A/N: Warning! Sexual situations contained in this chapter!

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Seether

Chapter Six – Caper

By Randirogue

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"…I've shaved every place where you've been. God knows I know I've thrown away those graces. The Belle of New Orleans tried to show me once how to tango. Wrapped around your feet, wrapped around like good little roses. Blood roses, blood roses, back on the street now. Now, that you've cut out the flute from the throat of the loon. At least when you cry now, he can't even hear you. When chickens get a taste of your meat. When he sucks you deep. Sometimes, you're nothing but meat" (Blood Roses –by Tori Amos)

Remy LeBeau stood outside Rogue's bedroom. He was dressed to the nines. He wore a tailored fit silk Armani tuxedo. It was all black, jacket, pants, shirt, and wing tips. The jacket was iridescent, giving it a crimson sheen. The bolo was an unpolished platinum oval set with a full karat trillion ruby. The ruby on the bolo and the red highlights of the jacket brought out the brilliance of his red on black eyes. It made him look like a gangster, but a devilishly handsome gangster. It was the attire he was accustomed to wearing around the thieves' guild and he knew exactly the effect it had on women, the effect it would have on Rogue. He had it all planned out; knew exactly how it would go.

After he knocked, Rogue opened her bedroom door to the devastatingly masculine sight of Remy LeBeau, Gambit, in all his charming splendor. Rogue swooned to the mischievous glimmer in his Diable Blanc eyes, the cocky quirk of his grin, and the sensual ease of his stance. With a flick of his wrist he produced a single long stemmed blood red rose. With a bow from his neck he would present it to Rogue.

"T' compliment y' beauty, ma petite, for not'ing could equate it." His voice was like the finest warmed Cheri—soothing, burning, slithering, and intoxicating.

Rogue accepted the rose and his compliment with a blush. Remy held out his arm to her, and after she took it, he led her down the hall. Both of them beamed. She protested the inappropriate nature of her dress, of course, but he assured her that everything she required was awaiting her. He was going to show her a taste of who he really was tonight. He hoped she would ask her inevitable questions in the correct manner so he could answer them with the honesty he wanted so dearly to give her [1].

However… that was not how it happened.

Rogue answered his knock by calling, "Come in," from within her room. She didn't even open it for him.

It not ruined wholly, non? De effect just be different, s'all.

Her voice had sounded muffled, even taking into consideration that it had to penetrate her closed bedroom door, so Remy reached out with his spatial sense, to feel for her location. He found her in her bathroom. Her body temperature was heated, a lingering remnant of her shower.

Dis not be all bad, neh Remy? Seeing her all slick and wet and… Merde. Heh heh! Maybe even better den y' planned.

Remy entered. His arrogant swagger led him straight to her opened bathroom door where he saw her wearing only a… terry cloth robe tied loosely at her waist.

Merde, she even makes dat sexy. Calm down, Remy. She isn't intending to show y' more den dat.

Rogue was bent forward, towel drying her hair. She stood, twisting to face him and he got a momentary flash of her supple breasts.

Dieu!

The flash ended quickly as she straightened to stand erect. She pulled the towel away from her tousled, wet hair, giving him full view of the collar around her neck.

T'ink dat be a hint, Remy? T'ink y' luck on y' side tonight? Y' could always do de revelation t'ing anot'er night. He smirked, shook his head and chided himself. Good t'ing she got dat collar on really, non? Least she can't hear y' t'oughts. Heh heh*

"What y'all dressed up for, Gambit?" Rogue asked, flashing him a curious smile.

Go ahead, say somet'ing, Remy. Y' supposed to be de suave one, non?

"'S a surprise, chere," Remy said with his Cheri voice. He sauntered closer and leaned against the bathroom doorjamb. "Mais, y' not feeling up to going out," he purred, "We could stay here instead."

Rogue didn't even blink at his offer. She picked up her comb, turned to the mirror, and set to de-tangling her short, white streaked hair.

"Got other plans, Sugar," she said without jest… or regret. "Maybe another time."

Gambit wasn't dissuaded, though, especially since the motion of her combing her hair kept granting him quick glimpses of her bared cleavage. Besides, he was used to having to persuade her. He flicked out the rose and caressed it down her upraised arm. He watched it the whole way down, how it graced every tiny pale hair on her forearm once it passed the robe's sleeve. He savored it for what it was—the only closeness she would allow him.

He was disparaging. She was even more closed off than usual. He knew it had to do with whatever was going on with her, but she wouldn't talk to him about it, about anything remotely personal, actually, especially the last few days. He also knew that he was taking it badly, and taking it out on her and Bobby. Ever since he'd awoken in the med lab, his behavior had been inexcusable. He realized this. He was being selfish and overly possessive. But, he just couldn't seem to fix it. It seemed as though a seedier version of his thoughts were replacing his own true thoughts before they could have a chance to take form. Yet, sometimes his thoughts did form as he'd intended them too. It was confusing and seemed to him like he was just trying to lie to himself to make himself feel better and less guilty.

But, wasn't he prone to guilt?

His sadness slipped into the words when he said, "Sure Remy can't convince y' to change y'r plans?"

"Sorry, Sugar," Rogue said without a break in her grooming. "Be rude to cancel now since Ah did the inviting." She tapped his chest with her comb, then motioned to the doorway he was blocking and said, "Ya mind? Ah need to get dressed."

Gambit stepped aside, ushering her through with a flourished sweep of his arm. He followed her as she moved to her dresser and rifled through one of the larger drawers.

Y' aren't going to give up dat easy, are y', Remy?

Rogue pulled out an unidentifiable piece of lithe black clothing. It slipped around her fingers like water over ferns before she tossed it onto her bed.

"But don't waste the night off on my account, Gambit," she said nonchalantly as she closed the first drawer and moved onto her undergarment drawer. "Ah'm sure ya can find something to do with yaself." With a giggle, she added, "even all trussed up as ya are."

Trussed up?!

She pulled a few items out and closed the drawer and faced him. Impatience, not anger, creased her brow. She held the undergarments in her hand. They were black. They were satin. They looked like lingerie. The sight of them seared sordid images of her wearing them—and him removing them—into his mind.

Dieu! Dis must be some sort of punishment. Wonder why Dante didn't have dis in one of his rings of hell. [2]

Was that a real thought or a replacement thought? Don't do dat. Stop lying to y'self. Rogue deserves better den dat. Y' just lashing out 'cause y' dontt want face up to de implications of what's happening to Rogue… Gambit sighed heavily. *o many t'ings going wrong all at once, y' can't t'ink straight, Gambit… Great, y' doing it again.

Rogue swiped the garments at him, backing him up to the door. "Go on, git. Ah don't have all night, Remy."

As soon as he was through the door, she shut and locked it. Gambit just stared at the closed door a moment. The rose fell limp in his hand.

Dat went well, Gambit. How did y' end up right where y' started. Y' even got de rose still.

Emma came down the hall then. She didn't halt when she saw Remy, just continued right on by him as she spoke. "I wouldn't bother, Gambit. She's looking forward to her plans with Bobby."

Now y' tell me. Gambit headed downstairs. Merde.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"And I know she's not that Foxy but you gotta owe something sometimes. You gotta owe when you're your momma's sunshine. You've got to give something sometimes when you're the sweetest cherry in an apple pie. I need some voodoo on these prunes. In the Springtime of his voodoo, he was going to show me spring…" (In the Springtime of His Voodoo –by Tori Amos)

Rogue really was excited about going out… for several reasons. One—She was being naughty. Beast had ordered her to stay on the mansion grounds once he'd realized she wasn't going to stay in the med lab or even rest in her room. Two—She was tired of being stuck inside all day. Beast had given her a sedative after Jean and Emma had revived her in order to force her to rest. It had worn off in a few hours, but he'd taken advantage of her prone form and her wearing the collar by performing lots of those tests he'd been trying to solicit from her for the last few days.

Ya'd think he was a vampire with all the blood he took. What was it, five or six vials? More? And how much ya wanna bet he probably forgot to mention a few of the tests he did while Ah was sedated, too. Ah'm a little sore in certain places...

Three—Beast said he'd have the results of some of those tests that night. Rogue was going to be conveniently unavailable. He could just tell her all the results at once, tomorrow or the next day, when he got them all.

