Note: The holidays are right around the corner, and since I've been wanting to write something for one of my other pairings, I figured, why not now? Some of my favorite X-Men moments are the ones where we see the whole team together, having some time off, being 'normal', and enjoying life a little, and I thought it would be neat to write a piece like that myself. I just love the atmosphere, the warmth, and the feeling of family these moments generate, especially when I see a panel or two (or even a whole page! ;) ) devoted to my favorite comic book pairing. So with that in mind, I wrote a one-shot starring Rogue and Gambit that happens around that most special time of the year without it falling into any specific place in the timeline of the comics (but prior to Rogue being 'cured'). So here's a little something for all the RogueXGambit fans to lead the way into the spirit of the holiday season this year. Hope you enjoy.

Human Touch

Sharp, painful gasps. Breath puffing, fogging the icy air.

The noise in the background—the music, the sounds of laughter, the clinking of glasses, the mayhem back at the mansion—they're becoming fainter with each step she takes. Just a little farther, and she'll be surrounded by the peace and quiet of the woods. Silence.

Faster. Don't stop. Don't let the thoughts catch up.

Boots crunching more quickly in the soft snow. Body getting too hot in this freezing weather. Perspiration shining on her brow.

"Roguey."

More fool her. She should've been running from him instead.

She shoots up into the air, clears the treetops—

"Wha—!"

Something has struck Rogue on the back of her shoulder and goes off with a loud ka-boom!, startling her so much she falls right back down to land in the snow on her rear end painfully hard with a yelp. Or at least it would have been painful had she been anyone else but her.

She turns furious eyes up at the man who'd thrown the explosive at her, takes in the handsome, rugged features wearing the usual roguish smile he uses to charm all the ladies. More of a smirk, she thinks, and feels her ears practically steam. It takes every bit of willpower she has not to hurl herself forward and head-butt him or just knock him clear into next week with one good punch. But she remains sitting in the not-so-small crater she'd created in the snow, legs spread out in front of her in a very unladylike fashion, seething, glaring at him, and the amusement vanishes from his face.

"Ya rotten, dirty, low—" she stops short as his eyes glow and the devilish glint reappears in the scarlet depths.

"You din't feel dat."

Like hell she hadn't! Okay, so she hadn't but— "You threw a card at me!"

"A branch, if you wanna be technical 'bout it." The smooth-talkin' Cajun dusts his gloved hands, and her eyes fall on the remnants of the branch he'd charged lying all about her on the pure white snow. It had been a good-sized one. No wonder she'd felt it hit her, even if it hadn't actually hurt one bit. "But dat's beside th' point. What 'appened back dere, Rogue?"

Beside the point! She's of a mind to uproot the biggest tree nearby and fling it at him. But she knows it won't stop there, and he's no doubt ready for her with plenty of tricks, not to mention cards, up his sleeves. A few seconds of satisfaction, and she'd be left having to explain to the professor she'd torn his estate up again because their resident thief had set off a little firecracker on her, and she'd blown her fuse.

"Why'd you leave de mansion? Ev'ryone's home."

Just like that, her anger suddenly leaves her, and she snaps her mouth shut, turns her eyes back to the ground.

"I know dat look," Gambit sighs. "Again, chére? Are we back to dat again?"

Yep, she thinks silently as she pulls her legs in and crosses them in front of her, and folds her arms over her chest. Right back where they started.

"One step forward an' two steps back, eh, Rogue? Is dat how it's always goin' be for us?"

He doesn't know. He doesn't understand. He can't, as much as he tries to. He has no idea what it's like. Seeing everyone else take for granted what's always denied her. Seeing Scott and Jean snuggling together like that. Stealing kisses when they think no one's looking. Or even when someone is looking.

Rogue doesn't have to have all of that. She just wants… Her shoulders drop. She just wants the impossible, that's what she wants.

"Come."

He's holding his hand out to her, she is surprised to discover. Right in front of her face. She'd accuse him of stealing up on her but she'd been facing his direction the whole time. This is one X-Man who's learned almost everything he knows on the back alleys of New Orleans where he'd been raised as the son of one of their deadliest guilds' leaders.

