Disclaimer: We are unto Marvel as Toad is unto Magneto... We are the under-appreciated minions that do their bidding, spreading the joy that is Romy throughout the land, and being paid not a jot. And all because they own these characters, and we don't. Sucky, eh?

A/N: Thanks for the tons of reviews you guys have written - you all literally kick ass:D Anyways, we just HAVE to give a few replies to some of your comments. Firstly - Paige is gonna be the LEAST of Warren and Betsy's problems, so all you Archangel/Psylocke fans, watch this space! Secondly - who else could Remy's invitation be from? And would it really be for HIS wedding? Hmmm. Personally we think 'Whoever-She-Is' is being a total bitch by sending him her wedding invite. Poor Remy. Or not so poor really, since he's obviously been giving our Rogue a hard time. And speaking of, do y'all really think Rogue can curb her obvious passion for the sleazy Cajun? It's all a question of when rather than if... not to mention HOW. But the less said the better. Just keep yourself psyched up for one bumpy, rocky, exhilirating and SEXY ride! ;)

-oOo-

Mix 'n' Match

(11) Jumping to Conclusions

The choice comprised of The Times, Vogue and a colorful edition of Cosmopolitan.

Out of habit, Betsy reached out and picked up the issue of Vogue. Now sat comfortably in the first-class cabin, and exceedingly glad to be out of economy-class and its resident screaming brats, she flipped through the magazine with a mixture of interest and growing dismay. There was a long article about Ororo Munroe signing up to be the latest face of L&L, the job that Betsy had been ready to sign herself before giving up her career. She felt obligated to be interested in the news since Rogue was advertising the new campaign, but on the other hand it distressed her to read about it. After reading a few paragraphs she snapped the mag shut. She couldn't bear to read anymore and find out just how out-of-touch she was with the modeling world.

And Neal still hadn't called her, nor had he answered her own calls all the way up to boarding the plane. He really means to end it, she thought morosely. That's why he's been ignoring me. I just wish he'd had the decency to let me know before I left for England…

She was just about to order a glass of wine from the nearby hostess when a familiar voice spoke beside her.

"Mind if I take this seat?"

She looked up to see Warren, a mixture of friendliness and apprehension on his face. She was puzzled at his request, but since the seat was empty, she couldn't see why not.

"Of course," she replied, removing the magazines from the chair and tucking them in the pocket in front of her. Warren sat down, while Betsy opted to read the newspaper. For a few minutes neither said anything, and while Betsy appeared to be reading she was actually more concerned with the proximity of the man beside her.

At last Warren decided to speak.

"Betsy," he began awkwardly, "I think I should apologize for my… tone of voice earlier on at the airport. It was… uncalled for."

She gave him a side-glance, trying not to look too concerned.

"Apology accepted," she said coolly.

"It's just… Well, yesterday night I was hoping to spend some more time with you, and the next moment I see you with this guy, parading him round the room like he was your boyfriend or something…"

He faltered and she looked at him in surprise. "Parading? Why on earth would I want to parade him around? Besides, you seemed pretty cozy with that Paige Guthrie, and I thought you wouldn't be too bothered if I happened to be talking to someone else."

Now it was his turn to look surprised.

"Paige? What, her? I was feeling anything but cozy with her!" He rolled his eyes dramatically. "The girl just wouldn't let me go! She spent the rest of the evening following me around, trying to ram mini quiches down my throat… I only put up with her out of the goodness of my poor heart!"

Betsy was confused, remembering the smiles and nods he'd given the blonde girl the night before. "But you seemed so happy to talk to her," she voiced in bewilderment.

"Well, unlike some people, I've been taught good manners," he replied a little sarcastically. "I just can't be impolite to anyone. Not even some crazed fan like Paige Guthrie."

She gave a wry smile. "Are you sure about that? You seemed pretty cutting to me this morning."

"That was a one-off and I'm sorry Betsy," he apologized again honestly. "I'm usually much more of a tactician, shall we say."

"You mean you're diplomatic with your enemies?" She raised an eyebrow. "You're far more forbearing than I'd ever be."

"That's what you think," he grinned. "Even while I've been away I've managed to bring one very conceited business acquaintance down a peg or two."

"Oh no," Betsy bantered back in mock horror. "What did you do to him? Sabotage his fancy set of wheels or something?"

