AN: Hiya! Quick note: there's been a little bit of mix-up (my mistake) over whether they met at a bus station or a train station. It should be a bus station. From here on out, it's the bus stations that are significant. K? Also...um, review please? (PLEASE?!?)

We've Met Before:

Chapter Seven

"Ya can't blame y'self," Rogue said, as she leaned her mass against a tall, white pillar and stared out at the open field of emerald grass before her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Carol Danvers take one step down the porch stairs, so much of her blonde hair billowing out in the wind like the sail of a ship.

"I know," Carol said, quietly, not sounding anywhere near convincing. Not that Rogue could blame her. As someone who'd been in her position, she knew exactly how useless and hollow the words 'it's not your fault' were. And it made her wonder why, exactly, she'd been put in charge of helping Carol –sure, she'd been through the same experience, but had she coped in a healthy, productive way? No, she'd crammed all her troubles as deep down as they would go until finally they came spurting up like an angry volcano. Was that what they hoped for Carol, too?

Annoyed with herself, Rogue abandoned her preplanned speeches and, stuffing her hands into her pockets, sighed. "It kind of sucks, doesn't it?" She looked down, away. "Ah'm not exactly Dr. Phil here."

"It's not you. You're fine. It's me." Carol pursed her lips. "I'm the problem."

"Why do Ah feel like Ah'm gettin' dumped?" Rogue asked, dryly.

For the first time, Carol smiled a little and giggled, albeit briefly. "It never would've worked. We're two different people, in different places in our lives." She paused, putting up a hand to keep the sun from her eyes as she followed Rogue's gaze outward. When she spoke again, the amusement had drained from her voice. "They say Kitty's going to be fine. She just needs time. I guess that's all I need, too."

Rogue nodded. "Good plan. Better 'n mine."

"Which was?"

She shrugged, nonchalantly. "Toss ya into th' river. If ya sink, it'd be 'cause ya couldn't keep th' misplaced guilt from weighin' ya down."

Carol rolled her eyes and turned back to the mansion. "Jeez, you really aren't Dr. Phil. Maybe you shouldn't choose a career in psychology."

"Oh, darn."

"Listen, I'm going back in and see Kitty again. Coming?"

Rogue sighed. "In a minute." And alone, she walked out into the open sun.

It had been three days since she'd come home to find Kitty in a coma. Three days since she'd last seen Remy LeBeau, the memory of whose smile had become a sudden and now missed comfort. Approximately eight extensive danger room sessions since Cyclops had said they needed to step up their training now that the enemy –faceless and confusing as it was- had invaded their supposed sanctuary. And somewhere around thirty minutes since the second blue envelope had found it's way into Rogue's hands. But what did that mean? What good were numbers?

They didn't explain how life at the mansion had become lonely and drab without Kitty scaring people with her cooking, or bugging Rogue about socializing more, or sobbing loudly as the credits of a tearjerker played out on the television screen. They didn't elucidate how it was that Rogue so quickly was beginning to consider Remy not just a friend, but someone she really needed, and someone she thought of at regular and rapid intervals. They didn't clarify how much work Scott Summers was suddenly putting in to ensure the X-Men safety and success, and how his dedication had raised him a little more in her esteem.

And, numbers couldn't come close to showing how much she wanted to shove the second envelope down Mystique's throat like it was flu medication, and the shape-shifter was a reluctant, bratty, ill child. Rogue had never really considered herself close to the other X-Men; she didn't think she bonded with them as much as they imagined. They were just friends who supported each other because by doing so, they were supporting the cause as a whole. But day-by-day, her perception was beginning to change. Maybe they were more than that. Maybe they were family, after all, in which case she didn't need the Betrayers.

She didn't want them, anyway.

What she did want was a little more control over the way things were going.

Above her head, she heard the sound of a plane, loud, probably landing. It didn't catch her by surprise, for Mr. Clark had flown quite a few things in and out of the mansion since his stay had begun. She didn't see him much; he usually stayed holed in the laboratory, talking theory and literature with Hank McCoy, all the while working hard to figure out when it'd be safe for him to return to his own life.

