Author's notes at the beginning this time, guys. Sorry for the ridiculously long time between updates. There were computer issues that had me screaming in the night, and then the bunny turned three, which involved many parties, and then everyone at our house dropped with the flu, save for me, and then we had Christmas at three different places. So I was bad, and I am contrite. To make up for it, a big ol' chapter. And look! I brought the Romy!
No review responses today, else it would be 2005 before I posted.
Sundays were family dinner night at the Institute. Weeknights, the kids took turns cooking, Saturday was takeout, but on Sundays, everyone sat down for a traditional family dinner. Or, at least, as traditional as one could expect at a school full of mutants.
"Kurt, save some for the rest of us," Kitty said. She waved away the platter of roast beef and tugged the mashed potatoes out of Kurt's grasp. "Honestly!"
"Sorry, Kitty," he said through a full mouth. "Can I get you something else?"
"No, thanks," she said. "Remy, what would you like?"
"I'm fine, petite," he said. He held up his plate, laden with food. "T'anks, though." He was watching the scene unfold around him. Most of the students were ranged around the table, talking, laughing, jostling for food. The Professor had yet to join the group, so a watchful Ororo, a resigned Hank, and a very chagrined Logan were keeping an eye on things. A collision between Bobby and Jamie en route to the table had resulted in several Jamies wandering about the room, each stuffing his mouth with rolls as rapidly as possible. From across the room, Logan took a swig of beer and eyed Remy balefully.
"I apologize, everyone. I was tied up on an overseas call," said the Professor as he came in. He glanced around the room. "I see Rogue has not joined us."
"Non. She told the Kitty-cat she wasn't hungry." Remy had unwittingly sat just two seats down from the Professor, between Kitty and a boy named Sam.
Xavier frowned. She was testing her consequences already. "Kurt, go and get Rogue from her room, please."
Kurt looked uncomfortable. "Are you sure, Professor? Maybe she needs to rest."
"Go get her, Elf. Tell her she's got three minutes, or I'll come up and get her. And I won't be nice about it." Logan crossed his arms and ignored the Professor's warning look.
"Be right back," said Kurt uncertainly, and disappeared.
"I'd have gone up," Remy offered in a low voice. The Professor shook his head.
"I know you would," he said. "And I thank you for it. But I don't want her to see you as the disciplinarian in this situation."
"Why send de blue boy, den? Ain't she gonna be angry wit him, too?"
"Annoyed, perhaps. But if she and Kurt can quarrel over things like this, I'll consider it progress. At this point, getting Rogue angry about anything would be progress. "
"Seems like a strange sort o'progress," Remy said, and turned back to his food.
A few minutes later, Kurt appeared with a visibly edgy Rogue. She stood in the doorway, ready to bolt at the slightest encouragement.
"Bonsoir, chere," Remy drawled, standing up. "Care t'join us?" He gestured to the empty chair across from him.
Her brother, though, tugged gently at her hand. "C'mon, Rogue. You can sit here." He led her to a seat at the far end of the table. She shot Remy a fleeting glance, then groaned inwardly. The chair Kurt had steered her to was the farthest from Remy, which was good. She hadn't forgotten Kitty's words, but she hadn't a clue what to do about them. A little distance at dinner was comforting. But the seat was also next to Logan's, and judging from the stony look on his face as she sat, he was still furious with her. She had known he would be angry about her taking off, but she had also expected him to understand how badly she needed to be alone. Clearly, whatever respect had remained after the encounter with Mystique had vanished after this latest escapade. The thought caused whatever appetite she might have had to vanish. She couldn't refuse Kurt without making a scene, though, and all the other spots were taken. This, she realized, was another consequence of coming late to dinner.
"Do y'all dress for dinner every night?" Remy asked Kitty. He couldn't take his eyes off Rogue. She wore a black skirt made of some kind of floaty material that swirled slightly when she walked, and a black sweater with delicate white embroidery at the neck and cuffs. She was still wearing the necklace, he noted, and smiled as she touched it absently, nervously.
"Only Sundays. The rest of the week is chaos," she assured him. Rogue kept stealing glances at Remy, she saw, and smiled to herself.
