TITLE: Homecoming
FANDOM: X-Men: Evolution
DEDICATION: To me. Because I flipping deserve this after the shit this bunny put me through.
CHARACTERS: Remy, Rogue, and specters of parents past.
RATING: Teen, for a touch of language and minor violence.
SUMMARY: We're cut from the same cloth, he said. He didn't know how right he was.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This piece has an interesting history. Originally intended to be one of the 'cards' in the Stacked Deck collection, this mother grew and grew and grew in to the monster that you see here. It was going to end up being longer too, but I needed this plotbunny slain and buried before school started to drown me.


It began with a single command, whispered and accompanied with a shove at his shoulder.

"Wake up."

His eyes flickered open, sleep-addled brain already screaming for the necessary adrenaline to cause this intruder serious pain. Instinctually, his hand reached for the bedside table where a deck of cards lay waiting, and in a smooth, arcing motion, pulled one out and charged it in to a blazing fury.

The glow of the card filled the room and illuminated his attacker. Red hair, white stripes, gray eyes, perpetual frown . . .

"Nice to see you too, Remy."

He released the charge and put the card back on top of the deck while rubbing his eyes with the other hand.

"The hell you doin', Rogue?" He muttered, accent thickened considerably by the fact he still remained in that strange place between the sleeping and waking world.

"I need a favor."

He blinked again, his eyes adjusting to the dark with their usual rapidity. This allowed him to see that Rogue was dressed for action: heavy combat boots that he recognized as being from the latest incarnation of her uniform, a pair of dark pants that he didn't recognize at all, a thick black jacket bearing the ubiquitous "X" in silver thread, and an overstuffed backpack slung over her shoulder.

On top of that, she seemed agitated. Nothing dramatic, really – just a general restlessness that was coming across, combined with a tightness to her posture that would have gone unnoticed were it not for how fitted the jacket was around the shoulders.

Something was up.

"And what kind of favor might that be?"

She looked hesitant.

She also ended up speaking before he had a chance to call her on this.

"I need your . . . expertise."

He gave her a pair of pursed lips and a critical narrowing of the eyes in response. Rogue sighed at his scrutiny, taking a seat on the bed.

"I need you to hotwire me one of the bikes."

He nodded slowly, now fully conscious and awake. This was interesting news.

"You leaving?"

"I think so. Maybe." She exhaled sharply. "I don't know. For a little while anyway."

"Where you heading?"


Ah. So that was it. The girl was trying to get home. Remy's face screwed up visibly as he tried to work this through. Home. The word was a loaded one. Did Rogue even consider Caldecott home anymore?


Her tone was suddenly tinged with annoyance.

"What's with the questions? I came to you because I know you can keep your trap shut about stuff like this."

"I can. I just wanna know why you decided that . . ." He glanced towards the clock on his nightstand. "Two-thirty in the morning was a good time to come talk to me about this."

Rogue's body tensed further at this as she shifted her gaze to her lap.

Curiouser and curiouser, Remy mused as he watched her shift uncomfortably. What was it that had Rogue, the girl who stared down sentinels and laughed at the Danger Room so worked up? It took her a second before she was composed enough to look at him straight on again.

"I just need to get to Caldecott, okay? The sooner the better."

It was then that he got a better look at Rogue's eyes. Slightly swollen and bloodshot, they spoke of tears recently shed and carefully wiped away. There were ghosts there too; ghosts that only others who had been similarly haunted would be able to see.

He nearly shivered as the sound of his father's voice made its way through his head.

You're a Thief, Remy. As good as born and bred. Get used to it.

The girl had ghosts. He could sympathize.

"Okay. Just give me a second to throw a bag together."

Rogue's expression hardened instantaneously. It wasn't as though he could say he wasn't expecting that reaction, but it pained him none the less . . . not least of all because he knew that in her place, he would be just as defensive.

"What are you talking about? Who said you were coming?"

He threw off the blankets and reached for a shirt draped over the headboard.

"You obviously haven't really thought this through, Rogue. Do you know how long it takes to ride down to Caldecott? Do you know how cold it is outside?"

There was no response.

"I didn't think so. I'll drive you down there."

She opened her mouth to protest, but his words came faster. The fact that his tone didn't really welcome any opposition or interruption probably helped.

"It's winter, Rogue. I'm driving you."

