Rogue's eyes fluttered open against the warm, enveloping Louisiana sunlight streaming through her bedroom window. She saw her husband Donitello scurry about the bedroom in preparation for his morning stroll.

"Oh, do you have to go this morning?" She sat up in bed, arching her back just so as she stretched. He made futile attempts not to watch every muscle in her body ripple under her velvety skin and eventually stared on, transfixed.

"Now, now darling. We've spoken about this before." He bent at the waist to plant a kiss on her forehead. "I am a writer, and as so I must go, clear my head, think." He stood and gazed down at her lovely form. "I can hardly breathe in your presence, much less think."

Rogue settled back against her pillows, holding his gaze. "Do what you must. Ah'll be heuh when you get back." She grinned.

He tipped his head to the sky. "Thank the heavens." He kissed her once more and slipped through their narrow white doors complete with intricate French carvings scrawled around the edges.

She was alone for nearly ten minutes when she heard a shuffle at her open window. She stood to peer out at the busy morning streets of her city.

"Nice, ain't it?" Came the unmistakable voice just beside her.

Rogue shrieked, putting the room's distance between them as he climbed in from the window. "Remy! What in God's... What the hell are you doin' heuh?" Her eyes were wide and achingly beautiful as far as the Cajun was concerned. She clutched the fabric of her fitting peach nightgown and Remy wanted to stare but he knew now was not the time.

He threw her an easy grin that sent her head drowning in memories. "Came back. Y'always knew I'd be back, chere."

She shook her head fiercely. "No, yoah gone. Ah'm ovah you."

Remy tilted his head. "Can't believe dat."

"Ah don't care what you believe." She snapped. "What the hell are you doin' heuh?"

"Here in N'Awlins or here in your house?"

"Both."

He shrugged. "N'Awlins for you; your house because Jeannie said it was true but I just couldn't believe it- married. I wanted to see him."

She rolled remarkably green eyes. "Gawd Remy, don't do this to me. Please, please leave befoah he gets back!"

Remy's eyes darted toward the door defiantly. "Let him find me here, in de arms of his wife." He smiled devilishly at her and she shook her head.

"Please, Remy!" She clutched at his arms and led him to the door. She opened it quickly. "Go!"

He paused on his way out. "You've got to come- to de House, tonight."

She shook her head, a snowy strand cascading against her temple. "Ah can't, Remy. Impossible."

"Midnight," he stated. "Midnight or I come and kidnap you myself." He held her eyes for a lingering moment before leaving. She closed the door quietly behind him.


**

Scott's nimble fingers played over the ivory keys like a fickle lover, lavishing some notes more than others. He had bared his soul to this piano as a young man, hopelessly enchanted with a mere girl.

That very girl-turned-woman-much-too-quickly sat beside him, an occupied cigarette holder in her slim fingers and streaming smoke between the two. Strangled coughs escaped her mouth. He made a disapproving face. "Those... *things* are absolutely lewd."

She smirked, inhaling the nicotine deeply. "Don't be such a prude, Scott. Besides, everyone dies." Her voice was looming and gray. He met her eyes but she stood quickly.

"I remember once you told me," she began, making her way behind the bar, "that if I ever wrote one, you would play it." She waved a collection of smeared white papers in the air that Scott inferred had been stashed behind the counter somewhere. "You still going to make good on that promise?"

Scott nodded positively. "Of course. Bring it here, then." She set them down before him and he rolled up his white, ironed sleeves. "Let's see, what do we have here?" He squinted over the furtive scribbles of note heads and staff lines. Suddenly, fluidly, his hands caressed the row of keys and Jean's music wafted through the bar like something pure.

The tune was ebullient and jovial at first, a mixture of quick high notes. Then it slowed to something darker and deep like the color indigo. It continued like this for some time until finally, the notes ever-so-slowly began to pick up and transform into something graceful and beautiful and just *sounded* like hope. Scott's motions came to an immediate halt, the music seemingly dropping unannounced from the very air. Some of the others half-listening to the piece mumbled comments of disapproval for the sudden ending. He looked over at Jean standing beside him. "It's not finished," he said.

She nodded. "I know. It's not finished yet." Her words were quiet.

He blinked at the papers. Standing, he piled them together and took them in his hands. "I'll write the end for you."

She looked to him, her heavy-lidded eyes an engaging blue. "Thank you, Scott."

He only nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He'd write the ending. He'd be damned if it'd be anything but happy, too.


