A/N: ack! Don't know why I had such a hard time with this chapter. I still feel kind of unsatisfied with it, but I'll let you guys be the judge of whether or not it sucks. Also, it was going to be longer and include all of Romy's road trip and the return of Logan, but I felt you guys had waited long enough and I should at least give you something. Think of it this way, now you have that much more to look forward to next chapter?

Also, does anyone know of a site where I can find translations to cajun french? Nit-picky that I am, I just don't feel right having Remy speak in perfect French when he has a local dialect that's so strong.

As always, THANK YOU for the reviews! (Especially you, edanielrya!) I have been so pleasantly surprised and touched by the response this story has gotten. You guys are what keeps me writing this, and I just want to thank you and hope that you like the next installment!



Chapter 6


Standing like john wayne
She is full framed
She is center stage
And my imagination
Is rattling in its cage
I didn't really notice
When everything else disappeared
But as far as I'm concerned
If it isn't her
It isn't here

-Ani Difranco


Uh, Rogue. Rogue? The shy southern mutant blinked when she saw Bobby's hand waving in front of her. She shook off whatever thoughts had caused her to daze off like that and smiled at Bobby.

His grin faltered a little bit. Um, are you okay? You look about as alert as a bear in hibernation.

She sighed, sick of keeping up a cheerful facade. I'm fine, was all she said before turning back to the movie they were watching in Bobby's room.

He took her arm, gently turning her back to face him. he said. You're obviously upset, Rogue--tell me what's going on.

The command wasn't demanding or condescending in any way, but Rogue found herself bristling at his tone anyway. She stared at Bobby as if seeing him for the first time, and in her mind the cajun sniffed derisively, muttering, don' see why dis homme's so special. Downright annoyin', if ya ask Remy.' What if Ah don't wanna? she asked her boyfriend, giving him a grumpy Wolverine-glare. Look Bobby, Ah've had a long, bad day and it's not even noon. Ah'm tired and hungry and sleep-deprived and Ah just wanna--just wanna be left alone!

He glared at her, folding his arms over his chest. Marie, I just wanna talk to you! Jesus! Man, excuse me for thinking that a guy returning home after two freakin' weeks could get a little comfort and sympathy from his girlfriend.

Bien, peut-être si vous n'étiez pas un gosse si corrompu... she muttered, and Bobby's eyes widened. Since when did Rogue know French?

His mind flashed back to how he'd found her this morning, talking to that new guy. Bobby vaguely remembered hearing the guy say before he'd entered. He narrowed his eyes, his voice laced with suspicion. Does this have something to do with that guy downstairs?

Just the fact that he's the biggest bastard on the planet and Ah can't stand him. Amazing how easy it is to lie to yourself.

Anger flashed in Bobby's eyes, and he started towards the door. He did something to you, I know it. That jerk, I'm gonna-

Ah can take care of myself, Bobby! Ah don't need ya to fight my battles for me.

I wasn't! But I'm your boyfriend, I'm entitled to-

To what? Ah don't recall readin' a rulebook on the subject.

Well--what I mean is--I'm just worried about you, that's all! He took a few shuffling steps closer to her, locking her brown eyes with his own blue orbs. Please, let's not fight on our first day back.

Rogue is silent, and her face is inscrutable, hiding a turbulent ocean of thoughts behind her brown eyes. When she speaks, her voice is quiet and immeasurably sad. Ah'm not the same girl Ah was when we started dating, Bobby.

Bobby gulped. What... what do you mean?

Rogue hesitated. What did she mean? Ah mean... Ah mean that Ah'm not willin' to let ya do everything for me anymore, Bobby. You're not my keeper, you're not the be-all and end-all of my existence anymore. Ah can't-

What do you mean? He interrupted her. I was always the one who always put the most into this relationship, I was the one who figured out a way for us to touch, I was the one who tried to save you from wallowing in self-pity, I was the one who tried to save you from your crush on Logan-

Save me? Her eyes narrowed dangerously. What the hell do you mean by that?

I mean he's only going to hurt you Rogue! Even if, by some miracle, he was able and wanted to sleep with you-

Shut up, Ice Boy! You don't know what the hell you're talkin' about!

-he'd only break your heart in the end! Oh sure, he'd come back when he wanted a booty call or something, but he'd never really love you, Marie! It's just not in his nature.

Rogue clenched her jaw, fighting back the urge to hit him. And you're my knight in shining armor, is that it? Swooping in to rescue me from the big bad Wolverine.

He looked away, angrily staring at the spot on the sofa where they'd been sitting peacefully just minutes before. That's what I wanted to be. But that was never good enough for you, was it?

Did you ever think maybe the problem wasn't that a knight in shining armor wasn't good enough, it was just the exact opposite of what Ah needed?

Oh, really? I thought all you needed was for me to touch you. That's how you acted, anyway.

You're the first person Ah've ever been able to kiss, Bobby! Dammit, of course physical contact was the most important thing to me!

He took a step back, realization dawning on his face. I was never more than someone you could touch, was I?

