Author's Note: Ya know, it's really cool how people are liking this story. Its the third version of a Romy fanfic I've been trying to write and this is the only one that actually felt right. Glad people are enjoying it!

Freak87: Yes, Remy definitely should not be flirting with Jean. Ick. I have to wonder about those Jean Grey fans...Shockgoddess: Thank you, I try to stay true to character, not make everything go too fast--if there's no angst and no troubles, not very interesting, huh? Glad y'think it's "well-written", I seriously pride myself on my writing abilities! Ms. Rogue LeBeau: (cute penname) Happy to know you like my story! Here's your update! flowerperson: oh, yes, my version of Remy is a little bit of a jackass, but hey, he hasn't fallen in love YET and he IS renowned lady's man right? Aren't they all jackasses at some point or another? He doesn't mean any of it though. Jean is kinda pretty, I think, just not for Remy. Oh, yes, it's the medications. Turquoise: like how I made Jean shameless, huh? I figured girls don't ALL go giggly and blushy fr/ attention, and Jean strikes me as calm, collected, proud, so of course she'd keep her senses! loneraven: thank you, i'll try not to disappoint y'all

Okay, more Romy in this one. But don't get too excited because, of course, there's gotta be obstacles along the way to make things interesting. And God, I can't stand pointless, plotness love stories. Need the substance, y'know?

-----------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Three - First Words

"Seven mutants have been attacked, all falling into vegetable states. The first victim died," Hank reported. He flipped through the newspaper for the rest of the article. "There are hardly any witnesses but the few have described the same events--screaming, clutching at the head, trying to fight away an invisible attacker...frightening descriptions, Charles. It's possible we have a mutant predator on our hands, seeing as how no baseline humans have been affected."

Xavier nodded, deep in thought. He turned to Logan, "Lead a few of our team out to the Morlocks once the sun falls. Darkness will be our cover so be discreet. First speak with Evan and then track down the other witnesses to gather more thorough information. Hank and I will continue researching here on the history of this. I believe the these attacks goes beyond spontaneity."

"Got it." Logan left the room to pick out team members.

"Storm, I'd like for you to visit the comatose victims," Xavier said. "The newspaper says they are kept in a mutant-friendly hospital down in Queens. Consult the physicians and find out all you can about their present states."

Though Ororo would have much rather gone to see her nephew, she knew public relations was not Logan's forte. She nodded and exited.

"Is this what I think it is?" Hank asked.

Xavier shook his head, "I hope not. The first time I came across her was ten years ago. She shouldn't have survived. Come, let us consult Cerebro's database and see what we may uncover."

The redhead had long since left. He was alone again. Remy looked at the digital clock near his call button. It was close to four o' clock. After eating some of his meal he tried to get out of bed but his body groaned in protest. He lifted the hospital gown, seeing heavy bandages in certain areas of his torso. Splashes of red stained parts of the white. His head also throbbed.

He had woken up an hour ago, lying in the bleached bed, pondering. At first he could not remember what had happened or where he was. Then slowly last night's events returned to him. The heist, the ambush, the ripping pain in his mind and body. It was the pain that confused him, having come out of nowhere. There he was, surrounded by his lifelong enemies, and from seemingly no source at all, a wracking pain erupted everywhere. The feeling was familiar, though he couldn't quite place it. Not only that, but the image of a woman appeared before his eyes, a young one. Nobody else had noticed it, Julien and the Assassins only stared at him in confusion before taking advantage of his aloofness. But Remy saw her, vividly saw her spectral form floating before him, grabbing his head, paining him...

He shivered now, thinking back on it. Had he lost his mind, seeing apparitions at such critical moments?

The good, blue, harry doctor had come to him some time ago and done a regular check-up. He reported Remy's wounds were healing at a good rate. "You can walk around and such," Mr. McCoy had said, "but stray from vigorous activity lest you reopen the injuries. I'll have Jean fix you some lunch."

Remy stood up ever so slowly. He let out a breath and walked around, baby steps. He needed to get out of this ward; he hated hospitals and hospital-like settings. After a while of searching he found himself some suitable garments and set out to leave the Infirmary.

