DISCLAIMER: Since it's pretty obvious by now that I don't own any of this I'm just going to say that if there's any way you still reckon I do, you're a total and complete imbecile. Good day to you.

(And now, we give thanks: To anon goddess, girl, you are so lovely they should make biscuits in your image. And I am a very serious fan of biscuits. LadyMageLuna, I'm sorry I couldn't give you anything more in the way of clarity than this, but this is a very special brand of clarity, just to make up for things. AshmandaLC you are an absolute star and you deserve so many props I couldn't even steal them all from the local drama class without getting caught. As usual Remy was too busy stalking Rogue to help me so you will have to make do with virtual props and my deepest, sincerest thanks for being such a love and reviewing, I hope you enjoy this. Bloodypassion, Valkyrien said Let There Be Romance, and there was. And it was in French. I hope this makes you happy honeypie because it sure made two very special people whom we all know more than just happy ^^ Laceylou76, girl you continue to be one of my treasured reviewers and for that I cannot thank you enough. I only hope you'll stick with me through this because this was meant to make you a happy girl - let me know if it worked, okay? XD To all of you: You Rock and I salute you with every fibre of my being!)

~Scarlet Letter ~

Beautiful And Dangerous

~**************************************************************~

"You – you're not serious?" He nodded, his eyes locked with hers, his face a mask of hope and fear.

"Corps et âme... Je suis ton, Rogue; mon cœur, ma vie - ils sont ton, en toute éternité..." Her eyes filled with tears as she shook her head at him, her voice breaking as she said,

"But – ya can' mean that – yah're lyin' – ya can' feel that way abou' me!" Her hands went to her face, covering her mouth as she blinked through the tears, but they just kept falling, and she realised that she wasn't wearing gloves, the shaking fingers on her lips pale white skin and not black leather or silk as she was so used to. His arm was still around her waist but he raised his other hand to her face and stroked her white bangs out of her face, the gesture tender and loving, the look in his eyes telling her that he meant every word, that he had been waiting, just as she had been... Waiting to feel...

She felt his fingertips brushing the tears from her cheeks and she closed her eyes, the feather-light touches accompanied by the warm flood of him in her mind, memories and feelings and dreams swirling behind her tightly closed lids as they fell into place, drifting amongst themselves until they fit. His voice was choked with emotion as he breathed in her ear, close enough to brush against her skin, as close as was possible without doing so,

"Can y' feel it, ma chere...?" She couldn't speak. It was overwhelming her, the longing imprinted in every second of his memories, every breath, every step heavy and tormented by it – she wanted to ask how long but it flowed into her mind even as she thought it, telling her just exactly how long, that it was exactly this long because he had counted the hours, not the days since the first time he fell into her eyes and knew...

"All dis time... c'etait tu..." His thoughts had been all of her that night on the Bayou after their parting, hoping against hope that she had forgiven him, that she did not think badly of him despite all he had done – his father had rambled on about the usefulness of his kind, of what they could achieve if he could ally himself with them. He had asked what Remy's relationship with Rogue was, whether she might consider working for them at his bequest. He had told him to forget it or forfeit his own services. He didn't want them to know anything about her – she was seperate, she was sacred, she was far too good for all of that. He wanted to keep her that way, keep her safe. Jean-Luc had been angry that he flat-out refused to even try and worm his way into their midst, use them the way he had used Remy all his life. He had told Tante Mattie about Rogue. Jean-Luc's digs and comments had stopped and things had gone back to the way they always had been, as though it had never happened. He strongly suspected his Tante had said something to his father but he wouldn't ask. She wouldn't tell him anything even if she had.

"Y' can see, can' y' ma chere?" He had begun his insane one-man crusade to prove to himself that he was worthy of another chance with her, of giving himself another chance to see her, speak to her. In his mind, if he could do this one thing for her to ensure her continued safety and peace of mind, then he had won himself the greatest prize of all; he would let himself come back. Everything he had put himself through – all the new scars, all the horrible things he had forced himself to see and do – he had done so that he could feel worthy of seeing her again. She placed her hand over his heart, an image of the branded mark that had seared into his flesh just there after an encounter with one of Apocalypse's 'backdoor guardians' flashing across her mind. He had so many scars, inside and out, and he had devoted each one to her. Suffered these for her. And he didn't regret it.

