Title: The Love-Hate Chronicles

Pairing: Rogue and Remy

Rating: Teen/Mature

Warnings: May contain heartbreak or happiness. It depends on my mood.

Disclaimer: I don't even own the rights to any of my college degrees and will not for many, many, many years… It's called a starving ex-student, and by the state of my fridge, I'm living the dream.

Summary: Unrelated tales describing the many different fates of our star-crossed Southerners. Wear your heart on your sleeve and have hope in your heart because not every story has a clean beginning or a happy ending. ROMY.

Author's note: This is a new kind of writing style I'm trying. It's similar to a song-fic, as each vignette is based on a song. However, it's not the typical cut-and-paste-in-the-middle-of-a-fic fic. Instead, I'm using songs that can be used to unravel a different facet of the many fates of Rogue and Remy's relationship.

For a challenge, I made up some rules. One: There must be an actual story that ties the song in with it. This kind of fic can't just be story with a verse of a song that cuts into the middle of the plot. Two: You must incorporate each line of the song at least once. The chorus does not need to be repeated, unless you want to. Three: They don't have to speak the verse word for word. The lines can be summarized, edited, out of order, artfully disguised in a paragraph, whatever- so long as the intent of the song is still there.

The point of this type of ficlet is just a writing exercise I created for myself to produce one-shots faster instead of mulling over things like I do for my chapter works. I may do recognizable works or unrecognizable works. The point is to add meat to the bones of a song that may work and make it work. I hope you enjoy!

The Love-Hate Chronicles

The First Fate

Hallelujah- Part I

Remy LeBeau was bored.

Perhaps it was because there was nobody in the mansion besides staff and graduated students. The entertainment factor was always set on 11 whenever the entire Xavier Institute mutant/student body was present and as such, he found much joy in giving some much-needed corruption to the younger ones. It was never anything bad; in fact, he probably just gave these kids certain skills a few years too early. They'd learn how to play poker or how to open a locked door with a credit card (or safety pin or bobby pin or a piece of gum, etc…) or (in the case of the older boys) how to properly charm a girl… eventually. That's what normal kids learned, right? He was just speeding up the process a little bit. It served for entertainment on both sides: he was a god to the kids and it never failed to produce some kind of response out of the staff (Ororo, Scott, and Logan, mainly).

But alas, it was a school day and everyone was at Bayville High until later. The Mansion was devoid of high levels of entertainment, as was the case every weekday.

So Remy LeBeau was bored as he created his second monster sub sandwich. A quick fleeting thought ran through his brain. Maybe… maybe he was getting too comfortable here. Breakfast, work out, shower, update security, wandering the halls. That's what his life had become- in the wee hours of the late morning/early afternoon, of course. Nightlife was his thing.

He wondered what he would have been doing if he wasn't here. He tried to remember what he did before he came here. It was a frustrating thought. He couldn't remember before. Maybe he had become too used to this life. What kept him here for so long? He couldn't remember that either.

But what would he be doing otherwise? It was just a question to pass the time as he sat eating his lunch alone at the kitchen bar.

The kitchen door swung open carelessly. Logan grunted when he caught Remy's impassive glance.

"You look anymore bored, I'll make you do yard work."

"Bored? This is my thinkin' face."

He grunted again. "Well, stop it. You look ridiculous."

"Anything for you, cher," he retorted dryly.

Ah, if looks could kill.

They'd both be dead: one from annoyance, one from entertainment.

It was silent as Remy started to open and munch as loudly as possible with his extra crinkly bag of chips as he watched Logan twitch and scavenge in the fridge.

And suddenly Logan stopped his fruitless search in the industrial sized fridge and straightened up, ear cocked to the side. He snorted in amusement, before shaking his head and re-entering the fridge.

"I'm afraid to ask what the voices told you this time," Remy deadpanned.

"You should be, they told me to kill you," he retorted just as evenly.

Let it be known that this was (secretly) something to fear for Remy. No matter how good he was at everything, you just couldn't beat a man who regenerated. He'd tried. It hurt for a long while afterwards.