For the most part, dinner progressed smoothly. Xavier had implemented a "no powers at the dinner table" policy several months back, and so there were only a few minor catastrophes. Rogue ate little and said less. Remy had expected that she would react badly upon finding out he was the mansion's newest addition, but he had been hoping for a little more confrontation. He could get around barbs and insults, withering looks and hot glares. Hell, he enjoyed those sorts of challenges. But this smooth indifference – not rude, really, just not open – was more difficult to scale. He couldn't even bait her properly, not with Wolverine glaring at him every time he looked down the table. The guy was looking for any excuse to skewer him, and Remy wasn't really interested in obliging the man.
"So, Gambit," said Jean, bringing his attention back to the table. "You're from the South?"
Rogue didn't turn, but she went still, straining to hear his response over the chatter between them.
"N'awlins," he said easily. "Born an' bred."
"Your family's there, then?"
Rogue slid a glance in his direction, and saw his body tense and relax again so quickly no one else noticed.
"Oui," he said, in that same lazy drawl. But she knew there was tension underneath those words, no matter what his tone indicated.
"I've heard the city is amazing," Jean continued. "Have you been back recently?"
"Non," he replied. "Could I get some more of those green beans, little man?" he asked Jamie. The younger boy hurried to oblige, watching Rogue's rescuer with something akin to hero-worship in his eyes. "T'anks."
"They must miss you," Jean persisted, "Especially with the holidays coming up."
Remy was still smiling that pleasant, easy smile, but Rogue could see the effort it was costing him. His eyes had hardened slightly, and his hands, toying with the silverware, suddenly seemed restless. So, she mused, family and home were sore spots. She knew what that felt like, and took pity on him.
"Can't see why anybody'd miss a swamp rat like you," she called down the table. Kitty shot her a dirty look, and the professor smiled knowingly. The rest of the table just looked baffled.
Remy's entire body relaxed. "Now chere," he chided. "We can't all have family dat chases after us whenever we go missin'." The entire group went silent, watching the pair.
"You do plenty enough chasin' on your own," she said shortly.
"Only when somet'in' catches my interest," he said with a broad grin.
"And Ah'll bet you've got a wide range of interests, don't you?" There was enough heat behind her words to turn his gaze speculative.
"Not at de moment. Pretty narrow focus right now."
She rolled her eyes and returned to her green beans, confident that she had drawn Jean's attention away from the obviously sensitive topic of Remy's family. She toyed with the idea of pulling Remy's personality from the walled-off chamber in her mind and discovering exactly why that was. But she tossed the notion aside immediately. It was exhausting, for starters, and poking around in a past he clearly didn't want to share seemed like a poor way to repay him for his help.
She turned back to her food, mindlessly moving vegetables and potatoes around on her plate. With a sigh, she set down her fork and pushed the plate away.
"You're done?" Kurt asked, taking in the mounds of food still in front of her. "You've barely touched it!"
"Ah'm not that hungry," she murmured.
"But you should eat," he said.
"No, thanks," she said, giving her brother a weak smile. "Maybe later." She turned to the professor, intending to ask if she could be excused, when a hand came down heavily on her gloved wrist.
"Eat. Your. Dinner." Logan said quietly, his voice low and hard. There was no particular emphasis to the words, no real anger behind them, just a cool order she knew better than to disobey.
Sullen, she picked up her fork and ate a small bite. "Happy?" she asked.
He looked right through her. "Not even close, kid." He pushed away from the table abruptly. "You've got a danger room session tomorrow at five," he said. "Get your ass there on time. I won't be as nice as the elf if you're late again."
"Ah'll be there," she mumbled, but he was already striding away.
An awkward silence again fell upon the table. Few people had heard the conversation, but everyone had seen Logan leave, had heard the harsh tone, if not the words, and had seen Rogue cringe at both.
"He always that hard on her?" Remy asked in an undertone.
Kitty shook her head wordlessly. They were all used to Logan growling at Rogue, but there was usually an undercurrent of affection beneath the conflict. This felt different. Rogue sat immobile, and this was even more alarming. She always – always – gave as good as she got.