At first, Rogue had thought it a horrible scenario: having to leave behind a house, a job, and a life, all for the sake of protecting a few documents that maybe, might, could be dangerous. But then she thought about herself, and how she'd done something close to that after the situation with Cody. If there was one thing she'd learned, it was that walking away for a while wasn't so bad sometimes. It hurt, but brought things to light that had formerly lived in darkness.

She sighed, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the second envelope. She'd bury it, and her dependence on the Betrayers with it. Good, the voices decided, for once mostly agreeing with each other. But just as she started to dig a small hole in the dirt with the tip of her shoe, Amara came rushing up from around the corner of the house, breathless and excited, followed by a stranger.

"Rogue!" the young mutant girl cried. She looked at the stranger and pointed to Rogue. "This is her. She's the winner!"

Rogue frowned. "Winner? What's goin' on?"

The stranger –in actuality, a brunette with clear gray eyes, a blue-and-white checkered suit, and a nametag that read: Hi! I'm Becky Something Unintelligible- extended a hand and smiled broadly. Maybe too broadly, because it stretched the corners of her mouth like she wasn't used to being quite that happy. "Hello, are you Rogue?"

"Ah am."

Becky Somebody extended a hand. "That's wonderful! I'm here as a representative of Avian Aviations, the leading flight school in Bayville and most of New York and I have the extreme and wonderful pleasure of telling you that you have won our Fly To The Moon contest, and are guaranteed a thrilling and exciting flight to the destination of your choice this very day."

Her words were slick and smooth, the territory of used cars salesmen and politicians before her. Rogue wasn't so quick in accepting her offered hand.

"Ah didn't enter any contest," she said. "Must be a mistake."

"No." Becky shook her head vigorously. "I'm quite sure. Rogue Darkholme, winner of the Fly To The Moon contest, you cannot back out now! Maybe if I show you the plane you'll remember thing's clearer, come on." Rogue followed, not so much because she wanted to, but because Becky had planted a firm hold on her arm and was nearly dragging her along. The brunette waved bye at Amara, clearly indicating that the younger girl shouldn't follow.

Strange, Rogue thought. An' annoyin'.

But, around the corner, things changed considerably.

First, the strained smile fell like dried flowers from Becky Somebody's mouth. She wrinkled her nose as they advanced to the plane. "Sorry," she offered in the way of an explanation. "I'm a pilot, not an actress. Lying makes me nervous."

Then they actually reached the vehicle, sitting calmly on the launching pad. Across it, in blazing gold letters read: The Fortune. As Rogue neared it, she reached out to skim her hand across the shinning, stunning surface. "This is th' plane?"

"Mmmhmm. The Fortune is my baby. She is the prettiest plane this side of Bayville. Jealous?" The girl jumped up into the pilot's seat and sighed, a more natural smile gracing her lips. "Aw, who am I kidding? You've got Remy for your baby, now there's something to be jealous of."

Rogue, who was used to being cautious of anything Remy-related while on X-Men grounds, glanced around quickly, making sure no one had been around to hear his name mentioned. "Remy sent ya?" She said, after a minute.

"Yes, he did. So if you'll just hop in, we can fly right to him. He's waiting, even as we speak."

Rogue didn't know what to say. Or whom to say it to. She couldn't exactly tell Becky Somebody that her friend was in a coma and the X-Men were just coping with a serious invasion, and it was a terrible time to go gallivanting off on fun adventures with the enemy, however entertaining he'd probably be; she wasn't about to draw the female pilot into the whole sordid mess. But obviously, the girl was waiting for a response.

"Um, Ah can't-"

"Rogue."

She whipped her head around to see Ororo Munroe. The tall, gracious woman was exiting the mansion with her hands full of a stack of books and papers that looked at least three feet high. Still, she managed to look graceful and concerned, her dark eyes searching. "I just heard Amara say that you've won a prize of some sort?"

