A/N: Thanks Tatiana and Bunny Angel for being co-plotters when I was stuck, and for Chiang with pre-planning and that awesome quote. Thanks all for the reviews. Say Happy (belated (24th)) Birthday if you want your ryro and romy. I promise Remy and other weird things will be explained. I'm so afraid I'll get Remy wrong. Will take help/advice/beta of multiple Remy fanatics. This story's going to come out slow, as you and I can both tell, even though I already have each chapter planned out. I'm just slow. So add me to your author alert list or join my mailing list or visit my site whenever you want to know if my story's alive. I will finish it, that much I can guarantee. With that said, you warned and chapter three still not done, here's chapter two. Review please. I'd really appreciate it and I could use it for inspiration, which I am lacking as of now.

II. Haunted

"If you think he's real, then he's real."

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A weary moan escaped Rogue's throat, fatigue clouded her senses, and her sight was hazy as if a mist had enshrouded her. She was vaguely aware of her body, yet she could not move nor did she have the strength to. Her thoughts trudged around lethargically in her mind making concentrating felt like hiking uphill in deep mud. She was too tired to even try to focus on any of them. But she could sense there was someone else. Thoughts or no thoughts, she could feel him in the back of her mind. Her eyes were widely out of focus, making any comprehension of the shadows and silhouettes before her impossible. She tried concentrating on bringing the image before her into focus, and slowly, almost unrealistically, the shadows transformed into a figure before her. She could barely make it out as human, the features significantly veiled from her eyes. Another moan escape her lips as she fought against heavy eyelids, and she glared into the shadows before her. She judged him to be sitting. She could not make out whom he was, but she could feel uneasiness in the back of her mind, an innate feeling of apprehension from being near whoever it was. She could not speak, for she could feel herself slipping quickly into unconsciousness. She could hear nothing. It was as if she were in a pool, her ears surrounded by silent waters.

Except now there was a sound pushing through, delaying her departure. A voice from her right, coming from an owner somewhere she could not see, distant as if it had traveled thousands of miles, silent but slowly becoming clearer, making waves. The same voice, calling out repeatedly. A jumble of syllables, filtered by the water, until finally they swam to her ears where they were finally deciphered. Coming from a voice as jaded as she was, "…Chére."

Rogue opened her eyes, jolted from her sleep, the shadows and silhouettes of her dream fading from her mind only to reveal the darkness that surrounded her. The voice was becoming distant again as it faded to a whisper in her mind. That was the last thing she needed: to be dreaming of Remy. He did not exist, she reminded herself. Even if it was only his voice, she did not need to be reminded of him. She did not want to be reminded of him. She wanted him to fade away, slip from her mind like the dream. She hoped it did not become one of those reoccurring dreams that took forever to go away. But the blurry figure in her dream lingered in the front of her mind. It had not been Remy, yet he had seemed familiar. Even though she had not seen his face, she felt like she knew who he was. She had experienced that same uneasy, foreboding feeling he had produced recently, yet she could not place when. She could not recall where.

Her body felt limp beneath her. She dragged her face from her pillow, and rested her head on its side. Her eyes came into focus, and she was staring into darkness that engulfed her. She blinked and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, hoping to make out where she was. Last thing she remembered was lying in Bobby's bed, but as she lay there, the bed felt warm with her body heat. Too warm to be Bobby's bed. His body temperature would have countered hers. Which meant he was not in it. There was no coolness in the sheets or in the air near her. She ran her hand in the space next to her. It was empty. Had Bobby left? Would he not have woken her up and told her? She still could not see anything.

"Bobby? … John?" she called out. No one answered her. She lay still in the bed for another moment contemplating the possible explanations. He would not have just left her there. Maybe he had gone to the bathroom. She turned in the direction of the bathroom. There was no light on. No light shining from under any door. Maybe he was outside talking to John. No, they could do that in here. There was no reason they would have to hide outside. She wondered if this was a game, like the one she had thought Remy to pull…. Panic and trepidation rushed through her body as the idea of Bobby having disappeared as Remy had passed through her mind. If she would find out from the entire school that he had never existed. If she would never see him again.

"No." He was real. "No." He had to be real. Remy might be a figment of her imagination, but Bobby was real. He was not like Remy. He could not be fake. He was not fake. She pushed herself off the bed hurriedly and tried to feel her way through the dark, stumbling to the door. Her hand fumbled for the light switch and flipped it on. As her eyes adjusted, her eyes grabbed onto the sight before. She looked left and right, trying desperately to find something, anything that belonged. She ran her eyes ran over the room once again as if it were possible she could have missed something, anything the first time.

