Adult-FanFiction.org : Marvel 'Verse

When It's Love	By : DrunkenScotsman Category: X-Men - Animated Series (all) > Het - Male/Female Views: 4320 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: All X-Men characters and locations are the intellectual property of Marvel Comics. I make no money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Chapter 5: Stakeholder Support

A strong sense of déjà vu settled over Remy LeBeau when he met Rogue in the X-Mansion’s foyer on Saturday morning. Recognition dawned and brought a grin to his face: she was wearing the same outfit she’d worn the first time she visited the hospital some months ago, while the Professor had been stranded in the Savage Land, an outfit which had seared itself into the Cajun’s memory. The rather daring ensemble – a low-cut, spaghetti-strap tank-top in a soft orange or peach hue; tight-fitting white khaki capris; strappy pastel-yellow sandals – hugged Rogue’s every curve and exposed perilous amounts of skin. While Remy certainly appreciated the view, he couldn’t help but think that Rogue was playing with proverbial fire by wearing such an outfit in public.
The Southern belle’s hands lighted on her hips when she caught the Cajun giving her the once-over. The bracelets on her left wrist jangled with the motion. “Now, sugah, you know it ain’t polaht ta stare,” she scolded playfully. “Ah didn’t wear this ta look good fer you anyhow.”
“Course not, chére,” Remy replied with a nonchalant shrug. “Y’ ain’t gotta wear nothin’ t’ look good t’ me. Maybe I t’ink you look best dat way,” he added with a wink.
After a long moment to work out what Remy had meant, Rogue’s cheeks blossomed into a fierce blush. That sweet-comment-naughty-follow-up combination got her every time. Pushing aside the thought that she wanted him to see her naked as much as he wanted to see her that way, she rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You don’t have an ounce o’ shame, do ya, swamp-rat?”
The Cajun shrugged again, that nonchalant shrug which indicated nothing good from his pending response. “Sold it on de black market, chére. Bought de plane ticket outta New Orleans wit dat money. If I still had it, y’ wouldn’t have dis Cajun around,” he joked.
“What a pity,” Rogue replied with no small amount of sarcasm, rolling her eyes and shaking her head again. She took the opportunity to enjoy a little eye-candy herself: Remy wore a short-sleeved button-up shirt in robin’s-egg blue, complemented by neatly-ironed khaki slacks, black dress shoes which gleamed with fresh polish, and a smart black leather belt. “At least you look respectable,” she teased further. “Ah gotta get mah gift from Storm’s greenhouse before we head out to the hospital.”
Summer had settled over New York some weeks ago, and the mid-morning sun shone bright and clear overhead as Remy and Rogue strolled onto the Mansion grounds. Beast and Professor Xavier sat on one patio, setting up a game of chess. Wolverine dug through a toolbox, grumbling to himself; his motorcycle, his pride and joy, gleamed half-disassembled just outside the garage. Jubilee lounged on the lawn in a lime-green one-piece, soaking in the sun. Beneath the spreading branches of an oak tree, Scott and Jean canoodled in the shade like the sickening sweethearts they were; Rogue fought down the pang of jealousy that arose at the sight, threatening to dampen her mood.
As they approached the greenhouse, they saw Ororo bent down to tend to a bed of tiny yellow flowers; other plots nearby grew tomatoes, beans, berries of various sorts, potatoes, and gourds. Her voluminous hair pulled back into a messy braid, her knees and face caked in sweat and rich earth, one might never have guessed that she had once been considered a goddess by her native tribe.
The weather-witch sat back on her haunches and wiped her brow with the back of her arm. “It would be unusual, though certainly not unwelcome, if either of you wished to assist me with my gardening,” she addressed her friends, a barely-perceptible playful lilt to her voice.
Rogue laughed and shook her head. “Ah’m afraid not. It’s tahm for mah monthly visit to the hospital,” she replied.
Ororo’s electric-blue eyes flicked over to Remy for the briefest of instants before returning to Rogue. “I see you shall not journey alone this time,” she noted with a restrained smile. “I am surprised, but glad. After… that incident which prompted your visits… I feared for you going alone.”