**

It was late. Remy slouched in a chair, his knuckles tapping restlessly on the wooden table. Midnight, he said. Not twelve-thirty. Or twelve-thirty eight, to be precise.

But the door opened, gaining her entrance. His face lit up. He knew she'd come and he voiced his accuracy.

She sighed. "Ah knew Ah'd nevah see the end of you if Ah didn't."

The House was eerily dark and quiet around them, save for the occasional poker chip falling, but warm. Rogue slipped the black hood from her head and let it rest against her back. "Ah can't stay long. Donitello maght wake up."

Remy scoffed. "Why Rogue? Why?"

Her eyes flashed like green lightening and Remy thought he'd never miss the day he saw anger in her eyes, but God he'd missed all of her. "How dare you! Ah've done nothing wrong, Remy. You left, remember? And aftah that, I couldn't eat or sleep. Ah couldn't get customers lookin' like that. Ah was crazy!" She fumed, resisting the urge to pace. "But Donitello came and that was it. *He* wasn't some crazy desperado with love in the wind and then Ah nevah see him again! No, he was heuh with me where he belonged. And Gawd, Remy, he wanted to *marry* me. He asked me himself- got down on one knee and everything." She paused, forcing tears from her beautiful eyes. "You left me, remember? And married!"

His jaw clenched but he quickly recovered. "How'd you know about dat?" Rogue bit her lip, shaking her head wordlessly. "Damn it, I swear to die if dat girl Jeannie ever keeps her mout' shut!" Remy regained control instantly. "So what? He married you and he's rich. Dat's why you love him, chere? I can be all dat right now, just say de word, Rogue. But do you love him?"

She stared him deep in his wine eyes. "Yes."

Remy watched her walk out of The Rising Sun and mused that Rogue could do many things to him. She could please or devastate him with a simple glorious smile. She could make him dream all night- pure and un-pure. She could drag him back all the way from New York to his dreaded hometown of New Orleans with just her memory. But if there was one thing Remy knew she could never do properly to him, was lie.


**

The next night, Scott sipped wine at a House table. Why the hell he was even still in New Orleans, he did not know. His work here was done; he had settled all the details with Kurt and now he was able to go home. But still he stayed- lured back the way moths were to a flame. In this case, a scarlet flame.

A man slid into the chair opposite him and it wasn't until Scott looked up that he recognized the giant body to be that of Sebastian Shaw's. Two more men joined the table on either side.

"What do you say to a friendly game of poker, Scotty?" He grinned.

"You know I don't gamble, Shaw."

Sebastian shrugged. "Friendly- no bets. Strictly affable."

Scott eyed the other man solemnly before polishing off his drink. "Deal, then."

Sebastian tipped his head back and laughed boisterously. "That a boy, Scotty, that a boy." He tossed cards around one by one until all four men held five. "So what brings you back, son?" He shared a sly smile with his companions. "Or should I say, who?"

"I had to iron out the details of a business deal with a fellow down here."

"Oh surely you can do better than that, Scott."

Scott gripped his cards. "I'm not entirely interested in what you believe, Sebastian."

"It's no secret that you had an affair of some sort with the little redheaded whore."

Scott clenched his jaw. "You know her name is Jean," he said coolly.

Sebastian slammed his hand onto the table, causing the other three to start. "I know a lot of things, you little bastard." He spat. "How dare you move in here like you own the place, how dare you? I might have let you make a fool out of me all those years ago when you plucked in a single night what I had spent so many years growing but I won't let you spit in my face again, do you understand me boy?" He released his grip on the edge of the table and visibly relaxed. "No matter," he tossed with a small shrug. "I've had her plenty of times since then." He paused to let the words sink into Scott like poison. "We've all had her. Even after the diagnosis."

Scott blinked, unable to speak for several beats until, "What diagnosis?"

Shaw straightened. "Ah, you haven't heard? Oh well that's a shame. Your silly little girl has the consumption. It was really an ordeal for me, if you don't mind me saying. I mean, to have to treat her father for it and then her only years later; I tell you, it was heartbreaking."


**

Rogue wrung the cloth and excess water splashed into the wide bowl. "Easy, now. Is it worse today, sugah?"

Jean lied sweating in her bed. She knew how blessed she was with a friend like Rogue who would come and tend to her on days that she was just too weak. "Yes, I think so. I thank you again for coming, Rogue. I know Don must hate me." She giggled throatily but it soon developed into a coughing spasm. Rogue dabbed the damp cloth on her forehead.

