Shades of Red: Fire by paxnirvana Format for use with submitting fanfic. Shades of Red: Fire by paxnirvana
Rating: R 
Pairing: Scott/Jean, Rogue/Gambit, assorted X-Men
Archive: Ask first.

Author's Note: Some ideas just spring out and take you hostage until they get written. Go figure.

Disclaimer: The X-Men belong to Marvel. I belong to myself. My brain wrote this. However, I'm not making any money, just losing sleep.

* * * * *

Jean lay sleeplessly in her cold bed, on Scott's side, her arms wrapped around his pillow. Breathing in his lingering scent, trying to summon his presence. The link pulsed in her heart, in her mind like a wound, sore and aching from her denial of it. But she could never sever it - not her heart, her very soul. And it might be the only way to save him; a lifeline to retrieve him from his strange prison.

But tonight, she was so alone.

Henry had tried for hours to chase her out of the medical bay, threatening her with dire consequences if she didn't rest. She had refused to leave. Then he'd used his brain. He needed her strong and rested if they were to have any chance of moving Scott's mind back to it's proper place. She had to take care of herself, rest, prepare, he'd said.

It was the only thing that could have pried her away from Scott's side, and damn him, Henry had known it. She had been wavering, nearly ready to refuse outright despite his tactics, when, to their shock, Gambit had come back into the medical bay. Willingly.

"Jeanne," he'd said in his sultry, accented voice, his expression somber and far from his normal lighthearted teasing. "Scott needs y', petite. Needs y' t' be strong for him. Go rest."

After stubbornly glaring from Hank to the uneasy Gambit, Jean had finally relented. She'd followed Gambit up to the living areas, shying away when she caught sight of the gathering of concerned teammates in the rec room. She couldn't face them. Not Storm's quiet sorrow, not Bobby's tragic silence, nor Warren's brittle disbelief; she'd fled to their room. Alone.

Jean Grey-Summers, Alpha Mutant, founding member of the Uncanny X-Men, one of the most powerful telepaths and telekinetics on the planet, curled up and cried herself to sleep in her empty marriage bed, unaware in the depths of the night, that her mind reached out for the only solace available to it: the link with her husband.

* * * * *

Rogue woke, tears streaming down her face. Tears she knew he would never let himself shed, but that she had no compunction about shedding for him.

"The link is back," he sighed with relief in her mind. And she could feel it too, the warmth, the glow, the sheer love that flowed between the unwilling passenger in her head and the sleeping mind of his wife. It told him/her that much, that Jean was asleep, her unconscious mind reaching for her soul mate despite her pain and fear and lingering anger.

So he gently sent her reassurance, love, confidence. Low level, so as not to wake her. I love you, Red, he said gently in her mind. We will find a way - we always do. Jean's mind responded with bitter amusement, sorrow, desperate need. Rogue felt like a spy in her own heart, feeling the echoes of their love resound through her, resonating off her deepest wishes. Something stirred inside her, responding to the pure love she felt from them. Something of her own that she missed in the overwhelming glow of Scott and Jean's emotion.

She would reunite them if it cost her own wretched life, she silently vowed as the silver tears streamed down her face all that long night.

* * * * *

Rogue left her room for breakfast reluctantly. She knew she looked bad. Not knowing what the day would hold and unwilling to take any chances, she donned a full body suit, pulling on the gloves with grim resignation. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, seeing only the all-enveloping blue of the suit and her tear-ravaged face. She hadn't even tried to disguise the dark circles under her reddened and red eyes. She left her room only to find Remy waiting for her at the top of the stairs, lounging against a wall, his arms folded over his chest. He straightened up as she approached, his face somber.

"Bad night, chère?" he asked gently, brushing the back of his hand swiftly over her hair. She sighed deeply.

"Ya might say that," she said, not willing to elaborate further. Then she met his gaze. "Has Jean come down yet?"

He pursed his lips thoughtfully and shook his head. "You wanna do dis in public or private, chère?" he said. She thought for a moment, tears welling in her eyes again. She took a step toward him and, to his shock, wound her arms around his waist, lowering her head to rest it on his chest. Quickly overcoming his surprise - he could count on one hand the number of times she'd initiated hugs - he wrapped his arms around her in return, holding her close and murmuring nonsense words of reassurance into her hair.

