There's a fire starting in my heart
Reaching a fever pitch, it's bringing me out the dark
Finally I can see you crystal clear
Go 'head and sell me out and I'll lay your ship bare
See how I leave with every piece of you
Don't underestimate the things that I will do
There's a fire starting in my heart
Reaching a fever pitch
And it's bringing me out the dark
The scars of your love remind me of us
They keep me thinking that we almost had it all
The scars of your love, they leave me breathless
I can't help feeling
We could have had it all
-Rolling in the Deep, Adele

BellaDonna was in a great deal of pain. There had been blood, lots of blood, when she'd been pulled from the cold bath water. She thought she heard Tante Mattie's voice speaking the soft cadence of a healing spell. But it was just her words and not her voice, but a man's. He was kneeling on her bed beside her as he spoke, one of Tante Mattie's spell books open on his lap. Belle swam in and out of consciousness, but she was aware that something had gone horribly wrong. Something had been stolen from her. She tried put her hands to her stomach, but the man lightly pushed her arms aside.

She moaned feebly and her arm moved, her hand flopping uselessly toward her nightstand. If she could reach her blade, she could protect herself. Another hand grasped her own and held it tightly.

"Belle?" spoke a voice. Her heart was filled with sudden longing and intense sorrow. Tears began to roll down her cheeks. He'd returned at last.

"Remy," said the spell-caster, "let her rest."

Remy's other hand smoothed Belle's unruly hair back from her face. "Who did this to you, mon coeur?" he asked quietly, ignoring the admonition.

"She's very fortunate to be alive," the spell-caster said. Belle knew him now, New Orleans' protector, the sorcerer Jericho Drumm. "It's damned lucky I had these books."

"D'you here that, chere?" Remy asked her. "Tante Mattie is lookin' out for you. Your own guardian angel."

"Remy..." Belle mumbled. She needed to tell him about the baby, about what happened.

Remy drew a shaking breath. "When I find out who did this, Belle, I will kill him. I swear it."

"I need you to calm down," Jericho told Remy.

Remy stared at Jericho with fiery intensity. "You want me to be calm? Would you look at her?" he said, his voice rising. "She's been butchered! Non, not butchered! A butcher wouldn't do this-mutilation!"

Jericho raised his hands in a supplicating gesture. "I'm going to ask you one more time, Remy," he said calmly. "And if you don't listen, I'm going to use force."

Remy put his forehead down on the pillow beside Belle's head. His breathing was ragged. Belle tried to reach for him but her arms would not obey. She needed to tell him what happened, how she'd fought the monster. That even now the monster's blood and hair was beneath her fingernails. Belle needed to show him so he could know who did this. She moaned.

Remy looked up and took her hand in his own, pressed the backs of her fingers to his lips.

"Do you think you can keep it together while I go get you a sedative?" Jericho asked Remy.

"No, no sedatives," Remy said hoarsely.

"I insist."

"I can't think, remember things. It makes me too slow," Remy said.

"You aren't going to have a choice in this matter, Remy. Stay and look after BellaDonna. I'll be right back."

Remy knelt at her bedside, still holding her hand. "Belle, I know I can't made dis right..."

But he could, she knew. Belle knew he could save their baby from the monster. Her fingers twitched in his grasp. "Bring her..." she whispered. Bring her back, she implored with her eyes.

"Who else knew about de baby?" he asked, his voice raw.

Belle rocked her head slightly. There was no one, and yet somehow the monster had known. He must be close, he must have found the letter. She was fearful for Remy's safety. What if the monster struck him down next?

"Did you see who did this to you? What did he look like?" Remy asked, his voice wavered with withheld emotion. Anger, she thought, or perhaps misery. Maybe he had wanted this baby as much as she did. Belle nodded weakly.

BellaDonna knew who had attacked her while she was in the bath. She'd stabbed him over and over again with the blade that was never far from her side. It was his blood in the bath mixed with her own. And when the knife was torn from her grasp, she continued her assault with nails and teeth. Belle pulled her hand free of Remy's grasp and stretched toward her nightstand. Her black carbon fiber push blade was there. She fumbled for it, and Remy took it up in his own hand. She let her fingers curl around his, pressing the handle of the blade into his palm. The world was drifting away as the pain began to ebb. Tante Mattie's spell would have seen to it; rest was the best medicine.

"Tell me," Remy begged.

Belle curled her fingers around his hand, made him see her own blood-stained nails. "Monster..." she whispered. "Une bête noire..."

