"Gambit!" Rogue screamed his name over the din of the battle as she dodged in front of the energy beam, taking the brunt of the attack meant for him.

The world around Gambit shifted to slow motion as Rogue collapsed bonelessly to the battlefield like a marionette with cut strings. Mud and gore squelched around her limp form. Golden energy briefly emanated from her body before absorbing into her skin. She didn't move, not even the wind dared twitch at the loose strands of white and brown hair. In that moment, the clamour of the battlefield, the shouts of his team, the jeers of their enemies, had gone oddly silent. A gut wrenching scream that came from nowhere and everywhere at once echoed distantly in his ears. Gambit's throat was raw, but he didn't notice.

Before the weapon could re-charge and fire again—this time hitting its intended target and rendering her sacrifice pointless—Gambit charged an entire deck worth of playing cards and flung them errorlessly in rapid sets of twos and threes at the offending weapon. His boots squelched in the mud as he ran towards the spot where Rogue had fallen. Before they left his hands, the over-charged cards burnt his bare fingertips and charred the material of the glove covered ones. He didn't perceive the bite and sting of pain. His entire focus tunnelled in on Rogue's prone, too-still body.

She was injured. Dying. Dead, if he did nothing.

At her side, he collapsed to his knees, his legs no longer capable of holding him upright. The jagged hole in her uniform revealed a mess of burnt and bubbling skin peeled back to blood and muscle. Her face was too pale, her blood too red. A study in contrasts. Her breath escaped in shallow, ragged pants that weakened with each haggard gasp. He didn't dare try to staunch the wound. Between her exposed flesh and his filthy gloves, any attempts would be dangerous to them both. Instead, he wrapped numb fingers around her hand like a supplicant. How could this happen? Why had she taken his place? Why did she think he was worth the sacrifice?

He rolled back on his heels and shook his head in a futile attempt to clear his thoughts. Limp strands of damp auburn hair were plastered to his face. Of course Rogue had sacrificed herself. She would always throw herself between her friends and the unseen danger. Rather than risk the lives of others, she would risk herself.

If it wasn't already too late, he wanted to beg her to stop. For once, he wanted her to think about keeping herself safe—to think of what her loss would do to him. But, he knew he would never ask that of her. Because, this was who she was. She'd always sacrifice herself if that meant protecting her friends and family.

Merde. He pressed his knuckles to his eyes until white spots danced across his vision, stopping the moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes before it fell. That femme was going to be the death of him just as surely as she had saved his life. His miserable ol' life. Didn't she know that hers was worth a million times more than his? How many times had he made the wrong choice for the sake of his own skin? How many times had he done so even when he knew better?

She'd known as well as he did that he wouldn't have been able to survive that energy beam. If he had been paying attention, he might have been able to dodge the blast, but he hadn't even noticed they were aiming at him. Though, he should have realised he would be the next target. After all, it only made sense. Bishop had already absorbed enough of the beam for his energy blast to be a weapon twice as deadly. Stormy was beyond the weapon's reach as she manipulated the weather to give their team a chance. And Rogue, his Rogue, she was invulnerable.

Until she wasn't.

After so many futile attempts against the others, the energy beam had been turned up to its highest setting and aimed at him. The enemy hadn't known, or, more likely, they didn't care that the same beam which Bishop could shrug off without a second thought would incinerate Gambit. Even at the lowest setting, the weapon would have taken him out. If it had hit him, he would have died. He was vulnerable, as easily broken as a doll made of twigs. And so, Rogue stepped in front of the beam.

Her breath, a barely there wisp, faded with each shallow, shuddering skip of her chest. Desperate, his fingers skirted along her throat, registering a thin, thready pulse. If they couldn't get her proper medical treatment immediately, they needed Wolverine. He was lurking somewhere around the battle field, taking out ground troops with his efficient savagery. If he was willing to lend her a bit of his healing ability, she might just survive. Absorbing Wolvie always left Rogue a bit cranky, but saving her life would be worth the trade off.

Gambit batted at the tears welling in his eyes before giving it up as a futile gesture. Let them fall. He didn't care who saw or if they ragged him about it later. He loved her and he didn't care who knew.

"Don' you give up on me, chère. I need you," Remy begged. For certainly, this wasn't a hero's plea, it was a lover's. "Please, mon coeur." The endearment escaped his lips before he could stop it.

My heart. It was only after he said it he realised how true the sentiment was. She was his heart, his soul. She was all that was good in his life. The one who believed he could be a better person. Every beat of the heart in his chest pulsed with thoughts of her.

He glanced over his shoulder. No one was close enough to hear. Still, he leaned down, pressing his lips almost to her ear.

"Je t'aime," he whispered in a rasped, heart-rending honesty. The words bubbled out of him in a swell of emotion that could not be staunched. He repeated them in an urgent, harried mantra as though the sentiment itself might be enough to draw her back to him.

