PI LOG: Penance Revisited -- Rogue and Remy
Remy makes his way up to New York--with Rogue's help--in order to pay his annual respects at the site of his most grevious and painful mistake. The Southerner's presence helps the Cajun more than he realized it would.
Manhattan -- New York
It's not too long a flight from Beacon Harbor to New York City, not as Rogue flies. It's a chilly one, though, even with the season turning warm. When she comes to a light landing on the roof of a skyscraper and lets go of Remy so that he can stand on his own feet, Rogue rubs at her arms. "Where should we be headin' from here?" she asks.
"Down," Remy says, adjusting first the fit of the leather jacket he wears, and then the line of the satchel that's been digging into his shoulder the entire trip. Just one of a thousand little prices to pay for what he'd done, really. "Way down. Gotta get to de tunnels on de ot'er side of de subway tracks." Rogue may or may not know where they are--but for Gambit, it's a path that's been engrained into his mind for years. "You see a fire escape or somet'in'?"
Rogue laughs a little, fluffing her fingers quickly through her hair. "Like we need one," she drawls amiably. "Ah meant which part of th'city, sugah. Hikin' all th'way 'cross th'city by th'subway tracks ain't my idea of an adventure; Ah don't like playin' chicken with somethin' that much bigger than me."
The Cajun tosses a hand in Rogue's general direction, his mouth curling a little wryly. "Like it'd matter, wit' you. Train'd bounce righ' off an' never know what hit it." Still, Remy cranes his neck a little to better get his bearings, eyes narrowing. "Need t'be a l'il closer to Central Park. De place I'm lookin' for is more or less under dere, 'dough ain't nowhere dat's particularly close dat's also a subway stop."
"All right," Rogue says, and offers him her arms again. "Just lemme know where we need t'go down, huh?" Once she's got her arms securely around him, she lifts back into the air, flying quickly over the city towards the park.
They're not at all conspicuous, no. "Dere's a subway stop on de corner of de park--comin' from dis way it'll be lower right. We need to go dere. We can get to where we need to be from one of de train tunnels dere." Remy frees a hand to point, as if that will help Rogue see at all. "Jus' mind neit'er of us steps on de t'ird rail."
"That would kinda suck," Rogue agrees. Not much worried about being conspicuous, she brings them down towards the spot he pointed to. This time, her feet touch down on pavement - not right at the subway stop, but in a somewhat lower-traffic spot near to it.
There are probably small children staring open-eyed at them from neighboring windows, but right now Remy could care less. Adjusting the satchel again so that it lines up with his spine and the weight is easier to bear. He hesitates, eyeing Rogue for a moment as if he might tell her she doesn't have to come--before he offers a fragile smile and starts off for the subway stop, digging in his pockets for enough money to buy a token.
It's just as well, since she probably would have insisted unless he'd actually told her flat-out he didn't want her along. Rogue offers an answering smile that's meant to be reassuring, and she follows, fishing in her own pockets as she troops along after Remy towards and into the subway stop.
That may be a large part of what drove Remy to keep his mouth shut; besides, he promised he wouldn't ditch her, and asking her to wait outside the station for hours feels a lot like ditching. If Rogue can't come up with the right amount of money herself, Remy will just cover her token, too--otherwise they blend seamlessly into the daily hustle of New York subway traffic. Determined, the Cajun uses one shoulder to push his way through the crowd towards the platform they need. Occasionally, he even snaps at someone in as thick a Brooklyn accent as any native would sport. Blending in.
It takes some work to keep up with him, but Rogue follows gamely, without complaining. She does not, however, blend in, and doesn't bother trying, beyond keeping her own mouth shut. It only helps so much, considering how distinctive her hair is.
Remy isn't even making much more than a token effort to blend in. It's just second nature to him, and considering the depth of his training and habits, it likely always will be. A train roars into the station, stopping only barely long enough to let people rush on or rush off--and Remy nimbly dodges the entire crowd, always looking as if he's about to step onto the train and never doing it. The train bustles off again, revealing on the other side of the tracks an older tunnel covered with a grating. Without even so much as a glance around, the Cajun slips down off of the side, carefully avoiding anything that's charged with electricity. It's a wonder he manages to do it without being noticed.