"Oh that's far below my usual level of operations," he replied smoothly. "And it was a woman, by the way. A very stuck-up and opinionated woman, I might add. Don't mistake me – I wouldn't do anything to permanently damage anyone, but this woman… well, let's just say that she's so high-and-mighty a little strategic humiliation was in order."

"I hope it wasn't anything too drastic," Betsy returned, nevertheless smiling at his exuberant way of expressing himself.

"Oh no, I'm not that barbaric." He laughed. "It was quite harmless really. Maybe she'll even see the joke and we'll have a laugh about it over a drink when I get back. But somehow, I doubt it."

"She sounds like an absolute dragon," Betsy remarked morosely. "Just like my mother – an old bat without a single ounce of humor in her."

Warren laughed heartily. "Oh come now. Your mom isn't that bad. You should hear mine. Always complaining about how Worthington Incorporated used to be run better in my father's day. I just smile and nod and pretend I agree. It's the only way to handle her."

"I wish I had your fortitude," Betsy sighed. "Whenever I see my mother, I somehow freeze up. I try to tackle her sensibly, but she gets me so nervous and upset that I just can't help opening my big mouth and instigating an argument."

"Oh well, at least you don't have to tackle her face-to-face anymore," Warren remarked. "I did wonder why you were acting so strange during that incident on the balcony though. Still – even though our dance was pretty unconventional, I did enjoy it."

"Me too," she smiled. "I must admit, I've never seen anyone dance the tango quite as exuberantly as you."

"Me neither," he replied, giving her an intense look. "You should practice more often, you're a natural." He paused, then suddenly burst out laughing. Startled, Betsy turned to him.

"What? What is it?"

He continued to laugh as he shook his head, wiping his eyes comically. "I can't believe you thought I was into Paige Guthrie of all people!" he chuckled.

Now that Betsy knew she'd been completely mistaken about the whole affair, and now that she felt a little guilty for being so rude to him the night before, she had the good grace to laugh about it.

"But Paige Guthrie is such a sweet, smart, young, American gal..." she joked in her best impression of Rogue's typical magnolias accent. He laughed, his blue eyes twinkling as he did so.

"She's also jailbait," he said, giving her a wink. "And she simply isn't nearly as engaging as you, my dear Betsy Braddock."

-oOo-

I walk down the corridors of L&L feeling a tentative mixture of relief and confusion.

When I'd got up this morning, I'd expected it to be all around the company that yesterday I'd made the tactical error of sticking my tongue down my boss' throat. I'd steeled myself for women tittering in the corridor as I passed, for men throwing me wolf-whistles and leers and dirty innuendoes. But now, as I march towards my desk expecting someone, anyone, to suddenly stand up, point and laugh at me, everything's normal. No one gives me a second glance. It's as if nothing's happened, which I'd believe if the entire episode with that exasperating Cajun wasn't ingrained firmly in my memory for some reason.

It seems that Remy hasn't been gloating about his conquest after all. I'm confused but grateful. It doesn't make it any better knowing I'm caught between two compulsions. On the one hand I want to cower away and avoid the man, because obviously the whole tryst was yet another big blooper in my ever-catastrophic love-life. But on the other hand… I just can't darn well get that kiss out of my head! I've been with a few guys the past couple of years, but not one of them has left me feeling the way Remy LeBeau has, with this strange glow in the pit of my stomach. And I hate myself for it. Because now I know first-hand he lives up to his name as L&L's premier Romeo – perhaps even New York's premier Romeo – and I also know why all the girls round here act like saps when he enters the room. And it's driving me crazy.

I'm busy losing myself in tawdry daydreams of bodice-ripping yarns involving me and you-know-who, when who should suddenly start walking down the corridor towards me but the very man himself. Luckily Jean-Paul's in conversation with him, otherwise I know he'd probably stop me and start boasting about how he finally conquered the very gal who'd promised him the fires of hell if he ever touched her again.

Yeah, right.

I still can't help myself from going into automatic blush overdrive and I quickly lower my head, hoping they'll pass me by without incident. But we all know fate just doesn't work like that for li'l old me. Just as I pass them and I think I've made a home-run, Jean-Paul decides to call me back.

"Oh, Anna!" he calls. "I almost didn't see you there!" (Darn it! Why does this always happen to me!) "And I was just wanting to congratulate you on some excellent work for our new campaign."