Embarrassed, Rogue looked down at the ground and fidgeted with her hands. “Ah reckon Ah never really thanked you fer lookin’ out fer me durin’ that whole thing,” she admitted.
“We have all learned to care for one another more fully this past year,” answered the former goddess, sage and diplomatic all at once. Refocusing the conversation on the task at hand, Ororo gestured toward the greenhouse. “Your orchid bloomed yesterday – with some coaxing,” she explained with a mischievous gleam in her eye.
“Ah appreciate it, and Ah’ll let ya know how Carol lahkes it,” Rogue promised as she strode toward the greenhouse door.
Behind Rogue’s back once she’d entered the greenhouse, Ororo fixed Remy with a stern glare. “I need not explain what it means for her to take you with her,” she began, “nor elaborate on the consequences, should you increase rather than reduce Rogue’s heartache.”
Remy smirked affably. “Not a-tall, Ma Reine Pleuvoir. Dis Cajun done left de business o’ breakin’ hearts.”
Ororo nodded. “From one thief to another, ensure that Rogue’s is the last heart you purloin. Such a guarded treasure is certain to prove priceless.”
The Cajun chuckled and inclined his head in a partial bow. Ororo’s protective nature stood second to none where her friends were concerned, and Remy knew she’d fight just as hard on his behalf whenever necessary. He still found it strange, sometimes, to have friends such as the X-Men, who were all earnestly interested in his well-being and happiness, rather than merely concerned about his ability to increase revenues for the top-cats of the Thieves’ Guild. Every day he spent around these wonderful people reaffirmed his decision to leave that life behind for good.
Rogue rejoined them at that point, blooming orchid in hand. A wide grin lit her face as she studied the flower’s magenta petals. “It’s gorgeous!” she gushed, eyes glittering. “How can Ah repay you, Ororo?”
Ororo held up a hand with a warm smile. “Unless I encounter a boulder which requires your strength to move, your happiness will suffice,” she demurred. Addressing both of them, she added, “Please enjoy yourselves this afternoon.”
With that, Rogue and Remy took their leave. During the long, comfortably-quiet ride into the city, Rogue navigated the freeway traffic with ease in her sporty red convertible. Remy held the orchid and stole glances at the driver, struck by just how relaxed she seemed behind the wheel, her mostly-auburn mane billowing in the wind. The sight of Rogue so unguarded brought a smile to Remy’s lips.
The parking deck at the hospital afforded precious few spaces, so it took a few passes before a car pulled out and the opening wasn’t immediately snatched by someone ahead of them. Once her car had settled, Rogue took a deep breath. “Here we go,” she muttered to steel herself for the challenge ahead. “Ah keep a sweater in the glove compartment for these visits; the hospital’s always so dang cold. Would ya hand that to me, sugah?”
Remy found the pale-blue fleece as soon as he popped the latch. Passing Rogue the garment, he observed, “Gotta admit, I was wond’rin’ bout you walkin’ de halls wit’ dat much bare skin.”
Rogue laughed as she slipped the sweater over her arms and shoulders. “Ah ain’t crazy, swamp-rat,” she replied lightly.
“Jus’ crazy bout dis Cajun,” Remy answered deftly.
Rogue rolled her eyes and muttered, “Dream on, swamp-rat.” She took the orchid and exited the car. She led the way to the hospital entrance at a brisk pace, which Remy matched with smooth, even strides. Even wearing dress shoes, Rogue marveled at how little noise he made while in motion – a legacy, no doubt, of his days as a thief.
Once inside, the hospital staff processed Rogue’s visit paperwork in only a few minutes, since she’d visited several times already. Remy, on the other hand, required signatures on no small few forms of Rogue’s, plus several of his own, along with the presentation of a photo ID. When the receptionist returned the laminated plastic card, she commented with a bemused stare, “Miss, you and your boyfriend are all set. I’m sure you remember how to find Room 616?”
