A/N: This plot bunny tackled me and I ran with it. I have a very very passing acquaintence with Gambit and have little to no clue whether this is IC enough to be believable. I may come back and edit this once I know him better, I don't know. I did not attempt his accent and put in very little French because I didn't want to mess up any worse than I may have already. Hope you like it anyway. Happy Easter!

Remy sat in the chapel. Dawn was breaking over the tiny roadside church, new sunlight streaming in through the stained glass windows. The mutant had never had much call to be in places like this before. He'd given up on God a long time ago, because it was painfully obvious that God had given up on him and all mutants everywhere.

Yet here he was, at sunrise, sitting in the empty chapel, staring up at the crucifix. He'd been driving with no clear destination, feeling lost and helpless. Rogue was missing and neither hide nor hair had been seen of her for three days. They had no idea where to look, but everyone kept assuring him We'll find her, Gambit, we will. We will.

He knew they would. But meanwhile, what was he supposed to do? Sit on his hands while his cher was who knows where having who knows what done to her? The man leaned forward with a sigh of anger and frustration and rested his head against the back of the pew in front of him. Tilting his head to watch the crucifix out of the corner of his eye, he spoke to it.

"What would you do, eh? What would you tell me to do? Could you do anything?"

Gambit rose suddenly and stalked to the figure. His fist shot out and struck the marble vindictively. It hurt, but he welcomed it. He hit the statue a few more times, until the white stone bore red streaks from his broken hands. He stared at the blood smeared on his hands and sank down to sit at the foot of the cross.

"Why don't you do anything?" he whispered, leaning back against the stone. "If you're all powerful, why don't you help her? Help me?" Remy LeBeau did not cry, but something that bore striking resemblance to a tear made its way down his face.

"You must have faith," said a new voice from behind him. In an instant Gambit was on his feet, ready to meet an attack. But it was only the vicar, a harmless-looking old man holding forth his hands in a placating gesture. "I mean no harm, sir. I came to see who was here."

Slowly, the mutant relaxed. "I..." He spread his hands helplessly, wincing at the pain in his torn knuckles. The vicar was instantly concerned and stepped close to Gambit.

"You're hurt," he clucked over the state of Remy's hands. His eyes flashed from his hands to the crucifix, but he didn't say anything about it as he tugged the man to the back of the church, where a first aid kit hung on the wall. He sat the younger man down on a pew and began to dress his hands. "So why are you here?" he questioned gently.

Remy hissed as the older man disinfected the tears in his flesh. "I don't know," he admitted. "I needed somewhere to think."

"A church is a good place for it," agreed the vicar amicably. "A good place to be alone with God and your thoughts."

The mutant snorted. "God," he said with a slight sneer.

The vicar looked up at his face in surprise. "Yes," he said carefully. "If you don't believe, why come to a church?"

Remy didn't answer for a long time. The elder man didn't push, he simply finished treating the mutant's hands in silence. Finally LeBeau said quietly, "Church used to be a place where I felt safe. Then God abandoned me and I figured out that nowhere was safe."

To his credit, the vicar did not ask prying questions. He sat and digested Remy's words for a moment, then said, "And now?"

"And now my cher is missing and I can't do anything!" he exploded, jerking up and stalking around the sanctuary because he needed to do something, not just sit and talk. The vicar seemed to be phazed by nothing; he sat still and his eyes followed the younger man as he paced like a caged animal. His patience grated on Remy's already frayed nerves and he spun on the vicar.

"How can you do it? How can you just sit there? How can he just hang there?" he shouted, waving a hand back at the blood-streaked crucifix. "She might be dead!" he said, forgetting for the moment that the vicar had no clue who Rogue even was. "Doesn't he even care?"

"He cares more than you can imagine, son," the elder man said gently. He wanted to go to the hurting young man, but he had a feeling that he might get his hand bitten off. "It's like I said before, you have to have faith."

"Faith in what?" Remy spat. "A dead man?"

"A dead man who conquered death and holds mastery over it," said the vicar, rising. "Jesus Christ is the son of God." Gambit held up a hand and turned away, but the preacher kept rolling on over his objection. "He's alive today and he conquered sin and death. He's watching us now, and he sees your... your cher," he said, tripping on the unfamiliar word. "He sees her wherever she is and nothing can happen to her that he doesn't allow to happen."

Remy stood still in front of the crucifix, looking up into the carved face of the Lord. His bandaged hands clenched into fists at his sides. "And what happens if he allows her to die?"

"You have to trust his plan," the vicar urged, stepping closer. "Take refuge in the fact that he will work everything together for good."

"I stopped trusting him a long time ago," the mutant said lowly. The vicar sensed past wrongs under that statement, but didn't dig into old wounds. Instead he dared closer and put a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"I don't know what you've been through, son," he said gently, "but he hasn't abandoned you. Go to him. Tell him what you wish. Ask and you shall receive, if it be his will." He hesistated for a moment, then patted Remy's shoulder awkwardly. "I have to go now. I hope I have been able to help. I will pray for you and your... for her as well."

After the vicar left, Remy was left gazing at the crucifix. He approached and ran his fingers over the now-brown streaks of his own blood on the figure. "He says I should talk to you about Rogue," he said quietly. "I still don't know if I believe. But it can't hurt, I guess.

"Rogue and I... it's not perfect. She's no saint, and I'm certainly not either. But I love her a lot, and I don't want to see her hurt." He sat down at the foot of the cross again and put his head in his hands. "I'm so worried she's going to get hurt. Just let her be okay. If you can, please, let her be okay."

He sat like that for a long time, silent with his own thoughts. Suddenly his phone rang and he jumped to his feet in surprise. He snatched the phone out of his jacket and opened it without looking at the number. "Yes, what?"

Gambit, that you? Logan. We found her, she's okay. Come home.

Remy just stood there, frozen in shock. His eyes traveled up to the crucifix. Was it possible...

Hey, you there, kid?

"I'm coming," he promised before closing the phone with trembling fingers and bolting for the door. He still wasn't sure he believed in God. But he had to admit that if it wasn't God, it was one weird and unlikely coincidence. He paused at the entrance and glanced back at the empty chapel.

"Thanks."