I swivel round quickly, blushing furiously and avoiding Remy's gaze as if it's some sort of contagious disease.

"Thanks Mr. Beaubier, suh," I mumble rapidly, hoping against hope he won't keep me long. No such luck.

"Remy and I were just discussing your progress and we both agree that you've already turned out to be a big asset to the company," he continues cheerily. "I'd really appreciate it if you could come over to my office sometime today and share some of your ideas with me, if you don't mind?"

I can barely hear a word he's saying. All I can concentrate on is the fact that I can feel the sensuous heat of Remy's gaze on my right cheek. He wants me to look at him, he wants me to see that dirty little smirk I feel sure is on his face right now, the one that says you lost, I won and I'm going to win again. I refuse to give him the pleasure!

"Ah'd surely like that, Mr. Beaubier, suh," I shoot back as fast as I can. "But if yah don't mind, Ah have some really important work to do that just won't wait…"

"Of course, of course," JP waves me away indulgently. "I don't want to hold you back from your masterpiece! I'll look forward to meeting with you later."

"Yes, suh, pleasure suh," I breathe and scuttle away as fast as my legs can take me.

All the way down the rest of the corridor I can still feel the warmth Remy's gaze seeping into my back.

-xXx-

It was a cool but sunny winter morning in the Big Apple, one that belied the frosty, gloomy weather that was soon to be on the horizon. Two women were sitting in a new and trendy Italian cafe on a certain high street, sipping cappuccinos with various designer outlet shopping bags gathered around them.

"I'm so glad we finally got the bridesmaid's dresses out of the way," Jean Grey was saying to her companion as they sat by the window, watching the New York traffic race by. "I was beginning to think the tailors would never have them done in time."

"If they hadn't, I would've given them a piece of my mind, and you know what my piece of mind looks like, Jean darling," Emma replied ominously.

"Yes – it's got the word 'sue' written all over it!" Jean laughed as she took a sip of her coffee. Since she'd decided to put her visits to the Hideaway firmly behind her, she'd felt refreshed and optimistic about the future. Yet she couldn't help but notice that while she'd been fairly animated that morning, in contrast Emma had seemed subdued during their shopping trip. It had been suspicious enough that she'd taken the day off work to accompany Jean in the first place, let alone that she looked this sober.

"Alright," Jean spoke up, placing down her cup and looking at her friend severely. "Tell me what's up, Emma. You've been acting strangely all morning. And you've even skipped work! Has something happened?"

In the usual circumstances, Emma would've denied everything, probably even scolded Jean for suggesting such a thing. But instead she stirred her coffee and replied rather solemnly: "Something happened with Carlos last night. I'd rather not discuss it, Jean, to be honest."

"What!" Jean cried, her natural concern for her friends automatically flaring. "What on earth did he do to you?" She'd never seen Emma looking so downcast, so it must've been something serious…

"I'd rather spare us both the details, Jean," she said, smiling faintly. "It was highly embarrassing. Let's just say I caught him cheating on me and leave it at that."

Jean said nothing. She didn't like to say that Emma went through men like she did handbags, and from what she could tell, very few of her relationships had been serious at all. She'd even been known to two-time once in while… maybe even three-time when it suited her. So what warranted as 'cheating' in Emma's book was something of a mystery to Jean, but Emma obviously seemed upset, so she wasn't going to challenge her.

"I'm sorry, Emma," she finally said sympathetically. "If only I'd been there for you…"

"You weren't to know, Jean," Emma interjected matter-of-factly. "Besides, luckily enough my gardener was there to give me some moral support in your stead…"

"Your gardener? You mean that guy… Bobby Drake?"

Emma smiled to herself, a small smile quite uncharacteristic to her, or so Jean thought. "He's a very sweet boy, Jean. Sometimes too sweet, I think – at least for the likes of me." She sighed. "Still, he gave me some good advice. Can you believe it, he even had the guts to say I was seeing the wrong type of men, and that I was foolish to date guys that don't treat me with respect!"

"I hate to break this to you, but he's right," Jean rejoined dryly.

"I know, I know. At least, I do now. So I've decided that young, brainless and idiotic men are going straight out the window, and are now to be replaced with honest, responsible, mature ones. I'm even thinking of making some headway and phoning an acquaintance of mine this evening."

