Some time after Antarctica….

Remy resisted the urge to check his watch as he tightened his grip around his coffee mug. Rogue was late. This definitely didn't bode well for their lunch plans. Balancing on the back legs of his chair, Remy sipped at his empty mug and deliberately avoided making eye contact with the other X-men gathered around the dining room table. If things had gone according to plan, he wouldn't have had time to finish his coffee, let alone still be sitting here when the others arrived for lunch.

"Are you certain you don't want one?" Hank asked again as he inclined the serving platter with the last ham and cheese sandwich in Remy's general direction.

"Non, mon ami." Remy gave a shake of his head in an almost credible imitation of not being irritated. His fingers itched to retrieve a deck of cards from his pocket and start dealing a game of solitaire. But, he'd waited this long without his cards as a distraction, to pull them out now would certainly garner more attention to the fact that Rogue had practically all but stood him up.

A furrow creased Stormy's usually serene brow as she studied her longtime friend. She wrapped her long, slender fingers around his wrist in an attempt to still the reflexive tensing of his fingers. Barely restrained energy buzzed under his skin.

"Are you all right?" Stormy spoke so softly that the others gathered around the table could not hear despite their far from surreptitious attempts at eavesdropping.

"'m fine, chère," he ground out between gritted teeth. He didn't want to discuss this. "Leave it be. D'accord."

Stormy raised a skeptical eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Instead she clinked her fingernail against the empty ceramic mug. Apparently he was fooling less people than he thought; his exasperation would have been less obvious if he'd been shuffling his deck in a swish and whir of cards. Restraining a sigh, he returned his mug to the table, only to find himself at a loss with how to occupy his hands.

Before she could press him further or he could concoct a semi-reasonable excuse, the kitchen door slammed open with enough force to wrench the hinges askew. More than one X-men jumped in their seat at the sudden noise and winched at the anticipated damage to the oft patched wall.

"What'd you do this time Gambit?" A thread of vitriolic curiosity wound through the question as Bobby pinned Remy with an accusatory glare.

"None o' your business, Iceboy." With a steely, intense glint in his crimson eyes, Remy returned the piercing stare until Bobby looked away.

"Remy." Stormy placed a placating hand on his shoulder. He shrugged off her hand and held the burning stare a moment longer. When no one else dared to question the situation, Remy closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose.

Not bothering to hide the pulsing vein at his temple, Remy leaned forward, righting the front legs of his chair with an answering bang. If he could head her off before she entered the dining room, maybe, just maybe, he could forestall the next inevitable round of gossip that continually surrounded their relationship these days. Remy attempted to forcibly smother his own smouldering anger. It wasn't an entirely successful venture, but if one of them didn't try to keep their tempers in check, they would never get anywhere.

Dating Rogue was supposed to be a dream come true, but lately, all they seemed to do was argue. He hissed in frustration. This relationship was something they both wanted. Something they had worked and fought and hoped for until it became a reality. But, now that they were finally together, all their personal demons were set on having a near permanent field day. If it wasn't her fear of her powers, it was his guilt and self-loathing that continually obstructed their progress. This wasn't even the first time they'd hit this particular point in their relationship. How many times had they been together, then apart? They were at the together point again, but for how much longer? Their flaring tempers and fiery passions ricocheted off each other as they struggled to hold each other close while simultaneously pushing the other away. They both bled too easy.

At the sight of Remy in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, Rogue veered wordlessly into the hall which led towards the rest of the Mansion. It didn't take a genius to tell that she was attempting to avoid him. Well, it was too late for that.

"Rogue," Remy pleaded as he caught up to her at the stairs leading to the bedrooms.

Several steps above him, she whirled in place, her hair whipping around her with the movement. Her eyes narrowed and she looked at him, but wasn't seeing him. He grimaced. Whatever he'd done this time, he must have really stepped in it.

"Not here," she seethed between clenched teeth and continued her march up the stairs.

He reached for her arm. If he could touch her, remind her of the good in their relationship, or even simply distract her from the ragged, raw edge of her wrath, maybe he could forestall at least part of the coming argument and the fallout it would leave in its wake. Instead, she shied away from his touch with an abrupt jerk and quickened her pace to remain a step or two beyond his reach.

Without straying from her intended path, she stomped towards her bedroom, flung the door open, and slammed it shut. Remy slipped in behind her, the door clipping his heels. At least here they could have a semblance of privacy.

