PI LOG: Trading Places -- Rogue and Remy
When Rogue finally plucks up the courage to make use of the present Remy gave her for Christmas, the couple find more than the bargained for in the collar's operation.
Remy's Apartment -- Greenwood Properties
Remy hasn't seen so much of Rogue since the day before she filled his apartment full of barrels. She hasn't been hiding from him - he can still find her at work, or at Kitty's or the Lighthouse if he drops by or calls there. But neither has she sought him out, particularly, until tonight.
Truth be told, Rogue's had a lot of think about, and she's still a little subdued as she lands on the Cajun's fire escape and knocks, lightly, on the window... in itself a little unusual; she usually just lets herself in.
Nobody ever knocks any more, and it's that as much as the sound of someone familiar entering the apartment that brings Remy--faithful furry sidekick in tow--from the bedroom and the task of changing the sheets on his bed. One eyebrow lifts against the other, angled towards auburn hair slicked into an uncertain ponytail. The limp from the healing leg--where Dustin had slashed him--is completely gone. "Roguey?" Remy calls, just before he clears the hallway into the living room.
"S'me," Rogue confirms, and now she does climb in through the window, sitting for a moment or two on the sill. "How you doin'?" She's smiling, if a little more subdued than normal.
That subdued attitude catches Remy a little off guard, rocks him back on his mental heels and leaves him wondering, already, what he's done wrong. "Doin' okay," He assures Rogue, oddly subdued himself, although he gives his leg a shake. "Pretty much all healed up. Been keepin' busy."
"S'good." Rogue straightens up from the windowsill, half-turning to slide the window shut behind her before she starts wandering towards Remy. "Ah been pretty busy myself, with work an' all." She's quiet for a moment or two before she muses, "Y'know, Ah don't think Ah ever got t'see where you hung your Christmas present."
"'S in de bedroom." Remy smiles almost shly, incongruently, and motions over his shoulder with one hand, turning as if he expects her to follow him. "Put it where de feat'er'd been, since dat one fight wit' Deadpool tore it all to pieces." Honestly, if he ignores the symbolism of the painted feather, he likes the painting itself much better.
Rogue's smile grows, a little, and for a moment she looks down, tucking her chin a bit. "Yeah? ...Ah been thinkin', y'know..." Those words all too often mean nothing good, but after a pause, Rogue continues. "You gave me a real special gift, then, an' we ain't done nothin' with it yet."
Remy startles, and turns to look at Rogue, his expression a little hesitant. "Have you, now?" The Cajun asks, carefully, just in that moment of the pause. When she continues, however, he pulls his head up a little, tilting it. "Well, I ain't wanted to push you," Gambit says, carefully. Where is she going, with this?
"Ah know," Rogue agrees, with a slow little nod. "An' that means a lot t'me, too. Just, y'know... seems kinda silly t'have it an' never even try t'find out f'it'll work." With careful motions, Rogue works the inhibitor collar out of the jacket pocket she'd somehow wedged it into, and turns it absently in her hands. "Ah wasn't ready before, but... Ah think maybe we oughta try it out."
"You sho'?" Remy freezes, now, eyes a little wide as they settle on the collar. He's tried to be so considerate--but he can't help the way his heart picks up a little, his hands still on nothing. His bright eyes trace from collar to Rogue and back again.
Rogue offers him a lopsided grin in reply. "Little nervous," she admits. "But... seems t'me, all this time we been wishin' for more than what we got, only we couldn't get there 'cause of somethin' we couldn't help. An' if we got a way 'round that," she lifts the collar slightly, "an' we don't take it... then really, my powers are just an excuse. Ah want more than that."
She probably doesn't know how long Remy has been waiting to hear something like that. The Cajun's smile goes bashful, and he takes a step forward to close the difference between them, reaching up to carefully pushing curls back from Rogue's face. "No 'xcuses." He says, softly. "Want more dan dat, too."
