Chapter Text
Some part of Remy wondered if going into a cross-half-a-country-trip on a bike was a bad idea. All other parts of him were just thrilled to be on the move, though.
After being cooped up for about a month - and God knows how long before that - the feeling of wind and speed and all that good stuff was refreshing. Honestly, it was the closest Remy could get to the feeling of flying Rogue and Stormy used to tell him about. Well, without being carried, of course.
The fact that he started remembering all those small “meaningless” details, like talks about flying and pranks and squabbles, was comforting. What wasn’t comforting was the fact that he needed to sleep. The road would take a couple of days, and by the 10th hour Remy knew full well he couldn’t make it all in one go, no matter how hard he tried. He needed to stop, eat and sleep, his still weakened body demanding it with every breath and move.
He was fine with stopping somewhere, fine with grabbing a bite in some fast-food chain cafe or a hole-in-the-wall place. Maybe, he would even find a decent gumbo on these streets, chances of it being higher with every mile he got closer to Louisiana. It all wasn’t a problem. He stopped to eat during the day already, the first night spent entirely on the go, and by the late afternoon of the next day his brain was all but shutting down, demanding sleep.
Remy didn’t know if he was going to. Back in the mansion, after waking up in a tornado of light in Rogue’s arms, he had trouble going to sleep. Hank took care of it, giving him some good sleeping pills that helped him go through the night without ever opening his eyes. But now those pills were off limits, mostly because Beast was not willing to take the risk of giving them to him unsupervised. It made Remy feel a bit like a toddler and a bit like a dangerous lunatic - one of those things being not so far from the truth - but he agreed with him. If he had those sedatives, he’d probably chug them all down in one go and never wake up at all. So, other ways of fighting insomnia were on the table.
The door opened with a slight screeching creek, making Remy wince, as he walked into his motel room. He asked for one in the corner, his bike being seen from his windows as well as the main entrance. It might’ve seemed like an overkill, but a bit more security was not a bad thing. Especially if you’re a thief. Especially if you’re a mutant. Especially if you were supposed to be dead.
He threw his bags on the bed, a paper bag from a nearby cafe found its place on the small table, Remy letting out a tired sigh as he pulled his jacket off. His phone (something techy and new, Bishop’s thing X-men adopted to their time) fell out of the pocket of the bag, catching his attention, and Remy slowed for a moment.
Rogue’s parting words ran through his mind again, making him curl his lips upwards, but he shook his head, sending the thoughts away. He needed a shower and a meal, and after then - try and get at least some sleep. Remy could only hope it would go as planned.
The amount of hot water was less than desired and water pressure was straight up terrible, but it was enough for him to wash away the sweat and dust of the road. Remy was even pleasantly surprised with the toiletries motel had, the scent of shampoo being actually nice. He examined his face, pulling his skin as he checked the level of stubble he had, and decided that right now it was not a priority. He’d have much better luck shaving without the risk of slashing himself in the morning. Hopefully.
The sheets felt much worse than whatever Gambit had back in the mansion, but still better than hospital bunks Remy remembered pretty well. Must’ve been some kind of cheap linen, but at least there were no bedbugs. Remy took it as a win. Somehow he knew he hated those bastards with every fiber of his soul, Apocalypse winning in this race by just a smidge. Did it make him petty? Remy felt it made him petty. Well, maybe he was. Remy chuckled at himself at the thought. Remy LeBeau, the petty bitch, lying in the motel bed at 5 PM, was as far from terrifying and cold Death as he could be. He’d take it.
He shaded the windows, turned on the AC to lower the temperature - all Hank’s advice against insomnia - and finally fell back on the bed, hoping the sleep would be merciful enough to take him. The familiar white noise in his head was far away enough to ignore it, black water got replaced by the overwhelming feeling of unfamiliar bedding. There was a chance. Remy breathed deeply, relaxing his muscles one by one. His face first, then his shoulders. Arms and legs.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Rising and falling of his chest, slight tension on the skin as his body slowly unwinded.
He must’ve been blessed by the gods that day, because he slipped into unconsciousness easily, and no voices or wails got to him.
***
When Remy opened his eyes, he knew something was wrong.
It was cold. He could justify that - he had turned the AC on before going to sleep and sheets could hardly provide any warmth.
It was dark. That one was explainable as well. He must’ve slept long enough for the sun to come down.