"Ah don't plan on goin'." Rogue said, quickly, before more explanations were warranted. She added, "It just won't feel right."

"I thought as much," Ororo said, sighing. "That's precisely why I came to tell you that you must go." She pulled her away from the pilot, and smiled gently, putting all the weight of the books on her right arm so she could pat Rogue's shoulder with the left. "We can all see that this isn't the best time for you. What with Kitty's injury and your mother's frequent solicitation, you must be quite at odds with yourself."

"She isn't m' mother."

"Regardless, you've won some kind of prize and if there's a chance that you might temporarily distract yourself from us, then you should take it."

"Scott won't like it," Rogue reasoned. "He may wanna schedule another session an' Ah'll miss it."

"Scott recognizes the danger of pushing you too hard, too soon. I wouldn't tell you to go if I didn't think you needed the time away, Rogue." She nudged her towards the plane. "Go. Have fun."

"But-"

"Consider it an order, from a senior member of the team." Came the reply.

Rogue didn't take her eye off of Miss Munroe as she went back to Becky's side. And to her credit, the older woman didn't appear to doubt herself and her judgment once. She was sure. Confident. Must be nice, Rogue thought, havin' that much faith.

Finally, the girl pilot tossed a helmet down to her, and she had to avert her gaze to catch it. Becky smiled. "So, let's get going already."


Meanwhile...

He'd have roses in hand when she finally came sailing into his arms: sad, confused, in need of support. Maybe roses. Maybe not. After all that work, he wouldn't want to come across as being desperate. Not he, a Maximoff. Maximoffs weren't ever desperate; that implied a lack of control.

And did he lack control? No, of course not. Everything was happening exactly as he wanted it to happen. The world was practically spinning in the palm of his hand. Granted, things had been a little off at first, when Gambit showed up, but that was so yesterday's problem.

Soon enough, he'd have completed Operation: Win Rogue Back Over To The Brotherhood of Mutants And Pietro Maximoff's Arms. And if anyone thought that was a long title, it was only because they couldn't say it as fast as it was supposed to be said.

He sat down at a small bench in the bus station, kicking one foot up on the railing of the bench. Someone –a grumpy child being led around by an older, exasperated-looking woman- scowled at him, and he scowled back, but didn't surrender his good mood. After all, this was the very spot where Remy LeBeau's little endeavors in Bayville would begin to unravel.

A soft, hand snuck around his neck, and he looked up, catching a wave of blonde hair in the face. He smiled, recognizing the shampoo scent. "Someone's early."


"Can we talk about how incredibly romantic what you and Remy are doing is? It's like it belongs in a movie or something, it's so romantic and sweet!" Becky Somebody gushed, as she controlled the plane with the smooth movements of her hands.

"Maybe," Rogue shrugged, not sure she would categorize it quite that way; yes, fate had guided them back to each other in the most improbable way, and their clandestine meetings were almost Shakespearean in nature, nevertheless, there was something decidedly unromantic in the reasoning behind their get-togethers. Would Juliet have stopped things mid-way through, to find out if the Goosebumps on her arm were really caused by Romeo, or just an errant wind? Did Ares and Aphrodite sit down and talk a while, contemplating if their burning lust was worth the risk?

Becky Somebody laughed aloud. "It's amazing. I've met several of Remy's other girls, and I think you're the first who didn't melt into a useless glob at the mention of his name."

"How many o' 'Remy's girls' have ya met?" She asked, not entirely sure she liked the phrase. What are we, she thought, his harem?

"About five, not including you. Three took flying lessons from me. One I met in passing. One came banging on my door in the middle of the night, mad because I'd dared to touch his hair or something. She was a little crazy, that one. Not very good at letting go of the first decent date she'd had in months, I guess." Becky paused. "And, I guess I could count myself. I dated Remy once or twice."

Hasn't everyone? A cynical voice asked. Rogue said, "It ain't weird then, flyin' other girls out ta meet him?"

