Epilogue

Three years later.

Yes, that's right, I said three years later. Yep, three years. I'm twenty one. The big two one. Twenty plus one. One plus twenty. Yeppers. I'm bored. Well, as bored as one can be when you're cleaning. I'm currently cleaning the tiny apartment that Remy and I share. Yes, we live together. We live together in complete and utter bliss.

Oh, and I guess I should mention that we're married. That's right. I know, shocking. We got married right after I graduated from high school. At first, everyone thought I was knocked up. Ha. But then when they realized that I wasn't, I got a lot of apologies.

Anyway, back to the important subject—I'm bored.

Bored because I hate cleaning and even more bored because Remy isn't here. He went to New Orleans a week ago—something about his dad. I wasn't really listening when he told me because I had Kitty on the phone at the moment, yakking on about babies, and the TV was on and very loud, and someone was knocking on the door. I'm pretty sure it was something about him falling and breaking…some bone. I don't know.

But Remy had run out before I could even give him a proper good bye. I hadn't even gotten a call from him since, something that I was going to give him hell about when he got back home.

But I'm rambling. I should catch you up on what has happened in three years time.

Three years ago Professor X went to dig through Bolivar Trask's mind to see if he had built another factory. He had. Remy, being Remy, raided the place when we went to shut it down and came out with pockets full of more power inhibitors. We have a LOT of secured years in front of us.

After that, Remy put one of the smaller inhibitors on a chain (trust me, it made a hideous but necessary necklace) so that I could wear it all the time and be safe with everyone.

I'm happy. Very, VERY happy. We're both deliriously happy and have been since we became an official couple. I actually think we make people sick with our displays.

But we're no where near as bad as Kitty and Piotr. Or really, Kitty. Piotr is a very introverted person and Kitty is very extroverted. But this does nothing to deter Kitty from skipping into a room full of people and sitting in his lap and telling him how sexy he is.

Though I have to admit, it is fun to watch how red he gets.

They're still just going steady, but Remy told me a few weeks back that he thinks Piotr is about ready to pop the question.

Speaking of popping, I'm about ready to. And I really want to. I'm getting sick of feeling this way. All bloated and big and hungry and achy and emotional and tired…

Oh yeah, I guess I forgot to mention that I'm pregnant.

Yep, nine months and ready to pop any day now. Remy better hurry back home before he misses the birth of his child. If he does, I am going to kick him so hard…

Anyway, this was quite a surprise for us as it is for you. We had certainly talked about having children, but hadn't decided exactly when we wanted to. We…er…hadn't exactly been as careful about protection as we should have been, I suppose. But it wasn't my fault. Remy is the one who decided to tackle me to the ground unexpectedly and…well, you know what came next.

But don't get me wrong. This is my favorite accident ever. And going by how every night Remy puts his ear to my belly and talks forever, I assume he feels the same way. We decided to be old fashioned and not find out what the sex is until the birth, but I'm pretty sure it's a…something. I want to say boy. Or girl. Or a boy…or maybe a girl.

We'll be happy with either one.

Everyone has started a pool going (again) this time over what the baby is. Everyone says it's a boy because I keep craving blueberries, but Kitty has sworn on her life (I'm not kidding) that it's a girl.

But let's see…what else has happened…

Remy and I got a tiny apartment down the road from the institute. It's small and cozy and dirt cheap. The neighbors are loud and the carpet stank (before I cleaned it repeatedly) and there's never any available parking. The walls are paper thin, we've had problems with spiders, and the two bedrooms we do have are cramped, but we love each other so much we don't really care about any of it.

When Remy is near all of those problems seem so miniscule and dumb. I don't even see the apartment anymore, just him. We can clean the carpet and call an exterminator. We can tell the neighbors to shut up, make do with the small size of the rooms, park on the side of the road, and just deal with the thickness of the walls.

And while that all sounds like a bunch of mushy gushy fun, we still have our problems.

Remy has a lot of annoying habits. For instance, he never puts the toilet lid back down. No matter how many times I yell at him about it, he keeps 'forgetting'. I put it that way because I think he just does it to annoy me. And speaking of annoying me, he also always steals my razor. Then when I want to shave my legs I can't find it. Then when I do find it, it's got all these little Remy facial hairs in it and I have to throw it away because there's no way I can get all of that out.

He hogs the covers and always forgets to wipe his feet before he comes in on a rainy day. He thinks the remote to the TV belongs to him and him alone and if I touch it he puts it up somewhere high where I can't reach it. And I've gotten so huge the past few months, I can't really climb anymore and he finds that hilarious.

