How Excalibur #6 could have handled Rogue's abrupt decision to go child free by choice, dammit…

—•oOo•—

She stares out over the twilight stretched out around her. A gorgeous night, she thinks, and it is; Krakoa makes her uneasy as hell, but it is absolutely stunning in all its hours of the day and seasons of the year. Tropical in climate, unrivaled greenery she's never seen so lush and unspoiled, a mild breeze coming in on the inky tide sparkling under the moonlight, stirring up smells of sea salt and exotic flowers, the violet-fading-midnight sky splashed with more stars than she's ever seen under the Earth's stratosphere...

It's beautiful tranquility should be melting all the tension off her body into the steaming thermal pool she sits in. Instead, it has her nerves clenching and unfurling in her gut at everything that's happened, is happening, will happen yet, and just might happen even later.

Anna Marie LeBeau feels her mouth pinching down as she rests her chin on her knuckles, eyes flicking down over her other hand languidly curling over the edge of her perch several feet above the coast. This shoulda been a perfect night.

And she's dreading it. Dreading tomorrow, too. Dreading his reaction to...everything.

Doesn't help that she's been rather...unpleasant...toward him since they hit the island. Actually, she's been maybe a tad moody with him since they got married. Stress and anxiety can do that to a gal.

Just one more turd on the poop pile, she thinks with a sigh. I'll make it up to 'im. Promise, she adds with crossing fingers and a flick of her eyes toward the sky.

"You know, when you was trapped in there," his rich, throaty yat interrupts her angsting, heralding the approach of her husband and simultaneously ratcheting up her insecurities by at least a thousand and soothing her anxiety down to her toes curling into the bottom of the pool. "I kept thinkin' back to when we was young an' fiesty, and you wouldn't talk to me for days on end."

She closes her eyes and smiles faintly. "Yeah?" Then she frowns and turns toward him, her heart aching a bit in shame over past behaviors toward him, and how they still bleed into her insecurities today. "Remy, you know I don't ever mean to shut you out like that, not anymo—"

"Mmm-hm, I know, beb," he interrupts gently, wading in closer, his eyes bright as lightning bugs in the luxuriant steam swirling off the water, a warm expression softening the edges off his sharp features. "Don't none of us change stripes overnight, chere. 'Sides," he adds with an offered glass of champagne and a lopsided grin that pops a dimple in his cheek and makes her pulse leap, "it ain't like you went into a tree coma on purpose 'cause I pissed y' off again."

"Heh, yeah," she adds weakly, his comments unknowingly hitting hard targets. I could just...say it all now, she thinks, just...rip off the band-aide and get it all out there. It'll only sting for a second…

But the words don't come, instead, her nerves and fears and insecurities just bubble up to her throat all at once with absolutely no articulation plans at all. Say somethin', gal, she thinks sharply, just pick a few words and figure it out— "So, I uh, I heard y'all had some nightmares in that house."

He doesn't even blink at her rushed out question (more like a mad scramble for anything to come out), just shrugs wide, beautiful shoulders and answers, "can't say for the others, but me, I didn't sleep while we was in there." His fine mouth tightens for a moment and then he flashes eyes and a quiet smile at her, adding, "for me, seein' you like that...that was my nightmare. Thought I'd lost you, chere."

Her heart hollows out then swells full at that. Poor man, she thinks, shivering at the thought of a role reversal, of her losing him.

She's thought that before. Many times. For all that the man known as Gambit is an absolute bitch and a half in a fight, unpredictable and clever as he is pretty (and god knows, he's unreasonably beautiful), and in possession of a wickedly potent powerset, he's still...just a man. He doesn't have invulnerability or superstrength, or subsonic speeds to get out of harm's way.

It's difficult to get him into a position to be killed, but once you do…

He wouldn't be hard to kill at all.

She could do it, easily.

A single freak accident could, too.

A stronger, faster opponent.

Apocalypse, her brain immediately supplies, fear roiling in her guts and making her ill for a moment.

She's absorbed that monster, she knows him, his wants, his plans, ages of wants and plans, and it's probably where those goddamn dreams came from—

"Well, I had one," she blurts out abruptly, reaching for the booze, mentally recoiling from the images flashing up behind her eyes, images of Remy, dead, images of herself, dying— "a nightmare, I mean."

He says nothing, just watches her. Listening.

It used to intimidate her, the way he'd settle full attention on her, never prodding or prompting, just waiting her out. It used to make her uncomfortable, scrutinized. For his is a fiendishly clever mind, and if there's one thing her mothers had taught her, it's that being picked apart by fiendishly clever minds can be painful.

It'd taken her months to learn that Remy doesn't listen for her weaknesses, and then years to be okay with him hearing them to begin with.