"Je t'aime, je n'est mentir pas, ma belle chere, je tu prier... Chere, fais-moi confiance, s'il vous plaît..." He didn't beg, the Remy in her head never begged – there had never been anything he wanted badly enough to beg for it and relief from pain or such was beneath him to beg for. He had enough pride to rival her own. Remy LeBeau did not beg for anything from anyone, but his eyes were pleading with her now and he was begging her. To believe him. He thought that she could still believe – with all that in her head, everything she now knew, could see completely – that he was lying. That he didn't mean it. The arm encircling her waist tightened convulsively and she opened her mouth to speak, his fingers twining themselves in her hair as he waited, and she knew, she knew how afraid he was. The man who never begged, the man who feared nothing, the man who loved her, waiting for her to speak his sentence. For it would be a sentence no matter what she said.

"I believe you, Remy..." she breathed, and he closed his eyes and tipped his head back, a half-strangled laugh on his lips.

"Dieu soit bèni!" he said, more to himself than to her, she knew. She knew everything now. She knew every dirty little secret, she could sift through anything she wanted because he had wished her to be able to. He hadn't held back. She was suddenly aware that he should be a good deal less sprightly considering he had allowed her to take enough to see that much of him.

"How – you touched me twice, Remy... You're still standin'..." it wasn't an accusation, she was stating a fact. He nodded, absentmindedly almost, and she knew that he was just trying to come to terms with the reality that she had not yet pushed him away or rejected him.

"I can handle more dan mos' people chere... I ain' like ev'ryone else," he said quietly, and she shook her head.

"Not even Logan can handle me touchin' him lahke that an' he can heal a gunshot to his head in half a minute!" Remy chuckled.

"Y' Wolverine heals up quick sure enough, ma chere, but Remy's pretty little lights can do alot mo' dan dat..." He looked partly surprised that she'd asked, and partly surprised that it was an issue. Almost as though it was nothing to him really, perfectly natural. Except they both knew it wasn't.

"Like what..?" Her voice was low and breathless, barely daring to wish that he had some explanation, admit to herself that she wanted him to be able to just touch her, anywhere he wanted, for as long as he wanted...

"I ain' never been tested like I know y' get tested at dat school o' yours, chere, but I always preferred field testin' t' de other kind an' I always heal up quicker dan anyone else I know of."

"But that's jus' lahke Logan!"

"Non, chere. Y' Logan heals, an' so do I, but I'm quicker an' stronger dan others because of my powers. Dat helps a little too. An' I can decide when and where t' heal if I put m' mind t' it. It's hard as hell but I c'n do it... Haven't been able t' f' so long but looks like it means I can take a little mo' from y' dan anyone else..." She processed all of this. Aspects of his powers meant that he was better able to resist her touch's life-draining side-effects?

"Ya haven't had that power for so long?"

"Las' couple a' months dey been changin'. I can feel it, I use dem fo' ev'rytin' ev'ry day, I felt dem gettin' stronger... I got beaten up pretty bad dat las' ting o' his I destroyed an' I had t' go t' hospital – " she nodded, she knew, that memory where she had thought he was just delusional had been from that stint in the public care system.

"I wasn' s'posed t' survive. I was too far gone an' dey tol' me I was gon' die. I couldn' die, chere, I'd won. I could come back t' y'. An' I healed up." She looked at him, seeing the odd look of gratitude on his face.

"I didn' believe I'd done it, I reckoned it was a miracle an' I didn' question it but I've had time t' get t' know this new version o' my powers an'... I really did do it... I guess... I guess dat's why I can touch y', chere... Only a little mo' dan ev'ryone else, but it's a start..." She couldn't believe what she was hearing. He loved her. He wanted her. He'd moved heaven and earth for her sake, to prove himself for her – and she could touch him. A little. A little was enough. A little was more than enough.