Four—She was frustrated. She wanted to bust a few heads…

Shadow King… Sinister… Magneto…

But, no! Jean, Emma, Xavier and Beast thought that they should rest first, wait for the results of Hank's tests, and formulate a plan.

And Gambit, too. Can't forget that scoundrel.

Gambit was just for posterity, though. She really wasn't upset with him. She just didn't like how nervous he made her feel since she had that first episode.

Damn near makes my skin crawl whenever he's near me.

And that was reason number… Six—Most of the guys around there were having a similar effect on her. Bobby seemed to be the exception. And Wolverine too, but that was different. Bobby and Wolverine always seemed to be safe lately, for different reasons, mind you, but safe nonetheless.

Bobby's more like a gal-friend than a guy-friend. And Wolvie… Ah don't know how to explain that sufficiently. He's not really a father figure to me, not like the Professor is. Probably has more to do with his memories being screwed up worse than mine.

Tonight, she wanted to lash out. She wanted to strike out against her insecurities. She needed to prove she was stronger than the debilitating hesitation that wracked her whenever the men, especially Gambit, got within ten feet of her.

Ah'm INVULNERABLE, damn it!

Seven—The collar. She might as well take advantage of it while she was stuck with it, even if she kept forgetting she was wearing it. Jean, Emma, Xavier, and even Beast had insisted that the collar remained on. It helped contain the Shadow King for now and it would grant the others time to formulate a plan to hold him permanently.

That again. Ah'm tired of waitin' while everyone else works on my problems. Why won't they just let me be?

Beast thought it was a good idea to subdue her powers for the time being for her own physical and mental health. In other words, he doubted her sanity.

They all do. Not that that is new.

Hank's preliminary examination of the collars had revealed that they were identical to each other, despite the differing levels of wear and tear, and he had determined no harmful side effects as of yet. He hypothesized that any alterations could have been activated only while it was being worn by Rogue, so her wearing it would allow him to further test it—and her. Besides, he could continue testing the other collar while she wore this one.

Rogue knew exactly how she would make best use of the opportunity the collar availed to her.

Since before Ah met Cody, Mystique had been training me in her trades…. 'Bout time Ah made use of some of the more fun ones for me.

Rogue slapped the last high-heeled boot on, grabbed the matching coat, and headed downstairs. She had to keep from being seen by Beast. He'd make her turn right back around and head up to her room. He'd spoil all her fun. So, she moved in silence, like a master thief.

"Better if y' be silent as an assassin, fille." Belle's ghost said inside Rogue's mindscape.

"Shh, Belle. This is my playtime. Ah don't need your help and Ah definitely ain't sharin'. Gawd, why do y'all always get louder at the most inconvenient times?"

"'Cause we hate y', dat's why. 'N dis be as much our opportunity as yer's. 'Sides, looks like y' finally going t' have my kind a fun," Belle's ghost said.

Rogue reached the rec. room. She was meeting Bobby there. She paused at the corner, concealing herself by pressing her back tight against the wall, listening for any signs of Beast's presence inside. A sports program was on the big screen television, but the volume was low enough that she couldn't tell what it was.

"Missing dose heightened senses now, aren't y'?" Belle's ghost said.

"Belle, do ya want me to sick HER on ya?"

"…"

"Ah thought so."

Rogue focused on the conversation going on in the rec. room as she remained in the hall just outside.

Logan chuckled. "Ain't ya worried 'bout wrinkling your spiffy duds, Gumbo?"

"Shut up, Logan," Remy said, but Rogue heard him shift his position on one of the couches despite his nonchalance about it.

"You know your flower's wilting?" Warren teased.

Gambit didn't respond that time and laughter quickly followed. A moment later, the rose he'd intended for Rogue hit the floor just inches from Rogue's foot. Gambit had obviously tossed it. Rogue snatched the rose from the floor without anyone noticing and was about to enter when she heard footsteps. Someone heavy entered the rec. room from the opposite side of Rogue's intended entranceway.

Hope it's not Hank. Rogue thought with a grimace.

"Is Rogue not well, Gambit?" Bishop asked.

"Non, she be feeling just fine," Gambit said. The sarcasm dripped from his voice.

"She turned him down for another date," Warren supplied happily.

"She's not on a date. She just got plans wit' Popsicle-boy. Probably going to raid de arcade or somet'ing stupid like dat."

"Sure, Gumbo," Logan said.

"So she is doing better, then," Bishop stated flatly. His voice didn't reveal any emotion behind the statement.

"Wouldn't exactly say that, Bub."

"…Oh…" Bishop said. That time there was a hint of dismay in his voice.

Rogue heard Gambit shift again, followed by, "What dat mean? 'Oh'? Y' know somet'ing, pup?"

Bishop was quiet for a moment, then finally answered, "Nothing."

"Out with it," Logan snapped at him.

Another pause, then, "In my time, there were… rumors. That's all."

Don't need to be hearing no rumors 'bout how crazy Ah get in the future, Rogue thought as she entered.

She appeared to them, like out of nothingness, into the dimly lit entranceway. She moved as sleek as a cat, lithe, graceful, contained, and controlled. Each step, sway of her hips, swing of her arms, flick of her wrist, tilt of her head—every gesture—was precise and measured. It could have been called prowling if she hadn't intended every nuance to be viewed by everyone in the room. She was a predator.

Every head turned to take her in. She was dressed in an outfit that resembled her uniform in that it was dark, form fitted, and it covered her from high on her neck to her wrists and presumably to her ankles. But that was were the similarities ended. The fabric was thin, almost sheer, and clung so close to her it was like a second skin. It looked like she was dipped in green ink so dark it could be mistaken for black. High healed, soft leather boots the same color reached to a point high on her thighs and were held in place by black metal buckles that attached to the thighs of the outfit. It was startling since the material didn't seem heavy enough to support the weight of the boots. But the boots were as form fitting and as mobile as the outfit itself and could hold themselves up with just their grip on her legs. A matching coat was draped over one forearm. Her short, white streaked hair was enticingly mussed. The collar was a poignant exclamation to her demeanor. She was like a panther escaped from the zoo.

Someone put the television on mute.

She said nothing, did nothing to acknowledge them, but they all knew she was aware of each and every one of them as she stood there. One hip was thrust to the side, her weight shifted onto it. Her legs were apart and the one that wasn't supporting her weight was bent just enough to bring attention to the shapely length of it, from the tip of her boot, to the purposeful bend of the knee, to the slight crook in that hip. She knew they were drinking in the sight of her and she let them have their fill. She took the moment to adjust, unnecessarily, the sleeves, tugging them toward her bare wrists and hands. The movement brought the room's attention to the free-for-all condition of her glove-less hands.

She knew how they saw her—that her demeanor made them think dirty thoughts—and she enjoyed it. No, she relished it.

Wolverine spoke first, lifting the curtain of silence, heavy with their masculine arousal. His voice was nearly a growl, "Take it your not planning on hitting the arcade, darlin'."

She looked up then, making eye contact for the first time with any of them. She met Logan's knowing gaze and held it.

"Dieu, chere…" Remy stammered, sounding like it took a lot of concentration to have kept it from cracking, "y' look…"

"Dangerous," Bishop supplied.

"Why thank ya, Sugar," Rogue purred. Her voice was like molasses—syrupy, cloying, saccharine, lush, and tantalizingly dark. She gave an impish grin and held it as she took the two slovenly paces that made her the direct target of the track lighting.

Surprise! Under the direct light, the secret of Rogue's outfit was disclosed. The entire upper half was so sheer in its translucence that it seemed to disappear. The only telling sign of the fabric's presence was the hazy tinting of her creamy skin. Her black satin bra was completely visible. Though the entire outfit was one piece, the deceptive invisibility of the top transformed into the still solid fabric of what appeared to be shorts. The waist of the shorts arced over her hips on both sides, following her natural shape. The downward curves dipped into a point well below her bellybutton, but not crudely low. The buckles attaching the suit to the thigh high boots marked the bottom seam of the shorts. From there down, it was sheer again.

Warren stifled a loud gulp, covering it up by clearing his throat. Bishop raised one brow. Wolverine openly adjusted himself; his jeans were suddenly tighter. Gambit, well, Gambit became his cocky, charming self. It was like a switch was flipped on. Starting with his eyes, which lit with wickedness, his familiar visage rippled down him. He grinned lasciviously and stalked around the couch, aiming straight for Rogue.

Rogue didn't flinch when he stepped right up to her, close enough that a deep breath would make them touch.