After several long and blissful - they each thought to themselves - minutes, she pulled away, looking up into his face with a watery smile.

"Thanks, Remy," she said. "Ah'll go see Jean now - on mah own, okay?"

"Oui, chère," he said gently, stroking his hand down her shoulder and arm, squeezing her hand before releasing her. "Use da comm if y' need me."

She gave him a weak smile, then turned and walked slowly down the corridor until she stood outside Jean and Scott's room, aware that Remy was still watching her. But she had to do this - let Scott do this - alone. Taking a deep breath, she looked inside her mind, calling him. Scott sent her a flicker of a reply and she found herself back in her mind-scape, standing beside him.

"I didn't realize. . ." he began, but she cut him off with a finger in front of his lips, careful not to touch him. He subsided, frowning down at her. She met his pained yet sympathetic look with a sad shake of her head. Dodging the questions she saw clearly in his eyes, she asked, "Do ya want me ta start this off, or do ya wanna bat first?" He stared down at the glowing strand that emerged from his chest, the psychic representation of his link with Jean, longing plain on his face.

"I'd prefer if I talked to her myself. Alone," he said. She nodded agreement. Not surprised, but still strangely sad.

"When ya need me again, come down ta the river," Rogue said, turning away.

"River?" he asked, puzzled.

She smiled enigmatically over her shoulder. "You'll know." Then she walked off through the waving green-gold strands, moving deeper into her own mind, vanishing into the mists. He turned his attention from inside to out, making the transition from 'passenger' to 'driver' with greater ease this time. In the lab last night, Rogue had fled suddenly to the depths of her mind, leaving him fumbling to master control of her body, struggling with the blocked psi-link, then trying to reassure Jean that he was still alive. He hadn't done well at the last two. But today was a new day, a new chance. Without knocking, he opened the door to his own room. The room he should have shared last night with his wife.

The bed was a tumbled mess. Jean was usually a quiet sleeper, but he'd felt her anxiety and restlessness all night long through the link. The familiar room was empty. As he suspected, she was in the bathroom, probably soaking in the tub. A common pastime when she was troubled.

He paused before the mirror over the dresser, staring thoughtfully at his reflection.

It wasn't his reflection at all, of course, but Rogue's. His teammate. A woman he'd seen and lead and fought beside for years. It was different being on the inside, looking out, however. She was a lovely young woman forced to share her body with the psyche of a married man. How did that make her feel, to have this interloper inside her? She had so far managed to conceal that from him, a skill hard learned, no doubt. Beyond the surface, there were her eyes. He started involuntarily. Was that how his own eyes looked under his glasses? Red and glowing irises; ominous and startlingly akin to Gambit's, save that the sclera was still white. Demon's eyes.

Would Rogue's natural green return if they were somehow successful in extracting his psyche? Or would his mutant powers now permanently belong to her? He shook off the introspective mood. That was the least of his worries right now, because first and foremost there was Jean.

He turned to the bathroom door, opening it quietly, then hesitated as his heart surged in his - Rogue's - chest.

His wife was lying in a tub filled with bubbles. Her eyes were closed - the lavender and something-he-could-never-remember scent that Ororo had blended for Jean to promote relaxation filling the small room - and her long red hair bound up on top of her head. She looked weary and sad. He stared at her beloved form, frozen in the doorway, as desire surged through him for his wife. No, through Rogue. He shook his head then, trying guiltily to drive away the reaction, feeling somehow as if he was abusing the young Southerner's trust. But he'd always had this reaction to Jean, body and soul. She was his love, his heart, his soul-mate.

Her eyes flashed opened. "Hello, Scott," she said quietly, her green eyes like emerald flames. He moved into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

"Hello, Jean," he replied, startled by the feminine sound of his voice. "You opened the link again."

"So I did," she said, watching his face - Rogue's face - carefully and not touching the link. Instead a brief frown shadowed her brow as she scanned his surface mind. "Where's Rogue?"

"Giving us time alone," he said, moving closer. "She has some interesting mental skills - it's no wonder you telepaths find her so hard to read." Jean warily watched him cross the small room. He sat down on top of the closed lid of the toilet, leaning over to brace his elbows on his knees, threading his fingers together. Jean's eyes closed in pain.

