Chapter 14: Consequences and Confessions
Morning light filtered through the hole in his kitchen wall, painting everything in shades of exhausted gold.
His body ached in ways that went beyond simple physical fatigue—muscles cramped from channeling Void energy, hands blistered from excessive kinetic charging, and a persistent headache that felt like someone had rewired his brain with rusty cables. The enhanced constructs had cost more than he'd realized at the time.
"Coffee's ready."
Marissa's voice came from the kitchen, where she was navigating around blast damage and improvised repairs with the adaptability of someone who'd learned to work crime scenes in less than ideal conditions. She'd stayed overnight—on the couch, she'd been careful to specify—but seeing her in his space felt both natural and terrifying.
"You didn't have to stay."
"Yes, I did." She handed him a mug that steamed with something stronger than coffee. "After what happened last night, I wasn't leaving you alone to crash from power overuse."
"Power overuse?"
"Detective training includes basic medical response. I recognize the signs of someone who pushed their body past safe limits." She settled into the chair across from him, studying his face with professional concern mixed with personal care. "Enhanced abilities or not, you're still human. Mostly."
The qualifier hung in the air between them like a question.
"Marissa—"
"Sit." Her voice carried the authority of someone who'd made a decision. "We need to talk. Really talk, not the careful editing you've been doing since we met."
"I haven't been editing—"
"Last night I watched you create solid weapons out of energy, fight superhuman criminals, and survive in a building designed to drive people insane." She leaned forward, detective instincts fully engaged. "Either you trust me with the truth, or this ends now."
The ultimatum hit him like a physical blow. He'd been dreading this conversation since their first dinner, knowing that eventually her intelligence and training would demand answers he couldn't safely give.
"It's not about trust. It's about protecting you."
"From what?"
"From the kind of attention that comes with knowing what I really am."
"And what are you, really?"
The question sat between them like a loaded weapon. How much truth could their relationship survive? How much could he reveal without destroying the first genuine connection he'd found in this world?
"I'm a mutant with kinetic energy manipulation and construct creation abilities. I have Guild obligations that put me in conflict with dangerous people. And there are enemies who would hurt anyone close to me to get leverage."
"That's still editing."
"It's enough."
"No." She stood, pacing to the window that overlooked the French Quarter. "I watched you last night. The way you moved, the way you anticipated attacks, the way your powers evolved under pressure. That's not just mutation—that's something else entirely."
"Marissa—"
"I'm not stupid, Remy. And I'm not fragile. Whatever you're hiding, whatever you think is too dangerous for me to know, I can handle it." She turned back to face him, and he saw the hurt beneath her professional composure. "What I can't handle is being treated like a liability instead of a partner."
Partners. The word hit him again with the same force as the night before, carrying implications that both thrilled and terrified him.
"Getting involved with me could kill you."
"My choice to make."
She crossed the room in three quick steps and kissed him hard, cutting off his protests with direct action that left no room for argument. When they broke apart, both breathing harder than the moment warranted, her eyes were fierce with determination.
"My choice," she repeated.
Before he could respond, someone knocked on his door with the kind of polite persistence that suggested they'd wait all day if necessary.
"Remy? I know you're in there."
Bella Donna's voice carried through the thin walls, immediately changing the atmosphere in the room from intimate to complicated. Marissa stepped back, professional mask sliding into place, while he tried to figure out how to navigate the collision between his romantic present and Remy's romantic past.
"I should go," Marissa said quietly.
"You don't have to—"
"Yes, I do. Guild business is Guild business." But she paused at the door, looking back with something that might have been amusement or resignation. "Just remember what I said about trust."
She left through the kitchen exit, avoiding the awkwardness of passing Bella Donna in the narrow hallway. He waited until he heard her car start before opening the front door.
Bella Donna stood in the morning sunlight wearing jeans and a simple blouse that made her look younger, less dangerous, though her eyes still carried the alert intelligence that marked her as her father's daughter. She'd seen Marissa leaving—nothing happened in the French Quarter without the Guilds noticing.
"Sorry to interrupt."
"No interruption. What can I do for you?"
"Guild business." She entered without invitation, studying the apartment's blast damage with professional interest. "Both patriarchs want to meet. Neutral ground, tonight."
"About the asylum raid?"
"About formal alliance. Your rescue operation saved lives from both Guilds. People are talking about cooperation instead of warfare." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "They want you to serve as official liaison. Bridge between organizations."
"Political position."