"Not really. With me, and with a lot of girls actually, he made it really clear that he wasn't looking to pick out curtains or anything. It was just fun." She grinned. "It wasn't serious like it is with you. I've never seen him care so much about a single date."

Not a date, Rogue thought, but didn't say it out loud. It seemed less important somehow, than picturing Remy worrying; did he examine his clothes in a mirror, like Kitty so often did, searching for that one perfect outfit? Did he recite words in the mirror like Scott, hoping they came out just the right way? No, she thought, probably not.

Becky Somebody started talking again, this time about a topic that didn't interest Rogue very much, the wind/weight ratio or something. The Goth drifted away from her body, floating beyond the clouds to a place time had already visited...a train station in Jacksonville, Mississippi. She hadn't thought of the encounter in the same way since she'd met Remy again. Before, she'd indulged herself in the memory, but now she had to guard herself more carefully. Still, as the plane sailed through the clouds, Rogue wondered if she could indulge just once more...

It occurred to her that she could divide her life into two parts: the time before she'd danced circles in a bus station with Remy LeBeau, and the time after. Her younger self had been unhappy because she didn't fit in. Thirsty for life and all of its experiences. And what an experience Remy LeBeau had been. Charming, considerate, affectionate even to her, a stranger, and a little bit lost himself. How exactly he'd managed to wind up engaged to Belladonna escaped her, and she'd wondered about it for years. He must've loved her at some point, or else he wouldn't have proposed.

Loved her, but not enough to overcome the regular changes that people went through in the course of their lives. Not enough, she thought to herself, which was precisely why their 'friendship challenge' so important. Because, with all the hell they'd eventually have to face –admitting to the X-Men that she'd been sneaking with him behind their backs, escaping Magneto's wrath, dealing with Logan and his overbearing, overprotective tendencies- love wasn't going to be enough if they weren't friends, too.

Still... for all her overanalyzing, there was a very strong part of her that didn't care about any of that. A part of her, she thought, that could still feel the heat of his kiss, soft touch of his hand on her face; a part that still melted into a mindless puddle and squealed insanely whenever he spoke. A part that couldn't wait to see him again.

She smiled.

"I'm happy the flight's over, too." She heard Becky say. She blinked, and frowned, realizing that this time, the brunette was staring at her with curious eyes. Staring, as in, not flying the plane.

Sometimes, ya astound me with yoah astuteness, Rogue told herself. To Becky, she said, "When did we land?"

"About a ninety seconds ago."

Rogue nodded, looking around. "An' where are we?" She wondered, "A creek?" Around her, there was water and beyond that, wheat fields. Just wheat fields.

"Oh, I don't know what the place is called. It's a river. Obviously not as big as the Mississippi, but when what is?"

"This is where Ah'm meetin' Remy?" Rogue wondered.

"Uh huh." Becky looked around, and then pointed in some direction. "There he is! Remy!" She waved widely.

Bent over, he'd been hidden by the wheat, but at Becky's calling, Remy LeBeau stood up to full height and there was no hiding him once that happened, even if he was dressed in what seemed like his oddest outfit yet: plain clothes. Yes, Remy was wearing old, patched-up jeans and a snug blue t-shirt. If it weren't for the fact that she could see the dark black of his eyes, even with the distance between them, he would've seemed like anyone on the street. Like one of the college students that she passed by, or the guys who always gathered around at the local pizza place to fight out their battles in the arcade.

He advanced towards the plane and looking up, let his eyes go from Becky to Rogue. "Pretty girl's flyin' down from da sky ta visit me?" Remy laughed. "I'm about t' die, ain't I? Dis is Heaven's last gift."

"Please," Rogue said, as she unbuckled her seatbelt. "Like Heaven'll be givin' a creep like you anythin' when the time comes. In th' last few seconds o' yoah life, all you'll be feelin' is a risin' flame 'round you."

He looked to Becky, who remained seated in the plane while Rogue began to climb out. "She's impossible, ain't she? It's amazin' she didn't try an' send da plane plummetin' down t' earth. Da girl is cruel an' devious like dat."