Rogue blushed and started to protest that Remy was not, in fact, her boyfriend; she caught herself, however, and let the comment slide. Instead, she merely nodded and led Remy to the elevator. To his credit, the Cajun didn’t remark about her not correcting the woman; that infuriating smirk on his face spoke volumes, however. Rogue stared at the glowing button, resisting the urge to smack that expression off of his face.
The elevator ride proved just as silent as the car ride earlier, and it felt even longer.
All too soon, though, Rogue and Remy stood outside Room 616, the antiseptic scent of various cleaning fluids hanging in the air of the corridor between them. With a thief’s attention to detail, the Cajun noticed Rogue’s hands trembling a bit. “Chére?” he queried softly, not wanting to startle her in her shaken state.
“Ah’m fahn, Remy,” she snapped instinctively. Cringing at her overreaction, she amended, “Ah’m always a bit jumpy when Ah come a-callin’.”
Gingerly, Remy touched her shoulder; when she didn’t pull away or snap at him, he gave her a light squeeze. “Don’ worry, chére. Remy’s right here wit’ you.”
The Southern belle nodded and steeled herself, drawing strength mostly from her own deep reserves but nonetheless deriving some from Remy’s presence and promise. That promise thrilled her, because of how he’d phrased it in such indefinite terms: he didn’t say “now” or “this time,” but left the commitment open-ended. Rogue smiled to herself as the thought occurred to her that maybe, just maybe, Remy really had meant every word of his declaration of love.
With these thoughts bolstering her, Rogue opened the door and led Remy inside.
Out of sheer habit, Remy’s eyes darted around the room, casing it for easy escape should it become necessary. The windows looked integrated into the walls, meaning they’d have to break through if they couldn’t use the door. The EKG machine looked like it could do the trick with sheer weight, if Rogue threw it; or he could charge the machine to explode.
With an escape route now sufficiently planned, Remy turned his attention to the immobile woman lying on the hospital bed, hooked up to the EKG machine and an IV unit. Long blonde locks framed an angular face, with high cheekbones and aquiline nose and sharp chin. Though she looked utterly serene in her comatose state, Remy imagined the mystery woman to have been a forceful, formidable personality.
“Who is dis lady, chére?” asked the Cajun in a reverent whisper, as if the woman were merely sleeping and might become angry if awakened too soon.
Rogue answered in an equally-hushed tone: “Remy, Ah’d lahk you to meet Carol Danvers – or as she was better known, Ms. Marvel.” She carefully placed her visitation gift on the table beside the bed. “She’s been here in this coma for… for some years now.”
Remy’s eyes narrowed as his ears picked up the guilt in Rogue’s voice. His stomach churned in empathetic agony, since he had a powerful intuition about where Rogue’s story would soon head. For the moment, he remained silent, letting her proceed in her own time.
Rogue remained beside the bed and table, and she didn’t turn to face Remy as she spoke: “Mah powers surfaced when Ah was fifteen. Ah was on a date with a fella named Cody Robbins. We’d been out a couple tahms, but both of us were too nervous to make a move.”
A wistful smile graced her lips, though Remy couldn’t see it. “When Cody fahnally kissed me, Ah felt this strong rush of emotions and feelings and… raw energy. Ah thought it was how a kiss is s’posed ta feel, but…” She sighed and shook her head. “Cody spent a few weeks in the hospital recovering, and had a touch of amnesia ta boot.”
Remy slipped his hands into his pockets, unsure quite what to say. Rogue had warned him off before with this story, of course; and he’d knocked himself out for a few days when Morph – shape-shifting former X-Man who’d fallen under Mr. Sinister’s thrall – had tricked him into sneaking a kiss while Rogue slept. No doubt both incidents explained Rogue’s reluctance to let down her guard.
“Mah daddy kicked me out once he found out,” continued Rogue, her voice wavering between anguish and fury. “Said Ah won’t his daughter no more.” She swiped at the tears threatening to fall from her eyes.
