fateandfortune | A New Start [For Remy LeBeau]

A New Start [For Remy LeBeau]

It had been an extremely eventful twenty-four hours in Rogue’s life. Possibly the most so since her mutation manifested over a decade earlier. She’d been rescued from the lab by Erik and Bobby, helped to reset the timeline and stop the Sentinel War from ever happening, and she’d been dropped into the middle of... an apartment?

It didn't make sense. She'd shut her eyes against the heat of the Sentinels' blasts, hoping and praying to whatever might be listening that this would work, that they would have this second chance-- And then she'd opened her eyes to this place. The apartment wasn't one she recognized, but there was something about it that was almost familiar. Maybe it was the decor, or the general state of it, but some part of her felt oddly at home there.

Someone else was at home too, though, based on the sound of the shower running in the other room. Carefully climbing off the floor, Rogue looked around the room she was in, taking in the assortment of objects until her gaze settled on the desk. She moved closer, picked up a few of the papers scattered across it, and frowned at the scribbles of students that looked to be half-graded. The sight of them churned up a wave of painful nostalgia and homesickness and she had to set them down before she really began to lose it.

A buzzing from a cellphone caught her attention. After half a second's hesitation, she picked it up, noticing the preview of the message that left her feeling cold. Thanks for listening. From "Rogue". From... herself?

No. No, that didn't make sense. If their plan had worked, she wasn't supposed to remember anything of her old life. They were all supposed to just wake up and be in their new lives, in a hopefully much better world than the one they'd left. And if the plan hadn't worked, then why wasn't she dead? And where the hell was she?

It was without any conscious thought that she moved over to the window, leaning in to peer at the world outside. A world that was whole, with buildings still standing tall and people walking on the streets as they went about their daily lives. It was a normal world that wasn't full of death and destruction. It was perhaps the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

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He'd died to save her and that was something she'd never been able to move past. Some part of Rogue would always feel responsible for Remy's death, even after years of listening to his psyche firmly explain that wasn't what had happened. He felt guilty as well, wishing he'd been there to get her out of that lab, and it was a vicious circle of self-blame that would never stop -- because he was gone.

Shaking her head firmly, she kept her gaze on the elevator doors as she informed him, "That doesn't make it fair to you." There was a quiet ding as the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened; she didn't hesitate to step forward, leaving the moment behind.

He immediately regretted his first though, and found himself thankful Rogue wasn't a telepath. Since when did fairness matter to you? Now that wasn't fair of him. This wasn't the Anna he knew. This Rogue had weathered some pretty disastrous circumstances and still spoke in coherent sentences. She was also still fragmented to the point of not being able to control her powers, so he'd cut her a break.

And she wasn't his. He'd repeat that to himself until it became a mantra. He fell into step beside her, hands shoved deeply in the pockets of his coat, clenching a pack of cards in the right as though it were a security blanket. He supposed, in a lot of ways, that's exactly what they were.

"An' lockin' it all away ain' fair ta you."

Of all the powers she'd ever borrowed, she'd hated telepathy the most. Having someone else's voice in her head was nothing new, but telepathy was so... flat. There was no depth to it, no understanding of what the person had been through to lead to that moment. And it was so damn invasive; there was nothing to stop a telepath from just barging in wherever they wanted. At least with her power, she wasn't actively invading minds, and she couldn't freely wander through her collection of psyches.

And telepathy had failed her. He had failed her...

"I don't deserve fairness," she told him quietly, the words tinged with resignation, before she stood a little straighter and looked over at him expectantly. "So where are you taking me, sugar? For that matter, where the hell are we?"

He headed to the outdoors, opening the door leading to the sidewalk for her before stepping out himself, shaking his head and chuckling.

"Ya know, chere, I learned a lotta things over de years, but dere ain' one lesson more important dan dis one: ain' nobody worse and knowin' what dey deserve dan demselves." He didn't comment further on that point, but motioned down the street.

"Nothin' fancy, but dere's a nice cafe down de way here. Mighty fine coffee."

He had a point, one that was echoed by many of the people in her head. It was one of the hardest for her to really internalize, though, as was anything to do with taking care of herself. That had always been her shortcoming, and something that her Remy had taken rather seriously -- the way she had always worried for him far more than he'd ever worried for himself.

Eyes widening at the mention of coffee, she tried not to look too hopeful and eager when she glanced over him. (She failed miserably, of course.) "Coffee?" she repeated, her tone making it seem like she was talking about some prized gem instead of something people had with their breakfast everyday. "I haven't had any in years, good or otherwise."

