A/N: I just realized that this story is going to be 18 years old in two months – 18 years! That just blows my mind when I think about it. It's been a minute. Apparently, the diehard Rogue and Remy fan in me literally had a hard time dying. Because here I am again, welcoming back my eccentric muse and those insane plot bunnies, who never let me know what's going on with the story.

Just saying a quick 'hi' to both ishandahalf and Eileen Blazer! You have no idea how nice it was to see familiar names in the reviews! I honestly didn't think I would.

CHAPTER 13

Scents and Smiles

"Really, Logan? A 50's diner?" Rolling her eyes at her brother, Rogue stood with her hands on her hips. "Thought we had more class than this." She slid into the booth, taking a seat opposite Logan, and swiped a laminated menu from the far end of the table.

"Ain't my doin', darlin'," he scoffed, taking a long drag from the lit cigar in his hand. "This is yer head, not mine. I'm jus' passin' through."

Soaking in the red-and-white barstools lining the counter, the countless vinyl records and memorabilia hanging on the walls, and the old-school jukebox in the back, Rogue mused, "Reminds me o' th' places Daddy used ta drag us to. Remember?"

"Yeah, I remember." Logan stubbed out the cigar in a nearby ashtray. "Spent more time eatin' in places like this than we did eatin' at home. Yer mama didn' like it all that much."

At the mention of her mother, Rogue's voice softened considerably. "No, she didn', did she?" She could feel tears welling up at the corners of her eyes, and she briefly wondered if that hurt would ever fade away.

Giving herself a mental shake, she forced her attention back to their immediate surroundings. "Least Ah had th' sense ta conjure up a big screen TV," she joked, motioning to the far wall over Logan's shoulder.

"More than one, looks like." He pointed to the wall behind her. "Congrats. Now you can watch all that brain-rottin' reality TV you love so much, from two different angles," he quipped dryly.

With nothing better to retort, Rogue stuck out her tongue. "Hush up, you." She thrust the menu into his hands. "Order somethin' already, will ya? They got yoah fav'rite roast beef."

She saw the flash of pain flicker across her brother's face, and instantly knew she had gotten her foot stuck in her mouth. "That's 'Ro's fav'rite." He languidly flipped the menu over. "Tries real hard ta pretend it's not, but she goes fer it ev'ry time."

An apology was on the tip of Rogue's tongue, but before she could voice it, the television behind Logan switched on. Rogue saw a vivid picture of Ororo, smiling beautifully as a bouquet of white peonies was handed to her. She graciously accepted the flowers and brought them closer, inhaling deeply. She smiled again and said something, but Rogue couldn't hear the comment.

Before she could wonder about the lack of sound on the television, the screen jumped to another video of Ororo. This time, she was on a white sand beach and holding on to someone's hand. She was laughing and trying to good-naturedly pull the person toward the shoreline. At one point, she brought the hand she held to her cheek and lovingly caressed it, before smiling and continuing her trek to the water.

These are Logan's mem'ries o' 'Ro, Rogue realized, as another clip started on the screen. He's thinkin' 'bout her, an' it's playin' on th' TV like a movie.

She reached across the table and took her brother's hand. The screen behind him stopped suddenly, as if someone had pressed the pause button.

"We're gon' get her back, Logan," she assured him.

The only response she received was a grunt. Logan was always a difficult person to convince.

- oOo -

"Okay, so the sneaking-and-entering technique was more successful than I thought it would be," Bobby admitted as he slipped into Ororo's hospital room two steps behind Remy. "Although Rogue's not gonna be happy to hear about the flirting with the leggy nurse back there."

Remy stopped dead and looked over his shoulder. "Den let's not tell her 'bout de nurse, eh?"

"Or the phone number she slipped into your pocket?"

"Yeah, dat too."

Bobby grinned wickedly. "Ah-ha, I smell blackmail potential." He sauntered past Gambit, moving further into the room. "I'll have to give this some serious thought."

Remy narrowed his eyes. "Drake."

"Save it, Cajun," Bobby said, abruptly cutting off the unspoken threat. "Look."

He gestured toward the bed where Rogue stood serenely over both Ororo and Logan, clasping their hands tightly in her own. The room was eerily quiet and undisturbed, except for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor.

