Disclaimer: Characters belong to Marvel. We do not and have never pretended to own these characters (except in our twisted fantasies XD).

-xOx-

Mix 'n' Match

(21) Make or Break

I wake up Friday morning still feeling like I'm in a surreal dream. The air smells different, and the feel of the bedclothes against my bare skin is strange and alien. I slowly open my eyes. I'm back in my childhood bedroom, amongst quaint, antique mahogany furniture, ancient photos, teenage romance books and that wooden mobile in the far corner that Cody once gave me. I'm back home, a place that's familiar and yet somehow foreign.

I rub my eyes with the back of my hand before sliding out of bed and pulling back the curtains, the curtains of the window where I'd sat so often waiting for Cody to come back from football practice. Outside there's none of the hustle and bustle of the Big Apple. The sky is overcast, the sun is peeking through the clouds and the birds are singing. There isn't the sound of a single car in the distance. I'm still in Caldecott and it feels like I've woken up on a day four years ago, back inside my previous life. It feels like I could pretend I'd never left this place at all, that I never went to New York and met a man named Remy LeBeau.

The pretence would've worked if I could stop thinking about him.

He'd be back at work by now, back at L&L, lonely and empty-handed, wondering what went wrong. He's probably thinking about me right now, like I'm thinking about him. I open the window, breathe in the fresh air and sigh. I'm tired of thinking about him. All these many miles between us and I still can't get a word he said out of my head. It's killing me. How can I go back to New York and face him when I can't even face the memory of him here?

I shower and dress and as I do so my eye catches on the small, thin scar just over my left breast, a souvenir, a horrible reminder of the accident that had ended Cody's life. I run a finger over it slowly, remembering. Every time I'd begun a new relationship I'd get asked about this scar, but I'd never been able to tell the truth. If I had it would've only kept Cody's ghost closer. Of all the men I'd dated after him, Joe was the only one I'd ever slept with and it hadn't felt right. But being with Remy… that had felt right and I can't explain it.

He'd put his lips right here on my scar and kissed it… but he'd never asked where I'd gotten it, not once. And even if he had, could I have told him the truth?

I close my eyes and try not to think about it.

It takes me ages to dress and I finally stroll downstairs twenty minutes later. Irene's in the dining room, sipping her tea, waiting for me. I'd spent the entirety of yesterday in bed, unwilling to speak. Irene knows my moods and had left me to my own devices. She knows that by today I'll be ready to talk.

I go up to her and kiss her on the forehead. She smiles and indicates towards the coffee machine and the plate of beignets lying beside it. I put my arms round her shoulders and hug her before getting my breakfast and sitting down next to her.

"Feeling better?" she asks softly, once I'm settled.

"A little," I reply. And I do. I feel a little better to be sitting here with her, eating my favorite breakfast, not needing to say anything, just like it used to be in the old days. For the first time in days I manage to smile. Irene feels the smile and nods before quietly reaching inside a pocket. She brings out a passport-sized photograph and slides it across the table towards me. I look at it. Me and Cody – my favorite picture of the two of us. I'd always kept it in my purse, safe from the elements; but now it's worn and dog-eared. I stare at it in confusion.

"How – ?"

"He left it for you," Irene interrupts, before I can finish the question. "He said he didn't want to steal anymore good memories from you."

I realize who she's referring to, and I can't help the tears from welling in my eyes.

Remy…

I'd been looking at that picture the night that Cody had died, right there in his lounge. I must've dropped it there when I'd hurried to put it back in my purse, left it there for him to find when he'd woken up the morning after. I can't imagine what he must've felt when he first saw it. My heart fills with dread and guilt. All that time down at the cemetery he'd known. He'd known about me and Cody. He'd chased me all the way to Mississippi still knowing that he had the slimmest of chances. Despite everything he hadn't given up on me.

I touch the edge of the photo, thinking of how many times he must've held it and looked at it and wondered if I was worth the effort. My heart aches. How he must hate meh…

"Do you still think it was the right thing?" Irene asks, following my train of thought. "Turning him down?"

I swallow and shake my head. "Irenie, Ah can't… It's too soon…"

"Too soon to love again?" Her voice is gentle yet firm. "Do you really think our hearts take trivial things like time into account?"

"Remy LeBeau's not the man for me," I half whisper. I can't do this to myself. I just can't get myself hung up on him again…

"Do you love him?" she asks seriously. I say nothing. I stare down at the photo again, close my hand over it. I try to imagine Remy with his arms round me instead of Cody, Remy taking Cody's place as the only man in my life. Remy, the insufferable ladies' man who treats women like dirt. Who'd treated me like dirt; and yet who'd treated me so wonderfully despite everything. I raise my head.

