The Black Wave
The mansion was near empty, which was somewhat a sigh of relief for those who decided to stay inside, and there was only one: Rogue. She was curled up on a bay window in her bedroom drinking cocoa. The snow was so deep even Colossus' head could hardly be seen above the drifts. She pulled her gloves off, palms sweating from the added heat of the cocoa; placing them beside her before running the length of them with a free bare hand.
It had always seemed so trivial that the fabric of her gloves stirred something within her. Something so deep seeded it made her crumble sometimes. But today was not that kind of a day, as she ran her hand along her gloves' fabric. She felt warmth and security until her door was opened by a partially gloved hand; fingers cut.
As the door swung open swiftly without a creak, Remy LeBeau stood framed in her doorway, kindling eyes softly on her, ruby on black.
Instinctually she pulled her gloves back on, the length of them covering her up a bit past her elbows.
"Remy," She said cordially, her emerald eyes casually giving him a slight once-over.
"Chéri," He replied, taking his name being recognized as an invitation to step past the threshold into her bedroom.
"Fahne," She replied shortly, suddenly not really feeling up to much conversation.
"De' Cajun on'y come t'ask why d'belle ain' out playin' in de snow. S'yo weather, non?"
She sighed. The Cajun had proved quite a point. It was times like this that she could honestly get away with being covered head to toe in layers of clothes and not feel weird about it. So instead of answering she drank some more cocoa.
"Remy understands," He said, deciding to take a seat beside her on the window. "Winter ain' time fo' us."
"Us?" She asked, quirking a brow at him, the mug near her lips seeming to muffle her response.
"Oui mon chéri," He nodded. "You an' I, we come from de south. We 'rather have sunny days, an' trips down de bayou den' trips out in d'snow."
Rogue nodded absently. That wasn't the reason she wasn't out in the snow today at all; apart from the reason that she completely didn't feel like it. It would've taken way too much energy, energy Rogue didn't seem to possess. The past week had been intense. Exercise after exercise in the Danger Room. She thought Scott was going to be drilling them for forever. Not to mention practically all the exercises involved contact… actual contact with the very person who sat beside her. Jean had implanted whereabouts of fellow team members in Remy's mind, and she had to retrieve them. Problem was, she got a bit more than she'd have liked, and now she was dealing with the side-effects alone. Bouts of crying, flashes of terrible memories she knew weren't her own, of heists, murders and abuse. Remy was definitely a tormented soul. More than he let on, more than he let anyone else see.
"Y'seem troubled chérie." Remy noted, his eyes expressing a deep worry.
"Ah…" She paused, feeling this rush of…No, this black wave of memories seeming to consume her. "Ah'm sorry," The southern belle choked. But Remy couldn't feel what she could, could he? They were his memories after all.
"Sorry fo' what, Rogue? Y'ain' done nuthin' wrong." His eyes seemed to be even more worried now, protective.
"But ah have…" She whispered, tears spilling over the brims of her eyes and out onto her pale cheeks. "Daddy hates me…" She said her voice nearly inaudible.
Suddenly, with terrible shattering realization, Remy finally, fully understood. He vaguely recalled his biological father's abuse, now. But for Rogue, it must've been fresh, raw, and terribly hurtful.
Remy pulled Rogue into his arms, cradling her like a child, stroking her brown and ivory streaked tresses gently, comfortingly.
"Fo'git about him, Rogue." He said softly, "Y'remember Julian, don' you?"
"Ah don' unduhstand…" She said weakly from somewhere around his chest. "Y'were too little t'…"
Remy nodded, "My pops was real bad, beatin' mon mere up all de time. Don' know why I 'member it, but I do. I always thought it was my fault dat my pops abused mon mere."
"Oh," She closed her eyes, nuzzling his chest as the memories began to ebb away for the meanwhile, the warmth of Remy's arms pulling her from her horrid reverie.
Despite Rogue quieting, Remy continued to hold her. Rogue had never been more of a teammate to him since they had met, and now it was different. There was this bond between them now, both seeming to have a part of the other. Something Remy LeBeau had never felt before.
And it was heartbreakingly incredible.