Remy watched him closely for a moment. Was… was that a… smile on his face?

Oh fuck.

Logan was considering it.

'Dissipate it! Quick! Rogue's not around to save your dumb ass!'

"Do the world a favor and save the creepy face for Halloween, homme."

Logan didn't reply, the (albeit small) smile more obvious now.

Silence and anticipation. He put down the chips slowly and reached hesitantly for his sub again. And the knife.

"Know what's got her in a good mood, Gumbo?"

"Wha?" he answered, mouth full of delicious sub sandwich, hand still gripping the knife.

"Rogue."

"Wha' 'bout 'er?" He was suspicious, but he was hungry and this sub was so good.

"She only plays when she's in a good mood."

Now he had his attention. "Wha' t'hell y' talkin' 'bout?" he managed to say, mouth still full.

Logan rolled his eyes. "Her guitar, dumbass. She's playing her guitar. Question is, why, Gumbo?"

He stopped mid-chew. Come again?

"She plays guitar?"

Logan closed his eyes and groaned. "God, you're useless," he mumbled as he walked out the door, beer in hand.

Situation was neutralized. Crisis adverted. Now he could finish his lunch without fear of it coming out of holes in his stomach.

But really… she played? Granted, he couldn't admit to knowing everything about her (which was a blow to his occupational training, really), but how could he not know something so basic? (But then again, when had he really paid that much attention to a girl that was just his friend?) And what else did he not know about her?

And why was she in a good mood then?

He hadn't seen her since breakfast and even then she had been half asleep and fully homicidal. It had taken a while but he finally learned how to pick his battles with her.

He looked at his clock. It was a couple hours later and was around the right time to interact with her. Well, he knew what he was doing next at least.

He stopped, briefly questioning his actions with a chuckle at the door. When had she becoming a part of his routine? Is this what he had always done?

And did he mind?

Just another thought to pass the time.

He crept silently up the Mansion stairs, listening for any indication of music. It wasn't until he got halfway through the girl's wing that he heard slight twanging. A slight pang of fear and admiration passed through his head: Wolverine was really something if he could hear this slight noise. It grew louder as he made his way to her room. He walked straight up to her closed door, slightly frowning. As of late, she had becoming considerably more social and tended to keep her door slightly ajar. She only ever kept it closed when she was pissed beyond apocalyptic reason or when she was sleeping or changing.

He had made the mistake of opening the door on each of those occasions (among others as well). It was a quick lesson after that: knock or die/be impaled/fall into a coma (of variable lengths).

He stood at her door, debating. The twanging continued, short plucks, silence, more plucks, silence, long strums. Was she tuning it? And Logan said she was in a good mood, right? He tried to feel her out; there wasn't much in the angry emotion department. In fact, she was… pretty content.

He was about to raise his hand and knock, but then it started.

Remy LeBeau was not highly educated in the musical department. If anything, he'd consider himself more on the "music appreciation" side of the spectrum. He wasn't a singer and he wasn't well versed in anything musically speaking. He liked music, mostly jazz, but he knew nothing.

So he really had no idea what string of notes she was playing would be called. A song? An exercise? It didn't matter, because whatever it was, it was beautiful.

And the sound kept coming. It didn't stop or rest. It was a constant swirl of notes, high and low, sometimes both. It had a quiet dance feel. Spanish, maybe? He didn't know and he didn't care. It was beautiful.

And it stopped just as suddenly as it started. Just like his breathing had.

More plucking, more small notes.

His hand still raised, he knocked. She would know it was him. She had told him once his knock was different from everyone else's, that it felt different. 'It's sneaky, just like you, ya sneaky swamp rat.' How she came to that conclusion, he'd never know. But it was still a strange honor.

He heard rustling on her end and the snap of something close into place. He frowned.

A second later she opened the door slightly; cheeks flushed slightly, and only let her head poke through.

"Hey, what's up?" The attempt to act nonchalant as she brushed back stray hair was lost on him.