"That's why ya voice ain' in mah head – jus' your mem'ries..." He nodded, looking suddenly nervous. His hand rested in the crook of her neck. She hadn't noticed he'd donned his gloves again. All that thief training must have paid off...

"Chere, I – "

"How long can ya touch me fo'?" He shrugged a little.

"I don' know..."

"Is it enough for you?" His eyes widened as he realised the implications of her question, the real question behind what she had asked, and he took a deep breath.

"When I set out t' prove t' myself dat I was de person y' saw in me I didn' tink I'd ever be able t' touch y', chere... Dat was enough. If y' tol' me righ' now y' didn't ever wan' me t' touch y' even de little I could in case it wen' wrong, it would be enough. It don' matter what I can an' can' do wit' y'. It matters dat if y' could.... y'd wan' me t'..."

"Y'all mean that?" He smiled bittersweetly.

"Y' doubtin' me chere..?" She shook her head.

"Jus' afraid y'all won' mean it once ya see how much ya gonna have ta put up with, what you're gonna miss..."

"I can' spend another day alone wi'out y', mon amie de cœur. I love y'. Y' know I do. I can do anytin' y' wan' me to but I can' leave y' again. It ain' righ' bein' apart from y' chere, it's like leavin' my goddamn soul behind. Y' know dat, y' see dat don' y'?" She did. It was true, every word of it. Certainly he found her attractive – divine, the memories told her, eclipsing every other woman on the planet, without comparison, without peers or superiors she stood in a whole new class, unparalelled by any before her or any to come – but that wasn't what he loved her for alone. He loved her strengths and her weaknesses, her moods and her beliefs, her principles, her morals and her loves, her passions. He loved the very essence of her, who she was at the core, and she was shocked at how much of her he understood and how deep that understanding went.

"I know y' migh' not wan' t' accept dis like dis, righ' off, but – "

"Kiss me, Remy." There was no conviction in her voice but there surely was in her eyes. He lowered his lips to hers and brushed against them gently. She felt no pull, just a flow of emotion from him, love, hope, terror that she'd change her mind and leave him there, reject him... He pulled away, his breathing harsh and irregular, and she was instantly concerned.

"Did Ah hurt you?" He shook his head, caressing her cheek softly.

"It's not ev'ryday I get t' kiss de woman I love fo' de firs' time, chere..."

"It's not the firs' tahme..."

"It is. It's only de firs' time when y' willin', chere. Not when ya bein' controlled by some sadistic bitch an' her ass-lickers," he said firmly, and she bit her lip.

"Is it everyday ya get ta kiss the woman of yer dreams for the second tahme?" His eyes glowed a bright, warm red and she thought that Wanda was right... it was the most beautiful colour in the world...

~**************************************************************~

Kitty and Lance had retired to his room, it seemed, while Remy and Rogue had been out all night on the porch, talking, and Wanda had fallen asleep in John's room with the TV running, head cushioned on his chest and his arms loosely draped over her. That was how she woke up, too. Slipping out of them, she crept out of the room as silently as she could manage and crossed the hall to her own, rubbing a hand through her birdsnest of a hair do and looking in the mirror. She hadn't looked this rough since she'd come down with the flu and had to deal with all the boys acting like she was at death's door and they might as well go into mourning early.