The watcher was moving slowly; he'd been wounded very recently. Despite his rapid healing ability, he was still in pain. He consoled himself with the knowledge that he'd eviscerated the hellcat bitch in the end. There was no way BellaDonna could have survived the attack, not without a miracle. The other piece of the puzzle was in place, the girl Gambit seemed to be so fond of. She was the trap he needed to ensnare Gambit and hold him to the watcher's will. Grabbing the girl hadn't been easy. He'd gained a few cuts from that encounter as well.

The watcher followed Death at his slow pace and lost track of the Horseman shortly after he entered the forest. Death, or Rafael as he called himself, was dressed peculiarly in a dark tunic over breeches, tall boots and a cloak. He kept the hood of the cloak pulled up over his white hair and disappeared into shadow. The watcher proceeded to the lakeside, expecting to find Death there. The lake was still and silent. The watcher became aware that no crickets or frogs chirped nearby, there was only the faint lapping of water against the shore.

The watcher drew a sharp breath and turned when he felt a soft tap on his shoulder. Death stood just behind him, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Tag," he said in his dry rasp of a voice. "You're it."

The watcher took a step backward. This close to Death, he could see the glow of the man's red eyes lighting up the curve of his cheekbones and bridge of his nose. His teeth flashed white in his dark face. There was a crest over his heart, a red sun on a dark field. The watcher squared his shoulders and rose to his full height to tower over the man.

"You've come," the watcher said. "Have you considered my offer?"

"I have," Death said. "I've decided...I would like you to help me fulfill my purpose."

"And you've decided—-on your own?"

Death nodded once. "I did."

"You must want this very badly."

"Oh, yes," Death's reply little more than an exhalation of breath.

The watcher was delighted, but he kept himself very still. "And your-brother-doesn't know about this?"

"No," Death said, his voice very quiet. "It's a secret."

"Very good," the watcher said. "I'm quite proud of you. Are you prepared then, to come along with me?"

Death shook his head slightly. "No, not yet. I have a plan."

The watcher did not approve of this. "Do you?" he said, his voice firm.

Death's expression was bemused, his mouth was curled upwards at the corners. His eyes flared brightly in the darkness. "I know how to destroy him..." he whispered. "I saw the answer in Remy's mind. He doesn't realize he all ready knows."

The watcher grew excited. "What will we do?"

Death reached under his cloak. "Take these," he told the watcher and dropped several vials into the watcher's outstretched palm. "You'll need them all."

"Versed," the watcher read from the label.

"It makes you slow," Death said, his eyelids drooping. "And forgetful. Remy hates it."

"Where did you get this?" the watcher asked.

"Five-finger discount," Death replied, holding up his hand and flexing his fingers.

"And what do you intend for me to do with this?"

Death grinned, and a playing card appeared in his hand; the King of Spades. "Go fish," Death replied.

Gambit found himself at The Jean Grey School, slipping through the back door and into the kitchen. He knew it was Wednesday and that he had to do something on Wednesday, but he couldn't remember what. The events of the past forty-eight hours had been reduced to a blur. He'd left for New Orleans very early Saturday morning to talk to BellaDonna. When he finally arrived at the Boudreaux home, sneaking through Belle's window as he had so many times in his youth, he found Belle unconscious in her bath. The water had been bright red with blood. Luckily, Gambit had his phone. He'd remembered to charge it. Doctor Drumm was on his recent callers list. Doctor Drumm had Tante Mattie's books on healing spells. Belle's life was spared.

Gambit often wondered why he could think so clearly during times of fast-paced crisis, but fall apart at the seams when given the time to process the emotions that went along with the crisis. It was just easier to move from one catastrophe to the next. Maybe that's why he preferred being an X-Man over anything else. The moment Belle was out of immediate danger was the moment Remy felt his hold on reality slipping away. He was given the option to take the sedatives Drumm offered him or commit himself to an in-patient program at the local facility. Remy didn't like either offer on the table, but opted for the sedatives. Before he'd slid into a loose-limbed twilight state, he'd at least had the sense to write down what he needed to do when he got back to New York.

He consulted his notebook. It read: "1.) CC. 2.) Talk. 3.) Help. " Oh, yes. It was all perfectly clear now, but he still had the feeling he was forgetting something. The first point he could cross of his list. He'd been to see Cecelia upon his arrival in New York as Drumm had insisted. Cecelia was the voice of reason, his contact to reality. Gambit wasn't entirely sure what had happened when he got to her apartment, but he had the distinct impression that he would need to apologize tomorrow.

