: HOUSE OF CARDS :

PART SIX : COMPLETION

(22) - Interlude -

The first glimpse he'd had of her was of her mile long legs and shapely ass.

He'd been having his orientation with Storm, and there she'd been in the Rec Room with Logan, leaning over a pool table with her lycra-clad butt stuck in the air. If he'd had to pick a moment when he'd become smitten with her, that would've been the one.

"I sure hope all de views in dis place are as good as dis one," he'd remarked humorously, causing the girl with the butt to miss her shot. Storm had merely raised an eyebrow at him in that calm, collected way he remembered so well and said: "Logan, Rogue, I'd like to introduce you to our newest member of the team - Gambit. Gambit, this is Wolverine; and the 'good view' just happens to be Rogue, whom I'm sure would appreciate a little more respect from you in the future." She'd grinned - Storm's grins had always been a rare but very welcome gesture. "These two are what Xavier calls his wild cards."

"Wild cards, huh?" He'd leant against the doorframe and crossed his arms cockily. "I oughta fit in just fine den."

"Hmph - we'll see 'bout that," Logan had growled sceptically through the cigar in his mouth; he was already looking at Remy as if he was a very bad disease.

"Logan -" Storm had begun warningly, with a please don't be rude to our guest look, but the angel with the cute butt had thankfully interrupted her before she could begin her lecture.

"Dontcha listen to old bushel britches here, sugah," she'd assured him in the sweetest Southern drawl he'd ever heard. "He may sound mean, but his bark's worse than his bite."

She'd been standing by the pool table, leaning on the cue whilst running her eyes over him appraisingly. Even from her great-shaped ass he couldn't have guessed how beautiful she really was when he saw her face to face. The gorgeous body, the kissable lips, the slightly upturned nose, the tousled curls of cinnamon-coloured hair shot through with milky streaks of white… But most of all the eyes, those unbelievably deep green eyes, eyes with more soul than he'd ever seen in any other woman. She was beautiful.

She took his breath away.

He'd met a lot of girls, but none of them had ever taken his breath away first time round, not even Belle.

"Hmm," he'd sounded once they'd both glanced over one another appreciatively. "Pretty accent you got dere, chere. Lemme guess - Mississippi?"

She'd smiled. She had a great smile. "Ah'm a Caldecott gal, born and bred. And Ah don't even need t' guess with that accent - Cajun, right?"

He'd pushed away from the door, his grin growing wider. "Hmm, smart as well as sexy. Now all I need t' find out is why exactly dey call you Rogue. Maybe I could take you out for a drink t'night and you could help me find out."

She'd looked away, blushing; he'd found that unexpected, he'd found that cute. But before he could have coaxed an answer from her, Logan had given a hostile cough. He and Rogue obviously weren't the only ones to catch the sudden 'good' vibes between them.

"Watch out, Gumbo," the short, hairy man had growled at him menacingly. "The Rogue here is way outta your league. Keep your hands to yerself and I might just letcha keep 'em."

Ah, so de wolf-man has a thing about her too…

"I think the li'l lady is grown up enough to make her own decisions, homme," he'd replied coldly, only for Storm to step in.

"Gambit, Logan - this is hardly the time for us to pick fights. We are all friends here - more than that, we are family. You will both learn that despite all our petty differences, we must learn to put them aside and work as a team, otherwise we are nothing." She'd looked over at Remy sternly. "If you aren't prepared to do so, then perhaps you may want to reconsider your place on the team, Gambit."

He'd glared at the one called Wolverine before turning to Storm with a genuine smile on his face.

"Don't worry, Stormy. I'm an expert at compartmentalisation. Besides, when I get along wit' someone, I tend to get along wit' them very well indeed." He'd thrown Rogue a meaningful look, and she'd returned it, her cheeks still flushed. For all the sass, she really was just a soft-centred Southern girl at heart.

She'll be mine before de week is out, he'd thought to himself as he'd finally followed Storm out.

-oOo-

A week later and she'd still been playing hard to get. He hadn't minded so much; he enjoyed the thrill of the chase, and the longer a girl held out the more exciting he found the actual conquest. Still, she'd taken pains to avoid him - whenever he'd finally catch up with her, she'd be hanging round with someone else, and more often than not that someone else would be Logan, whom Remy had now come to see as his rival in just about everything. So far as he could tell, he was the only one who'd managed to outwit the hairy wolf-man in a Danger Room battle, which had won the grudging respect of the other X-Men - of course, he'd only done it to get her attention. Not that she'd ever really noticed.

