A/N: Yeah, yeah. It's beyond late. I'll be stunned if anyone actually remembers where we left off. Many apologies. As for review responses, I've got a boatload of them in a word file, but I need to figure out which responses go with which chapter. Any authors out there who have an effective system for dealing with this? I'd be forever grateful.
Be gentle with me, please. It's not what it could be, but it's here. And I've got the first scene of the next chapter drafted -- it just didn't fit with this one, so I decided to split it.
Thanks for all the encouragement and patience.
--E.
Three weeks later:
Rogue landed flat on her back for the sixth time. "Dammit!"
"Again," Logan growled. "And quit leading with your left. You might as well take out a billboard tellin' me what you're gonna do."
She stared up at him from the floor. "You are being such a jerk," she muttered, slowly sitting up. "Why don't you just say it?"
"Say what? Let's go. You're wastin' time, kid."
"Give a girl a minute, will ya?" She rolled her right shoulder. It was throbbing from her repeated falls. She and Logan had been sparring for the last twenty minutes, and she had yet to stay on her feet long enough to land a punch. "Have Ah always sucked this bad? Or are you pissed about somethin'?"
He didn't answer, just folded his arms and tapped his fingers pointedly. "You've had a minute. Let's go."
"You're pissed about Remy," she said.
"I'm not having this conversation with you."
She snorted. "That's funny. Three weeks ago, you had a lot to say on the topic."
"You gonna listen?"
"You gonna stop droppin' me?"
"Maybe if you'd gotten enough sleep, you'd move a little faster. Wouldn't keep ending up on your ass."
"See? Ah knew it."
Logan growled again. "I told you I didn't want to see you two like that again." And yet he kept finding the two of them cozied up in the living room at two in the morning. In the kitchen, eating ice cream in the middle of the night. Just last night, he had watched as Rogue stumbled, bleary-eyed, out of Gambit's room and only stopped back in her own to get fresh clothes before coming here. Logan was confident nothing had happened – he would have heard, and he would have stopped it – but Rogue's easy dismissal of his warning rankled.
"And Ah told you that wasn't your place."
"He's keeping you up."
She blew a strand of white from her face and smirked. "Keeping you up, too."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"You think Ah haven't noticed you following us around like some sort of shadow? You think Remy hasn't? You're good, Logan, but Ah hear you checkin' on me at night. Metal bones, creaky floor. You ain't as quiet as you think sometimes."
That stung. Logan cursed the wide wood floors of the mansion. "What do you want me to say? I don't trust him."
"Nobody said you had to. But could you lay off? It ain't like there are guys lining up on the veranda for dates with the girl who can't touch. Can't really afford to have you scarin' this one off."
"So you're gonna settle for Gumbo?"
"It's not settling, Logan. Ah like him." She glared at him, arms crossed.
"You don't know anything about him."
"Ah know he helped me when he didn't need to. Ah know he's caught hell from you and Kurt and God knows who else since he walked in the door, but he's still here. Ah know he makes me feel normal."
"You are normal."
"No, Ah'm not. You said it yourself – Ah've changed. And Ah'm tryin' to keep goin', like you said, but it's still there, a big crack inside of me. And he doesn't mind. He doesn't feel sorry for me, or look at me funny, or act all polite. It's just part of me, like mah hair or mah skin. It doesn't matter."
He shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me, either."
"Apples and oranges, Logan." She lifted her chin in a gesture of defiance he was too familiar with. "He wants me, even though he could have any girl in the world. Even though he can't have me. Why is it so wrong to want him back?"
Maybe that's why he wants you, Logan thought. But he didn't say it. He wasn't going to be the one to break her heart like that. "You're gonna get hurt." He strode to the bench at the side of the room, took several slugs from a bottle of water.
"Bein' alone hurts," she said quietly, standing still. She hated to admit that to Logan, of all people. He preferred – practically demanded to be left alone. But there it was. "He makes me feel like Ah'm not."
"You could do better," he said, not looking at her directly. Instead, he watched her in the mirrored wall as she absently rubbed her sore shoulder.
"Better how?"
"Someone like Cyke," he suggested, knowing it was weak.
She laughed now. "You'd gut me if Ah went out with Scott. Or anyone like him."
"That's not true." But he couldn't quite force enough conviction in his tone.
"Sure it is. You said he was a sanctimonious boy scout, and if you ever caught me sulkin' over someone like him again, you would, and Ah quote, 'Gut me like a catfish.'" She chuckled at the memory now. It had been shortly after Mystique had kidnapped Scott, and the constant references to the Scott and Jean's "special connection" had been like salt in a wide-open wound. Logan had found her in the danger room, taking out simulation drones to the point of exhaustion, and had, as always, made it better.