She couldn't argue with that. It was mid-February now, and there was most definitely snow on the ground. Such conditions didn't make for very safe or very comfortable riding. She would be safer, not to mention more comfortable, in the passenger seat of his car. He would also feel better being able to keep an eye on her. Scared people do stupid things – a lesson learned from experience.

He watched her quietly for a moment, shirt still in hand. As far as he knew there was nothing left for Rogue in Caldecott. Her 'mother', Mystique, had packed up and left there ages ago. Rogue had also made it quite clear on numerous occasions that she wanted nothing to do with the woman. The boy Cody was dead, or as good as.

No family, no friends. No connections.

So why was she in such a rush to get back there?

His silent observation had apparently gone on a moment too long.

"You gonna stare, or you gonna get moving?" Rogue growled as she crossed her arms. It was a weak defensive gesture, a deflection that might have worked on anyone else. Remy knew better though; a similar sort of response had been how he'd survived growing up as Jean-Luc's son. It occurred to him that perhaps he ought to be a little unnerved by the parallels, but the thought of his father served as a passable distraction. His own shoulders had tensed in a physical response to even the memory of Jean-Luc, and his attention had been diverted in to making this fact absolutely invisible. He gauged no change in Rogue's expression, and he counted this mild deception a success.

A liar to the last, Jean-Luc chortled; the echo of a proud parent many years ago giving twisted praise to the urchin who he would make a son. You do belong here.

Remy shrugged casually, as much in response to Rogue's question as to literally shrug off the memory as he pulled on the shirt.

A small duffel bag was quickly filled with all the necessities, special care being taken to ensure the large black sweatshirt balled up in the back corner of his closet made its way in. It wasn't an item of clothing he actually wore. It just so happened that the kangaroo pocket it sported was the perfect hiding spot for (and the current home of) a half-empty pack of Lucky Strikes.

It's not that Remy was a heavy smoker – not by a long shot. He did indulge every once in a while though, particularly when his nerves began to fray. It was a point of pride for him that this wasn't a particularly common occurrence, (Jean-Luc's derisive laugh sounded throughout that large and powerful part of the mind concerned with recollection: Sure, Remy. Keep telling yourself that) but something about Rogue's demeanor that suggested he might need them before all this was through.

The bag was zipped up and plunked on the bed once filled to capacity. Rogue had yet to say a word, and was quiet still as he pulled a pair of jeans on over his boxers and grabbed a jacket from off the back of his desk chair. She remained intent though, and he doubted it was on him.

He was dying to make a joke here. Innuendo would clear the air, if only for a little while. He thought better of it as he pulled the coat on and slung the bag over his shoulder. It was closer though. A second more and some half-baked joke about her taking advantage of his vulnerable state might have slipped out, and who the hell knew what damage that might have done.

"Let's go." He offered lamely, and she rose to follow him out of the room.


It took a good half-hour for Rogue to actually speak again. By that time, they were cruising down the highway at a good clip in to the still pitch-black sky.

"Thank you." She managed. The effort it had taken to say that simple phrase was clear.

"Does anyone besides me know you've left?"

"Why does it matter?"

"The rest of them aren't going to lose sleep over me being gone." They would expect it, actually. He had a bad habit of disappearing for days on end and reappearing as though nothing had happened, and the rest of Xavier's crew had come to accept this, however grudgingly. "But you and me both? They'll think it's New Orleans all over again."

"You chose to come." She accused. The way she said it made it sound like a crime. Surprise, surprise.

"What kind of choice was there? I wasn't about to let you die of stupidity-induced hypothermia. Better to be accused of kidnapping all over again than a dead body on my conscience."

You mean another, Jean-Luc interjected. Another dead body. Wouldn't be the first, won't be the last, and you know it.

The darkness cloaked his grit teeth well as he pushed the car a little harder.

Go away Jean-Luc, he muttered. It absolutely figured that the man had managed to follow him around even after being left behind.

Jean-Luc only laughed, the sound dissipating in to nothing but a malevolent presence that Remy had long ago added to the list of things he wished he could simply be rid of. His adopted father didn't even have to inform him that he wasn't going anywhere, thank you very much. The man had been whispering in Remy's ear like that ever since he'd left New Orleans for what he had claimed would be the last time (You and I both know that's not true, son), and it never got any easier to take.

Rogue sighed, unaware of the small battle being fought in the driver's seat.

"I left a note for Kitty. She'll cover for me."