It was a week to the day that he'd met her when he finally cornered her. She'd been sitting in the lounge reading a book when he'd stolen in after her with his usual swagger.

"Mind if I join you?" he'd asked. She'd started, turned, and seen him there. The same blush had crept into her cheeks, but she'd feigned insouciance and replied: "No, go ahead."

She'd gone back to her reading and he'd gone to the bookcase, picked up any old book, and slumped into the armchair opposite her, opening up the book with a flourish. He hadn't read a single word of it. She was the one he'd been busy perusing.

She had been reclining on the sofa, a look of intense concentration on her face as she read voraciously; one hand was in her hair, a finger absently twirling round a milky white lock; she was wearing a formless green jumper and black leggings. He didn't know why she always insisted on wearing such shapeless clothing. She had such a great body he figured a woman like her would be showing it off a lot more than she did.

He had cocked his head slightly so that he could see the front cover of the book she was reading so intently. It was pink and gaudy - a Harlequin romance. Again, he had been slightly puzzled. A beautiful woman like her ought to have been having enough action on the weekends to quell any need to read such bawdy tripe.

That did it. This girl literally screamed sexual frustration, and if he was going to be the guy to satisfy her, then so much the better.

He'd placed the book aside impatiently and announced: "Okay, chere, I admit it. You got me. I'm clueless. Confused. I jes' don't get it."

She'd looked up from her book, mildly startled at his outburst.

"What d'you mean? What's wrong?"

"You. You sittin' dere, lookin' as fine as you do, readin' dat trash when a femme like you should be gettin' de real t'ing. Chere, I know you ladies like t' play hard t' get sometimes, but come on now. Dere ain't no cause t' be shy. I like you. Okay, so maybe you're not de kind of femme who goes straight in for de kill. I can handle dat. How about I take you out for dinner t'night? How does dat sound?" With every suggestion he made, her face had displayed an ever deeper sense of confusion and he'd finally finished in complete desperation: "Okay, so now you really got me. How do you pin dis butterfly down den, chere?"

She'd stared at him for what seemed a long moment; then suddenly she'd laughed, a sad, self-deprecating laugh that confounded him even further.

"Yah can't pin this butterfly down, sugah," she'd replied at last - the mischievous glimmer in her eye had been forced. "This one's got toxic wings. Touch her and you'll get burnt." The perplexed look on his face had said it all, and suddenly she'd frowned. "Yah really don't know, do you?" she murmured. "Didn't anyone tell yah?"

"Tell me what?" he asked, seeing that emotion in her eyes, the soulful green eyes that looked as if they didn't belong in her face, that looked too old, too wise, too still…

"Mah power, Gambit," she'd said in a quiet voice. "Ah can't touch. Not without drainin' peoples' life-forces, their powers and their mem'ries anyhow. Not without even killin' them, sometimes." She looked away suddenly, her once flushed cheeks deathly pale. "Y'see, even if Ah wanted t' get close to you, Ah couldn't. Ah could end up hurtin' you, or worse. Ah'm sorry, Gambit. Ah thought someone would've told you. But thanks for the offer anyhow. It was… nice of yah."

She'd got up, placed the book on the coffee table, and walked out.

In all his life no rebuff ever stung him so much as that one.

-oOo-

The thing he'd always liked about Storm was, even though she tended to wear that disapproving little frown on her lips whenever he spoke to her about his problems, she always listened to him without ever judging him or telling him he was fighting a lost cause. She would always encourage him in any of his endeavours; or, if she happened to object to them, would appeal mildly to his nobler side.

Because, contrary to popular belief, he did possess a noble side.

When he'd told her about Rogue, she'd listened silently to every word he'd said, and never broken in once. It was this equanimity and fairness of mind that he'd always admired most in Ororo, and it was this admiration that meant that it had never once crossed his mind during their friendship that he should see her as a potential conquest. There had always been something about Storm that had been untouchable in an emotional if not physical sense - a dignity and a majesty of presence that had set her apart from any other woman he'd known or was likely to meet. She had, Forge had always liked to joke, the 'forbearance of mountains'.

Nevertheless, he'd realised over time that her patience with him over Rogue was quite uncalled for since the whole thing had been a hopeless case - even though he had never been willing to accept it at the time.

"Remy," she'd said calmly one afternoon in her garden - she'd been floating around the foliage, watering her garden in a flowing white gown that had given her the ephemeral quality of a radiant spectre. "Whilst I appreciate your feelings on this subject, I do believe any overt propositions on your part are quite useless - perhaps even dangerous."