"Easy, honey. Don't even think about me. You just rest yoahself."

"I don't want to rest," she complained. "I want to go to Siberia."

Rogue laughed out loud. "One thing at a time."

"Well, at least indulge me in some gossip. Let's talk about Remy."

Rogue shook her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in the process. "Oh Lawd, heuh we go again."

Jean wheezed a bit but quickly regained herself. "I think you love him. Donitello is nice; he's passionate, sweet, and he writes. Those are all wonderful things to have in a man, but Don doesn't make you blush."

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Remy does not make me blush!" A pause. "Does he? No, absolutely not."

"Like a schoolgirl with her first kiss!"

"Well maybe if Remy hadn't *left* in the first place..."

"Remy had to leave," Jean said quietly. Her eyes became distant and Rogue knew she was thinking about Scott.

Rogue brought her hand over Jean's. "Hey, listen to me, sugah. Scott had to leave, too. He just couldn't watch you hurt yoahself." Rogue looked away, tears threatening to slide down her own creamy cheeks. "Ah'm sorry Ah watched."

Jean opened her weak mouth to reply when Scott flung her bedroom door open. Jean threw the cloth from her forehead and bolted upright. "Scott!"

"Scott Summahs!" Rogue shouted. "What in the hell are you doin'?"

Scott's own exclamations spoke over hers, both trying to outdo the other. Amongst the chaos, Jean grew weak from all the excitement and had to lie back down, clutching the wet cloth in one hand and fanning herself with the other.

"Christ Almaghty, Scott. Out! Out! Let's go," Rogue shooed him out, following him into the hallway and closing the door behind her. "For Gawd's sake, Summahs!"

Scott's eyes were wide and the veins in his neck thick like chords. "You didn't tell me! Why didn't you tell me? God, Rogue, why? How is she?"

"Calm down, boy, calm down. Listen, she's tired. Leave her alone for tonaght and come back tomorrow. She'll answer all yoah questions then. And she's got a few for you, too, so be prepared, cowboy." Scott opened his mouth to protest but Rogue was already ushering him down the winding staircase. "Go. Tomorrow."

Scott nodded, defeated. "Tomorrow." He repeated, and stumbled slowly down the staircase alone.


**

Rogue stepped through her door, weary and tired from the night. She tugged at her white silk gloves and made her way into the parlor.

"Roguey! Remember me, chere?" Remy captured her in a tight hug, her husband grinning behind him.

"Can you believe it?" Donitello said. "Oh look, Remy, she must not remember you. Rogue, honey, this is Remy LeBeau; he went to grade school with you, remember?" He shook his head at Remy. "I don't suppose she would, after all, it was quite some time ago."

Remy did a flip of the hand. "None sense. She remembers." He held her shoulders and gazed at her, his garnet eyes glittering with hidden amusement.

Rogue nodded slowly. "Oh, oh yes. Ah remembah now. How are you, Remy?" She held her arms out and hugged him awkwardly.

"Oh fine, just fine." He held her chin and kissed her cheek, then the other for good measure. "And how are t'ings wit' you? See you've found a wonderful husband for yourself, here." He hugged her again. "My how you've grown! Dis can't be little Rogue. It can't be!"

Donitello chuckled. "Yep, that's her alright. Isn't she somethin'?"

Rogue smiled under their gazes, color invading her cheeks. "Please," she glared at Remy, "Stop." He winked. "Will you be staying with us for the naght?" Nobody's that cocky, she thought. Well...

"Oh no, I have a hotel, thank you."

"Well at least stay for dinner," Donitello encouraged unknowingly.

Remy tapped his chin, eyeing Rogue with a wide grin. "Of course!"


**

Scott could never be a master thief, he knew, as stealth was never a prominent attribute of his. Instead, he used something he was born with and thus embedded in his veins: a certain boyish charm that most women, particularly older ones, found attractive. Emma was a prime target. She easily let him inside after hours and up the staircase so that he may check on Jean.

He sat in her room, at the same chair he sat when he first saw her in years, albeit with another man- a customer. She was asleep and he wasn't about to wake her.

How had he not noticed it? Easily, he thought. She powdered herself down until all he could see of her was shades of red and white. It was a simple mistake not to have noticed how pallid she'd become, how her cheekbones were starting to stick out, how tiny her frame was getting.