Remy closed his eyes as he felt the heartbreak along with her. Father-daughter bonds in the South, in his experience, were particularly strong; so to have her father disown her must have been utterly devastating. He also knew all too well what betrayal by a family member felt like. “Chére,” he murmured, but he had nothing further to say.
Rogue chuckled ruefully. “It gets worse,” she warned. “Ah bounced around at loose ends fer months until a sweet middle-aged lady ‘with a heart for wayward mutants’ took me in. She taught me how ta use mah powers bah makin’ me practice on others – Avalanche, Blob, Pahro.”
Remy’s eyes shot open as he recognized the names of the listed mutants. “De Brotherhood! Merde, dat lady… Mystique!”
“You got it. Ah reckon you ain’t quaht as dumb as you look, swamp-rat,” she teased in an effort to lighten the mood.
The Cajun snorted. “Dat’s cold, chére, ice-cold,” he responded in an exaggeratedly-wounded tone to signal that he wasn’t really hurt by the comment.
Rogue stared, unseeing, at the comatose woman in front of her, gathering her courage to continue. “One naht, Mystique had me steal an advanced prototahpe jet from Langley Air Force Base. Ah never could figure out her plan for the thing, if’n she even had one. Ms. Marvel showed up ta stop me. Mystique – who Ah’d taken ta callin’ ‘Mama’ since she took me in and Ah never really had one and that’s a long story fer another tahm,” she babbled as her emotions surged afresh within her – pain and guilt primarily, blended with a generous amount of gratitude and wistful fondness.
“Anyway,” she continued once she’d tamped down the spontaneous near-overflow of powerful feelings. “Mystique told me ta grab hold, and not let go no matter what. Ah… Ah listened to Mama.”
Remy surprised her by slipping an arm around her shoulder; Rogue hadn’t heard him approach, though she shouldn’t have expected to hear a lifelong footpad. For once, the Cajun didn’t know what to say, so he offered her his support the only way he could think to do so. A great swell of pity for both women, both victims in their own way of Mystique’s manipulations, rose inside him.
“That’s where the strength and flaht comes from, even after all these years,” Rogue murmured, wringing her hands, her bracelets jingling with the motion. “But Ms. Marvel herself is in mah head too. Ah’d see her sometahms, clear as day, accusin’ me of ‘stealing her life.’ Mystique couldn’t make her stop, and she never forgave the Professor fer reachin’ out to me.”
Remy smirked. “I’m mighty glad y’ took him up on it, chére.” He squeezed her shoulder. “For both of us.”
Rogue smiled and leaned over to rest her head on Remy’s shoulder. “Me too, sugah. Mystique couldn’t leave it be, though; so she used her power ta look lahk Ms. Marvel and trigger a bunch o’ flashbacks whahl the Professor was missin’ a few months back,” she explained.
“Dat’s why you had dat freak-out,” Remy surmised.
Rogue nodded. “If it weren’t for Jean, Ms. Marvel’s mahnd woulda resurfaced and taken control o’ mah body.” She took a shaky breath. “She won’t wrong, though, when she said Ah stole everything. Ah feel lahk… Ah stole Ms. Marvel’s soul. Her soul, Remy.”
Remy never really believed in the soul – despite having grown up surrounded by Catholicism and voodoo – but he decided not to debate the point just now. Given the evidence in front of him, and his own experience with Rogue’s powers, his own disbelief wavered somewhat. He focused instead on what mattered right now: supporting the woman he loved as she faced down her demons.
“Ah done her real wrong, Remy,” murmured Rogue, her use of his real name underscoring her seriousness. “Ah don’t think Ah can ever fix it, but these visits are better’n nothin’, raht?”
“Dunno, chére,” Remy answered. “Short o’ givin’ back de powers ‘n such, probably.”
Rogue’s breath caught. “Ah lahk bein’ able ta flah and pick up a tank and shrug off a punch from the Juggernaut. Ah… Ah don’t wanna give that up.” She reached out to brush a stray tress from the former Ms. Marvel’s face. “Ah’m selfish that way, and Ah am so, so sorry.”
