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

Pairing: Rogue and Gambit

Rating: Teen/Mature

Warnings: Contains dark and adult themes

Summary: It's what happens when two sides collide. The explosion between what you want and what you need, what's right and what's wrong. It's the wreckage. And it could be so easy. ROMY.

The Wreckage

Chapter Twenty-Six

Like The Inside of a Bar Bathroom

Remy stuffed his phone in his coat pocket lazily, trying to mask his annoyance as he sauntered down the busy streets of New York. The drop had taken entirely too long. It was supposed to be a quick in and out, give them the flash drives and get his money and get out. Instead, henchman number two scrutinized him calmly while the other scrutinized the contents of the flash drive.

"It would have been nice to get an actual sample," he had sneered.

"It would have been nice to know what you wanted," Gambit answered easily, aware of every unobvious sound echoing throughout the club back room. He kept an easy poker face on throughout the entire meeting, eyes flicking lazily between the two men. There was an unspoken observation crackling between the two men; it was obvious they were watching him intently, suspicious of something. Gambit kept the meeting as nonchalant as their last. There was no way they could tell he had an accomplice or had copied the information again; what were they looking for?

The head henchman gave him a calculating, too-friendly smile as they finished the transaction, again inquiring about Gambit's whereabouts for the near future. Gambit gave him a standard, noncommittal answer and flourished his way out of the establishment at the first opportune moment. His gut feeling said they had something more in store for him, he just wasn't sure what.

Regardless of the suspicion, the time told him he was a wee bit late picking up Rogue. He knew the professor wouldn't mind (it was important X-Men related business he had to do after all) and by the time they got back, the telepath would undoubtedly be asleep. Since Logan was assured not to back until later, he doubted anyone would even note their prolonged absence if they didn't look at the security feed.

Regardless of the time, Remy wove through the deadening streets haphazardly. He had a good sense of the city and couldn't risk being followed back to the Institute by the hungry-eyes of the henchmen. Rogue would have to wait a little longer, but he doubted she would mind. She hardly seemed the type to worry about curfews while feeling so locked up; that and she also knew Logan wouldn't be picking her up tonight and Remy only had a gut feeling as to what she might be doing at the Brotherhood house.

He called her phone as he reached his bike, just to let her know he was on his way, but she didn't answer. Instead of responding to her snippy voicemail, he texted a quick message. There was a small voice in back of his head telling him to just take the direct way back, that as an obvious target she could have been easily picked up tonight. Weaving through traffic, he dismissed the voice easily; he couldn't risk leading anyone back and she was with five other mutants. Granted, these mutants were the Brotherhood, but Wanda had to at least count for 3 mutants when she was irate, right?

Easing to a quiet stop in front of the Brotherhood house, Remy took a quick look of his surroundings. The unmistakable quietness was eerie. He hadn't felt the vibration of a responding text or call in his driving and his former inkling grew as he walked up to the somewhat fixed up estate. Magneto had done well with the place, he would admit that. However, a coat of paint couldn't fix what slobs lived inside, even with a perpetually angry female's presence. Remy walked up to the door with caution.

Not bothering to knock, Remy swung open the door and threw in an uncharged card into the living room. He was disappointed when there was no surprised response or shrieking. Instead, Todd chuckled like an idiot, "Woah man, where'd that come from?"

Remy narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Had he gone so soft that no one was intimidated by his calling card anymore? Remy stepped in and leaned against the doorway, observing the hazardous living room.

"Aye, yo!" Todd called out slowly to Remy and pointing to him lazily. "How long've you been here?"

The living room was a massacre. There had to have been two large cases worth of beer cans splayed out around just the living room and it was starting to smell of stale, dry beer even from his vantage point. Of those in the room, Todd was the only one still awake, and he was slowly flipping through channels, clearly not picky on what he was watching. Blob had fallen asleep with a pizza box on his stomach. Lance was passed out on the floor, splayed on his stomach and snoring with a red cup still in his hand.

It was apparent Remy had missed quite an event.

But despite the monotonous hum of E! on the television, everything else was quiet. "Where's everyone else?"

"Ionno, yo," Todd shrugged emphatically. "Pietro went to get us more beer."

"And where's Rogue?"

"Ionno, man. Last I saw, she was with Wanda. I think. Maybe. Ionno, man. What?"

Remy resisted rolling his eyes. Was it just him or was Todd extra dim-witted tonight? "Thanks for the help, mon ami," he muttered as he walked past.