Somehow the scene before them felt wrong to Gambit. Something seemed… off. He'd never known Rogue to be still or subdued. She was always vivacious and so full of energy. It was difficult to pin her down, in any situation. He wanted nothing more than to grab her shoulders and shake her back to her usual, lively self.

Instead, he approached her cautiously and called, "Chère?"

- oOo -

Rogue's head shot up instantly.

She quickly scanned the diner but couldn't see any sign of Remy. Glancing at her brother, she wondered if he had heard Remy's voice as well, but Logan seemed preoccupied with stabbing at the food they had ordered.

So, now Ah'm literally hearin' voices in mah own head? Ain't that th' cherry on top? she thought sarcastically.

Turning back to her steak and potatoes, she couldn't stop the smile that crept up the corners of her mouth. Ah swear, that boy is dead-set on makin' a livin' outta distractin' me…

Two Years Ago

"Ain't it a li'l past ya bedtime, petite?"

Cursing harshly several times under her breath, Rogue took a moment to rest her forehead on the counter in front of her, before turning with an obvious scowl. "Jus' mah luck. O' all th' jazz clubs in th' city, Cajun, you couldn't stay outta mine?"

Gambit nonchalantly countered her icy glare with a debonair smile of his own. That same smile, no doubt, had made many women melt eagerly into his arms. Funny how it instead made Rogue want to deck him in the face.

"Now where's de fun in dat, chère?" he asked, casually leaning against the bar next to her. "Big brother Logan know you out dis late?"

"Why? You gon' run back home an' tell on me now?"

A bartender placed a vodka shot in front of her and she tossed it back as soon as it hit the counter. The liquid burned a slow, satisfying trail down her throat. She wasted no time motioning for another.

"Whoa, slow down, chère." Remy covered the shot glass with his hand after she downed the second round. "How many drinks have you had t'night? Ya lookin' t' get real drunk, real fast or somet'in'?"

"Or somethin'," she echoed, shooing his hand away. "Move. Before Ah mess up that pretty-boy face o' yoahs."

He smirked devilishly but made no move to withdraw his hand. "So, ya t'ink I'm pretty, huh?"

Rogue scoffed. Of course, he would have a wisecrack comment like that. "How you manage ta fit yoah oversized ego through any door is beyond me."

"Amaze even myself sometimes," he admitted audaciously. He expertly slid the empty glass down the bar, where one of the bartenders effortlessly scooped it up.

"Hey! Ah wasn't done!"

He ignored her. "Now, chère." He focused his gaze solely on her and spoke as if she were a defiant child. "If mem'ry serves, ya still a couple years shy o' de legal drinkin' age. Nineteen, non?"

She made a face and then waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, give it a rest already, Gambit. You've seen me drink a million times in Logan's bar."

"Ahh, but we ain't in Logan's bar, now are we?" Remy moved in so close she could smell the spicy scent of his cologne. He let his eyes trail down the soft features of her face, then slowly lifted his gaze back to hers. "Fork it over."

If Rogue had been truthful with herself, she would have realized that it took several moments for his words to fully register in her head. She was sure that the first five vodka shots she had before running into Gambit were the reasons for any flighty feelings. She wasn't about to admit that Remy's nearness – or the sudden heat that seemed to crackle between them – had in any way caused the lightheaded rush that she was starting to feel.

"Fork what over?" she asked.

The debonair smile made another appearance. "Ya fake ID."

She leaned back coolly against the bar and folded her arms. "Ah don' have one."

Taking his own stance in front of her, Remy sighed dramatically and shook his head. "Don' make me go get it myself, chère."

Rogue moved to push past him. "As if you could find – "

She hadn't even taken the first step before Remy had deftly slipped his hand into the back pocket of her jeans and extracted the card himself.

"Nice picture, petite," he remarked, effortlessly preventing Rogue from snatching the ID back. His left hand caught her wrist and firmly lowered it to her side. "Alt'ough, I seriously doubt anybody would believe dat ya twenty-five years old," he chuckled, turning toward her.