Remy squeezed Rogue’s shoulder gently once more, to offer what comfort he could. He leaned his head sideways, his cheek resting atop Rogue’s head, protected from her powers by her voluminous hair. He smiled to himself, savoring their current closeness while yet cursing Lady Luck for her decree that he’d fall for this woman for whom tactile contact – his preferred form of expressing affection, since actions speak more truthfully than words among the duplicitous Thieves and Assassins – was fraught with peril.
There they stood in silence, aside from the wall clock ticking and the EKG machine beeping, each second sounding like an explosion destroying the past to make way for the future.
The door creaked open behind them, the noise seeming to unfreeze the world. “Miss, I’m afraid your time is almost up,” apologized the nurse who peeked in.
Rogue turned to protest, but a glance at the clock showed that the allotted fifteen minutes had indeed slipped away. She thanked the nurse and extricated herself from Remy’s embrace to lean over the woman she’d so severely, perhaps irreparably, harmed. When she leaned down to kiss the woman’s forehead, the usual surge of energetic life-force didn’t occur; the unsettling thought flashed through Rogue’s mind that maybe there was simply no energy or life-force to absorb anymore.
With a deep breath, she pushed that morbid thought aside and donned her bravest face. Brittle smile on her lips, Rogue gestured to Remy to follow her out of the hospital. The Cajun had other ideas: he offered his arm with his usual smirk, which the occasionally-traditional Southern belle accepted for the gallantry of the offer. The two proceeded thus all the way back to Rogue’s convertible, where Remy opened the door for her in similar gallant fashion.
Remy breathed deep now that they’d left the hospital. “Glad dat’s over, chére. Never did like dat hospital smell.”
Rogue nodded, if a bit absently. “It’s so… sterile. No lahfe to it at all… lahk her, layin’ there on that bed.” Despite the warm day, Rogue shivered.
“Y’ wanna talk about it?” asked Remy with audible concern.
“Not here,” Rogue answered curtly, “not now. Ah need ta stew a spell.”
The Cajun slid into the passenger’s seat with a fluid, practiced ease. “I know it won’t easy bringin’ me here, showin’ me dat,” he told her, punctuating his words by reaching over to stroke her upper arm. “It means a lot to dis ol’ scoundrel t’ share dis experience, even once.”
Rogue swallowed the lump in her throat. “Ah’d lahk if ya kept on,” she invited him. “Ah can handle it on mah own, o’ course, but… it’s nahce to have ya with me, sugah.”
“Wit’ pleasure, mon chérie,” he replied with a crooked, if genuine, smile.
Before much longer, the two mutants were driving back home to the Mansion. Rogue had removed her sweater and reveled now in the wind’s kiss, cool against her face, lifting her troubles from her mind and blowing them back to that hospital bed where they belonged. Once more, the trip passed in silence; unlike the hospital silence, however, this one sat with them like an old companion, both familiar and comfortable.
After pulling into the garage and shutting off her car’s engine, Rogue slumped back in her seat and ran her fingers through her hair. Remy seized the opportunity to steal a long look at her profile – that delicate nose and elfin chin bracketing the most luscious lips he’d ever seen; that slender neck tapering into surprisingly broad shoulders; the gentle ridge of her collarbones, the hollow where they almost-but-not-quite met, and the nascent swell of her bosom just below. The Cajun knew that this was not the moment to comment on her beauty, so he settled for silent admiration.
“Ah can feel ya starin’,” teased Rogue, her eyes shut since she parked.
“Sorry, chére,” Remy apologized with a flirty tone. “Can’t help m’self sometimes.”
One green eye peeked through the lids at him. “Ah was just about ta tell ya what a gentleman you’d been today and how much Ah appreciated that.” She raised an eyebrow. “Ah reckon ya can dress up a swamp-rat, but he’s still a swamp-rat.”
Remy chuckled and faced forward. More seriously, he told her, “I know today won’t easy, chére, but dat’s a brave t’ing t’ share y’self at y’r worst.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Even if’n y’ can’t fix what y’ did, you tryin’ t’ make it right, make amends, be de hero in her stead. I admire dat, chére, more’n I can say.”
