A/N: Gack! Soooo sorry this is so incredibly late. I had writer's block, and then stupid *(&^%$ing fanfiction.net decided to go all freaky on me and wouldn't let my chapter upload. Ppshaw!

Many, many thanks to you reviewers, I love you all! One of these days I'll do individual shoutouts. But yeah, this chapter wouldn't be here without all o y'all. (Hee, look, I can be southern too mom.... ahem) Also, note that the rating is upped to R now, due entirely to some decidedly unladylike language on Rogue's part.

Enjoy!
****


Chapter 7

Through this world I've stumbled
so many times betrayed
trying to find an honest word to find
the truth enslaved
Oh you speak to me in riddles
and you speak to me in rhymes
my body aches to breathe your breath
your words keep me alive

-Sarah McLachlin

Storm clouds began to appear in the sky above the mansion, and Ororo cursed under her breath when she saw them. She'd been letting her emotions affect the weather, again--the Professor had never had much success in stopping her unconscious wielding of the skies when she was upset.

Dismissing the thunderheads with a thought, she gazed out the window at the exhaust that clung to the spot where Rogue and Remy had just been, before they raced off on Remy's bike. Ororo bit her lip, reminding herself not to judge, but she couldn't help it: the girl was seventeen, had only been in one relationship before, and Remy was already moving in. On little Marie! Despite her growth in the last year, Ororo couldn't help but think of Rogue as that shy, terrified little girl that they'd rescued from a burning trailor.

But she wasn't that little girl anymore. Her behavior with Remy made that obvious: Ororo had overheard snippets of their conversation that morning, and then Remy had confided their kiss to her later. Why was Marie doing this? Couldn't she tell that anything with Remy would lead to nothing but heartbreak?

Ororo shook her head, furious at herself. He is one of your best friends, and has proven himself over and over to be a good man, she scolded her mind. You have no right to be judging him now!

It wasn't that she didn't trust Remy. But he, well... his relationships with women all seemed to inevitably lead to the girl either dying or hating him--that is, when he bothered with anything more than a one-night stand. It wasn't entirely his fault, but all the same, any relationship with Remy was doomed to disaster.

And you'd know from experience, wouldn't you, Ororo? she thought bitterly, and immediately felt guilty. It wasn't Remy's fault, after all--she'd been as drunk as he, it had only been one night, and how could he possibly know how she'd longed for him afterwards? No, Ororo herself had decided it would definitely be best not to pursue a relationship with Remy Lebeau, and she would stand by that decision no matter what happened.

She groaned in frustration, throwing herself back on the couch. He was so young, so much younger than her, and before that had been enough to persuade her to deny her feelings, to stay romantically away from him. She had herself so convinced that all she felt was an exceptionally strong bond of friendship with him--she was so sure that it had all been just a one-time crush until he came to live at the mansion. Now, when she saw him every day as opposed to every few months, when he spent all his time with her as opposed to only seeking her out when he needed her, everything was different. It was all she could do not to shake uncontrollably whenever he was around. Depending on Remy's moods and actions, Ororo was either ecstatic or depressed or frustrated or angry, and her teammates were beginning to notice. Jean had insisted that she take a day off from teaching and come to the med lab just yesterday, when she had accidentally summoned up a wind that had tossed John all around her classroom in the middle of English. It wasn't John's fault, not really--he had just snapped her last nerve at a time when her nerves were very, very fragile.

Damn him. Damn his cajun accent, and his charm, and his all-too-friendly feelings toward her...

Ororo scowled up at the ceiling. It's just physical, she announced. It's the product of many years of good friendship and one single night of sex, and that's all.

Silence blanketed the room, leaving the weather witch alone, her judgment and longing her only company.

***

He smelled like cigarettes and leather and jalapeño peppers. The scent was off-putting and dirty, but incredibly arousing as well. Hounded on all sides by the relentless wind, surrounded by the roar of the bike's motor and hanging on to Remy for dear life, Rogue found herself submerged in his scent, drowning in it--drowning in him.