"Ah'm so confused, momma," I admit plaintively. "Mah heart keeps tellin' me Ah love him, but at the same time Ah just know it couldn't last b'tween us. Ah…Ah don't know if Ah could ever trust him."

"Maybe that's all he needs," Irene says, taking my free hand in hers. "A little trust."

My teeth pull on my bottom lip as I mull over her words. "Ah don't know if Ah can trust anyone anymore," I whisper. "It hurts so much to have all your dreams shattered… Ah just couldn't face that kind of disappointment again." I pause, my eyes filling again involuntarily. "Momma… Ah'm so scared…"

This time I can't stop the tears from falling and she takes me in her arms and I huddle close to her, feeling just like a child again. She rocks me and says gently: "Anna, there's no need to be scared. You're not in this alone. He needs to learn to trust again just as much as you do. Give each other time and maybe you can open your hearts to one another again."

Maybe. Maybe we can. I want to, so badly. I don't want to be scared of love anymore. Over Irene's shoulder I stare at the photo on the table. Remy's left it to me, given me something to hold onto. The ball's in my court now.

All I need to do is find the courage to embrace my future and start afresh once more. The problem is just finding that courage.

-oOo-

Meanwhile, several hundred miles up north, Emma Frost was wrapped up in her own dilemma. She'd been mixing and matching outfits for the better part of a morning, and after much careful deliberation she'd finally settled on a daringly sheer silk blouse and a classy gray pencil skirt. It was an outfit Betsy had forced her to buy the other day, insisting that pencil skirts were now in. Emma had bought it just to shut Betsy up – she hadn't worn anything below knee length since her school uniform. But now she wanted to look halfway decent when Bobby arrived, not like some cheap tramp. Looking in the mirror, she had to admit that although this was a look she would've thought boring and frumpy before, she actually looked good. Subtly sexy. Coy and flirty instead of her usual no-mercy, heavy artillery sex-bomb look.

Emma stared at herself and smiled a soft smile.

Just at that moment the doorbell went and she started to attention, running out her bedroom and down the stairs without a second thought, only to find that Kristin had already beaten her to it.

"No, no!" Emma cried, horrified that the grand entrance she'd been planning the past two days should be spoiled. "I'll answer the door, don't you dare get it!"

She practically barged past the poor maid and snatched the door handle as if she was a child and someone had threatened to take a toy away from her. Since Emma always kicked up a fuss if she had to make so much of a step towards the doorway, Kristin was rather baffled, but she didn't dare complain so she shrugged peevishly and walked away. It took Emma half a minute to regain her composure and finally throw the door open.

And just as she'd known, just as she'd hoped, there was Bobby, looking every bit as apprehensive as she was. A relieved breath escaped from her lips. She thought he would've been angry and defensive, but from the looks of it, he was probably feeling exactly the same as her.

Yes - for the first time in her life, Emma felt nervous. And it wasn't a nice feeling.

"Bobby." She stood aside, held the door open for him. "Please, come in."

Shit! Her nervousness was making her sound like some prim and proper matron! Emma heaved in another shaky breath and tried to loosen up. Bobby, however, didn't appear to notice. He stepped into the hall and looked about apprehensively.

"Is this going to take long?" he asked quickly, his hands literally jammed in his pockets.

"I hope not," she remarked, closing the door shut and turning to him. "I…I want to thank you, Bobby. For taking the time to come. I know you're busy."

He looked at the floor and shrugged, embarrassed. "Actually, I wasn't busy at all," he admitted.

"Oh." She wasn't sure what to make of that. "I'm glad."

He was wearing uncharacteristically casual-smart slacks and a simple white shirt that flattered his well-toned body to perfection. Emma wished he wouldn't stand so self-consciously. He could look super sleek and sexy if only he believed he was worth it. He hadn't even been in her hallway a minute and she was already itching to get her hands on him.

"Been anywhere special?" she asked as casually as she could.

"Me? Nope." He looked down at his clothes and pulled on his shirt. "Just went for a job interview this morning. Had to look, you know, respectable."

"A job interview?" she asked, her heart falling. That pretty much meant that he had no intention of working for her anymore. "For what?" she inquired weakly.

"As a part-time accountant at the local bank," he answered. She must've looked upset because he began shifting uncomfortably. "Look, Emma… if there's something you want to say to me, can you please say it? You're giving me the heebie-jeebies here."

