Disclaimer: God created Stan Lee, and Stan Lee created the X-Men. God saw that this was good. There's no way I'm going up against that.

Author's Note: Hiya, guys! I'm sorry, I have no excuse for my procrastination. Please forgive me!

---

Chapter #5: House of Love
"... [T]he Lord your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you."
- Deuteronomy 31:6

Remy stared at his reflection on the shield held by one of the saints adorning a niche in the Church. The now dirty cloth that he held in his hand hung forgotten by his side. He felt tired and drained, but more accurately a little nervous. Standing three statues down was the Rogue Sister, her own cloth darting quickly, yet no less thoroughly, over the body of another saint.

Remy tried to ignore her. She had thwarted all his attempts of apologizing and even went so far as grimacing whenever she saw him in the halls. He knew that he must have sounded like a pompous atheist, and although at the time he had felt like he was being candid and honest, in truth he was using his indifference towards religion as a way of masking his own spiritual weakness and ignorance.

Remy had never been taught religion. He did not know what his options were, nor did he understand why people devoted themselves to an invisible entity. Remy knew only what was real. He was taught to be a thief, and he was good at it. He learned what was good and what was bad, but also he learned to recognize the silver lining between the two extremities. Remy's theory was that if he could touch it he could believe it. He knew no other way of living.

But now he was nervous. The women he had met at this convent believed in a God they had never seen. He could not touch God, so why believe that God exists? And yet the women here… they claimed to have felt God.

Felt God?

How can one feel what one cannot touch?

Remy did not understand. He could not wrap his mind around such a thing. But he wanted to learn. He wanted to know what it was about this God that entranced them so. This is what he wanted to tell Rogue… that he was sorry. That he did not understand. He was not a heathen. He was only a sinner lost in a world unknown to him. He was willing to listen. He was willing to learn.

He was willing to be found.

But she had no time for him. He watched her now, out of the corner of his eye. She had cleaned two statues in the time it had taken him to clean one, and already she was dusting the statue next to his. Her movements were slower, and with every rustle of her robes the scent of summer flowers lifted into the air.

He knew it would be foolish to open his mouth and address her. Only two reactions could come of it: one, she would flee at his address; or two, she would blow up in a rage. He did not think he could handle either, considering that he wanted nothing more than to bask in her presence.

Unbeknownst to him, a sigh escaped his lips. It was a deep sigh that reverberated through the still air. Rogue turned to look at him, her green eyes captivating his red with a naïve bat of her long lashes.

She was frowning.

'Why don't ya believe in God?' she asked, abruptly.

Her voice echoed in his ears and Remy realized that he was expecting her to ask this. It was the key to break his indifference.

'De colour o' my eyes. W'at dey be?'

Rogue stared intently into them. So intense was her gaze that Remy nearly looked away.

'Red,' she said, finally. 'Like blood.'

'Dey say I was abandoned because my family, dey were religious.' He gazed at the stone expression of the saint he had been polishing. Its unseeing eyes revealed a vacant core. 'Dey t'ought I had dey eyes o' de devil. So dey t'rew me away.'

'But you were found.'

'By t'ieves.'

'By people.'

Silence fell between them again as they both stared at the solid stone statues before them. Remy knew that Rogue's mind was working. She was struggling with words she wanted to say. Was she afraid of his reaction?

'Why do you believe in dis god?' he asked. It was a question he had been burning to ask since her outburst in the kitchen a few days ago. It was a question he knew would be hard for her to answer. He was surprised, therefore, when she answered it so readily.

''Cause it's easy to.' Seeing the confused look on his face, she continued. 'When Ah was little, it was easier ta dwell on the good things than on the bad. If Ah dwelled on the bad, Ah'd have drowned.'

Remy's eyes widened in surprise when she grabbed him by the hand and led him to the altar. He could feel the warmth of her hand penetrating his skin, but she seemed oblivious to the touch. She was not holding his hand because she wanted to. She was holding it because she was leading him to God. Her face was lifted and she was gazing at the large gilded cross before them.

'Christ almost drowned… on that cross o' His,' she said, softly. 'He un'erstands people like me.' She turned her large eyes on him and Remy felt his soul stir. 'He un'erstands people like you.'

Remy stared up at the cross looming above him. Why did these people glorify a death by crucifixion?

'God loves His children. He sent us three gifts,' she said, and again Remy felt as if the nuns of this convent could read his thoughts. First the Reverend Mother… and now the Rogue Sister.

'Gifts?'

'Yes, three: Hope, Faith, and Charity.'

'Charity? Like in de name o' dis convent?'

Rogue nodded. 'Do ya know what Charity means?'

Remy shook his head. Of course he knew, but for some reason he realized that any answer her gave her would be wrong.

'Love. Charity is ta bestow love on another.'

Alas, he would have been wrong.

'The House of Charity,' she said, 'is the House of—'

'Love.' Remy was looking at her again. He could not help it. 'Why did you become a nun?'

Perhaps it was the abruptness of the question, or else the turning of their conversation, but Remy sensed that he had caught his green-eyed angel off guard.

'I-It's mah callin',' she stammered, clearly flustered. His blood-red eyes seemed to pierce right through her.

'Who be beckoning?'

'An inner voice, pe'haps…' She turned her back on him and started walking back to the statue she had been dusting.

'What if it be de wrong voice?' Remy called after her. His heart was hammering against his chest and he was not sure why. How appropriate… that the roof under which he had met this rogue was called the Convent of Love.