She gritted her teeth against the persistent noise of the motor, wondering why the engine had to be so god damn loud. It was like a freaking construction drill vibrating in her eardrums. Remy didn't seem to mind, though: he was singing jovially in french, doing his best college-try to drown out the motor. Rogue couldn't decide which was worse, his singing or the scream of the engine.

Remy felt Rogue shiver behind him, and mentally scolded himself for not offering her his jacket before they left--some gentleman he was. What he should do was pull over now and offer his coat, he knew that, but damn it all, he was afraid. Scared that, should he stop even for a second she would come to her senses and say What the hell am I doing? I should be back at the X-mansion, hanging out with my friends and having fun, instead of riding off on some wild goose chase with this lunatic.'

He knew where he wanted to take her the instant she'd sat her pretty little bottom on the bike's leather seat, but he'd forgotten how long it took to get there. He didn't have a watch, but judging by it being mid-afternoon when they left and after sundown now, hours had passed.

He heard her gasp as they rounded a corner and the city lights came into view. Bet the river rat never saw much cosmopolitan action back where she from, he thought to himself, grinning. The traffic wasn't even that bad, and soon he was coasting into a grungy parking lot of a grungy building on the outskirts of the city.

Rogue gave him a dubious look as she got off the bike, clearly not impressed with the surroundings. This is where we drove five hours to get to?

Hey, give dis Cajun some credit! Remy said defensively. You haven't seen what I want to show you yet. Smirking at her, he grasped the fire escape ladder at the side of the building and began to climb. Noticing that she wasn't following, he looked down over his shoulder at her, exasperated. What are ya waitin' for? Come on!

Why are we goin' up on the roof? Rogue said skeptically, tentatively stepping up on the ladder. Truthfully, she was more intrigued than suspicious or scared--the sun was setting, she was with a gorgeous guy in New York City, what more could she... Ah cannot believe Ah just thought that! Rogue admonished herself as she continued to climb, glad that Remy couldn't see her blush. That Ah'm getting all mushy and romantic about Remy-look-how-much-of-an-asshole-I-can-be-Lebeau just shows how desperate Ah really am, she thought wryly. Good grief, girl, get a grip on yourself!

They reached the roof, and Rogue gasped. It was... she'd never seen anything like it. It was a perfect view of the city, the skyscrapers reaching high toward heaven, the space where the two towers were achingly empty, the sun setting a blaze behind it all... she gaped, for once completely at a loss for words.

Remy watched her, smirking slightly to himself. He never failed to impress the ladies, and Rogue was no different, not really. He could handle her just fine. Really.

This is... this is really... how did you find this?! Rogue's voice sounded part baffled, part accusatory as she turned to face him, the look on her face suggesting she thought he had stolen the very roof top.

Remy shrugged, ignoring her suspicion. Been comin' down to the city every once in a while--it gets pretty boring up dere in de mansion. He grinned evilly. You know, it's pretty pathetic dat a man's gotta come all the way down to de city jus' to get a decent drink and a blow job. You should talk to de professor bout dat, I t'ink it's gonna be a real problem.

Rogue glared at him, and he could practically hear the thoughts going through her head: Dammit, I want to drain that bastard dry... but he's my ride home... but I really want to kill him... You bastard, she spat at him, and sat down, her body jerking angrily to the roof.

Remy sneered. You really need to learn how to take a joke, ya know dat? He sat down a couple feet beside her, wondering why he just had to say what he knew would piss her off the most. Was he really that afraid of her finding out he was a nice guy? No worries about that, Lebeau, you certainly aren't a nice guy,' he reminded himself.

Rogue ignored him, looking down at the the roof as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, tracing a pattern in the grime and dirt. Why do you always do that? she said suddenly, and her voice was quiet. Was that... no, it couldn't be--did her voice actually sound hurt?

Do what? he said, keeping his voice casual only through years of practice and discipline.

Ya know... say things you know will upset me. Rile me up on purpose. Ah mean, do ya really want me to hate you, or are you really that scummy of a person?

Remy was at a loss for words. How the hell did she do that? She was reading his mind like a newspaper, when mighty telepaths couldn't even crack the surface.

He began tracing his own pattern in the dirt with his boot. Don't really know, chere. His voice was sickeningly casual. Jus' part of my charming personality, non?

