First, I have to apologize for the lateness of this chapter. The first half of it has been sitting in my notebook since before Chapter Six was even finished. Unfortunately, I haven't had the opportunity to be at the computer much lately. Most of the last two weeks have been spent either in Atlanta or in New York. Don't know when I'll be able to update again. May have to go back to New York next week, as my grandfather is having surgery. So, please be patient. ^.^

And yes, the ROMYness should be beginning soon. Very soon.

Oh, and NONE of the characters in this story are mine. None of them. Marvel owns them all. Except for the EGIB, Matthews, who died. So he doesn't count. Hmm, who else can I kill off in this?

---

7/?

Had A Bad Day Again

ChaosCat

1 August 2003

---

Archangel: "You have no idea what it's like to have your entire life pulled out from under you!"
Jean Grey: "Warren, please. You're talking to the woman who's been killed, cloned and kidnapped more times than *I* can remember. Let's keep it in perspective."

---

She found herself standing on the beach. The waves lapping over her ankles as she paused where the waves lap against the shore. The stars glistening in the moonlight made her pale skin gleam a brilliant alabaster hue. She glanced down at her bare toes, the water washing over them. Cool and refreshing. The scene was perfect, quite picturesque even.

And terribly cliché.

Where the hell was she?

Somehow, the sight of her bare feet bothered her, although she couldn't quite fathom why. The wind blew her white bangs back, tickling the exposed skin on her arms. She discovered herself frowning at this as well.

That thought was put on hold for a moment; as she sensed someone draw near from behind. She froze, her heartbeat speeding up with each approaching footstep. She wanted to turn, to face whoever it was. Yet something stopped her, holding her back. Her legs were frozen, her body refusing to obey her commands. She could do no more than wait.

She did not have to wait long.

The footsteps came to a stop directly behind her, so close she could feel the heat of his body. His? How did she know that? And yet, it just felt right. It was Him. She just didn't know who He was exactly, or did she? It was perplexing, and infuriating.

The sensation of fingers trailing down her arm caused her to start visibly. She wanted to turn, but yet couldn't force her body to move. Her fingers were calloused, playing over her bare arms. Her arms were bare, she realized. Something wasn't right with that feeling. Exposed. She should be covered; her skin wasn't supposed to be showing.

No one was supposed to touch her.

The touch of another person brought a sense of wrongness and fear. Yet, at the same time, it brought a strange exhilaration. It was freedom from something she could not define.

"Rogue."

Her name, whispered by this unknown Him, sent shivers down her spine.

"I can give you this. The gift of touch."

Touch. The word sparked something inside of her. An explanation to the nameless feeling. She was the untouchable. Her skin.

"I can help you, Rogue." That same voice, beckoning.

"What?" Her voice sounded so small, even to her own ears.

"They can't help you, Rogue. You know they can't. But I can. I can give you what you crave." There was a pause. "Control of your powers."

Her heart pounded in her chest, the sand between her toes tingling as the world spun. Her voice, whispering in her ear. His fingers caressing her arms. It was surreal.

"Who are you?"

"I can give you a life."

Finding herself able to move once again, she pulled away, water splashing as she went deeper into the ocean. The hem of her jeans dragging, sodden material weighing her down.

"How?" She heard herself asking, hugging herself tighter.

"You'll find out."

She began to turn, intent upon looking at this mysterious promiser of the impossible. This time, her body responded to her commands.

"Rogue!" The voice cut through her thoughts sharply. It was sharper than His, and much more insistent.

She ignored it.

Everything was so slow. Why couldn't she turn any faster?

"Rogue!"

She pushed that voice aside, although it seemed terribly aggravated. She was almost there. Almost facing him. Why wouldn't she move faster? The ground was spinning so fast. Why was that happening?

The world stopped turning.

She looked up to meet his eyes.

"ROGUE!"

And jerked awake, her eyes snapping open. She pulled herself upright slowly, still disoriented. Blinking, she peered about blearily. Kitty Pryde was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed. She was already dressed, Rogue noted.

"It's about time!" The younger girl shook her head. "I've been yelling at you for like, the last five minutes!"

Rogue just glared at her. Kitty wasn't intimidated; she saw it nearly every morning. Rogue was definitely not a morning person.

"You're going to be late for school. Get up already!"

"Like Ah care," Rogue grumbled, throwing her blankets off unceremoniously.

Kitty rolled her eyes.