"A date? Already? Are you sure you're not being a little too hasty?" Jean said in concern.

Emma waved aside the comment with a hand. "I can't stand being alone like an old maid all the time, Jean! Besides, what's the harm in asking a guy out on a date? This guy happens to fit the required profile well. He's a far more mature, responsible man – the chairman of some prestigious rich man's club in England or something. His name's Sebastian Shaw and I happen to like him quite a lot."

"Well, I hope he's the guy for you," Jean replied dubiously. "But it sounds to me like this Bobby Drake is the better bet."

"You're joking," Emma scoffed. "He's a kid, he's a student, and he's my gardener!"

"So? He's only 2 years younger than you, you were a student once, and what's wrong with gardening? I didn't know you're such a snob, Emma!"

"I am not! I'm just…stating the facts, that's all! I'm willing to bet that if Scott was a gardener and not a financial consultant, you wouldn't like him so much."

Jean was just about to protest when suddenly her cell phone went off beside her. As luck would have it, it was Scott. Speaking of the Devil, she thought, and received the call.

"Scott! Darling, I've been trying to call you for ages!"

"Hi, honey," his comforting voice came down the line. "I know, I'm sorry, but I've been very busy lately. I did try to call you last night though, but you didn't answer. Where were you?"

"Oh, I was at, uh, Rogue's place," Jean lied quickly. "We were having a bit of a girly night."

"Oh." His tone was faintly disapproving. "I hope she didn't keep you up too late."

"Well, I had the day off today to do some wedding stuff, so it didn't really matter," she explained patiently. "Speaking of the wedding, next Monday the reverend said he needed to rehearse the ceremony with us. What time are you getting back?"

"Well, that's what I was calling about, Jean," Scott replied a little sheepishly. "Things have been really hectic up here and I may have to stay an extra couple of days. But I promise no longer than that, okay, honey? I'll call you when everything's been finalized."

"What! But Scott, there are so many things you still need to sort out about the wedding, and…"

"Well, are you sure you can't handle them by yourself?" He sounded a little vexed. "Unless it's money you want. Do you want me to transfer some to your account?"

"Scott, this isn't about money," Jean returned, annoyance entering her own voice. "This is about me needing you here to finalize our wedding plans. Our wedding plans, Scott, do you understand that?"

"I understand fine, honey, and there'll still be time to do that when I get back. Only this is very important and…" He paused, and Jean heard someone's voice murmuring in the background before he came back on. "Listen, I've gotta go, Jean, but we'll discuss this later, okay? I'll call you."

"Okay," she said, somewhat dejectedly. "I love…" But he'd already hung up. Jean stared at the phone for a moment before cursing under her breath and ending the call. Emma raised an eyebrow.

"Trouble in paradise?" she quipped.

"Don't you start. I've already had Rogue tease me about it." Jean sighed in exasperation. "Looks like all of us girls are going through a crisis these days! What with you and Carlos, and me and this wedding, and Betsy with her hippy-dippy craze, and Rogue with her…"

"Rogue?" Emma echoed, cutting her off. "You mean she had another turn for the worse?"

"You could say that," Jean nodded regretfully. "She got another letter from Caldecott – the hospital. I guess it triggered some of the bad memories. She got all upset and started crying."

Emma propped her elbows on the table, cupping her chin in her hands thoughtfully. "Hmm. You know, I'm really worried about her. It's been over four years now. I would've thought she'd have gotten over it."

"Chance'd be a fine thing," Jean frowned. "The girl went through a lot. More than anything we've ever experienced or are likely to – touch wood. Things like that don't just go away."

Emma gave a twisted smile. "You're right. And here I was thinking my troubles were bad enough."

"Me too," Jean mused reflectively. "But, there is a bright side."

"Bright side?" Emma looked nonplussed. "What bright side? Unless the girl's finally…Jean, you don't mean to say…!"

"Yes." Jean leaned in conspiratorially and whispered; "I think Rogue's met someone."

Emma's eyes widened. "She has?"

Jean nodded vigorously. "Some guy she's working with. Her boss, actually. She got all defensive and blushed like crazy when I suggested she even liked him. She never got that flustered, not even with Joe or that Erik guy."

"Ooooh, details, details!" demanded Emma, grinning for the first time that day.

