Disclaimer: cries her heart out Remy doesn't belong to me...sob
A/N – Just taking a break from my other fics. And school by that matter.
Pairings: implied Rogue/Remy
Summary: An outcome of a poker game in Monte Carlo. Remy – centric. Companion piece to "Shards of Pain"
Timeline: Basically anytime during Rogue and Remy's numerous break ups.
Song: "Shape of my Heart" by Sting
Note: I didn't read the comics, just watched the TV series, so don't flame me because of that
A THIEF'S HEART
He deals the cards as a meditation
And those he plays never suspect
He doesn't play for the money he wins
He doesn't play for respect
He hated her so much at this moment. He couldn't understand how was he able to love and hate her at the same time, still his feelings switched from one to the other in a matter of seconds. He was furious in one moment, stuffing his bag with random things from his closet frantically, his fury culminating to charging his alarm clock and throwing it out the window, making a nearby tree's upper branches explode in a variety of colors. Than he looked at the burnt leaves being blown by the wind as the embers of his explosion still tingled on the edges and he felt as if his own heart was being burnt to ashes and simply blown away in an unknown direction. And he supported himself on the window hanging his head low, his breathing uneven. Tears stung his eyes, but he didn't allow them to fall. With trembling hands he pulled a box of cigarettes out of his pocket and pulled one out with his lips. It took him a couple of tries to finally light it up with his lighter and he drew in a smoke eagerly. He exhaled after a few moments accepting the cigarette with still trembling fingers allowing the contents of the smoke do their little magic on his nerves. She hated when he smoked. Well, why should he care. Drastically calmed, he approached his bed and threw a few more things in the bag before zipping it up, the cigarette hanging from his lips casually. Swinging the bag over his shoulder he picked up a framed photograph form his nightstand and gazed upon it. Her green eyes smiled up at him. An ash from his cigarette fell on the picture but he didn't mind dusting it off. He simply tossed the frame on the bed and walked out. He couldn't stay in the same house with her anymore. Securing the bag at the back of his bike he extinguished the remains of his cigarette under his boot, crushing his dreams and life as an X-man along with it.
He deals the cards to find the answer
The sacred geometry of chance
The hidden loaw of a probable outcome
The numbers lead a dance
He was in Monte Carlo for a few nights now. However, even the distance Europe gave him from New York couldn't distance his mind from thinking of her. Even the women he fucked every night he picked because they looked like her. Even after that fight that made him walk away from their relationship once and for all, he couldn't stop thinking about her. The reason of the fight was trivial, as usual, but the insults flew like crazy and it culminated with both of them saying the worst thing they could. She started on his past and he commented her power. And that was it. Soon there were tears glistening in those emeralds she called eyes and she screamed she never wanted to see him again. His heart wrenched, but he didn't try to stop her as she walked away. Instead he said he had no intention on pursuing her anymore. She stopped for a second but didn't turn around. Under her voice she told him she hated him and that she accepted his flirt just to feel less lonely. She knew from the start it wouldn't work out and she still gave him hope. He sipped his drink letting the alcohol burning his throat as he approached a poker table.
I know that the spades are swords of a soldier
I know that the clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds mean money for this art
But that's not the shape of my heart
He played coolly for a few hours now. His face was unreadable; he kept his mind on the game all the time. Still, every card had a meaning to him. He kept winning. He always seemed to get an Ace of Spades somehow that pulled his game out.
He may play the jack of diamonds
He may lay the queen of spades
He may conceal a king in his hand
While the memory of it fades
Some blonde came behind him and started hanging to his arm. He allowed her to whisper in his ear and kiss his neck. Still, every part of him remained cold even after he could notice the other players were looking at him enviously while checking out the girl. He just checked his cards. He got a bad hand this time. The Queen of Spades didn't fit. He thought of Bella Donna for a second. Her angelic blond hair and cold violet eyes flared in front of his eyes. He bit his lip and pushed the girl away as he lost for the first time that evening.
And if I told you that I loved you
You'd maybe think there's something wrong
I'm not a man of too many faces
The mask I wear is one
His thoughts became swarmed with images of her and his other past lovers that left some influence on his life and he kept losing. The face of his most eager opponent brightened and the game went on and on and on…
Those who speak know nothing
And find out to their cost
Like those who curse their luck in too many places
And those who fear are lost
It was the last deal. He and his opponent were the only ones left with enough money to play. He sipped another drink in a few large gulps. Still, his mind didn't seem to be affected with it. The alcohol couldn't block the thoughts of her anymore. He picked his cards and gazed up at them emotionlessly. It was perfectly irrelevant to his whether would he win or lose. For the first time in these past months he reacted to something. A Queen of Hearts. The stupid association filled him with self-loathing. Still he played it and he won. Aces full of Queens. His opponent didn't save the insults of his mutant origins, but he didn't care. He just took the money and left, his mind filled with the image of his Queen of Hearts. The scene of their final fight replayed in his mind for the millionth time, but until now he didn't notice an important detail. The pain in her eyes when she was turning away from him. The quiver in her voice as she almost unwillingly told him she hated him. That stubborn pride that kept the both from apologizing. Their tortured souls tired of hurt and suffering that kept them from starting over.
He bowed his head and went out on the street.
"Chere, we were so stupid." He whispered softly to himself his hate and bitterness burning to ashes like those dry leaves outside his window in Westchester.
I know that the spades are swords of a soldier
I know that the clubs are weapons of war
I know that diamonds mean money for this art
But that's not the shape of my heart
He reached in his trench coat pocket and clutched his cell phone. He pulled it out and started going through the names in his address book. 'Home'. The number of the mansion was still memorized as 'Home' in the phone. His finger lingered above it for a few moments. He never said goodbye to anyone before he left. Maybe it was time he called 'home'. Told everyone he was okay.
"LeBeau!"
He heard someone shout and he turned towards the sound of the voice.
A shot rang through the empty streets and a few pigeons flew up in wild panic. The next second everything was quiet again.