Disclaimer: Characters belong to Marvel, etc.

Rating: Rated for a bit of violence, a bit of strong language and a bit of sexy stuff. But probably nothing too strong.

Author note: By popular demand, here it is, the long-awaited epilogue to the House of Cards trilogy. Personally I don't know how I feel about this, because as my beta, jpraner, pointed out, it's a lot more 'saccharine' than the rest of HoC, but y'know... Rogue and Gambit have earned a bit of sweetness in their lives. Having said that, there will be a couple of obstacles thrown in their way here, but to all you die-hard Romy fans, never fear, they're not going to get torn apart... they'll fight their problems together. ;)

I don't know if I'll ever finish this story due to other projects and life making demands on my time, but you never know. Maybe I'll pick it up again. In the meantime - enjoy. And thanks to everyone who is still interested in the HoC universe. It makes me very happy. :)

Much love,

-Ludi x

CODA

Chapter 1

"Do you remember," Remy said, as the lazy winter morning sun rose over the Mississippi border town, "de first Christmas we spent together?"

Rogue stirred sleepily against the crook of his arm and muttered by way of reminder: "The only Christmas we ever spent together, swamp snake."

"Oui," he murmured back. "Guess dat's why I'm kinda lookin' forward t' dis one."

She made no reply, having promptly fallen back into her slumber.

Remy smirked and sighed, shifting slightly to better accommodate the crick in his neck and the tension between his shoulder blades.

They'd spent yet another night out on the road, and he had no problems with bedding down in uncomfortable places, but being here, in a freezing underground parking lot with a whole bunch of other dirty, smelly mutants, living out of the back of a motorcycle for the third night in a row… It was beginning to piss him off. Not least because the woman sleeping beside him was pregnant and he didn't like to think what this might be doing to her.

Fuck it.

He should've booked them a plane ride.

But that would've come with a whole other load of hassle, and at the time travelling to Nawlins by bike had seemed a whole lot simpler, what with the security that came with flying and all that jazz.

Now he would've given anything for a few hours in first class with a glass of champagne.

Remy gently disengaged himself from Rogue's sleeping form and rearranged the trenchcoat back tenderly over her. The makeshift bed, fashioned from their carryalls and some blankets they'd brought with them was hardly ideal, but he'd been prepared for it after seeing how things had been his first trip south from New York. It had been worse then, during the first mass mutant migrations – and even though it'd eased off some in the intervening weeks, it'd been less so than he'd anticipated.

Still. When he looked round at some of his other fellow mutants, forced to sleep out in the open on the cold, hard concrete floor, in the middle of winter… He figured he and Rogue were actually sleeping like princes compared to them.

Remy tiptoed round the huddled forms of his neighbours, weaved his way through the mostly sleeping clusters of travelling mutants, and out into the open. There was a gnarled old man sitting out on the forecourt, smoking a cigarette, looking out over the road towards the toll booth where a small group had already begun to gather. It was a waste of time, mostly. The gates wouldn't open till 9, and when they did they'd still have to wait for their number to be called. Harassing the guards was never a good idea, but there were always a few who were desperate and wanted to cause trouble.

Remy stretched out the knots and kinks in his body before sliding the battered packet of cigarettes out of his back pocket. It was thin, light, and he shook it. Only two left. Merde. He'd promised Rogue that this would be his last pack, and that when it was done he'd be giving up. He'd planned on savouring these two, but now he was in two minds. Perhaps it was better to save them for a rainy day. God knew a few of those would probably be around the corner.

Slowly, regretfully, he slipped the packet back into his pants.

"Wanna smoke?" the old guy rasped sympathetically beside him. He'd turned to Remy, was holding out his own half-full packet to him. Remy stepped up, took one gratefully.

"Thanks," he said.

"No problem," returned the old man. Remy popped the cigarette between his lips, lit it with the tip of his forefinger. The old man raised an eyebrow at him.

"Nice trick," he observed.

"It comes in handy, now and then," Remy replied modestly, taking a drag. He paused, let the smoke spill out of his mouth slowly. "So what do you do?" he asked pretty much what every mutant asked one another when they first met.

"Nothin' fancy," grunted the old guy. "Just got a tail sproutin' outta my ass. It can grab onto things, but only when I'm butt naked, and no one wants to see a saggy old shit like me butt naked. Not anymore."

Remy let out a humorous laugh.

"Bet you've done a few good party tricks in your time," he quipped.

"Sure," the old fella agreed, looking back across the road again. "Back when I was young and stupid. Like you."