"Hey man," Todd called back, waving the remote control languidly. "This thing ain't workin' right. I think there's beer in it. Got any batteries?"

Maneuvering towards the kitchen, Remy didn't stop to see the effect his charged card had on the green-tinged mutant. All he knew as that he heard a shriek, a laugh, and a "thanks, yo". It made no sense.

Investigating the bottom floor, he walked past a large beer spill and a passed-out Pietro curled up under the table. There were muted voices and laughter creeping in from the outside- along with other highly questionable smells. Remy pushed open the back door and stepped out into the nippy night and was almost immediately greeted with three loud voices chiming "Ayy!"

"Well, well. What do we have here?" he mused, smirking downward at the three mutants splayed around a burning hookah pipe on the back porch.

"You're late, mate!" St. John announced and guffawed. "Hey, that rhymed! I'm a poet and didn't even know it!"

Wanda and Rogue laughed simultaneously and it was strange to watch.

Rogue took a drag off the pipe and then snapped her glove-less fingers at Remy. "Hey hey," Rogue pulled the hookah hose away from her mouth and pointed at St. John. "Lookit," she grinned gleefully. "I found him!"

Remy chuckled in amusement and leaned against the doorway. "Looks like you did," he answered, watching her curiously. She was all smiles and laughs; there was no doubt in his mind that she had been drinking tonight.

"Hey Cajun," Wanda called out. "Lift up your shirt for me, will ya?"

Rogue threw her head back in laughter and Remy had to admit that was an alarming first time he had heard her laugh so carelessly. And as Remy reached to pull up the edge of his shirt, St. John's eyes widened and he threw his hands over Wanda's eyes. "No, mate, whatever you do! Don't!" he pleaded to Remy. "I'll lose the magic!"

"Magic? What magic?" Wanda incredulously wondered.

"Your magic!"

Another peel of laughter and Remy couldn't begin to fathom why that was so funny.

He looked closer at Rogue's curiously delighted face as she blew smoke rings effortlessly. Besides the tell-tale beer cans and red cups splayed around her, there was something off about the way Rogue lounged against the side of the house. "I thought you didn't smoke, chére," he admonished.

"And I thought you were gonna pick me up about…" she fumbled to pull out her phone and look at the time. "Ohhh man, it's late," she laughed, completely forgetting what she was about to say. "Oh hey, a missed call."

At least Remy knew why she didn't pick up the phone. She was otherwise occupied with questionable activities. He'd have to talk to her about that unfortunate habit later. She was just lucky it was him picking her up and not anyone else.

"And I got a text from you too!"

"Would you look at that…" he mocked and turned to her friends. "How much has she had to drink?"

Wanda and St. John stared at each other and then stared at Rogue puffing away and then back at Remy. They shrugged and laughed.

"Roguey," Wanda called Rogue's attention back. "How much have you had?"

"Of what?"

"Of everything."

Dieu, what was everything?

"Yes," Rogue nodded in definitive seriousness, fiddling with the hookah hose.

"I call you for beer pong partner next time!" St. John pointed emphatically at Rogue.

"Hey!" Wanda exclaimed indignantly.

"No!" Rogue sat up straighter and pointed just as emphatically back. "Table troll!"

"But you're good and I never get to win!" he whined and thrashed his feet in protest a little. He pouted mournfully to Remy. "She sent me and Pietro under the table."

"Well, that explains why he's still there," Remy replied, unprepared for the gleeful faces beaming back at him.

"He's still there?" St. John squeaked hopefully.

"Passed out like a baby after their bottle."

"Hey hey hey," Rogue hissed jovially and fluttered her hands at Wanda. "We can catch him now!"

"We can!" Wanda gasped and began to toddle over to the door Remy was still occupying. St. John crawled right after her.

"Do I even want to know?" Remy looked down at the lone patio smoker.

"Yes," Rogue nodded seriously. "And y'know what else?"

"What?"

"I can't get up," she announced matter-of-factly.

"Can't or don't want to?"

"I don't remember…" she mused slowly.

"Todd! Where are all the sharpies?" they heard Wanda hollering throughout the house.

"I think… I forgot how to,'" she drawled finally.

Remy sighed as he reached over to hoist her up. She grabbed onto his arms and stumbled on to her feet.

"You good?"

"Like a Hostess cupcake," she popped as she let go and began sway towards the voices.

Remy wasn't sure whether to be bothered or amused as he followed Rogue sway into the kitchen. Todd was perched on the dripping table, peering down in morbid fascination at Wanda cackling as she started drawing explicit things on her twin's cheek.