Kurt reached a hand across the table, but she jerked away, then stood. "Excuse me," she said so softly that Remy could barely hear her. "Ah'm…Ah have to…excuse me," she repeated, and left in the opposite direction of Logan.
Kurt, Kitty, and Remy all moved to follow. Not all of you, projected the professor sharply. She'll feel cornered. Remy?
He nodded and took off after her. Kitty and Kurt sat down. "What happened?" Kitty asked, still bewildered. "Why's Mr. Logan so mad? I don't understand."
The professor's face was grim. "I'm not sure he does, either." Then his face cleared as he reined in his thoughts. "But we'll be resolving it soon, I assure you."
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She thought about heading to the woods, but there was a chance she would run into Logan out there, too, and so instead she took the back stairs to her room, then clambered out onto the roof. It was a precarious climb, and few of the students would chance it. But once you were up there, there was a nice flat patch with a view of both water and woods. She swore as her nylons snagged on a shingle. Perfect. The perfect end to a perfect day.
It was done, she thought miserably, pullinkg her knees to her chest and resting her chin on them. Her friendship was Logan was finished. He despised her, couldn't stand the sight of her. Why on earth he had agreed to two Danger Room sessions each day? She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, forced herself to breathe deeply.
It wasn't as if it were unexpected. The flat, empty look in his eyes had been a long time coming. She remembered the first time he had looked – really looked – at her. Huddled on the floor of the Blackbird after she and Scott had gone up against Mystique, he had approached her.
"Where's your allegiance, kid? Us or them?"
She had been freezing, clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering audibly. "If Ah don't say you, will Ah get thrown offa this jet?"
He had smiled at her then, and she wasn't so cold. Since that day, they had come to see how similar they were. Both loners. Both older than their ages, even if he had called her kid. She had come to rely on his protection, his gruff affection, his willingness to let her go off on her own. She had earned his respect. The Rogue I know wouldn't take that offa anybody, he had told her has she battled the personalities for control over her own mind. She had believed him, that she was strong enough to fight, and so she fought and won. But they both knew how bitter betrayal was, how deeply it could slice, and it forged another bond between them.
And then Apocalypse had used her, and his eyes weren't so kind. They were wary, as if she contained things he no longer wanted to see. And she did. Absorbing the X-Men, the Acolytes, and the Brotherhood had left her with a score of lives she didn't want running around her head. Hell, she wasn't sure she wanted her own life, much less Toad's, Magneto's, and the rest.
Since then, she had run through scenario after scenario. How could she stop Apocalypse? How could she undo the damage she had wrought? Every time, the answer was the same. She couldn't undo it. She couldn't fix it. She had unwittingly betrayed them all. Destroyed the professor's dream.
Logan, she was sure, would have fought Mastermind off.
Once she had shoved Mystique over the cliff, Logan's eyes had changed again. They were cooler. Harder. It hadn't happened all at once, the distance between them. But as the days wore on, as the magnitude of what she did sunk in, he kept a careful fixed distance from her. He didn't want to be around her – the easy camaraderie had vanished – but he didn't trust her enough not to keep an eye on her. He expected her to snap again, lash out at someone else and hurt them, too.
But in a strange way, New York was the worst, because there really wasn't anyone to blame but herself. No one had forced her to do anything. It wasn't some sort of impulsive revenge. It was just Rogue, letting everyone down once again. And the look on Logan's face when he had taken in the scene at Remy's house made it clear exactly how far she had fallen. Suddenly, she was a silly teenager like never before. A silly teenager who couldn't handle herself. Did he think she was running away? Didn't he understand that she needed a break from the concerned looks and the gentle questions, the constant offers "to talk about things"? They didn't want to talk, she told herself, any more than she wanted to. They were merely keeping up appearances. And her appearance at Remy's obliterated Logan's respect for her, completely. Standing half-dressed in the enemy's bedroom was a kind of betrayal, too.
She scrubbed her face with her hands, swallowed hard. Damn if she was going to cry over this. Her breathing hitched, and she didn't hear Remy come up behind her.
"You gonna catch yo' death o'cold, chere." His tone was light and conversational.
She let her gloved hands drop, shrugged. "Not such a bad idea."
