Rogue is saying something from the bathroom and he's pretty sure he was responding when he suddenly stops, staring at the calendar on the wall by the dresser. For a long, terrible moment nothing exists, nothing but the realization that two years has somehow become two months, and then the world starts again. Remy draws a shattering breath.


He turns toward the concern in Rogue's voice and, seeing her, pulls her to him roughly. He doesn't speak, just holds her like a drowning man clings to the rock.

"It's okay," she whispers, comforting him. "Remy, it's okay."

It isn't.