It was a motion of intimacy, moving to her side as he stepped onto the side walk, moving his hand to the small of her back to guide her, and one he didn't really notice himself making it, either. It just happened, really. Physical contact had always been a part of his demeanor, even if it required a barrier of cloth.

"Best coffee in the borough, mon chere. I promise."

It felt so natural to have him so close, her instincts telling her it was safe and this was how it was supposed to be, even though it had been years since she'd last experienced it. Perhaps it was because he was so casual about it, the gesture coming without hesitation, that she didn't hesitate to accept it. She craved being touched by others, even so little as a hand at her back, and it had been such a long time since anyone had really touched her without malignant intentions...

"The Remy I knew always did show off when he took me out," she commented with fondness in her tone. "It was only ever the best when he picked the place. I should have guessed you'd be like him in that way."

That brought a throaty chuckle from his lips as he smiled proudly, rolling a shoulder in a slight shrug as they continued on. He moved his free hand to his chest, smiling over to her.

"Dere may be many of us, mon cherie, but we all de same, non? Ain' no other Remy leBeau."

She'd know that laugh anywhere, recognize that smile a mile away. "No, there's really not," she agreed.

Crossing her arms over her stomach as they walked, she was quiet for a moment before asking, "Are we the same? Me, and the Rogue you know?"

He didn't respond right away, looking thoughtful as he mulled over his answer. There were differences, certainly. No one could deny that, but there were, most likely, differences between himself and the Remy she'd known as well. Still, at the core, he believed all their alternates were the same, and in all the time he'd met any of them, he'd yet to be proven wrong.

His smile turned reassuring as he looked over to her again.

"Oui, mon chere. We all, each one of us, shaped by de things we do, de things we see, non? So in dat, yo' different, sho' nuff. But at de heart, oui. I see her in you."

Different, but the same. Rogue didn't know if that was a good thing or not. If they were the same at heart, then what did he think of his world's Rogue? They weren't together, though they clearly had been at one point, so... she was ashamed at the way her thoughts wandered, wondering whether, had the circumstances allowed, they might have had a chance at something, It was silly, and not at all fair to him. She was so much less than his Rogue after what she'd been through, let alone the things she'd done.

There were no second chances at happiness for murderers.

"Thanks, sugar," she murmured, not knowing what else to say. Changing the subject, she inquired, "So, what were your big plans for the night before I barged in all uninvited?"

The idea of telling Rogue, any Rogue, the truth about his plans for the evening never even crossed his mind. She was a discerning woman, and never really approved of his previous profession (at least to his knowledge), and she probably wouldn't understand the itch he'd been unable to scratch for the past several months. She wouldn't understand needing to scratch it now, and he was certain she wouldn't understand scratching it at a charity event he was representing the school at.

And so, he went with the safe option: explanation by way of careful diversion.

"I was goin' ta represent de school at a charity event. Nothin' special."

A charity event. She'd gone to many of those in her time as a teacher at the school, but her Remy had never been all that keen to volunteer for those particular 'assignments', and when he had been... The Remy in her mind perked up a bit in amusement as she remembered those occasions when she'd been roped into helping or practicing the skills he'd taught her. Those times when they'd represented the school and had a little fun on the side.

A smirk spread over her lips, the expression feeling almost foreign now, and she glanced over at the Remy beside her. "Nothin' special?" she repeated in her best copy of his accent, mischief in her eyes. "You were planning a job, weren't you, swamp rat?"

Even if her Remy hadn't included her on some of his later adventures, there was little that was hidden between them now -- four years of having his full psyche in her mind had seen to that.

His shoulders tensed at her observation, so casually made and so uncomfortably accurate, and he made the motion of stretching his neck to mask it. They'd been married, that made sense, but it hadn't occurred to him how much this other him would have let her in. Did she really know him that much better than his own Anna did? Did she really, completely, accept that part of him? Was he really that pathetic as to rob a man hosting a charity banquet for education in more than one reality? That, he thought, was probably the worst part of it.

The smooth talking Cajun cleared his throat somewhat uncomfortably, clearly thrown off his game somewhat, and didn't look over to her when he replied.

"What gave ya dat idea?"

It wasn't at all surprising in her mind just how much she knew about Remy, but it was understandable that it might be to this man. He had no idea just what she'd been through, what had happened with her husband that had led to her being able to know him so well even after his death. She didn't Remy for his habits and patterns anymore, she simply accepted them for what they were.