Gambit walked through the school halls. It was late evening. The students would all be either in their rooms, the library, or messing around in the rec room. It was quiet and the hall lights were dimmed. There was a light on in the teachers' lounge and Gambit gravitated towards it. He found the lounge empty. He moved to the cubicle they all shared and sat. He stared for a moment at all the photographs that had been pinned to the walls. Hazily, he reached into his jacket and removed a black and white photo; the sonogram from Belle's letter. He tacked it up on the wall and stared at it. Gambit picked up a pen from the old Xavier School For Gifted Youngsters mug and clicked it open. He gazed at his notebook, hoping to jog his memory. He put his hand on top of his head.

The lounge door opened and Gambit turned. Rogue was standing in the open doorway with a mug of tea in her hand. He regarded her for several moments. She was wearing jeans and a low cut knit top. Gambit didn't care for the top, it could have come from Emma Frost's wardrobe. Rogue's hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Gambit really didn't like her hair in a ponytail either. He liked her hair loose and wavy, but she never wore it that way anymore.

"You're here late, sugah," Rogue said, her voice light. "Haven't seen you around lately."

"It's Wednesday," he told her.

"Supposed t'be your night t'cook, remember?" she asked, her mouth pinching at the corner.

Gambit rubbed his hand on top of his head. "Oh..." he said, staring at the notebook. "I forgot."

Rogue set her mug down on the oval table. "Everything okay, sugah?"

Gambit shook his head slowly from side to side. "No. I need to-," he looked at his notebook. "Talk."

Rogue pulled over one of the rolling office chairs, the wheel squeaking in protest. She sat next to Gambit. "Ah hoped you would," she told him. "Ah'm glad. Ah've been wanting t'talk t'you for awhile."

"I need help," he told her. "I can't do this on my own." He looked up from the notebook. She was very close to him. Her hand reached out and took his hand, the one that still held the pen. Gambit looked down. It was strange to see her bare hand pressed against his. It made him nervous. He pulled away.

"Ah'll help," she told him. "Did you bring it?"

He blinked at her. "Bring what?"

"The diary?" she asked. "Ah mean, Ah still have part of it." Rogue straightened and turned to reach into her back pocket.

"No," Gambit said, shaking his head. "No, not de diary."

Rogue looked at him with a perplexed expression. "It's okay, Remy. Ah know...Ah know you might feel hurt. But-if you knew Irene like Ah did, you'd know she'd never have hurt you on purpose. Ah could tell you-."

"No!" Gambit said standing abruptly. "I don't want to talk about that!"

"Please, Remy," she said holding out her hand. "Ah want t'know...maybe we can figure it out together-."

Gambit pushed himself away from Rogue and the cubicle. "It's not about you!" he yelled at her as he walked to the open door. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears. Gambit felt ill, though to a lesser degree than what he'd experienced on Friday. Now his headache returned with brute force. "Stay away from me," he said as a parting shout. He needed to remove himself from this situation before he did something he'd regret.

Rogue was following him. "You said you wanted t'talk!" she called.

"I want someone who will actually listen t'me!" he responded, his voice breaking. He headed toward the stairs and the wing where the instructors' rooms were. He needed to find Bobby. Bobby would listen, he would understand. Gambit wouldn't have to explain. Gambit started up the stairs. Rogue was still behind him, following. Why wouldn't she leave? She had always left him before. He stumbled on one of the steps and caught himself on the railing. Gambit sat on a riser and put his head in his hands. His thoughts were roiling inside his mind, the ones he didn't care to think about. Candra...the wedding...the tribunal...

He shook his head, trying to scatter the thoughts. The Antiquary...the bullying...the streets... No, that was too far, he thought. He groaned quietly. Make it stop. Then it was dark. There was the closet, where they'd left him...

Rogue's hand closed on his forearm firmly. "Remy, sugah, are you okay? What about the closet?"

Gambit jerked his arm from her grasp. Don't touch me.

He clambered up the staircase. He needed to find Robert. He went to Bobby's room and opened the door. Bobby's door was never locked, it was always open, but Bobby wasn't there. Why wasn't he there? Gambit stumbled backwards from the empty room. How could he be gone?

"Remy, stop," Rogue said.

"Give me room t'think!" he yelled at her. "I need space!"

"That's enough. You've been given space...Now Ah need you t'calm down."

"For once in your life would you listen to me!" he shouted.

"Ah'm tryin' to, but you're rambling. I don't understand what you're tellin' me. You're out of sorts," she told him. Her cellphone was in her hand.