Becky shook her head. "Yeah, yeah. There'll be plenty of time for flirting with her once I'm at a safe distance. Let's just make sure you two are settled for now."

Rogue slid down the plane and ended up in Remy's arms as he assisted her to the ground. She could have easily made it herself, but she decided not to complain. This time, she figured, she'd accept the help with a silent, grateful tongue.

"So tell me," she said instead, "what's t'day's plan?"

"Fishin'." He answered, matter-of-factly.

"Fishin'."

"Exactly."

Still in his arms, Rogue looked towards the water. "Fishin'."


Jean found him in the danger room, studying the list of available programs. Coming up beside him, she wrapped her hands around his waist and planted her chin on his shoulder. "Fine anything useful?"

"Not as much I'd like to find." Scott sighed. "Whoever did this obviously knew something about programming the Danger Room, and knew how to erase the evidence that he or she had been here. But how? Where could someone learn those tricks? They don't exactly teach it at Bayville high."

Jean wrinkled her nose. "It doesn't exactly leave us with many options, does it?"

"At least Xavier's got Mr. Clark calm, now."

"I don't know. I was there right after he found out and he was never very worried."

"Don't you think that's strange?"

"Maybe a little, but then, think of the professor. These older, intelligent types never seem that perturbed, do they?"

"You're going to leave me for someone like that, aren't you?" He joked.

"Like the professor?" She swatted his shoulder. "He's like a second father, Scott. Eew."


There was something wrong with her, he could tell. He wished he could see it plainly –maybe the twinkle in her eye had faded a bit, or her shoulders sagged just a hint, as if burdened by a new weight, but she was too good to give away clues like that, and so he had to judge on instinct alone.

His instinct told him something was wrong.

"Chere, mebbe y' better sit down. We don't want y' tippin' da boat over, non?" Remy called out to Rogue, going so far as to nudge her back with the end of his fishing pole, but she ignored him while she stood at the edge of the small boat and stared over into the water. She watched as their movement made tiny ripples in the blue-brown water, and sighed softly.

"It's calmin'," she told him. "Sort o' reminds me o' sleepin' on a waterbed."

He tilted his head. "Y' always end up thinkin' o' beds when I'm around, Chere? Mebbe yo' subconscious is tryin' t' tell you somet'in'."

She peered over her shoulder and glared. "What's it sayin'? Kill the Cajun an' stuff his dirty, rottin' body under a mattress?"

"Oh, harsh words," he sighed, grinning anyway. He patted her seat and implored her with a pout. "C'mon, Beb, y' makin' me feel like a ancient hero carryin' his prize back t' his home shore while da forlorn girl stares longin'ly towards da land o' her people an' t'inks o' better times."

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Are you suggestin' ya feel like Ah'm yo' slave, won through war an' bound by a lack o' free will ta serve yoah every need?"

Remy laughed. "Exactly. Now have a seat so's we can return t' present times, where yo' just a girl whose out in da middle o' dis lake wit' da best lookin' fisherman ever."

"You know, yoah pretty lucky."

"Because I got you?" He guessed.

"Well, that goes without sayin'. But, it ain't what Ah meant." She moved towards Remy, folding her arms as she sat. The wind toyed with her hair as if it were exploring its texture, blowing it straight up like she'd been shocked, only to drop it down in her face and across her eyes seconds later. "Ah was thinkin', if you ever find y'self on a deserted island without food, ya could survive off o' that ego for years. Or, ride it back ta civilization like a giant balloon. It's big enough."

Like five-year-old child, he stuck out his tongue in immature response.

"Aw, don't tease," she cooed back.

Remy opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, a tug on his line intervened. Switching his attention from her to the line, he drew the reel closer to his chest and began to pull the fish in. It was strong, big, but it couldn't fight the Cajun and his able hands long. Soon he was lifting it from the water by the tail. "Roguey, gimme da ice chest."