"Whatever." She flounced off, probably heading downstairs for breakfast.

Rogue pulled herself out of bed, raking fingers through her tangled auburn locks. Automatically, she first reached for her gloves, lying upon the dresser. It was habit, really. As soon as her fingers closed over the soft material, the memory of her dream sprang into her mind.

"I can give you a life."

That voice still sent shivers down her spine from the sheer intensity of it. But what had it meant? Rogue was used to having strange dreams. Sometimes they sprang from the memories of those she had absorbed. But this one had been different. It felt real. Rogue could still feel the tips of his fingers against her arm. The touch of another person.

Rogue began rummaging through her closet, her mind not entirely focused upon the task as she replayed the dream in her mind.

It had been like a scene out of a bad romance novel. The beach. The moonlight. She really need to stop letting Kitty drag her to all those romantic comedies. Some of them were beyond absurd, especially the teen flicks. She could brush the dream off as the product of Kitty's poor taste in cinema (Never mind the fact that Rogue occasionally found herself enjoying one of those movies, even though it was rarely). Yet, the dream had felt so real. Like she had been there.

She brushed it off for the time being. Figuring out the hidden meaning behind a random dream was not going to save her from being late for school. Throwing on a pair of jeans and a light grey sweater over a thin-strapped purple tank top, Rogue's outfit was not complete without her slightly scuffed black boots. Spotting them peeking out from under her untidy bed covers, Rogue snagged them and hastily stuffed her feet into them. It was then time for her make-up.

She glanced at the clock. Just enough time to snag a ride to school with someone once she'd finished, if she was quick. Thankfully, there hadn't been a Danger Room session this morning, else she really would have caught Hell for oversleeping. As bad as Danger Room sessions were with Logan, it was worse to be forced to explain to him exactly why you hadn't made it.

Plopping herself down in front of the mirror she shared with Kitty, Rogue set to work. First came the thick layer of foundation, the pale cream matching the light colour of her skin. Next was the artfully applied black liquid eyeliner, followed by eye shadow and mascara. Lastly, the dark shade of almost purplish lipstick that had become her trademark.

Lots of people thought Rogue dressed the way she did as a rebellion against something, or to stand out. That wasn't why she preferred the dark clothes and other darker make-up. It was just her style. Among all the other Abercrombie-clad students at Bayville, Rogue preferred to be herself. Not someone they all wanted her to be. Rogue liked the way she dressed. She liked the music she listened to. And she liked to be left alone.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Staring back at her was a tough, rebellious sulky Goth girl, not an uncertain, lonely young woman. Her mask was in place once more. She was "The Rogue" after all. This was expected of her. It was easier this way. To wear her image like a second skin. It protected her from the world. From anyone who would venture close. Rogue had quite enough of that. This latest incident with Risty just proved her point. You can't really trust anyone.

She scowled into the mirror to emphasis her thoughts.

"Yo Rogue!" Bobby Drake stuck his head in the doorway, grinning. "I think you just missed your ride. Jean just left."

"Shit," Rogue muttered grumpily.

For a moment, she just sat there staring at the mirror, brushing white bangs away from her face. Then she stood, scrambling to grab her backpack and jam all her books inside.

Time for yet another fantastic day at Bayville High. If only she could find a way to get there.

***

"Logan?"

"Yeah?" The Canadian paused as the ever-calm voice of Professor Charles Xavier caught his attention.

Logan turned to face the man who he had come to trust, a distinction the feral man reserved for very few people. Xavier wasn't especially impressive looking, but he carried himself with a cool confidence and sense of authority few could match, even though the telepath remained confined to his wheelchair.

"You didn't notice anything odd while making your rounds last night, did you?"

Logan paused, arching a brow. He was in the habit of making a sweep of the area around the Institute every night, just to be certain that nothing lurked in the wooded area nearby. Or to catch any of the students who were mistaken in the idea they might be able to sneak out past curfew. Since the mansion had been rebuilt, the amount of time he spent checking for intruders had increased. He usually started his nightly walk after the students were supposedly tucked into bed.

"Nope," he answered with certainty. "There a problem?"

The Professor seemed thoughtfully, steepling his hands as he spoke.

"Perhaps not. I thought I sensed a disturbance of some sort earlier," he admitted.

"What sorta disturbance?"

"I was unable to determine that. The phenomenon occurred so quickly," Xavier answered musingly. "I could have been mistaken, however. It has been known to happen."