"Dangerous?" he'd contested hotly, following her past the geraniums and onto the row of unusual black grasses. "How on earth could it be dangerous? I just wanna take de girl out, okay? Get t' know her better. How de hell dat could qualify as dangerous is beyond me."

"Remy," she'd begun in that voice, the voice she always used when he was beginning to stretch her patience, the tone one would use when speaking to a very small child, "You and I both know that your seductions can be very dangerous things."

"Quoi? Stormy, contrary to what you may be thinkin', I'm all for female emancipation. Burn de bra and all dat. I don't mess wit' woman's lives, dat ain't my style. It's just fun, dat's all. Mutual fun. All those women, they know de score. It ain't like I'm pullin' de wool over their eyes or anythin'. Besides," he added quickly when he saw her beginning to bristle, "I'm not talkin' about seducin' Rogue. Even if I wanted to, de chances of dat are a big, fat zilch, right? I just wanna take her out, get to know her better, make her feel special. But every time I wanna ask her, she runs away from me. It's drivin' me crazy."

She had said nothing for a moment. Instead she waved a hand in a careless gesture, chasing away the tiny rain clouds that up till that moment had been watering her garden. In a second the clouds had evaporated, leaving nothing but the crisp tang of moisture on the air.

"Have you ever considered," she'd begun thoughtfully, "looking at things from her perspective? What it must be like to be so young and so full of life and passion, yet to have to remain distanced from everyone and everything around you? Not simply physically, but emotionally too?" She'd turned to him, her face filled with that tranquil stillness that instilled respect with so little effort. "Rogue is confused, Remy. She is both a child and a woman. Do you see the way she reads those books, do you see the daydreams behind her eyes? There is only one thing she yearns for, and one thing she can't have. Taunt her and tantalise her with it, Remy, and I believe you'll be doing her more harm than good."

She'd walked on down to her large collection of roses; a butterfly had been sitting on the nearest one, a large, sweet-smelling blossom of blood red petals, only to be chased away by the returning rain clouds.

"'Ro -" he'd begun, but she'd ignored him.

"Remy, listen to me. By all means, take her out, talk to her, be friends with her. But don't tempt her with notions of romance. Don't make the false promises I've seen you make to others. She's naïve, she won't be able to see through them."

"Rogue?" he'd scoffed. "Naïve? Dat girl's got more sass on her den a -"

"Naturally. She's had a hard life - perhaps harder than most of us. But in matters of the heart she is as a child. Perhaps she wants to hear you make promises. It doesn't matter - whatever happens, Remy, you will never be able to keep them."

-oOo-

It was only later, when he'd finally taken her out on that first date, that he'd realised what a bizarre situation he'd set himself up for. He had no idea why he was so interested in a woman he couldn't touch - perhaps it was the fact that he couldn't have her that made him want her all the more.

It was a twisted logic, and yet he could not have denied that he found the thrill of chasing the indomitable and insurmountable an irresistible prospect.

They'd sat in Harry's Hideaway with a beer each between them and a clumsy silence, nervous as two inexperienced high school kids. It wasn't the kind of date he'd been used to, where the woman flirted and giggled and batted her eyelids from the moment he flashed a smile her way. She'd sat there awkwardly coiling a loose lock of hair round a forefinger, those beautiful eyes darting every which way but never on him. And yet he had sensed from the very first moment the passion inside this woman called Rogue. Back then, it had confused him that she'd never been able to show it to him. In later years, it had saddened him when he'd seen that thirst for life go.

"So," he'd begun humorously, once he'd given up on her ever speaking first. "Let's get all de pleasantries out of de way, shall we? Only I t'ink we're never gonna get anywhere otherwise. Perhaps I should introduce myself first. The name's Remy LeBeau, but most people these days seem to call me Gambit, although I have no idea why… Maybe it's because I'm an expert at gamblin', although dis gamble don't seem t' be payin' off, since we've already spent five minutes in each others company without sayin' a single word. But, chere, dat's just fine, because t' tell you de truth," and he'd lowered his voice confidentially and continued, "I don't like blind dates either."

It'd worked. Somehow his idiotic monologue had broken the ice and she'd actually laughed. He liked her laugh. Husky and rich and deep, and so completely uncontrived it was downright sexy.

"Ah'm sorry," she'd replied a little earnestly. "Ah'm not normally like this… not normally this…this nervous round men, it's just…" her eyes met his with a sincerity he found quite disarming, "the way you stare at me, Gambit… It's kinda unnerving."

