rushesThis is what hope feels like, the feverish rush of practice in their last two weeks in New Orleans, the sweet prattle of his children—"Mama's touching people!"—the way Mercy smiles like she used to before her own loss, Henri's congratulations, Tante Mattie's knowing smile, Jean-Luc's toast and open approval of Remy's choice in wife.
Everything's going to be okay.
He's never felt this way before, not since everything with Belladonna went so, so wrong. Not since exile.
Not his past nor her mutation can dampen his spirits now. Nothing in their future can possibly take this feeling away.
twirlsThey take off for the night to celebrate. No matter there's still a long road to go, more lessons to learn and practice and become before she has mastered her power, this moment is one to cherish.
He dances her in his arms and remembers anew the flashing sparkle in her eyes, the way she fits against him, the glorious sound of her laugh.
Rogue twirls out in a bright circle before sliding into his arms again. He holds her close, nuzzles her neck, and is pleased at how small the tug is.
"Remy?" she breathes.
"Chère?"
"Let's go home."
resultsThe basic idea of Guild training is simple: live it, breathe it, drink it, sleep it until you get it right.
They go out of their way to touch her, these Thieves, and his primary duty soon shifts from that of being constantly absorbed to that of keeping her comfortable.
Hugs, handshakes, friendly touches, pats on the cheek, arm brushes, and all the bewildering array of human contact they're forcing her to get used to. Slowly but surely, it's paying off.
But neither of them know who cries first when she touches him one night and nothing happens at all.
reproachesThe first time the children saw his eyes on Rogue, their eyes went wide in shock. Olivier hid behind Remy's leg while Rebecca demanded of him what he'd done to their mama.
After a little explanation, they calmed down.
Now they're used to seeing her with this or that trait or mannerism or accent of one of their Cajun relatives, though they still cast reproachful gazes at Remy as if he somehow should make it stop.
"I'm beginning to think they blame me for your mutation," he complains while getting ready for bed.
Rogue retorts, "You are the worst offender."
scowls"Just one thing, chérie," Remy says. He's leaning back on his hands on the floor, about the only position he can actually manage at the moment. "Not the memory and my power and card throwing."
"I got the memory," she states icily, not even glancing up from uncharging her entire wardrobe.
Jean-Luc chuckles and shakes his head at them from the middle of a mess of fallen cards. Unfortunately, said memory involved Remy in a fight.
Remy tilts his head appraisingly, waiting for Rogue to notice.
Finally, task complete, she looks up. "What, Swamp Rat?"
"Love the eyes."
She scowls.
readsRebecca has no problem being the small queen of all the attention showered on her by tantes and oncles she didn't even know she had. Olivier is harder to please.
Remy's actually going over some of the statistics for Rogue's training when all the papers are rudely shoved out of his lap to be replaced by a small boy staring up at him reproachfully, book in hand.
"Read," Liv commands imperiously before settling in to enjoy himself.
More than a little startled, but certainly not about to argue, Remy opens the book of fairytales and begins to read. He smiles.
touchesShe seems nervous, and while it's understandable, it only makes him laugh.
Rogue glares darkly.
"It's not like we ain't done this before," he points out before leaning in to touch her.
She sucks in her breath. "Not recently."
He shrugs. "Much funner than in front of m' père."
She rolls her eyes. "You would think that."
"But of course."
Then he's touching her in earnest--real practice, brushing a butterfly kiss over her shoulder, sliding his hand along her arm. Always has to be so careful to withdraw when her skin responds.
Finally, he's drained and stops. "Not bad."
practicesThey practice in seconds. Three seconds: long enough to weaken him without knocking him unconscious, long enough to transfer a single skill, memory, or mutant power. She's reaching for a memory now.
Remy's used to the draining sensation by now, the way it feels like his soul is turned inside out and the world fades to black, and instead of feeling that, he focuses on her, the way her cheeks flush and her mouth forms an "O" as she pulls away and says, "Remy!"
He chuckles. "Memory, chérie, not fantasy."
Rogue glares at him.
Jean-Luc just shakes his head. "Again."
tantesWhile the Guild has trained more mutants than any other family Remy knows, it's Tante Mattie that provides the comfort and support. He has Rogue tucked under his arm as Tante explains.
"It came back all slow like, an' y' just knew y' were goin' t' hurt him."
"Yes," Rogue whispers, but she doesn't meet Tante's gaze.
Tante nods. "Unreasonable, but wit' de children, y' hoped, didn't y'?"
Remy holds his chère a little closer and she finds the strength to nod back. "Hank said there was a chance."
Tante Mattie pats Rogue's knee with understanding. "Y' body believed y'."
viewsFrom the first time he met her, he has been utterly fascinated by her. He wants to understand and know her mind, her thoughts, the climate of her emotions, the way she moves and breathes, that easy grace, the things that please her, the fullness of her beauty. Now, he has a new fascination: her mutation.
With just a touch, she can take a memory, a skill, thoughts, feelings, his very personality—anything at all. The idea of such intimacy is heady, even thrilling, to one like him. The trust required, breathtaking.
A million ways to view each other's heart.
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