"Well, you're better off with a boy scout than a mercenary. I don't trust him," he said again, and tossed her a bottle of water. "Sit down and rest that shoulder, will you?"
"Thanks." She cracked open the water and took a drink. "You don't trust anyone," she pointed out.
He made a sound between acknowledgment and irritation. "Still. Why'd he agree to work for Magneto?"
"Ah haven't asked." She kicked half-heartedly at a medicine ball lying nearby.
"Why hasn't he gone back to New Orleans?"
"Some kind of fallin' out with his family, Ah think. Not really in a position to judge," she added, her mouth twisting a little.
"What'd he do before he was an Acolyte?"
"Ah don't know, Logan, and Ah don't care."
"You absorbed him, right?" He didn't wait for a response. "Then how come you don't know this stuff?"
"Because Ah haven't integrated him yet," she said irritably. "and he's pretty well contained."
"See, I think that's strange, kid."
"What? It's not exactly a walk in the park, integratin' somebody." She sat now, crossed her arms stubbornly.
"Right, but you're telling me you have the chance to read your boyfriend like an open book, and you're not taking it? Scared of what you'll see?"
"He's not my boyfriend. And Ah'm not scared, ah just wanna respect his privacy. You remember privacy, don't you? Or maybe not, since you're invadin' mine every time Ah turn around."
"I'm just looking out for you."
She sighed in frustration. "You're not gettin' it, are you? Ah like him, and Ah don't need your permission for that. And," she added more gently, "Ah don't need your protection."
"What am I supposed to do, kid?" he grumbled, sitting down next to her. He tipped his head back, studied the acoustic tiles of the ceiling.
"Quit followin' us around, for starters. Quit pickin' fights with Remy every time you see him." She leaned her head on his shoulder, gave him a weary smile. "And trust me, will ya? Ah've got good instincts, Logan, and believe it or not, Ah've paid attention to you along the way." Nothing she could say, she knew, would make him trust Remy. But she needed him to have faith in her.
He looked at her for a long moment. Then he shrugged. "You're paying attention? Never know it from the way you're punching today." He laughed as she shoved at him. "You ready now?" He stood up, extended a hand to help her up.
The next night, Kurt and Amanda stood in the kitchen making dinner."I don't understand why we can't just order pizza," Kurt grumbled, eyeing the pile of red and yellow peppers he had yet to cut.
"Because you have pizza every weekend, for one. And two, not everyone here feels that pizza makes up its own food group. They'd like something a little more nutritious. Now hand me that bowl." Amanda loved the Institute's kitchen. It was outfitted like a restaurant, with a six burner stove, giant fridge, acres of countertops, pots and pans large enough to cook meals for multitudes, or extremely hungry mutant teenagers. But despite its size, it was still warm and friendly, the hub of the school, where the kids were most truly a family.
"Amanda, we're teenagers. We don't care about nutrition." But he passed her the bowl and watched as she began mixing a marinade.
"Well, you should. Mutants cannot live by pizza alone," she teased.
"I wouldn't mind trying," he muttered. "And this is not a guy meal," he added, chopping grimly. "This is a girly meal."
"So?" she returned, tucking her hair behind her ear and slipping her arms around Kurt's waist. "Tell them your girlfriend picked it out." She tilted her head up for a kiss.
He smiled and set the knife down. "Well, when you put it that way…"
"Hi, Amanda," said Kitty as she entered. The pair broke apart. "How did you end up with kitchen duty?"
Amanda smiled broadly. "You know that saying about too many cooks?"
"Yeah?"
"Jamie." Kurt chimed in. "Too many Jamies. He's setting the table now. How's it going, Kitty?" he asked. She had been cool to him since the incident in Rogue's room. He didn't understand why, and it pained him. It wasn't right, he thought. He and Kitty had always shared a special closeness. The youngest on the team, the ones most often in trouble. With similar mutations, they fought well together. They had watched together as Rogue spiraled out of control. Now, though, with his sister slowly coming back to herself, they seemed an ocean apart. He picked up the knife again, got back to the pile of peppers.
"Fine," she said stiffly, and turned to Amanda. "You shouldn't have to cook. You're the guest."
"Oh, I don't mind. The company's good." You didn't need special powers to pick up on the tension between Kurt and Kitty, she mused. Kurt had described the scene in Rogue's room and Kitty's reaction. He had been dumbfounded by her anger, and even more so when Kitty's anger turned to an icy silence. The two girls, good friends, had carefully avoided talking about it.
