Rogue perched beside Gambit as they surveyed the office tower across the street. According to the intelligence provided by Cyclops, the building should be nearly empty at this hour. It was well past the time when most of the employees should have left for the evening. Except, that didn't appear to be the case tonight. Too many lights remained on in the office suites on the thirty-sixth floor and semi-obscured silhouettes passed behind the tinted glass. If it had been any other floor, the late night workers would have posed less of a problem, but to reach their target they would need to pass directly through those occupied offices.

When they had arrived forty-five minutes ago, Remy had muttered a curse under his breath, then fell silent. Badly out of practice at the fine art of surveillance, Rogue had followed his lead and watched silently. Holding in a frustrated sigh, Rogue fought back the urge to ask the question which had niggled at the back of her brain since being assigned to this portion of the mission. The longer they waited, the greater her confusion grew. Were they waiting because she lacked the skills needed to infiltrate the office?

"Is there another way in?" Rogue asked instead, keeping the question at a low murmur.

"Non." Remy pushed back the handful of hair which had fallen in his face when he shook his head in response to her question. "If we had pulled off de heist durin' normal business hours, maybe. But, de office is too heavily fortified to break in any other way. Especially wit' dem bigwigs blockin' our path. Right now, all we can do is wait dem out."

Rogue nodded. Slowly, she rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck. A headache, more irritating than painful, throbbed at her temples. Taking slow, deep breaths, she forced herself to refocus on their target.

"Somet'in' on your mind, chère?" Remy's intense red-eyed gaze never wavered from the other building.

"Why me?" Rogue asked at last. "Cyclops said ya asked for me specifically. But, it don' make a lick of sense. Ah mean, Ah'm not the first y'all think of when it comes to being stealthy. Surely, Storm or Psylocke would have been a better choice."

When she had still been part of the Brotherhood, Rogue was often assigned to infiltration, surveillance, and intelligence gathering, rather than the more directly violent aspects of their missions. At the time, she'd chalked it up to Mystique's tendency of being rather protective of her foster daughter. That, and being scarcely more than thirteen when she went on her first mission with them. Everyone pulled their weight in the Brotherhood and, despite the ill effects to herself and her victims, her natural mutant abilities were more suited for infiltration than fighting.

Course, that all changed after Rogue's fateful encounter with Carol Danvers. After that, she was rarely asked to participate in missions requiring stealth. With her strength and near-invulnerability, she had become a cornerstone of X-men's fighting force. Her job was to take and give as much damage as possible. While she didn't miss being a terrorist and part of her was glad she didn't need to rely on her absorption abilities to be useful to the team, there were times she missed being something more than a tank.

Remy was silent for a long moment as he mulled over his response. He twirled his collapsed bō staff between his fingers, his only sign of fidgeting. Finally, he shrugged and agreed with her. "Oui, I asked fo' you."

"But..." Rogue prompted, hoping there was more.

"Just cause you can take down an army by your lonesome, don' mean you don' have more t' offer de team, chère." For the first time since their arrival, that languid, sexy grin of his which turned her legs to jelly, spread across his face. "'Sides, I wanted t' spend some time wit' you. It's been a while..."

"Mmhmm." A rosy flush warmed her cheeks and a sense of contentment replaced the earlier confusion. She might not usually consider casing a joint quality time, but he was right. It had been a too long since they had a real opportunity to spend time together. And, she did appreciate the chance to be alone with him, even if they were working. "Ah've missed ya too, Swamp Rat."

Silence once more fell between them as they resumed their vigil. This time, she was able to relish the companionable silence. The pattern of movement on the thirty-sixth floor shifted as the shadows began to gather. Remy shifted his stance, subtly stretching his long limbs as though he was preparing to move. Rogue bit her lip and counted the silhouettes, keeping track of the dwindling number of occupants.

Her stomach growled loudly. She swore it echoed like the rumble of a train in the still of the night. Remy's gaze flickered away from their target and swept over her with an intense concern. "You okay, chère?"

"Yeah," she drawled, pressing a hand against her stomach as though she could hold in the grumbling hunger pangs which gnawed at her belly. It didn't help. Her stomach rumbled loudly in protest.

An expression she couldn't quite interpret flickered across his red on black eyes. His jaw tightened and his fingers flitted across the outside of his duster pockets. As though he were cataloguing the contents by touch. "You certain?"

