Remy and her fell into the habit of avoiding each other quickly. She couldn't help but notice the heat of his eyes on her at random beats, but she didn't acknowledge them. She wasn't sure if he was being respectful in his distance, or if he was mad at her. She tried not to worry about it. She was trying to wait out his stay.

She glued herself to Pyro's side, aware of the transparency of her overcompensation, but unable to stop herself. She needed his certainty next to her to balance out the raw fizzling heat that Remy sparked in her. If Pyro minded, he hadn't let on. She couldn't imagine it wasn't bothering him though.

Sometimes they'd be holding hands in the common room, and Remy'd walk in and turn a quick heel, and she'd take pieces of Pyro at the jolt of it, tiny shards, bits of feelings that didn't quite fit together. Love and guilt, a difference from the anger that seemed to seize his muscles when he noticed her notice Gambit. But, still, he hadn't uttered a word about it since their talk.

"Want to go for a walk?" she suggested, hand secure in his.

"Yeah, okay."

He'd always been a kind of quiet person. It was something she liked about him. She could be like that too, but the silence was suffocating her now.

The Brotherhood base was tucked away in the middle of Small Town, America in an old decrepit New England manor house, a left over from the old days of Northern slavery and posh English attitudes. The house itself was smaller than she'd gotten used to at Xavier's, but they'd built a large and intricate underground. She supposed it was safer that way. She liked it, because it meant the grounds spanned further. There was nothing around them for a while except gardens and a lake she imagined had been stocked for fishing once. She thought about asking him to make her a canoe, something she could skim across the surface on warm days, but doubted he knew that kind of work with his hands.

She tucked them away in a sea of trees and color and trickling light, dirt underneath their boots. He strained his eyes trying to look past the trees into the sky.

"I want to try to hurt you."

Her word choice gave him pause, and he gave a slow growing smirk with amused eyes.

"I mean, I want to see if I can do it on purpose now that we know…"

He let out a bit of a chuckle, something forced out to hide a scoff, she thought. His hand loosened in her own and drew away.

She watched as he turned his face to the sky again, closing his eyes. She wasn't sure he spent that much time out of doors before they knew each other, but the fresh air suited him.

"Okay." He opened his eyes again, still staring into the blue pieces beyond the trees.

She'd gotten used to his offering her a palm flat in the air, but she supposed she didn't need it. She felt like a predator closing the space between them, the crunch of early autumn leaves under her feet.

She pulled at her scarf, undoing the loose knot at the base, and pulled at the thing until it was just cloth slipping through her hands. She felt hot all the sudden. There was an awareness of skin that came with the intent to use her powers, and she was struck by the sheer power of how uncovered he was: a short sleeved t-shirt in cold wind, no gloves, no scarf. He was all bare arms, hands, and neck. She pulled out opera gloves and an admittedly thin scarf the second the first cold front blew in. It just wasn't summer anymore, and she belonged to a hot sun and warm rain. She wondered how much of it was his being used to the climate, and how much of it was just that he ran hotter than other people. He'd have no way of knowing either.

"You've lived up North all your life?" She tugged at one of her gloves, pulling at the fingers, feeling the silk slip across her elbow.

She had taken so much of him over several months, but he had some amount of control over what she had gotten. He could bring certain things to the forefront, always knowing when she'd touch him in advance. It was an easy enough thing to do, hide things from her, since he wasn't prone to dwelling over his past anyway. "Maybe." His face was serious, peaceful. Something skittered nearby. He felt her hand wrap around his wrist, and his own flexed at the contact. Nothing yet.

Nothing yet. She just felt really safe with him.

He turned his face toward her, drew his forearm across himself so she'd follow. He leaned over and caught her lips.

His kiss was honest and tender. She knew he really loved her, but she also knew that it was a noose around her neck. She was sure this would work. If all she had to do was distrust him, it was something she was plenty good at. She focused on it, the trade she'd made, the trap she knew she was falling into even as she fell for him. It had felt more like the finishing of something than the start, a continuation of something he'd started at Xavier's. It wasn't a lie, exactly, wasn't a trick, but there wasn't something unfair about it anyway. He tied her here, to the Brotherhood and to Magneto, to a cause she didn't believe in, to deeds she signed her name to with a held breath. She could get everything she wanted, and she still wouldn't be able to just leave.

The draw of her powers turned his kiss harder. She braced herself by grabbing at the fabric of his shirt while he snaked his arms around her and pulled her body into his.

She felt a lot more for Pyro and a lot more quickly than she ever had Bobby, but then again, they had touched right at the beginning. The truth was that she hadn't noticed him that way until he touched her, just like this, right through her powers like she was worth it.

She remembers noticing him in little ways, as more than Bobby's best friend a couple of times. There was something to his sharp temper, to the mischief in the constant movement of his fingers. She just wanted more of him. She hadn't indulged it then, but now she was just draining him whole. She couldn't stop. She didn't want to.

He did the one thing she thought he never would, he pushed her away.

"What the hell?" His voice was small, quiet, like a reprimand from far away.

Her cheeks flushed. She felt caught. "Sorry."

He was weak on his feet, and he was shaking a little.

"You should sit." She came toward him, but he flinched. It hurt more than she wanted to admit, but she supposed she deserved it.

He dropped himself to the ground and just laid there. She knelt next to him, watching the color come back into his face, holding her opera glove in her hand like a broken chain.

"You did it."

"I did." She couldn't help her smile.

"You didn't stop." His eyes were more curious than mad now.

"Sorry." It was a concession she barely felt.

He reached a hand to grab hers, and she laid both her covered and bare hand against his chest, felt as his breathing tried to soften, felt his heart beat. "Don't apologize for enjoying your power. Just, there has to be a line drawn somewhere." He was right, she knew it. "It does hurt."

"I know."

He laughed. "Do you?"

She laughed too. "I guess not."