But what Remy could not explain was the sudden weight on his chest. It felt like someone pressed their hand straight into his ribcage, pushing him down into the mattress. He all but felt the fingers on his sternum. Some part of him feared he was going to be ripped open. He could barely breathe, and the only part of his body he was able to control were his eyes. Remy looked around frantically, trying to find the reason for his abrupt awakening and the source of the frigid feeling still holding him by his ribs.
He felt his heart sink deep into his body, as if trying to hide, when his eyes stumbled across two blood-red embers glowing in the dark corner of the room. It seemed like shadows were covering whoever was watching him, everything slowly turning into a sleek black water surface.
Who are you?
Remy could not speak, but he saw glowing orbs flicker, and heard the voice answering his thoughts as if they were heard loud and clear.
“Who do you think I am?”
Remy felt pressure on his chest push him lower, trying to smother him completely, his lungs crying in agony as air creeped in them with pace so slow it was killing him. He knew. He knew, but saying it - even thinking it - was too frightening. Red embers glared at him mockingly, and Remy felt the grin behind them with his own skin.
You part of me. Something dat woken up in me in de Apocalypse’s machine. Something he tried to make me.
The chuckle alone was enough for Remy to feel the immediate need to throw up, nausea twisting his stomach into a tight knot alongside primal terror. But the words only made it worse.
“Well… Yes and no.”
Sound of footsteps echoed in Remy’s head, his heart trying to break free of his ribcage, of pressure on it. He watched as the shadow detached itself from the wall, walking towards him in a slow relaxed manner. When it reached the window, a thin strip of moonlight creeped into the room, falling straight onto the intruder's face. His own face. Remy couldn’t feel his skin anymore, cold grip of fear firmly on his spine.
Death grinned at him mockingly, his eyes shining in the darkness, as he moved further, closer to the bed, closer to Remy. With each step Death took, Remy felt his heartbeat getting weaker and weaker, his breathing shallowing until he wasn’t breathing at all.
Dat’s just sleep paralysis, Remy thought, trying to get a grip on any form of control on the situation. His body was a cage and he watched helplessly as Death towered above him with a blood-freezing smile. I just gotta move my fingers.
“Non-non, mon ami,” Death almost cooed, leaning down to him and placing both his hands at the sides of Remy’s head. Terror and disgust washed over Remy as he watched the Horseman smile wider, their faces right in front of each other. “Let’s not spoil de fun, hein?”
Next thing he knew, Remy was falling. He was dragged back into his dreams, maybe straight into his head, but at least he could feel and control his body again. Unfortunately, that meant he could be hurt.
When Remy fell on the ground, it hit him hard, he stumbled and rolled down something cold and metallic, groans and cries escaping his mouth. He finally stopped, feeling like he collected a whole-ass art gallery of bruises and cuts on his skin, and stilled, trying to recollect his thoughts and restore his breathing. He was at the mercy of Death here. He didn’t know what to do.
“C’me on, homme, it wasn’t dat bad a’ fall,” Remy slowly curled his fingers into a fist, swallowed, and raised his eyes up at the person laughing at him. Death towered above him, same wide grin on his almost black lips, same amusement in his glimmering red eyes.
“What you want from me,” Remy rasped, drawing his twitching brows together. Death only chuckled, his laugh low and threatening.
“Petit renard grew out some teeth, huh?” Death arched his brow and squatted in front of him, watching as Remy stared at him with the same scared and angered expression. “You know what I want, homme.”
His smile fell off, leaving nothing but glaring red eyes, piercing straight into Remy’s soul as if they were to steal it away.
“Let me in,” Death’s voice washed over Remy as a wave of pure cold terror, making him shiver and almost drop his gaze, but he only clenched his hands harder. Death tilted his head slightly, his face almost perplexed. “You don’t want to deal wit’ all dat, do you? Imma make you a bargain of de century here.”
“What kind a’ bargain is dat?” Remy tried to bit back, but his voice came out quivering, strained.
“Mais, we both know you don’t even wanna be alive,” Death drawled, rolling his eyes. Remy pressed his lips together. “It’s scary, and tiresome, and gives you nothin’ but pain.”
“Dat ain’t true,” Remy tried, weakly, dropping his gaze into the ground, but Death quickly made him look back up as he grabbed his hair and pulled his head up, making him let out a painful cry.