"None yet, I'm afraid. We'll have to work on her first before we find out. But guess what? Whoever he is, this guy sounds like a real picture. Get this!" She lowered her voice for dramatic effect, "His name is Remy LeBeau! Now did you ever hear such an sexy, exotic name?"

"Remy LeBeau?" Emma smirked, her eyes dancing with laughter. "Is that a Chippendale type name or what! I can just see him now. Tall, dark, handsome…with gorgeous eyes… And an accent!"

-oOo-

Meanwhile, halfway across town, Remy LeBeau was sitting in his office staring blankly at a pile of reports spread out on his desk before him, looking less of an Adonis than the two gossiping friends thought him. To the casual observer, it probably would've seemed he was concentrating on reading the papers in front of him. But in reality, his mind couldn't have been further away.

Truth be told, he'd been unable to sleep the night before, and now he felt a mess. It was all because he'd been thinking about her. He'd spent the night thinking about a woman, one woman, and it wasn't That Woman. It was her. And that unnerved him. It was totally contradictory to his nature. It just wasn't Remy LeBeau.

For the best part of a couple of weeks now he'd been working up to the moment where Anna Raven would finally cave into his charms. Of all the women he'd ever pursued, she was the one who'd held out the longest. He didn't mind that. He enjoyed a challenge. It had made him want her even more. And up until yesterday evening, he had to admit, she'd mostly been just that – a challenge.

He frowned to himself. He just couldn't get it. One moment she'd been provoking him, the next they'd been kissing. It'd totally taken him by surprise, totally taken his breath away. It was a moment he'd been fantasizing about ever since he'd first met her, but suddenly he'd found himself facing the reality. And it far, far outstripped the fantasy.

Just at that moment, a knock sounded at the door. Remy looked up from his papers and gave an irritated sigh.

"What is it?" he snapped.

The door opened to reveal Monet, dressed in a provocatively low-cut shirt and a barely-there skirt. Remy gave an inward groan of frustration as she sidled in expectantly and shut the door quietly behind her. The last person he wanted to see was her.

"I heard you were in need of some cheering up," she informed him when he didn't greet her. "And from the look of it, I wasn't mistaken."

Remy stood up rapidly, gathered up his papers and walked over to his filing cabinet.

"Look, Mon, I'm really not in de mood for dis…"

"Nonsense," she replied lightly, walking up behind him as he began filing away the reports. "Listen, Remy, I heard about the…letter you received yesterday. I can understand why you'd be brooding in your office, but it's really time you got over…"

"Save it, Mon," he retorted through gritted teeth. "You don't know anyt'ing 'bout it." He didn't want to tell her that the wedding invitation he'd received was only half the story. True, yesterday he'd been upset about it, but what was really bothering him now was the way Anna Raven had walked out on him the day before – not to mention the way she'd completely blanked him in the corridor that morning.

"I know enough," Monet answered coyly. "And I know exactly how I can cure you too." The next moment her hands were on his shoulders, gently kneading his aching muscles with expert hands. "What do you say we go out for an Italian after work?" she murmured. "Perhaps we could have ourselves a drink down at the Hideaway… And then we can go back to my place… Maybe I can fix us up some dessert." She leant in against his ear, finishing in a tantalizing whisper: "I still have that lacy red number I know you love."

Remy glowered. Instead of having the desired effect, Monet's words had actually hit a sore spot. Red lace and dessert would've been a fine notion if only it was a certain someone else wearing it and not her. He shrugged her hands off roughly and turned, pushing her away firmly by the shoulders.

"Mon, I already told you, I'm not in de mood," he seethed, purposely ignoring her expression of wounded confusion at his rejection.

"Hmph. That's a new one," she sneered sharply, finally realizing he really wanted nothing to do with her. "Since when have you not been 'in the mood', Remy LeBeau?"

He was about to answer when the sound of high-heels passing outside his office caused him to stop. A shadow passed across the blinds of his window with a familiar softly swaying gait. From the shape of the silhouette, from the outline of the hair and the shape of the profile, he knew it was Rogue. Dieu, what was wrong with him – he even knew what her silhouette looked like now!

Monet, seeing his change of expression, looked over her shoulder as Rogue sat down at her desk, unaware of the scene in the office opposite. She looked back at him, her gaze disbelieving.

"Anna Raven?" she queried incredulously.

He let go of her, his scowl deepening as he turned back to his files, wishing she would go. She didn't.