He spoke just loud enough for Rogue to hear, asking, "How y' manage to hide de panty line?"

"Trade secret," Rogue said with her throaty, molasses voice.

Footsteps coming from down the hall diverted their attention to the arrival of Bobby. When Bobby saw Rogue, his eyes lit with glee and he smiled in appreciation.

Rogue turned, managing to keep from making physical contact with Remy so effortlessly it seemed it was accidental. Her pivot gave the others their first glance at the back of her outfit. It mirrored the design of the front almost identically, the dipping point of the top of the shorts just as carefully not low enough to be crude.

Gambit admired this new view from his convenient position. His hand instinctively traced the curve of the small of her back from a mere inch away.

"Rogue, you look scrumptious," Bobby said happily. His exclamation drew Gambit away from his admiration of Rogue, which solicited an angry glare from Gambit.

Gambit looked Bobby over, assessing him. Bobby wore loose fitting black leather pants over matching black leather boots. His shirt was made of the same material as Rogue's outfit, though his was completely solid and wouldn't become transparent like Rogue's did when she stepped into direct light. It also wasn't as tight as hers was. His draped from his shoulders loosely, swinging freely at his waist and wrists. Oh, and his was blue-black not green-black like Rogue's. It brought out the sapphire of his eyes as fiercely as Rogue's brought out the emerald of hers.

Bobby made no acknowledgment of either Gambit's assessment of him or how he had been admiring Rogue. Still, Gambit pulled his hand away from Rogue, crossed both arms over his chest, and said, "Now isn't dis cute. Y' two almost match."

"Ah think he looks sexy," Rogue said with that throaty molasses voice of hers.

"Uh-oh," Logan said with a grim chuckle. Warren echoed him, snickering.

"Dat right, chere?" Gambit said, ignoring the others. His voice and eyes smoldered equally. Remy be trussed up, but popsicle-boy be sexy. Remy, t'inking maybe y' not be well enough to be going out after all.

"Yup. But then, Ah did buy it for him, so Ah'm a might bit biased," Rogue answered.

Bobby looked Gambit over then. He noted Gambit's attire and asked, "Gambit coming with us?" His voice was matter-of-fact. It didn't matter to him either way.

Dat's a good idea. What y' say, petite, y' like dat idea as much as me? This thought, of course, was not reflected in Gambit outwardly.

"Nope," Rogue said as she moved to Bobby and held her coat out to him. "Just us, Sugar."

"You gonna let me in on where we're going?" Bobby asked as he took the coat from Rogue and helped her into it. The action was smooth, familiar, like they did it every day. It grated Remy, whose hand slipped inside one of the inner pockets of his tux jacket and fingered a playing card.

"Nope. It's a surprise," Rogue teased with her molasses voice as she buttoned closed the coat and adjusted it. It was deceptively lightweight. It clung to the curves of her shoulders, chest, waist, and hips—where it flared in a flowing princess cut that ended just above the knee. The match of its color to her outfit and boots was uncanny.

Rogue met Gambit with a steely gaze as she smoothed the draping, flowing material over her waist, hips and thighs, then raised the billowing hood to frame her face. It hid her distinctive white streak and the collar perfectly.

Something in the gesture alerted Gambit—and Logan, who stepped up beside Gambit, too. Logan was tense with the buzzing warning that his heightened senses relayed to him because of a change in her scent. He smelled the challenge in her. Gambit's empathic sense picked up on the underlying danger of her daring, no, warning of him and Wolverine.

"Y' behave y'self tonight, chere," Gambit said as he eyed Rogue warily. Bobby seemed oblivious, so Gambit warned further, "Remy may not be dere to rescue y'."

"Now what makes ya think Ah need or even want ya to come to my rescue?" Rogue cooed, pulling Bobby toward the foyer.

"Hank approve of this, darlin'?" Wolverine said in an attempt to dissuade Rogue from whatever possible dangerous activity he figured she had planned.

Before she and Bobby disappeared down the hall, Rogue mock pouted, purring, "Ya'll ain't gonna tattle on me, are ya?"

"Gambit don't like dis," Gambit said to Wolverine, hinting at his intentions to follow them.

"We're borrowin' your bike, Remy, ya won't mind, right?" Rogue called back, trailed by "Thanks, Sugar."

The front door slammed shut.

"Merde!"