Rogue draws in a deep breath, and then lets it out again, smiling only a little shakily up at Remy. "Then Ah guess we got no reason t'be waitin' 'round, huh?" She's done enough fidgeting around with the collar over the past few days to have figured out exactly how it works, and it's a simple matter to open it up enough to settle it around her own neck.
It looks so strange, so very wrong around Rogue's neck, and for a long moment Remy pauses, staring at the collar as it settles on her skin. "Dere's a l'il green light blinkin'. So far so good, neh?" He's nervous. He can't remember the last time he was nervous, or the last time his hands shook quite this much. "Mebbe de nex' model, we ask for somet'in' slimmer."
A little laugh escapes Rogue and she nods, hooking her fingertips on the collar and making as though to tug on it in the universal gesture of discomfort. "No kiddin'. This ain't exactly stylish. But..."
"But it's better'n not'in'." The Cajun says, his voice hushed and too reverant to be playful. His hands are still hanging in the air, although one is raising, as if he would cup Rogue's face in it, pull it closer. Remy's eyes are unreadable with the mix of emotions that crowd them.
"Yeah." And then Rogue goes quiet, looking up at Remy with a face that's a little nervous, a little expectant, and a little hopeful, all at once. She lifts her hands, still gloved, but doesn't quite take hold of his... more inviting him to make a move than anything.
With some actions, old reflex kicks in before conscious thought. Remy might have meant to put his hand to her cheek, to ensure the safety of the action, but he can't leave it at that. Instead, barely shielding his hand by her hair, the Cajun leans down, tips her head upward, fully intending to test Rogue's new collar by taking an uncharacteristically tender kiss.
Rogue's eyelids flutter briefly and fall almost closed, and she tips her face willingly up towards Remy's, involuntarily tensing a bit as he leans down. She's so used to the way it feels to drain someone else's psyche that for a moment, in that first breathless and achingly tender contact, it doesn't really register what's happening. For that first moment, it almost seems like it worked.
And then the strength drains out of her like water out of a broken bottle.
For Remy, it must be something like double vision - a strange dual sensation, feeling not only Rogue's lips against his but what she's feeling as well, down to an echo of the feeling of the bottom dropping out as the energy pours from her into him, bringing with it fragments of her thoughts, disjointed snatches of memory. The image of a blond boy that must be Cody Robbins, hazy and almost glowing. Familiar voices with familiar accents, Storm and Kurt saying, "Professor, if Rogue stays, I go." "My apologies, herr professor, but we all go," and Wolverine's low growl, "If it were up to me, M'iko, I'd cut out her heart." There's a whole jumble of images - Carol Danvers, Mystique, the X-Men, himself - and a tangle of hope and fear and despair and little stabs of betrayal. And over it all lies the image of those last few moments with that other Cody, the feel of him kissing her cheek and the sight of the girl-child and the man Remy might someday become through the portal as it closes, and a sweet, wistful sort of longing.
For that first heartbeat, everything is okay with the world, everything is perfect. And then, of course--because it always does--it all goes terribly, terribly wrong. When the duality first hits, Remy freezes, unable to move, unable to even concieve of what is happening. Instants later, however, he's breaking the contact, gasping for air, eyes wide and blazing, head swimming. Gambit staggers back a drunken step, a hand going to his forehead, trying to puzzle out what has happened. There's so much in his head, all of the sudden, so much that isn't him.
Without Remy to support her, Rogue simply crumples, a string-cut marionette collapsing awkwardly to the floor of the apartment. Her eyes are still slightly open, enough to show a sliver of glassy green iris, but at least for the moment, nobody is home.
Not, of course, that Rogue is gone. Her voice is a presence in Remy's mind, confused and regretful.
He can't catch her, not and catch himself at the same time. Remy is starting to panic, fluttery in his own mind and feeling crowded. With another quiet gasp, Gambit goes to his knees, reaching without thinking to check for Rogue's pulse under the collar. "Ohgod."