Rogue sat outside, under a slanted sun, but under the sun nonetheless. Her pale skin was vulnerable to its beating but she didn't seem to mind. Dressed in a black tank top and the same black dress pants, she sat on the patio and stared at the rippling water of the large swimming pool. It was peaceful out here, no X-Men running about freezing things or blowing things up or bickering. She could enjoy a nice late summer day and bask in a bright sun, staring at the waves of clear, chlorinated water--except she usually hated doing such things. But it really did beat being in the kitchen where Kitty was trying to keep the boys from eating up the last cookies.

"I said, quit it!" Shadowcat snapped, grabbing the plate and phasing it through their hands. She held it to her chest possessively. "Rogue and I haven't even had a single one yet!"

"Oh, come on, Kit-Kat," Bobby cooed. "We cleaned up your mess. At least give us some more."

Kitty hissed vehemently and they jumped back. That was new. Glaring at them, she looked through the patio doors to where Rogue was lounging in the sun. She didn't know what happened. Rogue came back from the Infirmary with empty hands and went directly to her room. When Kitty followed she found the door locked. She didn't dare phase through and intrude if Rogue really wanted to be alone. Half an hour later Rogue had stripped of her sweater and was sunbathing, by the looks of it, and only the top part of her body. Kitty wanted to know what happened down in the Infirmary. She was heading towards the sliding doors, phasing right through the boys, when an accented voice sang through the air.

"Mmm...dere still be baked goods here?" The Cajun walked in a little unsteadily. He had not changed into his regular clothes, but had found some scrubs and a robe. If it were not for the head bandage and discreet limp, he would have looked in perfect health.

Roberto and Sam regarded him warily. Bobby offered a welcome, "Yo." Kitty looked at him, then through the doors at Rogue.

"Ah, you're keepin' dem from me, eh, p'tite?" he asked Kitty, approaching. "Don't b'lieve we've been prop'ly introduced. Name's Remy LeBeau." He kissed her hand and smiled dashingly. The boys narrowed their eyes.

"Oh, uh, I'm Kitty."

"Spare a cookie?" Gambit asked, reaching for some.

Kitty shied away, raising an eyebrow, "You just got a whole plate." She didn't really care about the cookies, more concerned with what happened.

He shook his head, "All o'er de floor. Didn't get a single bite." He snatched one then as Kitty stared at him in confusion.

"But Rogue took some down a bit ago," Kitty said, setting the plate down.

Gambit stopped chewing for a second, red-on-black eyes flicking towards the dark figure on the patio. "Yeah, p'tite? Funny, that."

The boys took the opportunity and snatched some cookies. Sam said, "Kitty, Ah saw Jean come up with a broken plate and crumbles after you and Rogue went upstairs. Must've dropped them."

Kitty sighed. So Jean was down there with them and seeing how Gambit was such a... Great, she thought, no wonder she's in such a funk. Jerk. She scowled at Gambit who looked at her, puzzled. With an exasperated sigh she left the boys in the kitchen, thinking how insensitive members of the opposite sex were.

"What's the pale fille doin' out dere by herself?" Gambit asked. He opened the fridge and looked around for some form of liquor. Nothing but juice, milk, and soda. He settled for a can of gingerale and took a long swig.

"Rogue?" Bobby said. "She's always in a bad mood."

"Dat so?"

Bobby rolled his eyes, "Well, not always, but she's never bouncy and cheery like some of the others. Think it's got something to do with her powers, you know, how she can't touch anybody."

"Without sucking the life outta them," Roberto sighed. "Poor Rogue."

"She wouldn't want your pity, hommes," Gambit said. He finished the gingerale and tossed the can in the trash.

Sam raised an eyebrow, "And how would you know?"

"Jus' do."

"Yeah..." With nothing more keeping them there, the boys went off to do whatever it was they enjoyed on lazy Sunday afternoons.

Remy was left alone in the kitchen. He stood in his spot, watching the Gothic girl on the patio. She was covered in all black upon pale, creamy skin. As if getting fed up with the sun, she slid her chair under the table umbrella and rested in the shade. So she had brought him cookies. How sweet. But why then did she not deliver? Remy allowed his eyes to trail along her profile, admiring the perfect curves of her lithe, youthful figure, her fair, poisonous skin.

Poisonous skin...