"I can't tell you how many times I've seen you sit just like that, in here with me," she said, her voice shaky. "Scott, what are we going to do?"

"I don't know, sweetheart," he said. "Do you and Hank have any ideas?"

"Not yet," she said, her eyes filling with tears. He couldn't stand it. He slid off his seat and down to his knees beside the tub, his gloved hand rising to brush away her tears. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch for an instant, then turned her face sharply away.

"Please don't," she said, her voice shaking. "That's Rogue's body."

"Yes, but I'm the only one touching you right now," he said harshly, cupping her face in his gloved hand. "God, I miss you, Jean. I'm so sorry this happened. I know this is hard for you."

"Scott," she sobbed, keeping her eyes closed. And he knew why, even if it hurt him. She could only see Rogue there, even though they could feel each other through the mental link. He touched the link then, sending his love, his longing, his determined hope to her. She sighed deeply, turning toward him, her head sinking down to rest on his covered shoulder. Her wet arm crept out, wrapping around his waist, holding him tightly to her. Down the link he felt echoes of the emotions she struggled to hide from him, anger, fear, regret. He continued to send her all his love and hope, trying to strengthen her confidence.

"Scott," she whispered again, hand clutching his side.

"Jean, we'll get through this, sweetheart," he said fervently; a promise he fully intended to keep. "I'll get back to my own body soon. We'll find a way. We always do."

* * * * *

Rogue had been grateful that Scott had come for her at the river when he did. When he was around her, he tamped down on the link between him and Jean. The wonderful link that let them share so much, feel so much, yet still remain separate. If she was exposed to it for too much longer, she was afraid she would grow addicted to it. It was like nothing she'd experience before. The past night had been both torment and delight.

It was her most cherished dream, to feel a love like that. Remy had shown such promise, but there was still so much to be resolved between them. Her uncontrolled powers being the most obvious.

"How did it go, sugah?" she asked softly, staring at the slow-moving river beyond her. It was the Mississippi of her youthful memories, warm, slow and locked in a perpetual, lazy summer afternoon, the sound of insects and birds faint in the distance. In her mind-scape, bugs only bit if they were manifestations of concerns. She scratched absently at her arm. Mind-Remy was keeping out of sight, she knew, by her wish. There were some things she didn't want to share with Cyclops - Scott Summers. Her body especially, but she knew, in order to preserve his psyche, she'd have to allow him control with some frequency.

"She's adjusting," he said with a relieved smile. She turned to look at him, struck once more by the disconcerting fact that his mind-self's eyes were uncovered by a visor. So brown and warm, revealing more of him than she'd ever known. "She'll keep the link active now. I hope it doesn't bother you."

"No," she swallowed, looking desperately past him, to the shadows of the great willow looming over the riverbank. To the hidden figure sitting there, watching her protectively. "It's nice. Ah just don't wanna pry. This whole mess is bad enough already."

"It's one of the risks we take," he said calmly in typical Scott fashion. But seeing his eyes gave his words a warmth she'd have missed before. Gratitude. Relief. "If the Sentinel's blast hadn't caught you first, I'd probably be dead. With the way we all run through uniforms, it's a wonder this hasn't happened before. It's not your fault, Rogue."

"Thanks, Scott, that means a lot ta me," she said, smiling at him tentatively. "Now the important stuff. Ta keep ya psyche fine an' dandy, we're gonna have ta share the 'outside' a little more. Ah've got good reflexes for keepin' trouble down in mah mind, but that only makes things fade faster, an' we don't want that." His brown gaze met her green one seriously, understanding plain. "So, we trade off. Eight hours at a time. That might just do it. Sharing at the same time is confusing, but we can try that too, if we need to."

"This is your mind, your body, Rogue," he said, his face somber, his eyes faintly troubled. "Your rules. But I trust you - we'll make this work out." Staggered by his confident words and the shining truth of the feelings behind them, her psychic manifestation swayed toward his. She shied back at the last instant. Touch in here meant merging of self, of mind; it was far more dangerous than anything in the physical world. What was she doing? She knew better. The shade under the tree half-rose in alarm, then settled back, watching.