Her pulse is strong, but it flutters beneath his fingertips; the contact only brings on a fresh influx of disjointed memories, and the only blessing is that this time it's mostly vacant of conscious thought.
Startled, Remy yelps, and snatches his hand back, eyes widening even more. No, no, that isn't possible. Still, there's a moment where he waivers by Rogue's side before dashing for the dresser, and fumbling through his things until he can find the full gloves that lurk beneath a layer of playing cards and loose change. Putting them on with swift, jerky motions, he returns to Rogue, trying to slip his fingers up beneath the collar and hit the trigger. It's much more likely he'll just rend it in half. "Non, non, dis ain't happenin'. C'mon, Rogue, wake back up." That presence in the back of his mind hasn't been addressed it--it's more as if he's trying to pretend it isn't there. Which is hard.
The collar comes apart with a brief shriek of distressed metal; Remy will find he's much stronger suddenly than he is used to. Rogue stirs a little as the collar comes free, breath shivering out between parted lips, but that's all.
"Ohshit." Remy hisses through his teeth as the collar comes apart, staring at the two pieces in his hands. He could remember once when--no, no, he never tore things apart like this before. He never touched Carol Danvers, and even if he had nothing would have happened. Flinging the useless pieces of collar away from him, Remy puts his hands to his forehead, trying to make his way through all the chaos. "Wake up," He mutters quietly, "Can't do dis 'lone."
The voice in the back of his mind laments, but Rogue herself doesn't answer him. She doesn't stir, though her breathing remains steady - she simply lies there, completely unconscious, for once the victim of her own powers.
He wants to break down, join the voice in the back of his mind in wailing--their one chance, and it's gone--but Remy can't quite let himself do that. Quickly, he bends to scoop Rogue up off of the ground, gathering her against his chest. Carefully, he carries her to the bed and lays her down. "'M so sorry. I'm..I go get somebody. Dey'll fix it." Remy hesitates, for a moment, before turning to rush out of the apartment. Liam, Ria, Kitty, someone. Someone can fix this.
Remy's Apartment -- Greenwood Properties
Remy hasn't seen so much of Rogue since the day before she filled his apartment full of barrels. She hasn't been hiding from him - he can still find her at work, or at Kitty's or the Lighthouse if he drops by or calls there. But neither has she sought him out, particularly, until tonight.
Truth be told, Rogue's had a lot of think about, and she's still a little subdued as she lands on the Cajun's fire escape and knocks, lightly, on the window... in itself a little unusual; she usually just lets herself in.
Nobody ever knocks any more, and it's that as much as the sound of someone familiar entering the apartment that brings Remy--faithful furry sidekick in tow--from the bedroom and the task of changing the sheets on his bed. One eyebrow lifts against the other, angled towards auburn hair slicked into an uncertain ponytail. The limp from the healing leg--where Dustin had slashed him--is completely gone. "Roguey?" Remy calls, just before he clears the hallway into the living room.
"S'me," Rogue confirms, and now she does climb in through the window, sitting for a moment or two on the sill. "How you doin'?" She's smiling, if a little more subdued than normal.
That subdued attitude catches Remy a little off guard, rocks him back on his mental heels and leaves him wondering, already, what he's done wrong. "Doin' okay," He assures Rogue, oddly subdued himself, although he gives his leg a shake. "Pretty much all healed up. Been keepin' busy."
"S'good." Rogue straightens up from the windowsill, half-turning to slide the window shut behind her before she starts wandering towards Remy. "Ah been pretty busy myself, with work an' all." She's quiet for a moment or two before she muses, "Y'know, Ah don't think Ah ever got t'see where you hung your Christmas present."
"'S in de bedroom." Remy smiles almost shly, incongruently, and motions over his shoulder with one hand, turning as if he expects her to follow him. "Put it where de feat'er'd been, since dat one fight wit' Deadpool tore it all to pieces." Honestly, if he ignores the symbolism of the painted feather, he likes the painting itself much better.