He'd smiled. "Call me Remy, chere. And dat's okay. A lotta people find my eyes weird at first."

"No, it ain't that," she'd answered self-consciously. "It's just the way you look at me. Like…"

"Like I find you unbelievably sexy?" he'd finished for her, and she'd blushed that blush again, her eyes darting away once more, a shy, plaintive smile tugging at her lips; a smile that made something in his chest tighten pleasurably.

"Well, I do," he continued, the warmth in his chest spreading to his lips and into a broad smile. "What's de point in hidin' it?" He'd pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his coat pocket and given her a questioning glance. When she shook her head back he'd lit one and settled back in his seat, appraising her. "So, I just gave you an introduction of m'self. It ain't a life story by any means, but it'll have t' do, because you ain't gon' get much more outta dis Cajun. So how about some quid pro quo, huh? Why don't you tell me a bit 'bout your beautiful self?"

Again she'd looked away, the faintness of a blush not quite disguising the sudden tightness around her lips.

"Mah name's Rogue," was all she'd said.

"Real name?"

"Ah don't have one."

He'd cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Everyone has a name."

"Not me. Not since Ah was thirteen. Doesn't feel right, y'know? Not anymore."

"How come?"

She'd allowed herself to look at him then, and there had been that look in those pellucid green eyes, the kind of look you didn't see in young women anymore…

"Ah first used mah powers when Ah was thirteen," she'd explained quietly. "And when Ah did… Ah changed. Haven't felt like mah old self since then. Ah'm just Rogue." She'd shrugged, as if that explained everything, when really, of course, it had explained almost nothing at all. "That's all."

There had been about a minute of silence after that; he'd taken a swig of his beer, and she'd stared at the table, embarrassed. Then he'd said: "Do you feel them then?"

She'd looked up. "Who?"

He tapped his temple.

"De people inside your head?"

She'd swallowed, nodded. "Ah feel them. Ah hear them. Every day. Every night."

There was no self-pity in her features, no sadness, but he had sensed shame and guilt. Familiar. He had felt sorry for her, wanted to reach out to her. Maybe that was why he asked what he did, though even at the time he knew it was foolish.

"Who was de first person you absorbed? When you were thirteen?"

In the fortnight they'd known one another, in all the idle, meaningless words they'd exchanged, for some reason she'd chosen to confide this thing in him - something that he instinctively knew she'd only told to very few people, and none of them after only a few days of general acquaintance. Even now, he'd never been able to understand why she'd felt it necessary to do what she did. She'd gazed over at an amorous couple embracing in a shadowy corner and said almost in a rush: "He was a boy Ah knew at school. Cody Robbins. Ah never asked for him t' like me. Nobody liked me. There was no reason he should have liked me at all. But he did." There was a faintly accusing look in her eyes as she'd continued; "One day, we were playin' down by the river, and suddenly, he was kissin' me… It was so crazy… And Ah was so angry at him for doin' that, but what was even crazier was that suddenly… Ah was kissin' him back too. And Ah didn't even know, up until that moment, that Ah'd ever wanted t' kiss anyone let alone him… But Ah did… And Ah was… And then… it happened."

She stopped on a breath, and it had been as if something had suddenly gone out of her, as if the confession had sapped it from her, leaving her dry.

Even now, if he had been asked how he'd felt upon hearing her story, he wouldn't have been able to tell you.

"I'm sorry," he'd muttered. It had been crass, inadequate; he hadn't even known what it was he was sorry about. It was the only phrase that had come close enough, yet it was so far from the mark it could never have done his true feelings justice.

"The way you look at me," she'd continued softly, still not looking into his eyes, "don't get me wrong, it's not that Ah don't like it. You don't look at me the way other men do. You make me feel…good about myself, Remy. But sometimes… it just reminds me of the way Cody kissed me that day at the river, and sometimes Ah think…" She'd looked at him then, holding his gaze with those breathtaking, beautiful green eyes, "sometimes Ah think that if Ah ever let you get close t' me like Ah let Cody get close t' me, Ah'd kill you. Just like Ah killed Cody."

-oOo-

Perhaps it was a twisted form of self-torture that always made him come back to her. Because being attracted to her was like being attracted to the Siren; it was like falling in love with something beautiful and yet perversely ugly, a dream of the sweetest kind that thwarted you when you woke up.