"Don't worry, Gumbo," Logan promised, "I'll take care of it."

~~~~~~~~~~~

"And right there for a minute, I knew you so well. Got an angry snatch. Girls you know what I mean. When swiveling that hip doesn't do the trick. Me pureed sanitarily, Mr. Sulu, Warp speed—Warp speed—Warp speed. In the Springtime of his voodoo, every road leads back to my door, every road I will follow, every road leads back to my door. Got all your crosses loaded…" (Springtime of his Voodoo –by Tori Amos)

Rogue whipped Bobby through the night in blur of an adrenaline rush. Rogue sped them from Westchester to New York City on Gambit's restored Harley. Bobby had never driven it before, so Rogue did the honors, and Bobby happily held on. They parked the bike in what Rogue insisted was a secure spot and then she led Bobby on a winding trail through alleys, up fire escapes, over buildings and through passages that were invisible to the common passerby.

Rogue moved with a grace, agility, and knowledge that Bobby never knew she possessed. He raced to keep up, splitting his focus between maintaining her speed and her stealth. She seemed confident of his capability, only checking back on him after the more strenuous motions. She never asked if he understood what they were doing or if he objected to it.

Of course she wouldn't. She's seen my memories. She knows what nobody else knows. She knows Gambit trained me for this. She knows how much I love it.

They'd doubled back twice and diverted their route more times than he could count before he realized Rogue was confusing any trials they were leaving well enough to make it difficult for even Logan to effectively follow them. Finally, they reached the roof of the building of their target.

That's right, target. This has to be a pinch. God, it's been too long! I'd forgotten! [3]

They concealed themselves beside the central-air conditioning units on the roof. Bobby took the opportunity to catch his breath and quiet his racing heartbeat. His blood thundered in his ears. Rogue was sweating and breathing hard as well, but she was composed, focused, and glowing.

"Is this Gambit's or…" he actually stumbled over the next part, he'd never spoken of it to anyone other than Gambit, "…or mine?" He asked curiously.

"There's a little of both ya'll in it, yeah, and others too Ah suspect." She turned an impish grin on him. "But mostly it's me. Ah have my mother's ways. Ah was Mystique's protégé."

Bobby recognized the barest differences in those last two proclamations. Both times she meant Mystique. But something about the way she said it hinted at something more. Before he could comment she whispered, "It's all related."

Then she took off across the roof and through a maintenance door. He caught up with her one flight of stairs down. She paused long enough to see he was following, then moved, quiet as a cat, to the door at the end of the hall. By the placement of it in the corridor, Bobby guessed that the penthouse it opened into took up at least half of the top floor. He knelt beside Rogue, who was listening at the door for sounds within. She smiled and slipped him the exact electronic device needed to break the code to the security device. In a few moments, Bobby had disabled it. He passed the device back to her and she slipped him the necessary picks for the door's manual lock. Bobby took them eagerly and set to work. In short time, the tumblers fell into place. Rogue listened for the inhabitants and then nodded.

They entered. Bobby followed Rogue along the wall, slipping past closed and opened doors with confidence, purpose, and ease. When they reached the den they entered and closed the door behind them.

They didn't turn on any lights, and Bobby didn't think Rogue had a flashlight. Considering how she was dressed he doubted she had any place to put it, though he still couldn't tell where she hid the picks and the electronic device he had used on the security system. A little light seeped in from under the door and more light bloomed from an inlaid display case so they could at least detect the locale of large furniture, the desk and it's chairs, a love seat and it's smaller match, and the small table between them.

They both searched they the room and found the safe in the false bottom the display case, which was filled with plaques, pictures and commendations for charity work and large donations. This time, Bobby didn't wait to be prompted.

It was a complicated locking system on the safe. It was triple locked, actually, a manual combination lock, a key released tumbler, and an electronic coding system. Bobby stopped his undertaking and lifted his gloved hands a few inches above the safe itself.

What's with this. It's a small safe. This is a private residence. The rest of the place seems normal enough, though not meager in the least. There are family photos on the wall, for crying out loud. Kids live here! What could they have that would require this type of safe security?

Rogue understood his hesitation. She crouched beside him, placed one hand on his shoulder—her bared fingers stroked his bare neck, just at the hairline behind his ear—and she leaned in to his ear. Her breath brushed his ear before he heard her molasses whisper.

"It's stolen, Bobby… it's hot, all right."

Bobby balled his hands into fists to fight back the sudden tremble in them as she spoke into his ear.

"Don't be fooled by the pleasantries," she reassured.

As Bobby steadied his breathing, his blood racing, Rogue passed him the electronic device and the necessary picks again. Bobby set back to working the safe open.

"What's in here?" he asked without looking at her. It was hard not to, though. She hadn't moved away when she stopped whispering in his ear and her fingers continued to stroke his neck in a soothing rhythm.

"A kiss on the hand may be quite continental," she sang with a throaty whisper, "but diamonds are a girl's best friend." She planted a quick peck on his cheek and moved back to give him some room.

Bobby smiled and finished opening the safe with renewed vigor. Sure enough, he found a black velvet bag filled with about thirty diamonds. He pulled it out, handed it to Rogue, and was about to reseal the safe when Rogue's glove-less hand stopped him. She reached into the safe and pulled out a small manila envelope. Rogue slid its contents out. There were seven pictures. They were all of the two young girls that were in the family photos in the hall. These photos from the safe were not fit for guests, though. Each picture depicted one or both of the girls in compromising poses. Each picture they looked at was worse than the previous. Hell, the father was even in some of them. These were a molester's prized possessions. These were the real reason for the complicated lock.

Rogue went still beside Bobby.

"Starfucker just like my Daddy, just like my Daddy, selling his baby. Just like my Daddy…" (Professional Widow –by Tori Amos)

A few moments passed before she released her breath in an angry sigh. She dropped the photos and stormed out of the room. Bobby scrambled to put everything back and properly reseal the safe. Then he took off after her.

"Slag pit. Stag shit. Honey bring it close to my lips—Yes…" (Professional Widow –by Tori Amos)

He crept through the sleeping penthouse and finally found Rogue as she dragged the father, gagged into forced silence, out of his bedroom. He was bent back awkwardly as she held one bare hand to the underside of his chin and pinched his nose shut with her other hand. He was too busy trying to squeeze air through his gag to even try to holler through it. She pulled him past Bobby and into the den. Bobby returned and shut the door behind him.

"Rogue, what are you doing?" Bobby asked in a startled whisper. She made no response.

He moved towards them and saw that Rogue had dropped the man in the middle of the room. She was standing over him, one foot on either side of his waist. The toes of her boots pinched his elbows to the floor. She slipped her hand inside her coat and back out again so quickly, Bobby almost missed it. She had something exotic in her hand, but Bobby couldn't tell what. He moved closer as she crouched down, straddling his chest. She made a sudden, circling like motion with her arms that Bobby couldn't figure out since her body blocked most of the movement from his view. He moved along side them to watch from a better angle.

"Rogue?!" He gasped when he saw the glint of silver wire encircling the man's throat, making an X over the man's Adam's apple.

Rogue had a garrote. She gripped the black handles that tipped both ends of a fine, sharp wire with a familiar ease that Bobby found frightening. She handled the garrote expertly. There was no sign of slack on the wire, but it didn't crease or dimple the man's skin either.

"…Don't blow those brains yet. We gotta be big, boy. We gotta be big. Starfucker, just like my Daddy. Just like my Daddy, selling his baby, just like my Daddy. Gonna make a deal make him feel like a Congressman—It runs in the family…" (Professional Widow –by Tori Amos)

"Ah should kill ya," she whispered to the man. She was seething mad.

"There is no punishment, no torture bad enough," she hissed.

She remembered the multitude of plaques of appreciation from homeless shelters, mutant and minority rights organizations, and disease research foundations that filled the display case that also contained the secret safe.

"There is no charity that is charitable enough… There is nothing—NOTHING—that could evah make up for what ya have done to your little girls."

Her grip tightened; her wrists flexed.

"Rogue, don't!" But, the wire had not tightened. Bobby released his breath in a long sigh.