Emma shook herself. Well, what do you expect, of course he doesn't want to work for you anymore, just do what you set out to do and apologize to him!

"Let's go into the lounge," she breathed.

He followed her a little reluctantly in the living room, while she ran about ten different potential dialogues between them in her head. Damn. She'd been rehearsing this whole stupid scenario about a dozen times an hour, and now that he was finally here she hadn't a clue what she really wanted to say. Well, you do know one thing you need to say. Sorry, right? So go ahead and say it, Emma, before you regain control of your goddamn senses!

She stopped in the center of the room and swung round to him, unconsciously wringing her hands as the words finally bubbled involuntarily to her mouth.

"Bobby…" she began, "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

Okay. You said it. That wasn't so bad, was it?

Bobby screwed up his mouth in disbelief. "Oh right," he began sarcastically. "So is that 'sorry for using you as my love slave', or 'sorry for insulting you the other day'?"

Oh, so he did want to play rough. Emma had to physically resist the urge to start shouting and give back as good as she got.

"For all of it," she replied on a pent-up breath. "In fact… for the way I treated you since day one." One look at his skeptical face was enough to tell her that at lot more self-debasement was needed. Dammit! But there was nothing for it but to grit her teeth and soldier on. "Alright, alright already! I'll admit it." She took a huge breath, continued: "I led you on. I led you on just like I did all those other men before. I treated you abominably and I did it all on purpose."

He crossed his arms and frowned, looking dubious and yet even more delicious to her than ever. Emma got the distinct feeling that he was beating her at her own game, and she didn't like it one little bit. No way is he playing hard to get now!

"C'mon, tell me something I don't know, Ms. Frost," he remarked acidly. "Like why exactly you felt the need to trample on someone who's obviously so beneath you in the first place."

Emma bit her lip. Hard. He really was going to make this hard on her. The thing was, she deserved it. And she really couldn't bear the scorn on his face much longer. It was killing her.

"I never thought that, Bobby," she assured him, desperation taking over her pride once more. "Okay, well maybe I did for the first couple of days or so…" He looked like he was about to walk out right there and then, but she continued in a rush before he could do so; "But after that… after that I just couldn't think that of you. The way you looked out for me… took care of me… even went out of your way to give me advice knowing what a bitch I was! After what happened with Carlos, you could've found it so easy to look down on me. That's what any guy would've done. And you didn't. You were still so kind and considerate and -"

"A pushover?" he finished off pointedly. Emma shook her head vigorously.

"Believe it or not, Bobby, you had me wondering why on earth anyone like you would even bother to give me the time of day." She paused and flushed. "No man's ever done that for me, Bobby," she admitted, shamefaced. "Most men think all I'm out for is a good time, that a free drink and a good fuck are the only qualities I look for in a man. But I'm not like that Bobby. Really, I'm not. Every time I end up with those kind of men, it kills me inside. The truth is…I don't know a thing about real relationships, about what it's really like to love someone. But I really want to know. I really want someone to care for me. And when you were with me, Bobby…I really felt like you cared for me. And I know it's really pathetic but…no man's really cared for me before. Not ever."

She inhaled deeply, unable to go on, the sad admission finally giving her the strength to look into his eyes, even if she saw nothing there but contempt. But to her surprise his handsome, boyish face wore instead a frown of sympathy and concern.

"Emma," he began somberly, shaking his head, "I just don't get it. I just don't get why you've let yourself be treated like dirt all these years. I mean, look at you. So many women would kill to have what you have. And yeah… you may be a bitch sometimes, but that doesn't mean you're not smart and talented and beautiful. There'd be a thousand decent men out there who'd queue around the block just to get a date with you. You're worth more than all the Carlos' in the world. Why don't you just believe that for once?"

"I guess…I guess I haven't really known anything else," she returned quietly, truly humbled by his words.

"Well… now you do know," he shrugged matter-of-factly. "From now on, stop dating bad boys. Get yourself a real man who'll treat you decent. I'm sure there are plenty out there waiting for you."

At his words Emma began to panic. This was not the direction she wanted this to go!

"No!" she cried breathlessly, inching closer to him. "Bobby, don't you get it! I don't want any of those men! The guy I want is you!"

She gazed at him through beseeching blue eyes, trying to communicate that that was what she wanted, and she wouldn't - couldn't - settle for anything less. Skepticism crossed his face again and she couldn't help but ask pleadingly: "Bobby, after everything I've said, don't you believe me?"