Later they would spend more time together as comrades and teammates, and consequently they got to know one another a little better. He would flirt casually with her, and to his pleasure, she would always flirt back. Their banter was bold and suggestive and never boring. He enjoyed her company, but in equal terms he found it frustrating. Because despite all the banter, despite all the flirting, they couldn't deny that underneath it all something intensely sexual existed between them, something that could never be consummated in any way.

She was a heartbreaker, in every sense of the word; funny and kind one moment; hot-tempered and argumentative the next; then, invariably, whimsical and quixotic. She possessed a natural sex appeal that he found quite confounding in one so inexperienced and hung up about her body - every time he'd tried to touch her, even a simple pat on the arm, she'd freeze and sometimes snap at him, even though every moment he laid his eyes on her she seemed to subtly invite him with her body, to lead him to do and say stupid and dangerous things.

And the bolder and more reckless he got, the more she pushed him away.

It was a game of cat and mouse that frustrated him more than any pursuit of any woman had done so before, all the more so because he had never had a hope in hell of attaining her.

So why had he never given up?

Because every movement she made was insinuation to him, it was the stuff of dreams, of fantasies, it fuelled his desires, it inspired him. The way she sashayed into a room, the way she drew a breath, the way she crossed her legs, the way she pursed her lips when she was mad at him. She was, in every way, his muse. The muse of a thief, a liar and a scoundrel, but a muse nonetheless.

-oOo-

He remembered - it must have been a day in summer, since the weather had been unusually hot and bright. He had wandered down into Westchester village with the aimlessness of one who no longer knows where he is going. It was not the first time since arriving at Xavier's mansion that he'd questioned his motives in coming to this place, in becoming part of such a close-knit family, one that he felt certain he had no real connection with. He still wasn't able to work out whether he really bought into Xavier's claptrap, or whether he didn't but he wanted to, or whether he did but was in self-denial.

When he had first arrived, he hadn't believed in any of it. As far as he had been concerned, it had all been the worst kind of bullshit - the kind that puts blinders over peoples' eyes, that makes them see only what they want to see, that makes them free to dream but afraid to live. But over the months, having lived under the same roof as them, having listened to all that bullshit day in, day out, having got close to Storm, and having met her… He was beginning to question himself.

He hated questioning himself, he hated rocking the foundation he'd built and deviating from his chosen path into moral shades of grey, but he realised now, very clearly, that all he was and all he had been were shades of grey, nothing more. He wasn't good, that was for sure - he'd never pretended to be good - but he wasn't wicked either.

Every time he looked into Xavier's eyes, he had the brief, unnerving impression that he did, indeed, have a soul that was worth saving.

It was the kind of impression people like him always avoided and dreaded.

That sultry summer afternoon, he'd suddenly found himself in a jewellery shop, standing amongst all the little temptations that had plagued him since childhood. He had decided, quite suddenly and without any rational flow of thought, that he was going to rob that store. It wasn't that he had any pressing need to do so, or any real ulterior motive other than a paradoxical emotional need to prove that he was not a good person, and therefore, was incapable of a betrayal of any kind. He had no ties and no bonds to break - he had no loved ones to upset or disappoint.

And it was just as he had made that decision that it had caught his eye.

The butterfly pendant inside the glass cabinet, lying on a bed of plush red velvet, staring right at him from across the shop-front like it had been waiting there all his life.

He'd walked right up to it. White gold, the wings adorned with deep green and blue enamel. He didn't know why it made him think of her, but as soon as he had seen it, he knew he had to have it. He'd called to the jeweller, who'd scurried up beside him, a little wary of this mutant stranger.

"Can I help -?"

"Dis necklace. How much is it?"

"Three hundred and fifty dollars, sir."

He'd stared at the tiny butterfly and made up his mind.

"I'll take it."

"Now?"

"Do I look like I'm jokin'? Take it out and box it up."

Looking rather harassed, the jeweller had done so.

"And how will sir be paying?" he'd asked rather belligerently whilst boxing the necklace up.

"Cash."

As he counted out those crisp, clean dollar bills the irony had not been lost on him.

All that dirty money paying for the only honest thing he'd ever buy.

-oOo-

When he'd got back to the mansion, there had been a picnic going on down by the lake. She, of course, was nowhere to be seen. It had always been the kind of weather that made her off-colour - her usual attire of long-sleeved sweaters and jeans would become a virtual prison, and as for wearing gloves… She was always grumpy in summer, and he had known it was best to steer clear of her, but that day he wasn't going to be denied, whatever she threw at him.

