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Remy LeBeau had fought everything he could, pulled children from the wreckage of splintered buildings. Grotesque infrastructure mangled and broken as the vile metallic beast tears through the once safe haven that was once Genosha.
Streets once filled with music and beauty, now ran red with bloodied rubble and bodies.
Horror. The smell of death. The sound of screeching beams filling the air. As he moved to take down the Sentinel, seeing it take off towards the gardens, Gambit pulled his trusty bow-staff from his pocket, a poorly planned plan sprouting to his mind. A kinetic surge. Shock the damn thing from the inside, take out the belly of the beast and it’ll drop where it stands.
His beloved Southern Belle had already taken a blow, Magneto eliminated before her very eyes as she was rooted to the spot by a cage of the old man’s own design. He can imagine it felt like hell. Seeing the closest thing to love torn away from you in a flash… It had broken him, watching her be wrenched from him during the dance at the gala. Even if she wasn’t his to lose, even if she’d already told him that he was just the Swamp Rat waiting in the wings? Watching as she glided through the air, bare skin brushing against the hands of the Germanic old fool. It’d broken him. Hurt him on the deepest of levels. He’d never held her like that, now it seemed he never would.
Even if he had expected the pain, it didn’t make it any easier to accept. He wasn’t ready, doubtful really that he ever would be.
Since the tortuous visions courtesy of Mr Sinister back at the mansion, LeBeau had had his fears. His doubts. His outright heartbreaking paranoia. But that all paled in comparison to the hearing the way Rogue saw him. A man who could never touch her. Not in the way she felt mattered. Not in the way she wanted. Needed . His heart had shattered as she made her admissions in his room. Speaking about how he was never going to light her up the way he brightened the rest of the world. That his touch was able to light up everything around him, but not her.
But even now, he’d lay down his life to keep her safe, a Devil’s Advocate. The truest gambit that may not pay off on his end… But the surviving mutants would be safe. She would be safe. Rogue is laid somewhere east, knocked out of flight (hopefully consciousness) from the charged motorcycle he’d launched into her to prevent what was essentially a suicide attempt in a rage filled move of vengeance.
He had no wish to die, but Hell… If he had to go, he’d die a better man than the thieving swamp rat he was always seen to be. As he steels his gaze upon the vile kaiju creature that moves for the distance, taking a final millisecond to appreciate that she won’t see him suffer. Closing his eyes for a moment more, obsidian and ruby eyes fall closed for a brief moment, the Cajun taking a final breath as he coils himself to run. “Gambit ain’t got a chance… but the rest ah ya do. Content qu'elle ne soit pas réveillée pour voir ça.” The words meant for no one but himself. Muscular legs move to spring forward.
Until a hand grasps his arm, turning him away from the metallic monster with force. Sections of reddish brown hair and stark snowy bangs falling from the intricate braided bun that had once contained the curly manic locks. Emerald eyes shine with tears, as her body floats before him. The tattered red dress and running eyeliner may have seemed imperfect, but only showed the ferocity and tenacity that embedded her spirit. “Rogue no, Cher, I—“ The words are cut short, broken by lips against his. Heady, desperate as he feels a weakness in his body, gentle warm hands cupping his jawline to steady him as the strength starts to leave his body. The glow that once surrounded his staff begins to fade, a groan leaking into Rogues mouth as his wide eyes fall closed. His body starts to droop, falling into a state of weariness.
Releasing his jaw, Remy falls to the ground, the knees of his white suit trousers scuffed in the dirt. “Sorry Sugah… But this is how it has t’happen. You light up everythin’ you touch. Even me.” Her body rises in the air, a heavy pink glow surrounding her as she looks down at the Cajun. A deep black seems to flash in her eyes for a moment, the darkness alight with a loving silence. An apology that she prays Remy can recognise. For the slightest moment she meets his gaze with a weak smile, only to whoosh away again, grabbing rubble and tossing it with the kinetic charge to draw the threats attention.
The shriek of green energy beams follow her, the Southern Belle weaving and bobbing around each ray. As a kinetic charge breaks a large crack in the Sentinel, she rushes forward, gritting her teeth as she generates the heavy kinetic field around herself. Her skin is on fire, her bones ache, her blood is boiling and her muscles are starting to seperate. Her voice is weak, the vibration of her vocal cords causing her more pain than breathing as she pushes on. “Ah feel you, Sugah, ah feel you!”
With a final push, Rogue breaks through the large crack burying herself in the swarm of wires and metallic veins inside the shell. A rasping brutal scream fills the air as the terminal blow leaves her body. Fingers wrapped around metal tendrils, limbs tangled in the wires and leads.
A bleeding pink glow envelopes the night sky, a mushroom cloud of Sentinel shrapnel spreading across the sky. LeBeau watching from the ground, he’s sick to his stomach, soundless, left in a state of shock. His fingers dig into the dirt, gripping as his head drops for a moment, he’s on all fours. Trying to muster the strength to recognise what he’s just seen. Sweat beading on his brow, blood streaking from his nose under the duress. Eyes clenched shut, he grits his teeth, jaw straining until a breath is finally released, a scream filling the air. “Rogue!” The scream is guttural, he can taste the metallic tang of blood as he howls.
Clutching at the bow-staff again, he pulls himself to his feet, stumbling as he tries to run towards the gaping hole in the street. Adrenaline coursing through him, the drained energy not enough to hold him back as he sees a deep drop in the pavement. He throws himself into the hole, soot and dirt streaking the white suit as he skids the bowl-like drop. Hitting the bottom, there’s a limp body sprawled in the dust. Red fabric, singed and messy hair framing a face with blood streaming from her ears and lips.
“No… no, Cher no.” The words are weak as he crawls to the form, pulling away the lingering shards of metal tendrils, throwing them away as he pulls her body into his lap with no hesitation. A shaking hand supports her head, the other taking her hand.
Sobs rattle in his chest, his breaths shallow, almost wet as blood clings to his throat. Her chest unmoving, her emerald eyes closed as small sections of hair smoulder, pale skin marred by charcoal and bloody scrapes. The hand holding hers traces gentle circles on her palm, pulling it against his cheek. Her fingers are limp, unmoving, pale as the blood no longer circulates.
Desperately he holds the hand tight against his face. Whimpering words the only sound that fill the air as survivors step closer to the pit.
“S’okay, cher. Gambit’s gotchu. He ain’t lettin’ go. Gambit’s gotchu.”