"So… lemme get this straight," Rogue says, pacing slowly in the middle of the living room, looking outside at the city view. "This is the world ten years in the future?"

"Oui."

She stops pacing and just stares out, hands on her hips. "Gotta say, Ah was expectin' more."

"Like what?"

"Ah don't know, flyin' cars?"

I smirk. She turns to me and returns a sly smile.

"You're definitely lookin' less rough 'round the edges though," she muses, tilting her head to appraise me.

I'm still in my tux pants, and went ahead and fastened some buttons on my shirt so she'd feel less nervous.

"Someone scrubbed that bayou right offa ya. Ya seem like a bonafide New York Yankee."

"Ouch." I place a hand over my heart, giving her a disapproving grin.

She chuckles.

I found out she is exactly ten years younger than the Rogue right now.

Rogue had always been running around in micro-mini denim shorts when I first arrived at the mansion. It really took the sting out of all the tomboy attitude she perpetually gave me in the early stages of our relationship. But it also made it difficult to pretend I was interested in what she had to say when all I was really thinking about was how great those legs would look wrapped around me.

She's arrived into the future wearing a pair that makes her long legs look limitless and a red-and-black flannel shirt. Her sleeves are rolled up and the hem is tied off above her waist to show off her tiny little middle and her ample cleavage. And although it makes about as much sense as ordering a diet coke with a monster bacon cheeseburger and a double serving of fries, she dons a pair of dainty white gloves that cover just up to her wrists.

She's giving herself a self-tour of the apartment as I make some coffee. I could use a cup after having to convince her that I wasn't a pervert from the future who summoned her from the past to have my way with her. She also had to be convinced that her skin had not absorbed me when I had my hands on her thighs upon her arrival.

"So ya live here," she states.

"Oui."

"An' these are your cats."

"Oui."

"Cats?" she asks again, with a quirk of her lips.

"Cats," I tell her with a cordial smile.

"M'kay," she sighs in amusement.

She picks up Oliver in her arms and all three of them are purring up a storm, following her every move. Apparently, they are partial to her even when she's time-displaced. She peruses the ceiling, the walls, the furniture, her mouth a little ajar in wonder.

"That's pretty," she says, pointing at a painting.

I don't tell her she's the one who picked it out. I decided not to bombard her with information, and just let her ask what she wants to know, all the while trying to figure out how I'm supposed to get everything back to normal. But for that to happen, I would have to know what actually transpired. I can only guess it has something to do with that alien toaster she had been holding, but the toaster is nowhere to be found.

What is certain though, the ten-year younger Rogue has absolutely no idea why or how she got here.

She had gotten an alert about an unprecedented Sentinel sighting, and she had been the closest to the scene. While flying, she suddenly felt dizzy and fell out of the sky. When she opened her eyes, she was on the bed.

"So… Just cats?" she asks. "Or… do ya live with someone?"

"What d' you think?" I ask her back.

She's a mask of nonchalance. "Well, judgin' by the make-up stand ya have in your bedroom, Ah think ya live with a woman."

"Right again."

She avoids my eyes, intent on petting the cat. "She someone Ah know?" she asks, her voice aloof.

"Y'could say dat."

She keeps her back to me so I can't see her expression. She makes herself over to the mantle over our modern gas-powered fireplace where we have exactly two framed pictures. I find myself holding my breath in anticipation because one is a picture of her – not much older than she is now – and the other is of us on our wedding day, getting rice pelted at us by our closest friends and looking ecstatically happy.

She reaches to pick up the wedding photo, but she goes pale before she lays a finger on it. For a second, her eyes go wide and she takes an uncertain step back, almost tripping on Lucifer that was hanging out behind her.

"Careful," I say softly, quickly catching her, my arm slung around her back.

She looks at me speechlessly, tries to speak, but her mouth just kind of gapes open and nothing comes out.

"We're married," I state for her.

"We're… what? What do ya mean we're married?" she asks, her voice cracking.

I try not to look like I'm having too much fun at her expense, but it's kind of difficult. I shrug. "I'm y'husband. You're m'wife. We're married."

"This… is crazy," she breathes.

"Dat's what y'said when I proposed."

"Oh my Gawd," she just whispers in disbelief, looking back at the wedding photo.

I carefully take Oliver out of her arms and toss him on the sofa.

She looks at me again, like she's reassessing me. And I don't know what kind of thoughts are going through her head, though I can guess, but her pale skin flushes with a pretty shade of pink.