"Sorry, but that's just 'bout the nicest thing anyone's ever said ta me." She shooed him away from the river with both hands, a watery smile on her face. "Get back out there an' get us some breakfast. Ah'm hungry," she said lightly. "And don't forget - eight hours." With a nod, he turned and faced reality.

* * * * *

When Rogue entered the kitchen silence fell. She stood straight and tall in the doorway for an instant, then calmly moved toward the table. Sam stared at her with wide eyes, flushing furiously. Bobby shifted nervously on his chair. Warren glowered at her. Gambit sat in a tipped back chair in the corner, his red eyes intent. Ororo rose from her place at the end of the table, her expression faintly worried.

"Any coffee left?" Rogue asked. Gambit looked at her keenly.

"Ma chère takes it black, Cyke," he said quietly. "No sugar." Warren and Bobby snapped their heads around to stare at Gambit in shock. Warren recovered first, turning to look at Rogue again with a speculative frown. Bobby just rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"We've agreed to disagree," Scott-as-Rogue said with a wry smile as he took his usual seat at the table. Gambit shrugged, swiftly hiding a dangerous gleam in his eye.

"How the hell do you know it's Scott and not Rogue?" Warren demanded as Gambit let his chair drop to the floor with a sharp bang returning the winged man's glare with equal heat. Storm shot the Cajun a reproving look, prompting him to flash a falsely charming smile in response, before she moved to the counter to gather a clean cup for the newcomer. Warren folded his arms over his chest, glaring at Gambit as if this mess were somehow his fault.

"She's got no accent," Sam said suddenly, his expression clearing faintly. The young man still looked confused and embarrassed, but appeared partially relieved that there was some way to keep his strangely conjoined teammates separate, at least in his own mind. Rogue quietly thanked Ororo for the cup and poured herself coffee. Then pointedly stirred in Scott's customary two sugars.

"Why is it you . . . out here. . . and not Rogue, uh. . . Scott?" Bobby asked, waving his hands in the air helplessly and looking pained. When you looked at Rogue, the red, glowing eyes made it plain, as when she'd absorbed Gambit, that she wasn't alone in there. It was just hard to imagine that all of Cyclops was there. It boggled his mind.

Rogue paused as she helped herself to breakfast, glancing around the table. "We need to share, she says - to keep me from fading until we can find a way to get me back to my own body. Awkward for the rest of you, I know, but necessary." Gambit stared at his hands, strangely silent.

Ororo sat down again, glancing from Remy to Rogue. "Does Henry have any ideas yet?" she asked, gaze locking intently on Rogue.

"No," Scott said, pausing momentarily in his eating.

"What about Jean?" Warren demanded, his glare hostile.

"Jean has several ideas she needs to run by Rogue," came a new voice. Heads snapped around to stare at the red-headed woman in the doorway. She was pale, but calm, dressed in her full blue and yellow uniform. Businesslike. Jean entered the room slowly, pausing for the barest of instants behind the woman seated in Cyclops's chair before sitting down beside her. Scott in Rogue's body reached out and carefully took her hand. Jean allowed it and even returned the reassuring squeeze he gave her. Jean managed a tentative smile for the young Southerner. Gambit watched them both from hooded eyes. Sam leaped to his feet and fetched Jean a cup. She accepted it with a tiny smile of gratitude. Warren poured her coffee, his expression grim.

"Bon matin, Jeanne," Remy said quietly. "Da rest did you well." She glared at him for an instant before relenting. Then she moved her hand from under Rogue's to stir her customary cream into her steaming cup of coffee. Rogue glanced from Gambit to Jean, far less animation in her face than normal, her glowing eyes watchful.

"So what are we going to do?" Bobby demanded. "When's the Prof due back?"

"We do not know," Ororo said, folding her hands in front of her on the table. "It is not often he has an opportunity to visit with the Empress. I attempted to contact him last night, but there is disruption on the link with the Shi'ar."

"When isn't there when we really need it?" Bobby snorted in disgust.