"Leadership position. Real authority to make decisions that affect both sides."
The offer tempted him more than it should have. Official standing would give him resources to fight Sinister, influence to prevent future Guild Wars, recognition as something more than Remy's criminal legacy. But it would also tie him permanently to New Orleans, to people who expected him to be someone he'd never been.
"What's the catch?"
"No catch. Just a question." Bella Donna moved closer, and he caught the scent of jasmine perfume beneath the morning's humidity. "Did you ever love me, or was that man someone else entirely?"
The question struck deep, targeting wounds he hadn't realized existed. How much of Remy's life was his to claim? How much of the real Remy remained in this body, these memories, these relationships built on history he'd never lived?
"I'm not who you remember, Bella. I'm sorry."
"I know." Her smile carried sadness mixed with something that might have been relief. "You look at me like a stranger trying to recall an old friend. The man I loved would never have looked at me that way."
"Does that bother you?"
"It should." She walked to the window, studying the French Quarter below with eyes that had seen too much violence and loss. "But honestly? This version of you is easier to respect. The old Remy was charming, passionate, but also selfish. Self-centered. He left me without explanation because explaining would have required thinking about how I felt."
"And now?"
"Now you apologize for things that aren't your fault and take responsibility for problems you didn't create." She turned back to face him, and for a moment her controlled facade cracked enough to show the hurt underneath. "It's... fine. We move forward as allies instead of whatever we were before."
But her voice broke slightly on the word 'fine,' revealing that moving forward was easier to say than to feel.
"Bella—"
"Don't." She composed herself with the discipline of someone who'd learned early that showing weakness could be fatal. "Guild meeting is tonight. Eight PM at the neutral house. Don't disappoint them."
She left without looking back, but he could see the tension in her shoulders, the carefully controlled grief of someone saying goodbye to a future that would never exist.
Twenty minutes later, Marissa returned with coffee and the resigned expression of someone who'd spent the time thinking.
"She still loves you," she observed without preamble.
"She loves who I used to be. Or who she thinks I used to be."
"And now?"
"Now I'm with you." The words came out with more certainty than he felt. "If you want that."
"I want honesty." She settled back into her chair, detective mode engaged but softer than before. "All of it. The powers, the enemies, whatever you think I can't handle."
This is it. Truth or consequences.
"The empathic influence. I can make people like me more than they should, trust me when they shouldn't, feel positive emotions toward me that aren't entirely their own."
"Are you using it now?"
He concentrated, making sure every trace of supernatural charm was completely suppressed. The familiar headache spiked immediately, confirming what he already knew.
"No. Haven't used it around you in weeks. Hurts too much to maintain the suppression, but I need to know if this is real."
"Is what real?"
"This. Us. The way you make me feel when you look at me like I'm worth saving."
She studied his face for a long moment, searching for deception or manipulation. Whatever she found there must have satisfied her, because her expression softened into something approaching tenderness.
"Then we're good. You chose not to use it. That's what matters."
She kissed him again, and this time he was fully present—no powers active, no supernatural influence, just genuine human connection between two people who'd decided to trust each other with their dangerous lives.
When they broke apart, both smiling despite everything hanging over them, his phone rang with Henri's distinctive tone.
"Guild meeting tonight," Henri announced without preamble. "Both sides want you to lead united operations against Sinister. War's ending, bigger threat beginning."
"I heard."
"You gonna accept?"
He looked at Marissa, who was watching him with the patient attention of someone who understood that some decisions couldn't be rushed. Out the window, New Orleans spread beneath storm clouds that promised change in more ways than one.
"Yeah. I'll accept."
"Good. Because whether you wanted it or not, you're already leading. Might as well make it official."
After Henri hung up, silence settled over the apartment like a comfortable blanket. Marissa reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers with the kind of casual intimacy that felt both new and ancient.
"So. Official Guild liaison, fighting interdimensional threats, dating a cop who's seen too much."
"That about covers it."
"Sounds complicated."
"Everything worth doing is complicated."
"Good thing I like complicated."
Outside, thunder rumbled across the Louisiana sky, promising storms that would wash the city clean and leave everything changed in their wake. Tonight would bring new responsibilities, new dangers, new choices about who he was becoming in this world that wasn't supposed to exist.
But for now, in the morning light streaming through his damaged apartment, holding hands with a woman who'd chosen to love him without supernatural influence, he felt something he hadn't experienced since waking up in Remy LeBeau's body:
Hope.
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