Slowly, deliberately, she turns her face away from his outstretched hand.

There's a reason why she'd left the mansion in the first place. She doesn't need anyone to see her resenting their happiness. These horrible, shameful feelings that show up every now and then couldn't have picked a worse time to resurface. Most of the X-Men are home for the holidays—they're here to celebrate the team and to be a family, to remember the ones they've lost along the way, to forget just for a while that they're different. Her teammates deserve what little rest and peace they can get without her inferiority complex and bitterness getting in the way.

"I know how you feel."

"Right," she mutters under her breath.

"I want it too, Rogue. How many times do I have to tell you dat 'fore you'll believe me? And I'm here, no? Why else would I still be here?"

Why, indeed. He doesn't have to stick around for the rare occasions when they'll be able to act like a real couple. A regular couple. Not a couple of mutants who can't even hold hands without the protection of a layer of material between them. All because she can't control her powers.

A freak even among freaks.

"We're not normal. But Rogue, I wouldn't have normal over dis. I don' know 'bout you but dis is more den I ever thought was possible. Dis is better den normal."

"Ah just want…" Rogue looks hopelessly at him. "Ah just want ta touch you one time without havin' mah powers turned off."

"What's wrong wit' havin' your powers turned off?"

"Because that's not me, Remy." She shakes her head in frustration. "Ah am mah powers. Turn them off and ah'm not really me anymore. It's only part o' me left, don't ya get it?"

"Chére, your powers don't define you."

"Ah'm a mutant."

"You're more den just a mutant." Gambit's gaze is steady, unwavering. "But if it's dat important t'you, the solution is simple." He pulls the thin, sleek glove off his right hand, and offers his hand to her again, not seeming to realize how his wearing gloves even when out of uniform goes a long way to prove her point. Those aren't gloves one wears for warmth. "We can touch. You can touch me. Anytime you want."

"An' put you in a coma again?" she asks derisively. "And you don't like it when ah get inside ya head, see everything." Not to mention she doesn't like having him floating inside her head either.

"You wanna know how I really feel," he says quietly, "you know what t'do."

They stare at each other, neither of them speaking or moving, but a silent struggle is taking place between them nonetheless, and within themselves.

"I ain't goin' nowhere, Rogue. Might as well take my hand."

She sighs. In the face of such obstinacy, she has no choice but to back down. The man can be even more stubborn than her, and that's saying something. "Ah know how you feel. Ah don't need—"

"But I need it," he interrupts her, urges softly. "I wanna know th' real woman underneath all of dat power too. I wanna know all of you."

"Ah'll just put ya out again."

"Let me worry 'bout dat. Let's see dis t'ing through, you an' me."

"Gambit, ah—"

"Chére, I trust you."

The words have the effect on her he must've known they would. Rogue looks deep into the red wells, sees them smoldering like glowing embers, and the rest of her protest dies in her throat.

She slowly works her glove off. "Remy?"

Gambit nods his head, moves his hand closer to her. "Take my hand."

Drawing in a deep breath, she grabs it, bare skin connecting with bare skin. And she saps him, sucks him of everything. Energy, strength, memories, emotions; they swamp her, mingling and mixing with all the other identities she'd stolen, swirling madly out of control as he pulls her to her feet. She feels what he feels, the endless guilt enough to kill a man, the fears and uncertainties, the hate he has toward himself, his regard for her... She gasps and yanks her hand back.

"Well, Roguey?" It was only a few seconds at the most, but his voice is weak and he is trying not to stagger on his feet. She doesn't know up from down, right from left, or who is who, but instinct has her catching his arm, bearing his nearly dead weight up easily with her own. As everything slowly settles inside her, she pulls her glove back on, careful lest she starts absorbing him again, and thankful that at least she doesn't have to worry about turning him into a human bomb.

"Don't pass out on me, Remy."

"'Course not. Can't leave my woman hangin'." He stumbles a little as he leans forward, eyes searching her face. He crooks a brow at her, draws back, and flashes an easy grin her way. "But I t'ink dat green suits you better den red, chérie."

The damn rascal never quits.

But Rogue has her answer. She looks down at her gloves, and smiles.

She really is a fool.

Just like any other person.