"It's not that," he muttered, averting his gaze and running his hand through his hair, "it's just… Well, how can I believe that you'd really want someone like me?"

She stared at him, confused, and he continued: "Emma, look at me. You're just way outta my league. I dress crazy and talk outta my butt and I can't even score unless I'm drunk. I'm addicted to Shogun Total Wars and I collect Batman comics. I'm a nerd. A loser. A geek. Just wait and see, you'll go out with me a couple of times and end up hating me. And call me sad and pathetic, but… I just don't think I could take you hating me, Emma, I really don't think I could."

At the words, at finally hearing the longed for and dreaded admission, something strange and unfamiliar filled Emma's heart so that she felt giddy and could barely stand straight. A smile played across her lips and for the first time she could put an emotion to the word. Happy. She felt happy.

"And what if I told you I don't care," she told him with a newfound certainty, fresh hope suddenly coursing through her. "What if I told you that despite everything I find you irresistibly attractive, and gorgeous and sexy - even when you're wearing those hideous Hawaiian shirts? What if I told you that I think all those girls that ever turned you down are crazy, because you're the most sensitive, caring guy out there, and I don't even remotely deserve you? Would you still think I could ever end up hating you?"

Bobby looked up at her, searching her face for any trace of deception. But for once he found nothing in her eyes but total honesty - as well as something more, something he never thought he'd find in her. And suddenly he knew she wasn't lying.

"I'd think you were insane," he replied, a slight grin forming on his lips, the playfulness slowly returning to his voice. "But I guess I wouldn't blame you for thinking I was the greatest creature alive."

At his words Emma couldn't help but beam with relief.

"Does this mean I'm forgiven?" she asked in trepidation. Bobby shrugged and ran a hand though his hair and said: "What the hell… Yes, you're forgiven."

With a delighted schoolgirl squeal, Emma practically launched herself into his arms, her lips finding his in an impassioned kiss. Bobby was so stunned at her unexpected move that he was bowled over back onto the couch with her on top of him, her lips still firmly locked with his own. The last thing he wanted to do was disentangle her from his grasp, but at the same time he was worried that his blonde bombshell had finally snapped and gone insane. After all, overt displays of affection were the last thing he'd ever have expected of her.

"Uh…Ms. Frost?" he began, twisting his face away from hers and finally coming up for air. "Maybe we should take this one step at a time…?"

Emma pulled back, only slightly, looking down into his beautiful blue eyes and wondering why she'd ever wanted to push him away.

"Shut up and kiss me, Drake," she purred sexily, taking his hand and cupping it coyly over her butt. "And would you stop calling me 'Ms. Frost'?"

"Can't help it if you make me feel like a naughty schoolboy," he murmured, playing along. She gave a chuckle, that same throaty, sexy chuckle that already drove him wild, as she brushed her lips seductively over his own.

"Robert Drake, you do not want to know what I do to naughty schoolboys," she assured him sexily, before finally recapturing his mouth in another long-awaited and passionate kiss.

-xXx-

Over the horizon the lights of the city sparkled like jewels under the pearly eye of the moon, whose reflection wavered and glittered in the waters of the East River. It was certainly a view to behold. In the cool night air Betsy drew her stole a little closer around her and said over her nearly-finished dessert: "You know… I've never had dinner on a Victorian steam boat before."

Across the table, Warren grinned.

"Then you haven't lived, Betsy."

"Oh, and let me guess. You're going to make sure I live all those moments I haven't got to experience yet, right?" she retorted wryly.

"Got it in one," he replied, sipping from his wineglass, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Well, I suppose I should warn you of something first," she stated with mock severity.

"Oh? And what's that?"

She leant over, smirking audaciously at him. "I have very expensive tastes."

He laughed his usual easy, open laugh. "It's lucky I just happen to be a millionaire then, isn't it." He leaned forward too, taking her hands in his and holding them with a gentle touch.

"Truthfully, I don't give a damn about your money," Betsy replied lightly. "Even if you were a hobo on the streets I'd still think you were wonderful."

Warren cocked an eyebrow humorously. "Hmmm. Judging by my previous experiences with hobos and their taste in thermal underwear, I seriously doubt that statement, Betsy. But I thank you for the compliment."

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. "You've had experience with hobos and their underwear?"

"Don't even ask." Warren rolled his eyes dramatically. "It's a long story."

"I'm not sure I want to know," Betsy returned comically, and the two couldn't help but laugh.