It's not hilarious. He's torturing his unborn child and his wife.

But even though he has all of these annoying traits, I'm the happiest woman on earth. Not everything he does is annoying. He does have some favorable traits that far outnumber his annoying ones.

He works all day. He got a job at some tire company where he does…something. No matter how many times he tells me what he does, I can't wrap my mind around it. I don't know…it's something about…he checks to make sure the tires have no problems before they're shipped out to stores or…something like that. I make it sound simple but Remy will go on for fifteen minutes about it.

He's so excited about the baby (I actually think he's more excited than I am) that he went out when we first learned we were pregnant and bought all these books on parenting. And he actually read all of them. Then when we decided to dress up the—until then—empty second bedroom, he went nuts.

I actually had to fight him in the store, telling him over and over that we couldn't fit so much into the budget at once but he didn't listen to me and ended up buying half the store. It was fun though…until we ended up eating oatmeal every day for dinner for a week.

Since I got pregnant, he suddenly thinks that I'm made out of glass. Sometimes this is annoying. But other times it's nice. He doesn't hog the covers as much anymore, and he drives like a grandpa in the car. I haven't picked up anything over two pounds in nine months. Instead of throwing me over his shoulder and carrying me to bed like he used to do, now I'm picked up gently like an injured victim.

He gets up before I do because he goes to work early, and always leaves me a sweet little note on the pillow for me to read when I wake up. I used to get up with him and make him breakfast, but since I've been pregnant he won't let me.

Everyday he brings me flowers. Everyday. Granted, most of the time it's a single little daisy, except on payday when I get sunflowers, but I don't mind it in the least.

He's never stopped opening doors for me, or kissing me until I can't breathe, or telling me that he misses me when we've only been apart for a few hours. Until this last week we haven't gone a day without seeing each other or saying that we love one another and I miss him so bad it hurts.

It really hurts, actually. It's almost like this weird cramping pain in my stomach and my back. I've had them all day, on and off.

Hm. Weird.

Maybe I should call Jean and ask about that. She went to nursing school and graduated a few months ago. Yes, I think I will call her.

But as I waddle (damn it, yes, I waddle now) into the living room to go pick up the phone, the front door opens suddenly and my husband is bounding through the door after me. I forget all about my giant stomach as I dive for him. I don't care—I missed my Remy.

He wraps me up against him, kissing me all over my face and apologizing.

"You didn't call-"

"I know, I'm sorry," he kisses me long and hard as if he's starved for it.

I know I have.

"I couldn't get to a phone," he explains and I notice how tired he looks. He could use a shower and shave and a good sleep. But his hair is disheveled and his lips are slightly swollen from my kisses and his eyes are sparkling and I haven't seen him in so long, that I can only think of one thing.

Guess.

"I love you Remy," I try to get closer to him, but my giant stomach is blocking my way.

"I love you, Rogue," he grins and then looks down to my belly pressing into him. He lets go of me in favor of bending and kissing it. "Hi baby, daddy missed you," he says lovingly as he pats my stomach.

Instantly I feel the baby kicking around like crazy. It doesn't even do that for me. It only jumps around like that for Remy and any Elvis Presley song we turn on…Yes, my baby likes Elvis Presley more than it likes me. Of course. That just figures.

"I think she missed you," I muse as I feel the wild kicking.

Remy looks up. "She?"

I shrug. "I don't know, it just came out. I'm actually leaning more towards a boy."

Remy glances thoughtfully at my stomach. "I want a girl. I think it's a girl. Aren't you?" He directs at my belly and is met with another round of kicking. "See?" he asks me with twinkling eyes.

"Ok, I-" I start to say before I feel a very sudden and urgent need coming on. "Sorry, bathroom alert," I turn and waddle back into our tiny bathroom and I hear Remy snickering behind me.

When I'm done with my business, I wash my hands, feeling very strange. I don't know what's wrong with me either. The baby is acting weird. Of course, why wouldn't it? It's mine and Remy's spawn; it's bound to be an insane child. But it's still kicking around like crazy. Weird kid.

Then, as I'm drying my hands, something in there pops.

And—DAMMIT!

Leakage. Lots and lots of leakage.

Ah! EW—oh lord.

Oh this isn't good—this is actually very not good.

"Remy?" I open the door and call calmly, though I am, indeed, freaking out.

"Yeah?" he pops his head out of our bedroom door.

I bite my lip as I look at him and try to remain calm. "Uh—I'm pretty sure my water just broke."

Remy—er…kind of freaked out. And when I say freaked out, I mean he really flipped out and went crazy.

But that's a story for another time.