint. She stood up from her stool with a knowing smile, saying goodbye to Remy and Rogue with a subtle wave.
Storm smiled and, after placing one final bandage over Forge’s arm, helped the inventor slowly stand from his medical bed.
“Come with me, Forge. I’ll take you to the front rest area so you can have some water and stretch your legs before we land,” Ororo said gently, guiding him out of the medical bay while giving Rogue a warm, understanding look and closing the sliding door behind them to give them the privacy they needed.
Once the echo of their friends’ laughter faded and the only remaining sound was the constant, muffled hum of the Blackbird’s magnetic engines, the atmosphere in the medical bay became much more intimate and profound. Rogue stopped the movement of her fingers through Remy’s hair for a second, making him lift his gaze to meet hers.
She did not add any reproach. There would be time to talk about the dose he had delayed, his decision to keep fighting when he knew something was wrong, and the fear he had put everyone through.
“Remy?”
“Hmm?”
“Please, never forget your dose again.”
“I won’t.”
“The Aurum-12 injections are the absolute priority in your life. I know you don’t like it, I don’t either, but thanks to them you’re still alive. It doesn’t matter if we’re on a mission, in the middle of a storm, or at the end of the world. If the alarm goes off, you stop and administer the formula.”
Remy nodded. She took a deep breath. Her arms rose toward his chest and she leaned forward to hug him tightly, pressing her entire chest against his back.
“I don’t want to lose you again.”
Remy heard the seriousness in her voice and understood the pain the possibility of his death caused her. His entire carefree facade disappeared completely.
“You have my word, Rogue. I’m going to be here for a long, long time,” he replied with absolute seriousness, a tone he rarely used. His hands rose to cover hers.
“I wish I could kiss you right now.”
“You can, mon cœur. A kiss is a kiss,” he replied in a whisper.
She pressed a soft kiss against the right side of his back while inhaling his essence again, then she exhaled a long sigh, letting all the remaining tension dissipate as she settled more comfortably against him. Finally she rested her chin on his shoulder.
“How do you feel?”
“Empty.”
And that was all, the jokes were over. With no one else around, alone with Rogue in their private space, Remy allowed himself to be completely vulnerable and honest.
“I understand. It’s okay… Now do me a favor and rest,” she whispered into his ear with intimate tenderness, once again stroking his temple with her gloved fingers.
“Can I sleep?”
“Go to sleep, don’t worry, I’ll wake you as soon as we arrive, okay?”
Remy nodded slowly, feeling the genuine exhaustion of the battle and the subsequent recovery, after feeling death and returning to life thanks to the Aurum-12, beginning to weigh down his eyelids. He curled up completely comfortably in the shelter of Rogue’s arms, closing his eyes with the absolute certainty that there, he would be completely safe.