For the new couple it had been a picture perfect night so far - a three course meal in a swanky restaurant set in an old-fashioned yet plush steam boat, whose guests comprised the crème-de-la-crème of New York's aristocracy; an idyllic night-time view of the city; and a six-piece jazz band playing romantic classics in the background. Frankly Betsy would've settled for much less, but Warren had insisted on splashing out for their first date. And he couldn't have made a more handsome dining partner. In a dapper charcoal gray suit and a neat bow tie, he looked every inch the elegant and sophisticated bachelor that she knew him to be. In order to match his impeccable dress sense, Betsy had chosen to wear the color she knew suited her best - purple. Her daring gown consisted of violet chiffon that skimmed her curves to perfection, and while it was seemingly demure from the front, at the back it sported a scoop that dipped so low it could almost have been considered indecent. It was, however, a look that the ex-model could've pulled off in her sleep. As soon as they'd entered the restaurant together, everyone had looked round to stare at this beautiful and well-groomed couple. For Betsy it had felt like she was on the catwalk again, and she unconsciously reveled in the attention everyone was giving her.

But that hadn't been half as good as seeing the look on Warren's face as he'd first clapped eyes on her.

Now they were sitting eating dessert with the entire deck to themselves, oblivious to everything but one another. To Betsy, it was like a scene out of a cheesy chick-flick starring Meg Ryan - except for once she was the star, and it didn't seem half as cheesy as it did on celluloid (although she was sure that Emma would've begged to differ). As it was, Betsy was far too happy to protest.

"So," Warren asked softly, holding her delicate, well-manicured fingers between his own and toying with them gently, "did you get a chance to read the contracts? What did you think?"

"Well," Betsy answered, smiling coyly, "after reading everything through thoroughly, I think I simply have no choice but to take you up on your offer."

His grip tightened as he gave her hands a light squeeze. "Betsy Braddock, you've made this guy a happy man," he murmured.

"Well, we're even then. Because I don't think I've ever felt this happy before in my life, Mr. Worthington."

He gave a lop-sided grin. "And that's all it took? One expensive gesture to make you happy?"

She chuckled. "Believe it or not, it doesn't take much to make me happy. All I ever ask for is a roof over my head, food to eat, a mum-free environment… and a white Christmas." She pouted. "We never get those in England anymore."

"Well," Warren replied with theatrical sigh, "it sure feels like a white Christmas is going to be coming round this year. Feels like a good time for miracles, don't you think?"

"It most certainly does," she murmured in agreement, lazily trailing a foot up and down his calf and staring him in the eye. He returned the look, his gaze becoming more intense.

"So…don't drop-dead-gorgeous men come anywhere on your wishlist?" he asked her in a more husky tone of voice. Betsy grinned wickedly, her foot moving upward to tease lightly at his inner thigh. "Well now that you mention it," she purred just as seductively, "I think I'm going to have to keep a certain blond-haired, blue-eyed New York businessman permanently on my wishlist. Not to mention in other places," she added saucily.

"Oh, and what places might those be?" he inquired boldly, his eyes flashing with desire. She grinned innocently in return.

"Wait and see."

At that moment the band struck up a slow waltz - a waltz that had been playing the night they first met. The cue couldn't have been more perfect.

"Care to dance?" Warren asked, cupping his hands expectantly over hers.

Betsy smiled.

"I'd love to."

The deck made a convenient dance floor. Under the muted pink lights of the boat they danced in time to the music, their bodies pressed close, their swaying reflection captured on the waters below them. Betsy melted into the warmth of his body, resting her head on his broad shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his hand lightly stroking her bare back, of his heartbeat against her breast. She couldn't remember a time she'd felt as safe and secure as this. This was what she truly loved about being with Warren - not only did he make her feel special, but he made her feel that, with him by her side, she could tackle just about anything life threw her way - even her battle-axe of a mother.

"Betsy?"

His voice came to her as a murmur, reluctantly breaking the tranquility of their embrace.

"Mmmm?"

"Does this mean we're going to make a real go of this? Together?"

She shifted her head slightly, looking up into his gorgeous blue eyes.

"What did you think tonight meant?" she asked.

"Well… I figured you might still need some time to get over Neal…" He trailed off.

She thought about it, for the first time reflecting on her feelings honestly. And when she found the answer, she was surprised to find that she didn't feel guilty at all. Because this was perfect. This was how it should've been all along.

"No," she returned at last. "I don't. I'm ready now."

His gaze was inquisitive. "You sure?"

She nodded.

"On a night as perfect as this, how could I not be sure?"