Rogue smiled, one of the most genuine smiles she’d ever given the Cajun. “Keep sweet-talkin’ lahk that, sugah, and Ah maht just kiss ya,” she warned him playfully.
Remy thought about replying, “As long as you promise to come visit me in the infirmary”; but he decided such a response might kill the current mood. Instead, he answered, “Best save dat in de bank. I’ll collect later – wit’ interest.” He winked.
Cheeks blooming red at the suggestion, Rogue licked her suddenly-dry lips as images of how, exactly, Remy might go about “collecting” now danced through her head. “What if Ah… make a li’l down payment?” she breathed as an idea occurred to her.
Remy’s eyes seemed to burn brighter. “Whatcha got in mind?”
Brazenly, Rogue slipped the straps of her tank-top over her shoulders and gave the Cajun an enticing smirk. Her fingertips sneaked inside the upper hem, tantalizing Remy with the briefest glimpses of the vast, uncharted expanse of her breasts. The deep valley of her alabaster cleavage beckoned to him, so much so that he almost missed her telling him, “Comin’ with me today meant a lot, sugah. Ah think you’re a better fella than ya let on.”
In one swift motion, before her courage failed her, Rogue pulled her top, along with the strapless bra underneath, downward, giving Remy quite an eyeful. The way the Cajun’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head affirmed for Rogue the decision to do this. “Before ya ask,” she sassed, “they measure 34G, all-natural o’ course; Ah gotta get special bras ta hold these melons. Yes, the left one is a teensy bit bigger. They came in startin’ sixth grade; all the boys stared, and all the gals teased me.” Rogue’s blasé tone belied her pounding heart and flushed cheeks.
“Mon Dieu,” whispered Remy as he looked his fill. He’d joked with Rogue before that her bust was a work of art. Now that he was seeing them in all their magnificence – perfect teardrop shape, smooth pale skin, carnation-pink nipples just a tad on the large side seeming to stare back at him – he understood that he had not, in fact, been joking.
Long moments passed while Rogue let Remy look. Finally, she pulled her shirt back into place and adjusted herself so that her bosom rested comfortably inside her bra. “Ah think that’s plenty, sugah,” she teased. “Don’t want you droolin’ all over mah upholstery.”
The spell of Rogue’s bust broken, Remy whistled in disbelief that that had just happened. “Gotta say, chére, you full o’ s’prises,” he commented dazedly.
Rogue giggled and preened. “A gal’s gotta keep a fella on his toes, don’t she?” she asked with a mischievous glint in her eye. Leaning over, she murmured in Remy’s ear, “Now, don’t you go ‘n sprain nothin’ thinkin’ about what ya just saw, sugah.” With that, she climbed out of the car to go inside.
Lips curled into his signature smirk, Remy nodded towards the Mansion door. “Better go on wit’out me, chére. De Junior Cajun gonna need a minute, unless y’ want us t’ hurt some feelings.”
Rogue rolled her eyes and strutted to the door, purposefully exaggerating the sway of her hips. “Take all the tahm y’ need, sugah,” she replied. In the absence of knowing how to flirt for real, she fell back on her long experience of putting on a show, flirting just long enough and hard enough to lure a man into range to touch and drain him. “See ya ‘round,” she added, blowing the Cajun a kiss and sashaying through the door.
Just inside the door, Rogue leaned against the wall out of Remy’s sight, an embarrassed grin plastered on her face. She buried her fingers into the hair just above her forehead, into the patch of white hair she’d heard called a “witch-lock.” Her cheeks burned. “Ah can’t believe Ah just did that!” she muttered to herself.
Still sitting in the car, Remy shook his head with amazement, a wide grin on his face. He had, of course, enjoyed Rogue’s spontaneity in displaying her assets, not to mention the showcase of her fantastic, if underrated, derriere as she walked away. To himself, he muttered, “I can’t believe she jus’ did dat,” and wondered just what other surprises his sassy Southern belle had in store.
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When It's Love