Kitty walked to the fridge, pulled out a Diet Coke. "It seems like you haven't been around much lately," she said. "We should go shopping soon."
The other girl bent her head, concentrated on chopping garlic much harder than Kitty figured was necessary. "My parents have me on a pretty short leash," she said finally.
"Because they don't like me," Kurt said darkly. "It's not fair."
"They're worried, that's all," Amanda protested. She scraped the garlic into the marinade, began on the ginger.
Kitty's eyes narrowed. "That must totally suck," she said pointedly. "Having people judge the person you like, when they don't even know that person."
The pieces fell into place so neatly, Amanda could have sworn she heard a click. "Honey, can you go help Jamie?" she asked innocently.
"He doesn't need help. There are fourteen of him!"
"Yes, but I'm betting not one of them knows which side the napkins go on. Just check on him, will you?"
Kurt bamf'd out, leaving the two girls alone in the kitchen. Amanda picked up the knife he had left and deftly cut the remaining peppers into strips.
"Sorry," Kitty said after a moment. "I didn't mean to sound so bitchy. It does suck."
Amanda nodded, started on the mushrooms. "It does. But that's why you won't talk to Kurt, isn't it? Because he's been judgemental?"
"It's not right," she replied, crossing her arms. "He, like, doesn't know Remy at all. But he's so convinced that Remy's a bad guy, Kurt won't even look at how much happier Rogue's been since he's come here. She's tons better."
"So this is about Gambit and Rogue," Amanda said slowly. She moved back to the marinade and whisked together soy sauce and brown sugar, her eyes never leaving Kitty's.
"Well, yeah," Kitty said, faintly defensive. "Relationships are hard enough as it is, don't you think? It doesn't exactly help when people try to split you up because they think they're protecting you, or that the other person isn't good enough. That's just totally wrong."
Amanda nodded again. "It is."
"It shouldn't matter about people's pasts. Not if they really care about each other. Not if they've changed." She paused, blue eyes suddenly clouded. "People can change, you know."
Amanda was about to respond when Kurt bamf'd back in.
"Jamie's fine," he said. "I showed him where everything went, again. He's almost done."
"Great." She handed him the bowl of marinade. "Put the shrimp in here, okay?
"I've got to go back to the library," Kitty said abruptly. "I have, like, a mountain of homework to finish. See you later, Amanda. Let's hit the mall soon."
"I can't wait."
"Bye, Kitty." Kurt called.
"Bye," she said, not looking back.
He waited until her footsteps died away. "See? She barely talks to me." He tossed the shrimp in the bowl one by one, sulking.
Amanda measured out water and rice, considering her words. "Why do you dislike Gambit?"
"Um, because he's dangerous? He's trying to sleep with my sister? He worked for Magneto? He's totally untrustworthy? Things are always blowing up around him?" Kurt threw up his arms in frustration. "What's not to like? Even Wolverine thinks he's trouble."
She turned on the heat under the rice, then faced him and crossed her arms. "Wolverine probably thinks I'm trouble, Kurt."
He smiled for a moment, but the scowl that darkened his face any time Gambit was mentioned quickly returned. "I don't trust the guy. I want him away from my sister."
"What does Rogue want?"
"She doesn't know what she wants."
"Really? But you do?" Her tone was mild, but Kurt heard the reproach.
"Hey, whose side are you on?"
"Yours, dummy." She leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed as his arms went around her waist. "I seem to remember having a conversation like this before."
He glanced down at her, yellow eyes puzzled. "About Gambit?"
"About Lance," she said. "Ring any bells?"
Kurt considered briefly. "I guess so."
"You guess so?" She poked him gently in the side. "How many times did you tell me that he was dangerous and only trying to get Kitty in bed? That he was just a lying thug? That he was nothing but trouble?"
"Okay, okay," he said, shaking his head. "So they're both jerks. That just proves I'm right about Gambit. Rogue is better off without him, just like Kitty is without Lance."
She raised her eyebrows. "Because they're trouble, right? The girls might get hurt."
"Exactly." He looked at her suspiciously. "You're being sarcastic, aren't you?"
"Kurt, my parents…" she hesitated. "They think something could happen to me, being around you and the rest of the team." She didn't tell him how difficult it had been lately, convincing them to let her come to the mansion. News coverage of the Institute's role in the Apocalypse incident had made them even more overprotective. Even the nightly phone calls with Kurt were becoming a sensitive topic at home.
