X-Trees| Volume One: Welcome Home

Chapter Four

Summary: Wedding bells ring.

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The Strip at sunset. A white chapel on the outskirts contrasts vividly with the orange hue overtaking the sky. For the couple who'd paid for an hour of the chapel's services, an aisle is all that separates them. A strip of fabric, deep blue satin, unraveling on one end, its wrinkles giving it the appearance of a rippling stream. It lays across a flight of stairs which end at the roots of a handsome blackjack oak in a suit. He wears a victorious grin, much to the annoyance of the she-tree eying him from the other end of the chapel. Not only does the He-Tree seem to register her irritation, he delights in it; knowing that he affected her still, meant he hadn't yet worn out his welcome.

There is an archway at his back, strung up with tiny lights that bathe him in brilliant white. The chapel officiant stands beside him, dwarfed by the other tree's statue, his stocky trunk covered by a thin, satin robe. Plastic flowers and vines add pops of color to the all-white altar.

Opposite Remy LeBeau, a nervous Rogue, stands in her wedding dress. All-white, down to the floor, an intricate pattern of lace roses swim around her bustier. She's wearing matching lace gloves, out of necessity more than because of personal style. She breaths out, rustling the group of white leaves that frames her face to rub against the soft, threaded vines of her veil.

Though he says nothing, and can't stop his stupid grinning, she can practically hear Remy telling her to get a move on. It wouldn't surprise her if Remy's more excited about this than she was. He'd always been impulsive and short-sighted, living in the now, and ignoring its implications for the future.

Rogue always thought of what came next. Even now, she thinks about each step down the aisle, toward the future of her dreams, with the tree of her dreams, and what those steps will mean. How easily they could morph into a death march with the simple exchange of a kiss, or one too many touches. Remy always put himself in harm's way for her, but he never acknowledged how he put himself in harm's way because of her.

"Mon ami," he drawls from his end of the aisle. Fingers in desperate need of something to do, pluck at the lily affixed to his lapel. Gambler weaves anxiously in and out of his roots. The other cats nap in the front pew, drowsy eyes roused open by the sound of their master's voice. "You makin' me nervous." The corner of his mouth twitches.

Rogue exhales again. Again and again until she feels like she has no more breath to expel. She loves Remy. She does. Truly and completely. She wants to be married to Remy; nothing would make her happier. She wants him to be happy, and is unsure if that can happen if she stays around. If she says 'I do.' If she takes the path this aisle leads toward.

To the officiant's chagrin, who leans against a rose-covered pulpit, flipping through the pages of a brochure for the nearby Luxor, Remy charges down the aisle, his strides long and determined. He stops inches away from Rogue, and casually removes the delicate veil of vines eclipsing her face. "Da sun," he says, glancing at the window, "it fadin', pitite." An awkward smile breaks out on his face, one that's as fleeting as the light. He grabs her hand, encloses it in his own. The depth of his love is what he's transmitting, is what he's conveying.

She's never not felt his love, but neither does she know what he feels like. From Remy's memories, she knows her beloved X-Tree has rough hands, the bark calloused and knotted from years of struggling and hustling to merely keep existing. But she has not felt his warmth, the pulse of sap underneath his bark, because to luxuriate in that sensation meant that Remy might die. She wants to recoil from his touch, knowing that hers was a poison that pumped through her veins, and that too much would end with Gambit in the ground, buried beside so many of her friends.

But Remy is quick, and oftentimes sense her thoughts before she's thought them - he tightens his hold on her, keeping her in place, knowing that if she truly desired to, she could pull away at any second.

Rogue does not truly desire to separate from him. She accepts him, and his embrace, infuriating and dangerous as it is, because his warmth radiates through his clothes and heats skin she often feels is too cold. No matter how fleeting, his touch revives her.

"Let me," he speaks into her canopy, his voice rustling her leaves and setting her heart aflame, "make your dreams come true."

Her lower lip quivers, hands hover above Remy's back. "But what if--" a finger twitches, grazing the strong wood of his trunk between his shoulder blades, the lace roses reminding Rogue that she had her share of thorns. That she could simply prick someone, and watch them bleed out.

Cursed.

"--but what if," her voice cracks, much to her dismay. "what if that dream becomes a nightmare?"

Orange light floods the small room, slanting along the floorboards. It catches Remy in a moment of honesty, his face bark wrinkled, the mischievous glint chased from his red-eyes. He pulls away from her, stares but for a moment, and then plants a kiss on her lips. She is taken aback. Her brain screams at her to resist, to pull away. What with her super strength, it'd be easy, and it should have been easy. She knew to protect him, it was the right thing to do, but she melts, instantly. Leaning in to him, savoring his mouth, demanding, needing more. She aches, she is so achingly lonely, all the time, save for these moments with Remy. When he appears to be the only one to understand her, to see into her, to soothe the burn in her core.

His memories pour into her, as their tongues intertwine. But they are recent ones. Of her. Of the first time she met him, and found him so disagreeable, she sent him flying through the Danger Jungle. The first kiss they shared, one he sprung on her, her anger so monumental, she didn't speak to him for a week after. Her broken in the grove, after Xavier's funeral, where she mourned the last hope for her to lead a normal life. Remy had come to her, and without preamble, vowed he would never leave her. That he was there for the taking, all of him, hers. All he asked was that she allow him to love her.

Slowly, Remy breaks contact. His breathing sharp, his eyes sunken, his trunk slick with beads of sap. The lower branches of his canopy sagged. A handful of withered leaves had fallen to the ground.

"See, chere?" He tilts her chin up to meet his gaze. Despite the prolonged contact, and the physical toll it had exacted on his body, he smirks, the glint of mischief alive in his gaze. "Nothin' goin' make dis a nightmare." He narrows his eyes, his hand trailing down her arm, the contact making Rogue shiver. "Lest you thinkin' of runnin' away from ol' Remy, yeah?"

She chuckled, dragging an assured hand along his carved jawline. "Sugar, I ain't runnin'." Meeting his gaze, she knew she meant it. For most of her life, Rogue had spent it running away. Away from the town that labeled her a monster. Away from the mother that used her for her powers. Away from the world at large who'd never understand the echoing loneliness that resided in her core. Always running. But Remy had caught up with her, and for him, she'd slowed down and started to view the world differently, view herself differently.

Rogue lived with a curse, but it had empowered her to save lives. She had found comradery living under society's scorn. Her poison made less potent by the He-Tree she loved. She dropped her hand, entwined her fingers with Remy's and turned to face the officiant, ready for the next step. "What's the point in runnin' anyway?" Gambit grinned and she tugged her veil back down over her eyes, giving him one last sideways look, "when you'd find me no matter where I went."

A woody chuckle escape his lips. "See? You get me, chere. Dat's why Remy love you so much. Dat's why Remy need you in his life."

"Well," she exhaled, and found, this time, it was easier. "we're losin' light, let's say we get this rodeo started?"

"Exactly what Remy was thinkin', mon ami."

Branch-arm in branch-arm, they take a step. Another. Their backs to an orange-drenched world, Gambit and Rogue march toward the future together.

***

It is with great pleasure, I present to you, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Remy LeBeau.