"Ah should kill ya," Rogue purred again. There was nothing sexy about it that time.

"You can't do this, Rogue," Bobby soothed.

Rogue released the man. She spun and moved to the bookcase beside the display case, putting her back to Bobby and the man. She quaked with contained fury. The garrote dangled from one hand, its one dropped handle swung, brushing the floor.

"Bobby, open the safe," Rogue ordered so quietly he wasn't sure if she said it or he thought it himself. He did it, regardless. He didn't need her to instruct him on what else to do. He knew. He took out the pictures and stuffed them into his back pocket. He didn't even try to give them to her. He knew she wouldn't, couldn't, touch them again.

"Got 'em," Bobby said, but Rogue didn't respond and for some reason Bobby couldn't bring himself to look at her.

Bobby didn't bother closing the safe. It would be fitting that the man would have to do it himself, that he would have to see for himself exactly what was stolen, what was lost.

Bobby looked to the man, still where Rogue had left him. The man's bedclothes were rumpled and darkened with sweat. The man's chest jerked with panicked breaths that bordered on hyperventilating. His eyes were wide. His hands were forgotten at his sides. He hadn't even tried to free himself of the gag.

Why bother? He has no voice here… And he'll never feel free now that someone knows… Now that we know, Bobby realized.

Rogue's rhythmic murmurs drew Bobby's hesitant attention to her. He listened closely and found the sound familiar. He moved to her then. Her eyes were shut, her face screwed tight and her lips twitched against her staccato repetition, "thesepreciousthings letthembleed letthemwashaway letthembreaktheirholdoverme thesepreciousthings letthembleed letthemwashaway letthembreaktheirholdoverme…" They were lyrics from Tori Amos' song, Precious Things. Rogue had listened to a lot of Tori Amos at full volume, blotting out all other sounds.

Especially those inside her head, Bobby thought, sadly.

He tried to pick the words from the desperate rhythm that crowded them. After some concentration he could make them out. She was saying, "…over me these precious things let them bleed let them wash away let them break their hold over me."

He tenderly grasped her wrist to soothe her. Her eyes snapped open, but didn't turn to him, and her words rushed on. She was really starting to scare him. She was reminding him of how she had behaved just before that first episode. He couldn't let that happen again.

He stroked her hair and spoke softly to her. He didn't pay attention to what he said just to how he said it. He was comforting, reassuring, strengthening. He maintained his own rhythm with his speech and slowly hers began to match his. She blinked and seemed to come back to herself, yet he continued talking. Now that she was calming, he wanted to get the weapon from her. He slid his hand from her wrist, over her hand, and past the garrote's handle.

"It's sharp," she warned a moment before his hand closed on the wire. She was looking at him, aware, so he withdrew his hand from the garrote.

"We should go," she said as she wound the garrote and put it away.

Bobby nodded, Rogue raised the hood of her coat, and they vacated the penthouse as silently as they had entered, though without the stealth. The silence then was different. It was heavy. It matched their slouched posture and dragged pace.

They didn't talk for a long time. They wandered slowly along the city streets. The only destination they had in mind was their arrival at coming to terms with what had just happened during the pinch. Their destination was the same and different all at once. Their issues were the same and different all at once. They both took it to heart for the same reason, though… for the sake of Rogue.

I had my suspicions before, Bobby though, but that cinched it… Her father abused her… Rotten bastard… If I knew who he was, where he was, if she'd tell me, tell any of us… Hell, I'd bring Gambit in… and Wolverine… and Storm and Bishop and Beast and Stacy X, hell, we'd all bring him down. It'd be a free-for-all!

Bobby glanced sideways at Rogue. Her hood was still pulled up so he couldn't see her face. He looked her over, tried to read her body language. She was no longer slouched—That's good, isn't it?--her hands were balled into tight fists, her knuckles just visible past the cuff of her coat. She moved at his slow pace, but her heels smacked the ground with every step as though she were stomping on something—Someone?

Bobby looked ahead again.

Does she really know? Well, I think she knows, but does she KNOW? Does she REMEMBER? …Does she even have to? Could she face it, deal with it, only knowing that it happened, though not exactly what happened?

Bobby kicked a beer can ahead of him.

Ah suspected, but that clinched it… That man and my poppa… they're both the same… Rotten bastards… Bet if I told Bobby, he'd tell Remy and Wolverine… and everyone else… Ha! What would they do? They know about stuff like this, everyone knows about stuff like this. It always gets ratings for the news, always sells papers. But they don't KNOW about stuff like this--

"Remy does, chere," Remy's ghost said in Rogue's mindscape.

"Shut up, Gambit. Ah'm thinkin' here,' Rogue replied to him.

"He does, Rogue. He tol' me… He'd understand…He could help y',{" Belle's ghost admitted.

"Shush, Belle, an' mind your own business…"

"I heard things about the pup. Even a good-fer-nuthin' turncoat like him would help you," Creed's ghost offered.

"Not you too, Sabertooth. Gawd, ya'll, just leave me be… Not like ya'll care anyway. Prob'ly find it fitting, like some kind of pre-retribution."

"Dat be de most insulting t'ing I ever heard!" Belle's ghost complained, "I may not like y' much, Rogue, but don't nobody deserve--*

"Ah said SHUT UP!*

"I'm just—"

"Ah'll fetch HER, Ah will, Ah swear it, Belle, Creed."

"…Fine…"

"Gawd, even the people that hate me are feelin' sorry for me… Ah don't need your help. Ah can handle this all on my own, ya'll here me?!"

Rogue felt Bobby watching her and she had to fight to keep from glaring at him. When he turned away, she peaked past the edge of her hood at him.

He means well. And he really has been great 'bout all of this. Don't think Ah could ever thank him enough. She sighed, releasing the tension from her entire body out through that breathy escape. "Well, my bein' broody and pissy all night sure ain't much of a thank ya, sir.

She stopped and lowered the hood. Bobby stopped too, he was happy to see that her expression wasn't pained or even angry. In fact, she seemed a little excited.

Heah goes… She took a breath. "Bobby? Ya'll got a pen? Ah've got an idea—a way of exorcising my demons. Some of them at least."

Bobby nodded. He understood, a little. Under her instruction, he wrote a note on the envelope with the pictures of the little girls in it. They then went to the closest police precinct. Rogue distracted the desk clerk as Bobby sneaked the pictures onto a conspicuous spot on the desk—under the desk clerk's Styrofoam cup of coffee.

Outside, Bobby beamed as they laughed about what they did. They wished they could see the man's face when the cops showed up. Bobby thought reporting the man would be therapeutic for her. And the way she seemed now only confirmed that it was. She looked as though a part of the weight was lifted off her shoulders. Her laugher was genuine. The mischievous gleam in her eyes no longer seemed menacing. He wanted it to never go away again. He knew that wasn't realistic, but for the night, well, that was plausible.

Bobby grabbed her bare hand with his bare hand and pulled her down the street away from the precinct. "I've got an idea of my own, Rogue. You feel like clubbing?"

"Do Ah ever," Rogue exclaimed with a laugh.

Bobby brought her to a building no more than a block away and on the opposite side of the street as the precinct. It was a club that Gambit had brought him too, back when he was training Bobby to be a thief. It wasn't a Guild club, per se, but was frequented by Guild members, and so was a sort of neutral zone. Bobby had always liked the place, more than Gambit, who Bobby believed had only gone to it for Guild purposes or when Bobby had begged. Bobby thought Rogue would love it most of all though.

Rogue's eyes lit up when they entered. The club was seedy and spirited and classy all at once. The walls were natural brick, the trimming was a dark wood, and the fixtures were silver. Aesthetically, it was gothic-techno, and though that was the type of music that predominated, eighties music also was mixed in. Right then, actually, Nancy Sinatra's These Boots were Made for Walking was playing.

Bobby was rewarded with Rogue slipping off her coat, grinning broadly at him, and asking, "Wanna dance?"

"Oh yeah," Bobby said, not even trying to hide his enthusiasm.

They had a blast. They danced and danced. Sometimes they danced with each other, sometimes with others. Rogue was never at a loss for partners or just admirers.

Who wouldn't want a chance… ha ha!… Especially wearing that outfit.

Bobby leaned against the wall near where Rogue danced, just watching her. He'd stopped dancing about twenty minutes earlier. Nobody there interested him as much as Rogue did that night. He was amazed by her. She had retaken the night with reckless abandon, the healthy kind. It made him happy to see her behaving so freely with her lack of powers. He had been momentarily wary about bringing her to the club. He had feared that the close confines, the press of so many people combined with the lack of her powers would've overwhelmed her. She'd once confided in him how scared she was of casual contact when the Evolutionary—and Sinister—had taken away all mutants' abilities. And considering what Rogue was dealing with lately, well, it could have been disastrous to say the very least.