"Here, chere, take a seat," I pull her towards the sofa and she sits down. "You want some coffee?"

"We're married," she says numbly to herself.

"I'm just gon' take dat as a yes."

I pour a cup, and as I take it to her, she suddenly gasps again, "Oh my Gawd!"

I look at what she's staring at. On the side table next to her, there's some random mail. She grabs it, and of course, it's addressed to Mrs. Anna-Marie LeBeau.

"You… ya know my name…"

I nod. "I do. It's common knowledge now, chere."

I set the coffee down next to her.

"An' frankly, I still don't really understand why y'were so bent on keepin' it secret. Here I was expectin' something just completely tasteless an' embarrassing," I take a sip from my own cup and sit down on the armchair across from her. "An' it's not only normal but it's pretty. Anna-Marie."

Her head snaps up as soon as I say her name, and just as quickly looks down, almost as if she's ashamed of it.

"It's… it's a stupid name," she says quietly. She's holding onto the mail, and her brows pinch and an array of emotions pass through her face. I see her fingers brush over her name on the envelope with a look of quiet fascination in her eyes. "But… it kinda sounds less stupid when Ah see it like this."

She takes a quick breath and seems to shake herself from her reverie.

She has a self-deprecating smirk on her face as she asks a little flippantly, "So did you finally fall in love with me? Or did somethin' else happen?"

I give her a lopsided smile. "I don't know of a time when I wasn't in love wit' you, chere. I love you now, just like I loved you den."

Her eyes go wide and she is terribly flustered. "Oh…"

"Oh, have I not told you yet?" I chuckle, sipping my coffee again. "Better get used t' it. At a certain point, it gets t'be like a broken record."

She smiles shyly and sweetly, shrugging into herself. Her cheeks remain rosy. She tucks her hair quickly behind both ears, not sure what to do with her hands.

"Can't wait," she finally says quietly.

I raise my brows at her answer. And I suddenly remember that I kind of had her wrapped around my finger when she was at this age. Rogue would probably deny it, but everyone on the team knew and gave me perpetual threats not to hurt her.

And I know this is just my wife so many years younger, but just this image of her immediately triggers the impatient pup in me, and my first impulse is to just see how much power I actually have over her. Why is it that even after all these years the instinct to just pounce on her is still crawling beneath my skin?

And I realize even if I'm given the chance to do it all over again, I wouldn't know how to keep it together around her to stop myself from making the same mistakes twice.

"So…" She kind of titters nervously, and then just begins to bombard me with questions, unable to hide her excitement. "Are we happy? Do we have children? Where was the wedding?"

"Wedding was at the mansion… where Scott and Jean got married."

"Scott and Jean get married? Oh, but Ah guess that ain't much of a surprise. You and Ah… we're the surprise." She shakes her head like she still can't believe it.

I'm also now remembering how I generally was when she was at this age. It's true that in the beginning, Rogue was something of an irresistible curiosity to me, but I had little intention to actually get serious with her. I thought – mistakenly – that her mutation would actually prevent me from getting serious with her. I also thought – mistakenly – that I could get her to fall in love with me without me falling in love with her.

I liked her though. Dieu, I liked her.

And it was refreshing to find out that I was capable of falling for a woman when sex was completely off the table.

"An' children? Do we have kids?" she asks, her voice perking up as she gets back on the topic of us. She hesitates. "Or do you not want kids?"

"Do you want kids?"

"Of course!" she beams. "Like Ah want a whole brood of 'em. Ah think it'd be less lonely growin' up… an' maybe their powers won't affect each other. You know, like Scott and Alex?"

Her optimism on the subject of children is endearing, and something I realize is sorely missing from her now. I'm quiet and she gets nervous.

"Or… ya know, not havin' kids is fine, too," she quickly amends, taking my silence for discomfort. "So you're really happy then? Like bein' all domestic and monogamous? Ah mean, not that you don't look good right now, but Ah don't know, it just doesn't seem like you'd be satisfied with a life like this. You ain't itchin' to get on that bike and go lookin' for adventure?"

"Bein' wit' you is adventure enough."

She makes a face and takes that statement in the worst way possible. "Oh, do we still like fight all the time?"

"Non. We get along pretty well."

She laughs. "What's that like?"

I smile. "Kind' like dis, I guess."

I wonder why I ever fought with her when she was this sweet? And I can only blame myself.