He rolled his eyes. Apparently, soft and sympathetic wasn't the way to go here. "Shoulda figured you for a drama queen, all dat makeup." He sat down next to her, stretched out.
She shot a glare at him and he saw her eyes were brilliant with tears. "Ah like mah makeup."
"Oh, it's not bad. But I've seen you fresh out o'de shower, too. T'ink I like dat look better."
She narrowed her eyes. "You weren't lookin' at mah face."
"Was too! Well, mostly." He chuckled as she reached over to cuff him, then caught her hand.
"What are you doin'?
"Dat a rhetorical question, non?"
She pulled her hand away. "Ah don't need your pity," she said.
"Pity for what?" Tell me where it hurts, chere. Can't make it better till you do. "Ain't pity makin' me want t'hold your hand."
"Then what is it?" Her tone was wistful for a moment. "Why are you here, Remy?"
"Professor invited me. I'm between jobs right now…" As soon as the flippant words were out of his mouth, he knew they were wrong. "Chere…"
She scrambled to her feet. "How much did he offer you to stay?" she snapped. "Had to be pretty good money – Ah'm sure you've got lots of other jobs to keep you busy."
So that's what she thought of him. He wasn't surprised, really, and it wasn't that far off the mark. But it still stung. "We didn't really discuss numbers."
"That's not really a smart business move." She turned to leave.
"Wouldn't be, if it were business." He caught her hands again before she could head back down into the mansion. He was freezing, and thought longingly of the fireplace in the living room. But this needed settling. "It's not."
That stopped her short. "Ah don't understand."
"You ain't business. We've done that before – you on one side, me on de other. Didn't end well." He flashed back for a moment to the sight of Rogue trapped in the green plasma field of the Sentinels. "You ain't business," he repeated, willing her to comprehend.
She closed her eyes briefly. "But you said…"
"I said he invited me. An' he did. An' I said we didn't discuss numbers, 'cause we didn't. It wasn't an issue," he explained patiently, tugging her back down next to him. "I ain't here 'cause o'your professor. I'm here 'cause o'you. Dat all right?"
"Ah guess so." She sat, reluctantly.
"You guess so? Dieu, chere, you a hard woman." He slipped an arm around her. "You cold?"
"Yeah."
"You want t'go in?"
"No." They sat and watched the water crashing on the rocky beach below. "Ah was gonna be mean to you until you left," she confessed.
"Ain't dat what you doin, leavin' me out here to freeze?"
"Shut up, swamp rat." But there was a laugh in her voice. Then she sighed softly.
"You ready to talk about dinner now?"
"Nope."
"He was outta line."
"Let it lie, Remy."
"Why's it got you so upset?" he pressed.
"Why didn't you want Jeannie asking about your family?" she shot back. "It's complicated. And talking doesn't make it any better. So let it lie."
"Okay. But chere – either we go inside, or you warm me up. It's cold out here."
"Inside," she said quickly, and stood up.
"Dat wasn't de answer I was hopin' for," he said, but got to his feet.
"You ain't gonna get that answer."
"Don't you trust me?" he complained.
"Not a bit." But her smile was real and her eyes, still brilliant, were no longer wet with tears.
"Good girl."
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The rhythmic "thwock" of Logan slicing firewood told Storm exactly where to find him.
"That was quite a display at dinner," she said, gliding to the ground and landing gracefully.
"I'm not in the mood for a lecture, 'Ro."
"I'm not here to give you one. Charles, however, may feel differently."
"He wants to see me?"
"He wants to see all of the senior staff, yes. Shall we walk together?"
He gave the log a final swipe, neatly splitting it. "Sure."
They walked in silence for a few minutes through the richly colored leaves. "You're angry with her."
"Hell, yeah." He looked for a moment as if he wanted to say more, then merely jammed his hands into his jacket pockets.
"What happened wasn't her fault."
"Never said it was."
"Then why are you so cold to her?"
"You heard Chuck. How many times has he said we should let her work things out alone? That she wanted to be left alone?" And so he had stepped back, forced himself to be content with keeping a watchful eye on her, convinced that the Rogue he knew would come back – fighting for every inch of progress, to be sure – but come back regardless. Instead, she had sunk deeper and deeper into the morass, faded away into some pale limp echo of herself. Standing idly by while she self-destructed was killing him.