"It isn't simply a question of strength," Rogue said in Scott's flat accents. "Rogue's mutant power makes it hard to read her in-depth, isn't that right Jean?" She nodded beside him, her green eyes shadowed. "It's difficult to read me in here - even with Rogue's full cooperation. There'd be no guarantee a psi-transfer would be entirely successful - so we may have to come up with something else."

"Dere's one who's got mind-transfer equipment already," Gambit said, his expression closed and hard. Everyone at the table turned to stare at him. He lifted his head defiantly and glared around the table. Storm shot him a surprised stare, searching his face in concern. Bobby and Sam had identical expressions of confusion on their faces. Warren looked thunderstruck. Jean glanced worriedly at Rogue beside her.

"You're not thinking about. . ." Jean began, dawning horror on her face. Rogue leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest, expression thoughtful. The motion, her contemplative silence, her body language screamed 'Scott' to everyone at the table.

"Sinister."

"Should have known!" Warren snarled, wings flexing behind him, his hands fisting. "Anything to get back good with that monster, eh, LeBeau? He's been after Scott for years! Would you hand him over that easily?"

"Da only other choice might be death," Gambit said quietly, watching Rogue intently and ignoring the Angel's histrionics. Rogue's red gaze calmly met the Cajun's.

"It's a possibility we have to consider, but only as a last resort," Rogue said firmly. Warren gaped at Rogue.

"Scott, you can't be serious!"

"There are still other avenues to explore first, Warren, but we can't rule out the possibility of contacting Sinister," Rogue rose to her feet, glancing down at Jean as she tossed her napkin down onto her half-finished meal. "I'm going to talk to Hank now. I'd rather make that option moot."

* * * * *

Hank McCoy stared at the young woman before him, knowing it was his old friend and long-time team leader inside her who was proposing this outrageous plan but he was still having a lingering, fundamental trouble making the adjustment.

"Well, do you think it's worth an attempt, Hank?" she said tightly, red eyes narrowed intently, her arms crossed over her chest, her posture straight and tall. So very like the disciplined Scott Summers and so very unlike the casual Rogue. She was even dressed differently, in a plain, dark blue all-enveloping bodysuit and low boots, gloves thrust into her belt. Her hair was pulled back and braided tightly against her neck, getting it efficiently out of her way. Hank could only speculate that Scott had learned how to braid hair somewhere - from Jean, perhaps - or maybe he'd learned it directly from Rogue's mind. He drew his wandering attention back to the matter at hand.

"I don't know, Rog- - uh, Scott," he said hesitantly, stroking his chin with a huge blue hand. Rogue's lips pursed tightly, stifling a frown.

"Rogue's fine, Hank," she said grimly. "I know it's tough to get past the exterior. I still flinch every time I walk past the mirrors in the hall." When she'd entered the lab, Hank had been quick to notice, she'd pointedly avoided looking at the gleaming Shi'ar machine that held Scott's body. Just like Scott to keep his focus even in a borrowed body.

"Indeed. However to address the mechanics of your proposition, it has always been difficult to scan Rogue's unique mutant/Kree physiology with any accuracy to determine the full potential of her underlying mutant ability. It is possible, however, with your influence on her psyche, that it may render your hypothesis viable."

"Great," the combined Scott and Rogue said, clapping her hands together in front of her once. "When can we start?" Hank sighed deeply. Definitely Scott.

"Determining the physical cerebral location of both her and your mutant power is a complex endeavor, Sco- - uh, Rogue," the mutant doctor said with a quirky smile and a shrug for his continual stumble. "It will take considerable and careful preparation even for a genius of my caliber to initialize and format the examination systems, as well as coordinate the appropriate simulations."

"In English, Hank?"

He sighed. Why did no one appreciate his skill with words? "Come back in two hours."

* * * * *

Quite a bit more than two hours later, Jean was hovering anxiously behind his left shoulder in the Danger Room control center, Gambit his right. He'd had to chase out Bobby and Warren when their questions began to distract him. Ororo had departed as well in an effort to keep the peace. Henry McCoy hadn't expected quite so many observers for their little examination.