"Oh! Oh! Draw a curly line here," St. John chimed in right next to her. "And here!"

"Ohhh, gimme the marker," Rogue collapsed on the floor next to them and swiped the marker with her pale, bare hands.

Immediately, alarm bells rang and Remy tried to draw her back. "Rogue," he warned lightly.

She swatted his hand away from her.

He tried again. "Rogue, your gloves-"

"I got this," she shooed him off and poked her tongue out of her mouth as she used Pietro's spiky hair as leverage against her skin. With slow determination, she wrote TROLL neatly on his forehead and sat back and admired the collective handiwork.

"Pictures," Wanda nodded in deep approval. "We need so many pictures."

St. John crawled right out of the kitchen and rolled right back in with a camera in hand. Like a photographer, he began rolling around on the sticky floor, snapping pictures of Pietro in various positions.

"Oh yeah, just like that. Give it to me, that's it," he muttered repeatedly, getting a close-up of Pietro's face. "Shine, baby, don't change a thing."

Todd wobbled right off the table and began chuckling stupidly. "Ay, no man, gotta get him like this," he snuggled up right next to Pietro and the dirty picture-taking began.

Rogue couldn't stop laughing and Wanda started laughing and moaning in her hands, leaning against Rogue for support. "No, no, no… It's hilarious but I can't watch. It's my brother…my little brother…"

Even Remy chuckled and shook his head in amusement with the ending night shenanigans. He could imagine himself doing the same thing to St. John (and he might have during the Buckethead Era, now that he was thinking about it…). He was just glad they chose the bratty son as the victim; on anyone one else and it would have been a waste.

Kicking Rogue lightly, he motioned towards the door. "It's late," he reminded her and she only looked at him in blank confusion as he lifted her up.

"Nuh-uh. And how would you know? You don't sleep."

"True," he shrugged, setting her upright. "But other mutants do," he pointed to a Todd that looked a bit too drowsy cuddled up next to Pietro. His attention shifted to the "not-a-couple" right next to the passed out boys, laughing and touching a bit too intimately for company.

"You're leaving already?" Wanda asked Rogue pathetically as St. John gnawed at her neck.

"I am?"

"You are," Remy confirmed.

"Oh, where we goin'?"

"Candy Mountain."

"Oh good," Rogue sighed in relief. "I'm hungry."

"Hungry?" Suddenly, little alarm bells starting ringing in Remy's head.

"Why didn't you say so!" Wanda's hands shot up in the air and she grinned. "One for the road?"

"Is there even any left?" Rogue's eyes widened in amazement.

"Enough for us," Wanda sang as she dug into St. John's pocket and retrieved two small, saran wrapped packages.

"Hey, what about me?" St. John pouted.

"It's for the greater good, dear. You can delinquent freely here- she can't," Wanda patted his cheek as she hobbled up to Rogue and passed her a package. "To another day of Rogue not being kidnapped."

"Huzzah!"

Things became increasingly clearer to Remy as Rogue unwrapped the package like it was the Holy Grail. Primarily, his hunches were right; everyone was acting a bit more dim-witted than normal and the reason behind that was hidden inside that brownie. As a second thought, he realized he really should stop her from eating more brownie.

He thought this a bit too late and his knee-jerk reaction to reach out and grab the treat didn't leave the joints in his finger before she popped the brownie into her mouth and was moaning in delight.

"My compliments to the chef," she sighed in joy, a content smile easing onto her face.

And Remy almost narrowed his eyes in annoyance, mainly with himself. Who was he to stop her from doing whatever she wanted? She was an adult- no wait, she wasn't. She was still a minor under Xavier's care. But hell, she was more mature than most of the other teenagers in that school. And who the hell was he to take away these moments from her? He wasn't a guardian, a mentor, a parent- he was just the guy picking her up. Hell, Kitty wouldn't go so far as to physically stop Rogue from doing what she wanted, right? And if memory served him correctly, she would even try to cover up for Rogue- because that's what friends did.

Curiously watching Rogue stumble around giving everyone hugs, he mulled that thought over in his head a few times. It wasn't like he was going to purposefully rat her out (who likes a tattletale?) but would he take the time to cover for her in case one of the adults suspected something amiss if he could?

"Alright, chére," he guided her by the arm, picking up her gloves on their way out. "Let's get you somewhere safe before that kicks in, hein?"

"Before what kicks in?"