"Now, chère…" Remy began.

"Don' you dare 'chère' me you swamp rat. It ain't gonna be that easy." She stormed across the room and pressed her forehead against the cool windowpane. The bed neatly divided the room with its inescapable presence. Though at the moment, neither of them saw the bed as anything more than an unyielding barrier that served to separate them physically as they were emotionally. They couldn't get any farther apart and still be in the same room if they tried.

Remy studied the strained cords of her muscles where they ran like stark lines across the taut canvas of her back. The waves of tension radiating off her body struck him with an almost tangible pressure. His knees buckled slightly at the intensity and he staggered back a step. Foreboding sank in his stomach like a millstone. He swallowed back the burning bile climbing up his throat.

Finally turning her attention away from the window, she caught him staring. Rogue crossed her arms across her chest and glowered at him. "What do ya want?"

Forcing aside the unease, Remy feigned a casual drawl, "Well, ch—eh, Rogue, we had lunch plans."

"Ah ain't hungry."

If it wasn't for the oppressive sense of impending doom, he would have already made a move to act on the aching desire that the flush of her cheeks and the fire in her eyes sparked in the core of his being. Her passion—no matter what form it took—always caused him to respond.

As if reading his lascivious thoughts, her expression grew hard and her lips pulled tight in a facade of a disgusted grimace.

"You wanna steal a kiss, don'chya Cajun?" Rogue accused. Instinctively she shifted a step in his direction, her fingers clutching the hem of her shirt.

"Oui," Remy roared back, regretting his loss of control the moment the response flew off his tongue. His temper flared, fanned by the turmoil boiling in his gut and the conflicting waves of rage and yearning cascading from her. Despite the regret, it didn't stop him from digging the dagger in deeper. He manoeuvred around the bed, stepping in until he invaded her personal space. "And don' pretend I'm de only one, chère."

Her face, already scarlet with anger, turned a more brilliant shade of crimson. In a blink-and-you-missed-it moment, she leaned into him, her lips parted. Recovering her senses, she thrust a hand against his sternum and mercilessly pushed him away. "We ain't talkin' about me here. We're talkin' about you. You ain't bein' fair. You know, Ah can't kiss ya, yet ya keep pushin'."

"I know dat." He caught her covered wrist and held it in his gloved hand.

"Then why do ya keep pushin'? Tryin' to wear me down 'til Ah do somethin' Ah regret?"

"Non." Remy roughly ran a hand through his hair, yanking at the loose ends until his scalp throbbed. "'m tryin' to make dis t'ing between us work."

"What thing?" she shot back deliberately allowing the cutting words to sink in. "Ah can' trust ya."

Remy gaped like a fish out of water. Where had that come from? What else did she want to know? What other secrets did she want to rip out of him?

For half a moment, her anger flickered. Unable to bear the sight of the wound her words had dealt him, Rogue focused on the bed and all the unspoken, unfulfilled intimacies it represented. Deep sadness shone in her eyes before the glinting, hard edge returned. She squared her shoulders to keep from sagging under the weight which threatened to bury her where she stood.

Biting back another scathing retort, Remy clamped his jaw shut with the clacking of teeth and waited. The volatile silence thrummed in the air like a high intensity power line running across the room. He feared a spark would set the room ablaze.

"Ya think you're Prince Charming, but you're really Georgie Porgie, ain't ya sugah?" There was nothing sweet in her voice. Only cold iron. If he had been one of the fair folk, her attack would have been an irrevocable blow. But, non, no one ever accused him of being fair—no, he was always the red-eyed devil, Le Diable Blanc. Still, She speaks poniards and every word stabs.

Smirking with a wry twist of his mouth, he raised a sardonic eyebrow. He wouldn't let her see how much she hurt him. "Georgie Porgie?"

"Ya know," she said in a low hiss that cut him to the quick. "'Kissed the girls and made them cry.'"

Merde. So, she had seen it. With a cringe, his guilt flared across his face like a beacon before he managed to school his features into a blank mask. He had hoped she hadn't seen it. When she hadn't said anything, he thought…. Non, he shook his head, disgusted with himself. He should have told her, explained the situation to Rogue before they'd even debriefed with the team after the mission. And that had been days ago. During the debrief he'd skipped over the minor details of how he'd completed the job, telling himself it wasn't relevant to the others. It hadn't been, but it was relevant to her.

