Notes: RaVeNNYC: Thanks for pointing out that Remy disappeared for the past couple of chapters, I'm just not used to including him. So let's just assume that he was off with Cathryn for a bit, okay? He's back now, and acting just as lovely as ever. Also, I have started to put in a very mild accent for Remy, but only for certain situations when I'm sure of how he would pronounce a word. I don't normally do accents, but sometimes I just have to. Enjoy and review!

Chapter Twenty Nine

It was early evening by the time Rogue returned to the house. Most of the Roses were in the living room, watching a movie. Though, Selene and Alistor seemed much more interested in each other than what was on the TV screen. Michelle, however, was sitting in the kitchen with a large cup of tea. She was fiddling with a length of red ribbon, rubbing it between her fingertips and trailing it across the tabletop.

Rogue frowned at her for a moment, before reluctantly sitting down next to her. She didn't say anything, wasn't really sure what she should say. Michelle ignored her for a moment, before pushing the ribbon into her hand. Rogue's frown deepened as she looked from the ribbon to Michelle and back again.

Michelle remained silent, sipping her tea calmly as if she were the only one in the room. Rogue realised that this was either a test or some kind of experiment, but she didn't know what she was supposed to do. She absently rubbed the ribbon between her fingertips, like she had seen Michelle doing, and blinked when she thought about her nice the material felt against her skin, cool and smooth, kinda slippery like satin.

She blinked and looked at the thin strip of material, examining the soft shade of red. She didn't like red, it was a violent, angry colour, the colour of death, at least to her mind. Most people associated black with death, but not her. No, to her, black was the colour of night, of solitude, of peace. But red, red was the colour of blood, of pain and misery, of crimson tears flowing down milky white skin. Red was a wicked colour and she hated it.

The ribbon was slowly taken out of her hand and she looked up at Michelle, frowning once again. Michelle just smiled and slipped the ribbon into her pocket. She reached under the table, grasping something that Rogue assumed had been placed on one of the empty chairs. It turned out to be a book, an ordinary black notebook. She raised an eyebrow when Michelle placed it in her hands.

"It's a journal," the empath stated simply. "I want you to write in it at least once every day. Don't write about thoughts or actions or anything, write about feelings. Write about what you like and don't like, what you desire and what you fear. Write about how a bubble bath makes you feel, what your favourite flower is and why. Write about what you admire about certain people and what you hate about them. Don't be afraid of sounding stupid or weak, just write what's inside."

"For you to read, right?" Rogue asked, her voice sharp and filled with suspicion. She thought that Michelle would get defensive, but she just smiled again.

"Nope, I'm not going to go anywhere near that book without your permission. It's completely private until you decide otherwise. Now, I do believe they're about to watch my favourite bit of Deep Blue Sea, so if you'll excuse me."

Rogue nodded absently, staring at the simple book in her hands and thinking about what Michelle had said. It was a few minutes until she realised that she was being watched. She tensed slightly, knowing that there was only one person who could sneak up on her like that.

"Penny for your thoughts, cher?"

"Go away, Remy." Her voice was cold and sharp, yet was utterly devoid of any irritation. Remy noted the tone, and lack of emotion, but didn't comment on it.

"Der a reason you sittin' here all alone instead of hanging wit' your friends?"

"I'm not a fan of killer shark movies."

"Non?"

"What do you want, Remy?" No there was annoyance in her voice, and she tightened her grip on her new journal. For a second, there was a heavy silence, and then Remy spoke, in a tone she was not used to hearing from him.

"To talk to you," he said softly, almost as if he were unsure he should be speaking at all. "You never just tell me things, Rogue, not like I'm a friend. Only once have you ever spoken to me as if I wasn't someone you simply tolerated. No matter what I do, you never treat me as if I'm worthy of your attention, but you never actually treat me as an enemy either. I wish you'd make up your fucking mind, cher, because I am not going to wait forever until you realise that I am just trying to be your friend."

Rogue blinked. She had not been expecting a response like that, and she wasn't sure how to react to it. She eventually decided to just bypass the decision by not reacting at all. Instead, she got up and left, journal tucked beneath her arm, and never once looking at Remy.

Sitting cross-legged on her bed, Rogue opened her journal and scribbled the date in the top corner of the first page, but then hesitated. She wasn't sure if she wanted to do this, wanted to write down her emotions. What if it hindered her later? What if she got so caught up in feeling that she was unable to act? What if, by focusing on the woman, she killed the killer?

No, she couldn't think like that. She had to have faith, had to trust that Michelle knew what she was doing. But it was hard, so unbelievably hard, to put that much trust in one person. She'd had her trust betrayed too many times, what if this was just another of those times?

Taking a deep breath, Rogue put the pen to the paper and began to write.

Remy. Gambit. Mr. LeBeau. I don't know what to make of him, he's so confusing. He pretends to be this suave, sexy, charming devil, and in part he is, but I know there is more to him, that he hides just as much as I do. I don't know why I keep rejecting him, keep pushing him away, when I really do want him to be a friend. But something in me won't let him get close to me, won't let him past some of my defences. I never used to think it hurt him, I used to think he saw the whole thing as a game, a challenge, but just now… I guess he proved me wrong.

He said that he won't always wait forever, and it surprises me how scary that thought is. I used to think that I didn't care about what he did or whether he was around or not, but now… Remy's always just sort of been there, in the background, a constant in my world of chaos. Or he was until the Wars but that's another story. The point is, I always knew he was there, even if I wasn't thinking of them. I'd go for weeks without seeing him, but I always knew he was there, and then he'd drop by and make some stupid comment, just to give me a little reminder. The thought that he won't always do that, that he would leave me, really is frightening.

Rogue hesitated, staring at her words. Though it happened only seconds ago, she couldn't really remember writing them, couldn't remember wanting to write them. She was tempted to believe that she had been temporarily possessed (hey, it had happened before), because why in the hell would she included ellipses in her sentences? And why would she say that the thought of losing Remy was scary?

She sighed and began writing again, this time on a completely different subject.

I remember the first time I killed someone. I'm not talking about Mystique, because although I intended to kill her, she didn't die, so I don't count that. My first real kill was someone I don't even know the name of. It had been about a week before the first war really started. Jubilee had gone out for chocolate chip ice cream, despite the fact that it was so late. It was her time of the month and it was her comfort food and nothing we said would change her mind. So, I went with her.

A human attacked us, one of those cliché mugger types, only he didn't want our money, he wanted out lives. I tried to fight him, but he wasn't interested in me, and he was at least twice my weight and size, so I was no match for him. I didn't want to use my powers, but if I had, it wouldn't have happened. Still, I was hesitant with my powers back then, and he defeated me easily, flinging me to the side before attacking Jubilee. He pushed to the ground, pulling at her clothes, and I knew he meant to rape her. I couldn't let that happen.

I don't even really remember drawing the knife I had in my boot, it was just suddenly in my hand. I leapt forward and drove the knife into the back of his neck, feeling the blade slice through the flesh and muscle, nick the spine, and kill him. He collapsed on Jubilee, his blood painting her skin and clothes cherry red. She looked horrified, staring at me as if I was a monster. But I didn't care. I had saved her life, maybe saved her mind, and for that, I didn't care what she thought of me.

I think it was that moment that I decided I would sacrifice everything for my friends, for my family. I think I both hate and love that moment. It is responsible for who I am today, not Chalice or Xavier, not all the other decisions I've made, it is that single moment that is responsible. Sometimes I still dream of it. I would say that it is a nightmare, but it's not. It's a dream, a memory, it is dark but not frightening, I am not scared of it. I don't feel anything towards it. I don't think I ever will.