Bobby sipped his beer and watched. He hadn't drank much, like Rogue, he hadn't wanted inebriation to erase any memory of the night. Right then, Rogue was dancing with a very sexy man, Bobby admitted. He had sweaty ebony hair that was all one length and reached just past his chin, and dark, mysterious amber-brown eyes. He wore all black, as was common in most clubs, and his loose clothing clung to his sweaty, well-defined body. Their movements matched the erotic, heaving rhythms of the song. The man's body, a few inches taller than Rogue's, tucked around her from behind, knees bent slightly, hips thrust back, backs arched. There wasn't even room for light to pass between them. Their legs were parted with one of his between hers so that it caressed her upper inner thighs with their rocking motions.

Rogue raised her arms above her and back to sway with the song's change into what effectively was its chorus. The man took it as an invitation. He placed his head between her arm and her face, nuzzling her despite the collar.

Maybe he thought it was a Goth thing, Bobby thought with a chuckle.

In response, she wrapped her arms around his head, still moving with the music. The man took that as another signal, another invitation. He confidently grabbed her hips, pressed her firmly, and slowly dragged his hands up the sides of her body. When he neared her ribs, Rogue caught Bobby's face and saw the slight jealousy that marred it. She hadn't danced that way with Bobby. It surprised her a little, his slight jealous expression. She knew he'd had a crush on her a while back, but thought he'd dropped it. They were such good friends and he'd never pressed the issue.

He doesn't seem as upset as Gambit would be. He probably just doesn't approve. Ah guess that makes sense. Ah am taken at the moment… well, Ah'm sort of with Gambit right now… When Ah can stand to be near him… 'Sides there wasn't a song like this playing when we were dancing… Aw heck! Think of Gambit and this ain't so much fun anymore. Ah ain't cheating or anything, but still! Damn Cajun, swamp rat…

Rogue politely excused herself from her dance partner. She got a drink and joined Bobby.

"Hey, Sugar, why ain't ya dancing? That blonde seemed to really like you…"

"I wasn't really interested," Bobby said and took a gulp of his beer. God, I can feel the heat of her…

Rogue sighed, sipped her drink—a tall Long Island iced tea—and leaned against the wall beside him. "She was kind of a ditz," she said.

"Yeah…" His voice was quiet, sullen.

"What's wrong, Bobby? Ya tired? Ya wanna go?" Rogue asked as she turned sideways, still leaning against the wall, to look at him better.

"No, you're having fun…" he said and sat down his beer on the table directly beside him, opposite Rogue. He straightened again. He could feel her near him, like there was no space between them at all. She's so warm.

"Ah don't mind. Ah'm starting to get tired myself."

"Really, I'm fine. I just don't feel like dancing anymore." He turned his head to look at her. "Besides I liked watching you—" She's so close. "—Liked watching you enjoying yourself," he covered. "You needed it."

Rogue grinned, "Thanks, Sugar."

Then she kissed him.

It was only a peck, but it surprised him… pleasantly. He didn't even notice he'd grabbed her waist and pressed the kiss, opened his mouth to her, until he felt the salty sweet silk of her lips with his tongue…

My tongue!

He let go of her waist, pulled his face away, and looked at her. Her eyes were wide with shock.

"I'm sorry… I shouldn't have… I just… tonight… all the excitement…" He stammered through the rushed explanation.

Rogue smiled sweetly, "It's all right. " She stepped back, but not away. She wanted to distance herself from him, but not distance herself from him.

Bobby was aware of the difference and still it made his heart sink. He felt it plop right into his stomach. He really wasn't sorry that he'd kissed her. He'd wanted to do it for a long time, but he'd thought he'd resigned himself to just being her friend. Maybe he was just kidding himself. He'd always wonder if he never tried, but he never had the guts to, but he just did, and he wanted more, but he wanted to keep her as his friend…

Damn! Now what do I do? She's not angry. But she moved away, but she didn't leave, and she's smiling. Did she like it? Should I do it again, she's not out of reach, I could--

"Good thing Remy wasn't here, though," Rogue said, making his decision for him. "The way he's been acting lately, he wouldn't have been too forgiving. Don't worry, though, Sh won't tell. It's just between you and me."

"And all of us, chere… Don't forget we caught that too," Gambit's ghost said with hostility.

"Awww, shush, Remy."

Bobby didn't respond to Rogue's smoothing over the situation. He kept eye contact with her with awkward, hurt intensity. Then he broke it and looked down.

Rogue leaned back against the wall and sipped her drink. Their silence was uncomfortable for the first time in what must have been ages. Rogue hated it. She took a large gulp of her drink and looked away, looked to the darkest corner of the club.

"Had me a trick and a kick and your message—well you'll never gain weight from a doughnut hole—then thought that I could decipher your message—There's no one here dear—No one at all—" (Doughnut Song –by Tori Amos)

Something caught her eye there, gave her pause, made her breath catch.

There was a couple there in the dark, in early phases of seduction, seated on a small carmine couch. The woman lit a cigarette, lighting their features, though distorting them with yellow light and deep shadows created by the small flame of her lighter.

"And southern men can grow gold, can grow pretty. Blood can be pretty like a delicate man. Copper to steel to a hinge that is faltered that let's you in let's you in let's you in. Something's just keeping you numb—" (Doughnut Song –by Tori Amos)

The man reminded her of someone. The stubble peppered, not quite square jaw-line, the tousled red-brown bangs hanging over his shadowed eyes, the cocky tilt of the head, the arrogant sit of shoulders, they way attention was drawn to that lovely toned chest to the rippling stomach to the slim sensual hips was all so familiar. The woman trailed a finger down that chest and stomach.

It can't be… He wouldn't… Ah'm imagining things… Ah have to be.

But Rogue took another big gulp of her drink and still continued watching. The woman's hand that traversed the man's body held her cigarette. When it reached his thigh, the pale red glow from the burning tip illuminated the man's hands shuffling…

Playing cards! That Swamp Rat!

Rogue took another, albeit angry, gulp of her drink. The man put away the cards with a mere flick of his wrist. Then he slid his own hand up the woman's thigh, over her hip and… A small jerk whipped her onto his lap! The woman laughed and kicked her feet playfully against the arm of the couch. She kissed him… And he kissed her back. He wrapped his arms around her waist and she moved to straddle his lap.

Rogue looked away. She couldn't watch anymore. She stared numbly into her drink, at the dark amber colored Long Island Iced Tea with its ice cubes glittering like jewels.

"Mother Mary, china white, brown may be sweeter. She will supply. She will supply. She will supply…" (Professional Widow –by Tori Amos)

Rogue downed the rest of her drink, gladdened to be feeling its effects so quickly, and took one final sideways glance at Gambit and his strumpet.

"And if I'm wasting all your time, this time. I think you never learned to take. And if I'm hanging on to your shade, I guess I'm way behind the pale…" (Doughnut Song –by Tori Amos)

"Ignore it, chere… It's not what y' t'ink," Remy's ghost said in Rogue's mindscape.

"Ha! That's good, comin' from y'," Belle's ghost chided.

"Don't do it, chere… Please…" Remy's ghost pleaded.

"It'll serve ya right, Sugah," added the shimmering voice and the others backed quickly away.

Rogue set her empty glass on a nearby table and spun to face Bobby, who was still leaning against the wall in sullen admonition.

"Ah changed my mind."

She kissed him for real.

She's kissing me!

He opened his mouth to her and she plunged inside. He loved the taste of her, the feel of her against him. He kissed her back like he could drink her into himself. He hadn't moved to touch her with his hands, though. He didn't want to do anything that could end it. He let it just be his mouth on hers, his tongue, her tongue. He took full advantage of her mouth, savored her hands on him, and relished it all in case she changed her mind again.

Oh my God, her hands…

He felt her hands move from the sides of his face to his chest, his waist, to his pants. One hand slid under his shirt and up and he shivered.

I can't believe this is happening… but thank you, thank you...

Her other hand gripped the top of his pants. Her forefinger slid inside and caressed his hip, which thrust instinctively at her touch.

Rogue moved the kiss along his jaw to his neck below his ear as one hand caressed him under his shirt and the other one… the other one stroked the bare skin of his hip. Bobby couldn't help himself, he'd wanted this for so long, wanted it so bad for never having it, for never thinking he'd ever have the chance. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly against him. He knew she could feel how much he wanted this by what pressed firmly against her lower stomach, but he didn't care. No, he did care. He wanted her to know.

He threw his head back and sighed a quiet moan.