“Is it?” Death smirked with only half of his mouth. “Don’t you remember?”
Remy shuddered with all his body when he realized he wasn’t lying on the ground anymore. Instead, he was standing, floor beneath his feet moving as if he was in the very epicenter of an earthquake.
“Quoi?” he breathed, his whole body freezing when he saw the dark skies, lighted up in the red hue of flames. He was standing at the top of some high building, broken glass and metal scrapes all around him. Death appeared right behind his shoulder, his face bored as he watched Remy lost in the scene.
There was a giant robotic monstrosity in front of them. Horrendous, covered in soot and blood and God knows what else, it was wreaking havoc all around it. Green lasers it was shooting from its eyes burned whole streets away, making buildings crumble as card houses.
Remy could not move. His scar was burning worse than ever before. It felt like it was turning him inside out, all his guts a minute away from being spilled across the roof. Smell of fire and burning flesh flooded his senses. Remy pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to contain the emotions ripping him apart.
“Familiar, hein?” Death chuckled, coming closer. His hand fell hard on Remy’s shoulder, making him stagger, almost falling down on his knees. “Day we first met, homme. I'm getting sentimental already.”
He laughed again, and there was no happiness or light in the sound of that laughter. It sounded like the rattle of bones, like the last breath of dying. Remy could not tear his eyes away from the Sentinel in front of him.
“Oh, look,” Death tugged on him harshly, his arm wrapping around his neck, pulling Remy into a hug that felt more like a chokehold. Remy squinted his eyes, his teeth bare as his face twisted in horror.
There was a small figure running towards the monster. Its white frame contrasted with the dirty black and red, as the canvas of the card contrasts its suit. Remy felt the grip on his throat get tighter. The pain in his body grew stronger.
There was a splash of pinkinsh purple, there was a rumble of earth getting picked up by the sheer force of monster’s fire. Why was he running towards it? Why the hell was he running towards it and not away?
“Oh, he be runnin’ away,” Death murmured in his ear as Remy watched the small white figure jump into the air. “He runnin’ away from life, mon ami. Runnin’ away from de heartbreak he’s too weak to bear. From every little thing that hurt him. Straight to me.”
Thrust.
Remy gasped, his hand gripping his ribs as he watched the person get impaled by the Sentinel. Pain streamed through him with each beat of his heart, taking the place of blood in his veins.
It all went dark a moment later, and Death let go of him, that same cruel grin still on his lips.
“Der was nothin’ to fight for anymore, remember?” Death murmured, circling around Remy as a predator watching its prey. “She didn’t want you, and others? Hah, others,” Death rolled his eyes with a bitter smile, “others never wanted you.”
Remy felt his throat grow tighter, pain in his veins burning him away still.
“You wanted peace, homme, wanted de pain to end,” he said in a voice so honey-coated, so compassionate and kind, Remy felt like he was going to throw up again, if only he wasn't dying in agony already. “I can give it to you.”
“Non,” Remy breathed out heavily, his mouth dry as a desert. Death silenced, narrowing his eyes on him. “Non, I…”
Remy swallowed hard, his heart pounding loudly, and looked up at Death. Horseman only smirked humorlessly. Remy jolted when Death stepped to him and raised his hand, familiar gas clouding around his fingers, seeping from the corner of his lips.
“Just stop resisting, homme,” Death murmured, poison running down from his mouth, making Remy choke, “we both know when you stop, I'll take control anyway. Why keeping up wit’ dis silly game?”
Remy shook his head violently, helplessly trying to wave the gas away. Death was getting closer, poison covered them both, thick and suffocating, until it turned into black water.
“Let me in.”
***
Remy gasped loudly as he jumped into the seating position. He breathed heavily, his whole body shaked, his heart pounded, a bird caught in a cage. Remy threw away the sheet he was covered with and rushed into the bathroom, nausea cramping his jaws.
He threw up with a horrible wet sound, his stomach aching at the violence of it. In the dim shimmering light of the old light bulb above the sink, Remy saw that he was covered in cold sweat, but it felt horribly like thick black water he suspected was actually Death’s blood. Some part of him screamed in fear and demanded to scratch the skin, cut it open, just to make sure he’d see red instead of black.