He'd found her sitting in the shade, under an ancient cedar tree, reading another worn romance while the others splashed in the lake in their skimpy bathing costumes. Even though she'd seemed engrossed in the book, he'd noticed that her eyes weren't moving across the page, and there was a cantankerous, doleful expression on her face. The downturn of those lips said it all. She wanted to be down with the others enjoying herself; she wanted to have some fun without being afraid she would hurt someone with a single touch. Nevertheless, he was surprised to see that she'd made the effort to come out in nothing more than a lime green string vest and denim hot pants - he'd never seen her display that much flesh, and to have said it was titillating didn't do enough justice.

He'd stolen up beside her and leaned against the tree trunk, perusing her from behind his shades.

"Lookin' good, chere," he'd greeted her, unable to help himself.

She'd started and looked up to find him there, looking down at her with an appreciative smile. She'd never been able to work out how he always managed to sneak up on her, and it was a secret he hoped she'd never find out, because he found the way she blushed when he did decidedly appealing.

"Yah still followin' me round, swamp rat?" she'd rebuked him, trying not to look too approving of his choice of clothing. All he'd ever needed was a Tee and jeans to get her heart racing and he knew it.

"I can't help it, chere," he'd grinned, removing his shades and fixing them to the neckline of his shirt. "You're too beautiful. You're like de flame and I'm like de moth - I jes' can't leave you alone."

"You'd better be careful then, Cajun," she'd told him wryly. "Flames can get moths' wings burnt."

He'd knelt down beside her, teased a white lock of hair between his fingers and grinned at her. He'd been close enough to feel the body heat rising from her white skin, and it had been painful to resist the urge to put his hands on her, his lips on her, to taste her flesh…

"Not dis flame. She can't touch me."

"So why are you botherin' t' hang around a gal you can't touch?"

"Maybe de fact dat I can't touch you is what I like about you," he'd replied, cocking his head sideways and holding her gaze intently, making her breath catch in her throat, making her skin flush despite the shade…

"Oh, Ah get it," she'd parried back sarcastically, "Ah'm just the unattainable goddess on a pedestal, aren't Ah? The one you get to fantasise about when you haven't got a real woman to hold at night, right?"

"Dat's right," he'd grinned irreverently. "But dat don't mean dat I don't fantasise about you even when I have a 'real' woman to hold at night." His smile had broadened as her blush had deepened. "And dat don't mean dat if you suddenly became attainable, I wouldn't forsake all 'real' women in de blink of an eye for you."

Despite the way her cheeks were burning up, she'd managed a playful scowl and nudged her hair out of his grasp. Even though he knew she enjoyed all their sexy banter, there were times he knew he got too close for comfort.

"You and Ah both know that ain't possible," she'd murmured, standing and dodging out of his way when he'd stood too.

"I'm willin' t' take de risk, chere," he'd purred back. "Are you?" She'd stared back at him, both exasperated and amused. She could see in his eyes that he really was serious. Because there were some nights when he thought that he'd really be willing to sacrifice all his thoughts, all his secrets, all his inner machinations - even oblivion - for a kiss from those soft, sweet lips…

"Go back and play, swamp rat," she'd ordered him peremptorily. "Why dontcha go hit on Betsy or someone?"

"Are you kiddin'? To Betsy I'm classed somewhere b'tween amoeba and worm fodder on de food chain. I'm not even an anomalous blip on her radar."

She'd started walking back towards the mansion, but he'd still insisted on following her.

"Then how about Storm?"

"Taken."

"Jubilee?"

"I ain't into schoolgirls."

She hadn't been able to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

"Oh, so you're some sorta masochist who enjoys havin' your memories ripped outta you by a soul-eatin' vampire?" she'd snapped. He'd stopped, and she'd continued walking, but a few seconds later he was right behind her again.

"Wait, Rogue…" He'd walked in front of her, cutting her off, and she'd glared at him.

"What?"

She really had been pissed…

"I wanna give you dis."

He opened his hand. She stared. And stared.

"Did you steal it?" she asked at last. If he was any other man he would have been offended, but him being him, he couldn't have blamed her for thinking so.

"Non," he'd replied honestly. "Just saw it and I guess I wanted you to have it… Thought it might look good on you…"

She'd continued to stare at it. For the first time he had felt genuinely embarrassed in her presence.

"Just take it okay," he'd insisted, holding it out to her. "I don't mean anyt'ing by it, I swear it. S'just a gift. Okay?"

There had been an odd look on her face.

"Okay," she'd said.

She'd opened a palm - small and ungloved, lily white. How much would it have been to ask that he cup his own hand over that palm, hold it tight, feel her fingers etch their pattern into his heart as he pressed the necklace into her hand, as he pressed the butterfly into her possession?