And Ah was never more than the poor girl you could pity!

They stared at each other from across the room, the accusations and poisonous words hanging in the air like ghosts. The annoying thing about words is that they can't be unsaid, no matter how much you wish they could. Both knew, at that moment, that whatever relationship they'd had was over. Only the final severance of romantic bonds had yet to be verbalized.

Bobby stared hard at the ground, pretending he felt nothing when he said what came next. I think it would be best if... if we didn't see each other any more, Rogue.

Despite herself, Rogue felt her eyes moisten with tears. Ah couldn't agree more, she said, her voice thick with unshed tears and frustration. She rushed past him, escaping out the door to leave Bobby Drake .

Rogue didn't stop running until she was at the opposite end of the hall and downstairs. She found a wall in the kitchen and collapsed against it, covering her face with her hands. I will not cry over him, she told her brain. Absolutely certifiably will not.

But her brain didn't seem to be listening. She felt two big drops of saltwater squeeze out of the corners of her eyes and slide down her cheeks, and a treacherous sniffle escaped as well. Dammit! She hadn't even liked him much, not anymore, but... he was Bobby, all the same. He was her first boyfriend. He was the only boy whom she'd ever touched without sending him into the twilight zone, and he'd always been there for her, even before they were dating.

Guess that was going to change.

You always hide shakin' in de corners like dis, Rogue, or is dis a special occasion? Rogue quickly looked up, cursing mentally as she spotted her favorite vice, standing in front of the open fridge.

Sniffing, she quickly wiped her eyes, turning away so he couldn't see how red and puffy her face was from crying. No. Ah was just... outta breath. The excuse sounded lame even to her ears.

Remy gave a derisive snort and was at Rogue's side with two strides of his long legs. Remy, you're being an idiot, his inner voice told him. You shouldn't get close to this girl, you'll just get hurt. He replied with some choice French swear words. Taking her chin in his gloved hand, he gently turned her face to his. Dis ain't not'ing, chere. Strong fille like you, Remy magines it takes a lot to make you cry. What's wrong, Rogue?

She looked down, unable to meet his eyes. If she did, she'd just start crying all over again. Nothin's wrong, she snapped. The boy Ah've been dating for a year just dumped me, that's all!

he said, and the wise tone of his voice is so contrary to what Rogue has always heard from him that she almost laughs. De troubles of de heart, dey always de worst ones, neh?

Troubles of the heart my ass... Remy could hear Rogue muttering incoherently under her breath as she shoved past him, heading for the fridge. She disappeared behind the white doors and reappeared a second later, arms stocked with enough chocolate* to feed a third world country. Ripping the wrappers off several candy bars at once, she proceeded to viciously attack poor Snickers and Hershey.

Remy sighed. He had always been a sucker for a damsel in distress. Before he even knew he was going to, he was speaking to her, offering his arm. You wanna get outta here?

Rogue stopped eating mid-bite, swallowing before laughing bitterly. Ah just broke up with my boyfriend five minutes ago and you're askin' me out on a date?

Remy shrugged. A small voice whispered frantically in the back of his head, No, you fool, you can't get involved again, you should run away from her now, go on, run-It's not a date, chere. You're upset. I ain't exactly cheerful m'self. We both need about ten years worth of fresh air, and we need t'get outta dis mansion. That's not running, you idiot!

She snorted. How sweet of you.

Why you gotta be so difficult all de time? Remy not askin' you to dinner and de ballet. It's a motorcycle ride, chere. We don't even have to stop, jus' ride until we feel like turnin' back round. The voice in the back of his head piped up again. Remy, you'll hurt yourself, you'll hurt her, you'll get both of you killed, you can't do this, you can't get close to her! Remy politely told his head voice just where it could shove its sensible advice.

Rogue gave him a dubious look, absently chewing her lip as she looked him over. He seemed sincere, just trying to help her get over whatever was troubling her--but Rogue knew from his own thoughts in her head that Remy Lebeau never did anything for just one reason. Never did anything that wouldn't benefit himself. He was Le Diable Blanc, a devil who could make anyone swear he was God's Angel incarnate. She couldn't find anyone more different from the selfless, caring, full-of-pity Bobby Drake if she searched the globe ten times over.

Then again, maybe Bobby's antithesis was just what she needed.

All right, fine, Rogue said, putting down her chocolate and heading for the garage. Let's go.

Remy blinked, nonplussed--he hadn't really expected her to accept his offer. His body was quicker on the uptake than his brain, thankfully, and soon he was beside her, both of them making their way to the monumental caverns that made up the X-mansion garage.

Remy knelt next to his most prized possession, his deft hands caressing the sleek contours of the motorcycle like he was wooing a lover, his eyes gleaming as he admired the work of art. Thank god he had managed to convince Thierry that sending it up here was most definitely in the old Frenchman's best interest. Dis is it, chere... de ultimate bliss, right here in dis garage. Dis bike, dis be freedom, a break, a chance to get away from everyt'in'. He turned to her with a genuine smile on his face and sparks of joie de vivre dancing in his eyes. If you're nice to Remy, chere, mebbe he let you share de seat, non?