He could only bring himself to nod. Kitty would, too. The girl was fiercely devoted to her friend. She'd go to bat for Rogue in a heartbeat, stemming the tide of inevitable questions once everyone had woken up to realize that her roommate was missing.

A good five minutes more passed in silence. He was thankful for this, as it offered him a chance to focus on the road and clear his head in the monotony of the highway. Rogue swallowed just loudly enough to be heard, and he caught her looking from the window to him.

"You wanna know what's up, huh?"

Having steadied himself enough to speak, he did so.

"I'm not gonna stop you if you want to tell."

She regarded her lap as though the secrets of the world lay in it.

"I don't think I'm much up to sharing right now." It came out like an apology, which was strange coming from Rogue's mouth, but there was also a hardened edge there that he was more familiar with when it came to dealing with her.

"Does that mean that I get an explanation eventually?" Remy ventured, pressing the gas pedal a little closer to the floor. She had no answer for him, not even to that particular question, and when he looked over towards her it became painfully apparent that she was not in her right mind. She looked scattered, stretched thin, and trying too hard to hide it.

Now was not the time to push.

He would let her have her secrets. Such was a courtesy he demanded for himself on a regular basis, and he would grant it to her. For the time being, anyway.

His so-called father didn't even need to comment on this. Remy was able to criticize himself here just fine on his own.

Such a gentleman. Did Tante Mattie teach you that duplicity too?

"Sleep." He advised. "You look like you could use it."

Rogue didn't even waste time with a grateful smile or any such gesture of acknowledgement. She closed her eyes, set her head against the window, and was out like a light.

She remained that way until Remy finally pulled over some time later to get something to eat. He'd missed the name of the town on their way in, but he'd seen fast food restaurants and gas stations, both of which would come in handy right about now.

"How long was I out?" Rogue drawled, sitting up a little straighter and smoothing over her hair as she looked around.

"A good while. Feel any better?"

She sidestepped the question with a surprising neatness.

"Where are we?"

"Just inside Kentucky." He supplied, stretching out his arms to work out the stiffness that had started to settle in his elbows. "Figured it was about time for a bite."

She frowned, looking towards the clock on the dash.

"It's twelve hours from Westchester to Kentucky."

Remy rolled his neck from side to side, relishing the cracking sensation that resulted.

"If you stick to the speed limit? Yeah. Sure."

The truth was that they'd been moving along with the posted speed limits as nothing more than polite suggestions the whole trip thus far, and had made good progress as a result. He planned on no apology.

Rogue's frown deepened, and her return was characteristically glib.

"I'm going to stretch my legs."

She opened the car door and stepped out in to the parking lot that he'd pulled in to, taking off at a brisk pace for the other side. He spent but a moment considering if he should follow. It took even less time for him to become her shadow.

"When are you planning on telling me what's going on, Rogue?"

"What's it to you?" She fired back, not even having the courtesy to look over her shoulder as she did.

They were halfway across the parking lot now, and she paused to lean against a lamppost to wrap herself up in a hug. He halted as well, realizing the prudence of silence at this time. His patience paid off, because she eventually reached in to her back pocked and fished out a small piece of newsprint that Remy identified quickly – an obituary.

Seen a few of those, boy? Maybe been the reason for a couple? Jean-Luc smiled darkly. Of course you recognize what it is.

She handed it over to him gingerly, as though it might have burnt through her gloves were she not careful. He received it with the same sort of care. He noted specifically how worn it was already. The bottom was splotchy (from tears, perhaps?) and the rest of the lettering starting to fade under heavy handling.

It didn't take long to read. The obituary itself was short and to the point; it would hardly have been a blip on the page.

ADLER: It is with great sadness that we announce the passing of Irene Adler. Irene passed away suddenly on Sunday, February 11th. She leaves behind no family, going to join them all after fifty years here on earth. A memorial service will be held on February 15th, 1:00 pm at Cottonwood Funeral Home in Caldecott County.

"This is why you want to go home?" He finally asked, fingering the paper absently as he looked up towards her.

"You sound surprised." Had he? Remy handed it back without comment or gesture. She took the obituary with a certain reverence as she continued. "It's not like there's anything else there for me."

Her voice had grown a little sardonic by the end, and Remy found himself feeling almost smug at how right he'd been. Rogue's words now echoed his own suspicions back when she'd woken him up.

He had, of course, nearly forgotten about the Adler woman.