Rogue can't help but glance quickly around her as she follows him - just to see if anyone's watching, if anyone has seen where they're going. She's not nearly as used to this sort of thing as he is. But she does follow him, moving hastily to follow Remy across the tracks and taking care to avoid the third rail.
Luckily for them, the citizens of New York don't seem to give a cat's whisker about their activities. Remy heads straight for the grating once he's picked his way across the tracks, wrapping his fingers with the mesh of the metal and giving it a tug. It doesn't move. He tries again, this time accompaning the effort with a little grunt. Still nothing. The Cajun's expression goes distinctly rueful as he turns towards Rogue. "It won' open."
Rogue smothers a little laugh, and moves up beside Remy to inspect the grate. "Maybe it just needs a woman's touch," she drawls, reaching to work her fingers through the open spaces and get enough leverage to force the thing open.
Only if that woman is Rogue. Under her attentions, the grate squeals with protesting metal and comes free, which prompts Remy to flash her a stale grin. "Dat's why I keep you 'round." Sheltered from the station's view by his hand, Gambit flares a card to life to light the way as he ducks a little and slips into the tunnel. It's dirty and full of cobwebs, but for once the loudmouthed Cajun isn't complaining.
Rogue wrinkles her nose as she follows, but at least Remy is breaking up the cobwebs for her so that none are likely top catch her in the face. She props the grate up behind herself and jogs after Remy to catch up. "Not just f'that, Ah hope," she says, but it's more a light murmur than real teasing.
"Well, mebbe not jus' for dat," Remy admits, as much teasing as honest words. The tunnel doesn't last very long until it opens into another tunnel; this one wider, and with a smooth curve to it that would imply it goes in a circle. Whatever it might have been intended to be used for, it isn't used for it any more, and rats flee the light from Gambit's card. He stops just to the side of the first tunnel's mouth, taking a deep and suddenly unsteady breath.
Rogue hangs back a little when Remy pauses, watching him uncertainly. "Ah can stay back," she offers now, surprising herself a little. "'F you'd rather..." She's not sure if she really wants to or not, but she feels compelled now to make the offer.
Remy pauses for a long, long time; he's obviously considering Rogue's words, mulling them over in his head. Then, finally, he shakes that same head, the gesture becoming obvious by the tracks of his bright, solidifying eyes. "Non, you come dis far. Seems cruel to make you crawl t'rough all dat muck jus' to leave you here." Particularly since this is a yearly exercise to purify himself of much of his cruelty. "Jus'...gotta be patient wit' me, dis's gonna take a while." Clever fingers dig in the satchel, pulling out a small white vigil candle. The Cajun lights it off of a finger, mutters something soft and reverent under his breath, and steps forward to put it against the inside curve of the wall. A few steps up, just far enough that the circles of candlelight kiss at their sides, he repeats the procedure.
"'Sokay," Rogue murmurs, and then goes silent. She still follows Remy, but she stays a bit farther back now, watching from a respectful distance. This is a personal ritual. It feels wrong to interfere. Instead, she clasps her hands behind her back, and thinks about the Massacre. It was a long time ago.
It's a ritual that Remy has performed for almost ten years, now, and it's with little apparent emotion that he gradually makes his way around the entire circle, lighting each candle with the same reverence as the last. Rogue will know his attempts at calm are failing, however, from the way his eyes blaze crimson light up over the level of his eyebrows; it would be unnerving to those who didn't know it was natural for Gambit. When the circle is complete, Remy continues along it until he finds a small open doorway into the center. There, there is a patch of grass, unexplained for all the darkness, and the remnents of rat-chewed candles in a small huddle in the middle. Again, he pauses in the mouth of this doorway, throat working as if to swallow.
Rogue stops when Remy does, lingering in the shadows. The longer she remains in silence, the more memories come back... pain and blood and screams and death, Morlocks and teammates alike going down. But looking at this now, she can't bring herself to blame Remy for any of it. She was a little afraid that she might.