"He didn't say you should abandon her entirely."
"I didn't abandon her."
Her tone sharpened. "You're doing an excellent imitation of it." Busy refereeing a spat between Amara and Sam, she had missed the scene at dinner. Charles had filled her in later. But she had seen the look on Rogue's face. It was a heartbreaking combination of hurt and resignation, as if Logan's harshness was all she deserved.
"You remember when she came on board with us, Ro?"
She smiled despite herself. "I do. It took a great deal of courage and resourcefulness to fight off Mystique by herself. Is that what you expect of her now? To fight this off herself?"
"I expect her to try." He kicked uselessly at a small drift of leaves. "I expect her to want to."
"Logan," she began. He cut her off.
"She came to us and she had grit. She might have been a pain in the ass sometimes, but she had grit and steel and heart. I ain't seein' that now."
Realization flashed like lightning. "This isn't about Mystique, or even New York."
"Oh, I'm pissed about New York, all right."
"But that's not what tonight was about. You're angry because she's given up." It was an angle she hadn't considered. "You've hurt her," she said.
"I'm not trying to. But I'm done tiptoeing around her."
"She believes you have lost faith in her. Can you not see how damaging that is?" Perhaps even more than the damage Apocalypse and Mystique had wrought.
"This shouldn't be about me. It should be about her."
"Exactly." She pinned him with her eyes.
They covered the remaining ground quickly, wordlessly. A few minutes later, they were in the Professor's office. Storm sat and accepted tea in a cup so thin it was almost translucent. Logan leaned back in a chair, one foot propped on the other knee, frustration palpable.
The professor waited until they were settled, then returned to his conversation with the Beast. "And you're certain there were no marks indicating self-mutilation, Hank?"
"None, Charles. Aside from her injuries from the fight, there was nothing."
Logan shot to his feet. "You never said she was cutting herself!"
"Because she's not," Xavier said calmly. "I didn't think things had deteriorated to that point, but Dr. McTaggert felt that Rogue was exhibiting so many other self-destructive behaviors that it would be prudent to check. I asked Hank to look for signs when he was examining her, just to be safe."
"It was a possibility?" He waved his hand. "Of course it was. Jesus, Chuck. Enough is enough."
"Yes, it is." The professor looked at him closely. "I understand your frustration with Rogue's lack of progress. But lashing out at her is not the solution."
"Neither is treatin' her like she's made of glass. We do that, we're confirming every crappy thing she's thought about herself. Tells her we can't look past what she's done, how she's changed." Remy's caustic words still burned in his ears. "We've been letting her sulk like a little kid. She isn't a kid anymore, and I'm done with that."
"Are you done with her? Because that is certainly the impression you gave Rogue tonight."
He stared at the carpet, uncomfortable. "I'll fix it." Hell if he knew how, but he would.
"Please do. Your opinion matters to her, Logan. Knowing that you have not given up on her…it could be the thing that ensures she does not give up on herself."
"I'll talk to her."
"Thank you."
By the time Remy and Rogue returned to the living room, it was largely deserted. Scott and Jean were talking near the fireplace, heads together. Kurt was channel-surfing while Kitty seethed beside him. "Come on, Kurt! Pick something and stick with it!" She made a grab for the remote, but Kurt ported to the other side of the sofa.
"No way. This is the third remote we've gone through this month, thanks to you! Just a few more – Rogue!"
Kitty looked up. Rogue had obviously been back to the room, having traded her dinner clothing for a more comfortable pair of grey training pants and a long-sleeved black shirt.
"You okay?" she mouthed, and Rogue gave a small nod.
"What y'all watchin'?" Remy asked, steering Rogue to the second couch. He gave her a gentle shove into the cushions, then perched himself on the arm of the sofa. She moved to get up, and he stretched his legs crosswise across her lap, blocking her escape. Sulking, she settled herself into the cushions, and Remy smiled pleasantly.
Kitty pouted. "Everything – for, like, three seconds a channel."
"Hey – it's not like there's anything good on," Kurt shot back.