They stopped dancing. There was nothing more to be said. Gazing into each other's eyes was all the confirmation they needed.

Under the moonlight, caressed by the gentle night-time breeze, the two shared a lingering kiss, each hoping in their hearts that there would be many more to come.

-oOo-

The next day Rogue arrived back in New York very tired and very much alone. At her request, Jean and Betsy had gone to pick her up, even though they'd been expecting her to be arriving with a certain someone else - not to mention spending the rest of the weekend shacked up with said someone else. But disappointingly, when Rogue stepped into arrivals, all she had with her was her suitcase and a serious case of jet lag. Even worse, the miserable look on her face told them that while she'd been in Caldecott, no loving of any description had been going on at all. They were even beginning to think Emma had made up the Remy LeBeau saga just to get attention. It wouldn't have been the first time Emma had created phantom boyfriends after all.

"Where's Emma?" Rogue asked after the greetings and the heartfelt hugs had passed round. She glanced about her as if the brazen New York socialite would pop up out of nowhere. "Ah didn't know she worked weekends."

"Emma now has a 'boyfriend'," Betsy announced, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. "She's spending the day with him doing God knows what! Frankly, I don't want to know."

"Emma has a 'boyfriend'?" Rogue mused as she and Jean heaved her suitcase into the back of the car. "Is that boyfriend as in boyfriend, or boyfriend as in friend with privileges?"

"For once Emma has done the unthinkable," Jean remarked, giving the suitcase an extra shove with her butt and finally squeezing it into the car. "She's decided to make a go of a real relationship for a change."

"What!" Rogue cried in amazement. "You're kiddin'!"

"Nope." Jean shook her head laughingly. "Aliens must've abducted her and rewired her brain, because right now Ms. Frost has stars in her eyes."

"And that's not the half of it," Betsy added ravenously. "Guess who gave her man the push and started dating a certain Warren Worthington of Worthington Inc?"

If Rogue's eyes could get any wider they probably would've fallen out of her head.

"Betsy!" she squealed. "You!" Betsy gave a knowing grin and Rogue literally threw her arms round her. "Ah'm so happy for yah, sugah! Ah knew you liked the guy! Ah can't tell yah how glad Ah am yah'll aren't stickin' round with that Neal Sharra an' feelin' miserable."

"Tell me about it!" Betsy rolled her eyes again theatrically. "But enough about me! What about you, Rogue? Jean and I…well, to tell you the truth we kind of thought you wouldn't be needing our taxi service once you arrived back in NY."

Rogue looked back at her, puzzled. "What d'yah mean?"

"Well," Jean explained, "we were led to believe that you'd be coming back with a certain Cajun…"

Rogue's face noticeably paled.

"Remy? You mean you guys knew 'bout Remy?"

Jean and Betsy gave one another a look at Rogue's unexpectedly flustered tone.

"Well, yeah," Jean replied slowly. "Why? Did something happen? We thought…" She trailed off and Betsy hastened to continue: "We thought the two of you were an item."

At the words Rogue gave a forced, humorless laugh.

"Me an' him – an item? Whatever the hell gave yah'll that idea?"

"So you didn't see him while you were out there?" Betsy quizzed, confused. Realizing just how much they knew, Rogue had no option but to come clean, even though she looked decidedly uneasy about it.

"Well, yeah… Actually he did come out t' Caldecott. We had a talk… an' Ah decided he wasn't the man for me." She shrugged with false nonchalance. "That's about it."

"You mean he went all the way out there to see you and you turned him away?" Betsy asked, looking a little disappointed, not to mention worried.

"Betsy," Rogue began severely, her eyes stony, "Remy ain't the man for me. He's a womanizin' horndog, and what's worse, he didn't even have the respect to stay away from me while Ah was mournin' Cody's death. Of course Ah turned him away."

Betsy looked like she was about to protest, but Jean shot her a warning glance. It was plain to see that Rogue had been upset and didn't want to talk about it. Naturally, Jean was just as sad as Betsy that things hadn't worked out for Rogue – especially since she knew just how much the Southerner really cared for the wayward Cajun. But there was time to talk about it later.

"Guys, we should really stop standing out here talking about men," she spoke up as humorously as she could. "How about we treat you to some lunch, Rogue? A good meal is always in order after the crap they call plane food."

"Good idea!" Betsy agreed, clapping her hands. "Then I can tell you all about my delectable Mr. Worthington."

"Like I haven't heard it all already," Jean commented jokingly.

