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They both sort out the bloody mayhem that the celebration has become with that effortless grace only few people possess. She is flying, he’s following in tandem with a “borrowed” motorcycle, seamless synergy between thoughts and action, so much so only furtive glances communicate what some can’t in entire conversations. It is a rare gift, a connection like this. Maybe the rarest of all. And it should be cherished as such, for not touch, or anything else can compare.
She knows it now.
The enemy, however, is relentless. And undignified. Not even a warrior, not even human - a machine. The haters of their race didn’t even dignify themselves to send true soldiers to take them down - take Genosha down - for the sole reason of existing as a haven for mutants. They sent a machine who can’t think for itself, feel for itself, or be reasoned with. That’s how little their enemies think of them, things to be exterminated. Vermins, Erik would say. They think of us as vermins. Anger bubbles in her chest and she glances at the massive sentinel, nostrils flaring, hate seeping through the air she breathes.
“Rogue,” his voice calls her back. “Eyes on the prize!”
It works. She leaves ideas of taking the Master Mold by herself behind, it should not be her prime mission. The people, Gambit reminds her. She must fight for the people. Revenge and destruction must come later, and they will, but now they must save the people, and themselves. “Gimme cover,” she can barely hear him yell above the rumble of his engine, but his eyes says it all. Play decoy, but keep yourself alive.
She flies up, picking speed as laser rays aim at her. Grab the sentinel’s attention, so Remy can pull people out of the fireline and gather them into safety. Erik’s there, too, protecting a group of stranded Morlocks, but he plays a different game - he always plays a different game. He isn’t a team player; he’s a lone wolf. She knows it, expects it, and that’s why she saw the problem before it even happened. How Erik rose against the Master Mold, capturing the creature’s attention all to himself with a barricade of debris and metal, fully believing his powers, astonishing as they can be, would be enough to take down the monster and save the Morlocks.
It’s a miscalculation, a gross miscalculation, and he will get himself killed for it.
She darts towards him, expletives uttered under her breath, but a bar of solid steel grabs her and pulls her away, alongside the Morlocks. He’s shielding her, shielding them all, so he doesn’t listen to her screams commanding him to disengage, to let her go, she needs no shield at all. The sentinel fires, Erik is giving his all but will be powered out, any moment now, she needs to-
The blast takes him, the iron bar gives. He’s dead, my God, he’s dead-
She charges. Fast like a bullet, all caution forgotten, all plans laid to waste by her rage. The thing, the machine, must pay and it will, she will make it and its maker pay for this with all they have, that she vows. Mid-flight, however, she’s derailed by Remy, somehow he hits her and she’s thrown far, far away from the battle he’s now taken to himself.
And, of course, she reads it perfectly.
“No,” she mouths, seeing that now Remy is the one riding fast to his death. “No,” she shouts, scrambling back into action, their connection giving her his intentions plain and clear, the blessing turned into a curse. “NO,” she sees from afar the Master Mold charging, sending tentacles of bioplastic material towards him, she’s flying as fast as she can, faster than before, but it won’t be fast enough, it won’t and she knows it, she despairs for it, she can’t take it. Losing him, she can’t, she won’t, please…
Her heart clenches inside her chest when the blast comes, hurting more than the brutal shockwave and the heat that, by itself, is enough to burn her skin. She dives into dust and rubble and screams, she howls, please please Remy don’t, please, not you. Remy, please, not you, and she calls for him, calls for him until her voice gives, her throat feels bloodied and raw.
Amidst the dust, her eyes hurting and unfocused, she sees his shape in white and speckles of red.
“Chère, don’ worry…” his voice soothes her, his hand lifts her gently, delicately. His touch, as soft and soothing as she always imagined it to be. She lifts her eyes, seeking his, her heart clenches, her throat chokes, she can’t breathe. “I’m fine, I always be fine.”
“Remy,” she chokes on her fear, trembling like a leaf. “I can’t feel ya,” she says, looking at his hands on her bare arm. “Why I can’t feel ya?”
“I didn’t die,” he smiles at her, and her eyes are wet with tears. “I can’t,” his palm wipes the tears from her face. “I love you too much to die twice.”
The scenery dissolves, destruction and rubble disappear into clean metallic walls, and she’s back to reality. Alone, unscathed, unharmed. And hollow. So, so hollow.
‘End of Simulation n° 13667: Danger Room - 1997 Genosha.’, comes the automatic voiceover. ‘Requester: Rogue.’
*****