Up went his eyebrows and a slight smirk. That rushed voice was her 'oh-shit-I've-just-been-caught' voice and that blush on her cheek was her 'I-just-rushed-not-to-get-caught' flush. Was she trying to hide her skillz?

"Could ask you the same thing. You're lookin' a bit flushed."

She touched her cheek. "It's nothin'. I'm just enjoyin' my book is all."

He smirked. "Mind if I come in and enjoy it with you?"

Her eyes widened slightly and her face flushed a bit more. Why was she embarrassed?

"You wouldn't enjoy it, really. Just more Twilight-y crap. Addictive, y'know?"

"It's fine, really. Gotta know what I'm up against." He pressed himself up closer to the door, to her. She looked torn. He was prepared to use the smolder if needed. "I insist."

She opened the door slowly and let him in. A quick survey of the room indicated no book in sight. He made his way to her bed, sitting on what he called "his spot," or rather, the middle of the bed.

She rolled her eyes before making it back to her bed. "Scoot over, fat ass."

He chuckled before making room for her. She sat, slightly away, but still close for her standards. He stretched out and attempted the infamous stretch-arm-around-the-girl move; she jabbed him in the ribs before he got even out of elbow length. He laughed.

"So enlighten me, chérie, what does this glittery man-child have that I don't?"

"A brain, for one," she scoffed.

"Says the girl who don't even have the book in her room," he smiled smugly, closing his eyes, and resting his head against the backboard.

"I put it away, you fool," she replied hotly.

"Oh yeah? Where?"

"None of your concern, Cajun."

"Bet I could still find whatever you were doin'."

"Bet I could smack the livin' daylights outta you."

"Bet I wouldn't mind."

"Bet you can't even find your mind."

"And if I can, what do I win?"

"The gift that is called the present."

"I'm over the present. How 'bout a song?"

Rogue turned and glared at him.

Ah, if looks could kill.

"You're an ass."

"But such a sexy one," he smirked as he reached underneath her bed and reached around for the case. He found it, pulling it out slowly and placing at the edge of the bed.

"If you want, you can even pretend I'm not here."

"How 'bout you git, and I won't have to pretend?"

"Because it's good to exercise your imagination once in a while."

"I could say the same thing 'bout my fist," she mumbled, begrudgingly taking the case and popping it open. He would openly smirk, but knowingly admit that he won would infuriate her more. Honey, not vinegar, he reminded himself.

Rogue gave a soft sigh as she placed it on her lap. She took a couple small breaths and groaned loudly. She didn't turn and plead with her eyes; she knew there was no getting out of this.

"You… you can't laugh, alright? I haven't played in a while and I wasn't that great to begin with."

"Thief's honor," he smiled. She grimaced and sighed.

"Any requests?"

He shrugged. "Don't know anythin'. What was that diddly you played before? Play that."

It was entirely possible she muttered "stupid, stalking Cajun" before she started playing. But it didn't matter. It started slowly and then built up into a tornado. It was different though. It was angry. Her face was pulled down into a grimace. She was irritated.

Remy poked her stomach. "You sound frustrated."

She didn't look at him before turning her mouth down more. "It's harder with gloves. Never got the hang of it with 'em on."

"Then take 'em off."

She hesitated, biting her lip.

"We've been over this, stupide," he flicked her nose with his bare fingertips as he rolled his eyes. Even the smallest touch was dizzying, but not unpleasant. It was like a strange high. He tended to always get these strange highs when he was around her. It was disorienting, but he didn't mind.

He grabbed her gloves and yanked them off. It was also a trick he had to learn quickly. She was a stubborn southern gal, after all.

He gave her a cheeky grin. "Proceed."

She made a face, her cheeks slightly flushed. She was always especially endearing when she was embarrassed.

The Spanish dance played again, faster, melancholic, calm. Perfect. Beautiful. He watched her fingers fly across the neck, pluck across the soundboard. It wasn't until much later that he realized he didn't once think of a sexual innuendo about her fingers and what else they could do.