"Ugh. I'm going to bed. Come on, Kurt, we've got a math test tomorrow."
He looked suspiciously at Remy. "Nah. I'll stay a little longer. You turning in soon, Rogue?"
"In a little bit," she said. "You go ahead, Kurt. Really."
Kitty tugged at his hand. "Come on, Kurt. Besides, weren't you supposed to call Amanda tonight?"
He looked momentarily pained. "I'll see her in class tomorrow."
"And she'll want to know why you didn't call. Let's go." She tugged at him again, then decided that a change in tactics might be more effective. She leaned in and whispered fiercely, "Give them some privacy, now, fuzzball, or I'll fry every electronic device you own for the next year."
He looked at her in horror. "You wouldn't," he whispered back.
"Watch me." She crossed her arms over her chest.
Kurt turned sullenly to the couple on the couch. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."
"Guess you will," Remy smiled. "G'night, Kitty-cat."
"Goodnight, Remy. Goodnight, Rogue."
"Night, guys."
Kitty pushed a grumpy-looking Kurt out of the room, and a few minutes later, Jean and Scott left, too wrapped up in each other to pay Rogue and Remy much attention.
"Five bucks says they're not goin' to separate bedrooms," he commented.
"That's a sucker's bet, Cajun. Ah'm no sucker. Now would you get offa me?" She shoved at his legs.
He stood and retrieved the remote, then sprawled next to her. She shifted away from him slightly, hoping he wouldn't notice.
He did, but didn't comment. "Little brother's real protective, chere."
"Ah guess. He doesn't need to be."
"Nice, though. Lotta people here lookin' out for you."
She shrugged. "Did you want to start talkin' about families? Ah thought that was off limits."
"Not off limits. Jus' not much fun."
"So Ah can ask you about it?"
"Askin' don' mean I'll answer."
She considered. "That's fair."
He switched the TV to a cooking channel. "Dis okay?"
"Sure. But Emeril bugs me."
"No Emeril, den. You like t'cook?"
"Yeah. We take turns during the week. Kitty's bad news on her own, so we pair up."
"She's a good friend," he said.
She groaned. "We startin' this again? Why'd you leave New Orleans?"
"Who says I left?"
"You're here, aren't you?"
"Don' mean I won't go back."
She shook her head. "No. You won't."
"You get that when you pulled my memories?" His voice tightened.
She looked at him helplessly. "It's not like that."
"Like what? Why bother askin', Rogue, if you've already got the answers in your head?"
She didn't say anything, just stared at her hands in their black leather.
He hated that he wasn't able to bite back the anger fast enough, and he hated that she sat there and took it. "An' quit looking like I kicked your puppy. It's a fair question, seein' how it's my memories."
"It doesn't work like that."
"Then explain it to me. Can't you just look at my memories, see everything about me?" He didn't think so. If that were the case, she wouldn't have let him in the same room as her.
She shook her head again. "Ah could, but Ah don't want to."
"Why not?"
"Too many memories already." She paused. "Ah got bits when Ah absorbed you, but most of it Ah just kinda…lock up. It's too hard, knowing all that about someone. Ah don't just see people's lives, like a movie. Ah live 'em. It's just too much. So Ah try to lock it all up as fast as Ah can." The words tumbled out in a rush, and she looked at him desperately. "Once Ah lock 'em up – it hurts to bring 'em back out. It takes so much concentration. So Ah leave them there, till the professor helps me go through 'em."
"So the bits…"
"They just kind of float around. But they're small. Like when you catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eyes. They can clutter things up, but they don't…they don't hurt."
"So what did you see when you absorbed me?"
She seemed to turn inward. "A boy…Etienne." Her mouth curved slightly, and she didn't see the pain flash across Remy's face. "That's a strange name for a boy. Something sweet…doughnuts…with powdered sugar."
"Beignets," he murmured.
Rogue continued as if she hadn't heard. "A song…parlez-nous à boire, non pas de mariage…" she sang off-key, but fondly. Remy grinned. "A fight…there was a fight about something...The Guild?" She turned to him, eyes darkly troubled. "That was bad. What's the Guild?"