"Exactly."

"Okay," she sighed contently as she stumbled along.

Slapping a helmet on her head, he climbed onto his bike and helped her on. "Don't you dare think of fallin' asleep on me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she shook her head slowly. "I need my pajamas."

"Put your arms around me," he commanded, yanking her hands together tightly. "Hold on tight."

It was a miracle she didn't lose focus and let go mid-ride. He almost had a heart attack when she lolled her head back and quickly yanked her back in. Had he known she was going to be in her current state he would have dropped by the mansion to pick up Scott's car.

They rolled up through the security gates, past the streaming sprinklers leaking water onto the pavement, and into the garage when Remy noticed an extra car in place- a car that hadn't been there when he left. He groaned. It was most likely Hank- Hank who occasionally indulged his darker nature and slept during the day. More often than not, he was on night patrol. And wouldn't it be just peachy if that was the case tonight?

Remy jumped off the bike and helped a swaying Rogue off. How would she sneak in without Hank noticing her- or for that matter, smelling her?

"Chére," he made a face. "You smell like the inside of a bar bathroom." She smelt like she was dipped in beer and rolled in smoke. How had he not noticed this before?

Oh that's right. Because the Brotherhood house smelt that much worse.

Rogue took a moment to process this. "Not sure if bad thing… or a compliment…"

"Definitely not a compliment," he muttered. There would undoubtedly be a trail of stench following everywhere she went, which would undoubtedly end up all over the Mansion in her curious fog.

"Definitely a compliment," she nodded slowly, seemingly unaware he had spoken.

With a long look towards the side entrance, Remy ran a hand through his hair. The question arose again: would he cover for her?

"It smells so smooth," she muttered, running her hands along the shiny contours of his bike.

One look at her and he groaned. She was smiling. Not just grinning from acts of deviance, but she was genuinely smiling. She was always so angry and defensive but she was so docile and calm… it was a nice change and he hated that he thought so.

Damnit, he was going to cover for her. And not just pass it off like an accident or plead the fifth. He'd pull all the stops out and make sure her good night wasn't ruined.

Because he kind of owed her.

He kind of owed her for that one time he sent her life upside down and that second time he sent the Wolverine's wrath on her- and for countless other things that he didn't have the time to remind himself with. Regardless, in the short time he had been at the Institute, she herself had proven her trustworthiness to keep his demons far more than most people in his life.

Yeah, he owed her this.

But how the hell was he going to get her past detection? Her loopy ass was screaming suspicion.

"I can feel all of the molecules in my body…"

You couldn't reason with someone who wasn't in their right mind. There was only one way he could fathom to get her inside- it wouldn't fix her ascent into the high heavens but it would solve the smell and that was more than half the battle, right?

"I'ma count them… one… two… three…"

Remy slowly guided her away from the bike and outside into the cold weather. She was in a good mood, right? What he was about to do wasn't going to wake the hibernating bear from its slumber, right?

"It's so nice out," she sighed.

"Is it really?"

"Mmmhm…"

No matter what she said, it was late November in New York- it was not nice by their collective southern standard.

"Sorry, chére," he muttered as he walked her along the wet lawn's edge. "It's really for your own good."

"Mmm," she sighed.

And he pushed her into the running sprinklers.

Rogue landed on her back and stared up at him in confused shock, a steady stream of water slowly drenching her. "I fell."

If that's what she wanted to believe, that was fine with him.

Rogue made no move to get up. In fact, she merely stared up into the clouds, seemingly unaware of the freezing water soaking through her clothes.

"Rogue," he called out and her eyes slowly moved over to him, as if she forgot he was with her. "Time to get up."

"You should join me. It's nice," she hummed, eyes drifting.

"Don't think I have a choice," he muttered, stepping into the grass and hauling Rogue to her feet. He could feel the water soaking into his trench coat and freezing his back. At least this ploy would be somewhat believable.

Guiding Rogue back, he figured she was drenched enough to imitate a wet dog by the way her chucks squished with each step.

"When we get in, I don't want to hear you say a peep, got it? You just march on upstairs and change. Don't talk to anyone."

"Who?"

"Anyone," he stressed. "You let me do the talkin'."

"Okay," she smiled serenely.

"And don't smile," he groaned. "And try to act like yourself."

"Okay." Her smile didn't change. "What?"

"Dieu," he opened the door and guided her in.

