Sa Maladie Imaginaire
"Ya know," Rogue said, "It's not like Ah smile at ya because Ah like ya."
Gambit raised an eye brow at this.
"It's Stockholm Syndrome," she explained. "People start caring 'bout the cause o' their captors or thinkin' they like 'em, but really, they're just sick."
"Dat what the professor tell you after our little trip down to N'Awlins? Dat you jus' sick? Or de Wolverine?"
"No way, Logan would have skewered ya if Ah told 'im ya kidnapped meh. Ah told them ya asked for help."
"An' dey believed you?"
"Ah think so. Logan must of, 'cause ya don't look dead, an' telepaths have trouble readin' mah mind." She didn't actually think they believed her for a second, but no one had pressed the issue very far, so to everyone else, it was water under the bridge. It didn't matter, really. Gambit was an X-Man now, just like herself, Colossus and X-23, all of them former enemies who'd been accepted into the family.
Gambit couldn't really remember the last time he'd asked for anything.
"Dis sickness o' yours…you diagnosed yourself den?"
Trapped in the position that no one else even knew she'd been kidnapped, much less worried about syndromes, Rogue half-shrugged, half-nodded. "Ah researched it."
"'Cause you know, dose are never right."