How messed up was he? He could never find the courage to utter those words when she was conscious and now he clung to them. Infusing them with a hope he did not know if he still possessed. Surely he was a coward. A coward in love.

Shrugging out of his duster, he wrapped it carefully around Rogue. He worked her arms into the sleeves and tucked the extra material around her, as though his coat could be a substitute for the caresses he could not give her.

He wanted to kiss her. Take her in his arms and hold her close. To brush his bare fingers across her preternaturally pale flesh. No matter the cost, he would pay anything to have her back. Alive. His.

The roar of thunder flooded his ears, following the lighting strike of epiphany that pierced his heart. His words seized in his throat, his murmurings ceased as he struggled to breathe.

I love you. Simple words for a sentiment far from simple. In the end, the risk of loving Rogue wasn't his powers or his memories. It wasn't even his life. The risk was to his heart. Plain and simple, he'd risked his heart in loving her. Opening his heart to her meant becoming vulnerable. He would need to tear down all his carefully constructed walls built to keep him safe. To keep his secrets hidden. He didn't know if he was ready for that.

Someday, he had no doubt, she would learn the truth of him. He dreaded that day. She'd never look at him the same way again. If he invited her into his walled heart, the day she finally viewed him with the disgust he deserved, would be the day she took the knife he handed her and impaled him in the heart.

Remy swallowed back the fear that rose like bile and urged a steely resolve to replace his cowardice. He needed her in his life. It didn't matter if she would hate him one day.

He cradled Rogue in his arms. She laid too still, too pale, too close to death. Time was running out and he needed to tell her before it was too late. She needed to hear those words that he could only whisper in desperate breaths when she could not hear him. They needed to be brought into the open. If they made it through this, he would…

"Gambit," Cyclops snapped. He approached the scene from behind Remy, unable to see Rogue beyond the Cajun's distraught huddled form. "Get your head back in the game. We need you on the right—"

Awareness of the wider world crashed over Gambit in a swelling cacophony. The scream of battle saturated his senses and deepening mud sucked at his boots. Rain seeped past the collar of his uniform and trickled down his back. Tangled locks of white hair clung to Rogue's clammy forehead in sweaty, rain drenched clumps.

"Gambit!"

"Non," Remy snarled, a ferocity ripping through him. He gathered Rogue in his arms like he was carrying the most precious and fragile treasure in the world. Because, she was truly precious. Standing, he challenged Scott with an unrelenting, gleaming glare. Gambit was certain that Scott would recognised that look of pained desperation. Like Remy's world was falling apart around him. That he would be lost without her. Because, it was the same look Scott wore whenever Jean was injured or dying.

In a flickering instant, the eyes behind the gleam of the ruby quartz visor met the fire burning in the crimson irises and the two men understood each other. They both loved strong, fierce, independent women. They would both do anything to protect the women they loved.

At the intensity in Remy's stare, Cyclops backed down. Scott nodded, releasing Remy from his duty long enough to get Rogue to safety. For once, Cyclops wouldn't chastise Gambit about not following a direct order. For once there would be no lecture when they returned to the Mansion. Neither man would ever speak of this moment again.

"Take care of her, then get back here on the double." Cyclops turned back to the battle leaving Remy to carry Rogue to the Blackbird.

In the end, Gambit only stayed by her side long enough for Wolverine and Hank to be summoned. At their arrival, Gambit was forced to go back to the battle. He was of more use there than here—especially with two more off the field.

As Hank prepared to stabilise Rogue, Remy squeezed her hand and leaned in close. Whispering his love for her one last time, he swore he would somehow find the courage to tell her the truth when she was conscious.

# # # # #

A While Later…

Remy sat on the roof of the Mansion with his knees pulled up to his chest and the wind tugging his hair. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, allowing the weak northern sunlight to warm his face. Something big was coming, he could feel it in the air. While he didn't know what it was, the conviction of a coming change twinged in his gut. And, he'd learned long ago to trust his instincts and be prepared. It's why he sat here in full uniform, though there had been no call to assemble. He wasn't ready to be around the others until he needed to be.

Putting his cigarette to his lips, he took a long pull and filled his lungs as he brooded over the past few weeks. He leaned back on his elbows and sagged under the weight of a heavy melancholy. It was only in his solitude that he could let his weariness show. The others didn't need to know.

The battle where he had almost lost Rogue appeared to be forgotten almost as soon as it was over by everyone except him. After all, it was business as usual. Hank had stabilised Rogue enough for her to borrow Wolverine's healing ability and close the wounds. As for the rest, the energy blast had simply overwhelmed her body. She'd woken forty-eight hours later, cranky and sore, but alive and well. Then, she was back in the field like nothing had happened. Which meant a never-ending series of mishaps that required their near constant attention.