Rogue scowled up at the sky, her finger still vaguely tracing patterns in the dirt. Bruised purples and blues were streaking across the sky, devouring the pinks and oranges of the sunset; it would be night soon. Girlfriends and wives all over the city would soon be accepting jackets from their various beaus, and men would shiver and say, Oh, don't worry, I'm not cold! while their teeth chattered and their fingers began to sting with cold. Hoping this one gentlemanly act would at least guarantee them a good night kiss, if not a good night everything else.

Remy hugged his grimy old trench coat closer around him, staring resentfully at Rogue out of the corner of his eye. She was still waiting for a better answer than the one he gave her. And Remy really wished he could give her an answer.

Yeah. Charming personality. Right. Rogue glanced down at the pattern she'd doodled in the sand, and felt a chill run through her. She'd written some archaic message--in hebrew. She hastily rubbed it out before mind-Eric could tell her what it meant. Probably some horrible anti-human message of doom.

Why are you asking me, anyway? he said. If you really wanted to know, you could just look at de parts of me you stole.

It's not that fucking simple! The words exploded out of her, showering little pieces of frustration and resentment shrapnel out onto the city below. You-you act like Ah can just sift through some filing cabinet in my head, read up on your glorious past and personality in some glossy file. She laughed, a bitter, barking sound. You think my stupid power comes with my own, personal, slick little organizer?!

She's on the verge of hysterics, Remy can tell. Oh shit, he thinks as he moves sideways to comfort her. I finally pushed her over the edge this time.

She jerks away from him, looking like he was holding up a gigantic poisonous snake and asking her to kiss it. Don't touch me! Don't you get it? Didn't that one lesson penetrate your thick skull when Ah nearly killed you last night?

Remy grins, trying desperately to get her back in good humor. Remy's a slow learner, he says. He still hasn't figured it out.

Fine. You just sit there, making stupid fucking jokes and pretending that Ah'm just... just playing hard-to-get! She is standing up now, her movements sharp and awkward and furious. You... you just sit there and ask me to look up your memories in my magic mental filing cabinet! She walked over to the edge of the roof, hugging herself from the cold. I... I just doodled a message in hebrew over there. I don't fucking know hebrew. This morning I cursed my boyfriend out in French, another language I failed to learn. A week ago I was sneaking out to buy Canadian beer and cigars.

Remy stood up cautiously, slowly moving to stand beside her. This time she didn't move away. She keeps talking. And you know what? It wouldn't be so bad, wouldn't be that bad at all if the damn voices didn't... didn't leak. He doesn't know what she's talking about, she's not even sure she knows. They... they leak into every aspect of my life, so at every moment I'm not sure whether I'm you, Magneto, Logan or Bobby... Dear god, she'd absorbed Magneto? Remy felt a shiver run along his spine, as most people did upon hearing that bastard's name. He looked at her with renewed respect: she must be one tough femme to stomach that man's psyche.

She was still talking, her voice sounding far away, flat, almost dead. And you know, your memories really aren't that bad, comparatively. Not compared to a man who's lived through the fucking holocaust. And then there's Logan...! Ah have to deal with shit in my waking life that he only remembers in dreams. Ah don't tell him, but Ah probably know more about his fucked up past than he does.... and it's confusing, scary as hell...

Logan? There was that name again, and Remy felt uneasiness stir deep in his gut. Relax, he told himself. It's not the man you're thinking of.

She's shut up now, staring out into the rhinestone glam city like it holds the answer to all her problems. Remy's only twenty-one; he's never had to deal with this. Bella kept all her problems to herself, cept for the ones that dealt with the Guilds. Besides, he and Bella did not spend most of their time together talking.

She didn't notice how awkward he felt, that he was trying to figure out what to say to make all her hurts go away; Rogue is hardly even aware of him anymore. She's staring out into all the glitz, her eyes fixed on the faraway point of beautiful Lady Liberty.

Of course it isn't Remy's fault; he had no way of knowing, couldn't possibly realize that this whole damn city is one of the biggest sore spots in her life. He doesn't know that she can't admire the view without remembering the screams and the white and the destruction and her self-hatred because she loved it. She was Magneto, that night, not Rogue, and she loved it, and she hated herself.

