To: Chica, inTHEgrid, Burning Touch, Cemikey111, Tammy, Professor Horatio Hufnagal, Frek, RogueFreak, Southern Loner, sugoichicken, naemis, cooltangerine and Rogue14. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing my little story. (Curtsy)

It has taken me longer to update because as you know I am trying to write a trilogy and I have been trying to figure out how much to put in this part and what to save for the third part. So I appreciate your patience in my lack of updates as this season was an especially busy time for me, as well. But I'm glad that I could entertain some of you with my other story for the time being. So here, without further ado, is the next chapter.

Marvel owns all unrecognizable characters.

Chapter 10

Rogue hadn't said a word since it happened; upon their arrival at their apartment that night, she entered their bedroom, gathered up some bedding, threw them at his feet and shut the door with a considerable slam. Three days later, she still hadn't said a word; and Remy was still sleeping on the couch. She still did his cooking and cleaning but she refused his embrace. She went out everyday with Amina and Salah, was still quite cordial to Philippe but had nothing but silence and a cold shoulder for her husband. Remy could see that she was still fuming and he rather wished that she would give him a few bruises like the ones Nareen had received when she had tried to hang all over him that night; anything was preferable to her silence. Nareen had deserved it; she had draped herself over Remy, cooing that she had long since forgiven him but he did not seek her out again. She said she was willing to forgive him if he dropped the bit of baggage he had and went off with her. Rogue had situated herself between Remy and Nareen, telling the newcomer to get off her husband and go about her business on another street corner. The situation could have been resolved then and there had Nareen not had the bad sense to shove Rogue and call her a name that should not have been spoken to or by a lady.

It was then that Rogue grabbed Nareen's wrist, twisting her arm behind her back and pushed the woman's face against the nearest wall, telling said woman to shove off and never mess with her or her husband again if she knew what was best for her. It should have ended there but Nareen, having had her pride damaged, grabbed Rogue's shoulder as soon as she had been released and swung a fist. Rogue dodged it easily and let the woman fall forward, driven by her own momentum. Humiliated and beaten but too stupid to give up, Nareen got up from the ground and lunged at Rogue again, unfortunately making contact with her bare skin. The contact lasted under two seconds but it was enough to knock Nareen out cold and Rogue to turn a sharp eye at her husband with the knowledge of what had occurred before her arrival. Before Remy could sputter out a response, he was trying to keep up with her as she turned on her heel, leaving the groggy, would-be home-wrecker slumped on the ground and marched back to their apartment and the front door in his face.

They merely co-existed now. Remy tried to speak to her and she only answered what she had to. He hated sleeping on the couch, it was a comfortable couch but he had grown accustomed to sleeping beside her. He had grown accustomed to her soft, warmth cuddled up beside him every night. He had also grown accustomed to making love to his sweet wife whenever the mood struck him; which was quite frequently. She pulled out of his embraces and snubbed his attempts to woo her; she refused to let him back into the bedroom.

It wasn't so much what he had done, it was that he had done it while she was going through one of the worst experiences of her life and that he had assumed their relationship was over. That was what hurt her most; the fact that he had just given up on her, on them. She had to admit to herself that she missed him; she missed snuggling up to him in the night and feeling his soft, slow kisses waking her in the morning and the heat of their passion. By the fourth day, she was aching for him. That morning when she was fixing their bed, he came out from the shower in only his jeans, Rogue had to bite down hard on her bottom lip and turn away. Remy ran his hand through his still damp hair and turned in time to see Rogue bend over their bed, giving him a perfect view of her perfect bottom beneath the short nightgown she wore. He could feel himself reacting to what he saw and was across the room in less than a second; pushing her back against the bed and kissing her with ravenous fervor. Rogue moaned, kissing him back with just as much hunger and urgency.

He wedged his knee between her thighs, pushing her nightgown up around her hips and whispered sweet, erotic words as he kissed her.