Still, he's an unnerving man. Intense, sharp, opportunistic, intuitive, and with a most hellish gaze (she loves his eyes, but even she can admit they're strange and unsettling when leveled on you). All that, coupled with his looks and overall demeanor…

Yeah. Remy LeBeau can be intimidating doing absolutely nothing at all. And though he no longer makes her squirm with his attention, old habits die hard, and it still sucks to have tell him things he won't want to hear.

Things that'll kill dreams and possibly break his heart, and lord knows, she's tired of doing that to him.

Alas…

"I was strapped to a table. The professor was there, Forge, too, and the Five. I...think Apocalypse was there, too. And you," she pauses, remembering that part, "you were there, too. Excited," she chokes a little, because he hadn't known, hadn't known she wasn't really sure she wanted, hadn't known that it would kill her, it'd kill him, and she'd been unable to tell him... "And they were all pokin' at me. Experimentin' on me to see if they could get me pregnant."

She couldn't help the bitter note on the end, and she hears his short intake of breath. She swallows another mouthful of booze. He wants babies, she thinks, but at what cost?

But at what cost will you deny him, she wonders, wavering again as insecurities wash over again and again...

"Anna Marie," he murmurs, moving closer, "if you wanna do that, I'll sure as shit be excited. But," he adds, disappointment already creeping into his even tone as he cards fingers through her damp, frizzing hair, "it don't sound too much like tha's what you about to tell me, no?"

She freezes, panics, and her first instinct is to move out of his reach, his touch. Because isn't that what she's always wanted? Touch? A lover? A husband?

Babies?

And if she doesn't sign up for one of those things, then does she get to have the rest? Does she get to ruin that for him, too?

It doesn't help that she hadn't told him a thing about her misgivings on the matter the last time it'd come up.

"Anna—"

"I-I don't," she stammers out, hand on his chest, ready to push him back. She sees hurt flicker over his features and she automatically yanks her hand back. "Ya see, that was a worry when we first came here. That everyone would start expectin' us to have babies 'cause we're married. No," she corrects herself, "I started worryin' about that the first night of our honeymoon."

She looks up at him, expecting the worst. What she sees certainly isn't that, and she takes security in that, but…

"You don' want no babies," he supplies gently, both understanding and disappointment in his eyes.

She purses her lips and turns away. It ain't that easy, a part of her screams, sudden resentment surging up. Because it's not, and as a man, he just won't get it. For him, it's easy—he provides sperm, sperm meets egg in some fashion or another, she gets pregnant, and his work is done. For her…

But he doesn't know, hell, she doesn't know, maybe she's fertile, maybe she's not, maybe it's a giant, uncomfortable, possibly dangerous mess, and maybe it's not, and maybe she'll consider it worth it one day (on her terms, goddammit!) or maybe she won't, but no matter how she says it, it's going to either give him hope (which isn't fair) or take it away (which is how she's leaning, but she isn't completely sure).

"It ain't that easy, Remy," she finally sighs out, slumping back over the edge of the pool.

"A'right, how about tellin' how it ain't?" He counters evenly, "how about startin' wit' that recent change of heart? What happened?"

Frustration swells high. "And what makes you think it was a recent change, huh?"

He says nothing, and she huffs irritably at the offensively stunning night at odds with everything, at herself. Because she knows the expression he's wearing without looking, it's that patient one again, that one he always gets when he's listening.

"Sorry for snappin', sugar, that wasn't fair." She pauses again, staring out over fucking paradise. "I've thought about all this, you know. All of it. Started out a young'in assuming I'd eventually get married and have kids. Then my power happened." She shrugs. "I assumed I'd gain control, so I didn't worry too much." She shrugs again and takes a drink. "Then I didn't. So I assumed it wasn't in the cards for me. Then you came along," she laughs a bit at that memory, "and you shook things up a bit. Got me to wantin' again."

She takes a deep breath, holds it, grabs up her courage, and turns to face him. "Or so I'd thought. Turns out, maybe...maybe it's not cut and dried. Maybe the older I got, and the more we went to shit...maybe I got used to thinkin' I couldn't have it."

He watches her, gaze steady, expression going blank. She knows that look, too. He thinks she means an absolute no, and she kind of wants to scream at him, because he doesn't get it, and she knows he can't, and she knew that…

"Anyway, fast forward a couple of years, I get a big ol' snout-ful of terrigen mist, and welp. That's that. I'm sterile." Her mouth is so bitter, and he flinches at it, but she doesn't stop. "I hated it. I hated myself. I hated the inhumans. I even hated you, 'cause you were young and stupid and didn't knock me up before then." She laughs and it isn't pretty, because what she's telling him is the truth, and it wasn't fair, none of it was.