His arms tightened around her. "But I wouldn't ever hurt you, Amanda. You know that." Just the thought made him queasy.
"Of course you wouldn't. But…"
"But what?"
She nestled her head closer against him, relishing the soft warmth of his blue fur. "Being a part of the X-Men…it's dangerous for you, Kurt. And my parents worry that I'll be caught up in it."
"I wouldn't let anything happen to you," he said again.
"But you think Gambit would let something happen to your sister? That Lance would have deliberately put Kitty in harm's way?"
"It's different," he muttered.
She was silent, looking up at him with patient brown eyes.
"It is," he protested. Still, she said nothing.
"So you're saying that me disapproving of Rogue and Gambit is like your parents disapproving of you and me."
She straightened and smiled. "Very good. Keep going. Now, why does that make Kitty so mad?"
"Because I'm interfering with Rogue and Gambit."
"And…"
"And...she thinks I shouldn't?" He was lost.
"Because..."
"Because she has a soft spot for the slimeball?" His tail whipped in agitation. It was bad enough that his sister was blind to Gambit's faults. To have Kitty similarly spellbound was adding insult to injury.
Amanda sighed. "Just for fun, let's pretend he's not a slimeball."
"But- "
"Pretend," she said firmly.
"Fine. So Kitty has a soft spot for Gambit."
Amanda put a wok on the burner, heated up some oil. "And why would that be?"
He threw up his hands. "I have no idea!"
She rolled her eyes. "For heaven's sake, Kurt. She misses Lance. Gambit reminds her of Lance. So when you go off about Rogue and Gambit, it strikes a nerve." A nerve, Amanda thought, that was still exposed.
He mulled that over and shook his head. "And so she's mad."
"So she's mad," Amanda confirmed, dumping onions and peppers into the wok.
"Do you really think so?" Kurt asked, randomly opening drawers and staring blankly at their contents.
"I think I want you to fix things with Kitty, so you stop worrying about it."
"You just want things back to normal so you two can go shopping."
She dimpled. "What can I say? A sale at Bloomie's and you." She kissed him again, put the cover on the rice. "The two things that make my heart go pitter-pat."
"Should dese ears be burnin', p'tite?" Remy strolled into the kitchen. "I've been told more dan once dat I have dat effect on les filles."
Kurt rolled his eyes. "What do you want?"
Remy ignored the blue-furred mutant. "Don' b'lieve I've seen you around here." He flicked a glance at Kurt. "An' I'd remember such a pretty face."
"Oh. Um." Amanda blushed, flustered. "I'm Amanda. Amanda Sefton. Kurt's girlfriend." No wonder Rogue was spending all her time with the newcomer. He wasn't her type, no, she'd take sweet and blue and furry any day. But his face, simultaneously harsh and beautiful, and his burning eyes would appeal to Rogue.
"Remy LeBeau," he said smoothly, extending his hand.
"Oh. I thought it was Gambit," she said tentatively.
"Dat a work name," he said. "You don' call Blue-boy here 'Nightcrawler,' do you?"
"Well, no."
"Den you call me Remy. Spendin' time wit a fille as pretty as you, dat ain' work. Dat pure pleasure." He looked at the vegetables sizzling in the wok. "Bubble, bubble, eh? Looks good." He spotted a pile of carrots that needed cutting, moved easily to the counter. "Cut 'em in coins, p'tite? Or strips?"
"Julienned, please," she replied.
"Did you want something, Gambit?" Kurt asked, moving between Remy and Amanda. She elbowed him. Be nice, she mouthed.
"May be hope fo' you yet, blue-boy. Good taste in women, and you perceptive, too. I'm lookin' for Rogue. You seen her?" He worked quickly, and a mounting pile of orange strips appeared to one side of the cutting board.
"Like I'd tell- ow!" he gave Amanda a dirty look, tried to rub his side unobtrusively. "No. She has a session with Wolverine. Like she does every day."
"I know de fille's schedule." He finished up on the carrots, and at Amanda's nod, added them to the wok.
"Why are you asking, then?"
"Jus' thought I'd check up. Li'l worried, dat's all." He shrugged, fiddled with the sleeve of his trench coat.
Instantly, Kurt shifted from suspicion to concern. "Why? What's wrong?"
"She's finishin' up Sabretooth wit de Professor, and it givin' her a hard time. Figured maybe de Wolverine let her out early, cut her some slack. You see how beat she was last night?"