I couldn't leave her alone for the life of me, but I'd come to my senses halfway into a moment, remembering how I wouldn't be able to guarantee anybody's happiness by my side. Conversations with her would barely get started before I would inevitably get handsy with her and end with me seeing stars and her stomping away in an angry huff. A Jekyll who wanted her to think me a good man and a Hyde who would intentionally make her see that I wasn't. It was a strange way for any kind of meaningful relationship to take hold. But at the time, for better or worse, it had effectively worked to keep her at an arm's length.

"How do we… ya know?" she blushes. "Do Ah get control over my powers? Wait, Ah… maybe Ah don't wanna know." She covers her lips with her hands, pulling her brows together anxiously.

"You get control over your powers, chere."

"Shut the front door!" she practically yells.

I laugh.

"How?!" Her smile is so big and excited. "Future me don't by chance leave a diary somewhere detailin' how control works, do Ah?"

I squint, shaking my head. "Doubt future you keeps a diary."

"Do you know how it works?" she asks with so much desperate hope in her eyes that I kind of wish I did know.

"Wish I could tell y' de step b'step process on how t'achieve it, but I think it's just a matter of time an' patience. You eventually get there."

She pouts. "Don't be like that."

"Be like what?"

She slumps behind on the sofa. "Like feed me the whole 'Believe in yourself' or 'Don't be afraid' kinda vague nonsense that everyone born with control gives me," she sighs gustily. "Gimme somethin' concrete. Somethin' Ah can work with!"

I take a breath to think about it. I squint an eye at her. "Somethin' concrete?"

She snaps to attention. She sits up and nods eagerly.

I set my coffee cup down on the table in front of me and place my elbows on my knees, leaning towards her conspiratorially. She leans forward as well.

"Don't settle f' de guy who can touch you. Marry de love of y'life who can't." I grin at her. "Eventually, y'sex drive gets you there."

She pauses, and her face kind of falls into a disappointed frown that is rather comical. "Leave it to you to make everythin' about sex."

"Natural drives are de strongest motivators, chere," I shrug. "Hunger, thirst, love. But out of all of 'em, love's de strongest." I wink at her.

She kind of blinks, and her cheeks tint with color again. She casts her eyes away and clears her throat. "Yeah, well. Ah ain't sure if lack of motivation is my problem."

"It never was. You ain't de complacent type," I tell her. "Dat's why m'saying eventually y'get there. Because dat's who you are."

She glances up at me and stares at me with wide, curious eyes.

"What?" I ask her.

She shakes her head self-consciously, blushing again. "Nothin'," she sighs happily. "So… ya didn't have to wait long then? Ya know, for our… first time? Ah didn't make ya wait til ya proposed, did Ah?"

Our first time?

Shit, our first time.

I look down at my hands, not certain what to say. "We… probably should have waited longer."

"Oh." She looks sad.

"Not dat it wasn't… I mean, it meant de world t'me when it finally happened… Only, it wasn't quite how I imagined it would be."

"It sucked?"

"Non, not like dat. Jus' de ambience wasn't as romantic as I wanted it."

"Oh, well," she smiles bashfully, leaning her face into hands, elbows propped daintily onto her knees, which I suddenly notice have grass stains on them. "Ah'm sure it was perfect."

My heart breaks for her.

I briefly wet my lips and strain to look up at her. I ask her quietly, "What would perfect look like to you?"

My question surprises her. She's embarrassed, but she still chooses to answer.

"Well, Ah don't know," she shrugs. "Ah don't think where or when we do it really matters. Ah guess Ah can only imagine what it should feel like. But Ah think when you fall in love with someone, and you finally show each other? Everythin' should just fall away, and then Ah suppose it should just feel like you and Ah are the only two people in the whole universe that matter. And when we kiss, Ah think the time would stop and the earth would shatter and it's like ya just know that nothin' can go back to the way it was before."

Her words feel like an indictment. Had Rogue ever been this idealistic and pure? This naïve and chaste?

I swallow, unable to look at her directly anymore. "And you didn't feel dat way when we kissed?"

"Ah haven't kissed you yet, Remy."

"Sure we have."

She looks at me confused, folding her arms in front of her.

"On Muir Island?" I say. We actually never talked about it until quite some time had passed.

I see the understanding pass through her eyes and she is quick to dismiss it. "That don't count. It was like under mind-control." She clears her throat and avoids my eyes as she mumbles, "Besides Ah don't even remember it."