The room was empty.

The dresser tops were bare, the nightstand top was bare, the floors were bare, the walls were bare. Out of the two beds in the room, only the bed she had just awoken from, its sheets ruffled and pushed back, had been touched. This was not Bobby and John's room. She was in one of the unused room, left empty for future students. When had she left Bobby and John's room?

She turned and flung the door open and ran into the hallway. She look left and right, the hall was empty as well and the lights were dim. The lights were only dim during the night. She turned back around and looked into the room. Eleven twenty. She stared at the clock she had had overlooked earlier. It was eleven twenty pm. Eleven hours and twenty minutes had passed since she had lain down in Bobby's bed, and she had woken to find herself in another bed in another room. She turned around again.

Staring out into the hallway, she saw it. She saw the room number hanging on John and Bobby's door, and a nauseating feeling swam through her as she inferred what the number on this door was from unconsciously estimating the distance from their room. She had been here before. She had been in this room before, in this doorway, in that bed. If this was a joke, it was sick. She turned her head and looked over her shoulder.

Tears smoldered the backs of her eyes, the nauseating feeling rushed forth with a vengeance and it was confirmed. She was in Remy's room. She could handle a vague dream. But waking up in the middle of the night in his once room, not knowing how she had gotten there, tore away at her sanity. And whether Bobby was real or not was no longer on her mind. Down the hall, past John and Bobby's room, she ran to her room crying, wanting to scream in anger and in fear. She slammed the door, not turning to even glance at Jubilee who lay asleep on her bed as she ran into the bathroom, and spent the night bent over the toilet.

-----

She had not built up the nerve to go to either of their rooms the next day. So as she left her room, she kept her head turned so as not to look down the hall in their direction. She knew she would never step foot in that room again. She would not so much as look at the door. Out of sight, out of mind. Then maybe he would stop haunting her mind, she could stop dreaming about him and then she could stop thinking about him altogether. And then, she could get rid of the eerie feeling that lingered in the back of her mind. And although she would never understand it, she could accept that she had made him up. She did not really have a choice really, but to accept it.

In the midst of all that had happened last night, she had never checked on Bobby… to see if she had made him up, too. She knew she needed that confirmation for the sake of her sanity. She needed it desperately. But she was too afraid to do it now. She was afraid not that he would be gone, but that if he were gone, it would prove that she was crazy. She did not know how she would react. So, she would leave it to chance and hope that he would find her or that they would bump into each other.

A thought dashed across her mind as she turned left down the hall. What if this had nothing to do with her? What if this was not of her mind's doing? What if there was a chance she would disappear and no one remembered her, too? No. She rejected the notion quickly. It did not make sense. If it were true, she would not have been the only one freaking out over Remy's disappearance.

Funny how she had lost her grip on reality in one weekend. She placed her hand on the doorknob and hesitated for a second. After she had become friends with Remy, she had stopped coming here as often as she had used to. He had understood. He had encouraged it. But now Remy was gone, and even he did not remember. She opened the door and stepped into the room slowly, searching for him. As she closed the door, she could hear the shower running. She was glad she had not come later and found him the way she had found John yesterday. She was almost one hundred percent sure that he would not have reacted in anyway similar to the way John had. She crossed the room and sat upon his bed, her back facing the bathroom door for obvious reasons, and lay down on her side, resting her head on one of his pillows. Logan was real and that gave her comfort. She turned her face into the pillow, surrounding herself in his scent. She remembered the times she had spent with Remy and the way his sheets had once smelled of him. They smelled like laundry detergent now.

Logan knew Rogue was in his room; he knew she was in his bed. It had been awhile since she had been here. He could not remember what it was that had changed everything, but she had started to spend her time on something else rather than with him. Maybe she had started hanging out with Jubilee and Kitty more. Whatever it was, he remembered he was relieved that she had started hanging around students more instead of limiting herself to following him around. He grabbed a towel and toweled his hair and chest and wrapped it around his waist before stepping out in the room. He already knew she was not okay; he could sense her grief and sorrow. He hoped she had not gotten into a fight with them or something. That type of thing was reasonably out of his territory. "Something wrong Marie?"

She sat up, startled. So absorbed in her thoughts, she had not noticed the shower had turned off. Involuntarily, she looked over her shoulder before realizing what she was doing. He gave her a raised eyebrow as a warning, and she turned around quickly, grateful that he had his towel on, "… yes."