No wonder things had been icy between them since coming back from that mission. Today's foiled lunch was supposed to be a step towards remedying the cold. Except, after days of festering in silence, the cold had morphed into too much fire.

And now, it was all coming back to haunt him—like always. He hadn't meant anything by it. A meaningless facade needed to provide an excuse for why he was sneaking into places he didn't belong. That bloody mission hadn't quite gone completely south yet, but it had been headed there in a handbasket.

Rogue had been on the mission with him. She'd been his lookout and backup. Others had been there too, but he had only had eyes for her. He usually enjoyed being on the missions where she was required to dress in formal gowns. That evening, his job had been to get the information without leaving a trace. It was the kind of pinch he could do in his sleep.

But, nothing had gone according to plan. Their host had hired more security than they'd been led to believe. Which left Rogue and the others busy in a dizzying dance of keeping their eyes on too many targets while providing distractions whenever security wandered too close. Then, the data hadn't been backed up before the gala as scheduled. The X-men needed the list, so Remy had no option but to work his way deeper into the estate and find where the originals were kept. Once there, he needed to make his own copies, a time consuming and tedious process. All of this had been beyond the original mission parameters, but he wasn't about to cut and run. Not when all he wanted to do was return to the party for a dance with his chère before disappearing into the night.

Unfortunately, he never got that dance. It was only on his way back to the party that he realised he'd picked up a tail—a blonde with bored eyes and a dress that revealed far too much skin. He'd vaguely noticed her earlier, she'd been mooning over him all evening. When she noticed him leave the party early, she had waited for his return in the shadowy hallways where guests weren't supposed to be. Though he had tried to dissuade her blatant attempts at seduction, she wouldn't listen, instead pressing herself against him and slowing his process. So, when the security guard appeared, making his scheduled rounds, Gambit was forced to make a choice. He kissed her.

She was close, she was convenient, she was cover. That was all. He didn't even know her name. Her kiss tasted of cigarette ash and desperation. There was nothing soft or sweet about her. Nothing like kissing Rogue. When it was finished, all he wanted to do was wash his mouth out with soap, but he had to play it cool. Pretend that it had been something worth writing home about when it didn't even rate a footnote. It had been years since any kiss other than Rogue's had made him feel anything. The brush of Rogue's lips—even through a protective barrier—instantly filled him with a burning desire that only she could quench. Damn her.

The flirting and the charm had grown old long before Rogue had entered his life. He'd kept up the act for as long as he did because it had protected him until he'd found someone who was worth risking his heart. Once he had tasted the real thing, all his other flirtations had become nothing more than a hollow play act. He used it now because his time on the streets and his training as a thief had ingrained into him to point of instinct that it was always better to get out of a tight situation without fighting whenever possible. That didn't mean she had to like it, but he wasn't about to throw out a useful tool in his repertoire.

"Well—?" Rogue stared at him, drilling holes through all the protective layers and exposing his vulnerable heart. Daring him to try lying to her. She wouldn't believe his lies. Though, he knew, even the truth would sound like a lie. He had gone and screwed up good this time.

Again. Damn him.

"Chère, I can explain…" The words sounded weak and cheap even to his own ears. He shook his head, and didn't try again. His shoulders slumped and he practically collapsed in on himself. Why bother?

They all thought of him as the X-men's playboy. He loved too freely and too often, or so they thought. Truth was, most of the others didn't know him well enough to judge him. It never stopped them anyways. They didn't want to get to know him. Sure, he played his cards close to the chest, his secrets didn't come out until they were dragged kicking and screaming. But a homme deserved to keep some things private, non? He wasn't proud of his many past indiscretions. They drove him to atone. Couldn't the others trust him? Even a little? Hadn't they forgiven far greater sins than his?

Closing his eyes, his head sagged forward. No, maybe they hadn't. But, he didn't need the whole team to forgive him. Just as long as those few—the ones who really knew him best—accepted him, trusted him. Surely that would be enough. He hoped Rogue would be the one. That she could trust him, even when what she saw didn't make sense.

The edge of her wrath softened a minuscule amount. "Sugah, whatever your reasons are, it's always gonna be like this. Ah can't touch ya, no matter how much either of us want it to be otherwise. You can' live without bein' touched. Ya say you'll stick around, that we'll work somethin' out, but how long you gonna last? 'Cause Ah ain't gonna touch you. The risks are too big, the cost is too much."