"Well, Rogue hasn't heard about it!" Betsy protested. "Come on - how about we go to that new wine bar in Queens?"

"You know what I could really do with, gals?" Rogue spoke up from the sidelines.

"What?" Betsy and Jean asked in unison.

"A big, fat quarter-pounder with extra cheese. Anyone for a Burger King?"

-xXx-

It was the following Monday before Rogue returned.

Remy had been anticipating her arrival like a well-deserved slap in the face. He knew it was going to be torture seeing her once more. He also knew it was going to be equal torture if she never showed up at L&L again. So when she did finally arrive, he didn't know whether to feel relieved or sick to the stomach that she was within arm's reach again – close, but nowhere near enough for him to touch.

He'd been in his office, busy looking out over the typing pool and staring into space, when suddenly he'd found himself gazing straight at her as she'd walked right across the periphery of vision and sat down at her desk as if he wasn't even there. For the next hour she'd poignantly ignored him. It was a crushing blow, compounded by the fact that he hadn't a clue as to how he'd gone wrong with her. He'd laid himself bare to her, even gone the whole darn way and declared his love for her in a fit of desperation. She'd done something to him and made him stupid and rash and he didn't like it.

Shoulda just kissed her… Ain't no way she woulda been able to resist me den… Yeah, right. If I'd'a kissed her, she woulda just slapped me one again.

Remy gave a long sigh and frowned.

He should've known this was going to happen. Ever since he'd decided to go chasing after her, he'd accepted the likelihood of being rebuffed. But now it was different. Now there was nothing to stand in their way but a dead man's memory. Okay, so maybe he'd come on a bit strong when she was still only fresh on the heels of her grief. And sure, he'd said he loved her out of pure frustration, but now, gazing at her for the first time in days, he realized he hadn't been lying. He didn't know a lot about love, but what little he knew he was feeling for her right now – only to have it thrown right back in his face. It just wasn't fair.

Damn, dat girl drives a hard bargain…

She was still sitting there, ignoring him. Still, he figured things couldn't be so bad after all. Just looking at the cute upturn of her nose and those kissable cherry-red lips was something he reckoned he could live with - even if it reduced him to an entirely wretched and celibate state.

Unfortunately his reverie was cruelly interrupted when Jean-Paul suddenly barged into his office and pointedly drew the vertical blinds so that she couldn't distract him any longer.

"Anna's back," the silver-haired man noted bluntly and without greeting.

"I know," Remy replied sarcastically. "She's been sittin' right outside my office de past hour."

"She was gone for 5 whole freakin' work days!" Jean-Paul continued irately, ignoring Remy's sarcastic comment. "She didn't even phone me to say she was comin' back! For all I knew, she could've quit!"

"So whaddya want me to do about it?" Remy asked belligerently, slouching back in his seat and trying to look bored.

"I want you to come clean with me, Remy LeBeau!" JP pointed an accusing finger at him. "Monet told me it was Mississippi you'd disappeared to last week, and I was quite happy to accommodate you at the time. But don't think I'm idiot enough not to have figured out the connection with our chere Anna! Come on Remy, I want the truth and I want it now!"

"You mean you want something to gossip about wit' your 'girlfriends'," Remy retorted sourly.

"Remy, for once I'm being entirely serious here. Shall I call her in here and ask her myself?" Jean-Paul turned towards the door and had actually opened it halfway when Remy leapt out of his seat and slammed the door shut again before he could call out Anna's name.

"You ain't talkin' to her about nothin', JP!" he hissed, his eyes blazing. Seeing how pissed off Remy really was, Jean-Paul reluctantly relented.

"Just what is going on between you two?" he asked, placing his hands humorously on his hips like a cross mother. "I was right, wasn't I? You propositioned her and she hates you even more than she did before. Or are you two having some sort of torrid love affair? This really is more than I can bear! Come on, I want out with it!"

Remy stalled a moment, not wanting to tell his boss the truth. For one thing it hurt his pride too much just to think about it. For another thing, he just knew JP wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut if he did tell him. So he laughed and shook his head and said: "Look, JP…dis is all just a misunderstanding. Rogue – Anna – was in trouble, dat's why she had to go down to Mississippi. Her fiancé… he passed away and she was really upset…she couldn't t'ink straight…I went down dere to, y'know…make sure she was okay…"

JP raised a skeptical eyebrow. "If she was in such trouble why didn't you let me know beforehand?"

"Well, she wanted to keep it private," Remy explained desperately, "I was jus' coverin' for her…"

"And why would you do that?" JP asked him with narrowed eyes.