Remy frowned. That was it. Last night, the strange and sudden pain that had almost gotten him killed--it felt like being absorbed, it felt like the effects of Rogue's touch. But the ghostly apparition he had seen resembled nothing of Rogue. Could she have been there? Impossible.

As if feeling his gaze, she turned and looked into the kitchen. Caught by the emeralds of her eyes, Remy stared back. He lifted his hand to wave but she stood and walked out of his view. Puzzled, Remy wandered out onto the patio. He saw her go around the mansion and enter through a sidedoor. She was purposely avoiding him.

Chere's still mad 'bout the N'Awlins inc'dent, Remy figured. He winced when he moved at a certain angle and moved the wounded flesh. Heading back to the Infirmary, he looked around for his clothes. They sat in a torn, mangled--but clean--pile on a chair. His trench coat was draped over it, freshly laundered.

The blue, furry Beast entered at the moment, wearing a white lab coat and spectacles. He had folded items in his arms. "Ah, good to see you up, Gambit," he said.

"Please, de name's Remy."

Mr. McCoy nodded, "Yes, Remy. Well, I took the liberty of gathering some clothes for you. Your uniform has suffered too much damage for repair, I'm afraid. I estimated on the sizes, but I assume they're close to accurate if not right on the dot." He set the garments on the end of the bed and turned to leave, stopping just at the door. "Oh, the Professor wanted a word with you, but we are quite busy right now so it will have to wait. Do you mind lingering about in the Institute for a while?"

Remy almost smiled at the thought, "Not at all, mon ami."

Mr. McCoy nodded and smiled pleasantly, "Good. I'm sure the wait will not be too prolonged. Pressing matters have emerged that demand our immediate attention. Feel free to explore the manor." He left with a swish of the glass doors.

Remy dressed slowly. The good doctor did not have so bad a taste in clothes. The loose, dark-olive cargo pants fit well, as did the black tee. He left his trench coat on the chair by his ruined uniform and departed from the Infirmary to explore. It was not everyday an Acolyte received such a chance.

He wandered into the spacious foyer as six versions of the same kid went running past. Staring after the boy in bewilderment, he proceeded to assess the surroundings. A lot of space. High quality luxury, though simple and elegant. It became apparent that the Professor was not keen on meretricious decor. He went through several rooms, bumping into several mutants fooling around with their powers. When he became more familiar with his surroundings he was able to relax. Being in such a weak state among strangers caused him anxious stress. He liked to know the ins and outs of the environment.

The first floor covered, he proceeded up the pronged staircase. Left or right? He went right, though it didn't matter because both prongs reached the same landing. He heard voices and saw the white-haired weather witch speaking to the stocky Wolverine as they walked down the hall. When they noticed him their conversation stopped.

"Why, hello," Ororo said with a kind smile. "I see you are up and well. How are your injuries faring?"

"Been in worse scrapes, madame," Remy replied. "I'll manage."

Logan snorted, "Just watch yourself, bub. If I catch any funny business you'll need more than bandages to patch up."

"Logan," Ororo said with an exasperated sigh.

Remy casually shrugged, disregarding the threat, "'Preciate de hospitality, homme. Wouldn't be right to muss it up, non?" He noticed that the two were dressed in crisp civilian clothes, ready to leave. "Goin' somewhere?"

"To investigate a few troubling occurances," Ororo informed him. She turned to her teammate, "Logan, I have already informed Rogue to meet you in the garage. Do you know who else you'll be wanting for the excursion?"

"Jean and either the Elf or Half-Pint," he said. "I think I know where to find them. If you see them first, let 'em know."

Ororo said, "Will do." She nodded towards Gambit and followed Logan downstairs.

Remy frowned curiously. What excursion was this? The X-Men chosen were no doubt picked for their powers. A telepath, an absorber, and one of two mutants who could easily escape unpleasant situations. Wolverine and Storm had not been dressed for battle--they were out to seek information. Remy suddenly felt restless, wanting to go with them. Wouldn't a thief come in handy at some point? But no, the pain in his sides and head demanded otherwise.

He staggered down the hallway, a throbbing in his head not coming from the gash. It felt as though his mind had been picked apart and was struggling furiously to find the pieces again. He needed somewhere to lie down, a bed, a couch, anything.