Rogue stood in the center of the Danger Room, the shattered remains of several training robots littering the floor around her. The concealing bodysuit she'd worn earlier had been exchanged for a brief leotard and an extensive sensor net. Wires and monitors were attached all over her mostly-bare body and under her hair. The relay pack with a transmitter and battery were secured to a harness on her back. The straps and windings provided her scant covering. But Henry McCoy wasn't interested in the surface - he was intently studying the multitude of readings the sensor net was sending him. Interesting, intriguing and fascinating data on the internal workings of a supremely unique mutant ability. And much better quality than he'd ever been able to obtain on Rogue previously. The imprint of Scott's psyche had somehow re-ordered the structure of both her mutant power and her Kree matrix - not lessening them, or masking them, but making them more efficient. The implications were staggering.

"Well, Hank?" she said impatiently, her arms crossed over her chest as she waited for the next sequence to begin. He'd quickly come to recognize the tonal changes that occurred when Scott had dominance in the symbiotic relationship. That was definitely their fearless leader in charge down there. Exactly how the two of them had come to this strange sharing agreement was a mystery - but an acknowledged necessity.

"Just a moment, Scott," he muttered, adjusting a display, intrigued by the sudden strange spikes on his graphs.

"It's kind of chilly in here, sugah," Rogue said, shivering slightly for dramatic emphasis. "What'cha got planned for us next, Hank?" But Hank, lost in contemplation of readings and data, did not reply. Remy leaned over and spoke into the microphone.

"How y' two doing dere, mes amies?" he said. "Tired o' dis rat maze yet?"

"Not yet, Remy," she said with a wide smile. "It's kind of fun. Scott's got a whole different way of lookin' at stuff."

"Well, wit' eyes like dat. . ." Remy trailed off with a low chuckle. "Better watch what y' look at, petite - some t'ings might not be so easy to replace." Rogue glanced up at the booth and stuck her tongue out at him then blew him an exaggerated kiss. He smiled his quirky smile back at her and gave her a mocking wink. Jean made a sharp sound of disgust, and he turned toward her, a brow raised in inquiry.

"How can you joke around?" she all but hissed at him. Her green eyes blazed angrily at him, her face pale. His amused façade faded away and he met her gaze directly.

"It's either laugh or cry, Jeanne, an' Remy's pretty face get all blotchy when he cry," he said softly, his sober expression belying his deliberately light words. "Relax, chère, just trying t' keep some perspective here. Hard as it is for us, imagine it's a t'ousand times worse for dem, henh?"

She stared at him, stunned by his perception. She had only felt her own loss, Scott's loss. But the imposition was just as great for Rogue. She'd seen her struggle for years with the difficult side-effects of her mutant power. The near madness. The loss of self. The stark isolation. Jean couldn't imagine a life without touch. How would she feel if she could never touch Scott again - then her breath caught as she realized that was still a definite possibility. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest, fear surging inside her, and she turned her thoughts away from that before it leaked through the link and alarmed Scott.

Then there was Gambit - his tumultuous relationship with Rogue was legendary. Why did he - an acknowledged flirt - pine so obviously over a woman it seemed he could never have, could never touch? To come so close, time and time again, only to have her drive him away, to deny him. Did that make him a masochistic fool? Suicidal? Or just a man hopelessly in love? And now the woman he loved had another man's thoughts and mind inside her, locked with her in an intimacy that he could never hope to achieve.

"I'm sorry, Remy," Jean said softly, ashamed of herself. None of them could afford to indulge her self-pity any longer. It was high time she shaped up and began to deal with this situation. "I know its just as terrible for them. It's just. . ."

"Dat you feel so helpless, so angry. When da one you love is taken from you so strange an' sudden-like," the young man said, a shock of red-brown hair falling across one eye as his head lowered slightly. She was surprised. He'd taken this horrible mess in such seeming stride that she'd been unwilling, wrapped up in her own emotions, to fully acknowledge the pain and fear he must be feeling as well. "I know all dat, Jeanne. But I gotta hope, somehow, wit' all da craziness we been through - the aliens, the pan-dimensional beings, the scientific maniacs - dat one o' dem might give us da answer we need t' save dem both. Or why else we X-Men, hehn? Don't we come back from da dead once a night an' twice on Sundays?"

The last joke was weak, but she made herself smile at it. "Yeah, we do, don't we?"

"Jean? Are you okay?" Rogue's voice, filled with Scott's concern came to them over the intercom. She felt his steady, reassuring presence through their link as well.