"So, I guess I just...got used to it. Moved on. Didn't think about it anymore. Me an' Eric broke up, and you and I were just… Anyway, I wasn't lookin' or thinkin' about actually gettin' knocked up. I did vaguely consider adoptin' a kid maybe in the future, but that was it. It was a non-issue for me. Til you happened again," she smiles quietly at him, and it hurts to see surprise light his eyes, hope, too.

"Paraiso was a helluva trip, yeah?" He asks, moving in closer, his arms slipping around her. Then his grin saddens a bit at the corners, and she doesn't feel like such a monster; his hopes aren't up.

He realizes.

She feels relief.

"Yeah it was, shug," she murmurs. "You were amazin'. Made me realize what an ass I was, lettin' you go all those years." Then she snorts at the smug light sparking up his eyes, and adds, "it also put into stark contrast what a ginormous twat you'd been in younger years, so shut it, Cajun. You're a huge part of that whole 'being an ass' thing I did."

"Me? I was the twat? Chere, I'm thinkin' you was sniffin' pollen off those weird-ass tree flowers you was growin' a tad too long, 'cause you ain't thinkin' quite right, I definitely wasn't a twat." He pauses, then continues, "might'a chased a couple of 'em tho—ouw!" He squawks at the back of her hand thwacking his chest. "Careful, beb, you go leavin' bruises, an' I can't hide the spousal abuse no m—"

"Fine, not a twat, but definitely a dick," she giggles at him, and she wants to kiss him. Because leave it to Remy LeBeau to degrade a serious conversation that would split weaker couples into a stupid, corny joke about body parts like a pimple-faced twelve-year-old who'd never seen any but their own.

Then she quietens down again, eyes following as her fingertips chase a bead of moisture down his neck to pool in the hollow of his throat. "I started thinkin' again. Started...started wonderin' if there were ways. Like, you know, IVF and stuff." Her eyes fly up to his. "I didn't know if I had any eggs at all, or if just most of 'em were damaged, or what. Or maybe they were invulnerable, and thus fine, but then what if that meant you couldn't fertilize 'em, and…"

She trails off and shrugs helplessly as he slowly runs big, calloused hands up and down her back. "And what, chere?"

"And then we got married, and that was a whirlwind!" She drops her eyes to his throat again and swallows. "Then it all snapped into place on Danvers' ship, that maybe we actually could, 'cause I knew you wanted kids, and I just—panicked." She looks up at him again. "I panicked. 'Cause all of a sudden, that actually was an option. I could try! And—and...and I didn't know… And anyway, then we had the space trip and then Mojo, so I didn't have to think about it again. So I didn't. Til you suddenly started seein' babies everywhere—"

"Goddammit, I ain't never gonna live that down," he mutters, "listen, chere, that was a baby. I held it. And I definitely did not have kids on the brain while tryin' to get us out Mojo-poop—"

"Whatever, shug," she teases him, "you definitely had a ragin' case of baby rabies."

"Yeah," He chuckles, and it dies, and she wishes she hadn't spoken.

"Have," she corrects herself quietly.

"Maybe. Yeah," he answers. He looks away, but keeps her close. "Wish you'd said something sooner."

She squeezes her eyes shut, fearing the answer to her next question with every cell in her body. "Would it've mattered if I had?"

He pauses, and her eyes open, and she feels like she can't breathe, because it mattered, and had he known, he wouldn't have—

"Non," he answers quietly. "I fell in love wit' you back when I never thought I'd get to kiss y', let alone make a baby wit' you. And then you flew into that mist, I was still in love wit' you, knowin' the consequences of that situation." He tilts her chin up, forcing her to look at him. "And then I married you, not even sure I'd get to touch you wit'out one of those fuckin' collars on you, and I didn't much like that notion, either, 'cause I know why you don' like 'em." He pauses and her heart hammers away, her insides going numb, because he still would have wanted her, he still wants her— "just 'cause I woulda been disappointed don't mean I wouldn't have wanted you. Married you. Just like now, you made the choice, and you get final say. And I can be disappointed, and I can be kinda mad about you being a tad misleadin' on the matter, and still love the absolute fuck outta you for the rest of my life."

She stares up at him, stares up at the hypnotic swirl of his eyes, the red irises now turbulent and shot with tiny sparks, his brows knotting up with emotion.

And his words settle on her mind, and she deflates with relief, because he's not just devastated over this, and he's not fighting or trying to talk her into things, and—!