Kurt considered. Rogue had been whiter than usual, more silent at dinner than she had for the past few weeks. She had sat down with jaw clenched and eyes focused on the wall across from her. He knew the look, he realized. When the personalities in her head were particularly hard to control, Rogue drew inward, marshalling every bit of energy she had. She had left dinner early, he remembered now, the professor excusing her before the dishes had been passed all the way around the table. Wolverine had watched her go, concern clouding his face. And his expression had only darkened when Remy had followed.
"You checked on her. Was she okay?"
"She says she's fine. Won't let herself be anyt'ing else." He didn't add that Rogue had spent the night on the living room couch again, startling out of nightmares with a frequency that had him pacing the floor of Charles' study moments after she had left for school.
"I will not discuss Rogue's psychological progress with you, Gambit. That is for her to disclose."
"You brought me here to help de fille. How am I supposed to help her if I don' know what's happening?" He wished desperately for a cigarette.
"Your presence helps her. Your friendship helps her. Her work with me is bolstered by those things. Beyond that, it is for Rogue to tell you."
He sat on the couch then, elbows on knees, head in his hands. "You heard her scream?"
"I have, yes." A harrowing sound. A harrowing echo in his head.
"I t'ink sometimes, how it must be for her. Jus' listenin' to her, it terrifyin. To live 'em must be hell." Even in sleep, her body had remained tense, braced against something she wouldn't describe.
"Yes. I would imagine that it is."
"Make it better, den. Go easier on her."
"I am doing everything in my power to aid her. But she sets the pace herself. And she is a tenacious young woman, as I'm sure you've discovered."
"Tenacious." He snorted. "Dat fille mule-headed." He shook his head. "Is it gettin' better? You can tell me dat, right? Is she gettin' better?"
"She's making progress. If you want more details, you will have to get them from Rogue herself."
He shook his head. "I'm goin' to find her," he said tiredly. "Amanda, p'tite, pleasure meetin' you. If you see de Rogue first, tell her I'm lookin' for her, non?"
"Sure, Remy." She gazed at him sympathetically, then stepped hard on Kurt's toes, raising her eyebrows for emphasis.
"Gambit," Kurt called. "Wait."
Remy turned back around, hands jammed in the pockets of his coat. "What?"
Kurt hesitated for a long moment, struggled to find the words. "She's my sister," he said finally. "She's my family. I worry about her, too."
Remy nodded. "Den I guess we got somet'in' in common after all."
He found her, later, up on the roof. Indian summer had passed, and the bite in the air was sharper every night. Rogue was wrapped in a wool blanket, staring out at the ocean."Missed dinner," he commented, sitting down next to her. "Nightcrawler's girlfriend quite a cook."
She nodded absently. "The professor let me skip," she said.
"Rough day?" He stretched his legs out. This patch of roof had become part of their nightly routine, coming up here after dinner, just sitting and talking. When they got too cold, they'd head back in and join Kitty for a game of cards or to watch TV. Sometimes the girls would do homework while he lounged about, letting their chatter and complaints wash over him.
"Better than yesterday," she said, but her mouth twisted and she tugged the blanket tighter around her.
"Dat ain' sayin' much." He studied her. She was still pale and drawn, shadows like bruises under her eyes. She had shed the frozen, fragile look of the night before, though. "You cold?"
"A little."
"Here. Coffee." He poured a cup from the thermos he had brought, passed it to her, and waited while she drank.
"Jesus, Remy!" She spluttered, eyes watering as she coughed.
"Jus' added a li'l whiskey." He grinned helpfully.
"That's a little? Ah may fall off the roof."
He frowned fiercely. "Don' say dat. I'd catch you, chere. B'sides, I'm jus' tryin' to keep you warm. Less you want me to warm you up…personally."
She crooked one blanketed elbow, aimed it at his gut. "Ah'm fine."
They sat in silence. Rogue took another sip of coffee, better prepared for the burning in her throat this time. It was nice to just rest here with Remy, she thought. The previous night's dreams had left her frayed and jittery, an overstimulated nerve. All day she had been following the professor's advice.
"Focus on one thing," he had told her. "One voice, one object, one train of thought. Let everything else blur and recede. Focus on that one thing, and let it guide you out of the chaos."
"Like the thread in the labyrinth" she murmured, glancing up at him through a curtain of hair.
He smiled, pleased at her allusion. "Precisely."
"And I'm going to slay Sabretooth?"
"You're going to tame him."