Maybe Remy is still afraid that Rogue will blame him. He's certainly still afraid of the memories that wash forward every time he returns to this city, much less these tunnels. The Cajun finally manages to take the last steps inwards, dropping to kneel just in front of the dead nubs of the candles from the previous year. Those are moved carefully to the side, and Gambit goes about setting up the alter all over again, ghosting a flame to every wick. When it's all over, he sits and stares at the candles in silence for a few heartbeats--and then crumples over until his hands are knotted in his hair, his forehead pressed to his own legs, trying and failing to hold back the sobs that come over him like a tidal rush.
Rogue stays in the doorway a while longer, watching, until she can't just watch any more. She's careful to walk lightly, unobtrusively making her way across the open space until she can settle to her knees beside Remy and lay her arm gently across his shoulders in a gesture that's meant to be comforting.
When she first touches him, Remy jumps--or rather, he does what is as close to jumping as he gets, which is to jerk through his shoulder, his breath trying to suck in sharply and only catching on his sobs. There's a moment of waivering tension before he simply tries to tuck his head further, lean into Rogue, bury his face in her lap and cry.
Rogue says nothing, just makes inarticulate, soothing noises, gloves hands moving gently over his back, his shoulders, his hair. She'll wait this out, doing her best to comfort Remy until the worst has passed, just... being there.
It will take a long, long time--but Rogue's presense will help more than Remy could have realized. It's almost as if, this time, something has started healing when all he did before was twist the knife in an old wound. When the tears and the hiccuping that follows have finally passed, and the candles long since burnt themselves out, Remy dallies in pulling his head up. He's still withdrawn, but this time it's almost like embarressment that makes him hold back.
Rogue lets her fingers trail over the side of Remy's face as he lifts his head, watching him with quiet concern. "Okay, darlin'?" she asks softly.
No, he isn't okay. He can't ever be okay when he's down here. Remy nods a little, however, finally straightening to scrub his hands over his face and smear his tears over his skin. "Sorry," He says, quiet and ferverent, and it isn't at all clear what he's apologizing for. The light of his eyes casts exaggerated shadows around the room when he opens them again.
"Ain't gotta apologize t'me," Rogue tells him, letting her hand rest lightly on his shoulder in a gesture of support and affection. "Take it easy, okay? Lemme know when you're ready t'go."
Finis!
Manhattan -- New York
It's not too long a flight from Beacon Harbor to New York City, not as Rogue flies. It's a chilly one, though, even with the season turning warm. When she comes to a light landing on the roof of a skyscraper and lets go of Remy so that he can stand on his own feet, Rogue rubs at her arms. "Where should we be headin' from here?" she asks.
"Down," Remy says, adjusting first the fit of the leather jacket he wears, and then the line of the satchel that's been digging into his shoulder the entire trip. Just one of a thousand little prices to pay for what he'd done, really. "Way down. Gotta get to de tunnels on de ot'er side of de subway tracks." Rogue may or may not know where they are--but for Gambit, it's a path that's been engrained into his mind for years. "You see a fire escape or somet'in'?"
Rogue laughs a little, fluffing her fingers quickly through her hair. "Like we need one," she drawls amiably. "Ah meant which part of th'city, sugah. Hikin' all th'way 'cross th'city by th'subway tracks ain't my idea of an adventure; Ah don't like playin' chicken with somethin' that much bigger than me."
The Cajun tosses a hand in Rogue's general direction, his mouth curling a little wryly. "Like it'd matter, wit' you. Train'd bounce righ' off an' never know what hit it." Still, Remy cranes his neck a little to better get his bearings, eyes narrowing. "Need t'be a l'il closer to Central Park. De place I'm lookin' for is more or less under dere, 'dough ain't nowhere dat's particularly close dat's also a subway stop."
"All right," Rogue says, and offers him her arms again. "Just lemme know where we need t'go down, huh?" Once she's got her arms securely around him, she lifts back into the air, flying quickly over the city towards the park.
They're not at all conspicuous, no. "Dere's a subway stop on de corner of de park--comin' from dis way it'll be lower right. We need to go dere. We can get to where we need to be from one of de train tunnels dere." Remy frees a hand to point, as if that will help Rogue see at all. "Jus' mind neit'er of us steps on de t'ird rail."