A moment later, Remy felt more than saw, Rogue's change in demeanor. The wrist he had been holding relaxed in his hand and then turned nimbly, until she had his palm nestled in her smaller hands. She lightly traced her fingers over the surface in slow, achingly deliberate strokes. It was setting every single one of his nerves on fire. Remy watched, spellbound, as her soft fingertips glided across his skin. The simple movements had him captivated.

"How old do you think Ah look like then, sugah?" Rogue whispered softly, her focus still on the palm of his hand. If he had been even one step further away from her, he wouldn't have been able to hear her low whisper.

She raised her eyes to his then, and Remy took in a sharp breath at the vibrant emerald green that stared back at him. He didn't know why he had never noticed their brilliant color before.

"Remy…" She breathed his name as if it was a delicate prayer on her lips. He stepped closer, wanting to hear her say it again.

"You got some magical power we don' know 'bout yet, chère?" he questioned, enfolding her hand in his and resting it securely against his chest. When Rogue didn't resist the intimate contact, Remy wrapped his free arm around her waist, drawing her in so close that he could breathe in the lavender shampoo she used.

Gambit closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply. He could see the doubts popping out of the darkness, and he inwardly winced.

Merde. What de hell you t'inkin', boy? his internal voice demanded, practically shouting at him. Dat's Logan's baby sister you done got ya hands all over, couyon! Ain't you got a lick o' sense in ya? T'ought you liked breathin' wit'out any claw marks pokin' t'rough ya chest?

Remy couldn't help but laugh to himself. His inner voice sounded an awful lot like his Tante Mattie.

He had to admit though, his conscience did have a point. To say that Logan would be angry wouldn't even come close to reality. He would be livid. Not that Gambit was at all concerned about getting into a physical confrontation with Logan. They were both skilled and seasoned fighters, who were pretty evenly matched. Most of their sparring sessions had ended in draws and an overabundance of trash talk.

When it came down to it, more than anything else, Remy had misgivings about losing Logan's trust and friendship. It had taken them a number of years to get to the point where they knew they could rely on one another, that they had each other's backs. That wasn't something Remy took lightly.

Exactly what I been sayin', his inner voice nagged. You gon' lose dat bond wit' Logan f'r sure if you start dis up. Go on den, boy. Drop ya hands an' step away from her now.

But in the same breath, Gambit already knew he couldn't do what his conscience was ordering him to do, even if it meant jeopardizing his friendship with Logan. He couldn't bring himself to walk away from Rogue then. He knew something had inexplicably changed for the both of them, though Remy couldn't put a finger on exactly what that was just yet.

Rogue was still nestled comfortably in his arms, absentmindedly skimming her fingers over his forearm. There was something about having her there with him that just felt… right. It felt like she was supposed to be there, like she had always been there.

He didn't understand it, and he sure as hell couldn't explain it even if he tried. It was crazy and didn't make any sense at all. Twenty minutes ago, they had been trading insults and dirty looks, just as they'd always done since the day they had met. Now, Remy was suddenly wondering if Rogue would let him hold her close like this again.

Groaning hopelessly, he dropped his head and murmured into her hair, "What're you doin' t' me, girl?"

She turned in his arms and smiled wryly at him. "This is prob'ly a bad idea, sugah."

"Prob'ly," he agreed.

"Gon' be real impossible ta keep secret."

"Dat's f'r sure."

"Logan's gon' blow a fuse."

He laughed. "Dat'll be fun t' watch."

To his surprise, Rogue snickered too. Then her eyes turned serious. "You ain't jus' a li'l bit scared, though?" she asked warily.

Remy held her gaze and answered in all honesty, "Chère, in de span o' twenty minutes, you completely flipped ev't'in' dat I t'ought I knew backward an' forward an' sideward. I'm scared outta my mind." He smirked so she could see he was teasing. "All I know is, I like dis feelin'. I like bein' here wit' you, holdin' you. Ev'ryt'in' else, we c'n figure out later."

The smile she gave him couldn't have been any brighter. In that one fleeting moment, there was no way for Rogue to have known that she had just stolen Remy LeBeau's heart.

Settling back into the comfort of his arms, she confessed, "Ah like this feelin' too."

"Better be careful, mignonne," Remy warned playfully. "I may never want t' let you go."

Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, "Promise?"

He raised his hand to stroke her cheek tenderly. "Promise."