Gambit whirled on her. "I'm out of sorts!" he exclaimed incredulously, and suddenly his thoughts were focused sharp and narrow. "Look at you! You're someone else entirely! Was being Rogue so horrible? So bad you had to take on someone else's fake memories of a dream world?"

Rogue said coldly: "This ain't about me, remember?"

"No, it's about Legacy. You'd rather be her than you. Now I have t'see some ghost walk around wearing your face. The person I loved is dead and replaced with an impostor!"

"You need t'get over it Remy," Rogue said. "Move on. Ah'm not the same person Ah was, it's true. But Ah can't go back. We have t'move forward."

"You want to move forward, do you? When all you've done is haunt me about that stupid diary!" Gambit exclaimed. "Why can't you leave sleeping dogs lie?"

"You can't go on ignoring it!" Rogue answered hotly. "Pretending it doesn't exist, hiding under the covers like some child!"

Gambit pushed past her toward the staircase. "I'm a child? See what a sullen snit you get into when you don't get your way. I suppose it's my fault, really. For lettin' you treat me like you do. For always givin' in t'you. Made you a spoiled brat."

"You weren't ever willing to give me anything Ah didn't have to beg for! That Ah didn't have ta learn about the hard way!" Rogue yelled at his back.

"Now you're wit' someone who doesn't give an inch, so we'll see how that works out! The only reason you want t'pry into my life is for your own selfish reasons!"

"Ah'm the selfish one?" Rogue shouted. "You hide everything you are...your wife...Sinister...your illness! You put everyone around you in danger with your secrets!"

"You never cared enough to get t'know me!" he turned at the top of the stairs and pointed an accusing finger at her. "It was always about you and what you wanted!"

From the foyer below came an angry voice. "We're running a school here, not filming a damned soap opera! Keep your voices down or take it outside!" Wolverine shouted.

Shadowcat paced down the hallway. "Rogue, I got your app alert. Is everything okay?" Her eyes nervously darted from Rogue to Gambit.

"They're just having a spat, Kitty," Wolverine said as he began to mount the stairs. "Ignore them."

"Gambit's havin' himself a...fit," Rogue told Wolverine.

Gambit jerked as if struck by a blow. He wanted to throttle her. Why did all the people he counted on leave...betray him? Cecelia hadn't wanted to talk to him. And where was Bobby? He had done everything right this time. Why was it all falling apart?

A hand clasped his shoulder gently. "Let's all calm down," said a soothing voice. "Everyone can just-."

Gambit whirled, his heart in his throat. "Get away!" he cried, and pushed with his powers. "Monster!" Explosively heated air forced Beast back into the dark hallway from where he had emerged. White hot energy crackled over Gambit's body and rebounded off the walls, scorched the carpet, and drove everyone away. His powers were flaring. But that was impossible, he thought. This can't be happening! I'm not a twenty-one year old kid! How old was he, anyway? Gambit tried to think, his hands pushing through the hair at his temples. Forty-something, maybe fifty, he thought if he counted the time he'd spent locked up in The Antiquary's chambers. No, he remembered, he had a birthday recently. He was twenty-six. But then he'd given up some years to Joanna so she could be an adult again. Doctor Strange had de-aged him. How old was he?

I'm this many...

Gambit cried out: "God, help me! Tell me what t'do! Why did you make me this way?"

Gambit felt a hand lightly touch his face. He looked up to see Rogue's eyes looking into his own. He felt the pull of her powers begin to drain him.

"No!" he shouted and backed up. His foot missed the first riser of the staircase and he fell backwards. Rogue had gripped him by his jacket and she was falling too. They fell over the banister together. Gambit hit the ground first with Rogue landing on top of him. He gasped in pain. From above came the blast of several explosions. Fragments of wood and plaster rained down on them. Rogue was pulling herself away with a wordless cry of distress. Gambit felt the blackness closing down on him. He tried to fight back. He felt the brightness build inside of himself, trying to break free.

"Remy?" a voice called.

Gambit turned his head. Idie was standing in the foyer in her white dress, her book and Bible clutched to her chest. It was Wednesday. He remembered.

"I was counting on you," she said.

Then Gambit drew back from the world, into the darkness, and slammed the door shut.

Next time: Robert's Rules of Order: Bobby Drake, large and in charge.

Thanks so much for all the kind reviews! It's very encouraging to hear your feedback.
Camille: thanks for the music recommendation. I'm listening to Dog Problems now. How fitting since there's so many dog (and cat) references in this story. I've heard some of fun, and I think We Are Young is on some TV commercial now.