He snapped back to himself. "Now chere, you can't be askin' after all my secrets." He tried to keep his voice light. He almost made it.
"Why not?"
"Secrets make us human." He tugged on her arm until she leaned against him, albeit stiffly, then tangled the tips of his fingers in her hair. "Fun to hear you sing, though."
She decided to let it go, for the now. He wasn't the sort you sat down and interrogated. Let it lie, she repeated to herself. "You were mad, before. When you thought Ah'd looked at all your memories."
"Not mad."
"Remy." She elbowed him lightly, and he chuckled.
"Well, mebbe a li'l mad. Dat's a scary power you have, chere."
"Yeah. Cause blowin' things up just by touching 'em ain't scary at all."
"Dem's jus' t'ings. Dey don' matter." He traced a finger down her arm.
"Quit it," she said irritably.
"What?"
"Quit touching me."
"You don' like?" He stopped, but left his hand resting lightly on her arm.
"First of all, we're talking about how you blow things up by touching them, while you're touching me. It's a little creepy."
"I can't charge live things, chere."
"Well, that's a comfort," she said dryly. "Second, you just said mah power was scary—"
He cut her off. "Your power. Not you." He turned her to face him. "They ain't de same."
"It's mah skin…" she looked away.
"It ain't you. Get dat clear." Shielding his hands with her hair, he tilted her chin up. "If you don't want me touchin' you cause you ain't interested, dat's one t'ing. But if it's cause you scared you might zap me, den get over it. I like touchin' you, Rogue. Don' really want t' stop."
She arched that brow again. "And what makes you think Ah like it?"
"Do you?"
"Ah don't know yet."
"Or you don' wanna say," he smirked, just a little.
"You're an ass." But she turned and leaned back against him again. "Can we just watch TV, please?"
He smiled, and slid one hand to the curve of her waist. "Anyt'ing you say, chere."
"You move that hand any more, Cajun, you're gonna draw back a bloody stump." She tried to ignore the swooping sensation in her stomach.
"Anyt'ing you say, chere," he repeated, and smiled into her hair.
They watched TV for a while, until her breathing slowed and her head drooped on his chest. "You fallin' asleep?"
"No," she lied. "You were wrong, by the way."
"'Bout what?" He liked the way her voice sounded, blurred and husky with sleep.
"Secrets. It's the tellin', Remy. Tellin' makes us human." She snuggled in closer to him and fell asleep again.
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*
He had promised Charles he would fix it. And he would. Just as soon as he could find the words, and as soon as he found Rogue. He assumed she had gone up to the roof after dinner, but it was so cold outside that he suspected she wouldn't stay there all night. He decided to check the kitchen. He had found her there enough nights, drinking coffee and devouring something – anything – chocolate, that he figured the odds were in his favor. But the kitchen was empty, and a noise from the living room caught his ear.
Then a scent. Two scents. He stalked in and found Rogue fast asleep, head on Gambit's chest. He moved to hit the lights.
"No need, homme." The Cajun's voice was low. "Don' wake her up. She don' get to sleep all peaceful dat often, from what I hear."
Logan growled softly. "Get her up. And get her back to her room. And then get back to yours."
"Dere a curfew here?"
"No. But there's rules about beds and how many people are in 'em."
"Dis ain't a bed. And I didn't figure you the type to be concerned about rules. Thought that was Cyclops' job."
Logan growled again, louder this time.
Rogue stirred. "Remy? Remy, it's late…" she mumbled, pushing herself to sitting. "Ah gotta…" she shook her head blearily, then caught sight of Logan, and immediately closed her eyes again. "Oh, hell."
"Watch your mouth, kid."
She bristled and glared, an echo of the old Rogue. "Oh, you're a fine one to talk."
"I'm a fine one to tell you to get your ass to bed. Alone."
"Logan!" She went scarlet.
"Five a.m., kid. And –"
Remy cut in smoothly. "She'll be there. Five a.m." He stood gracefully, despite the hours of sitting still so that Rogue could sleep. "C'mon, chere. Let's get you tucked in." And he led a stunned Rogue past a more-stunned Wolverine. There'd be hell to pay for all of this, he was sure. But it was, in his opinion, well worth the price.