She could hear him at his dresser, pulling out clothes to change into. She had decided she would tell him about what was happening. She did not want to keep this to herself, and she felt better telling him about it than the Professor or anyone else, "There was this guy, who went here… and I knew him really well and so did everyone else." Logan stopped her at the word 'guy'.

"This was about a guy?" he asked, somewhat tense. She answered 'kinda', her voice quiet and full of pain. That could only mean trouble—and for this guy, depending on what this was about. Had this bub broken her heart? Had he hurt her? Was he going to have to hurt him? "What'd he do?"

"It's not like that Logan. He didn't do anything," she answered, knowing he had already slipped into protective mode. Good, Logan thought, turning back to his clothes. He would not have to worry about hearing any crap about protecting, not hurting the students from Chuck later. "He came after the attack. It's just that everyone knew who he was… and now they don't. No one knows who I'm talking about when I say his name… he disappeared. I thought that maybe I made him up, but…."

She still kept a thread of hope. Logan dropped the towel and pulled on his boxers, "People don't disappear outa nowhere, darling. We haven't had any new students since the attack. You're getting your dreams mixed up with reality. Either that or those aren't even your memories…. You touched John and Bobby. It's probably some kid from one of their memories who was here before you came."

"This wasn't a dream! He was here! I remember him!" she argued vehemently, turning around to face him angrily, feeling the emotion well up inside her. He had to believe her. She had all these memories of him and all the time they had spent together. She remembered him. She could still feel him.

"Turn around, Marie," he ordered. It was evident that she was getting worked up about this. He zipped up his pants. He knew she was not lying, but she was confused. They had not gotten any new students since the attack, and if they had, he would have known about them. Chuck would have told him as well as the other adults. And even if they did have a new student and he knew about it and if this person had disappeared, Chuck would know and have done something about it. He put on a shirt and closed the last drawer. He understood that this was bothering her. He did not know what to say. He did not know what to tell her.

She stayed silent, her back still facing him. She did not know what to believe anymore. It did not really matter. Remy was gone, and he was not going to come back. She did not even know what she wanted from Logan. She had just been hoping to stay with him for a while. She turned towards him to see he was heading for the door, "Logan… can I stay with you?"

"I gotta go see, Chuck," he told her, opening the door. He stopped in the doorway, turned around to look at her. He was familiar with the pain that was packaged with one's mutation. "…I'll ask him about it, Marie."

She nodded and watched from his bed as he left. The door closed, and she was by herself left to deal with it. The tears streamed down her face. She did not know what to do, what to think. She hated feeling this way, hated how she had started crying so much. This was not Rogue. She was not like this, but she could not stop. She lay back down on his bed and buried her face in his pillow, emerging herself in his scent again. She was lost and terrified and alone. She tried forgetting about Remy, but he would not leave her memory. He was all she could think of. A sob escaped her throat and shook her body… she still remembered his scent.

-----

His hand on the doorknob, he was still wondering how he had ended up at Logan's room. Not a place he would usually visit, seeing as he was not exactly chummy with 'The Wolverine'. Definitely not the first place he had planned to search, but he was here, and somehow he knew she would be, too. He shook off the hesitation and the uneasy feeling that lingered in the back of his mind and opened the door. They needed to talk about everything that had happened yesterday, even if he had to check Logan's room. The way she ran off from him outside without a reason, the way she locked him out of his own room and the way she had not spoken to him all day. He wanted to know where all this had come from, why she was angry with him.

She heard the door open and sat up quickly, throwing her legs over the side of the bed, thinking that Logan had come back and found her crying on his bed. She turned to meet his eyes only to discover John watching her as he closed the door behind him. She closed her eyes and turned away. She had forgotten about him and everything that had happened yesterday. Well, she had not cared with everything that had been going on. She knew what he wanted, and she knew it would be about yesterday.

She fell back onto her side with a sigh and pulled her legs back onto the bed, curled beneath her. Fine, she would talk to him and get it over with because she had a feeling that now was as good as it was going to get today. She eyed him almost warily as he approached her and sat on the bed in the space between her legs and arms.

"What's wrong, Rogue?" He was looking down, observing her. The thought of how he knew to look for her in Logan's room brushed aside by an unseen hand as if he had never had it. This was not what he had expected really, to find her like this, crying. She looked tired, not physically, but emotionally. He recognized the look on her face. Had sported it himself before. Jaded, on the brink of numbness, not caring anymore. He knew this was not just about him. This had not started between the two of them yesterday outside in the backyard. Even without knowing the reason, he understood, but it angered him that she had shut him out.