She leans her forehead on his shoulder, stupid tears she hopes don't leak pricking her eyes. She just breathes him in for a moment, just holds him and lets him hold her. Then, "I'm sorry, Remy. I shoulda said something sooner. You breeched the topic after Mojo, and I didn't have an answer, so I just...tabled it the best I knew how. Ran from it, I guess. Figured you'd let it go til we weren't newlyweds anymore, and I'd have time to see where I was on the matter. Then all this happened...the mandate happened...the absorptions, the coma, the dreams, absorbin' Apocalypse...realizin' that yeah, I can't just get pregnant, not without help, and maybe I just...didn't want all that. Maybe I don't want any of it at all." She shivers, recalling the details of her dream.

I don't want the risks. Not to me, not to you, and not to any kid I had.

She doesn't want the heartbreak of experiments not working either. She doesn't want to go through it, and wait for it not to work.

And maybe...maybe she just doesn't want it all. Even in a perfect world. She likes it being just her and him. They've been missing each other at every turn since they'd met, and it was so damn hard, and now, she has him all to herself, and—

"And adoption?" He asks, "thoughts on that?"

She shakes her head. "I thought about that too. But what outfit is gonna grant us a kid? And if they did, do we really wanna bring a kid into the dumbass nonsense that is the X-men right now? Or ever?" She pulls in a deep breath, holds it, then continues, "I just...don't want a kid, Remy. Definitely not now. Maybe not ever. I don't know. All I know is here and now, and I signed up to live this here life with you the day we married til the day one of us dies, and I honestly don't know if I wanna change that. And I know this discussion ain't over, hell, I'm still not one hundred percent, and you certainly gotta right to bring it up as you please, but for now," she pauses, then spits it out, "all's I want and need is you. No one else."

He stares at her, then the corner of his mouth quirks up. "I'd say you gotta way wit' words to sweep a man off his feet, but you forgot I already came wit' three little boys, and you signed up to live this life wit' them asswipes, too." He tightens his hold around, and she lets him pull her in flush to his deliciously naked body. "Try an' disown my cats, and I'll tell Oli to go shit y' new boots again."

"You wouldn't dare," she warns him in mock outrage, completely ruining the effect with a giggle as he nips at her throat and scratches his stubbled jaw along the ticklish side of her neck. "But yes, you, and the cats, too. As if I could disown Lucifer—"

"Ain't nice pick favorites amongst y' fur-butts, chere. Cat parenting one-oh-one," he teases, those little nips and brushes along her throat sharpening and then growing into hungry, open-mouthed kisses all the way up over her chin and into the dip under her lower lip.

"Hmmm," she hums at him, letting him guide her legs around his waist, "I ain't pickin' no favorites there, Cajun." His mouth chases hers, his hands dragging down over her backside, grabbing her up close and rubbing her, teasing her over him. "You are my favorite, Remy."

She'd lightly laughed that out, had meant to tease him.

Turns out, she means it.

He's not her whole world, but he is half of it. How could he not be, when he feels like fifty percent of her heart and soul given or taken away as he's home or away?

She squirms a little, needing him to understand this. Right now. Right on the heels of his concern during her coma, on the heels of the truth bomb she'd dropped on him (that he'd taken so well, bless the man). On the heels of their rocky honeymoon and their whirlwind reunion, engagement, and marriage, of their tumultuous off-and-on-and-off again relationship that'd sparked literally the first moment they'd clapped eyes on each other.

She stops him before he takes things any further, taking his handsome face in her hands, forcing those stunning eyes up at her. Remembering how she'd once yearned for a little boy with those same eyes, maybe with that same clefted chin, and those fine-drawn lips…

She feels a pang of the what-ifs, the what-could've-beens. And it's bittersweet, because she also feels relief. And a sense of finality. No more pressure. No more nervousness, no more fear of rejection, no more fear of…

Well, sharing.

She doesn't want to share him. Herself. I don't wanna share us, she thinks, feeling the tension that's been tight in her guts finally start to unclench with that perhaps selfish admission.

Because she's not ready. Not now that she can actually have it. Not in this life, not on these terms, and maybe never at all.

"Chere?" He questions, eyes as intense as ever, his hands stilled on her, and still holding her flush against him.

"I meant what I just said, you know," she drawls at him, a smile curling her mouth as she softens into his hold, pulls him in closer with legs lashed around his waist. "I'd meant to tease you back just then, but…" she shrugs, slips arms around his neck, and leans in for a fast kiss, pulling away just enough before he can do anything back. "I meant it. You're my favorite person in the entire universe, and I just got you. Finally. All to myself. I can't speak for what I'll want later on, but right now," she kisses him again, "I got exactly what I want. You."

She punctuates that with a harder kiss and a hand slipping south to take him and guide him in. He groans low and she kisses it up before adding, "and you're plenty, shug. You're...mmmm…" she shuts up for a moment and lets him take things where they've always headed, from day one. "Mmmm...you're enough, Remy LeBeau. Always enough for me."