No more words were traded, and the two stood silently side by side, watching the sun slowly continue to rise over the state border.

Bringing Rogue to New Orleans with him hadn't been a spur of the moment decision.

He'd been toying with the idea for weeks now, ever since the war with the Sentinels had ended.

What had happened in the Timestream, with the Phoenix… It had changed him. Given him pause for thought. As soon as the playing field had been changed, as soon as Rachel's actions had given him a taste of this new world no one had ever thought possible, something had taken him, something he hadn't been able to put a name to.

Was it the opposite of wanderlust?

This pull to go home, this urge to reconnect with all the things that he had thrown away, with the life that had so brutally disowned him?

He hadn't bothered analysing it.

As soon as he'd been able he'd made the journey back to New Orleans and the LeBeau mansion. He'd wanted to bring Rogue with him, but for the small matter that he knew the journey was going to be dangerous. It wasn't merely the fact that if he took a step back into his hometown he was effectively a dead man. It was also the fact that the roads were dangerous, the state borders were dangerous, and now that they had opened up to mutants a sort of anarchy had set in. The state borders were flooded with mutant migrants, but they had strict limits on the numbers that could pass through, and for the first few weeks it had operated strictly through a first-come, first-served basis. Fights had broken out, riots. It'd taken Remy two weeks to negotiate these new barriers and finally get back to New Orleans. And it was only through the surreptitious and reluctant aid of his foster-brother, Henri, that he'd managed to be spirited into the city without being killed by the Assassin's Guild on sight.

By the time he'd finally reached his destination, he'd been glad he'd made the decision not to bring Rogue with him.

Remy sighed and looked down into his scarred hands.

He felt a pang of loss when he thought about all he'd been through, all the many things that had led him on this path. He didn't regret much about his past, and he'd always made a point never to pine over the things he had lost.

But he felt regret now.

He felt it when he thought about the powers that had been his that he could never get back – he felt it for that scary and exhilarating feeling that came with being whole, with being 100% who he was supposed to be. He missed the thrill of it, the satisfaction of it. For the first time he had understood what his powers were and how he was supposed to use them.

And then they had been taken away from him, just like that.

The fires of the Phoenix had burned them away, and all that had been left was a hole, one he hadn't been sure how to fill.

Almost reflexively, he'd turned his mind back. He'd gone back to his past, the past he'd spent frittering away, in complete possession of his full powers yet never knowing what they were for or how to control them. He'd come to look over his childhood years at the LeBeau mansion with more and more longing, more and more nostalgia. He'd begun to realise just what he'd had back then, this loving, stable family that he had taken so much for granted.

The hole in his heart had wanted it back. It had demanded something to fill in this aching sense of loss. Maybe it had been a vain, sentimental hope, but he had figured that if he could reclaim a part of his past, then he could somehow make up for the part of himself that the Phoenix had taken away.

The old man had already shuffled back inside somewhere between all these musings and Remy was now alone on the forecourt as the sun rose fully over the drab, concrete toll complex.

Nothing about his sojourn in New Orleans had been in vain, even if it had been sentimental. All the memories, all the emotions, the joy of his family and old friends – they had filled up that aching hole in him and more. It had made him realise just how much he had changed – how everything had changed. He had left his home a boy, and now he was a man. He knew what he had not known then – that there were some things in life worth keeping.

He sits in Jean-Luc's study just like he did as a boy – in a plush leather chair at the sleek, polished desk, on the other side of which sits his father.

There is white in his hair now, at his temples, though nowhere else – the rest of his hair is the same dark brown it always was, no sign of even a speck of grey. He looks older now, but he looks distinguished.

"Why did you come back here, Remy?" he asks quietly, and Remy looks down into his hands.

"Why I said. To see you guys again. To see Nawlins again…"

"Non." And Jean-Luc's voice still has that same old quality of finely tempered steel to it, that gentle sternness… "Why here, why now, Remy? Why after all dis time?"

Remy raises his eyes to his foster-father's. There's no point in lying. There's a part of him that doesn't know how to lie anymore, and he wonders whether that was something else the Phoenix has taken away from him.

"I nearly died," he explains softly, then stops. He thinks it says everything he needs to say; but Jean-Luc scoffs.

"Remy, you 'nearly died' half a dozen times before you'd even turned eighteen…"

"Non," Remy cuts him short. "Not like dat." He looks away again, out the window, at the beautiful gardens that were the background of so many childhood summers, and continues in a monotone, "I nearly lost everyt'ing. Everyt'ing dat meant anyt'ing to me. De only t'ings I had left dat were worthwhile. Do you know how dat is, pere? To love a t'ing so much dat you'd be willin' to give up your life for it? To actually go ahead and give up your life for it?"