He realized she had stopped and was indirectly staring at him through the corner of her eyes.

"Wow," he murmured, still staring at the guitar and her small fingers. "Didn't really believe Logan when he said you could play."

"Don't play much anymore," she commented quietly.

"When'd you learn how to play like that?"

She smiled wistfully at her guitar and hands. "Back in the days of Caldecott County. Irene believed in that sayin' 'idle hands are the devils worship.' She insisted I learn something, so I chose this."

He chuckled softly. "Sounds like what my Tante would say. She make you go to Sunday School too?"

She groaned. "I'd get grounded if I skipped."

"I got the spatula more times than I care to remember."

She lapsed back into silence, fingering her strings, making adjustments on the pegs. She chuckled quietly to herself after a moment.

"What's so funny?"

Again with the wistful smile to the instrument.

"One week, they told us about some secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord."

"Oh yeah?"

"I hated payin' attention so one day I brought my guitar in and tried to figure it out for the longest time. After a while I forgot about it and just stopped goin'. Irene wasn't too happy with me."

"Ever figure it out?"

Her mouth twitched slightly, half smirk, half frown. "I had a couple of ideas, but I eventually narrowed it down to my favorite."

"Which were?"

He saw her bite her lip, trying to think. Hesitantly placing her hands on the neck, she mumbled to herself, and plucked a few strings.

"Aha!" she grinned, strumming the guitar, testing the sound as she went. She went quiet for a moment.

He cocked his head and squinted at her mumbles. "Sorry," she apologized quickly, catching his look. "You probably don't care for all this music theory mumbo jumbo, do you?"

"It's fine. Just don't know what you're talkin' 'bout, is all."

Shifting her weight, she moved to put the guitar back in the case. He grabbed her around her waist and hoisted her back to him. She made some kind of surprised sound. But really, she couldn't have been done already, right? Did she really get out of her good mood so easily?

"Play more." He knew he sounded desperate in her ear, but he hadn't intended to. A fresh rose color tinged her cheeks. "I'm willin' to bet my bike you also made a song with that chord. Can I hear it?"

It took a moment, but she eventually relaxed and settled back down gingerly on him, not before blowing a tendril of hair out of her face and rolled her eyes, mock angrily.

"Will you stop whinin' then?"

"Probably."

She heaved a sigh and readjusted herself on him, still leaning on him. "If I remember correctly…it goes like this…a fourth… a fifth…." She stopped and cocked her head to the side. "A minor fall… and a major lift…" she finished slowly, nodding to herself. "Alrighty, then."

Then she began to play.

And his thoughts shifted to his Tante's and her reaction would have been to sit down and listen to this girl. His Tante was a loud woman with dramatic tendencies and an ability to never be caught off guard. Yet, there were those rare moments in his life he had witnessed her be rendered speechless, with the ability to whisper only one chilling word.

And whenever he heard her breath it quietly, he could never understand why. Why just standing and staring into the eternal Last Supper they had stolen and passed along had made her speechless. Why when they had finally taken her to the Vatican, she couldn't speak for hours except that one word. Why when Henri told her he was finally marrying Mercy, she yelled it from the front porch with such vigor that it scared the gators creeping up to the house.

But as she played, he understood how his Tante felt finally. The King of Hearts was baffled and speechless, listening and watching her compose this chaos in him. But still…

'Hallelujah...'

Really, he couldn't say that the update on his betrothal was bad news at a bad time. The subject itself would always be bad news, and he wasn't doing anything important in Bayville, so it wasn't really a bad time. But it was still a shitty situation in which he'd rather not deal with ever. Regardless, he still held on to some faith he'd get out of it unscathed and unwed. He had to.

But really… he had nothing to help him get out of this. Would Lady Luck be enough to get him out of this? Would she even care? Or would she laugh, because she finally got him off her back?

Where was the proof that this situation was going to end well?