It was silent as he pushed her though the entrances. He wouldn't allow himself to think everything was going smoothly, like he wouldn't need to worry about covering for her any further. But they had made it through the first floor without any sign of life…

But as soon as they stepped on the staircase, a loud, boomingly cheerful voice stopped them.

"Up so early? Or back so late?"

Remy and Rogue halted on the steps and looked back to find a cheerful Hank beaming at them with his half-moon reading spectacles and pot-sized mug of coffee.

Merde. It was showtime.

He could do this. Remy was a master of many things- and that included distraction.

"Back late," Remy feigned tired and rolled the muscles in his neck tiredly. "The drop wasn't as clean as I'da hoped," he explained with an annoyed eye-roll and scoff. Go now, Rogue, he mentally urged. "Was late pickin' her up," he yanked a thumb towards her.

"A problem with the drop?" Hank's bushy eyebrows furrowed. Too easy. "Is everything alright?"

"It is, but they definitely took their time lookin' and complainin'."

"You weren't compromised, right?"

"Non," he shook his head adamantly. "They seemed suspicious though. I took the long-way back, just in case."

"Good choice." Hank nodded gravely. "I haven't had a chance to go through the files completely but of what I did see, I don't particularly agree with."

"You and I both."

"Well," he sighed tiredly. "We will confer more about this in- why in high heavens are you two sodden?"

Remy took the moment to look back at Rogue, who hadn't moved but was staring at something off into the distance. Mentally, he urged her to go; again, she didn't seem to hear him.

"We got caught in the sprinklers," Remy explained almost shortly. "Was just on our way to get dry."

"Ah, of course," Hank nodded hurriedly. "I will not keep you longer, then. Perhaps we will discuss what else you found later."

"D'accord, plus tard," he saluted tiredly as he lightly pushed Rogue up the stairs.

"Oh, and Rogue?"

They both halted and Remy hid a wince. Rogue turned and looked at Hank wordlessly.

"Might I suggest a warm shower and hot tea to stave off a cold? You are dripping wet and I hardly think you of all, ah, Mutant Manor would like to be the first Med Bay visitor of the cold season…"

"Yessir!" Rogue nodded curtly and gave a brief, two-fingered salute before marching back up the stairs.

Remy fought a groan as he trailed her up the stairs. At least she got the smart-assed part of herself right on target. Gazing around the room, looking like an idiot as people around her carried on a conversation? Not so much. She really needed more practice acting normal while under the influence.

Waiting around the hallway corner of the boys' wing for Hank to bounce away, he soundlessly made his way to Rogue's room. A quick knock on her door and he heard her humming in response. Slipping in quickly, he found her splayed out on the floor in only a long shirt. A long-sleeved, wet shirt that clung too close to her curves.

She giggled (it was like she was a completely different person) and wrinkled her nose in amusement. "Oh hi!"

"Chére," he began patiently, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What are you doin'?"

"Ionno. I forgot…" she confessed with a sheepish, serene smile, flailing her limbs around on the carpeted floor, raising her shirt up her black panty-line...

Damnit, he owed her.

Shuffling through her dresser, he threw clothes at her and commanded her to change. To be honest, getting her sick never crossed his mind as he pushed her into those sprinklers. Taking a shower would be a smart thing, except she'd probably forget what she was doing and accidently drown herself. The least he could do was make sure she changed.

With his back turned, he heard the slow rustling of clothing. He peeked when he heard her lay back down and snapped back around to find her a sweater and a towel. She was cold… and he could tell.

Fucking hell, he owed her.

Yanking the sweater over her head, he ran a towel vigorously over her dripping hair and gave her a dry look. "Try to get warm and not to get yourself into any more trouble, s'il vous plait?"

She only gazed back peacefully as he set her on her bed and threw a comforter over her. Was anything even registering with her at this point?

"And don't you dare get sick," he warned as he shut the door.

Pausing outside the door, he didn't hear her move. Good. Maybe she'd just stare at the ceiling until she fell asleep. She was out of woods for being caught, right? And he did his duty to the best of his ability. He got her home safely, into her pajamas, and into bed. The night was done with. His debt was (kind of) paid.

Remy briefly considered going back out on the town as he changed into dry clothes. He looked back outside. It still looked miserably cold so maybe not. Maybe he would take his own advice and get warmed up. And maybe eat something. Rogue mentioned being hungry earlier and now he was hungry too. There had to still be leftovers, right?

Sneaking back downstairs, he raided the kitchen and warmed up a plate. About to take it up to his room, he stopped dead in the corridor. In the time he had been scavenging for food, the common room TV was turned on. Damnit.