Jean-Luc says nothing and Remy glances at him. There's something else in his eyes now – a seriousness, a compassion he has not worn before.

"I gave up my life," Remy continues quietly, "And I got it back. But a part of me is gone. I can't get it back."

Jean-Luc blinks. His mouth opens.

"But dere are some t'ings you can get back…" he concludes, and Remy nods.

"I ain't fool enough to expect dat de Assassin's Guild will ever agree to me bein' reinstated in de Thieves Guild no more," he murmurs. "But if dere's a way dat you can negotiate some sorta truce between me and them… some sorta way dat I can make t'ings good b'tween us again, I want it. I want to be able to come here again wit'out bein' marked as a dead man. I want to have a relationship wit' my fam'ly again. And I want t' make t'ings right."

Jean-Luc's mouth tightens.

"You can't bring Julien back from de dead, mon fils."

"Non," Remy agrees. "But I can be man enough to try and make some reparation for what I did."

The cigarette had pretty much burned down to the stub.

Remy took a final drag and ground out remainder with his heel. He watched the guards at the gate over the road yell at the small crowd of mutants to piss off and threaten them with a canister of tear gas before he finally turned and went back inside.

The rest of the parking lot was slowly waking as he wound his way back over to Rogue. She was still under his trenchcoat, fast asleep. He squatted beside her for a few moments and watched her breathe. It was strange, this feeling he got, this contented satisfaction that suffused him simply watching her live. After spending so many long and lonely years trying to keep her alive and afloat… this was his paycheque. This was the thing that proved to him it had all been worthwhile.

He gave a small smile, leaned over her, and retrieved his cellphone. There was a single message, from Henri.

Lemme know when they let you through, was all it said.

Remy grimaced.

That could take forever.

And a day.

-oOo-

The public washrooms were in a bit of a state, but pretty much everyone had got used to the shitty conditions and were making do as best they could.

"What Ah wouldn't do for a decent shower," Rogue murmured to herself.

They'd both taken their places outside the toll complex as early as possible – not that it made much difference. The only way to get through was to wait for your number to be called, and even then the system was arbitrary – they'd only call whatever number they saw fit to call. Whatever the case, the new system had quietened down most of the border riots – the crowds had to be quiet enough to hear the numbers being called – and once the quota for the day had been filled, the guards shut up shop and everyone left had to troop off to wait for the next round to begin the following day.

This was the fourth day Rogue and Remy had waited for their number to be called. Rogue had taken the discomfort pretty well, he thought – she'd hardly made a complaint at all – although the past couple of days she'd become increasingly withdrawn, and he'd started to become concerned about it.

"You okay?" he asked, leaning over and rubbing her shoulder soothingly.

"Ah'm fine," she answered nonchalantly. "Just missin' the safe house."

They still called it 'the safe house', even though technically it was now their home. It was a habit neither of them could quite shake.

"Me too," he murmured, only to be shushed by an irate-looking guy with three eyes who was standing next to them, listening, just like everyone else was, for his number to come up. They both fell silent.

The silence gave Remy the chance to brood, which he'd been doing more and more often lately. The truth was, he'd started to worry about the safe house too, though he hadn't discussed it with her. A few months from now there'd be a third person to add to their little party, and he knew the tiny studio apartment wasn't going to cut it. It was the kind of responsibility that was pressing all the 'run-a-mile' buttons he knew he possessed, and he was trying hard not to let it get to him.

He stands out on the veranda, beer in hand, and breathes in the scent of the swamps. It isn't the same as it is in high summer, but it's familiar and it's comforting, and he can't help but smile. He listens to the sound of the boys – his family – laughing raucously in the room behind him and he realises it for the first time – he's come home. He's come home.

He turns his ears to the birdsong for a moment and lets it carry his thoughts, lets it clear his mind. He hardly notices it when Jean-Luc comes up and stands at the cast-iron railing beside him.

"So," his foster-father asks, "who is she?"

It's as if the conversation back their office hadn't even ended. Remy slides him a sidelong glance and takes a swig of beer.

"Someone," he says with a small smile.

"Obviously," Jean-Luc returns drily.

He knows his foster-father is curious. He'd been the same about Belladonna, wondering that there had been a woman strong enough, steely enough, clever enough, to tame his wayward son. There were things Remy had never imparted to his father about his private life, but Jean-Luc had always known that when it came to women he'd played fast and loose, and it was an aspect of his son's character that he'd never entirely approved of.