Remy swallowed the disgusting aftertaste, shutting all thoughts, as he raised on his shaking feet and all but crawled into the shower to wash the feeling away. Water ran down his body much easier that sweat and blood he suddenly was so used to, taking the coldness and shakiness with it. Remy stood under the shower for a long time, focused solely on his breathing, trying to regain control on every one of his muscles. He felt needles and pins burn his skin from inside out, his power control as shaken as he was.
He grabbed some pants from the bag he, fortunately, left in the bathroom before he went to sleep, and left the room abruptly, his mind not registering most of his other actions.
His hand wrapped around something. Creek of his door as he left the room. Cool air on his skin. Bright light of the shop. Surprised, confused and blushing woman in her mid-thirties, giving him a small cardboard box. Shadows around him as he walked back.
The next moment Remy was fully understanding what he was doing, he was sitting at the roof of the motel, a lit cigarette between his fingers.
He took a deep inhale. Smoke scratched at his lungs and throat harshly, cheap tobacco, nothing compared to the cigars he stole from Logan. Yet Remy took it all in, holding his breath, letting it run through him. Long, hurtful exhale - and smoke escaped his nose and mouth in a cloud, swirling around him as the wind brushed his cheeks, taking the smoke away. Remy watched it, trying to make the view sink in, to comfort him.
The wind picked the smoke cloud up, painting intricate patterns. It got thin, and disappeared into the air. Remy took another whiff, letting his throat get rubbed by the smoke aggressively, and blew another cloud, watching it dance and disappear in the night sky.
He looked down at his other hand, holding something boxy, but too heavy for a pack of cigarettes. His brow arched all by itself when Remy saw that he was holding a phone. Mindlessly, he took another whiff and turned the thing on. It lighted up slightly, just enough for him to see the text on the screen.
Midnight.
Remy huffed a laugh, Rogue’s words echoing in his troubled mind. His heart ached at the memory, making him drop the hand still holding a cigarette down, almost putting it out.
He stared at the name on the screen, longing and need crying in him, battling the common sense and the thought that she might already be asleep. Remy sat for a long minute, flame in his hand dying down on its own.
And then he finally pressed the button.
One dial tone after another, moments running away so slowly Remy could swear he felt the moving of the Earth in his very bones. He tensed up, his fingers gripping the phone, and held his breath.
He runnin’ away from life.
From heartbreak he’s too weak to bear.
Click.
Straight to me.
“Mhm-llo?”
Remy let out his breath, his lips stretching into a relieved smile. He’d recognize that voice anywhere and in any state of mind.
Rogue moaned softly on the other end, but her voice was a bit concerned. Remy could swear she just woke up and was rubbing her eyes wondering what kind of a psycho called her in the middle of the night. Oh, he could see her, pouting at the unknown caller and swearing silently with southernisms only Mississippians knew. Her hair must've been a mess, just as her oversized t-shirt. He chuckled at the image, soaking it in, making it take the place of what his eyes could see.
“Hey, chère,” Remy answered, his voice gentle, but hoarser than he expected. Must've been all those cheap cigarettes.
“Remy!” she woke up immediately. He felt his heart flutter, warmth washing over him, finally breaking him out of the sticky coldness of his nightmare. Remy smiled wider, his tense shoulders relaxing at last, and chuckled again, imagining her green eyes flicker with surprise. He heard shuffling, Rogue leaving her bed, probably.
“It’s midnight, sugah, you okay?” she asked him worryingly, and Remy shook his head lightly.
I am now, he wanted to say.
“You wanted Remy to call you every day, so here Remy is,” he said instead, as careless as he could muster. He heard Rogue sigh on the other end, the silent question of ‘what did I do to deserve this, God’ written all over the sound. He chuckled again.
“Every day, not night, Remy,” Rogue scolded him, but Remy kept staring into the sky, a dumb smile all over his face. Of course, he’d prefer her to be by his side, but this was better than nothing, so it was enough for him.
“Désolé, chère,” he apologized, no sign of guilt in his voice. “Just wanted t’ hear your voice.”
Words slipped from his lips without him even noticing it. Speaking to her seemed so natural, Remy had to keep his mind on what exactly he was saying, or he’d just worry her over nothing.
He didn't regret that one confession, though.
“You sound strange, sugah,” Rogue said after a short pause. “You sure y’re good?”
Remy winced a bit, letting out a quiet strained hum. If she knew he smoked, she'd probably beat him unconscious. If she knew he had Death visiting him regularly, she'd be scared to (oh irony) death.