There were no signs that supported his unrealistically strong faith other than the fact he was Remy Lebeau, lady-killer and thief. Remy: infinity; Life: zero. The score had to be balanced eventually, right?

If it had been months earlier, he would have just up and left, giving a quick goodbye to the Professor for his hospitality and tell Storm she would have to come by the Big Easy sometime so everyone could catch up. Just for a last entertainment factor, he'd probably steal Logan's beer and put it in Scott's room or the like. If it had been months earlier, he wouldn't have had trouble packing his bag and getting on his bike and just going.

But it was months later and he couldn't go as easily. As he ended the phone call and shoved it in his pocket, he surveyed his scarcely lived in room and groaned. It wasn't much, but he couldn't pack up. Not yet.

It wasn't like he was leaving yet anyways. Leaving at this hour of night would just be ridiculous. And he hadn't even fully digested dinner yet. Or eaten his midnight snack yet.

Or told Rogue yet….

But mainly, he hadn't eaten his burger gut bomb midnight snack yet.

…And hadn't told Rogue yet.

He looked at his phone time and sighed. Usually after dinner she could be found on the roof, away from the noise and general population.

Stepping out on the balcony, he looked up. It looked so much farther to the roof than before. He didn't want to climb it.

He found himself scaling the building the minute he made out her humming. She was in a good mood. Maybe this was the "bad time" for the bad news. Maybe he could wait a little bit before telling her.

And when he reached the roof plateau, he realized he couldn't even have gotten the words out if he tried. Not that he even wanted to at this point.

She bathed in the moonlight, the light ethereally reflecting off her pale skin, lying down with hands behind her head, humming a little diddly. She wore nothing but small shorts and a small tank top. Her foot tapped to her own personal drum.

And she turned on her side, catching him watching her intently, and smiled.

Smiled.

Nothing angry, nothing annoyed. Just a smile. A grin, almost.

'Dieu…'

It was like pushing his bike and adrenaline to speeds that would surely throw him over and kill him if he were to crash.

Was this his Lady Luck now? His proof?

"Was wonderin' where you nipped off to so quick after dinner. Figured you'd eventually come up." Still smiling.

"Desole, didn't think I'd be much missed."

"Nope," she popped. "It's just annoyin' how everyone asks me if I know what's up with you."

"Ahh. Join the club, Roguey," he rested down next to her, stretching as he relaxed.

From the corner of his eye, he could see her distaste.

"Who called? And don't call me that."

It was his turn to mask the distaste.

"La famille," he muttered, somewhat darkly.

She frowned. "That doesn't sound good."

He sighed. "When is it ever?" He ran his hands through his hair.

She turned to her side and looked at him again. If she wasn't lying down on her side, he would have bet she was about to cock her head to the side, as if she was noticing something puzzling for the first time.

"Hmm?" he prompted. He knew when a question was on her lips.

"Your hair's gettin' long."

Another quick run through his hair told him she was right. He slightly grimaced. His Tante didn't care at all for shaggy, unkempt hair, which was exactly what it was at the moment.

"Wouldn't even know where to get it cut," he admitted.

"Uh, how 'bout Supercuts?"

He shook his head adamantly. "Non, can't just go any old place. The hair's part of the charm."

As her eyes squinted and nose crinkled, she shook her head. "Nope. Don't see it."

"Of course you don't. I'm not tryin' to charm you at the moment."

"Oh yeah, that's the reason," she rolled her eyes playfully.

"Hey! If I did put on the charm, you wouldn't be able to resist."

"Cajun, I'm pretty sure that's what you've been doin' ever since you got here and I know for a fact it hasn't worked."

"Oh yeah?"

"Uh, yeah," she nodded slowly, as if he was stupid.

"Alright, listen, chérie, I didn't want to do this, but you leave me no choice."

Remy scooted closer to her, propped up on one elbow, gazing intently in her amused eyes.

"Cajun, what in tarnation are you tryin'-"

A single finger, half covered touched her lips. "Shh," he murmured. She did.