Somewhere in the dim corridor a door opened. Remy looked up, saw the captivating emeralds, and stumbled forward.

Rogue cried out as she barely caught him. She struggled to keep him off the floor; he was heavier than he looked. Glad she had put her grey sweater back on, she leaned up against her doorframe for support. "Uh, Gambit? Ya all right?" She shuddered involuntarily as his hands held onto her for support, wrapping around her back and clutching her arm.

"'Course, chere," he said, wincing slightly. "Jus' need to lie down..." He tried to steady himself but almost fell over again.

Rogue frowned in worry. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling his toned, lean torso. She swallowed and led him into her room. "You can rest here," she said. She helped him towards her bed but found her positioning was all wrong. She tried turning him around so she wasn't between him and the bed. "Just kinda turn...here, move your foot--hello, can ya hear me Cajun? Ah need to get out of the way, Ah--" She gasped when she lost her balance and toppled backwards onto the sheets. He fell right on her, pushing the air out of her lungs.

Remy lifted his head as the throbbing lessened and pain resided. He realized where he was and decided it was quite nice. One corner of his mouth curved upwards, "Didn't ask fo'it but beats lyin' down alone, non?"

Rogue stared up at him, completely entranced by his eyes. They were so dark and bright at the same time, the red and black contrasting each other in ways mysterious and enticing--demon eyes. Then she frowned, wondering if he was charming her again. "Get off," she said, without much force in her voice. Their closeness did not escape her attention.

"But dis be so comfortable, chere," Remy said. He could swear her eyes were jewels, though he had never seen true emeralds that matched their depth. He traced the crown of her hair with a finger, brushing aside loose white strands.

Rogue felt her heart pounding. She hoped he didn't hear or feel it. He was pressed so close she felt his warmth, felt his sculpted form through her sweater. She had a right mind to stay in the position but then realized the absurdity of it. She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him off enough to squirm out from under him. She landed on the floor, panting slightly, and stood, straightening herself. "All the nerve ya got messin' with me," she bit off. "Don't do that again."

"Do what, Rogue?" Remy asked. He sat up on her bed, looking at her with a bemused expression.

Rogue scowled at him and shook her head, "Whatever."

"Still mad 'bout de Louisiana trip?" Remy asked, running a hand through his hair. He brushed against the head bandage and grimaced.

Rogue huffed, crossed her arms. There was something she had to be doing right now, but she couldn't remember what. Why did he have to be sitting there, in her room, on her bed, looking so damn good? Creep. She fought to keep her gaze off of him, focusing on the balcony doors, the floor, the fascinating simple designs of her sheets.

"Hope y'are," he said.

She regarded him with a look of bewilderment, "What?"

"Y'heard me."

Rogue released an dry laugh, "Ya want me to be mad at you?"

Remy smiled charmingly, "'Course. Was hopin' to take my sweet time cajolin' you, chere."

Rogue stared at him, eyes narrowed. She watched him get off the bed, watched him approach and draw closer. She sharply drew in her breath.

"I understan' y'still bein' mad, too," Remy said, putting his hands on her arms. "Hell, if I were you, I'd have at least hit me."

Rogue swatted his hands off and backed away, "Ah just might, Gambit, so don't start gettin' fresh." She turned to leave but he caught her hand.

"Sensin' some hostility, chere," he said. "Other reasons fo'it?"

Rogue twisted her hand away and spun around, settling him with a withering glare. "Why do ya even care?" she demanded. "Seems like ya've got plenty of femmes to keep yourself busy for a while anyway."

Remy looked at her carefully, then said with a shrug, "I like bein' liked."

Rogue didn't want to admit how much the remark bothered her. With an incredulous huff she stormed out the room, tossing over her shoulder, "Don't touch my stuff." She was gone the next moment.

----------------------------------Note--------------------------------

Forgot what I was gonna say...oh, yeah, don't be mad if Remy's being a jackass. It's how he is before he really cares deeply. Remember, no super intense instant love here. Not the way I swing. And I like the line, "I like bein' liked." Don't you think it works nicely and just shows his point without being too dramatic? Okay, I'm uploading slowly to get the interest growing.

Next Chapter: Death