She gave a succinct nod. It was nothing that she couldn't push past for another hour or so. She'd eat when the mission was over. Maybe she could convince Remy to join her. She wasn't ready for their time together to be over. Besides, it'd be nice to spend some non-work time with him again—as friends, of course. "Ah'm fine, really."

Despite her reassurance, his brow remained furrowed. He worried at his lower lip and his tapped a rapid tattoo against the outside of his pocket.

"Don' worry swamp rat, Ah just missed lunch with the team and wasn't hungry when Ah got back from the supply run. Then we all got busy with preparing for the mission." She ignored the empty gnawing in the hollow of her stomach. "When we left early, Ah forgot to grab somethin'."

"Rogue..." With evident disquiet, he reached out and brushed her shoulder.

She needed to bite her lip to keep from rolling her eyes. He was more troubled about her accidentally skipping a couple of meals than she felt the situation warranted. Still, his concern was genuine and she didn't want to make light of that, whatever the cause. "Won't happen again—Ah promise."

"Bien." He murmured under his breath, then turned back to watch the building across the street.

For twenty minutes they continued to watch in silence. To Rogue's eyes, the coast appeared clear, but it was obvious Gambit was seeing something she was not. No doubt his training as a thief gave him a better insight into the scene before them.

Grrrr...

Rogue sucked in her stomach and flushed as another loud rumble broke the silence. This was beginning to get more than a little embarrassing.

Quick as lighting, Remy's fingers dipped into his pocket. "Catch."

A small rectangular object flashed through the space between them. The light of the moon reflected off the foil wrapper. By instinct, Rogue caught it, curling her fingers tight around the narrow, rectangular object. "What's this, Cajun?"

"Jus' eat it, chère. It's almost time." His crimson gaze was once more trained on the office building. As if on cue, the lights shining through the windows began to go dark.

Opening her hand, Rogue blinked in surprise at the granola bar lying across her palm. Why in the world does Remy keep a granola bar in his pocket? She'd never seen him eat one and with the way he liked to putter around the kitchen, she didn't think he would habitually eat something so—ordinary. With a shrug Rogue peeled back the wrapper and took a bite. Whatever his reasons were, she was grateful he had been carrying a granola bar tonight. Hopefully it would quell her grumbling stomach long enough for them to complete their mission. Once she finished the bar, she crumpled up the wrapper and glanced around for a proper place to dispose of it.

"Here," Remy snatched the wrapper from her hand a little more brusquely than usual. Infusing the crumpled ball with a touch of power, it disappeared with a small poof and a flash of fuchsia. He rocked to the balls of his feet and he readjusted his hold on his bō staff for the umpteenth time. His knee bounced in an uneven rhythm that was beginning to drive Rogue nuts. Meanwhile, his hand kept drifting instinctually to his pocket only to jerk away the moment he touched the leather.

"Is there somethin' amiss?" Rogue asked moving so she was crouching right beside him. Her shoulder brushed against his and he leaned into her. She could feel the tension running through his muscles and radiating off him in near tangible waves. "Do we need to call the mission off?"

"Non." Remy gave a curt shake of his head, his hair falling into his eyes.

"What's wrong, sugah? This ain't like ya." She kept her voice low, infusing it with as much concern as she could manage without sounding patronizing.

"Not'in'." He snapped the word like it was a pop of Jubilee's gum rather than the languid drawl he usually infused into his speech whenever they weren't fighting.

Rogue frowned. She could search through his memories, which still lurked in the depths of her subconscious, to try and find the source of his agitation, but she didn't want to. All she ever wanted was to know Remy without the aid of her powers. When he chose to reveal something, the information was painfully slow in coming. More often than not he stretched her patience to the near breaking point. Still, it was better to let him share when he was ready rather than force the information from him.

Besides, his memories were a mess and even now that she knew his most shameful secrets and had context for many of his memories, it was still a hassle to try and detangle the threads for a single memory. The memories she absorbed with his psyche were a Gordian knot she couldn't untangle on her own. Whenever she tried to access them, self-hatred and guilt washed over her psyche and tainted his memories. Mistrust and loss mingled with the rest. And, right now wasn't the time to deal with aftermath, especially since it wasn't pertinent to the task at hand. She needed a clear mind to complete their mission.

The silence between them stretched. Rogue was about to give it up as a loss when Remy spoke. There was a catch in his voice. "Dat was my last one. Been awhile since..."