Logan grunted in response, folding his arms.

"Just the same, if you would keep an eye on things for a while?"

"Sure thing, Charlie," Logan agreed, shifting position to head out. "That all?"

"Yes," Xavier sighed. "And Wolverine?"

Logan turned around again, questioningly.

"Call me 'Professor,' 'Professor X,' 'Professor Xavier,' or even 'Charles' if you must, but not 'Charlie,' is that understood?"

"Sure thing, Chuck," Wolverine answered with a smile, which was almost as intimidating as one of his growls.

***

"Go Home Mutie Scum." Rogue read the scrap of paper aloud, shaking her head. "Gee, that's original."

She crumpled the paper purposefully and let it drop to the ground, then went to the task of shoving her books back into her locker. The badly scrawled note had been slipped through the vents into her locker, and had fallen out as she'd opened the door. It wasn't surprising. Even since they'd been exposed at mutants, on national television no less, things that this had been occurring.

Rogue just ignored them. The sly glances and hostile glares. The hushed whispers as she passed down the hall, just loud enough for her to hear. The 'clever' little notes in her locker. Principal Kelly didn't care. He'd probably find some way to turn the situation around, blaming her for it.

In a way, it wasn't really all that different than before. In a school relatively devoid of anyone remotely different, Rogue was an outsider. It had been much the same when she'd lived with Irene in Mississippi, due to her supposed 'skin condition.' Keep covered. Don't let anyone get to close. She'd always been somewhat of a loner. There were very few times she let it bother her. But here she was branded a mutant as well as a freak. It was times like these that she missed Risty, and cursed her as well.

Rogue slammed her locker shut. She wasn't going to think about that, or the many other betrayals of her adopted mother. It hurt. Out of all the times she'd been used, betrayed, and lied to, that hurt the most.

The flood of students around her brought her attention back to the present. Unconsciously, Rogue pulled herself a little closer to her locker, trying to avoid any contact with the passing kids. Even though she had little exposed skin, the danger was always there. Especially when the halls were crowded, like now, with everyone rushing to go home. She'd wait until most of them had fled the halls before leaving herself. At least school was out for the day, and none too son. The pop quiz she'd been subjected to in French had been wretched. The teacher was evil, and she'd probably failed it.

After missing the carpool this morning, Rogue had asked Logan if she could borrow the jeep. It was either that or walk, something she didn't want to do. He had agreed, grudgingly, on the condition that she drive some of the younger kids as well. It was an experience she didn't want to go through again. Between Bobby and Tabitha constantly bickering and being forced to yell at Roberto about teasing Jamie every five seconds, it was one of the worst punishments she could imagine.

Now, she had been talked into giving Kitty a ride home as well. The girl was staying after school to talk to her Home Ec teacher about her latest baking disaster. Apparently, the teacher wasn't too happy about having the microwave explode in the middle of her lecture. No one had been hurt in the incident, but Kitty was in a spot of trouble over it. Rogue thought the whole thing sounded rather funny personally. No one else seemed to share her opinion though.

Rolling her eyes, she began her trek through the halls. As she rounded the corner, heading toward the front of the school, she spotted a familiar pair of red glasses. Scott Summers, the object of her affection, was standing next to a row of lockers. He was engaged in what appeared to be a serious conversation with none other than Jean Grey.

Hugging her books to her chest, Rogue couldn't quite quell the feelings of envy growing inside of her. It was an ugly feeling, but also one impossible to ignore. Why did Jean have to be so damned perfect? She was smart, talented, athletic, and beautiful. And Jean had control over her powers. Everything Rogue was not. Despite the fact that she was a mutant, Jean still had friends. Maybe not as many as before they had been revealed, but they were still there. And she had Scott.

But then, Rogue amended, hadn't she always had Scott? Rogue knew she'd never have a change with Scott Summers, not as long as she lived. But that hadn't stopped her from hoping. It hadn't stopped the wistful wishing for the impossible. Scott had been her first real friend since she'd discovered her mutation. Since most of Caldecott County had branded her a "freak" after what she'd done to Cody. Scott had accepted her. Despite her attempts to keep him away, he'd even befriend her.

She should be happy for him. For them. And yet, as she watched him gently brush his fingers across the top of Jean's hand, their fingers intertwining together, she felt a deep longing. Would she ever be able to touch someone so casually? To hold hands with someone she cared about? Kiss him?