Rogue turned slowly to face him, but she did not meet his gaze. Her eyes were downcast, her long lashes lying helplessly against her cheek. 'Ah don't un'erstand the question…'

'W'at if you fall in love?' Remy asked boldly, taking a step towards her. 'W'at if you fall in love wit' someone who ain't God?'

He watched her hands curl into fists and noticed the slight shaking of her shoulders. He had overstepped his boundaries… but a part of him did not care. He wanted to know. He wanted to know how far her devotion lay, and how much of it he could steal.

'Impossible.' She spoke just this one word, but she spoke it with such finality that Remy suddenly felt as if he had been slapped across the face.

Without looking up at him – without so much of a flutter of those lashes – she turned and walked out of the Church. Remy stared after her, staggered.

---

'Vas is vrong, meine kleine Schwester(1)?!' Brother Wagner exclaimed, as Rogue came storming into the library. He put down the book he was reading and watched as Rogue began to pace the length of the worn rug.

'Nothin',' she bit out, but the clenched fists at her side and the maddening strut of her gate told Brother Wagner otherwise.

With a slight sigh, he put his book down and prepared himself to give his sister his full attention. 'Bitte(2). Sit down.' When she ignored him, he decided to skip the preliminary words and get right to the root of the problem. 'Did anyone say shomethin' to you?'

'No,' she growled, under her breath.

Brother Wagner nodded his head. Rogue's "no" usually meant "yes". 'Vas it das herr LeBeau?'

Rogue did not reply, but the reddening of her cheeks was answer enough for him. He stroked his chin. Brother Wagner was in no way observant. He was quite oblivious to his surroundings – a habit he had picked up after being surrounded by women for so long – but he knew a little something about the ways of a man's thoughts. He had not been oblivious to the recent change in Rogue's demeanor. She had become more scarce than usual and she seemed fidgety and tense whenever she was around people. He had noticed the way her back arched when Remy walked passed her in the hallway, and the way her cheeks would flush red whenever his name was mentioned.

He was also not oblivious to the way Remy looked at Rogue. It had become common knowledge at the convent that Remy had acquired a certain obsession for her, and although the nuns had faith in Rogue's devotion to the Order – and therefore did not heed Remy's actions as being dangerous – Brother Wagner was not as satisfied.

He had raised Rogue. He knew her better than he knew himself. Her love for God was strong… but except for his own, she knew no other type of love. His own transition into priesthood was entirely his own decision, but although Rogue willingly accepted nun-hood, it was not entirely her choice. She simply had no other options.

With all this in mind, Brother Wagner had quietly observed the actions of the two young individuals under his roof. He was not quite sure how he felt about it. Rogue was clearly oblivious to Remy's true feelings, but her own were quite apparent. It was clear to Brother Wagner that Rogue was interested in the boy. Remy intrigued her and Brother Wagner often caught her gazing at the boy in supposed secret. And yet… she was scared of him at the same time. Was it fear of the man… or fear of the sin? Therein lay the dilemma.

As the Father of the Church, it was Brother Wagner's duty to guide Sister Mary Rose back onto the righteous path. It was his responsibility to remind her of her duties and of her pledges to the Lord.

But as her brother…?

He was torn.

Could he deny her life's simple joys? Did he have the right to take from her what was natural?

Was he jumping to conclusions? Perhaps infatuation was where it ended. Perhaps the look in Rogue's eyes whenever Remy was near was simply curiosity. Nothing more.

He watched her pace for a few moments. When he finally spoke, it was in a calm, soothing voice. 'Anger can be a dangerous thing, ja?'

Rogue stopped and faced her brother with a steady gaze. 'Ah'm not mad.'

'Vas is it?'

Rogue seemed to slump underneath her layer of robes. 'Ah dunno. It's him.'

'Der boy?'

Rogue nodded.

'"Who can find a virtuous vomen? For her price is far above rubies."(3) Herr LeBeau sees you like ve all see you, Rogue: a gem among grains of sand.' Brother Wagner walked towards her and placed a comforting hand upon her shoulder. 'He is a nice boy.'

'Ah don't like the way he looks at me…'

'Wie(4) dos he look at you?'

Rogue pouted, and Brother Wagner was suddenly reminded of the six-year-old girl who used to follow behind him, seeking comfort in his shadow.

'Like Ah'm different.'

'You are.'

Rogue shook her head vehemently. 'He doesn't look at me the way you look at me.'

Brother Wagner chuckled. 'If I may quote der proverbs… "There are three things which are too vonderful for me, yea, four which I know not: der vay of an eagle in der air; der vay of a serpent upon a rock; der vay of a ship in der midst of der sea; and"…' he paused, ensuring that he had her attention, '… "der vay of a man with a maid."'

Rogue blinked. 'What proverb is that?!'

'30:18,' Brother Wagner recited, with a blush. 'I find it is true to me.'

'Ah don't un'erstand you.'

He nodded. He had not expected her to understand. She was too naïve. 'Herr LeBeau is a man. You need not fear him… but be wary.'

He grabbed his book from the table and made his way to the door. Before leaving, he flashed Rogue a smile.

Rogue stared after him, even more confused than when she had entered the library.

---

(1) meine kleine Schwester – "my kid sister" in German

(2) Bitte – "Please" in German

(3) Proverbs, 31:10

(4) Wie – "How" in German