The idea that there is someone who can rein him in both intrigues and scares him.

Remy lets him hang a moment. He downs the rest of his beer and then lights himself a cigarette.

He considers saying a lot of things, but he's not sure how much he can give away. Things are different now – mutants are safer than they have been for a long time, but there's still danger. For all he knows, Rogue's still on the Most Wanted list.

"Her name is…" He pauses, begins again decidedly, "It's Anna."

He isn't sure whether Jean-Luc believes him or not, but the older man doesn't push it.

"And it's serious?"

"You know me, pere. It's about as serious as it can get."

Jean-Luc makes no reply. He isn't sure he knows how serious it can get, and Remy thinks he probably doesn't want to.

"How long have you known each other?"

He shrugs.

"Must be comin' up t' ten years now."

His father actually gapes at him then, and he laughs.

"It ain't what you're t'inkin'. Up till recently, t'ings have been kinda… complicated." He flicks ash over the edge of the railing, looks out over the lawn pensively as Jean-Luc finally finds his tongue, says, "Ha. Wouldn't be you if it wasn't."

"You know it, pere."

He sighs, his thoughts meandering over to the subject of their conversation. He'd thought of her often the past few weeks – not as much as he could have done – but enough times for him to wish she was there with him. The phonecalls they shared were hardly good substitutes; besides which, every time he'd called she'd sounded… different. Far away, somehow. It had made the sharpness of his longing for her even more acute.

"You should bring her here," Jean-Luc tells him, sensing, perhaps, the train of his thoughts.

"I want to," he murmurs, putting the cigarette to his lips and pulling pensively on it.

"I see," his father says.

"See what?"

"Dis whole t'ing. Why you want to make t'ings right wit' de Marius Boudreaux and de Assassin's Guild."

"I already told you why," Remy replies quietly.

"Oui. But dat was only part of it. De other part of it was her. To make sure it's safe for you to bring her here." Jean-Luc leans against the railings and smiles. "So it is serious."

"Huh?" Remy raises a quizzical eyebrow at him.

"You only ever brought a girl home when you were serious wit' her."

Remy stares at him, perplexed.

"I never—"

"Yes, you did. You brought Belle here, and dat was pretty much de last serious relationship you ever had wit' a woman. Tell me I ain't right."

Remy stares at him. He'd always thought he'd been so careful, bringing Belladonna back to his room.

"How did you know?" he asks, and Jean-Luc returns the look with a twinkle in his eye.

"Because, son. I know everyt'ing."

There had been an undercurrent in Jean-Luc's voice that day. A certain something that had told Remy that there was something else he hadn't been letting on, but he had never questioned his father about it. In the end, he'd never got round to it.

"Remy," Rogue was whispering sharply in his ear, tugging urgently on his sleeve, awakening him from his reverie, "that was our number. Go get the bike quick before they change their minds."

He turned to do so, momentarily stunned that they'd finally been called up.

"Lucky fuckers," the three-eyed guy beside them hissed.

-oOo-

So here he was, back in Louisiana.

For the longest time he hadn't been back, but as soon as he'd stepped back into this place that had been his home during all the best years of his life, it had felt like he'd never been away. Now was no exception.

They stopped at the first motel they crossed, primarily so that Rogue could have a shower, but also just for the opportunity to relax after the days spent living in the parking lot. They ate, drank, showered and made love. Afterwards he lay there and watched her sleep, content, once more, to watch her simple repose. It amazed him still that there was a life growing inside her: he pressed his palm against her stomach and felt nothing but the smooth warmth of her skin.

The entire thing had been an accident, but it hadn't been one that he'd ended up cursing himself over. Quite frankly, contraception had been the last thing on both their minds that night down at the docks, and for some reason he'd never factored in the possibility that she might no longer have been on protection, despite the fact that at the time they hadn't been together for nearly a year and he knew that she hadn't slept with anyone else. Birth control had always been so easy and cheap for mutants to access that they'd hardly given it a second thought in all the time they'd spent together, and he'd taken it for granted that she was always on the Pill. It had been stupid of him to assume that had still been the case so many months after they'd split, but it was the kind of thing that happened and he wasn't going to beat himself up over it, even if… …

He stroked her navel absently with his thumb. It was early days still, and there was still no outward sign of the life growing within – not even a hint of a bump yet. But it was there: and there were times that he still didn't quite know how he felt about it. There were things about it, however, that he did know – that the child scared him; that the child would never have the empty first few years of life Remy himself had had.

Rogue stirred slightly, and it was only when she reached out and touched his hand that he realised she hadn't been sleeping at all.

