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“What is dat smell?” Remy asked. He moved his head from side to side, sniffing as he tried to identify the odor that filled the room he and Rogue were in. There was something rotten and mildew-y in the air that wasn’t quite strong enough to be described as “acrid” but was a little more than “unpleasant”.
Rogue, who sat at the opposite wall, sniffed once and winced. “Ah think it’s our neighbors in the next cell.”
“Mon dieu,” he said. He covered his mouth with his sleeve. “Dat’s gotta be a violation of the Geneva Convention or somethin’.”
“Ah’m not sure the Skrulls abide by--or even care about--Earth’s laws, sugah.”
From outside of the cell, the sound of boots clapping against stone grew louder until a pair of Skrull guards came into view behind the red forcefield that kept Remy and Rogue contained. One held a rifle while the other carried a pair of metal trays, which she slid through an opening in the forcefield and then left.
Rogue stood up and grabbed the trays, bringing them over to Remy before taking a seat next to him. The food--if it could be called that--was a baked brick of something hard and black with a side of a grey soupy liquid. Steam wafted up from the grey liquid and met Remy’s nostrils. He instantly recoiled and pushed the tray away.
“I think we found the source,” he said. He turned to his wife, expecting to see a similar expression on her face, but was surprised to see her digging into the baked brick.
“It’s not bad,” she said, between bites. “It’f beddah den nuffin’.”
With a sigh, Remy frowned and put his arm over Rogue’s shoulders. “This isn’t how I pictured our first anniversary, chere.”
“We didn’t picture gettin’ married the way we did, either, but that didn’t make it any less special did it?”
Remy raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Touche.”
Rogue took another bite and said, “Just make it up to me when we get back planet-side.”
“Anything you want.”
The man leaned over and kissed his wife on the top of her head, inhaling deeply her warm scent. She smelled of spices and old books and shampoo even though they had been in the cell for three days. And there was something else there. Something that he could only be described as being Rogue’s scent and it filled him with each breath.
“Remy, are you just doin’ this so you don’t have to smell the food?” she asked.
“Not the only reason,” he said, his face still buried in her hair. “But it helps.”
“You’re gonna have to pull away at some point.”
“I know,” Remy replied. “But not right now.”