~~~~~~~~~~~

What are ya playin' at, darlin'? Wolverine thought as he watched the exchange between Bobby and Rogue. Then he flicked his attention to Gambit and the bimbo on Gambit's lap. Logan had surreptitiously seated himself at a shadowed table where he could watch both parties.

Yer being stupid, Cajun… Just couldn't contain yourself, could ya… Just had to push it…

He took a swig of his beer and a drag of his cheroot.

Kids!

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Devoted satellite. Happy for you. And I'm sure that I hate you. Two sons too many too many able fires—" (Doughnut Song –by Tori Amos)

From his spot behind and under the cover of the woman, Gambit watched Rogue laying it on thick with Bobby. It wasn't good enough, his cover, he'd realized too late.

Too good, y' mean, Gambit… When she saw y'…

~~~~~~~~~~~

"…And if I'm hanging on to your shade, I guess I'm way behind the pale..." (Doughnut Song –by Tori Amos)

"Ya want to get out of here?" Rogue breathed the question into Bobby's ear, then sucked the tip of his earlobe into her mouth. "Want to go someplace more private?"

Rogue slid her hand along the top of his pants, one finger grazing his bare skin there all the way across until she reached the button that, if released, would send it all spiraling out of control.

Bobby couldn't think, only feel her against him, so many places, so many ways she was touching him… Sensory overload.

He turned his head away; he had to think, had to be rational. Rogue wasn't and didn't seem to want him to be either, and that bothered him. He scanned the club, trying to distance himself from her touch, her lips, her hands, the press of her against him, so little separating them, only a few thin layers of clothing. He had to think straight, struggle past the pounding of the music, the pounding of his blood.

She can't really want this, can she? She loves Gambit. Despite everything, I know she does. I wish it was me, but it's him she loves… But I might never get this chance again… So why now? Why so fast? Is this another episode? Something new? One of the ghosts in her head, then?…

Motion in the darkest corner of the club caught his attention. His eyes met furious red on black eyes just as the man to whom they belonged moved the woman off his lap and stood up. At the same time, Bobby inhaled the sweet scent of Rogue's perfume and her sweat. It was all too much and he loved it, but…A card began to glow in the man's hand, held just for Bobby to see half-hidden under the man's coat.

Gambit… of course…

"Sometimes I breathe you in and I know you know. And sometimes you take a swim. Found your writing on my wall. If my heart's soaking wet, boy your boots can leave a mess—" (Hey Jupiter –by Tori Amos)

"Rogue… no…" Bobby said, shaking his head, and carefully pushed her back.

She was confused… even hurt. Bobby felt betrayed… used… jealous. A part of him really wanted to say, Screw it—it's Rogue's choice. But a larger more sensible part spoke instead.

"Not like this." He took hold of her hands; he couldn't let go of her completely. "I want to, I do. God, do I. But I want you to… not just want to get back at Remy."

Her eyes flicked to Gambit then. It was only for a split second, but Bobby saw it. That confirmed his suspicions. His heart sank… again. Plop, right to his knees that time.

"I'm going to leave now, okay." He raised her hands to his lips, made her face him.

She bit her lip and nodded.

"I'm not mad, okay, Rogue."

She nodded.

An amused grin spread across his face, even reaching his eyes a little as he said, "If you ever decide you really want this, for real, I'll be more than happy to deliver…"

She laughed then. It made Bobby very happy, happier than when she was kissing him and touching him, he realized with a start. And that, that made him laugh in return. He gave her knuckles a quick peck, then slipped away.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Good going, Bobby…

Wolverine smiled and released a slow puff of smoke. He sighed as he settled back into his chair.

Don't know if I could've done the same… He chuckled with his own amusement. She sure made a tempting enough offer. Hehe.

Logan watched Bobby nod to Gambit as Bobby passed. Gambit only narrowed his eyes at Bobby, but he let the card simmer out and put it away. The woman looked from Gambit to Bobby to Rogue and back to Gambit. She grabbed Gambit's arm to pull him back to her on the couch, but Gambit shrugged her off like she were something dirty, something vile. He was taking out his anger at Bobby on this girl who had been his cover. He stared at Rogue and started towards her.

Damn it, Cajun! Just leave it alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Rogue held one hand up to keep Gambit from getting any closer. He was only a few feet away and that was too close as it was, right then.

"Save it, Remy."

"'Y tell him, Rogue. Dirty, rotten, two-timing scoundrel never could keep it in his pants." Belle's ghost said inside Rogue's mindscape.

"Shush, Belle… Roguey, chere… Give us a chance to explain," Gambit's ghost countered.

"No, Belle's right, Sugah… All o' 'em are worthless… They'll only hurt y'… 'Cept Bobby, maybe… He's like Cody was. Y'all can go aftah him." Again, the others backed away with the shimmering voice's onset. All except for one.

"Such a tasty fear here," The Shadow King said.

"Shuddup—all of ya'll."

All of us? Gambit wondered. His eyes flicked to the collar then back to her face. He remembered Antartica then—how the voices got louder when her powers were negated.

"Ah don't want none of it," she said and moved to leave.

"Y' just going to keep shutting me out, den?" Remy snapped, catching her arm to stop her.

She stayed turned away though.

"Push me till I finally leave y' alone for good? That y' big plan? That what y' want? Well, sorry to disappoint, but Remy be staying, chere. I won't be leaving… I can't… I love y', Rogue. Don' y' see?"

"Really?" Rogue said, spinning back to face him, "Is that what ya were doing when ya was pawin' that bimbo?"

"Oui," Remy conceded quietly, but holding her steely gaze. "It's exactly what it was."

"So that was me grindin' away in your lap. Ah'm sorry. Ah though it was someone else."

"Oui, Rogue. In a way, it was y'."

"Your so full of it, Remy," Rogue said as she grabbed her coat and stormed off.

Remy just watched her go. What else could he do? He'd told her the truth, but she wouldn't believe it.

Why would she? Y' probably wouldn't either, Gambit.

But it was true. He'd gone to the club after he watched Rogue and Bobby descend into the apartment building. He'd known then what they were up to. He'd considered the pinch himself. He would've given the rocks to a charity, of course, just like they probably would. He'd left them there, let them have their fun, once he'd realized that was the extent of the challenge he'd sensed from her before she and Bobby had left the mansion for the night. He'd left them and he'd come to the club then. He never expected that Bobby would bring her there.

The woman was a distraction. She became his cover when he saw Bobby and Rogue at the club. He thought she'd never look twice at the couple, she didn't look twice at any of the other couples.

Of course she'd recognize y', Gambit… Dumb luck or something else? …How much did Mystique train y', Rogue? More dan I t'ink any o' de X-Men t'ought to ask, hahn?

But the woman had started out as a distraction, a cheap replacement, just like the woman from the pinch the night before.

Admit it, Gambit. Y' went too far with dat one last night… Just a glutton for punishment, n'est-ce pas?

It was always a sort of torture when he flirted, conquered, touched another woman since he'd found himself serious about Rogue. It always served as a reminder of her, the one he couldn't touch, the one who wouldn't touch him. It was more than her powers and he knew it. He hoped she knew it, he was afraid that she never would. Or if she did, that she wouldn't admit it.

…Little did he know.

Dere be ways around y' powers, chere, if y'd only take de chance. Dieu! De t'ings I be dreaming up… But it be more den dat… Way much more den sex… Dat be a cheap replacement… Got no problem going wit'out de sex. More den anyt'ing I just want to be close to y', chere. To hold y' close wit'out y' flinching. Merde! Dat's de worst. Remy hate it more den anyt'ing when y' flinch away like I be hurting y' when I just want to listen to y' problems, y' joys, and be allowed to help y' wit'out y' flinchin'… Y' share dat wit' Bobby… Why, chere? Y' don't love him like y' love me, like I love y'… Everyone knows dat. Even Bobby… Dat why he left it alone tonight… Is dat it, he be safe? He never pushes de romantic bit? Or y' be making up for Cody with him. He seem sorta de same type… Dieu, just give me de chance, Roguey… I just want to be dere for y'.*

Gambit ground out his cigarette in the ashtray beside Rogue's abandoned glass. He was about to go after her, determined to be there for her through whatever it was that's been going wrong for her. No matter what. A hand on his chest stopped him. He looked up to see Logan.

"This time, stay out of it, Gumbo. She may need ya, but she's so stubborn she'll fight ya just to spite that need. And that ain't doing your disposition any good."

Gambit nodded. "Remy know y' be right, Logan. 'S just hard. I want to help so much…"

"I know, Gumbo. But she won't take it, and she's hurting herself all the more for it every time she pushes you away. So, leave her be for now. She'll come to you eventually."

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Guess it's me and me and this little masochist. She's ready to confess all the things that I never thought that she could feel and—" (Hey Jupiter –by Tori Amos)

The Shimmering Cloud swirled in and out and around the pattern of the crystalline web of the Closet, the place that contained her absorption powers. She felt that waiting potential in the dormant mass contained behind the crystalline web. She felt it strengthen her. She wasn't affected by the collar like it was. This time was different from the other times the powers had been blocked: Genosha, Antartica, etc… She was dampened and weakened, yes, but she still was. She knew it was because she was so entirely separate now. She didn't even have the company of the rest of the Core anymore. She was nearly individual, and though she wouldn't be whole without Union, for the first time ever, she didn't mind the loneliness.

You see—she had control. Even if she had only limited access, she had control. Learning that, honing it, was all she had to do during all those years of being trapped inside the Core with IT. She never had to learn, never had to defend herself from IT—IT was never hostile towards her or any of the rest of the Core—but learning control passed the time.

The cloud floated back through the crystalline web cage and swirled around three of the chords that stretched from the Closet to the ghosts of those people Rogue had absorbed. She'd already done this with one of the chords, one of the three she now gave her attention to, actually. As she coated them, surrounded them, embodied them, she felt them quiver. And she shimmered in return.

Rogue doesn't even realize, the poor thing. She's too caught up talking ta the scary shadow man. He wants ta stop me, stop us, stop Union. But Ah'll show him. And Rogue, she will see. She will finally see.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"No one's picking up the phone. Guess it's me and me and this little masochist. She's ready to confess all the things that I never thought that she could feel and—" (Hey Jupiter –by Tori Amos)