It had worked, she thought, mildly surprised. The chaos had faded somewhat, and she felt steadier. She had avoided Remy all day, convinced that she wouldn't be able to focus with him around. But as the strain eased, she found herself waiting for him. Listening for him, which was nearly laughable. The man was quieter than a cat. If anything, he seemed to absorb sound, like an auditory black hole. She wondered idly if it was a part of his mutation. No, she decided. He was just sneaky.
Rogue willed herself to relax a little, helped by the spiked coffee. Now it wasn't the voices in her head making her tense, but Remy's presence at her side. She was hyperaware of him, as always, could tell to the nanometer exactly how close he was to touching her. She looked out at the water, took another drink, and sighed.
She looked better, he thought. He had known she was avoiding him, had chosen to leave her alone until she had time to settle herself. He had a million ways to occupy his time and his mind, he told himself. He had other irons in the fire. It was no effort to keep away. But that glazed look at dinner the night before kept creeping into his head, and so he had finally sought her out. Now she seemed more solid, if a bit tired. Ready, he thought, for some normalcy.
"You got kind of a nice routine goin', chere," he said. The clouds were indigo against a darker sky, the moon appearing and disappearing behind them. The light glinted off the lapping ocean below, broken into tiny flashes on the water.
She glanced at him, then turned back to the horizon. "Ah guess. Is that a bad thing? Routine?" He had never struck her as predictable. Maybe he was getting bored. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
He pondered for a moment. "Said it was a nice one, chere. Nice routine, nice family. Protective, but dat can be nice, too." Casually, he shifted his leg so that it just barely brushed hers through the red wool. He could feel her tense up, then deliberately relax.
"Kurt and Logan are still giving you a hard time?" He was testing her, she knew. Waiting to see if she'd pull away. Because he expected her to, she didn't.
"I t'ink me and de blue boy might've come to an' understandin'."
"Really?" She didn't mind him nearly touching her, she thought. They had spent enough time together lately that she was more comfortable around him. But tonight, she wasn't sure she could muster her usual defenses, the quick comebacks and snappy retorts that kept him in line. Knowing it was a mistake, that she was already feeling the alcohol, she took another sip of coffee. "Did hell freeze over?"
He chuckled. "I ain't saying we gonna start goin' steady, but mebbe we quit buttin' heads so often."
"I'm glad," she said softly. She lay back on the roof, listened to the sound of the water crashing on the rocks. "Logan ain't easin' up though, is he?"
Remy shrugged, stretched out next to her. "Homme t'inks I got…intentions, chere." He waggled his eyebrows at her, leered. "T'inks mebbe dey…nefarious."
"Are they?" she asked, keeping her voice light. She didn't take her eyes off the drifting clouds.
He propped himself up on one elbow, looked at her silhouette in the darkness. "Dat a trick question?"
"How is that a trick question, Remy?"
"First, you implyin' I got intentions – never said dat."
She gritted her teeth, stayed silent.
"Second, if I did, an' if dey were, I wouldn't go 'round sayin' so, now would I? Kind of defeat de purpose."
"So you aren't gonna answer," she said flatly.
"What was de question?" He grinned again, and she fought the urge to direct her elbow at his face this time.
"Do you ever give a straight answer, Cajun?"
"Depends on de question. Somet'in' you wanna ask?"
She thought back to her conversation with Logan. She didn't need the answers, but she wasn't afraid to ask, either. She rolled onto her side so that she was facing him. "Why'd you go to work for Magneto?" she said after a long moment
He jerked a shoulder. "Job's a job, chere, long as de check don' bounce. De man paid well. Paid cash. Don' much care 'bout his politics – dat why it's business."
"And you couldn't find any other jobs?"
He smiled thinly. "Haven't you read de paper? Dese tough times. Economy's tight. Man gotta take what he can find. It bother you dat I worked for him?"
"Ah don't know." He hadn't done it for the money, she was certain. "You're mad I asked, though."
He waved a hand nonchalantly. "Pas de tout. Ask away. "
The whiskey was beginning to work now, and she ignored the tightness in his smile. "Why did you leave New Orleans?"
"Family thought it was time I saw de world." Family though it best he cut and run, anyway.
"Right. So you backpacked through Europe?"
His eyes flew to her face briefly. "Spent some time dere. Spent some time lots o'places."
"But you haven't been back home?"
"Non." He shook his head once.
"What's the Guild?" she asked quietly.
He stiffened without realizing it, and kept his eyes on the crescent of moon above them. "It was jus' another job. You know. Acolytes. X-Men. Guild. Dey all jus' jobs, right?"