"Where's Bobby?" she asked, not really caring, just wanting to know if he still existed without asking with those exact words. The thought of how he knew to look for her in Logan's room brushed aside by an unseen hand as if she had never had it. She studied him, waiting for her answer. He was staring right back at her, almost defiantly.

"Downstairs," he answered, feeling she was trying to change the subject. She was going to let him in. He was not going to let this grow into a rift between them. "You gonna answer me?"

"…I don't know," she answered softly. The eye contact between them had yet to be broken, and she could tell by the way it felt like he was looking into her mind that she was going to have to tell him. This was why she had gone to Bobby yesterday. Not that he was clueless when it came to her problems, but because he knew that knowing the problem was not necessary in helping her, while John was not satiated until he could find out what the problem was and fix or eliminate it. "… Have you ever had a dream that... Did you ever think something was real... and it wasn't?"

"What if... it was a person?" she asked after he had nodded. This was where she expected a reaction similar to Logan's. Here was where she expected to lose him. She was watching him closely just as she had been when she had asked him about Remy, and now the same emotions ran through her, as well.

John was not quite getting what she was trying to say. He could see the anxiousness on her face. Was she talking about someone who was fake personality-wise? Someone who pretended to be someone they were not? Yeah, he knew and hated the type exactly. He raised an eyebrow curiously, playfully. " A person… like a robot?"

She averted her eyes from his to the floor, her brows furrowed as she tried to think of a better way to explain. Remy, a robot? Was that a reasonable explanation? She could not question whether it was possible that A.I. was that advanced, not when she lived with the X-Men, not after hearing the more-than-rumors about the technology they possessed. But would they not have known if Remy was a robot? No doubt, the Professor had scanned Remy's mind when Remy had first arrived. Something like that would be detectable. The thought was disturbing—the possibility that she had grown so close to a machine; it had the potential to make her sick.

"You're.... a robot?" he asked when she did not answer him, both eyebrows raised now in amusement and a small smirk growing on his face. She turned towards him, her expression a mixture of confusion, shock and annoyance, and seeing his smile, hit him before rolling her eyes and telling him to shut up. He knew she had been serious before, but he saw the smile she was trying to hide now, and he prided in the fact that he had caused it.

"...Just a person, a mutant, like you and me. Remember when I asked you about Remy yesterday?" She was watching him now, regretting that she had ever shut him out, wishing she had gone to him in the first place. He nodded, remembering how she had run away from him afterwards as well. "John, do you think I'm crazy?"

"Not any more than usual…." His expression got serious. "What's wrong, Rogue?"

"What if I told you that Remy's real, but that..." she hesitated again, afraid, "I'm the only one that remembers him?"

He could feel what she was feeling; he saw the pain in her expression, the fear of his rejection, and he understood. She was going out on a limb, telling him this. Afraid that he would think her crazy, or think that this had something to do with the barrage of thoughts in her mind that did not belong to her. But he knew her or at least he thought he did and, "If you think he's real... then he's real."

She looked up at him, startled at his answer, by his acceptance, and saw the genuine concern in his eyes, saw that he was not joking or playing around with her. It was not a solution—there was not one really—, but it was what she needed. And she felt overwhelmed with guilt for not thinking he would understand and locking him out of his room yesterday when so far he had been the only one who had understood.

"…Whatever it is that's happening, I'm here. Now."

She pushed herself up and lifted her arms around his neck, and he met her in an embrace, wrapping his arms around her back. Her face buried in his shoulder, she could smell him. Smell how real he was. Feel the life in his body. Feel his heartbeat, the movement of his chest as he breathed. She whispered into his collarbone, "I'm sorry, John… for yesterday."

"Forgiven," he murmured. Pulling away to look in his eyes and biting her lower lip, she let her hand slide from the side of his face, into his hair. She hoped he would never disappear like Remy had. She hoped he made her forget Remy. Forget that she had ever made him up. Forget that any of this had happened. Staring into his eyes, she knew that he could. She wanted him, needed him really. She clenched her hands in his hair softly and lightly tugged his head closer to her, her mouth seeking his.

"Rogue, wait," John said when he realized she was not pulling him in for just another hug. He was not sure if this was her acting on her desperation or maybe him imagining things. He did not want to take advantage of her and have her regret this later, be angry with him and not talk to him again because then he would feel like crap and it would be his fault that he was in the doghouse. No, he did not want to mess things up again. He tried pulling away and felt her grip in his hair tighten.