He blew out a stream of smoke, watching it dissipate into the air like the promises he had made to himself. In the moment, epiphanies were easy. When his world was about to end before his eyes, it was simple to see what he needed, what he needed to do. But, as time passed, acting on epiphanies turned out to be quite difficult.

And now, time was running out.

He still hadn't found the courage to be honest with her, to tell her the truth. That he needed her. That he loved her. Real, true love…. Yet, he hesitated. He couldn't find the right moment. Couldn't find a way to broach the divide.

Opening his eyes, he squinted into the harsh glare of the sun and spied Rogue flying high overhead. His heart lightened at the sight of her. Full of life and joy and so very much alive. When she flew, her movements were graceful—sweeping arcs and controlled spins. It reminded him of dancing. And freedom. In the air, she didn't need to be as cautious as she was on the ground. The fear of touching someone accidentally disappeared when there was scarcely anyone on your level.

His cigarette, long forgotten, burned low between his fingers as he continued to study her. He longed to be at her side during these moments of reckless abandon. But, he couldn't fly, and having to be responsible for another person would dampen the freedom flight allowed her. So, he simply sat and watched, memorising his chère, as though to stockpile these moments for the day when they were no longer his to openly cherish.

Remy started in a jerking, futile motion, when in mid-loop, Rogue paused in her forward momentum for half a second. Her expression blanked in the familiar way it did whenever they received a message from the Professor. He felt the tap, but ignored it, not letting down his shields. Rogue would find him and let him know what the Professor wanted.

After indulging a moment longer in watching her soar, he shifted off his melancholy and exchanged it for the carefree thief. She'd be here soon enough and his solitary contemplation would be over.

Rogue landed beside him on the roof. Her hair was a wind tousled riot of chestnut and white curls. She brushed errant strands of hair from her face, revealing eyes bright with the joy of flight and cheeks flushed with exertion and the bite of the wind. Revelling in the moment of privacy, she grinned at him. "C'mon sugah, we have a mission."

"Oh?" he drawled. Languidly he tapped the end of his cigarette. The ash caught on the wind.

"Apparently somethin's goin' down in Israel. The Professor says we're needed." She offered him her glove clad hand.

Despite not needing the assistance to stand, Remy wasn't about to refuse an offer like that. He clasped her hand and scrambled to his feet. Her grasp was strong and firm and she held on longer than necessary.

"Why t'ank you chère." He made a sweeping bow that would have caused a less agile person to tumble off the side of the roof.

She laughed at his antics before sobering. Like him, she was already in uniform. As though she had also sensed the need to be prepared for sudden action. Lines of worry creased her brow as she stared out into the horizon. Unconsciously, she rubbed at the spot where the energy blast had struck her. His gut roiled with the caustic bite of bile.

"Do you know what de mission is about?" he asked, forcing his tone to remain light. They went on missions all the time and they weren't always life or death. She moved a step closer so his body sheltered hers from the wind. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

Rogue bit the inside of her cheek. "Nah, the Professor didn' say. But, he sounded worried."

Remy grimaced. The looming unknown hung heavy over the moment. A pang of urgency bit into his heart. He needed to tell her. In an effort to rally his courage, he closed his eyes and instantly regretted the action. Images of Rogue sacrificing herself in his stead, of Rogue lying too still in his arms, were indelibly etched against his eyelids. If it hadn't been for him, she never would have been injured. Rogue deserved better than him.

As if sensing his sadness, his pain, even though she didn't know its cause, she knew he oughtn't go into battle in such a state of mind. Rogue gave his hand a squeeze, drawing his red eyed gaze to her. When she had his attention, she grinned. First shyly in a thin attempt to draw him from his maudlin reverie. His lips quirked unable to resist her sweetness. As she reeled him in, her grin grew broader, bolder. She shook her head, sending a cascade of the curls he loved so much to tumble over her shoulders.

Soon his grin matched hers. It didn't reach his eyes like hers did, but it was a start. Her smile turned cheeky, and she backed up a step, then two, her hand still clasped in his. Though she moved away from him, her gaze did not waver as she hovered above the slanting roof. He felt like Wendy, holding Peter Pan's hand.

"You wanting me t' t'ink happy t'oughts, chère?" he mused. His grin held a slightly manic edge. Rogue alive and well was his happy thought. Maybe he could fly.

She laughed. "Sorry, sugah, Ah don' got a thimble for ya."

He swallowed hard. A thimble. A kiss. He yearned to kiss her. Instead, he skidded to the edge of the roof with the graceful ease of an acrobat performing a high wire act.

"Race you." He quirked an eyebrow, delivering the challenge with aplomb.

"See ya there, Cajun." Without a glance behind, she disappeared out of sight. Not wasting any time, he clambered after her, finding the familiar handholds down the side of the building by touch until he slipped through his bedroom window. From there, it would be only a matter of minutes before he caught his belle femme.