“Slept under AC,” Remy chose to say, not wantin to lie to her, but still hiding part of the truth. “Got a bad dream ‘cause a’ that.”
“Bad dream?” Rogue echoed him, concerned. “Wanna talk ‘bout it?”
“Not really, non,” Remy shook his head, not wanting to think about what Death had told him. He heard Rogue let out a sigh and was grateful she didn't push him any more.
“You said you slept under AC, right?” Rogue asked him instead, making Remy blink in confusion as he let out a short hum in agreement. “And Ah assume ya got into the shower when ya woke up?”
“Oui?”
“Did’ya go outside right after that?”
“I think?”
For a short second Remy was alone with the silence of Rogue taking another sigh on the other end of the call.
“Remy,” she started in the most even voice he heard her speak to date. “Please, tell me, you have clothes on ya.”
“Mais, chère, a’ course Remy have cloth-”
His words got stuck in his throat as he looked down and suddenly saw his bare torso stare back at him. If his skin could have its own emotions, it would be laughing at him so hard it’d gone mad.
“Remy.”
He closed and opened his eyes, remembering his way from the motel to the gas station he got his cigarettes from.
“Remy, talk to me.”
“Y’know, dat actually explains a lot, chère,” he snickered, flushed face of the cashier lady in front of his eyes again. Rogue groaned at the other end, Remy all but seeing how she bared her teeth in frustration, and could not help his laughter.
“Ah swear to all gods there are, Swamp Rat,” Rogue raised her voice and he heard her open the balcony door, probably wanting to leave the mansion so she could yell at him properly. “Yer immune system is in shambles! If ya catch a cold-”
He chuckled again.
“Den you can come and nurse Remy back t’ health,” he suggested innocently, Rogue letting out another groan in reply.
“Please, just,” she paused, taking another deep inhale, and Remy silenced, listening closely. “Just go put somethin’ on.”
Remy raised to his feet without a question, and walked down the roof up until he was right above his window.
“Wait a bit, chère,” he blurted into the phone, and before Rogue could answer, left it on the roof next to his foot, grabbed the edge and swung straight into the building. He didn't want to stay in, walls still suffocating him, so he just took the shirt he’d worn the day before, and climbed right back.
“Remy?” he heard Rogue’s worried voice even before he grabbed the phone, and rushed to answer.
“M’here,” Remy replied, pulling the shirt over his head and adjusting it. “Got my shirt on.”
Rogue sighed in relief in his ear, and Remy couldn't help but smile.
She worried about him. She cared about him. The mere thought of it made him feel warm on the inside. Made Death’s words sound distant, sound like a poorly forged lie.
“You better take good care of y’self out there, Cajun,” she scolded him again, but Remy just kept smiling.
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered with such eagerness, he heard her snicker on the other end.
Rogue laughed a bit more, Remy listening to the sound of it as if it was the world's most beautiful symphony, and let a slow long exhale.
“Anythin’ happen at de mansion?” Remy inquired, lowering to lie down on the roof tile. It was kinda warm, but Rogue was more than right to make him put something on. She hummed in response to his question.
“Nah,” she drawled, Remy listening mostly to her voice than to her words. It anchored him, “Jubilee looks like a sad kitten, though.”
“Tsk, poor petite,” Remy cooed, “Tell’er Remy say hi.”
“You better say that yourself, sugah,” she laughed, and Remy felt his lips curl upwards. “Or she'll only be more pissed. Call her when ya can.”
“D'accord,” he chuckled back, and let out a loud sigh. After all what he went through that night, speaking with Rogue felt like a true blessing. It felt like he could finally rest.
Rogue kept her silence, but it was comfortable. He could hear her breathing on the other end, and if he tried hard enough, he could imagine her lying right next to him, her hand in his.
“How’d you know Remy’s shirtless?” he smirked, all but feeling how Rogue rolled her eyes on him.
“Ah seen you naked before, Swamp Rat, don't get excited over it,” she answered flatly, but Remy felt the smile under her mask. “Ah know you tend to sleep hot. It's a good day if ya don't forget to put on yer pants in the morning.”
“Is it, though?” Remy teased her again, Rogue groaning at his antics once more.
“And,” she drawled louder, catching his attention, “if you had a shower and you were shook by that bad dream of yers… Chances are even slimmer.”
He laughed lightly.