Irene had taken care of Rogue as a child while Mystique was off causing mass chaos. The woman had likely been more of a mother to Rogue than Raven ever had been. Of course she'd mourn Irene's passing.

"How'd you get this?" He asked.

"Mail. Sent with love from mother dearest." This assessment was made coldly, her eyes set on the pavement. "The woman hasn't figured it out yet. I don't want anything to do with her. I don't want anything from her."

And yet Rogue had accepted this news of Irene's death from the woman, giving this away as a lie.

He wasn't one to judge though. Despite everything, parents were parents, and familial obligation was a bitch. He ought to know; he'd gone back home for Jean-Luc, hadn't he? To hold this against Rogue would be hypocritical at best.

A thought occurred to him -- it currently was the sixteenth, just shy of three in the afternoon. The memorial would be over now, and the burial would likely have already occurred.

The empty patches of thought and guesswork that he'd framed out began to fill themselves in.

"You wanna go pay your respects."

Rogue nodded, slowly, and Remy noticed the beginnings of tears starting to well up at the corner of her eyes.

"Irene was good to me."

Remy found himself shifting his weight from foot to foot in a discomfited shuffle at these choked out words. This vulnerable Rogue was not something he was used to. The quiet, hurting mess before him was unfamiliar, and the fact that he was privy to her pain was . . . uncomfortable. He was honoured, after a fashion, but that didn't change the strain in the air. She was aching, and all he could do was stand there.

Jean-Luc took the opportunity to weigh in.

Never did know what to do around a crying woman, didja?

Remy turned to look across the parking lot towards the restaurant it belonged to, a movement that hid the growing tension in his jaw quite well. The place was nothing fancy, just a generic fast food joint, complete with the scent of grease and clogged arteries. His stomach rumbled anyhow despite the mental balk at the smell.

"Come on." He jammed his hands in his pockets in a futile effort against the chill he was just starting to feel. "Let's get a burger or something."

Rogue nodded, biting down on her lip.


As Rogue had pointed out, it would normally have taken twelve hours to get from Westchester to Kentucky. From there, it should have been nine hours to Mississippi. Taking in to account their stop for a bite in Kentucky and the pause in some little town about five hours later for a leg-stretch, not to mention a quick bathroom break just at the Mississippi state line, they arrived in Caldecott that night.

"It's too late to go to the graveyard tonight." Rogue said as a soft snow began to fall, illuminated by the car's headlights and the streetlamps on either side of the road. "It's locked up at dusk."

Remy didn't bother to point out that a locked graveyard wasn't exactly difficult to get in to, and that if she really wanted to, he could remove that particular obstacle. He'd play by the rules here though, if only out of respect for her and her grief; it was something he sympathized with too keenly to not to.

"So what do we do for the night then?" He asked.

"A hotel, I guess."

The actual finding of a hotel and check in process went smoothly, aside from a quirked eyebrow on the part of the woman behind the counter. What kind of young couple wanted a room with two separate beds? She'd offered up some keys and directions anyhow once the matter of payment had been settled, and the two of them headed down the hall to where they would spend the night.

Room twenty six was small, but clean, and had a twin bed nestled in to each corner. They'd prepared for bed quickly – it was late, after all – and Remy was already drifting off on a wave of sleep when a voice called him to attention from his drowsiness.


He rolled over to face the voice, even though this act of civility would end up unnoticed in the dark.


"What did you do after the Bayou?"

Oh boy. He turned over so he was on his back, looking up at the ceiling. Whatever lingering traces of exhaustion there might have been disappeared as he tried to prevent the edge he was now on from showing in his voice.

"I went with Jean-Luc. You know that."

"Yeah, but what did you do?"

Remy didn't even bother to hide the cringe he gave in answer, knowing she'd be unable to see it. Rogue had just asked the million dollar question itself. He'd always figured that she'd ask him that exact question eventually, but he'd also always figured he'd have more time to come up with an answer.

And what would you have said? He asked himself.

He didn't know.

Remy had always worked best on his feet though, and his mind was already putting together a response that managed to be honest without revealing too many details. No point in burdening Rogue with his history, not now. Jean-Luc laughed, returning to his place of prominence within Remy's psyche.

And not ever. You don't want her to know.

"I worked for him. A lot. Did a shitload I'm not proud of."


"Like working for him the first place."
And that was the truth of the matter, right there. If he hadn't have gone with Jean-Luc that night, if he'd just walked away right then and there and moved on with his life, he'd have been lighter by a more than a few regrets today.