"Yes, I'm okay, Scott," she said. "Back with the program and ready to go, my love." Remy lifted the corner of his mouth in a tiny smile. It was the first time he'd heard her refer to the Rogue amalgam that way.

Hank looked up from his readings, puzzled confusion on his face. "To my shamed dismay, I must confess I'm overwhelmed. Too many things occurring simultaneously inside our Southern Belle," he said with a shake of his head. "It's a virtual impossibility to decipher exactly which is Rogue's power, which the Kree signature, what is Scott's power and what may be spillage from Scott and Jean's psi-link."

"What you need, Henri?" Gambit asked, a resigned expression on his face.

"To record Rogue's mutant power in process," Hank said apologetically, glancing up at Gambit over his half-glasses. Jean gasped.

"So you need her t' touch someone," Remy said, red eyes gleaming. Then he straightened up and looked out into the Danger Room. "Hear dat, chère?"

"Ah heard him, Remy," she said solemnly. "Sounds mighty dangerous right 'bout now."

"Vraiment," he said under his breath. Then louder, "I'm coming down, chère."

"Remy, no!" she cried, her red eyes wide with concern.

"Who else den? We made it t'rough dis before. It'll be okay, chère," he said with flip reassurance, slipping out of the control booth and out to the main door. Hank and Jean watched as Gambit appeared in the Danger Room, walking calmly toward a frowning Rogue.

"Ready, Henri?" Gambit said, not taking his eyes off Rogue's. She shook her head in reluctant admiration as he stopped barely half a step away. Close, as only he would willingly come when so much of her skin was exposed.

"Of course, Gambit," came Beast's calm rejoinder over the intercom.

"Ya got a taste for danger, don't ya, sugah?" Rogue said, lifting her bare hand toward his face, a pained twist of a smile on her face.

"Non, chère," he said softly as her hand slid across his cheek and he felt the familiar tug at his mind. "Jus' for you. . ." He crumpled as her mutant power drained him. She caught him before he could hit the floor, lowering him carefully down, brushing his unruly hair back tenderly from his face before turning her attention to the chaos inside her.

* * * * *

"Y' have brown eyes!" Remy blurted out to the passenger in her mind, his mental self strengthened by this latest contact into a full manifestation. As always, he appeared in complete thief regalia; the strangely sleek magenta and black armored suit without the duster that she recognized from New Orleans. His red eyes gleamed as he stared in shock at Scott.

Scott frowned back at Remy, looking his psychic manifestation over in surprise. He'd never seen Remy in thief garb. From a short distance away, Rogue watched the two of them warily, unwilling to hurt this image of Remy, but not wanting trouble. She knew Scott's manifestation was the more important of the two. He had nowhere else to go. While Remy would fade again. Since the two of them got along only passably in reality, inside her head she didn't need a brawl. She would be forced to defend Scott if anything went wrong.

"Since the day I was born," Scott replied finally. Mind-Remy gave him a wolfish, dangerous smile.

"Behaving y'self like I asked, Cyke?" he said, red eyes narrowed.

"Of course," Scott said, glancing briefly down at the glowing link that emerged from his chest. "Rogue has no complaints." With a satisfied nod, Remy looked around until he found the silently watching Rogue, then walked up to her. He held out his bare hand to her. She smiled weakly at him.

"Ya know better, sugah," she scolded him gently, shaking her head. Scott frowned at Remy's back, taking a warning step forward. She waved him back.

"Not a good idea, Gambit," Scott said, his tone hostile. Remy ignored him, his red-on-black gaze locked with her green one. Scott's unease deepened. Remy smiled wickedly at her as the gloves on his mental hands became solid, all the fingers now present.

"It's a shield, chère," he said with determination, moving closer but not touching her. Not yet. Behind them, she could see Scott turn reluctantly away, giving them what little privacy he could in her now-crowded mind. Dimly, she felt her body stagger, a muted impact on her knees and palms as she landed on them on the hard Danger Room floor, then a surge of love/fear/worry/love through the link with Jean. Remy's eyes widened in shock and his head swiveled around, searching for the source of those overwhelming emotions.