The finger moved its way down, tracing her lips, her chin, before reaching back up and tucking loose hair behind her ears. His hand drifted down to caress her neck (she shivered slightly, he was certain), then traveled down her arm, grabbing her hand and bringing it up for a quick, yet oddly lingering kiss.

Her eyes lost the amused factor as he tested (again) the limits of her powers.

His hand snuck around her waist and yanked her closer to him. She squeaked. His legs tangled with hers as he hovered above her. One squeeze of her waist had her lips slightly parted and his hand traveled back up, combing through her hair, bringing her closer. Lips parting closer to her, he murmured her name, gazing intently into her eyes.

He was going in for the kill, powers be damned. She smelled like magnolias and vanilla and cherries and whatever else made her intoxicating. Her lip gloss was shiny and inviting and strawberry? He moved closer, still intently focused on her eyes, letting his empathy do the hypnotizing. So close to her lips…

And she burst out laughing.

He sighed and fell back on his back.

Every. Time.

"You really have been watchin' way too much Tangled, sugah," she mustered out as she gasped for air. "The smoulder? Really?"

"Not my fault that's been the only thing on here for a few weeks," he muttered darkly.

That just made her laugh harder.

"You are one odd woman, chérie," he observed.

"So I've been told. Still keeps you comin' back for more though," she smirked, standing up and wiping the dust off her hands on her shorts.

He laughed outwardly only to mask the inward feeling of wanting to stab himself in the gut with Wolverine's claws. "Where you goin'?"

"We're cuttin' your hair, now let's go."

"We're?"

"Yep!"

"Uh, no offense, chérie," he began as he stood up and slowly started to scoot away from her. "But I don't believe you're certified to cut hair as majestic as mine."

"So?"

"So, like I said earlier, this hair's part of the charm. Can't just have anybody's scissors cuttin' it." He tried to sound confident and not scared that his hair could be ruined for months. He wasn't exactly sure it worked.

She narrowed her eyes. "Well, I never…" she harrumphed and shook her head. "Is the infamous Remy LeBeau… scared?"

"Scared! Pffft!" he tried to laugh it off. "Concerned for the well-bein' of my hair? Maybe."

"Don't be a wuss. I'm an expert hair cutter." She pulled his arm towards the edge of the roof. He pulled back. She looked back and gave him a weird look.

"You okay?"

Aw shit. He had spent too much time here. He was getting soft- the panic was easily readable all over his face. "Eh…"

"Oh come on," she rolled her eyes playfully and pressed her soft body up against his. "Don't you trust me?" she asked in a quiet lit, squeezing his arm, gazing at him so innocently.

Oh fuck. Those eyes, that body. He stuttered for a moment before squeaking out a "Yes, of course I do, ma chérie."

She smiled and crinkled her pixie like nose in that way before leaning up to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "And that, sugah, is how you properly charm someone," she grinned, before scampering down the side of the Mansion into his room.

He shook his head and sighed. "Mon Dieu, that girl…"

Following in one fell swoop, he entered his room to see her making herself at home in his bathroom. She had dragged his desk chair into the bathroom and was inspecting it with a confused look on her face.

"Is this… is this one of the kitchen chairs?"

"Uh, ouais," he made a face.

"What happened to the desk chair?"

"Pyro may or may not have gotten drunk and set fire to it."

She nodded. "Gotcha. Now sit," she pointed to the chair.

He looked at her make shift barbershop and cringed. It felt like he was seven again and about to throw a temper tantrum. But he sat regardless.

And then shot back up when he saw the shears and the picture.

"Those are too sharp."

"Sharp scissors cut easier."

"And why do you need a picture?"

"It's just a reference. I don't make it a point to memorize every hair cut you get, idiot."

He made a gurgled sound.

"Sit or I'll tie you to this kitchen chair."

He didn't move.

"I'll get Kitty to phase you to that chair."

He sat.

"Now," she smiled, taking on a whole new demeanor as she ruffled his hair. "Don't make sudden movements. It's easier without gloves. I'd hate for you to pass out when I have scissors in my hands." Watching his reflection in the mirror, he swore he paled.