Hit a sore spot, Remy? One named Genny?

"But you did anyway."

"Didn't seem like I had much of a choice at the time." It felt like weak excuse for something so huge and so utterly stupid, but an understanding murmur drifted across the room.

"Family's funny that way, huh?" She asked.

"If by funny you mean screwed up."

He earned himself a faint chuckle with this observation, a sound that tapered off in to a sigh.

"Can't think of a better way to put it."

Silence fell, and Remy wondered if she'd drifted off to sleep. He listened intently for the slow, even sounds of slumber, and was just about to close his own eyes when she spoke again.

"How were you able to walk away from Jean-Luc?"

"Thinking about Mystique?" He asked, attempting to distract her from the question. As open as he'd been thus far, he wasn't willing to go in to details about that. Not when he'd yet to fully deal with those very details himself.

His diversion proved effective.


"Penny for your thoughts."

It took a good couple minutes for her to gather them together.

"I hate what she's done to me. I just . . ." The silence was tense as Rogue pushed out a long breath. "I told her to screw off once and for all after Apocalypse. I was pissed, and that made it easy. Now . . . now I've had time to think."

"Sucks, doesn't it?"

He earned himself yet another laugh, but this one was half-hearted at the very best.

"I know she's terrible, I know she's a user, but if she were to come up to me now I don't know if I'd have the strength to push her away again. I'm scared that if she came up to me and started spouting that stuff about being a family, that I'd take her back. That scares me more than anything."

He gave a small hum of miserable recognition. It was exactly that trap that he'd fallen in to after his return to Louisiana. That stupid, lingering maybe that was the downfall of the abused and downtrodden everywhere.

I never led you on, Remy. You knew what you were getting in to from the start.

He had. He honestly had.

And the fact that he went anyway with only a 'maybe this time' in the back of his mind coupled with some twisted sense of filial obligation still galled him to no end.

"I just wish I could let it go, you know?" She sniffed, the sound of blankets being pulled at serving as background noise. "I just want to let my past go, and when I finally thought I'd done it, it just drags me back."

And god, did he know that feeling.

She spoke no more, a couple more sniffles on her part giving way to soft, even breathing. Remy lay awake for about another half-hour looking across the room at her before falling in to an uneasy sleep.


The sun rose to find Remy already awake and sitting on the edge of his bed.

He hadn't slept well due to an assault by a nightmare that was by now familiar – a church, a fall, blood on stones. Bent over and head in his hands, he was doing his best to shake off the last trailing fragments of the dream that he thought he'd seen the last of.

Apparently not.

He whispered prayers that he didn't believe, rote words that had been drilled in to him, pushing away the dream with the power of calming repetition. There was a comfort in the words wrought by familiarity, if not sincerity, and he called on every morsel of it to ward off the aftereffects of something he'd thought he'd left behind.

A soft sigh from the other side of the room had him sitting upright, his moment of exposure pushed to the side as he looked towards his roommate.

"Morning." He said, forcing a smile that he didn't feel.

Rogue only mumbled incoherently as she sat up. She ran a hand through her hair as she scanned the room, her inspection ending at him.

"Been up long?"

He shook his head. "Just long enough to get dressed. That's all."

Lies – the true breakfast of champions. He'd been up since five, which was three hours past now. He had no intention of revealing this though. His dreams were his, and he would keep

Rogue nodded, drawing her knees up to her chest and looking towards the window where faint streams of light burst through the curtains.

"I'd like to get to the graveyard right away."

Remy bobbed his head in a recognition of this that was a touch more curt that he intended, a fact he only realized as Rogue got out of bed and headed to the bathroom with that overstuffed backpack to get changed.

Once she'd disappeared behind a closed door, he strode across the room to the window. Drawing the curtain back, the winter sun glared off the thin blanket of snow on the ground, nearly blinding him for a split-second before his vision returned to normal. He reveled in that moment where the briefest of burning sensations overwhelmed his vision, over all too soon for his liking.

Still on that masochistic kick, Remy? Jean-Luc's voice was laden with amusement. Some things never change.

The sound of a door opening called his attention elsewhere. Rogue was exiting the bathroom, now fully dressed.

"You ready?"

"I'm not sure." She admitted, pulling on the boots that she'd left at the side of her bed last night. "But I'm going."

Fair enough.

He watched in silence as she finished doing up her laces. Without a further word, she left for the door.