I know she does, but she doesn't want to remember it. She wants to blot it out. She wanted things to be perfect, but what she got was something so… not.

And it would only get worse for her from now on. Because as much as I loved her, I couldn't recommend myself to her. And as much as she loved me, she couldn't recommend herself to me.

That and we both had lousy timing. Sometimes, I wonder if there had been some kind of unspoken rule between us that only one of us would pursue the other at any given moment in time and the other had to make sure to do everything in their power to run the opposite direction.

"Well, I remember dat kiss, chere," I tell her matter-of-factly, trying to keep this unexpectedly wonderful reunion with her from becoming a pity party. "An' it was earth-shattering and life-changing for me."

She snorts and rolls her eyes. "Oh, shut up. You're just makin' fun of me."

"Don't be cruel, mon coeur. It was love at first sight f'me."

She squeals in delight, then says, "Horseshit."

I give her a playful smile. "Maybe you don't believe in love as much as I do."

She shakes her head, chuckling. "It aint' rocket science, Remy. If ya love someone, ya shouldn't want to sleep with anyone else. Ya may love me now, but you didn't love me back then… er, right now. The Remy in my time don't love me right now."

I'm a little taken back by the stark honesty of her words, even as she relays them to me with a kind of shrugging helplessness.

She sighs. She looks at her gloved hands, sobered by the truth. "And Ah know that's not fair to ya given my powers. Ah can't give ya what ya want. And Ah wanna believe that love can overcome everythin', and we can still find a way to be together without bein' physical… but Ah think that's just askin' too much from ya. And Ah ain't that kinda modern gal who can just keep it casual and jus' let ya have your flings on the side. But ya keep on stickin' around like you're interested, so Ah don't know… it's hard to know what you're thinkin'."

I realize now I'm the one who stripped her of her romantic ideals – this idea that a man in love can remain celibate and wait faithfully. Because she would be worth it. Because her love would be enough. I had no intention of doing that, but I wanted her love anyway, and it's only now I realize what the damage was. I plunged all her notions of love and what it should feel like in a bucket of ice cold water over and over again.

Because I knew she had stolen my heart and irrevocably marked me as her own, and I had never been shy about admitting that. But only a fraction of those admissions were to her directly, and the rest were to the women I entertained on the side, telling them I had been called for before taking them to bed.

As for Rogue, eventually her requited but not-so-requited love for me would eat away at her. Slowly but surely, it would harden her, making the next lonely night a little more easier to accept, more run-of-the-mill, more of Remy being Remy and a reinforcement of how unreliable my love was.

By the time when I really figured it out, that she was the only other person I truly ever wanted to be with, it was too late. By then even the grandest declaration of love for her couldn't move that heart to return to me. And she had learned how to dole out the pain as good as she had taken it.

I look at her knees, at the precocious stains of grass.

"I know, chere. An' for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

I lift my eyes to search her face. "But meeting you was de best thing dat ever happened t'me. An' you may not realize it now, but every day, you're changing me – piece by piece – and it gets t'de point where I don't recognize myself unless I'm by y'side."

She looks at me, her expression crushed. Her breaths are shallow. Her eyes are impossibly round and getting glossier.

"You're a butterfly," she whispers to me with a sweet smile.

I tilt my head and reach out with my hand, my finger about to stroke her face. I'm not surprised when she stiffens, not sure what to do. I stop, gauging her comfort level. She looks nervous, but she remains still and then closes her eyes, implicitly giving me permission.

I graze my knuckle across her cheek and realize they were a little rounder back then. Her lips lightly part, and her expression is enraptured. I take the pad of my thumb and run it along her plump bottom lip.

She stays absolutely still with her eyes closed. She takes a slow drawn breath in and exhales. For a second, she looks like the way she does when she sleeps. I remember how I used to watch her sleep sometimes and wonder if touching her when she was unconscious would still cause her skin to absorb.

It didn't escape me that it was strange and creepy behavior. But we were such a mess sometimes that the only way I could manage to be with her without making things worse was when she was unconscious.

Sometimes I would even contemplate stealing a kiss. But it was one theft I was never willing to commit.

"Can I kiss you?" I ask her.

She takes a sharp breath and opens her eyes. She swallows.

"It depends…" she says.

"On?"

"If Ah can kiss ya back."