Right now, the idea seemed ludicrous. Professor Xavier had promised to help her the best he could, to perhaps teach her control of her powers. But things seemed so hopeless. Her powers were her curse, condemning her indefinitely to a life without the comfort of another's touch. To a life forever as The Rogue.

Still hugging her textbooks, Rogue quickly ducked down the hall, attempting to banish the sight of the couple's intertwined fingers and the idyllic expressions upon both their faces.

***

Remy Lebeau had never been fond of public education. He'd never actually graduated high school, having learned enough to get by without such a waste of time. He'd learned that mankind hated anyone that was different, and Remy, with his strange, 'cursed' eyes, learned quick that he was very different. So he'd begun another education, on the streets of New Orleans.

With Jean Luc Lebeau, who had rescued from the life of a half-starved street urchin, Remy had a teacher. And a father. Jean Luc was an accomplished thief himself, and had recognized the potential of the eight-year-old orphan after Remy had attempted to pick his pocket. He'd adopted Remy early on, and begun his instruction. He'd learned how to bluff. When to fold. And when to know an opportune moment.

All had been helpful during his career as a thief, from picking pockets to casing museums. To say nothing of his skill at poker (although he was still legally underage to be betting at casinos) or any other game of chance. But the last bit of advice had proved most helpful when it came to women.

Not that he needed much help, with his pretty face and roguish grin. The accent, a reminder of his Acadian heritage, didn't hurt. French was the language of love, no? And he couldn't forget that mysterious charm, a seemingly secondary facet of his mutation. People- women - wanted to listen to him. They wanted to believe every word spoken from his lips, even if it was complete shit. Women wanted him. It was a fact of life.

He grinned as his thoughts turned in that direction. Arrogance aside, it was the truth. Women just couldn't resist him, even though he was a bit young yet. He never had a problem getting a date. As Jean-Luc had cautioned all those years, the key to everything was timing.

The man known as Gambit watched the lone Goth girl retreat from the entrance of the school. The last bell had run a few minutes ago, and most of the populace had evacuated then. The object of his interest had kept him waiting. He was almost beginning to think he might have missed her. Now she appeared, blinking in the sunlight.

Remy remained where he was for the moment, leaning against of the scraggly looking trees growing near the school and largely ignoring the few speculative looks being thrown in his direction from the students heading to their vehicles. The parking lot was largely empty by this time. Although there was little he enjoyed more being the center of attention, years of training had enabled to remain inconspicuous in almost any crowd. He watched as the little Goth girl, Rogue, paused at the bottom of the steps.

From his position, he couldn't read her expression entirely. He did note however, that she was not frowning, which was the look he'd come to associate with her from their previous encounters. Instead, she seemed pensive, dark lips pulled into a bit of a pout. Remy took his time admiring her.

The auburn highlights in her hair caught in the sun, accenting her pale features. The white streaks were odd. He wondered if they were real. Perhaps part of her mutation, much like his eyes? Rogue wasn't dressed provocatively, or even fashionably if one was judging by the short pastel sundresses many of the other female students were wearing. Yet, he could catch a hint of her slender body, complete with just enough curves to make things interesting. Beneath the layers of pale foundation and dark make-up, she was really quite pretty. Not that Remy didn't find her painted features oddly appealing. The choice in make-up marked her as someone different. Something unique. She didn't fall into any of the other categories of women he had seduced in the past. She wasn't blonde. She seemed to be intelligent. And, she was a mutant.

The challenge her very existence presented as to much for Gambit's ego to refuse, especially when fueled by her earlier harsh retorts to his overturns. Even at his age (at 19, he considered himself well into manhood, and knew quite a few femmes who'd agree), Gambit was not accustomed to being shot down. It had been perplexing at first. When they'd first met on the battlefield, she had seemed to find him attractive, right? But then, after he'd saved her from her mysterious kidnappers, she'd done nothing but yell at him and call him names. Women were fickle creatures, no?

She'd given him no choice but to pursue her. She was too much of an intriguing female to do otherwise. Besides, Magnus had told him to keep an eye on the girl. What better way to do so than this?

Everything was about opportunity.

As Rogue made her way across the emptying student parking lot, he made his approach. Falling into step beside her nonchalantly, he couldn't repress the smug smile settling into place. She wouldn't resist him this time.