He found Rogue lying on the couch, staring at the TV mindlessly. She was twirling a lock her mussed hair around her fingers incessantly.

"What'd I say about not gettin' into trouble?"

Rogue glossy eyes flickered lazily up towards him and she only blinked. "Oh, hello…" she greeted dreamily.

Sighing, he sat himself next to her. "You're a handful. Anyone ever tell you that?" Did the girl always have to be a couch hog? Everyone knew the best seat was the one right in front of the TV and she always managed to take that.

"Irene did," she murmured distantly. "Irene told me every day."

"Irene?" But he got no answer. Her attention drifted over to the endless commercials of the TV.

Taking the remote with no resistance on her part, he began flicking through the channels. Rogue continued to languidly run her hair through her fingers. Was her hair curling out or was that just his imagination?

The TV filled the lack of conversation while he gobbled down his food. Apparently she wasn't hungry anymore; her eyes didn't ever flicker over to his plate or register he was eating. The TV completely took over her attention; he was in a trance, complete with even breathing and repetitive twirling.

Sometime after the tenth Girls Gone Wild commercial, her bare feet started swinging slowly in the air.

"It feels like water," she sighed.

And he couldn't help but to laugh quietly to himself as he set the plate aside. There was something unsettling about the difference in Rogue-in-real-life versus Rogue-high-and-drunk. It was a jolting personality change, a complete 180. While her normal personality fluctuated from actively-brooding to barely-cheerfully-conniving-and-sarcastic on a day to day basis, her intoxicated self took on almost a normal hue. It was relaxed, calm, secure… unburdened. It was nice but sobering. It made him wonder.

Rogue's eyes flickered up to his, again as if remembering he was right next to her. "Your eyes…" she drifted off, clearly unable to carry a coherent conversation. He waited for her to finish her sentence regardless.

But when she started to slowly glide her feet along the fabric of the couch, he couldn't resist asking. "What in the world are you doin', fille?".

"Ionno," she breathed softly. "It feels so nice on my skin…it all does…"

Rogue continued running her feet all over and soon started toeing the fabric of Remy's sweats freely. Before he knew it, he grabbed her feet delicately with his gloved fingers and he placed them gently on his lap. Rogue didn't jerk away in surprise like she normally did; she just lolled her head back onto the arm rest and sighed in pleasure.

As he ran his fingers lightly over the arches of her feet, he knew what she wanted, what she was really jonesing for. Hell, Remy LeBeau always knew what women wanted. And for the most part, he always delivered.

Rogue was self-sacrificing and it was a trait that didn't come naturally to her. It was a survival mechanism, a learned trait stemming from fear and when you take away the fear, the inhibition...

He trailed a path lightly up the top side of her foot and ran gently up her covered legs, easing back down her calves and caressing the soles of her feet. It was easy to see the subconscious desires when you cracked the defensive and sarcastic surface; it was even easier when you had particular mind alterations. Prancing around the empty Institute with gloves off only when she held a game controller hinted at that. The way she didn't take back her feet even though his hands were only half-way gloved showed him that. Hell, even her hot pink toenails told him that.

Starting up the path again, he ventured a little bit higher, past her calves and up to her mid-thighs, making sure to alter to the pattern each time. Using his empathy didn't give much insight into her foggy state but she had stopped fingering her hair (now he really wasn't imagining it- the girl had curly hair) mid-twirl and was lounging into the couch, biting her lip with her eyes closed.

"Y'know what, Cajun?" she mumbled drowsily seemingly forever later.

"What's that?"

"You're a good friend."

He almost didn't hear her, she had muttered it so low it sounded like her thoughts drifted off again. But he heard it and there was no mistaking what she said in her drugged out state. As she fell into silence once more, he couldn't convince himself it was and wasn't the truth.

Remy awoke to being smacked upside the head. Squinting, he looked up to see Logan glaring daggers down at him, remote smacking his hand threateningly. Looking down, he realized Rogue's legs were still draped sleepily over his lap and his hands were still on her legs. Yeah, it looked questionable…

But this is what friends did, right?

AN: Over 200 reviews! I want to do a little jig for you all, but I fear I might scare you away. In thanks, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I think we've all imagined a man-biscuit giving us a euphoric massage once in our life, eh, eh? Just put yourself in Rogue's position and close your eyes… Thank you again to everyone who reviewed and has been reviewing and alerting and being generally awesome. You all make my day and you all rock.