"Dat Jeanne?" he said. Rogue nodded. Remy whistled, his expression awed. "No wonder. Tres incroyable."

"Isn't it though?" He felt the envy that filled her response and frowned as he took her hand in his, drawing it up to his lips and pressing a kiss to the center of her palm. She gasped, feeling a shock as his mental self started to merge with her. An overwhelming sense of need/love/regret filled her. She pulled her hand away sharply.

"Remy - we don't have time for this!" she gasped, glaring at him through her white forelock. "Wait by the river!" But this presence wasn't the faded shade she was used to dealing with - this was Remy's full personality fueled by his unconscious psyche. He just shook his head at her.

"Dere more of me left in y' head dan you told me, eh, chère? Used t' ordering me 'round, hehn?" His face was thoughtful and still. Her heart pounded in her chest, fear and uncertainty filling her. This new version of Remy was daunting; apparently a great deal of his former dark despair had burned away in the fire and aftermath of the trial.

"Remy," she said warningly, moving away from him another step. "Ah'm serious. Ah want ta know if Hank's found anythin' useful. Okay?" He followed her retreat, pushing her further back into the depths of her own mind.

"Non, chère, let Cyke do da asking for now. We need t' talk."

* * * * *

After touching Gambit and lowering his limp body to the floor, Rogue had staggered to her feet, her eyes wide. Then she'd swayed and fallen hard on her hands and knees, shaking her head. "Hank!" Jean cried, simultaneously reaching through her link to Scott, only partially relieved to find him strong and steady, if distracted, on the other end of the link. The rest of Rogue's mind was in chaos. "What's the matter with them?"

"Hmmm?" Hank replied absently, engrossed in the new data scrolling rapidly before him. She frowned, staring anxiously at Rogue where she remained on her hands and knees in the middle of the Danger Room. Then the Southerner looked up, a grim smile on her face as she glanced at the unconscious Gambit beside her.

"That's something I could have lived the rest of my life quite happily without experiencing," she said, shaking her head and climbing to her feet. "It's all right, Jean. Rogue's, ah, dealing with Gambit. Does Hank have anything good from this?"

"I don't know yet, Scott," she replied, relieved enough to smile back at him. "He's making those humming noises he makes when he's being a smug know-it-all."

"I heard that Jean. Was that a joke?" Hank said, not turning his attention away from the analysis running before him. His big hands fairly flew over the control panel, making adjustments, verifying readings, running data.

"Not a good one," Jean said, putting her hand on his huge furry shoulder. "Anything?"

"Actually, a great deal," he said, his voice a distracted rumble. "And absolutely fascinating, all of it. Oh, I've isolated Rogue's power now, and am now working on separating the Kree from the rest. Interesting." Here he leaned closer to the displays, trailing a huge clawed fingertip over the readouts. "That must be Gambit. Scott, is he waking up yet?" Rogue knelt down beside the still form of their teammate, peering at his face.

"No, not yet. . . oh, wait, yes, he's stirring."

"'Ello, chère," Gambit said huskily. Then he reached up and trailed his gloved fingers over Rogue's cheek. Scott-as-Rogue flinched back, almost falling onto her butt. Gambit gave a rueful smile. "Sorry, Cyke. Remy forgot."

"Uh, that's okay, Gambit." Rogue flushed slightly. Gambit sat up, letting his hands dangle over his knees as he watched Rogue steadily. She looked back at him curiously, Scott still in charge, a faintly puzzled expression on her face. Where was Rogue? Scott wondered suddenly.

"Get what y' need, Henri?" Remy asked quietly.

"Absolutely! Thank you most kindly, Mr. LeBeau. This is unprecedented, precious, matchless data!" Hank was fairly bursting with excitement, his enthusiasm lifting everyone's spirits. If Henry McCoy was this elated, a solution couldn't be far away. Beside him, Jean breathed a sigh of relief.

"Glad t' be of service, M'seu le Bete," Gambit said with a grin, holding his gloved hand out to Rogue, who helped him to his feet with a tentative smile, Jean's hope radiating down the link. "Should have an answer for us den before supper, hehn?"

"One can only hope, my fine Cajun friend," Hank said fervently. "One can only hope."

- - on to Blood - -