Rogue eyed the object of Remy's affections skeptically, although secretly she admired the bike almost as much as he did. How could she not, with Logan's expertise and critical eye slobbering over the machine in her mind?

Still. That really yours, swamp rat?

Of course it is! he answered indignantly. You t'ink Remy would take such good care of a stolen bike?

Rogue crossed her arms and arched one eyebrow, her expression still skeptical.

I promise you, chere, dis bike was bartered, bought and paid for by yours truly. She stared at him, and Remy squirmed uncomfortably. Okay, so maybe de means of transaction were slightly extralegal-

Who'd ya steal it from, Remy?

I didn't steal it, I promise! Monsieur Treban needed a t'ief, I needed transportation and a helpin' hand, we made a deal. Dere was no stealin' involved--at least, where de bike's concerned, he amended quickly. Rogue was still looking suspicious, so he went even further. You want t' see de papers? he bluffed. Or, wait, I forgot: you have de memories stored in dat pretty head of yours now, oui? He grinned deviously. You could always delve deeper into those mem'ries of mine, chere, he said, his voice husky and suggestive. Never know what ya might find.

He was rewarded when twin spots of red burned in her cheeks, and she looked away, embarrassed. Ah think Ah'll stay as far away from your memories as Ah possibly can, Remy, she muttered.

He treated her to another dazzling grin, trying to ignore the way her words speared his heart like a million jagged pieces of glass. Of course she wanted to stay as far away from his memories--hell, he'd run away from them, too, if he only could... Now or never, chere. You wanna jump on dis bike or are y' jus' gon' let it sit here n rust?

Rogue hesitated, suddenly wondering at the wisdom of jumping on a motorcycle with a declared and wanted thief. She stared at him, her brown eyes wide and vulnerable, reminding Remy with a pang of guilt that she was only seventeen, no matter how old she seemed to be. She had the memories and personalities of two men and two hells in her mind, she'd had an entire city in her palm, at her mercy, she'd hitchhiked through twelve states and three provinces and just recently submerged herself in the memories of an entire Guild built upon thievery and lies, murder and intrigue. She was no petite fille.

But at that moment, in that instant of time stretching between them, Rogue looked like any other teenage girl, her eyes wide and searching, her full bottom lip quivering, the pretty strands of two-toned hair coming to life when a breeze whispered through the garage, whipping about a face that still held its childish beauty. She looked like Jesus' little sister, an innocent, pure little girl that loved with all her heart and only expected the same in return. Remy thought she had never been more beautiful, and knew, at the same time, that that thought was going to earn him a few more eternities burning in hell--after he paid the debts he already owed to God, of course. How could he even think about her, when she was so pure, so good, so... beautiful? How could he even fathom the possibility of holding her, of kissing her, of being with her when he... when he was damned so completely.

The moment passed, and Rogue was once again herself, not pure, not angelic, not innocent, but leaning back against the wall of the garage, her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed at the Cajun, who was busy trying not to think about many, many subjects.

Ya sure Ah can trust ya, Cajun? Her voice was low and challenging, and her brown eyes, locked on his, were proud and defiant.

He stared back, and when he answered there wasn't a trace of guile in his voice. Not a bit, chere. Never been sure'f anyt'in. But I do know it's a belle day and you're a belle femme dat's been cryin' f'r far too long. He offered her his hand. So how bout we blow dis joint?

She looked at his hand and sniffed derisively. It was just a show of defiance, though, one last little gesture that said, Don't think you've got me so easily.' Bypassing his arm, Rogue sat down on the bike's leather seat, scooting backwards to give him room to drive in front of her.

Remy leered at her and took his seat, feeling a familiar thrill as the leather seat molded to his form and his heels found the pedal, and another shiver as Rogue scooted even further forward, her pelvis pressing against his back and her legs fitting beside his as if they were two pieces of a puzzle, finally coming together.

He felt her body relax behind him, and a little sigh escaped her lips as she wrapped her arms around his chest, letting her head rest on his shoulder. Remy's eyes widened as he felt her so close, and it was all he could do not to turn around and bury his mouth in hers. Why was she doing this? Normally she was so aloof from everyone, stiff and awkward even when touching someone through layers of clothing, yet here she was, practically cuddling him. He knew she'd have to hold him to keep from falling off once they got started--that was part of the whole appeal of the motorcycle, really--but this.... this was...

Remy shook his head, clearing it of his increasingly incoherent thoughts. She wanted a trip, didn't she? Well, he'd better give him one. He felt the familiar devilish grin settle on his lips as his hands gunned the engine. Hope you're ready f'r dis, chere, he whispered in her ear as they tore out of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, feeling each other's hearts beating too fast, feeling twin sets of lungs gasp with excitement, feeling blood-red eyes and defiant brown ones close with the onset of the ecstasy of the open road.