She took a step and a half before registering his presence, then came to a sudden stop, her head jerking around to confront him. The play of expressions that flickered across her features in that half second period were nothing less than comical. Startlement at finding herself with company. Shock at the recognition of him. Confusion. And finally, suspicion settled there. Mon Deiu were her death glares intense. Any other male might have run for cover at the pair of glittering irises narrowed in his direction, or the dark lips curling up into a snarl. But not Remy Lebeau.

"Bonjour," he began amiably, giving her a devilish grin, something he was exceedingly good at.

The hostility in her stance increased tenfold. She looked ready to bolt in an instant. Or, should it prove imperative, fight. The girl had spunk; something he had realized when she'd nearly had her head ripped off by Sabretooth. He could practically read the conflicting emotions radiating from her. Her body language spoke volumes for her current confusion. Her stance. The way she gripped the books to her chest. The tension in her shoulders.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she hissed, her voice carrying across the parking lot.

"Enrolling?" He offered, smirking.

Her eyes narrowed further, which was a feat. She wasn't amused by his attempt at humor, or by his dashing smiles. At least she hadn't tried to kill him yet, or call for another of the X-Men. But then, she didn't seem like to type to ask for help. What he knew of Rogue suggested she had a sense of independence about her.

He wasn't dressed for combat today either, which might give her pause. Remy had chosen his outfit based on casualness, and sex appeal: a rumpled, frayed pair of jeans and a snug black shirt. His hair, now that he was out of uniform, had that bed-tousled look. He was also without his trench coat. It wasn't practical for this exercise. He was not without his weapon of choice, the deck of cards riding in his back pocket

"What do you want, Acolyte?" Rogue spat out.

He grinned, leaning closer to her.

"Why so formal, chere?" He inquired. "After all, we've been well acquainted."

"Back off, Gambit." She stressed his name, holding up a hand, gloved palm out to in effort keep him away.

It didn't work as she'd intended. Her palm came up against the smooth expansion of his chest. He just smiled, not pulling back. Her eyes flashed, and beneath the carefully applied make-up, he could detect a hint of a flush creeping into her cheeks. For a moment, she just glared at him. Then withdrew her hand as if it had been burned. It was all the encouragement he needed. Remy gazed down at her, and she met his gaze defiantly. No hint of infatuation in her gaze now. There was something indefinitely intriguing about this girl.

Acting on impulse, he reached up and brushed those silvery bangs away from her face, his fingers playing over the soft strands. His hangs were ungloved, and quick. He was a thief, after all. By the time she'd instinctively flinched back, his hand was already back at his side.

"Mebbe I just came to see you, non?" He murmured smoothly.

"Like hell ya did," she muttered, shifting her armload of books to one side. One of which, Remy noted with amusement, appeared to be a vampire novel of sorts. "What do ya really want?"

"Don't believe me, chere?" He learned closer, shifting his weight.

"Why should Ah?" She snapped.

"Because I speak de truth," he purred, his red on black eyes never leaving her face.

Rogue glared at him suspiciously. He was becoming accustomed to that glare, as it seemed that it was the only look she gave him. That would change soon enough. He found himself admiring her resolve, though. She would be a challenge, in more ways than one. She started walking against, brushing past him without a glance. But Remy LeBeau was not so easily deterred. Once more, he fell into step beside her as she trekked across the asphalt.

"Need a lift?" He gestured to a motorcycle they were quickly approaching.

"Go to hell," she growled, the paused at the bike. "That ain't even yours."

"Oh?" He pulled a set of keys from the pocket of his jeans, dangling them in front of her nose as he paused as well. "Je prie de differer."

"What happened to the other one?" They'd stopped in front of the bike, probably without her even noticing.

Remy smiled at that, watching her brows furrow in confusion, her lips pressing together cutely. She really was quite appealing. He shrugged.

"Take a ride with me, mebbe I tell you?" He replied suggestively.

"Like hell." She said again.

He chuckled, leaning casually against the seat of the bike. Lounging was a more adequate description of his pose there. It was a BMW, a sleek, black machine. He'd grown quite fond of it over the last week. Remy had pondered even keeping it for a while. He tried again.

"How about dinner?"

"Excuse me?" She just couldn't keep the incredulous tone from her voice.

"Dinner," he repeated. "Me. You. Candles. Roses. Then maybe my place?"

She said nothing, her expression conveying the message quite clearly. That message was 'you-are-the-most-insane-individual-on-the-planet.' He raised an eyebrow at her while running a hand through his disheveled hair. After a moment of silence, he spoke.

"Well?"