Getting a towel from her closet – she had to have her own stash or else the guys would use them, Toad just stealing them for some weird reason that Pietro just told her not to wory her head about and let him sort for her – she padded out to the bathroom and ran the taps to get the water heated. She usually did just let Pietro sort those things. It was so much easier that way and it made him feel like a good brother. Not that he wasn't or anything, but he liked to prove it every once in a while. She didn't bother to lock the door, no one would be up at this hour, the clock had read five past eight in her room, and she pulled off her Tshirt and the little pants she favoured for bed and put her hand under the water. It was warm enough for her so she stepped into the tub and under it and let it wash away her fatigue. For some reason bathing always felt special to her. She never knew quite why it should, it was a fairly normal part of everyday life, but for her it always felt like a privelege that she could stand under the hot stream of water for as long as she liked without having to worry about anything, nothing limiting the time she could spend on it. If the hot water ran out her powers were well capable of restoring it to it's former scalding glory so she never even had to worry about that. She smoothed back the hair from her face and tipped her head into the water, luxuriating in the feeling of it battering the porcelain skin of her cheeks, smoothing over her body on the way down her, heat soaking through tired muscles and cold bones. She was always cold. Pietro worried about that, she knew. Apparently it could be a sign of poor circulation and that put you at risk of some disease or other but she didn't really care. It was a touch annoying but apart fom that it was easy to deal with. Just wearing her coat and a pair of gloves sorted it right out.

She didn't register the sound of the door opening, or the sound of the sink taps running, but she felt the ebb in the temperature of her shower and frowned a little, turning her face away from the stream and blinking the droplets from her eyelashes before parting the curtains to give someone a piece of her mind.

"Look, someone is trying to take a shower here, so – " she hadn't been ready for shocked, familiar blue eyes staring right back at her, or the tousled bright orange hair that seemed to shine in the faint gloom of the bathroom of it's own accord. She hadn't been prepared for the sudden vast expanses of visible, finely toned muscle that apparently was not limited to only the chest area but was in fact part of a well-trained whole that completely threw her. She certainly had not been prepared for all this wearing only black boxers and standing that close to her while she was in the... shower... with only a thin opaque plastic curtain and the edge of the bathtub seperating them. She licked her lips and tried not to stare, tried to speak, tried to do something, anything that would diffuse the situation, but she couldn't move and she couldn't speak and she was burning all over, burning inside, and her hands slipped on the slick plastic surface of the curtain and...

~**************************************************************~

He hadn't known she was in there, he hadn't known anyone was in there until he himself was and then he hadn't even thought of the possibility that it might be one of the girls, much less her. All that time spent living with other men had clearly not been healthy if it could make him forget that there were Sheila's all over the house today and knocking was likely a good idea no matter where you went. But somehow he knew it wouldn't have mattered if it had been one of the others. He would have turned right around, apologised, cursed, and left like the Devil himself was after his blood. But it wasn't one of the other Sheila's. It was her. Standing there with the annoyance in her eyes fading to complete shock and something else, something he didn't want to see because he wanted it to be there too badly and to admit that was to admit defeat, admit his weakness. It was her stood there with her hair dripping around that gorgeous face, lips curved into a perfect O, unmoving, unblinking, fingers loosening their grip on the only lifeline his tortured conscience had left – the edges of the shower curtain. And it was more than any man could stand.

~**************************************************************~

She didn't know if it was her who reached for him first or the other way around, she only knew that all of a sudden her fingers were twisting themselves into his vividly orange hair and her mouth was pressed against his, lips shaping themselves to the contours of his as though they'd never done anything else a day of her life and he was reciprocating, letting her run the very tip of her tongue along his lower lip as his arm snaked around her waist and his other hand slid up her side to cup her face and she shivered as his fingers raked through her hair. They were closer than close now, skin on skin, tongues twisting around each other in a slow, passionate dance older than time itself that only made the aching burn inside her worse. His skin was hotter beneath her hands than the water still running over her lower back and she arched into him, beyond pleased that he only held her tighter and lifted his mouth from hers to trail kisses down the side of her neck. Every inch of her felt neglected and sated at the same time and she sighed and dug her fingers into the hard muscle of his back, wanting it, wanting to feel it. She'd never felt anything as intense, as real as this before in her life – everything else was so grey and hazy and unreal in comparison. Nothing had ever made her feel as alive as the way his lips grazed over the skin just below her collarbone, the way they were so close that she didn't know whose heart she could feel beating, didn't know what this was other than that it was life, had to be, how else could it feel so completely, heartbreakingly right...

The cry that came from the doorway sounded like someone's heart broke too...