"Now I see," she noted coldly instead. "I was wondering why you haven't stopped round my office lately. You're still thinking you've got a chance with her and she's turned you down so here you are, sulking all day." She crossed her arms, shaking her head in disdain. "I told you she'd get you burned, didn't I. Save yourself the bother, Remy. She's not worth it."

"Whereas you are?" he couldn't help himself from snapping at her. She was silent for a long moment at the unexpected venom in his words, and he stared at his filing cabinet, not wanting to look at her. When next she spoke her voice was quiet, scornful.

"Cut the crap, Remy. We both know neither of us has much time for love, we just want what we can get and we make sure we get it good. We use each other, and that's fine with me, because I've always known exactly what you get up to after-hours, and I'll be darned if I give a flying toss about it. But at least with me you'll always know where you stand. I'll never ask you for anything you're not willing to give, I'll never make things difficult for you. But her," and she gave a humorless laugh, "let me tell you right now that she won't take anything less from you than love. She's one of those women – believe me, I've seen them often enough. She simply won't have you, and she'll never understand you. Not the way I do."

He heard her open the door, then the silky smoothness of her voice one last time before she left.

"Just remember, Remy – when she rejects you, I'll be waiting."

The door clicked softly shut. In the ensuing silence Remy was left glowering at the filing cabinet, Monet's harsh words playing over in his mind. He knew that what she had said about him was the truth – he had no time for love and hadn't for a long time. But something had happened and he didn't know why or how because it defied all logic. Anna Raven had happened and she'd showed him a hint of the passion inside her, the real reason her friends called her Rogue – and it was more than he could ever have expected, a passion that could finally match his own. Just the memory of her kisses, of her fingers in his hair and her legs wrapped round his waist was driving him insane. He wanted more of her. He wanted to know whether he was just being crazy or whether there really was something more.

Remy turned, his mind suddenly made up.

He was going to prove Monet wrong.

There was no way he was going to let Anna Raven slip out of his grasp, not when he'd only just realized how much he truly needed her.

-xXx-

"Rogue? Uh, Anna?"

I freeze. It's his voice. Here it is. Finally. The moment of truth.

Rule 6: When you have nothing left to lose but your dignity, always act cool.

I automatically duck my head and pretend to busy myself with my work.

"Yes, Mr. LeBeau?"

Despite my cool tone, my cheeks are already reddening as I recall the incident the day before.

"You left your papers in my office yesterday," he says behind me. Is that an element of desperation I hear in his voice? "Thought you'd be needin' dem."

I'm confused. My heart's beating a mile a minute. I want to turn round and face him but I can't.

"They're just copies," I reply quickly. "Ah made 'em for you, 'member? Keep 'em."

"Oh," he says. There's a silence and he shuffles awkwardly behind me. Irritation begins to override my sense of dread. C'mon Remy, what are you waitin' for? Please just crow at me and go. I can't bear to prolong this another moment more.

"Anna," he finally spits it out, "yesterday…"

"Was a mistake," I cut in abruptly, before he can get the chance to gloat about his conquest. Silence. Well that sure shocked him! I'm surprised it didn't take a whole lot more to shut him up. "It was a big, stupid mistake and …and… highly unethical," I add rapidly. No way am I gonna come over like a lovesick puppy to him, like all his other conquests! He may have won yesterday's little game, but I'm sure as hell gonna win this one. "You're mah boss and Ah'm your marketin' assistant. It was just plain wrong."

"It was?" His tone is disappointed. I'm only half glad to hear it. I've managed to stave off the gloating I'm sure he'd come to indulge in, but at the same time I'm feeling this warmth deep in the pit of my stomach, leftovers from our encounter the day before. Given half the chance, I know I'd be up on his desk again and we'd be going at it like rabbits.

"Yup," I say, literally swallowing the treacherous feeling. "It may be fine for you to get your kicks round here, but if Ah get caught Ah'll be fired right quick. No way Ah'm riskin' mah job for some cheap an' disgustin' office fling."

The words hang between us thick in the air. What's taking him so long? Where's his usual trademark glib remark, that cocky comeback? I steel myself for it.

It never comes.

"Right," he mumbles. Surprised, I finally swivel round in my seat to face him; but all I catch is the view of his back as he walks away.

-oOo-

To be continued...