I smile, calmly getting up from the armchair and down on one knee in front of her. Rogue stays frozen on her seat on the sofa, all nerves and jitters as I see her hands fisted tightly over her lap. I brush my hand into her thick hair, wrap my fingers around the nape of her neck and pull her until our faces are inches apart.

I gaze at her through barely open eyes and find her eyes squeezed shut. I smile and change course, placing a kiss on her forehead.

Rogue opens her eyes, looking up at me as I pull away. Her shoulders finally pull down from her ears. But her lips pull into a pout.

I chuckle. "Don't think I should steal y' first kiss… from myself. Think the ten-year-younger Remy will get really pissed if he ever found out."

Her face melts into a smile. "Ah won't tell if ya won't."

I'm about to answer her with a witty comeback, but she suddenly leans forward and presses her lips on mine. She just holds it there. Her lips are soft, warm and plush. Her eyes are tightly shut, her lashes quivering, and just as I close my eyes and part my lips to receive her kiss, she pulls away.

She tastes her bottom lip, glances at me nervously, but her green eyes are iridescent with an excitement that she can't tamp down. She takes a shaky breath in. "The deal was Ah get ta kiss ya back."

I taste my own lips and I can taste her off of them – sugary sweet like candy.

Screw it.

I tug her back in. This time I don't play for innocence. I just kiss her the way I've always wanted to kiss her without passing out at the end of it. I slant my mouth over hers, parting her lips with my tongue and savor the noise she makes. If she's shocked by my sudden advance on her, she recovers quickly.

Her arms surround my shoulders. She angles closer. Her earlier shyness quickly evaporates. The awkwardness is still there – still unsure of what to do with her tongue, when to breathe, how to swallow, but her body is so eager and so responsive that there is no doubt in my mind that she is enjoying this.

Her chest is arched into my embrace. Her heart hammers against me. She pushes her mouth to mine more fervently, and it's familiar but new, and she is so damn excited that it's making me just as giddy.

We finally break away, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She strokes my hair and stares at my lips.

"Gawd, Ah wish ya were real," she sighs, woefully closing her eyes.

I raise my brows. "I am real, chere. Or... I will be."

She shakes her head sadly. "This can't be real. Nothin' this good ever happens to me."

There is something so terrible about what she just said, but somehow, I know exactly what she's feeling. I stroke her hair and hold her face between my hands.

"The day y'stop thinking dat is the day it starts gettin' good."

She meets my eyes and looks at me wistfully. "Ya promise?"

"Oui," I tell her firmly but with an adoring smile I can't keep off my face. "So y'stop thinking dat way, hein? Y'should listen to me, Anna. I'm y' future husband."

She laughs helplessly. "Ah like the sound of that."

"Do you?"

"Ah do."

"I do, too."

She giggles, tightens her arms around me and buries her face in my neck. I'm almost stunned that Rogue could have ever been this girly. She lets out a blissful sigh, and then I hear a small prayer off her lips.

It's so quiet that I probably wouldn't have heard her if not for her mouth placed less than an inch from my ear and her lips pressed into my skin. I can decipher what she says by the punctuation of air against my neck.

"Lawd in Heaven… please don't let me screw this up."

I'm not sure if it's a prayer for herself or herself ten years from now.


To Be Continued

Author's Note: A quick note about the Rogue in this chapter – she's painted as this sweet, innocent Southern girl with a high bar on what love is. And I think 90s Rogue did have this kind of naïve vibe at times. I think that in the beginning, Gambit held all the power in the relationship. Eventually that slowly shifts over to her but not before doing some damage on her. And Rogue comes out more hardened. Gambit, because he's a pretty decent guy who regularly feels a lot of Catholic guilt, feels responsible. But most likely, even if he had done everything right, her own deep-seated pessimism would have probably kept her from attaining happiness sooner. So that's how I personally interpret Rogue.

Anyway, please tell me your thoughts on this chapter. It's kind of meaningful that Rogue's response to young Remy was physical, while Remy's response to young Rogue is emotional, no? It's like they're finally giving each other the thing they couldn't give each other before. Well, I think it's meaningful. And that's why I wrote it. Please review so I don't keep talking to myself.

Also, a clarification on how old Gambit and Rogue is in this fic. Because I made that 90s Gambit comment last chapter, I got some people confused on how old these two are exactly. I generally avoid putting an exact number on their age, but just to make things easier to understand for some of you, I imagine Gambit and Rogue as 31-32 and 29-30, respectively.

And though I love 90s Gambit, I love my Mr. X more. Please review~!