As she did just that, he heard her say, "Poor little fish."

"T'ought y' said y' liked fishin'." He said, curious.

"Ah do. It's just, sometimes Ah feel bad for 'em. One minute they're swimmin' free an' the next, they're chokin' on hooks an' drownin' on air. It ain't exactly a pretty way t' go."

He held up his prey. "Y' want me t' toss it back in?"

She smiled. "If Ah said yes, would ya?"

"I would," he consented. "But mebbe y' better hurry up an' decide 'fore a grim reaper o' fishies come t' claim him."

"Then toss it back."

He obeyed, setting the creature down into the waters. Quickly realizing it had been given a second chance at life, it jerked away from his hands and retreated down into the darker depths of the river. Remy sighed, fingering the empty fishing pole.

"Ah'm sorry if Ah'm bad company t'day," Rogue said.

"Never," Remy quickly countered.

"Still, Ah'm in a weird mood. On th' one hand, it's great seein' you again. There's no one at home who has such a mastery o' cheap tricks, sappy one-liners, an' cocky grins. But... well, you'll prob'ly hear about it from Lance, anyway. M' friend, Kitty, is kind o' sick an' it's hard havin' fun while she's not even conscious."

So that was why she didn't seem entirely herself. Or maybe, he thought, she was more herself, having found that many of her barriers were too hard to keep up during a time of crisis. Now that he considered it, the beautiful, slightly forlorn Rogue before him was probably the closest version to the original girl he'd met. He reached out and took her hand, smiling brightly for her. "I'm glad y' decided t' come anyway, Roguey. 'Cause if y' just came to me when life was sweet, then there'd never be any challenge t' dis, non?"

"Ah guess."

"Ah' whatever happened t' yo' friend, I know it prob'ly scares you, t'inkin' dat people y' care about could be taken away so suddenly –believe me, I know. When I was younger, m' brother accidentally got caught up in a gunfight an' had a bullet shot straight through his chest. Don't ask me how he survived. All I knew is, I never prayed so hard an' listened to da nuns as much as durin' dat time. Watchin' him wake up gave m' courage. Like, mebbe, a little big o' magic did exist, an' it was protectin' me an' him."

"That's sweet," she sighed. "But magic isn't gonna heal her broken bones. Only medicine an' time can do that."

"Okay, lil' Miss Dis Cup Is Half Empty."

"Ah'm not bein' pessimistic!" Rogue insisted. "Ah happen ta think th' medicine she's gettin' is awfully effective."

"But I'll bet her spirit is even more so," Remy countered, brushing away her bangs. Her faced flushed, and he grinned again. "Y' know what you need? Another cheap trick. Watch dis."

He reached into his pockets, pulling out a single card: the Jack of Spades, one of his favorites. Holding it in her vision, he lighted it just enough to dissolve the corners, giving it the shape of a heart. Then, carefully, he lit the bottom so that the whole card was propelled out of his hands, sailing up like a rocket into the sky.

She didn't take her eyes off of it until it the entire thing burst into sparks. "If y'all learned how ta do that," she remarked, "Ya got way too much time on yoah hands."

"Naw," he said, rejecting the idea. "Truth is, I keep Pyro off m' back by doin' somet'in' like dat an' den darin' him t' repeat it. He huffs an' puffs an' never gets any closer t' matchin' m' skill. M' only regret is how many decks o' cards he burns up, tryin'."

"Ah might've guessed," she sighed. "It's an awful pretty trick."

"Almost magic," he teased.

"Yeah. Ah guess it is."

"You do a whole lot o' guessin'. Ain't you ever sure 'bout nothin'?"

She frowned at him, as if he'd touched on a sore spot. But she didn't answer either, and he thought: what if she really wasn't sure about anything? Not even her answer to that question. Sighing inwardly, he took her hand again and intertwined their fingers. "Listen, Chere, if y' ever lookin' t' take a leap o' faith an' just trust in somet'in', you can always make me –us- y' cause. Whatever we got, be it love o' just friendship, it's real."