"We should talk about it," she murmured, her voice half thick with the blurry edges of sleep, but he shook his head, answered in a low voice: "Non. Not now."

"It'll be okay," she assured him, and he gave a little smile.

"Sure it will, chere. Now get some rest. We'll leave tomorrow."

She made no protest, turned over and promptly fell asleep.

Henri was still waiting for confirmation that they'd made it over the state border, and so Remy took the opportunity to fire off a text and check his emails. Clarity was finally talking to him again (kind of); Jean-Luc had nothing much that was good to say – but then, he never did.

Remy sat and pondered.

Almost the entire reason he was making this trip was to settle some old scores – or one old score in particular – and it couldn't end in a good way. Nothing rarely did in his life and he was used to it… but he'd owed talking to Rogue about it, and he hadn't summoned up the courage to bring it up yet. The truth was, he didn't much want to face it himself. But he'd have to. At some point. And Rogue probably wasn't going to like it…

He leaves Henri's birthday party with the world tunnelling slowly around him, and he can't hear a thing, he can barely see past his own nose, and as for what he's feeling… …

Should he be feeling happy? Sad? Angry? Confused? Should he be laughing, crying, or raging?

He walks down corridors, corridor after corridor, but he hardly sees a thing. His world is tumbling into places he's hardly dared to tread, never thought to contemplate. He's not numb. He's not dazed. It's just as if the whole world has thrown everything at him, and for the first time he doesn't know how to react.

He heads back to his room and starts packing. He doesn't know what he's doing, even if he knows he can't stay. He needs to get back to New York, but he can't leave now, not in the middle of the night, not without saying goodbye, and certainly not without finishing up this business he's come here to sort out.

He pauses. He recalculates. He stands there and takes a deep breath. He hears her voice again.

Ah'm pregnant, Remy.

He should've asked her a lot more questions, but somehow the right ones just hadn't come.

He'd stood on the balcony and stared out onto the city for a length of time he couldn't quite ascertain.

"Remy," she'd said, quietly, softly, rousing him somehow from his confused silence.

"How long?" he'd asked her, and she'd said, "Ah don't know. Not long." And, "Are you sure?" he'd asked; and, "Yes, Ah'm sure. Ah took a test. It was positive. Ah'm pregnant."

He'd opened his mouth, closed it. The question had crossed his mind, and he had almost been ashamed to think it.

Is it mine?

He didn't need to ask the question. He'd known implicitly that it was his.

"I'll come back up," he'd said, and she'd made some protest, something about not wanting to spoil his trip, not wanting to get in the way of him and his family, but he'd brushed it all aside as nonsensical, irrelevant.

"I'm comin' back up," he'd said.

And he had to. He couldn't leave her there, alone, feeling what he imagined her to be feeling right now. Scared. Lonely. Confused. Uncertain.

She needed him. He had to go back.

"Everyt'ing all right?"

It's Jean-Luc again, in the doorway of his bedroom, and Remy stands there, quiet now, throws over his shoulder:

"I need to go back."

"To New York?" Jean-Luc asks.

"To New York."

Silence. Remy can tell Jean-Luc knows something has happened, but he doesn't ask what and Remy is grateful for that.

"Tell me," Remy finally questions, swivelling round to face his father, "is dere any way I can make t'ings right wit' de Boudreaux clan? Anyt'ing they've said that would square t'ings b'tween me and them?"

Jean-Luc hesitates; and Remy knows that whatever he has to say isn't good.

"Pere…" he pushes him, and Jean-Luc meets his eyes, says:

"De Winnowing. Dey might consider de Winnowing."

Remy falls silent. He knows what that means. It's the worst possible outcome, but he's been expecting it and now he resigns himself to it.

"Den petition for it," he says with finality, turning back to his bags, trying to squash his growing sense of dread.

"Remy," Jean-Luc retorts with forced calmness, "do you understand what dis means? And besides, what even makes you t'ink dey'd even consider a petition wit'out you dere to put it forward…?"

"You'll have to convince them," Remy answers grimly. "I can't stay, not now. Tell them I'll do anyt'ing, anyt'ing dey want. And tell them I'll be back to do whatever it is dey want me t' do."

His father is confused. He can sense it.

"What's happened, son?" he queries in an undertone. "Why does it have t' be like dis?"

Remy doesn't answer. He can't. He can't say that this isn't just for his own sake now. It's for something, for someone, else. It's for a child he doesn't want to suffer the way he did. A child who he's going to make damn sure has a home, a family, a life that's worth living.

-oOo-