He scrubbed at his face as though he could scrape away the growing aggravation before meeting her green eyes. Without thinking about what he was doing, he reached for her hand and ran a thumb over her knuckles. "Why are you so quick to tell me what 'm gonna do? Why won' you give me a chance?"

Reversing her hand, she vehemently shook off his hold as though that proved her point. "And what are you gonna to do when you can't stand it anymore. When our inability to touch wears you thin?"

"We'll figure it out," he pleaded. He never understood why the others were always so ready to believe that he was the one playing her. Didn't they see? She held his heart in her hands. And right now, she was tearing it to shreds.

She laughed, cold and mirthless, "You'll find someone else. Some mark willin' and eager to melt into your hands. Your charm will draw her in, just like it did me. But she'll be able to touch ya. Caress you. Give ya that bloody kiss. And you'll break my heart."

"I'd never," Remy shook his head. When they were together, even when they couldn't be intimate, he never thought about touching another woman. He never wanted to. It was true that during those periods they weren't dating, he'd found himself in the company of other femmes. But none of them ever matched her. They always left him wanting, longing for the one woman denied him. No other woman had made him feel the way Rogue did. Not even Belle.

Rogue scoffed, a mocking, venomous sound. "Why should Ah believe ya? Ya can't even go on one mission without kissin' the first girl who throws herself at ya."

Damn. Damn. Damn.

"It was a mistake chère. I got de message loud and clear. I went for de easiest cover, I shoulda been able t' work somet'in' else out. Je suis désolé." He was practically on his knees begging for her forgiveness.

A forced resolve stole across her eyes as she refused to look at him. "It ain't good enough. You'll just go an' do it again. Ah ain't gonna be made a fool."

"What else do I have t' do t' prove my love for you? I'm yours chère, dere's no one else. All de rest of it—de flirting on the mission, de charm—it don't mean a t'ing." He paced away from her, across the room. His words were soft, almost inaudible under the sound of his footsteps. "De cost don't matter t' me. I'm willin' to pay anyt'in' if it means stayin' by your side."

"The cost does matter. And ya ain't the one who has to live with the consequences. Don' forget, I've seen your mind, sugah. It's a dark place in there." She grimaced, remembering it all. "When ya gonna get it through your thick skull, Ah don't want ya in my head."

He threw his hands in the air. His head throbbed. They kept having the same argument. Yes, he messed up. Again. He admitted it. Apologised and meant every word of it. If he had kissed Rogue instead, she would have been angry about that too. There was no winning here. He was royally screwed either way.

"Nothin' to say, Cajun?"

Remy glowered. "Not'in' left to say. You apparently got all de answers worked out wit'out me. I'm not'in' but a guilty dog who deserves not'in' more den t' be kicked t' de curb, non?"

"Ah didn' say that. Don' go putting words in my mouth," she snarled.

"Rogue, you don' know what you want. You tell me you can' touch me, but if I once—once—touch someone else during de course of a mission, 'm not'in' but a player. I wait for you. I don' push for more den you're willin' to give and I'm de bad guy." His red eyes shone like burning embers. Worn beyond ragged, words spilled out of him without considering the consequences. "What do I have t' do to prove myself t' you? I love you more den my own life. Dat isn' goin' t' change."

His admission hung heavy in the air between them. He knew he said the wrong thing. It was true, but Rogue didn't want to hear that. In the charged silence, his confession grew and twisted as it exposed another of the raw nerves that ran between them. It wasn't as much as what he had said, rather how he had said it. The self-loathing had crept through, the part of him that considered his continued existence of little value. She didn't need to be reminded of his self-hatred because she already knew it all too well. He shivered with the cold that ran through the very marrow of his bones and had become a constant companion since Antarctica.

At last Rogue relented. She shook her head and looked down at her feet, not daring to meet the pain in his crimson eyes. "There's nothin' more ya can do, Remy. Ah know how ya feel. But it's not gonna work out between us. Don' ya see, you'll just end up hatin' me in the end. That's why ya let Belle go, wasn' it? 'Cause she'd end up hatin' ya if ya made her leave home. It's the same here, you'll just end up hatin' me if ya stay."