She reached over and studied the picture, her tongue peaking out of her mouth. A little smirk escaped his face despite himself. Hey, it was cute when she did that.

But it was still a terrifying situation.

Shutting his eyes tightly, he flinched when he felt something touch his head. Then he flinched again as she smacked him.

"I said don't move for a reason, Swamp Rat. Now calm down or you're gonna look like more of a doof."

He made another gurgled sound, but settled to be a stiff as a board.

She sighed again and massaged his shoulders soothingly. "Relaaax, Cajun. I'm good at this. Promise."

Remy took a deep breath and tried to unfurl himself. As she combed through his now damp hair with her fingers, it was almost like a massage he'd get at a… massage place. It felt nice. And she smelled nice. As usual. And she hummed nice. As usual. What was it about her that was just so nice to be around? When she wasn't inflecting or threatening to inflect bodily harm on him that was.

But hey, even that was hot.

And when the first snips came, he was surprised to say he didn't freak out. He didn't open his eyes either, just to be safe, during the entire time she was moving around his head. It was probably only a few minutes but it felt like eternity. In his ear, he imagined each individual hair screaming in agony and then falling to its death on the cold bathroom tile. Before he could murmur a small pray for his fallen soldiers, she tousled his hair a few times and flicked his forehead.

"See! All better."

Running his hands through his hair, he zeroed in on the tuffs of hair on the floor. It was heartbreaking, really, but he gathered the courage to look up at the mirror.

Damn. He was one good looking Cajun.

It was like it was professionally cared for yet still carried his rugged, sexy, just-came-out-of-the-shower-don't-you-want-to-do-me look. His hair was perfect.

"Whaddya think?" She asked confidently, but the way she bit the side of her lip was her tell-tale sign she was nervous for the response.

He smirked. "C'est parfait, ma chérie," he complimented.

"And now," she returned his smirk, "You can actually see your most charmin' aspect." Was she actually feeding his ego?

"Oh yeah, and what would that be?" he challenged playfully.

Hands on her hips, she looked at him like he was stupid and rolled her eyes just as playfully at the same time. "Your eyes, you dope."

"Ouais?"

"Mmhm." Still focused on the mirror, she rested her chin on his head and reached her arms over his shoulder to rest on her chest and hugged him from behind. She felt so nice.

Rogue smiled as she gazed into his mirror eyes. He smiled back. He loved how she always knew the right things to tell him. Not too sweet but with the right touch of her abrasive southern self. He loved that about her.

A single breathless word escaped his lips.

"Hallelujah."

He loved her.

She cocked her head questioningly.

Rogue had just dethroned the King of Hearts and didn't even know it.

And with that miserable reminder of royalty and its subsequent thievery, his smile fell as he gazed mournfully back at her. It felt just like it felt he was looking down the edge of a steep cliff.

"Aw, no need to look so sad, Cajun, it's just hair," she tried to cheer him up.

His mouth turned into a somber smile as he grasped her arms and tried to memorize every detail of the girl he may or may not see again.

Her brows slowly furrowed as she released herself from his hold. "What's wrong?" she half laughed.

He couldn't respond, only continue to memorize her face in the mirror. The alarm in her eyes grew. She broke out of his hold completely and turned to face him.

"Rems?"

His mouth opened. Nothing came out.

"Come on, you're scarin' me."

'Dieu…'

"I'm in an arranged marriage. They're callin' me back home to get married."

Watching her face…it was like falling off the Eiffel Tower and never reaching the bottom.

To be continued…

Author's Note: Hello all! Just a quick note. Do you recognize this? I'd hope so, it's one of my favorite songs and it gives me the chills every time. This turned into wayyyy longer one-shot than I ever intended, so I had to make it a two-shot. Part two should come soon. I'm not sure if I'm feeling tragic or redeeming, this song could be both so easily. I may need to be swayed… XD. Until next time!