Last one? She studied him for a moment. His grasp on his bō tightened, though she didn't think he was talking about his staff. He didn't start acting squirrelly until... Her gaze flicked back to her own hands, a dark smudge of chocolate stood out along her index finger. Was he talking about the granola bar?

Rogue ran a hand over her stomach. Something more than hunger gnawed at the lining of her stomach. Whatever the sensation was, years of experience dealing with her own mutation told her, it wasn't originating from her own psyche. While she recognized it, she couldn't quite place the sensation. Was it...fear? No. That wasn't quite right. Certainly a thread of fear ran through her, but that didn't completely describe what she was feeling. Without meaning to, Remy's psyche was acting up and causing her to experience his reaction to the situation. Something about all of this was making him irritable and was starting to do the same to her. Despite this knowledge, it didn't help her understand what was happening or why. The sensation churning in her gut was foreign and familiar at the same time. There was a sense of vulnerability... of uncertainty... coupled with anxiety...

A sudden flash of understanding dawned in her consciousness. Whatever was bothering Remy was the similar to the feeling she had whenever she lost her gloves.

"Remy?" Her hand tightened around his upper arm. "Talk to me..."

"Later, chère, I promise. It's time t' go." Remy scrambled to his feet. The emotions which had been burning in his scarlet eyes were closed off behind the blank mask of a professional. She would get no more from him until the job was over.

Following his example, she stowed the questions and unease to the back of her mind and got on with the mission.

Cyclops was waiting for them when Rogue landed at the rendezvous point with Gambit in her arms. She set Remy down, regretting the loss of his closeness the moment he was standing on his own two feet. As though they weren't over an hour late, Remy took his time rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck. Languidly, Remy pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it before Scott had an opportunity to start in on the inevitable lecture.

A concerned furrow creased Rogue's brow as she tried to remember when she had last seen Remy smoke. It had been quite some time ago. While she knew he still smoked occasionally, he didn't usually do it when he was around others—especially her. Now, it appeared as though he was trying to deliberately provoke Cyclops with the action. Then again, she hadn't missed the tight pull of tension laced through his corded muscles as she carried him. The cigarette, she supposed, was helping ease whatever was bothering him until he had the opportunity to properly work through it. (Or, knowing Remy as she did, until he could suppress it.)

"What took so long?" Cyclops demeaned. He held out his hand. Even with the visor obscuring his eyes, it was easy to read the irritation on their fearless leader's face.

Remy took a long drag on the cigarette and exhaled slowly before retrieving the disc from his other pocket and slapping it against Cyclops' palm. "You failed t' mention dat dey were runnin' deir backup protocol t'night. Might have saved yourself some waitin' if you'd have let me know."

Scott shrugged. "Why couldn't you have made our copy while they were making their backup?"

"Ne'er mind. You've got your data." Remy wrapped an arm around Rogue's waist. "C'mon chère."

"You're staying right here until I'm done with you." Cyclops maneuvered himself between the X-Men and the direction Remy was leading them.

"Non. We're getting dinner." Remy blew a stream of smoke in Cyclops' face. Scott coughed and waved the disc in front of him trying to clear the air.

"Dinner? What are you talking about? The mission isn't over yet..." Cyclops glanced between Rogue and Gambit. The evident confusion on Scott's face would be almost comical if Rogue wasn't nearly certain she'd be getting an explanation along with dinner.

"Sorry sugah," Rogue glanced over her shoulder as they brushed past. Her eyes flashed, daring their leader to protest. Cyclops wisely held his tongue. "Our portion of the job is complete, ya don' need us for the next part. We'll debrief with the rest of y'all tomorrow."

Cyclops spluttered but didn't try to stop them. Rogue was glad. Though for all intents and purposes Remy was giving off the impression of being thoroughly unperturbed, with his arm wrapped around her waist, Rogue could feel the rigid lines of tension running along his limbs.

It was a fifteen minute walk to find a diner which was opened late. Remy's pace was quick, efficient, and lacking any trace of the insouciant grace which usually marked his movements. Despite his hurry, he kept his longer strides at a pace with her shorter stride. His lips were pulled into a thin, tight line and Remy didn't speak. Rogue found that she was too anxious to push him for answers. She'd known him long enough to recognize the expression hidden behind his shuttered gaze. Anyone else would see him closed off—expressionless—but to her eyes, she clearly recognized the vulnerability bleeding through his every word and every action.