Rogue had been staring at their hands intently, but as he finished, she looked up. She studied him, staring at the top of his head and slowly working her way down to his black eyes, his nose, his mouth, his chin. She looked back at his eyes then, and her lips stretched out into a wide, brilliant smile. She ducked her head, as if to hide her sudden attack of happiness. Her voice was light, whispery.

"Ah think Ah know that, Remy. Thank you."

Suddenly, there was the sound of an approaching plane. Looking up, Remy saw Becky Wilson bringing The Fortune down to the designated landing spot. He waved and reached for the oar. The date was over.


Fifteen Minutes Later...

Saying she was 'giddy' wasn't quite right. Giddy meant something else –it was the kind of thrill that struck suddenly, making everything else seem like a vague and distant world. It was a kind of joy that felt like a thousand jitters and made the sound come bubbling up her throat in happy giggles.

Rogue wasn't giddy. Though she was quite a distance from the floor, her feet were very much planted on the ground. The world was still real and troubled. She still had to deal with Kitty getting better and Mystique getting more bothersome.

She wasn't jubilant. She wouldn't return home and light firecrackers in the backyard in celebration of having rediscovered the Remy LeBeau of her dreams. No sudden urge to sing out seized her, no great feeling of triumph ran through her.

The Remy deal hadn't been about winning the way board games and sport tournaments were. She wasn't trying to beat out someone else.

Rogue thought, what she was feeling was more like a very quiet euphoria. Like some had started filling up all the empty places in her heart when she wasn't looking, and suddenly it was very close to overflowing. Like there was a chance Remy had been right with all of his magic talk, and maybe someone was looking out for them all. She leaned her head back and smiled a secret smile.

Her body was flying through the air, but inside, it seemed like she was...


Floating.

That was the only way that Remy could describe what he was feeling. It was the only word that could convey the light, almost dizzy sensation that ran through his head and pushed down to his toes. It had been a long time since he'd felt that way about a girl before –ages, in fact- but he knew well enough what it meant.

He'd won the bet.

Of course, that meant making the assumption that Rogue was having a similar experience, but he decided to take a leap of faith and keep on running. As he walked through the bus station, bowing slightly to pretty girls who happened to brush up beside him -laughing apologies, batting their eyelashes- he thought: I don't need 'em. Not anymore. Not again. Remy gave them a cryptic wink and went on his oh, so merry way.

The fact that he was picking up another piece of dead weight didn't bother him in the slightest. He'd managed to evade Magneto's watchful eye before the newbie arrived, and he'd do it after; it'd even be easier, now that he had a true incentive for sneaking out. If anything, Magneto's supposed punishment would increase the air of romance and intrigue. After all, a thief by nature and by trade, Remy thrived under pressure, blossomed with it, like a flower in the sun.

But then, maybe his good mood just made everything seem better, happier, more hopeful, and less complicated. Remy slid into the designated bench, covering a yawn with the side of his brown sleeve. He slouched down, watching the parade of people. On the surface, they didn't differ much: folks with luggage, with whiny children or expensive suits, with coffee-warmed mugs or messy paper maps that couldn't be refolded. But beyond that, he thought, some of them could be halfway through the day that would change their lives. They could look across the clear glass pane and find a face staring back, and destiny would instantly be clear to them. They could be exchanging words in the crowded area, and suddenly find themselves tongue-tied and mesmerized by someone.

It was like he was living his life on the set of a sappy romantic comedy film, and damn it all if he didn't like the idea. Because, Remy reasoned, with Rogue as the star, where could things possibly go wrong?

"Bon jour, Cher."

Like a cartoonish anvil, Remy's world came crashing down atop his head.

He craned his neck and met the behind him intruder with an even gaze. "Belladonna," he said, after a moment of awkward silence. "It's been a while. Still killin' people?"