"I won't," she murmured, his thoughts a whisper in her mind. She quieted him, pushing her mouth to his. And ignoring everything his mind was telling him and all the reason he had and not even resisting, he kissed her back, impulsively and hungrily. He knew he'd be lying if he told himself that he did not want to, but he also knew they could both be hurt because of this kiss, and he did not care because she had just giving him a pleading whimper. He had managed to repress all the old feelings he had had for her, and now she was stirring them up. He did not want to have to push them down again, but he pulled her closer anyway.

She remembered when she had overheard John and Bobby talking about her. She remembered her thoughts when Bobby had suggested she liked John and mentally smiled. Now her hands were clenched in his hair, his arms were wrapped around her, and her mouth was open to his. So much for incestuous. Taking one hand from his hair, she grabbed his shirt at the shoulder and pulled as she leaned back. He obeyed, releasing her from his embrace and bringing his legs onto the bed on either side of her, not caring that it had only taken a moment for him to give in to her and his desires, and not caring that this was like something from a Life™ movie he would hear Jubilee or Kitty ranting about.

"Rogue." Intoxicated in the feeling of each other, the voice was ignored. "John."

John lifted his head, stopping the kiss. Unless Rogue had learned to do imitations during kissing, he had just heard Logan's voice call out his name. John closed his eyes and cursed at his stupidity before hastily getting off of Rogue and the bed completely. He had known he was going to end up screwed because of this. Confused, Rogue tried to stop him until she saw Logan over his shoulder leaning against the doorway. She jumped off his bed, embarrassed, panicking. She had just been caught kissing John in Logan's bed. She glanced at John, who looked like he knew he was screwed. Logan was going to kill him.

"Logan, uh, we weren't… Did you forget something?" Logan raised an eyebrow. She could tell that he was not amused. It was scary. She turned to John, grabbed his arm and pulled him after her towards the door where Logan still stood. John hesitated for a moment, thinking that walking towards Logan might not be the best thing for him to do right now and how if the circumstances, he would be pissed at Logan for interrupting. But the circumstances were not different, and he probably would not make it past Logan with out getting skewered.

"Sorry, Logan." She squeezed past Logan and dragged John behind her. Logan turned his head, watching as they squeezed past him, giving John a warning look that pierced through him. "It won't happen again… ever." And he was sure of that because he would never be stepping foot in Logan's room again, even if Rogue's mouth were attached to his. He managed to get it out sounding cool and calm. He only hoped it would somehow help keep him from harm. Logan turned towards him and grabbed his free arm. John tensed involuntarily, but tried to keep the calm semblance. Rogue stopped, terrified.

"No. It won't." He released John's arm and proceeded to walk into his room to inspect the bed, leaving Rogue to yank John from his frozen position away from the scene of crime.

-----

Rogue collapsed face first on John's bed. She did know whether she was supposed to feel embarrassed or afraid, but she had them both covered. She wondered if Logan would want to talk to her later. She hoped he did not think that she and John were going to go any further than kissing. Maybe he was laughing it off right now. She doubted it. He was probably pissed at the both of them for violating his bed and probably his trust.

"I can't believe you're not dead, John." How he had gotten away without a scratch, and she without some sort of Logan's version of a lecture was very strange. They had been lucky not to get in trouble for making out in his bed. She did not understand it. It made no sense, actually. He had been so calm… too calm. His reaction had been nothing more than a slap on the hand… and Logan did not slap. She wondered if John had noticed.

John had managed to recover during the trip to his room. He lay next to Rogue on the bed on his back, on leg hanging over the edge so he'd be ready to jump away from Rogue as soon as Logan showed any signs of wanting to knock the door down. He doubted it would happen, but he would be ready anyway. Technically this was his room and he should be able to do whatever he wanted, but he was not stupid enough to believe that. He was expecting some kind of punishment from Logan for even touching Rogue. Why Logan had not given him any before and let them off so easily did not really matter to him. It had not been the reaction he had expected, and that had been a good thing. He turned his head and looked at Rogue. He felt stupid and foolish about what had happened and he was expecting to face the consequences of his carelessness and idiocy now. He wished he had just listened to his reason because she probably regretting it now. "Rogue?"

She lifted her head from his pillow and moving closer, rested it on his shoulder. Thinking about everything that had just happened, she was glad he had found her. Glad that she had found her tourniquet. She looked up at him, a hesitant smile on her lips. "Does this mean you're my boyfriend, Johnny?"

One movement, one question, and she had just wiped away his worries. He smiled back.

II. Haunted