The warm golden lights shining through the large, plate glass windows of the twenty-four hour diner were a welcoming sight. Rogues stomach gave a gurgle of anticipation, while the tension in a Remy's shoulders slightly eased. A cheery bell jingled over the door announcing their arrival to the nearly empty diner. Greeted by a rush of warm air and the homey aroma of cooking food, Rogue and Remy followed the posted instructions and seated themselves in a cozy booth near the back of the diner. With the menu spread out before him, Remy finally began to relax.

"Hi, I'm Amy. I'll be your waitress this evening." A young woman who appeared barely out of high school approached their table. She pulled a small notepad from the pocket of her black half apron. "Can I get you anything to start off?"

"Oui." Remy didn't look away from the menu, instead he began ordering a myriad of items from across the offerings.

When he finished ordering, he glanced up and offered Rogue a sheepish grin. "Order what you like chère, my treat." He paused as he handed her the open menu, recalling the number of items he'd ordered, "Or, I suppose, you can share wit' me."

"Ah'll have my own coffee, but other than that, Ah think we'll share. You got just about a bit of everything, sugah." Rogue grinned brightly at her dining companion as she turned over her coffee mug.

Amy filled both of their mugs with the steaming, dark brew, then headed back to the kitchen to put in their order. While Rogue slipped the menu behind the condiments and grabbed a handful of the individual creamer cups for her coffee, Remy wrapped his hands around his mug, but didn't stop fidgeting. "Sorry 'bout all dat. Didn' realize it would hit me so hard..."

"Cajun, Ah know Ah got your psyche swimmin' around my head, but it doesn' mean Ah have an all access pass to what ya are thinkin' at any one moment. Ya're gonna have to give me a few more details before Ah can start makin' sense o' why Ah'm feelin' as jittery as the last time Ah'd lost mah gloves."

Instead of answering immediately, Remy pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and split the deck a half dozen times in a rapid steady shuffle. Mechanically, he laid out a game of solitaire in front of him. Without a glance at the game, he swept the cards off the table and repeated the process of shuffling and dealing another game before Rogue broke the silence.

"You okay sugah?" She wrapped her hands around the coffee cup. Warmth seeped through her gloves. She wished she didn't need to wear them. But, with Remy so close, it was better to be safe than sorry with his nearly irresistible charm.

He looked up from his game as if seeing her for the first time since they ordered. "Oui, I'll be fine."

Rogue scrunched her nose and shook her head. For some reason she didn't quite believe him. Reaching across the table she cupped her hand over his, stilling his restless motion. "Swamp rat, Ah know ya'll be okay, but Ah want to know, right here, right now. How are ya?"

Remy gave an exaggerated, languid shrug. He moved in an elegant, almost boneless manner. "Je vais bien. Just got to work through it chère. It takes time."

"Whatchya workin' through?" She gestured over at the menues tucked behind the ketchup bottle and salt and pepper shakers. "Does it have somethin' to do with orderin' half the menu?"

Remy chuckled and Rogue felt as if she could relax a bit. "Didn' order half the menu. Maybe a quarter, but even then..."

"All right, all right. But even ya have to admit, ya did order more than the two of us could reasonably eat."

"Oui. I know." He swept the cards together and returned them to his pocket.

She bit her lip. As much as she wanted to pepper him with a hundred questions, she knew that if she wanted answers, she needed to be patient. Instead, she emptied several creamers into her coffee. Her spoon clinked against the ceramic as she swirled the creamer into the coffee and waited for him to speak.

After we felt like an eternity, though it couldn't have been more than a minute or two, Remy swallowed hard. His face was drawn, making the stark lines of his cheekbones more prominent. For a flickering moment, Rogue could see the lost, lonely, little boy in his haunted red on black eyes. He reached across the table and tapped her temple. "How much do you have 'bout my childhood up dere?"

Rogue shrugged. She really wasn't certain. His more recent memories had been so overwhelming, so difficult to decipher and unravel, that she didn't often try to look any deeper than the occasional flash of memory. "They're locked up pretty tight sugah. Ah suppose Ah could rummage around and try to sort them out, but Ah'd rather learn about you from you...Ya know, instead of rooting around your stolen memories."