"That would kinda suck," Rogue agrees. Not much worried about being conspicuous, she brings them down towards the spot he pointed to. This time, her feet touch down on pavement - not right at the subway stop, but in a somewhat lower-traffic spot near to it.
There are probably small children staring open-eyed at them from neighboring windows, but right now Remy could care less. Adjusting the satchel again so that it lines up with his spine and the weight is easier to bear. He hesitates, eyeing Rogue for a moment as if he might tell her she doesn't have to come--before he offers a fragile smile and starts off for the subway stop, digging in his pockets for enough money to buy a token.
It's just as well, since she probably would have insisted unless he'd actually told her flat-out he didn't want her along. Rogue offers an answering smile that's meant to be reassuring, and she follows, fishing in her own pockets as she troops along after Remy towards and into the subway stop.
That may be a large part of what drove Remy to keep his mouth shut; besides, he promised he wouldn't ditch her, and asking her to wait outside the station for hours feels a lot like ditching. If Rogue can't come up with the right amount of money herself, Remy will just cover her token, too--otherwise they blend seamlessly into the daily hustle of New York subway traffic. Determined, the Cajun uses one shoulder to push his way through the crowd towards the platform they need. Occasionally, he even snaps at someone in as thick a Brooklyn accent as any native would sport. Blending in.
It takes some work to keep up with him, but Rogue follows gamely, without complaining. She does not, however, blend in, and doesn't bother trying, beyond keeping her own mouth shut. It only helps so much, considering how distinctive her hair is.
Remy isn't even making much more than a token effort to blend in. It's just second nature to him, and considering the depth of his training and habits, it likely always will be. A train roars into the station, stopping only barely long enough to let people rush on or rush off--and Remy nimbly dodges the entire crowd, always looking as if he's about to step onto the train and never doing it. The train bustles off again, revealing on the other side of the tracks an older tunnel covered with a grating. Without even so much as a glance around, the Cajun slips down off of the side, carefully avoiding anything that's charged with electricity. It's a wonder he manages to do it without being noticed.
Rogue can't help but glance quickly around her as she follows him - just to see if anyone's watching, if anyone has seen where they're going. She's not nearly as used to this sort of thing as he is. But she does follow him, moving hastily to follow Remy across the tracks and taking care to avoid the third rail.
Luckily for them, the citizens of New York don't seem to give a cat's whisker about their activities. Remy heads straight for the grating once he's picked his way across the tracks, wrapping his fingers with the mesh of the metal and giving it a tug. It doesn't move. He tries again, this time accompaning the effort with a little grunt. Still nothing. The Cajun's expression goes distinctly rueful as he turns towards Rogue. "It won' open."
Rogue smothers a little laugh, and moves up beside Remy to inspect the grate. "Maybe it just needs a woman's touch," she drawls, reaching to work her fingers through the open spaces and get enough leverage to force the thing open.
Only if that woman is Rogue. Under her attentions, the grate squeals with protesting metal and comes free, which prompts Remy to flash her a stale grin. "Dat's why I keep you 'round." Sheltered from the station's view by his hand, Gambit flares a card to life to light the way as he ducks a little and slips into the tunnel. It's dirty and full of cobwebs, but for once the loudmouthed Cajun isn't complaining.
Rogue wrinkles her nose as she follows, but at least Remy is breaking up the cobwebs for her so that none are likely top catch her in the face. She props the grate up behind herself and jogs after Remy to catch up. "Not just f'that, Ah hope," she says, but it's more a light murmur than real teasing.
"Well, mebbe not jus' for dat," Remy admits, as much teasing as honest words. The tunnel doesn't last very long until it opens into another tunnel; this one wider, and with a smooth curve to it that would imply it goes in a circle. Whatever it might have been intended to be used for, it isn't used for it any more, and rats flee the light from Gambit's card. He stops just to the side of the first tunnel's mouth, taking a deep and suddenly unsteady breath.
Rogue hangs back a little when Remy pauses, watching him uncertainly. "Ah can stay back," she offers now, surprising herself a little. "'F you'd rather..." She's not sure if she really wants to or not, but she feels compelled now to make the offer.