Despite her head start, it didn't take long for Remy to overtake her. He was quick and knew all the secret ways through the Mansion. The coattails of his duster flapped against his calves as he ran down the hallways. Chasing her to an empty corridor, he silently snuck up behind her. Before she could escape, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. He breathed in her heady sweet scent. Though he held her close, he wondered if he would ever truly catch her. Heart and soul. He shoved the thoughts away before they could take root.

"I got you," he said in a low rumble that sent chills up her spine. He leaned into her as he felt the shiver that radiated through her body. He didn't get to enjoy it for very long before she turned in his arms and wrapped hers around his shoulders. Her honeyed voice was thick with the desire she would never act on. "Nah, Ah've got ya, swamp rat."

"Oui." His heartbeat quickened, but he forced his breathing to remain even.

She kicked her feet off the ground, bending her knees as he held her close. For a scintillating moment, she leaned into him, allowing him to support her. Like she did every time she was tempted to kiss him, she tilted her head back with her full lips parted and her emerald eyes half lidded. Her heart raced and her breath caught as he responded in kind.

He nearly choked on the rising rush of desire, but paused when her breath was a warm caresses on his lips. Though he hesitate, the need to kiss her nearly bubbled out of him. If he moved any closer, she would pull away, rejecting the very thing she desired. That he desired. He wondered what it would take to finally kiss her. To admit all that he felt for her and more. He hoped it wouldn't take the end of the world.

Rogue straightened her legs, taking her weight back from him. Looking up at his face, she cupped his cheek with her gloved hand. Her thumb rubbed at the bristles of his stubble. "What is it sugah?"

"Rogue….I…" He hesitated as his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and he momentarily lost the ability to breathe normally. Why did these words keep getting stuck in is throat? I love you, his internal monologue prompted. "I…I need t' tell you somet'in'."

"All right, Ah'm listening…." She drawled.

Before he could speak, the flow of air in the corridor shifted as someone opened a door at the far end.

"Rogue! Gambit!" Cyclops called from the hanger. "We don't have all day."

"In a moment," Rogue hollered back. Irritation at being interrupted sparked in her expressive eyes.

Turning to Remy, her voice was soft and sweet, it reminded him of what home ought to be. "Go on."

Footsteps reverberated from the other end of the hallway. They wouldn't be alone for much longer and he couldn't do this with an audience. He sighed. The time wasn't right. They needed to be able to focus on the coming mission. She didn't need the weight of his confession hanging over her head. There would be time later. He'd tell her afterwards.

He stepped back, giving Rogue space. Tilting his head to the side, he listened to the subtle shift of sound. Under the murmuring of indistinct conversation he could pick out the soft brush and rustle of feathers. "Warren," he remarked in a low undertone.

Rogue nodded her agreement as she chafed at her arms. The air in the corridor had dropped by several degrees. "And Bobby."

In line with their predictions, Bobby and Warren came into view. The sight of Rogue and Gambit bickering or flirting—or, more often, both—was too common of a sight these days for Warren to react with anything more than a nod of greeting to Rogue and a glower at Remy.

"Is he giving you grief?" Bobby asked. The implied, Do you want me to do something about it? was left unsaid.

Remy grimaced and resisted the urge to growl. Dem boys are too protective of Rogue. Dey don't really see her, he mused. Instead of sniping back at them, he breached the distance between him and Rogue and twirled a loose curl around his fingers. The gesture spoke volumes, I'm not afraid t' touch her.

Rogue rolled her eyes, but didn't try to extract her hair from his touch. "Nah. Ah've got it handled. We're just chattin'." Rogue waved the boys off.

Waiting until they were once more alone, Rogue touched Remy's arm. "We ought to go before they send a search party. But first, what'd ya want to say?"

Remy ran a hand through his hair. That little display was typical of his interactions with most of the others. Without knowing it, they concurred with the dark thoughts he couldn't silence. No matter how hard he tried to atone, he wasn't good enough for Rogue, he wasn't good enough for the X-men. And someday, they'd all know the truth. Until then, he couldn't lose what he had now. He couldn't lose Rogue. Sometimes it felt like only Rogue and Stormy saw the possibility for good in him. When Rogue was at his side, he felt like it was possible to be a better man.

With a shake of his head, Remy's shoulders slumped. He pressed his hand over hers and held it tight before breaking the contact. "Not'in' dat can' wait chère. We'll talk after de mission. Promise."

As they headed for the hanger together, their hands almost brushing, a dark presentiment sank in his gut like crystal and tasted of ash on his tongue.

The ending of this chapter is intended to take place in the lead up to the 'Legion Quest' story arc where we saw Rogue and Remy kiss for the first time in X-men #41. When I outlined this chapter of Remy trying to say 'I love you,' I wanted to place it just before the kiss and the resulting fallout….