The last thing Remy did before following Rogue was to dig in to his bag and grab the package of cigarettes that he'd hidden there.


The graveyard itself was something to see. High stone walls surrounding it, a wrought-iron gate to govern entrance and exit, and gravestones in varying states of decay peeking up through the snow, Remy figured it might have been beautiful to certain eyes. He, unfortunately, failed to see it.

The two of them crossed the graveyard, searching for any new plots – a process that proved tricky considering the snow that hid the ground.

It was Rogue who ended up finding it after a good fifteen or twenty minutes search.

"Here." She said simply, kneeling to brush the snow off the top of a new gravestone. The text on it was sharp and clear, spelling out Irene's name, the dates of her birth and death, and some short little platitude that sounded like absolutely every other epitaph that Remy had ever seen.

"Can . . . can I have some time, please?"

He got the message.

Nodding, he plodded to the edge of the graveyard and took up something of a vigil by the gate they'd come through. Leaning against the wall, he dug in to his pocket for that battered pack of Lucky Strikes. Pulling one out and lighting up followed as a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature continued to seep through him.

About halfway through his cigarette, there was the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow. Attention drawn, he looked towards the source only to see an acne-ridden teenager of about his own height wandering towards the graveyard. He bobbed his head in greeting as the kid came through the gate, and the kid nodded back. Remy would have thought no more of it, but then the teen blinked.

The quick flash of yellow gave her away.

Before he could even think it, Remy's hand was shooting for the kid's neck. Cigarette now dropped, forgotten, and smoldering in the snow at his feet, he slammed the boy against the cemetery's brick walls.

"What the hell are you doing here, Raven?" He hissed, and the genuine shock painted on the face she wore gave way to a steely resignation.

"I'm here to see Rogue."

A fast and furious patter of profanity itched to be released. He should have known – it had been Raven who sent the obituary, after all. She'd figured Rogue would come out to Caldecott. She'd been looking for an opportunity to get Rogue outside of the X-Men safety net, and Remy was willing to bet she'd figured her 'daughter' would come down South alone. Sad thing was that she'd almost been right.

The bitch.

She squirmed within his grip, and Remy pressed his forearm in to her throat. If the woman thought she'd get any leeway from him, she was sorely mistaken.

"The way I see it, she's not real interested in seeing you."

"She's my daughter."

The emphasis she placed on the final word was almost possessive, and Remy found himself wanting to laugh bitterly. If she thought she'd get points for invoking family, she was dealing with the wrong person.

"You haven't earned the right to call her that."

She looked ready to interject, but Remy was quicker. He took an almost perverse satisfaction in the angered furrow of Raven's brow as he spoke, but kept ice in his voice and on his face.

"Don't waste your breath. I've heard all about your maternal instincts, Raven. She wants nothing to do with you. Nothing, you hear me?"

"And since when do you know what she wants?"

The cold of the air was now forgotten to the heat of anger.

I'm not going to let her make the same stupid mistakes I did. I'm not going let you get the chance to hurt her.

His actual response was much more to the point.

"You've jerked the girl around enough. Leave her be."

The woman looked as though she were ready to protest. Remy would have none of it. He'd been screwed up enough by his 'dad' messing him around like that, and he wasn't about to let this woman do the same thing to Rogue.

"This isn't over." Raven promised, sounding for all the world like every overdone villain Hollywood had ever come up with. Remy smiled vacantly, torn somewhere between wanting to laugh and wanting to scream.

"It never is."

Sing it to the rafters, son.

It was the only time Remy could think of where he and the memory of Jean-Luc had ever agreed wholeheartedly.

With that, her released the teenaged body and took two steps back.

"Get out of here Raven. Now."

Borrowed face hard, Raven slipped out of the cemetery and in to the shadows beyond.

"Remy?" Came a voice that was far more familiar, and more welcome. Rogue had turned from Irene's grave to make her way over to him. He started walking towards her too, his intent to meet her halfway, but ended up stopping about a third of the way there and waiting for her to make up the distance.

"Was someone here? I thought I heard voices."

He waved his hand dismissively, though it honestly looked more like a magician's flourish than anything else. The appropriateness of the comparison was not lost on him.

"You ready to get out of here?"

"Yeah," Rogue murmured, throwing one brief glance over her shoulder at the grave. "Yeah. I think I am."

With but a quiet, understanding nod on Remy's part, the two of them started to make their way out of the cemetery and back towards the car.