Rogue's smile grows, a little, and for a moment she looks down, tucking her chin a bit. "Yeah? ...Ah been thinkin', y'know..." Those words all too often mean nothing good, but after a pause, Rogue continues. "You gave me a real special gift, then, an' we ain't done nothin' with it yet."
Remy startles, and turns to look at Rogue, his expression a little hesitant. "Have you, now?" The Cajun asks, carefully, just in that moment of the pause. When she continues, however, he pulls his head up a little, tilting it. "Well, I ain't wanted to push you," Gambit says, carefully. Where is she going, with this?
"Ah know," Rogue agrees, with a slow little nod. "An' that means a lot t'me, too. Just, y'know... seems kinda silly t'have it an' never even try t'find out f'it'll work." With careful motions, Rogue works the inhibitor collar out of the jacket pocket she'd somehow wedged it into, and turns it absently in her hands. "Ah wasn't ready before, but... Ah think maybe we oughta try it out."
"You sho'?" Remy freezes, now, eyes a little wide as they settle on the collar. He's tried to be so considerate--but he can't help the way his heart picks up a little, his hands still on nothing. His bright eyes trace from collar to Rogue and back again.
Rogue offers him a lopsided grin in reply. "Little nervous," she admits. "But... seems t'me, all this time we been wishin' for more than what we got, only we couldn't get there 'cause of somethin' we couldn't help. An' if we got a way 'round that," she lifts the collar slightly, "an' we don't take it... then really, my powers are just an excuse. Ah want more than that."
She probably doesn't know how long Remy has been waiting to hear something like that. The Cajun's smile goes bashful, and he takes a step forward to close the difference between them, reaching up to carefully pushing curls back from Rogue's face. "No 'xcuses." He says, softly. "Want more dan dat, too."
Rogue draws in a deep breath, and then lets it out again, smiling only a little shakily up at Remy. "Then Ah guess we got no reason t'be waitin' 'round, huh?" She's done enough fidgeting around with the collar over the past few days to have figured out exactly how it works, and it's a simple matter to open it up enough to settle it around her own neck.
It looks so strange, so very wrong around Rogue's neck, and for a long moment Remy pauses, staring at the collar as it settles on her skin. "Dere's a l'il green light blinkin'. So far so good, neh?" He's nervous. He can't remember the last time he was nervous, or the last time his hands shook quite this much. "Mebbe de nex' model, we ask for somet'in' slimmer."
A little laugh escapes Rogue and she nods, hooking her fingertips on the collar and making as though to tug on it in the universal gesture of discomfort. "No kiddin'. This ain't exactly stylish. But..."
"But it's better'n not'in'." The Cajun says, his voice hushed and too reverant to be playful. His hands are still hanging in the air, although one is raising, as if he would cup Rogue's face in it, pull it closer. Remy's eyes are unreadable with the mix of emotions that crowd them.
"Yeah." And then Rogue goes quiet, looking up at Remy with a face that's a little nervous, a little expectant, and a little hopeful, all at once. She lifts her hands, still gloved, but doesn't quite take hold of his... more inviting him to make a move than anything.
With some actions, old reflex kicks in before conscious thought. Remy might have meant to put his hand to her cheek, to ensure the safety of the action, but he can't leave it at that. Instead, barely shielding his hand by her hair, the Cajun leans down, tips her head upward, fully intending to test Rogue's new collar by taking an uncharacteristically tender kiss.
Rogue's eyelids flutter briefly and fall almost closed, and she tips her face willingly up towards Remy's, involuntarily tensing a bit as he leans down. She's so used to the way it feels to drain someone else's psyche that for a moment, in that first breathless and achingly tender contact, it doesn't really register what's happening. For that first moment, it almost seems like it worked.
And then the strength drains out of her like water out of a broken bottle.