"Because I know Remy LeBeau," she answered simply. "Half the time we went to those fancy shindigs, he had something he was working on the side. Sometimes it involved the host, sometimes it was a guest, but the last few years it all had to do with stealing secrets for the war."

She didn't know what the circumstances were for this particular job, and she wasn't going to ask. Yet.

Now wasn't that a mighty fine state of affairs? Aside from the whole benefiting a war effort and all, being able to exorcise that particular muscle and still be in the service of the X-Men was a dream come true for the Cajun. Figures it'd have one hell of a draw back. Rogue being a part of it, though, instead of a judge of the behavior...that was something he wouldn't mind having in his life.

He wondered if his Anna could ever condone such behavior. He was guessing probably not.

He offered her a smile, and it was one of pride, though even to him, that seemed strange. He was proud of himself. "Good ta know he was able ta put it ta some use, non?"

Her own smile matched his, full of pride in the man her husband had been. He'd come so far in the years she'd known him, and she was a better person for having had him in her life.

"He really was," she confirmed with a nod. "We were a team. If it was physical information, he took care of it, and I handled getting everything else." She took a shuttered breath, her smile fading. "We got the job done. Every time." And he'd never been afraid of her, not once.

He reached out, almost without thinking, to take her gloved hand in his own, to give it a gentle squeeze of comfort and warmth in a time of clear mental turmoil. He didn't let his smile fade, instead turning it mischievous as he looked over to her.

"Sho' nuff, you did. Ain' nothin' we can' handle, non?"

Oh, Remy. It didn't matter which version of him, he was still one of the sweetest men she'd ever met. Thinking of all the years she'd spent fighting his affection, not able to believe that someone like him could actually care for her -- it was heartbreaking. All that time they could have been together had been wasted on her insecurities and stubbornness. It was something she would never forgive herself for.

"You've got that right, swamp rat," she agreed, giving his hand a squeeze in return. A pause, and then she smiled at him again and asked, "So where's this place with the amazing coffee? You did say it was amazing, right?"

He smiled, chuckling slightly as he rounded a corner the next block. It was more secluded here, minutely at least, and the scent of the coffee shop was carried on the wind as it moved in their direction. "Well, it ain' no Cafe du Monde, but it'll pass for de north, non?"

He moved his hand to the small of her back as he approached the door and used the other to open it for her. "After you."

Cafe du Monde. Even just a mention of the name brought forth a swell of memories. The first time she'd been to New Orleans to meet his family and they'd stopped by the cafe for coffee after a long night of dancing. When they'd waited in line for beignets on Christmas Eve morning to take back to the rest of the house. They were some of the best memories she had.

"Thanks, sugar," she murmured as she passed him and stepped into the shop, breathing in deep to savor the rich scent of fresh brewed coffee in the air. "Lord, I've missed this."

He still didn't completely understand where she'd come from, though he'd heard horror stories of the Age in which Apocalypse had reigned, he'd never seen it first hand. Still, a world with no coffee was no world the Cajun ever wanted to see, and hearing the tired excitement in her voice was enough to let his mind move on. She wasn't his Anna, but she was similar enough to almost make him forget, except for the uniform she was wearing.

"Well, mon chere, it's yo's whenever ya want it." He allowed her to lead the way to a table, to select a seating arrangement she was comfortable with.

She chose a table off to the side, in few of both the entrance and hall the led to the back door. It was the seat against the wall that she took, so she was farther away from the people in the room. She didn't even really think about it as she made those choices, just running on instinct and what felt safest.

Setting her gloved hands on the small table, she waited for him to take a seat as well before asking, "I saw the papers on your desk - are you teaching right now?" It was an easy subject, she hoped, that would lead to easy conversation.

In his usual way, Remy watched closely as she selected a table, noting as she did, exactly what she was noting: the location, the view of the front and side doors. In recent years, and all the time back home in New Orleans, Remy had done the same, and in much the same manner. He wondered idly if it was something the other him had taught her, but following her line of conversation as he took a seat, it seemed more polite to answer the question.

He smiled, giving a nod and running a hand back through his hair. "Oui, dat's what I'm up to right now. Logan reopened de school after, well, after Scott and de others left."

Rogue blinked a few times at his answer, processing all the information he'd given her in so few words. It was a bit overwhelming to think about really, and she found herself wishing she had something to do with her hands. Perhaps they should have gotten the coffee before having any sort of conversation.

"I guess things in our worlds were pretty different even without a war," she commented, looking down at the tabletop. "In my world, Scott died fifteen years ago."

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