"No. This isn't just a job for me. And don't lie, Remy. She reached out with a gloved hand, turned his face towards hers. "You don't have to tell me the truth. But don't you ever lie to me."
"I ain't lyin', chere." He chose his next words carefully. "Used t'do some work for de Guild in N'awlins. Now I don't. And I ain't gonna be, either." Technically, that was true. The New Orleans Guild was closed to him, a door he slammed shut himself. Some days, he thought ruefully, it felt as if he was leaning his entire weight against that door, to keep everything from coming back in and flattening him. Other branches of the Guilds, however, were still an option. And he was a man who liked options.
"You're not going to tell me about your family, or Magneto, or your stupid Guild thing, are you?"
"Why it matter, Rogue?" He shoved down frustration and temper. What she was asking wasn't unreasonable, he reminded himself. She'd find out eventually anyway, once she integrated him. And it didn't matter how nicely he shined it up before then – after she relived it, she'd want to get as far away from him, from his past, as possible. "Dis is nice, right? You got your routine, your family, a handsome devil of a Cajun t'keep you company." She smacked his shoulder lightly, and he caught her hand in his. "Seem like t'ings are comin' up aces for you now. Leave de past where it is."
Her face softened as she took in the regret etched on his face. "It matters, Remy."
"Why?" He tugged her closer and pulled the blanket over both of them. "Chilly out here," he said.
"It ain't that chilly." But she didn't struggle, just looked steadily at him with eyes as soft and grey-green as the sea. "It matters," she repeated. "You matter."
"Don't mean you need my whole life, does it?"
"Ah need somethin'. You're growin' on me, Remy. Ah'll give you that. You're kinda like kudzu – just can't stop it."
He rolled his eyes. "T'anks."
"Welcome."
"You a little drunk, chere." He hoped not. He wanted her relaxed, not incoherent.
One corner of her mouth turned up. "A little buzzed, maybe. 'Jus' a l'il whiskey,' right?" She sighed as his hand trailed down her side, stopped to trace lazy circles at her hip. "Sober enough to know you're tryin' to distract me," she said.
"It workin'?" He tangled his legs with hers, slid his arm around her waist.
"Mmn." Suddenly, she couldn't think straight, and it wasn't the alcohol. His eyes were so black they gleamed, like obsidian, the red of his pupils a flickering light. Nervous, she tried to slow her breathing, to slow down whatever was building up between them. "You don't want to answer questions, swamp rat, maybe you shouldn't get so close."
"Dat a threat?" He didn't pull back. Couldn't. She was warm and soft and smelled faintly of lilacs and rain – spicy and sweet and clean all at once.
"A warnin', maybe." She shook her head, trying to clear it. "Why you doin' this, Remy?"
His eyes didn't leave her mouth. "Doin' what?"
"Bein' like this. I can't…we can't…" To Rogue's horror, her eyes filled, her voice broke. She pushed away from him and struggled to her feet. It was impossible, she thought. "This isn't gonna work, Remy. Go find some other girl." She strode to the ledge that overlooked her window, prepared to swing down inside the house.
He got to his feet and followed her, putting a hand on her arm. "Don' really want another girl. Like the one I got."
"Ah am not your girl," she said, knocking his hand away. "And you don't have me."
He was losing patience. "Well, hell, woman. It ain't from lack of tryin'." With that, he grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms around hers, and carried her back towards the center of the roof.
"Let me go!" She kicked out wildly, but with her arms trapped at her side, she couldn't get the right leverage. Eventually, her boot connected with his shin, and he dumped her on the blanket.
"Would you quit it? I ain't gonna do anything you don't want. But you goin' and spoilin' a perfectly nice moment." He walked back over to the ledge and sat down, blocking her only way down. "Dieu," he muttered, rubbing his shin. "Kinda hopin' we could skip de big talk, Rogue."
She sputtered at the realization that she was trapped. "The minute Ah get off this roof, you are a dead man. Ah will kick your ever-lovin' ass, LeBeau. Don't think Ah won't."
"Shut up." She gaped at him. "You asked me a question, chere, an' I goin' t'answer it. Dat what you been after all night, non? 'Answer de question, Remy.' 'Don' lie, Remy.' Well, I'm answerin' now. So show some damn manners. Shut y'mouth an' listen."
She sat down again at that, but her expression was no less murderous.
Remy took a deep breath. "I'm doin' dis 'cause I want to. I want you." Though at the moment, he was questioning the wisdom of that.
She shook her head. "But we can't--"
"Do I look stupid? Don' answer dat," he added quickly. "I know 'zactly what we can and can't do, Rogue. Given de matter some thought. More'n you, obviously."