For Remy, it must be something like double vision - a strange dual sensation, feeling not only Rogue's lips against his but what she's feeling as well, down to an echo of the feeling of the bottom dropping out as the energy pours from her into him, bringing with it fragments of her thoughts, disjointed snatches of memory. The image of a blond boy that must be Cody Robbins, hazy and almost glowing. Familiar voices with familiar accents, Storm and Kurt saying, "Professor, if Rogue stays, I go." "My apologies, herr professor, but we all go," and Wolverine's low growl, "If it were up to me, M'iko, I'd cut out her heart." There's a whole jumble of images - Carol Danvers, Mystique, the X-Men, himself - and a tangle of hope and fear and despair and little stabs of betrayal. And over it all lies the image of those last few moments with that other Cody, the feel of him kissing her cheek and the sight of the girl-child and the man Remy might someday become through the portal as it closes, and a sweet, wistful sort of longing.
For that first heartbeat, everything is okay with the world, everything is perfect. And then, of course--because it always does--it all goes terribly, terribly wrong. When the duality first hits, Remy freezes, unable to move, unable to even concieve of what is happening. Instants later, however, he's breaking the contact, gasping for air, eyes wide and blazing, head swimming. Gambit staggers back a drunken step, a hand going to his forehead, trying to puzzle out what has happened. There's so much in his head, all of the sudden, so much that isn't him.
Without Remy to support her, Rogue simply crumples, a string-cut marionette collapsing awkwardly to the floor of the apartment. Her eyes are still slightly open, enough to show a sliver of glassy green iris, but at least for the moment, nobody is home.
Not, of course, that Rogue is gone. Her voice is a presence in Remy's mind, confused and regretful.
He can't catch her, not and catch himself at the same time. Remy is starting to panic, fluttery in his own mind and feeling crowded. With another quiet gasp, Gambit goes to his knees, reaching without thinking to check for Rogue's pulse under the collar. "Ohgod."
Her pulse is strong, but it flutters beneath his fingertips; the contact only brings on a fresh influx of disjointed memories, and the only blessing is that this time it's mostly vacant of conscious thought.
Startled, Remy yelps, and snatches his hand back, eyes widening even more. No, no, that isn't possible. Still, there's a moment where he waivers by Rogue's side before dashing for the dresser, and fumbling through his things until he can find the full gloves that lurk beneath a layer of playing cards and loose change. Putting them on with swift, jerky motions, he returns to Rogue, trying to slip his fingers up beneath the collar and hit the trigger. It's much more likely he'll just rend it in half. "Non, non, dis ain't happenin'. C'mon, Rogue, wake back up." That presence in the back of his mind hasn't been addressed it--it's more as if he's trying to pretend it isn't there. Which is hard.
The collar comes apart with a brief shriek of distressed metal; Remy will find he's much stronger suddenly than he is used to. Rogue stirs a little as the collar comes free, breath shivering out between parted lips, but that's all.
"Ohshit." Remy hisses through his teeth as the collar comes apart, staring at the two pieces in his hands. He could remember once when--no, no, he never tore things apart like this before. He never touched Carol Danvers, and even if he had nothing would have happened. Flinging the useless pieces of collar away from him, Remy puts his hands to his forehead, trying to make his way through all the chaos. "Wake up," He mutters quietly, "Can't do dis 'lone."
The voice in the back of his mind laments, but Rogue herself doesn't answer him. She doesn't stir, though her breathing remains steady - she simply lies there, completely unconscious, for once the victim of her own powers.
He wants to break down, join the voice in the back of his mind in wailing--their one chance, and it's gone--but Remy can't quite let himself do that. Quickly, he bends to scoop Rogue up off of the ground, gathering her against his chest. Carefully, he carries her to the bed and lays her down. "'M so sorry. I'm..I go get somebody. Dey'll fix it." Remy hesitates, for a moment, before turning to rush out of the apartment. Liam, Ria, Kitty, someone. Someone can fix this.