"Not a chance."

"Why not, chere?" He asked, learning his upper body towards her. She wasn't supposed to be refusing. This wasn't how the game went. He'd just have to try harder. His voice, when he spoke, was low. "Afraid?"

The proximity of their bodies clearly made her uncomfortable. And yet, once again, that hint of blush was evident on her cheeks. It deepened once his last word registered, but this time in anger. She straightened her shoulders, drawing herself up to her full height (which still left him the taller of the two).

"Not even close." She bristled.

So he'd hit a sore spot. It was obvious from the tone in her voice. Pretending that he hadn't noticed her sudden defensive stance, he pressed the issue.

"You sure about dat, chere?"

"Shove it, jerk ass."

"What's wrong?" He tilted his head to the side. "Afraid dis Cajun's too much for you to handle?"

"Don't flatter yourself, bucko." she bit out savagely. "Ah don't date."

That gave him a moment's pause, although he knew he shouldn't be surprised, given the nature of her abilities. Still, the underlying hostility in her tone was more than evident. Beneath the ire and gruffness, Remy detected a host of conflicted emotions coursing through her. It required no special ability; Gambit was just good at reading people. Reading body language wasn't an empathic skill, just one requiring practice. And good intuition. And Rogue, for all her scowling and snapping, provided quite a challenge to read.

"Maybe you just haven't found the right homme, non?" He replied.

"And you think you're him?" The distain practically dripped from her voice.

"Mebbe?" He grinned. "We could always find out."

The suggestive tone of his voice was not lost on her. The auburn haired girl frowned at him, absently shifting her books to rest them upon her hip, leaving one of her hands free.

"Not interested." Was her cool reply.

He knew she wasn't playing for the other team, she clearly found him attractive, right? Then why was she refusing him? What was with this girl? Nevermind, it wasn't a crushing blow to his ego, he told himself. She was just presenting more of a challenge.

"I doubt that's true, chere." He grinned. "Sure Gambit could make it real interesting."

Rogue sighed, and a flicker of satisfaction coursed through him. As he had said, no woman could resist his charms. Her resolve was failing.

"Why are you doing this?" Her voice was tired, as if she'd aged immensely in the last few moments.

"Qui?" He was confused.

"This!" She gestured vaguely with one slender, gloved hand. "Is this supposed to be a joke, Gambit? Well, it's not funny anymore. Why don't you go away and leave me alone?"

She thought he was making fun of her, he realized. That much was evident by the way she was looking at him. There was anger there, and irritation. He expected that, but not the other things lurking beneath that mask. Pain was etched into her attractive features, the deep emotional kind that came with betrayal. Not just one, but a succession of them, each coming from a person who was trusted. He knew that feeling all to well. Gambit knew that kind of betrayal, and possessed the scars to prove it. For a moment, he hesitated in the game of seduction, a sudden pang of understanding settling deep in his gut. It was that feeling that made him speak as he did.

"Puisque, ma jolie coquin, votre tristesse fait seulement la beaute dans plus lumineux,**" he spoke in hurried French.

She stared at him, her brows furrowing as she struggled to translate his words. A sense of comprehension seemed to dawn upon her. Her features softened, just slightly. The stubborn suspicion fading to a pensive look. So she knew French?

"Maybe it is time you took a chance, chere," he murmured softly before she could reply.

"Rogue!"

The Goth girl jerked visibly, seemingly now aware of exactly how close she was to Gambit. Her head whipped around at the sound of her name. Gambit turned too, internally muttering a curse for the poor timing of others. The girl calling for Rogue had just exited the school. The slim girl looked familiar, an attractive brunette, her ponytail bobbing as she waved to Rogue.

Gambit flicked his gaze back to Rogue, but her expression was unreadable once more. She was looking at the girl now bounding down the steps.

"Oh my God, Rogue!" The girl squealed. "I am like, so sorry I am late! But you wouldn't believe . . ."

The brunette continued chattering, her voice carrying across the parking lot, but Remy tuned her out for a moment. He had other business to conclude.

"Chere?"

"Don't call me that," Rogue answered reflexively.

She turned back to face him scowl firmly in place. It would be easy to believe he'd only imagined her earlier confliction. But Remy LeBeau knew better. Slipping a hand into the pocket of his jeans, he withdrew a pack of matches. With a lazy grace, he flicked the matches at her. It arced in the air perfectly. She caught it in her free hand, startled. He knew she would.