Always too much.

Instead he'd dropped that sliver of white gold, watched it trickle like water into her hand; watched the butterfly nestle safe inside her palm, with all the quiet certainty of having found its home at last.

-oOo-

It had been later in the summer; he hadn't seen much of her. She'd been put on various missions he hadn't had any part in, but on the other hand, when he had seen her she'd been much more receptive to his flirtation. It had given him a satisfaction of a different kind, to know that he was proving Storm wrong.

That particular day he had been sitting in the lounge, slouching on the sofa and idly flipping channels, only to finally halt on the news. He'd barely listened to it. The past few days a unique kind of dread had fallen over him, one he couldn't pinpoint the source of. It hadn't just been the anti-mutant riots right outside their front door, or the Sentinels being rebuilt. Something had felt terribly, undeniably wrong…

He'd frowned and stared into space.

Maybe I should start makin' a move now. It don't matter what de X-Men t'ink - it's not like I need Storm's approval, and my chances wit' Rogue… let's face it, they're zero. Besides, things don't feel right anymore, I've been wasting too much time sittin' round listenin' to Xavier's crap…

Because the act had begun to grate on him. The rules, the principles, the codes of honour, the heart and soul of that fucking place and everyone in it had been bleeding into him and he wouldn't have given a shit about it in reality, but somehow he had begun to forget who and what he really was, and it had felt good to believe he was someone who bought into this bullshit, someone who was honest and clean and blind, but good.

He'd grimaced and punched the remote, only to find himself on Fox News.

"...Sentinels have been government-approved… Before his death at the hand of a mutant terrorist outfit named the Brotherhood, Senator Robert Kelly stated that… Trask has been granted permission to put his Sentinel Mark 2 project underway… mass-production… Professor Charles Xavier reiterated his stance on what he terms 'racial harmony'… The X-Men… outlaw band of mutants… sparked anti-mutant demonstrations outside the Xavier mansion yesterday… Military on high alert…"

"Hi."

He'd looked up to find her standing there beside him, dressed in skinny jeans and a tight red sweater. The butterfly pendant had been hanging about her neck, glinting in the sunlight that was streaming in from the windows. He'd smiled slightly when he saw it.

"Hey, chere."

She'd sat down next to him, closer than usual, so that their arms touched. He wasn't used to this - it surprised him. He'd turned to look at her and seen the small frown on her face as she'd stared at the TV screen.

"You're watchin' this bullshit?" she'd exclaimed disapprovingly, snatching the remote out of his hand and switching the TV off with disdain. "Ah just can't stand the news these days, it's so depressin'."

She'd been in less of a bad mood than a despairing one, he could tell from the look in her eyes.

"How did de mission go?" he'd asked.

"Not good. We managed to infiltrate Trask's Manhattan factory, and it looks like the Mark 2 program has been underway for months, not just days… Recon is one thing, Remy, but Ah'd have been much happier blowin' the place t' smithereens…"

She'd sighed plaintively, and then quite suddenly, in an involuntary, childlike gesture, she'd turned, put her arms through his and buried her face into the sleeve of his shirt. He'd never seen her looking so lost. It was then that he'd realised that what she'd seen at the factory had disturbed her more than anything else she'd seen before. He'd lowered his head slightly, pressing his forehead comfortingly into her hair. She'd smelt of shampoo and shower gel, vanilla and orange blossom. It was a scent he'd never forget.

"How about I take you out for dinner tonight?" he'd murmured softly. "Take your mind off things?"

She'd shaken her head slightly.

"Sorry, no can do, sugah. Me and Logan…"

"You and Logan," he'd muttered vindictively, unable to stop himself.

"Me and Logan and Betts have booked the Danger Room for a session," she'd informed him, raising her head and glaring at him archly. "Remy, just what is your problem with him?"

"My problem? Well for one t'ing, he's an overrated, hairy little bastard who's always swaggerin' round like he owns the place. And secondly, maybe I don't like de way he's always hangin' round you lookin' like he's ready t' swat flies away wit' dose claws of his."

She'd raised an eyebrow at him.

"Ah can't believe it - Remy LeBeau, you're jealous!"

He'd scowled, finding the whole thing less than amusing, but she'd squeezed his arm tighter, trying to reassure him.

"Remy, for your information, there is nothin' goin' on between me and him. He's like a big brother t' me, that's all. He knows how nervous Ah am about the whole touch thing… sometimes it makes him a little over-protective."