"'preciate dat, chère." Remy lapsed into silence. He once again placed his hands over his pockets as if cataloging the contents by touch. "Let's start wit' what you do rem'mber."

Rogue shrugged. "Ah know ya were adopted by Jean-Luc and he brought ya into the Theive's Guild. An' Ah'm not likely t' forget 'bout Paris... Is that what ya're gettin' at?"

"Non." Remy shook his head. His long russet hair swung back and forth with the movement. With his head still bowed, his loose hair obscured his vision. "Before all dat. When I was not'in' more dan a garçon."

"Oh." A sudden understanding caused her stomach to tighten. She gulped a too large mouthful of coffee.

"You know I lived on de streets, neh? Pickin' pockets and doin' whatever necessary t' survive. Dere was never a guarantee of a warm bed or a full stomach. Didn' truly know either was possible til mon père adopted me. Learned t' sleep with one eye open, t' always know my exits, and I never knew where my next meal was comin' from. Went t' sleep hungry more times den I can count."

The waitress returned with the first round of food—soups, salad and an assortment of appetizers. Remy nodded his thanks and dug into the meal without comment.

Though hungry, Rogue could do little more than pick at the plate of food before her. "And the granola bars help?"

"Oui." He plucked the packets of wrapped saltines from their perches along the edges of the soup saucers and slipped them into his pockets. His breathing became easier and the tension in his shoulders all but disappeared. "It's hard to shake dat fear o' not knowin' where your next meal is comin' from. After Jean-Luc took me in, I'd hoarded food even t'ough dere was always more dan I could reasonably eat trios times a day. Tante Mattie caught on pretty quick. She taught me t' cook. Dat helped some. She also suggested I keep somet'in' t' eat on my person, dat way I'd always know I'd have somet'in' t' eat."

Rogue didn't know what to say and didn't want to interrupt the flow of his story, so she did the next best thing. She reached across the table and placed her hand over his. Remy always found comfort in touch. Though she couldn't give him the touch he wanted—he needed—she knew that even what little she could give was appreciated. He knew her as well as she knew him.

"De granola bars are easy to keep in my pocket." Remy stared into the inky depths of his coffee for a long moment before sipping the steaming liquid. Returning the cup to the table, he didn't look up as he continued to talk. "Usually I have a couple of bars wit' me, so if I eat one, I won' be wit'out. Appears I forgot t' replace it last time I needed one. Gave you my last granola bar dis evening. After all dis time, didn' t'ink it would bother me so much."

When he glanced up from his meal, his eyes were haunted. The red dimmed to a muted glow. He shivered and chafed at his arms as if he felt a sudden chill. "Swore dat I'd never be dat hungry again."

Rogue swallowed hard as she recognized the shadows of hopelessness and desperation in his eyes. Guilt pricked at her consciousness, reminding her not all his memories of starvation were from childhood. After she abandoned him in Antarctica, not only had he fought the cold and his self-loathing, he had also nearly starved—again. Reliving his childhood traumas must have left more scars than she had considered.

"Ah'm sorry, sugah." She squeezed his hand. There would never be enough words to express her remorse.

"Dat was a long time ago, chère." He adjusted his hand so there fingers were interlaced. Mistakes had been made by both of them. They couldn't turn back the clock, but they could move forward.

Spearing a forkful of salad, Rogue ruminated over what Remy had revealed to her. Between the point she left home and Mystique found her, she'd been on her own for only a few days—a week, at most. While she hadn't exactly had a full belly, she definitely hadn't starved. On the other hand, Remy had lived in a state of constant deprivation and uncertainty for years. He'd found ways to cope. And...and...

Rogue swallowed back the lump of emotion threatening to escape. The lovable idiot—her idiot—had given up his sense of security in order to help her. He had chosen her comfort over his own. There were times she felt like she didn't deserved the consistency of his friendship. Once again, she couldn't find the words needed to encompass what she wanted to say. "Thank ya Remy. Ya know, for sharing..."

With the grin he only ever shared with her, Remy nodded. He leaned across the table and brought the back of her gloved hand to his lips and lightly kissed her knuckles. He understood.

"I don' mind sharin' wit' you, mon coeur." While his low, soft-spoken words were almost lost in the bustle of the next course being delivered to the table, the meaning was not. She would always be a part of his life and he'd be a part of hers. No matter what happened, they would always have safety and belonging with each other.