Remy pauses for a long, long time; he's obviously considering Rogue's words, mulling them over in his head. Then, finally, he shakes that same head, the gesture becoming obvious by the tracks of his bright, solidifying eyes. "Non, you come dis far. Seems cruel to make you crawl t'rough all dat muck jus' to leave you here." Particularly since this is a yearly exercise to purify himself of much of his cruelty. "Jus'...gotta be patient wit' me, dis's gonna take a while." Clever fingers dig in the satchel, pulling out a small white vigil candle. The Cajun lights it off of a finger, mutters something soft and reverent under his breath, and steps forward to put it against the inside curve of the wall. A few steps up, just far enough that the circles of candlelight kiss at their sides, he repeats the procedure.
"'Sokay," Rogue murmurs, and then goes silent. She still follows Remy, but she stays a bit farther back now, watching from a respectful distance. This is a personal ritual. It feels wrong to interfere. Instead, she clasps her hands behind her back, and thinks about the Massacre. It was a long time ago.
It's a ritual that Remy has performed for almost ten years, now, and it's with little apparent emotion that he gradually makes his way around the entire circle, lighting each candle with the same reverence as the last. Rogue will know his attempts at calm are failing, however, from the way his eyes blaze crimson light up over the level of his eyebrows; it would be unnerving to those who didn't know it was natural for Gambit. When the circle is complete, Remy continues along it until he finds a small open doorway into the center. There, there is a patch of grass, unexplained for all the darkness, and the remnents of rat-chewed candles in a small huddle in the middle. Again, he pauses in the mouth of this doorway, throat working as if to swallow.
Rogue stops when Remy does, lingering in the shadows. The longer she remains in silence, the more memories come back... pain and blood and screams and death, Morlocks and teammates alike going down. But looking at this now, she can't bring herself to blame Remy for any of it. She was a little afraid that she might.
Maybe Remy is still afraid that Rogue will blame him. He's certainly still afraid of the memories that wash forward every time he returns to this city, much less these tunnels. The Cajun finally manages to take the last steps inwards, dropping to kneel just in front of the dead nubs of the candles from the previous year. Those are moved carefully to the side, and Gambit goes about setting up the alter all over again, ghosting a flame to every wick. When it's all over, he sits and stares at the candles in silence for a few heartbeats--and then crumples over until his hands are knotted in his hair, his forehead pressed to his own legs, trying and failing to hold back the sobs that come over him like a tidal rush.
Rogue stays in the doorway a while longer, watching, until she can't just watch any more. She's careful to walk lightly, unobtrusively making her way across the open space until she can settle to her knees beside Remy and lay her arm gently across his shoulders in a gesture that's meant to be comforting.
When she first touches him, Remy jumps--or rather, he does what is as close to jumping as he gets, which is to jerk through his shoulder, his breath trying to suck in sharply and only catching on his sobs. There's a moment of waivering tension before he simply tries to tuck his head further, lean into Rogue, bury his face in her lap and cry.
Rogue says nothing, just makes inarticulate, soothing noises, gloves hands moving gently over his back, his shoulders, his hair. She'll wait this out, doing her best to comfort Remy until the worst has passed, just... being there.
It will take a long, long time--but Rogue's presense will help more than Remy could have realized. It's almost as if, this time, something has started healing when all he did before was twist the knife in an old wound. When the tears and the hiccuping that follows have finally passed, and the candles long since burnt themselves out, Remy dallies in pulling his head up. He's still withdrawn, but this time it's almost like embarressment that makes him hold back.
Rogue lets her fingers trail over the side of Remy's face as he lifts his head, watching him with quiet concern. "Okay, darlin'?" she asks softly.
No, he isn't okay. He can't ever be okay when he's down here. Remy nods a little, however, finally straightening to scrub his hands over his face and smear his tears over his skin. "Sorry," He says, quiet and ferverent, and it isn't at all clear what he's apologizing for. The light of his eyes casts exaggerated shadows around the room when he opens them again.
"Ain't gotta apologize t'me," Rogue tells him, letting her hand rest lightly on his shoulder in a gesture of support and affection. "Take it easy, okay? Lemme know when you're ready t'go."
Finis!