"I…uh…"

"Remy," JP said in a tone that suggested dire consequences if the truth was not told. "What have the two of you been up to?"

"Nothin'!"

"Liar! You're tryin' to tell me you'd go and 'help out' every bereaved girl in this company by traveling all the way down to Mississippi if the situation required it?"

By now Remy was extremely tongue-tied and knew he couldn't say anything more without sounding pathetic. So he gave up and said: "Alright, alright! I went down dere b'cause I needed t' talk wit' her. And I don't wanna say no more b'cause it's our business. Please don't ask me anymore, JP. I don't care about myself, I jus' don't want anyone else round here spreadin' rumors about her, d'accord?"

At the admission Jean-Paul's expression changed. For once it was serious as he realized that for the first time in years, his friend and protege actually cared about someone.

"Remy," he finally began in a reasonable tone, patting his friend on the shoulder, "there are already rumors flying round about the two of you – Monet's doing, not mine. And you misunderstand me entirely. You're a good friend, mon frere. I'd never spread any rumors about you and yours. I'm just concerned that whatever's going on between the two of you doesn't get in the way of both your work here at L&L. Understand?"

"Oui," Remy replied morosely.

"Bon," JP nodded. "Now I guess I should go and have a word with her about her absence. Don't worry," he assured his friend with a smile. "I won't be harsh."

"T'anks, JP," Remy answered, relieved.

Jean-Paul was just about to leave when there was a rap at the door. At the unexpected knock the two men gave one another a quick look before Remy called out: "come in."

The door opened and to their surprise in stepped Rogue. When she saw Jean-Paul she started, a look of dread crossing her face.

"Oh… Mr. Beaubier, suh… Ah didn't know yah were here…"

Jean-Paul gave Remy a short, meaningful look, then smiled slightly at her and replied: "It's all right, Anna. I was just leaving. But if you would come to my office when you're available, please? I'd like to have a private word with you."

Rogue hung her head, shamefaced as she realized he was talking about her impromptu week off.

"Yes, suh," she replied, crestfallen.

"Good." Jean-Paul went to the door, nodding once at Remy before slipping out.

A thick silence enveloped the two as Rogue nervously averted her gaze from his own. But her presence was enough to give Remy some hope that maybe some reconciliation was possible between them. At last he cleared his throat and said: "Rogue –"

"Ah came to give yah these," she interrupted before he could say anything more. She held out a sheaf of papers. "Kitty said she had work t'do, so Ah offered to give 'em to yah. Sorry Ah can't make a report on the updates."

"S'okay," he replied, his heart inwardly falling as he realized she hadn't come to talk things over after all. "Wasn't your fault you weren't here last week after all, neh? Just as long as you get one of de others t'bring you up-to-date, d'accord?"

"D'accord," she replied without even thinking. He glanced at her as he reached out for the papers, an eyebrow raised.

"What?" she asked.

"Not'ing." He smiled despite himself. "Y'just have a good accent, dat's all. Maybe you should t'ink about learnin' sometime."

Her eyes softened.

"Maybe…"

He took the papers, his fingers accidentally brushing against hers in a feather-light touch that he couldn't bear to break. He thought she would flinch and move away, but to his surprise she didn't, letting her hand linger a second too long, a second long enough for his hopes to be raised again despite everything.

"Rogue…" he began again, but suddenly her eyes hardened and she dropped her hand, breaking the softness of their touch.

"Will that be all, Mr. LeBeau, suh?"

For a split second he wanted to take her by the shoulders, shake her, tell her that she was crazy and didn't know what she was missing. But suddenly everything she'd said to him back in Caldecott came rushing back at him – the rejection, the humiliation – and he clamped his mouth shut.

"Oui. Dat'll be all," he replied after a moment.

He turned back to his desk, trying to pretend he didn't care, trying to pretend the electricity still didn't exist between them. He knew he couldn't. With that one touch he knew he still wanted her like he'd never wanted any other woman, and that he wasn't likely to stop anytime soon.

There was a long pause before he finally heard her leave, but leave she finally did. Behind him the door opened, then closed softly shut. She was gone.

Remy sighed and slumped back at his desk, resigning himself to another few months of hellish withdrawal symptoms – dreaming of her, wanting her, needing her, and unable to even look her in the eye.

If he'd chanced to look at Rogue before she'd left, he would've seen her glance back over her shoulder with exactly the same glimmer of yearning in her beautiful green eyes.

-oOo-

To be continued...