She glared at him. "This is what you do all day? You think about ways around mah mutation?"
He closed his eyes for a minute, prayed to whatever gods were listening for a little more patience. "No. But I t'ink about it. I like spendin' time wit you. Like talkin' wit you, like watchin' you spar wit' de Wolverine. I like de way you smell. Like de way you laugh, even if you don' do it enough. Like de way you yell at de ref when we watch football. Like your cookin, but I ain't askin' you to pick out china patterns, hein? Jus' like bein wit you. And yeah, I t'ink about you like dat. You don't?"
She didn't answer. She wouldn't look at him, just closed her eyes and tried to breathe. In, out. In, out. Maybe if she counted. Backwards. In French. Cent. Quatre-vingt dix-neuf. Quatre-vingt dix-huite. Damn. Remy spoke French. Remy. Who was still sitting, one leg dangling over the edge of the roof, asking her if she thought about wanting him. She opened one eye.
"Still here, chere." He even gave a small wave, damn him.
She sighed. "This is humiliatin', Remy. Just let me go inside."
"Nope," he said cheerfully, standing up. He got it now, he thought. She was scared. And so she ran, counting on her skin and her porcupine temper to keep people from chasing after her. But Remy LeBeau didn't scare that easy. He didn't chase, either, he reminded himself. So what was this? He tucked the question away for later. "You didn't answer, Rogue. You don' t'ink 'bout me like dat?"
She scooted so that her back pressed against the brick of the nearest dormer. "It doesn't matter."
"Sure it does." He sat in front of her, one foot braced against the wall on either side of her. "An' don' lie," he added, mimicking her.
Rogue just shook her head, tried to push herself further into the brick. If she were Kitty, she thought, it would just swallow her up. Then again, if she were Kitty, she'd probably have an idea how to handle this. How to handle Remy.
"See," he said, "I figure either you scared 'cause we movin' too fast, or you scared 'cause you want things t'move faster. Mebbe both."
"Who says Ah'm scared?" she said, trying to sound cool and scornful, and failing miserably.
"De man watchin' you try t'phase through brick, dat who."
She flushed, caught. "Maybe Ah don't want you like that," she tossed back.
He just looked at her, a curious half-smile playing over his lips. Then, holding her eyes with his, he stripped off a glove and set it next to him. She watched, eyes wide, as he leaned forward and placed it, fingers splayed wide, between her breasts. He could feel the jack-hammer pounding of her heart, the frantic, shallow pace of her breathing.
His eyes never left hers. "Try again, Rogue."
She swallowed. She could feel the warmth of his hand through the thin black knit of her shirt. It ached, she thought, to have him so close, to want him so much. And the idea that the ache might stop, that he might leave, hurt even more. "It ain't gonna work, Remy. You an' me. It jus' ain't gonna work." She was sitting in shadow, the platinum streak of her hair gleaming dully. He could hear the tears thickening her voice.
"Why?" He didn't move his hand.
"You're gonna get tired of this, Remy. It's a challenge now, but later, you're gonna get tired of thinkin' up ways around mah skin. Of bein' careful."
"An' you could get tired o'my not inconsiderable charm," he countered. She snorted. "It ain't likely, but I s'pose you could."
"Remy," she said, exasperated.
"Why you gotta t'ink so much? You makin' it harder dan it need t'be. Ain't no guarantees, chere. Dat jus' life. Don' mean you shouldn't take a chance anyway. Don' mean you shouldn't live a little.
"An' you still not answerin' de question." Lightly, he brushed his fingertips over the swell of her breast, smiling as her breathing hitched and her eyes fluttered closed. "You t'ink 'bout me like dat?"
She nodded distantly, not opening her eyes.
"Jus' give dis a chance, Rogue. Give—" he almost said 'me', but caught himself in time. "Give dis a chance." He took her gloved hand in his bare one, laced their fingers together.
"This is gonna be a disaster," she said, mouth quirking.
"Mebbe." He pulled her closer, turned her under him.
"Logan's gonna kill you," she snickered.
"You spoilin' de mood 'gain, chere." He slid one hand down her body, smiling at her sudden intake of breath. "Don' like my girl talkin' 'bout anybody else when we're like dis."
"Ah'm not your girl, Cajun," she started to protest, breaking off as he shifted his weight slightly, and her eyes went blurry.
"You talk too much," he said, as she arched towards him. His breath warmed her skin through her shirt. "Hush."
Rogue hushed.