She woke some hours later, and he was gone. She sat up, a little stronger, and decided to take the leap of faith required to stand. Wobbly, like a colt on new legs, she managed it, and walked slowly to the bathroom. Like the bedroom, spare and modern, no sign of anyone ever using it. She looked at herself in the mirror and groaned. This was what Gambit – Remy – had been looking at? And still flirted? Ghost-white skin, deep circles under her eyes, a bruise along the cheekbone and a gash on her forehead. Small cuts here and there from the glass he had said rained down on her like diamonds.

She traced her face in the mirror, then turned resolutely towards the shower. Soap, shampoo, a towel all right there. Toothpaste and a toothbrush, still in their packages, in the medicine cabinet. She stripped off the tank top and underwear, dropping them on the floor, stepped into the shower, and tried not to groan too loudly as the hot spray pounded her aching body. Oh, to feel clean! Even after she had washed off, she stayed under the water a long time. She wasn't ever going to feel all the way clean again, she thought. Like Lady Macbeth – the blood just wouldn't wash off – even if Mystique hadn't bled when she pushed her over the cliff edge. She shook her head to clear the images. Mystique, frozen in stony horror, tumbling off the cliff. Kurt, horrified, as he ported after her. And his face when he couldn't catch the statue that had been their mother, and it shattered on the rocks below. Her team's faces. The professor's face. Logan's neutral, silent look, as if he didn't recognize her. He probably didn't. She shook her aching head again, and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a dark green towel around her slim form. She slicked her hair back from her face, tucking behind her ears those white locks that always came loose. "Stripes," she whispered, then made her way to the closet. The easy camaraderie with Logan – with all of the team – was gone. Remy was right – even her tank top and underwear were pretty much destroyed. She looked at the clothes in front of her. Some t-shirts. A few pairs of battered jeans, too big for her tiny frame. One lone flannel shirt. She slipped it off the hangar and began to button it.

"No need for dat, chere."

She jumped, swore. "Somebody oughta put a bell on you, Cajun."

"Sorry." He didn't look sorry. He didn't feel sorry. "You look better dan you did."

"Yeah, well, hard not to." She finished buttoning the shirt, relieved to see that it came almost to her knees.

"Hey." He caught her chin in his gloved hand and moved closer to her. She could feel the low pull of her powers, reaching for him. The thrum of his own, charging the air around them. "I'm t'inkin' you look good all the time…just especially now. Good enough to eat." He ran his hand down her back, the lovely curve of her spine. Her eyelids fluttered closed.

"Don't, please." She all but whispered it. "Mah powers…" she trailed off as he moved closer.

"Don' worry, chere. I knows all about dose powers – you've used 'em on me b'fore. But you usin' other ones now." He traced her lip with his thumb, followed the line of her jaw to her throat. She moved closer to him without even realizing it. And her eyes flew open as he stepped away, chuckling.

"See, chere. Dat what happens when I turn on de charm."

"You were just proving a point?" she asked, still heady. She couldn't tell if it was from the previous night's drugs or his touch.

"Started dat way." Didn't end up that way, he thought ruefully.

Her eyes narrowed. "Nice." She bit the word off, then stalked over to the bed.

"Don' be mad, chere. I brought you a present."

Rogue rolled her eyes.

"Non, chere, I did. Look." He pointed to the two bags on the dresser.

She went for the smaller bag first, rustled through the tissue paper. "Gloves. Thank you," said, suddenly shy. How had Gambit known that the going barehanded was so unsettling?

"Your other ones got left behind…I just thought you'd be a little more comfortable this way."

She tugged them on, then crossed to him. "Thank you," she whispered, and touched his cheek lightly. She bowed her head a little and rested it on his chest, breathing in the sharp spicy scent of him.

"Dere's clothes in de big one," he said into her hair. The silken strands brushed against his mouth and he yearned for a taste of her skin. Keep it light, he reminded himself. "Not that you don' look…fine…as is. I can take dese back, if you want," he teased. He couldn't, of course. Once a thief, always a thief. But she looked so utterly feminine in the thin, faded flannel. He smiled, gulped.

She hadn't moved. "Ah'll take the clothes, thanks. Ah just…you just…you surprise me, Remy.'

"Oh, it's Remy now?" He grinned at her

She pulled back a little and regarded him seriously. "Ah think so. Is that okay?"

" S'okay. Do I get your name?" He said it lightly, but she stiffened. He tightened his arms around her, and she relaxed into him again. The warmth of her through their clothing was palpable, and she looked up at him with those dark emerald pools. He thought he could see all the way to the bottom. He slid one hand to the back of her neck, lowered his mouth to hers fractionally.. She opened her mouth as if to speak…

And that's when Logan crashed through the window, claws gleaming.

"Get away from the girl, Gumbo," he snarled.

A/N

Ah, finally! Was there any doubt that it would be Logan who broke up the party?

And on a stylistic note…I gotta stop with Remy talking in third person quite so much. I just can't take it. Really. It's just too much Fonzie, and Henry Winkler so does not do it for me. A friend of mine pointed out that I'm the author, and I can pretty much do what I damn well please, so…welcome back to the land of first person, for the most part. Besides -- at 3:30 in the morning, I don't have the mental wherewithal to revise verb tenses all over creation.

A couple of people have been mentioned that I should be watching grammar and spelling. I beg of you, people – let me know if you're finding errors. Some of them are intentional stylistic choices (i.e., fragments), and I'm new at the whole accents thing (my boy has lost his southern accent since moving up north, so suggest away in that department, too). But I was an English teacher, and now I'm a freelance writer/editor, with a background in proofreading, so grammar and spelling and the like are kind of a point of honor with me. Seriously – if you've got the time, whip out the red pen. I'm posting these at 2 or 3 in the morning, so I'm a little off my game, but that's no excuse.

AngieX – I can see why you'd have expected the X-Men to have found her four chapters in. Bear in mind that a lot of this is flashback from both Rogue and Remy's points of view; also, Rogue may be waking up and falling back asleep, but it's mostly every few hours. She left the Institute Friday afternoon, and it's maybe noon Saturday, so there hasn't been a lot of time for them to even notice she was gone, much less track her. And I'm sorry I made you want to cry… ;-)

Ishandahalf – Just seeing your name on the review message always makes me smile. If it's not too much to ask, I'm awfully fond of the shimmery rainbow stars. I think you're right about Rogue – it's the dichotomy of being so self-reliant and so needy at the same time. I just think flawed people are inherently more interesting, which is why this isn't a story about Jean. She's not wretched, or anything. She's just not terribly compelling. But Rogue and Remy are both so damaged (for lack of a better word) that you can't help but wonder if either of them will ever find any kind of grace. As for whether Remy's being honest…I think he is. Whether either of them is actually ready for that degree of honesty is another question entirely.

Thanks to all the reviewers for their insight and encouragement. It very nearly makes up for the fact that I'm averaging four hours of sleep a night.