Remy finally decides to say nothing at all. Words are not what she needs right now. Instead he brushes the small of her back with her fingers, not lecherously, just the briefest of touches to let her know that he's here, he's with her, and he's not judging her.

Rogue shakes herself out of it, and sits down again, pretending that nothing has happened. And so Ah wish you'd just stop this flirting thing of yours, she says casually. Because Ah'm not just playin' hard to get. Nothin' could ever come of it, and really, you just annoy me when ya pretend that anythin'... that anything could.

Remy sits down beside her. I flirt wit' everyone, he says, and his voice sounds heavy, tired. What de hell makes you t'ink you're so special?

Rogue looks at him with a look of pure surprise. Nothin' Ah guess. Cept that ya seem downright determined to make my life miserable.

Oh, and dat's considered flirtin' where you're from, river rat? Maybe I just don' like you.

A smile twitches at the corners of Rogue's mouth, and she shrugs, turning away from him. Ah could deal with that.

I must not be tryin' hard enough. You're supposed to be runnin' awy from Remy in sheer revulsion at this point.

Rogue giggles, a strange sound coming from such a somber girl. Well, Ah could if ya really wanted me to.

Mmm, nah--be too much effort to chase ya down, he says flippantly.

She raises one eybrow. Oh, really.

He stares her in the eye, daring her to call his bluff, to call him on his strange, illogical, stupid stupid half-crush half-hatred. She must know; it was all he could think of when she kissed him.

She doesn't take the bait. Instead she turns back towards the city, shrugging, pretending not to notice the heat in his tone or his emotions tugging at the back of her mind. What's New Orleans like? she asks, obviously changing the subject.

Oh, it's allright, I guess; best place in de world for some, haven of sin and devil-worship for other's...

They talk, neither of them noticing the time. Somehow Rogue's head has gravitated to Remy's shoulder, making the poor Cajun sweat and just barely falter in his smooth words; somehow Rogue's eyelids have gravitated towards each other, and yawns escape from her mouth; somehow the moon has gravitated almost to the center of the indigo sky.

Rogue notices this, and blearily checks her watch. Oh shit! she yelps. Remy, it's eleven-thirty, my curfew is midnight!

Which means we've got another half-hour, chere.

She socks him. You dolt! It took us hours to get down here!

So obviously we're gonna be late anyway, so obviously waiting another half-hour or hour or so won't really matter now, will it?

She glares at him, reaching back her hand to sock him again, and Remy is half-frightened she'll do it without the glove this time. All right all right! Let's get goin', den.

***

Carol is restless. She's almost always restless these days; usually she cures it by going out flying, but today she is waiting for an important phone call and can't leave the house.

The phone finally rings, and she pounces on it. Carol here.

It's Fury. Carol, something's come up, I don't want you to do the mission.

Well of course something's come up, I assume that's why you've had me waiting so long! And what the hell do you mean, you don't want me to do it? I am not backing off this just because you're a wee bit nervous, Nick.

Dammit Carol, you know that's not what's going on!

Well then what is going on? Please, do enlighten me, seeing as I've been cooped up in this god damn apartment for two weeks with nothing but your word that you'll give me a call soon and the mission's on hold.

Carol... the leadership of the Hellfire Club, it's switched. We don't know who's in charge anymore, but we do know they were powerful enough to completely obliterate the last rulers. We don't know anything about these new folks, and I don't want you going in there with no information.

Nick, please. Not to sound conceited, but I'm a one-woman powerhouse; I'm sure I can take whatever they throw at me.

Carol, don't be-

I'm sick of this, Nick! They killed my family, you know they did, and yet I've done nothing. I've sat on my ass like a good little girl, and I'm sick of it. I'm goig in there, Nick; with or without CIA approval.

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone line. Then, Fine. You... you can go in. But will you wait just two more days? Give me time to find you good backup.

Fine. Whatever. ...Thank you, Nick.

Don't thank me, Carol; you just bullied me into something that I really, really don't want to do. Be in New York in two days. Click.