With that same feline refinement, he slid his leg over to straddle the motorcycle, nudging the kickstand with his foot while watching Rogue from the corner of his eye. She read the printed text on the back of the pack: the name and address of a restaurant he'd discovered in the area. Classy place. Good food. Perfect for a first date.

"Take a chance?" He offered. "Saturday. Seven thirty. Don't make Gambit come get you if you are late."

Before she could respond, he thumbed the ignition switch. The bike roared to life, causing Rogue to take a step back. The noise gave her no opportunity to speak. Remy winked at her before kicking the bike into gear. As he flew past, Gambit caught a glance of the pretty brunette, her mouth agape and eyes wide in recognition. And Rogue, her olive gaze guarded and intense.

Would she accept his invitation? Remy LeBeau grinned, the wind whipping through his brown locks as he sped out of the high school parking lot. Nothing was certain, but he was quite sure he'd manage to convince her soon enough.

---

** Translation of Gambit's French:

"Puisque, ma jolie coquin, votre tristesse fait seulement la beaute dans plus lumineux"

"Because, my pretty rascal, your sadness only makes the beauty within brighter."

Well, hope that was enjoyable for everyone? This chapters just seem to keep getting longer. Crazy, ain't it?

Anyway, at least now Rogue and Remy have had some more interaction, and there is only more of that from here on in. Lots of flirting, fighting, and somehow I have to work a candlestick. Whatever is a fanfic writer to do?

So, do you think Rogue will go on this little date Gambit has set up?

Chapter 8? Well, stay tuned for more Pyro insanity. Rogue. Remy. And oh, what's this? That pesky little plot stepping up into the forefront. Won't that be lovely?

And for the love of GOD, review. I'll give you a cookie. A big one.

Passionate Crow Rat – Your name kicks ass, ya know. And yes, you do see a certain Asian/British ninja appearing. ^.^ How could I leave her out? She's like, one of my favs. And I did promise a Jean bashing, didn't I? Hmmm. . .

Witch am I -- I am so excited about the new episode this weekend. ^.^ Can't wait to see Apocalypse either. But the new eps are going to really mess with the continuity of my fic. Ah well.

Sabby13 – My punctuation is wretched, I know. But I try, isn't that worth something? ^.^ Am glad you liked Pyro. I adore him, and take the opportunity to write him into this whenever I can, even when he really wasn't supposed to be one of the major characters when I started this.

girl4chat86 -- Clever clever girl! Malice is another character altogether, but she is probably one of the more interesting ones. More about her will come out. I am glad you enjoyed the pacing, I am almost afraid that I move to fast. People want ROMY, and the want it now. I just like to get a lot of characterization in first. Thanks for your awesome review!

cool-chick-rae – I need a job. I envy you.

Tainz – You great spaz! -is glomped and feels special- Get to work on your fics! That is an order. Else I shall be forced to bring out the flyswatter. Fear the flyswatter!

bunny angel – That is such a wonderful compliment! Thank you! I always worry characters aren't acting like themselves, but they have these voices in my head, and they won't do anything they don't want to.

Ishandahalf -- I got a gold star? SWEET! My life is complete!! The plot IS demanding, but it just won't go away, ya know? It thinks it might be important, sheesh. Keep telling it that all anyone cares about is the fluff. Magneto is just one of those bad guys who is nosey. Stupid busy-body flying around with a red cape. Jeez. And I would LOVE to hear your theories/suggestions for this fic. You are so great! You are getting a cookie!

Rogue Warrior Spirit -- You were really close about the Betsey thing. I know the whole Malice/Betsey isn't comic cannon. But I like her better than Polaris. So she gets to be in my story.

Yumiko – Yes, ma'am!

Makura Koneko – PotC rocks my world! Don't you just want to take Captain Jack Sparrow home with you, so he can say things like "But WHY is the RUM gone?" or "Savvy?" or even "Bring me that Horizon." Umm, my writing has never been described at Chinese Water Torture, but I will take that as a compliment ^.^ Thanks for the help on indenting, but I think my comp just hates me. BTW, you are not the only one requesting a Kitty/Piotr paring now. . .

Scholar – Malice and Betsey Braddock both belong to Marvel. Glad you like the plot! That makes me uber happy! Wheee! And yes, I do love Remy. He is so cocky, ya know? So sure everyone is going to just love him. Maybe that is why I write Rogue wanting to strangle him. It's too much fun to resist.