Her coughing fit brought him to his feet in an instant, dabbing the blood that had spotted the corners of her mouth. "Mmm, thank you, Rogue." She brought her small hand over his own large one, her eyes flying open at the touch. "Scott!" She rasped.

"Shh," he soothed, moving to dip the rag back in water and wring it clean. He swiped it across her forehead. She jerked away.

"What are you doing here?"

He took a seat on her bed. "I don't know." He said finally.

She blinked up at him, her brows etched in confusion. "You don't... Heavens give me patience!" She laughed, her throat husky and dry. With an effort, she sat up, adjusting her pillows behind her to accommodate her position. They sat in silence for a moment, her staring at the ceiling and him pretending to be intrigued with the worn edges of the wet cloth. A soft wind blew outside in the warm Louisiana night.

She finally inclined her head to meet his eyes. "Did you always want to be a real estate agent?" She asked.

He straightened. "W... Well, I... no. No, I didn't. I wanted to be Frederic Chopin."

She smiled and a spark of pride flashed in him. "You could have been."

He broke the awkward silence that came from talking of his broken dreams by asking her, "What do you want to be when you get out of this place, Red?"

She sighed audibly, brushing back sweat-drenched hair form her face. "Oh, Scott. I'm not getting out of here."

"That's not true." He stated sharply. "You are getting out of here. I swear you are."

Jean stared him down for a second until her features melted into another smile. "Alright, smarty. You know everything, you tell me what I'm going to be."

He paused to think, never breaking eye contact. "You're going to be... You're going to be..." He shook his head very slowly and still she held his eyes, "Something great, Jean. Greater than anything I know."

She turned her head, burying her cheek into the pillow. Her eyes became distant and Scott thought he saw something he hadn't seen in her young eyes for a long time... hope?

"Tell me about your life, Scott. Never married?"

He bowed his head, a rosy tinge creeping into his cheeks. "No, never."

She turned back to him, her eyes dancing. "Why not, hmm? Handsome man like yourself."

"I just... didn't. I could never get over a particular silly childhood fantasy."

Jean tilted her head and regarded him. "Silly?" She prompted softly.

"After that kind of pain, you don't *want* to marry. I kept the memory in a little glass box stored way in the back of my heart. But something brought me back to it."

A grin touched her mouth. "Fate, must be."

"So I've heard."


**

Remy awoke the next morning in his small hotel bed. Pounding commenced on his door. Squinting his eyes and muttering a colorful string of curse words, he tugged on trousers and swung the door open.

"Who de hell do you... Rogue!" He stepped back. "Enter, enter chere."

She flounced in, the russet curls pinned atop her head bouncing with every angry step. "What the hell did you think you were doing? Do you know the kind of trouble you could have gotten into? I have nevah seen anyone so ridiculously intent on making a damned fool of himself. I sweah to Gawd, you are askin-"

"I missed you too, Rogue."

She paused, stepping over to him. He saw it coming- she wasn't fast enough for his trained eyes- but he let her smack him once and hard across the right cheek.

"Look," he began, "I wasn't trying to insult you or any such t'ing, but I knew dat was de only way I was ever going to be able to see him, de way you were carrying on."

She brought black silk-gloved fingers to her temple. "Remy," she started calmly, "Ah understand that it must be hard and maybe yoah not ready to accept it, but Ah have happily married myself off. Ah meant it when Ah said that Ah love Donitello."

He snorted, smothering a cigarette that had been abandoned in a glass ashtray by his bed. "Why are you really here?"

She planted her hands on her curvaceous hips. "To warn you to leave me alone or next time Ah tell Don the truth."

He spun, his eyes locking with hers. "Go. Stay. I don't care."

She was quiet for a second, remaining stationary and staring deeply. Slowly, she turned and made her way to his door.

Remy reached a hand out and whipped her back, spinning her until she faced him and kissed her hard, burying his hands in her hair and mussing her coiffure.

She raised her hands to his arms and dug her gloved fingernails into his biceps either in an attempt to wriggle free or because his kiss was making her weak, she wasn't even sure.

Rogue struggled at first, but not as hard as Remy knew she could.





A/N
Ok, I thought about adding a little more and ending this story at this chapter, but I'm going to follow my notes and go on with the very last chapter, which can be found at a fanfiction.net near you. And since I'm a willing slave of my readers and my readers preferred a not-so-unhappy ending, I tweaked my outline a bit to accommodate you wunnerful wunnerful people!