Tears fell down her cheeks, leaving glistening trails in their wake and he was back at her side in a few steps. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket that he kept particularly for this reason. Well, not necessarily to wipe away her tears, but to touch her. She accepted the thin, white cloth, but pulled away before he could brush the tears from her face.

"I could never hate you, chère. You are the heart of my heart. Hatin' you would be like hatin' de best parts of myself," he whispered, wishing she believed him.

She pressed the cloth back into his hands. This wasn't how the story was supposed to go. It's not how it worked in the romance novels they passed back and forth and read aloud the most salacious sections to each other. She was supposed to keep the token close and think of him. To want him back.

Knowing full well what she intended, he watched helplessly as the change came over her. With her head held high, her shoulders squared, and her spine rigid, she steeled herself for the unpleasant task she was about to perform.

"Goodbye, Gambit." The detached monotone might as well have been a punch to his gut. Each word a continuing barrage. "Ah don't need ya. Ah don't want ya. Go away and leave me be."

He hesitated, unable to move his feet. The last dregs of his anger swiftly became something else—regret, longing, he didn't know. Remy tried to meet her eyes with a silent plea, but she wouldn't return his gaze. Her lips pulled into a tight, severe line as she tried schooling her features into a hard, embittered mask. But, the mask cracked when it reached her eyes. Though dry for the moment, each tell betrayed her—a quiver of her lashes, a blink that lasted too long, the agony that settled deep within her emerald stare. Her words were a lie, but one she desperately wanted to believe. One she forced herself to believe, as if it were the only reality.

"Go!" Rogue yelled. "You're not wanted here anymore."

"But chère..."

"Goodbye, Gambit." This time she succeeded. Her voice was as cold as ice. With her arms pulled tightly across her chest, she turned away from him so he couldn't see the lie on her lips.

Remy's face fell. Dammit, he knew why she was doing this. Same reason his heart was bleeding all over her room. He had the same power to hurt her as she had to hurt him. And she was done with the pain. She didn't want to hurt anymore. In an attempt to staunch the open wound in the only way she knew how, she pushed him away.

Fine. If that's how she wanted it, he wouldn't stay. He had his own rent heart to mend.

Affecting the same tone she took with him, he jammed his hands in his pockets and looked down his nose at her. "Well, if dat be how you feel, I be goin' den. Don' let it be said dat Remy stays where he's not wanted."

She choked at the venom that laced his response, but didn't say anything to indicate that she had changed her mind.

He stormed out of Rogue's room—for the last time, he feared. The walls rattled as the door slammed shut in his wake. His snit only lasted mere steps into the hallway. There was nowhere he wanted to go. Nowhere else he wanted to be.

With silent steps he returned to Rogue's door. He raised his hand as though to knock, but he just stood there. Silent. Unmoving. His fingers ran in a barely there whisper along the woodgrain as though he could cast a spell and see through the door in order to catch one last, lingering glimpse of her. Instead, his acute senses felt her familiar presence mirroring his movements on the other side of the door.

The prolonged silence reverberated with as much intensity as the previous argument had—possibly more so. He lowered his hand, the door unknocked. Sinking to the floor with a nearly inaudible thmp, he sat with his back pressed against the door. His elbows dug into his knees and he cradled his head in his hands.

From the other side of the door, there was a similar slide and thmp. The pressure on either side of the solid oak door equalised as they sat back to back. In the hallway, the shadows lengthened as the setting sun sank below the horizon. The silence stretched, neither able to make the first move.

In a voice less than a whisper, a mere breath, he heard her speak. "Good bye, Remy."

Without a response, he stood and disappeared into the shadows like he had never been there. Only stopping at his room to retrieve his duster, Remy left the Mansion with nothing more than he brought with him.

Today he was farthest thing from a lucky man. His fabled luck had deserted him. That meant it was time to go. To find a new game. A new deal. A new hand.

He hoped he hadn't folded too soon.

Notes:

There's a couple of literary references in this chapter that I need to be attribute.
—When Rogue calls Remy 'Georgie Porgie,' she's referring to a nursery rhyme. It begins, "Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie,/Kissed the girls and made them cry…"
—And, Remy quotes Shakespeare, when he thinks: "She speaks poniards, and every word stabs:" (from Much Ado About Nothing, Act II, scene i).
In the play, Benedick makes this remark when he reports the effect of the stinging remarks made by Beatrice (Benedick's past and future love interest). Somehow it seemed appropriate.