“Anythin’ else you know that Remy don't?”
“Yeah, lots of things, actually,” she answered without skipping a beat. “You prefer yer food spicy or sweet-”
Same for women, Remy thought to himself, but had enough sense not to say it out loud. Even if the spiciest and the sweetest of women was talking to him right now, she might very well just tell him to go screw himself and cut the call.
“-learnt how to pick a lock before yer tenth birthday-”
Remy hummed. He didn’t remember it. Honestly, he knew how to pick locks, but couldn’t really explain how to pick locks. It seemed like a pretty big field for reverse engineering, but Remy hoped his plan of coming back to New Orleans would help with that particular part of his amnesia.
Rogue continued to speak, enlisting other things - he all but waited for her to call him petty, so he could claim he was “de king of petty bitches” but she was not giving him the pleasure of it - that Remy listened to and marked down. Most of them he agreed with. But that one thing about romance novels must’ve been a total scam, Remy didn’t believe a second he would ever read one of those. Though he could imagine himself being in a fantasy setting, lying down on the forest floor instead of the motel roof, the queen of his heart just next to him, they both shone on by the light of Arcturus…
Remy blinked.
“Wow,” he let out, dumbfounded.
“What? Ah thought you loving cats was the most obvious thing,” Rogue chuckled, her sass mixed with confusion.
“Non, it just…” Remy narrowed his eyes, staring at the bright star he suddenly knew the name of. “I think I just remembered de name of dat one star, next to de Dipper.”
“Huh?” Rogue sounded perplexed. “Which one?”
“Big and bright one,” Remy answered, no usable information in his words, and raised his eyebrows, feeling the memory fit itself firmly into his brain. “It’s Arcturus, right?”
“Gimme a sec,” she said into his ear, and Remy wondered if she was looking around her in search of that one star he was looking at, “Yeah, Ah see it now. You’re right, it’s Arcturus. Biggest in the Boötes constellation. And there’s Virgo and Corona Borealis…”
“Since when you know so much ‘bout stars?” Remy chuckled, mesmerized by the thought of them watching the same night sky. His dream of Rogue lying right beside him suddenly felt a whole ton more real.
“Since Scott got us a course on orienteering,” she sighed, and Remy could not help but let out another small laugh. “He wanted us to be able to figure out our position, and Hank got so excited he’d give both mythology and astronomy lectures. Now Ah know that Greeks saw a whole lotta people in the skies and Ah can’t figure out how for the life of me.”
“Mmh,” Remy hummed in response. “I know constellations, I think, basics at least. Most useful for both hemispheres. And that Arcturus star, apparently. And for de others… It’s fun to come up with stories, don’t you think?”
He heard her laugh softly on the other end.
“Wanna tell me one?” Rogue teased him, and the smile in her voice made Remy grin.
“As you wish,” he answered, choosing a star to begin his tale with.
They’d come up with something chaotic and stupid. A bunny who could shoot stars out of her paws. A big bulky plush toy that only spoke in rhyme. A papa-bear with long shiny claws and little sense of humor. A preppy dog who was happy only when he had something to guard, even if it meant guarding an empty bowl.
Somewhere in the middle of the story Rogue was telling him about a humming bird who flew to the sun, Remy realized he was slipping into sleep.
“Gimme a moment, chère, Remy’s gonna get back in his room,” he asked, getting up. His back ached in protest, Remy trying to ignore it as he swung in through the window. With a pretty loud huff, he fell onto his bed.
“Ya good there, sugah?” Rogue called for him worryingly, Remy humming approvingly in response.
“Can you finish de story, please? Remy feel pretty sleepy, and your voice’s comfortin’,” he drawled, his words longer than usual, as tiredness of his long day and horrifying night was taking its toll at last.
Rogue chuckled lightly at the other end.
“Okay, ya big baby,” he snickered at her taunt. Remy LeBeau, a petty bitch and a big baby. He was collecting a pretty good portfolio for himself. “So, the bird flew higher and higher, and the skies suddenly were no limit for her…”
He took a deep breath, listening to her voice. Rogue continued to speak, softly, closely, like she was whispering right above his ear. Like her hands were on his shoulders, her fingers playing with his hair.
Comfort. Home. Security.
Life.
When sleep finally claimed him, the last thing Remy thought about was how there was no pain he wouldn’t go through to have this. Death had nothing on him. Not in this.