"Je veux vous. Je veux vous si mauvais." (I want you. I want you so badly/so much)

Rogue closed her eyes as he rained kisses down on her and shivered from the heat being emitted by them both. Part of her was ready to give in and let him take her; it had been too long since they had last been together but there was a nagging voice in the back of her mind telling her not to give in so easily, to make him suffer a little longer. She battled with herself; with her pride against her need and she knew she needed to settle the debate soon as his hand was caressing the inside of her thigh and was slowly inching upward. If it reached the juncture between, she would be lost. Angry at her own frustration, she let her pride take over.

"Stop," she breathed. He continued to kiss her, his lips traveling down to her throat. "Remy, stop."

"What?" he was lost, following the line from her throat to her shoulder with his lips.

"Ah said stop," she was a bit more forceful now and she pushed at his chest with her palms. "Ah want y' t' stop. Ah don't wanna do this."

"Yes, y' do," Remy sat up and gazed down at her. "How long y' gonna make us both suffer f'r dis, Anna?"

"Get off," Rogue said, turning away, unable to look at him.

He got off of her, both of them hating the feeling of the separation, and he stood over her as she sat up, still looking away. "I said I was sorry, Anna. I tol' y' I had no way o' knowin' what y' were goin' t'rough down in Naw'lins and I t'ought we was over wit'. Damn it, I didn't even sleep wit' her!"

"But y' were goin' to!" Rogue stood and hoped that the wobbly feeling in her knees wouldn't give her away. "Y' were ready ta jus' give up on what we had an' sleep with her!"

"I was drunk-"

"It doesn't matter!"

"I was missin' y'. I t'ought I'd lost you forever."

"Were there others?"

Remy froze as the words left her lips. "What do y' mean?"

"It ain't a difficult question, Remy," Rogue felt a knot form in her stomach when she saw him grow pale. "Were there other women b'fore her? Women who didn't run out when y' called them th' wrong name. Women y' brought back here when y' were drunk an' missin' me? Women y' brought here t' mindlessly fuck while that monster was makin' me so crazy that Ah didn't know up from down anymore?! Answer me! Were there anymore?!"

"Yes."

It was a simple word, softly spoken and with great reluctance but it struck her as hard and as painfully as a mack truck going eighty miles an hour. She didn't this kind of pain existed; even when Sabertooth had ripped out her throat, it hadn't hurt this much. She couldn't speak, she couldn't move; she could only sit, numb to everything but the pain that was rapidly growing stronger inside her heart. It was so much that she would have been glad if Creed were there to rip her heart from her chest, maybe then, it wouldn't hurt so much. It was a simple word and it devastated her in a way nothing else could. It took her a few moments to realize that he had pulled her into his arms and was trying to soothe her and as soon as she realized it, she knew she had to get away from him before the pain got worse.

"Ah, can't!" she pulled herself out of his grasp. "It's too much, it just hurts too much!"

She fled from him, locking herself in the adjoining bathroom and sliding down to sit against the door. He stood at the door, begging her, pleading with her to open the door so they could talk, so they could work it out. His words only compounded the hurt and she did the only thing she could; she cried. She sobbed and wept in an attempt to dispel the pain. The more she cried, the more tears that came and she couldn't stop them from coming out. She sobbed so hard it was difficult to breathe and at one point, she even thought she would throw up, even that would probably feel better.

The weeping did stop after a while; it was only because the only strength she had left she used to breathe. She lay on the floor, curled up in a tight ball against the door. He was still out there on the other side; he had stayed and listened to her tears, each sob like a lash on his heart. He had caused her pain and there was nothing he could do to make it right. He loved her so much that it hurt and he hurt with her. He sat there against the wall, wishing he could take her pain upon himself. Soon the shuddering breaths turned to deep even breathing and he knew that she had exhausted herself.

It was early evening before he dared make a move. Slowly he picked the lock on the door and opened it to find her asleep in a fetal position. He picked her up gently and laid her on their half made bed and covered her. He sat beside her watching her sleep. He was afraid. Afraid he had truly lost her. She would stay married to him, yes, but it was unclear if whether or not he would still have her heart.

He kissed her forehead softly and said: "Je t'aime, mon coeur. Je suis desole. I never meant to hurt you."

He left her to resume his exile on the couch, feeling unworthy of sleeping in the same room with her. He too fell asleep and like his wife, it was a sleep of pure exhaustion.