The lovely blonde shrugged, stepping around the bench and coming into Remy's full view. She'd let her hair grow out even more, so that it seemed like a long golden cape that carried down her back. Her eyes were the same: sharp, clever. The sway in her walk still drew the attention of nearby males. As Remy braced himself for the encounter, he thought: as least she hasn't let herself go.

"What?" She said, acting sad when he didn't rise up and accept her offered hug. "No hello fo' da girl ya planned on marryin'?"

"I don't know, Chere. Y' hidin' a gun in y' coat?"

Belladonna laughed. "I'd never use a gun on you, Remy."

"Wouldn't be dramatic enough?"

"No. I just seen y' dodge 'em too many times."

"Hmm." Remy pulled to one side of the bench, giving her enough free space to sit. "I always t'ought if Belladonna Bourdreaux ever decided t' come after me herself, I'd be a dead man fo' sure, she knew me so well."

She raised a brow. "Y' t'ink dat's why I'm here now? Because I been holdin' a grudge against y' all dis time an' I finally worked up enough courage t' kill you? Believe me, Remy, if I was gon' kill you 'cause ya left me, I'd have done it a long time ago. I was screamin' mad then, but now... t'ings have fallen back int' perspective."

"Have they?" Remy asked, skeptically.

"I love you, Remy," She said. "No matter how mad I get, it circles back t' dat same fact. Not havin' you in m' life has made livin' awful."

"Still, it's an expected outcome when y' put a bounty over m' head bigger n' da state o' Texas."

She giggled. "I've taken that back," she confessed.

He rolled his eyes and checked his watch. "Look, it's been nice, but if y' not plannin' on murderin' me, an' if y' don't have some kind o' message dat's says you from Magneto, I really don't have time fo' dis. M' new life calls."

"Y' mean dis?" She wondered, pulling a small note, scribbled in Magneto's handwriting. "Eric said I should give it t' you an' you'd know where t' take me."

Remy stared at note. Not in surprise, really, it was just the kind of dirty trick that Magneto would pull. He felt more exasperation than anything else. Belladonna was being sent to live with the Acolytes. With him. He handed her the paper and frowned. "Bella, what do y' expect t' gain wit' dis?"

"Time wit' you."

"But I don't love y' anymore! It's over, me an' you." He decided not to tell her that he'd just recently fallen in love with someone else.

"So y' say, Remy LeBeau. But I've searched months t' find you, all so I could get m' second chance. I'm takin' it, now, regardless o' what you want." She crossed her arms, as if to make it final.

"Second chance?" He cried, standing up. "Last time I saw y', you were playin' darts wit' kitchen knives an' da bull's-eye was m' head. Why should y' get a second chance, now dat I've finally established some semblance o' a life here?"

"Because I always gave you one!" She said, loudly. People stopped and stared, but neither of the Cajuns took note of them. "Ev'ry time y' did somet'in' stupid, ev'ry time I found lipstick on y' collar, hotel keys in y' pocket, perfume on y' coat, strands o' black hair on da clothes I bought y', Remy LeBeau, you'd look sad an' I'd bury m' pride enough t' forgive you. Y' t'ink dat didn't hurt? When y' were away on a job, I spend nights t'inkin' about who you'd pick up on da way, an' how t' hide da truth from m' family, 'cause if they ever knew..."

The blonde looked away, wiping the corner of her eye. "I'm gettin' m' second chance. I deserve it."

He didn't say anything for a long moment. And then, as the crowd started moving again, he said, quietly, "Y' got a suitcase o' somet'ing?"


Notes of the General Variety: Okay, so you all probably knew that Bella was gonna be reintroduced. You know what? I don't care. You know why? Because (ha ha) that was just a clever ruse to distract you from the REAL surprise. So there!

Notes of the Individual Variety:

Totally Obsessed: Because you commanded it, a soon update! Thanks!

EmeraldKatsEye: I'd try and explain the survivor bit again, but the first try didn't go so well. And hey, note that this update was significantly sooner than my last update, which was significantly sooner than the update before that. Now explain what I just said back, but I'm confused again... ï