She remembers her vows. She remembers dancing.
Rogue found herself sliding out of bed at some point during the night, holding herself in the still moonlight, and swaying back and forth to a tune only her memories could hear.
To have and to hold...
She could never really let him go, not with her mutation being what it was, but to hold him? How could she if she could never touch him again.
...for better or worse...
This was supposed to be the best day of her life, the day her husband wakened out of sleep, the day her happiness was restored. But it wasn't. It wasn't better, it was worse, and that was covered in her vows too.
...for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health...
Rich in love, poor in love. Sick of heart, weak in body. G—, what was she going to do?
'Til death do us part.
"Ah'm not dead," she whispered to the fading night. Ah'm not dead and neither are you.
"Do you still love Belladonna?"
Remy had been pretty innocently getting ready for bed when she ambushed him in his room and asked him such a forthright question. He had kept his distance in a way he wouldn't have just yesterday, had put up those emotional walls he was so known for, had recognized the importance of the dynamic that had changed.
Perhaps that's why he seemed so bewildered when she spoke to him as openly as she had before, as if... Well.
He seemed to take a hold of himself, then quietly, "Why are you asking me that?"
Rogue took a breath, but shook her head. "Because it matters."
He stopped, tried to ferret out some meaning from such a statement. "Y' don't..." He paused, shock dawning. "Rogue."
Her chin came up slightly. "Love is a choice, Remy."
The surprise smoothed off his face as if it had never been. He looked at her from that unreadable expression she realized she was coming to hate. "I'll always love her, chère." And there it was, something she had always known and pretended she hadn't.
This had never been about her.
"Bobby's going to need a lot of help with his recovery over the next few months. Ah won't have time to go out." It was an honest statement but devoid of any feeling. She couldn't afford to feel, so she cut it off when her heart threatened to speak.
He nodded, understanding. Yesterday, he might have touched her shoulder, comforted her with such a simple gesture, but even then, she had never felt his skin. We never tested it. She never would.
"In another life," he said after a long moment. Perhaps, she imagined that wistfulness to his voice.
A sad smile crept over her face. "You say it as though it's possible."
"Ah, chère." His voice was soft and full of meaning, and her breath caught, just barely. "The world turns 'round."
Knowing he did not expect a reply, she stepped away and closed the door softly, gently behind her.
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