"C'mon, Jeanie, pick up," Logan growled to the ringing cell. He'd already tried the comm unit and couldn't get a signal.

"Thanks for calling Xavier's…" Logan hung up on the answering machine. He'd just have to handle this himself. He wasn't sure how, exactly. From the looks of things, this was really Jeanie's department.

Plus, the kid trusts her… Well, not as much as she trusts me, but more than she trusts Xavier and Emma.

Logan moved from his perch on the fire escape. Rogue was below him, in the alley, drunk as a skunk. She had a half-empty bottle of Jim Beam beside her and she was talking to herself… out loud. Well, not to herself, exactly.

"I can make it all go away, child. I can stop her. She's trying to take over. She's trying to make you go through it all over again," the Shadow King said. He was talking with Rogue's lips.

"Just trying ta get meh ta remembah, is all," Rogue said, thoroughly sloshed without the healing factor to taper the alcohol's effects. "Ah need ta. So Ah can stop hurting… so Ah can be with Remy."

"She doesn't want that. Remember what she told you earlier? She doesn't want you to have Remy. Ever. She wants to make you hurt like she's hurting… Think about it. She'd been trapped inside that pain, that fear, all that time. She wants revenge… Look… See what she's doing now."

Rogue peered inside her mindscape like the Shadow King said to. She didn't want to believe him, but she could feel that something was happening. When she looked, she found that the Shadow King was telling her the truth. The cloud was manipulating two of the ghost's chords that Rogue could see. The two chords were coming alive despite the collar.

She can do it because of the collar… She realized with a start.

That was the alteration with the collar. She'd sensed it, sensed the wanting to wear it, the greater access the cloud had gained with it. She just hadn't been able to narrow it down before.

She knew it gave her access. Her and her alone when it was on… She'd accepted it. That makes her his willing pawn… Means she's willingly working with Sinister!Doesn't it?

"See, child… You can't stop her. You don't have access. Just remove the collar…" The Shadow King persuaded.

"Then ya'll be free."

"But I can stop her."

"Ah… Ah don't know."

"Precisely my point, child. You'll hesitate against her, against yourself. I won't."

"…Okay…"

Rogue released the collar and Wolverine pounced on her. They slammed into the ground, rolling over each other, and ended up with Rogue on top, the garrote biting around Logan's neck.

"What're ya doing, Rogue?!"

The Shadow King stared menacingly at Wolverine through Rogue's eyes. "Whatever I want, Wolverine."

Inside Rogue's mind, the shimmering cloud fought not to attack the Shadow King herself, fought to keep her hold on the chords. She saw Rogue bound like a mummy, being pulled away from the Core, saw the Core being wrapped all the more tightly, but she had to stick to he plan. They had to act.

"Now, Psylocke!" The Shimmering voice commanded.

Outside the mindscape, Rogue convulsed above Wolverine. A quick slice of his claws was all that saved him from being nearly decapitated by the razor sharp garrote. Sure, his adamantium-laced spine would've stopped it, but that's all that would've been left and he would've been a long time hurting while he healed it. And Rogue needed him right then.

Before he could do anything else, though, Rogue slumped forward against him, just missing contacting the bare skin of his face with the bare skin of hers. She was utterly still.

"Shit!" Wolverine cursed. He rolled her off him, laid her on her back and took off his gloves. Just as he neared her face, her eyes snapped open.

"Don't, Wolvie," Rogue said.

"Rogue, is that you?"

"It's all me now, sugah." Silently, she added, More of me, maybe, but it's me. The cloud's presence had strengthened. "Shadow King ain't a threat no more. Ever again, it seems like."

Inside Rogue's mindscape, Psylocke's ghost paced angrily around her newly formed, doubly strong cage that encased the Shadow King. She raised her Katana and with the last of her strength, struck it upon the chord that linked him to Rogue, severing it. Psylocke faded into the cage itself, become the cage forever more. Jean's ghost then opened a hole to the astral plane and shoved the Shadow King, Psylocke cage and all, into it.

A moment later, the whole closed. Only a tiny thin line of web led from where the hole had been straight to the core itself. The IT inside would always maintain watch over the Psylocke cage and the Shadow King. IT would always reinforce the prison. IT was still trapped by Rogue, by ITSELF in a way, but like the cloud, IT wasn't so completely affected by the collar as the Closet was. That was the added purpose of the collar, which Rogue woefully didn't quite realize yet. It would advance Union. It was for her own good, even if it played into Sinister's plans. And now, now IT had its own link outside the mindscape.

Outside the mindscape, Wolverine picked up the collar and handed it to her. "How ya doin'?"

"All right, Ah guess," Rogue said as she accepted the collar. The Shadow King was contained, so she didn't need it anymore, right?

Inside the mindscape…

"You're turn, Jean," the shimmering voice commanded as she focused on the second newly imbued chord.

"No," Jean's ghost said, "It isn't right."

"Fine, Ah'll do it mahself, then."

The cloud poured herself into Jean's chord. The chord glowed like wild fire. It shimmered and took on some of the cloud's corporeal nature. The cloud held on, letting the power build and build, storing it, gaining control, just in time…

Outside the mindscape, Logan placed a hand on Rogue's shoulder as he, still crouched beside her, helped her sit up.

"Then what's with the tears, darlin'?" Logan asked.

Rogue touched her face and wiped her damp cheeks. More tears wet it, though. She looked down at the collar in her lap then reluctantly put it around her neck. Logan was surprised, but he didn't try to stop her.

"This holds her back a little… not as much as it holds me, though…" she said as she locked the collar shut and it turned on. "But Ah can't stop her at all, Wolvie… Ah can't…" she said and threw her arms around him and cried into his shoulder.

He held her and patted her back, comforting her. "Then we'll just have to help ya."

"Will ya, Wolvie? Ya promise?" Rogue asked between sobs.

"Yeah, I promise."

She felt the catch then, felt the cloud activate it with Jean's power, felt Jean's power flow through it to Wolvie. She saw Wolvie's eyes light up with understanding. She felt the catch pull on him, felt the stirring low in her stomach, fueled by the cloud.

"Take this, Sugah," the shimmering voice whispered to Rogue, pleading with her. She wasn't trying to hurt; she was trying to help. "Use it… Feel something different… Make it not hurt so much… Please." [4]

Rogue kissed Logan and he kissed her back. He felt the catch; he'd never felt it before. But somehow, he knew it wasn't new, it'd been there for a while. He felt it manipulating him. It fed his own desires—normally so small they weren't even a flicker—but now they roared through him, over him, consumed him, and he couldn't stop it. And somewhere, he realized, he wouldn't try to stop it, not if she initiated it, not if it was only what it was, a satiating, nothing more. Heightened animal senses had their drawbacks as much as their gain.

Rogue, stubborn scrapper that she was, drew on those last feelings of his and answered them. She pulled back just enough to talk to him. She looked him dead in the eyes, cupped his grizzly face in her palms, and she willed a truthful answer from him over the out she was about to give him. She hoped it would work. She could feel the catch, but she couldn't access it to control it. And she'd never had control of it in that way, anyway. And part of her didn't want to stop it. She had to make him understand. It wasn't like it would be with Gambit, or even with Bobby. Logan was safest of all. He really didn't want her that way. But would he take her?

"Ah just want to feel something different… something that feels good… Ah can't stand this pain anymore… It hurts, Logan. It hurts too touch. And not because of my powers. It just hurts. Touch is pain. Get it. Always has been. Always. Ah can't be near Remy because of it… Ah need to make it stop hurting… Ah need something different, something safe, without attachments to… She would've picked Bobby… Ah almost let her… It can't be him. It can't. But it has to be someone who doesn't hurt…"

"Shhh… I get it, Rogue," he sighed, closing his eyes to her raw expression, to the tears that were soaking both of them. His hands twitched against her as he fought against the want being fed by the catch.

"Ya sure ya want this, Rogue," he asked, his voice growling with fighting the catch, the want. "You. Want. This." He separated each word, emphasizing his meaning.

"Ah need it, " she said and blinked more tears down her cheeks. It was barely a whisper.

He nodded and stopped fighting then. He picked her up and slammed her against the wall. Snikt! He popped one claw and sliced open her deceptively solid clothing. An instant later, his hand, with claw retracted, slid inside the cloth and groped her as he fed at her mouth.

Rogue turned away slightly and asked, "Not here, though, please?"

He did as she asked. He took her to a more appropriate place, off the streets and away from the X-Men. It was very hard for them to wait.

"Thought I knew myself so well. All the dolls I had. Took my leather off the shelf. Your apocalypse was fab for a girl who couldn't choose between the shower or the bath… Guess it's clear he's gone. And this little masochist is lifting up her dress. Guess I thought I could never feel the things I feel…" (Hey Jupiter –by Tori Amos)

Inside Rogue's mindscape, the cloud continued manipulating the chord that was feeding Logan's catch, flaming the fire. She also nuzzled the third chord she'd had some control over, the one she'd had for the longest, since the first time the collar was put on following the first episode, actually. She'd had access to the catch that echoed that chord… sometimes. Rogue was oblivious to this control.

The one who was attached to this catch though? Well, he was getting suspicious. The cloud wasn't sure how she felt about that. She would just wait and see.

For now, she would feed Logan and Rogue. And, using Jean's powers, she would bounce a little echo of what was happening between Rogue and Logan down that third chord, along the catch. It would make a nice little test for him.

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FOOTNOTES:

[1] This is a common concept amongst fan fiction (I don't remember it specifically mentioned in any of the comics), especially among Lori McDonald and Valerie Jones' thieves' stories.

[2] As in Dante's Inferno, the accompanying literary work to Paradisio and Pergatorio (I think that's what they were called).

[3] I'm alluding to Remy training Bobby as a thief as was told in Lori McDonald's and Valerie Jones' thieves' stories. I'm just saying that it happened in the past, perhaps when Gambit was leading half the X-Men.

[4] I got the primary basis for her needing to feel something different and wanting it through sex from the movie, High Fidelity. If you haven't seen it yet, do so. But there is more to it. It will be dealt with later. This will have repercussions in her life and her relationships.

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