"Sometimes?"

"Yeah. He just doesn't want to see me get hurt. Besides," and she'd looked away suddenly, "we have a bond. Not like the kind lovers do, or even siblings. It's more like the bond between comrades." He'd looked at her quizzically and she'd replied; "We were on a mission, back when Ah first joined the X-Men. Everyone hated me then, b'cause before that Ah was runnin' with Mystique's Brotherhood, playin' the mutant terrorist. Anyway, we were on this mission in Japan, and Ah nearly got killed. Logan let me borrow his healin' factor so Ah could live." She'd paused, adding quietly: "He was the first person to give me their power as a gift."

"Oh," was all he'd said. He'd felt very sheepish. She'd continued to stare off into space, and when next she spoke her voice had been contemplative.

"Ah can kinda see it, you know. Why the baseline humans get frightened of us. Hell, Ah'd be frightened of myself, if Ah ever got threatened with the kinda power Ah have. Maybe Ah want the Sentinels to stamp me out. Maybe it'd put me out of my misery."

"You don't mean dat," he'd said, only half believing it because when he looked into her eyes, when he saw all the pain and all the strangeness in them, sometimes he believed she really did mean it…

"Maybe. Ah don't know." She'd paused, turning back to him, her lips breaking into a smile. "Maybe yah can take me out after the DR session after all."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Ah'd like to. Maybe it'd take mah mind off things."

"Oh. Great." He'd passed her a wry smile and she'd laughed.

"Ah meant that as a compliment! Somehow, you always seem to take mah mind off things!"

"Maybe dat's because I'm on it 24/7."

They'd known each other for months now, but she still blushed whenever he really started bantering with her.

"Don't flatter yourself, Cajun," she'd pouted at him in that way he loved so much. "Ah like you, but not that much."

"Shame," he'd drawled sexily. "Because I like you, and I like you 'dat much'. And just for de record," he'd added shamelessly, "you are on my mind 24/7. Especially at night."

He'd expected to be berated or slapped or teased back mercilessly. So he'd been surprised when she'd stared him right in the eyes, without a trace of a smile on her lips and murmured: "Y'know… Just this once… Ah'd really like to kiss you."

She had been entirely serious. He'd known he'd never be able to get another chance. He'd straightened his face, returned her gaze with the utmost sincerity and replied: "So why don't you?"

A dangerous challenge - she hadn't known then just how much he would have been sacrificing had they shared that one kiss. Her eyes had widened, then darkened.

"Yah crazy? You know what would happen if -"

"I told you, I'm willin' t' take de risk," he'd interrupted in a low voice. "Are you?"

The same question, and this time she'd known he really, truly meant it… There had been confusion in her eyes, want, passion, desire…

"Ah -"

He'd lowered his face towards hers, prompting her, tempting her…

"Remy, you don't know what it's like…"

"I don't care. Show me."

"No."

"You want to."

"But it doesn't mean -"

"I want to kiss you too. I've wanted to from the first moment I met you. Don't keep me waitin', chere, 'cos I don't t'ink I can stand it any longer."

Uncertainty, uncertainty in those gorgeous green eyes as she realised how far he was willing to go…

"This is crazy…" she'd whispered.

"Crazy, just like when you kissed Cody back? Crazy because you never knew you wanted it? But you did, chere. Just like you want t' kiss me now."

He'd made a grave error, and he'd known it as soon as he'd said it. At the mentioning of Cody's name she'd frozen, and the next moment she'd pulled back, her arms going slack about his own. She was trembling slightly.

"Rogue -" he'd begun, knowing he'd made a fatal mistake, but she'd cut him off before he'd apologised.

"That was below the belt, Cajun," she'd murmured.

"I know, I'm sorry…"

"You don't understand."

"I do, I just… I don't know why dat came out, it was insensitive of -"

"But that's what you are, isn't it," she'd said sadly. "Insensitive. The way you look at women, the way you make them feel like there's somethin' more when there is nothin' more. Ah don't even know why you'd be willin' to take the risk with me. Ah'm just a game, aren't Ah. 'Cos this can't be serious, it can't ever be serious. Even if we did go out to dinner tonight, tomorrow you'd be out findin' some other woman to fuck. All this talk about risk… Ah'm a risk you'd never be willin' to take, Remy. Not for real."

She'd unwrapped her arms from his and stood up, walked to the door.

"Rogue -" he'd begun, but before he could get the words out she'd gone.

He would never have been able to spit it out anyway.

He'd never have been able to say I care for you.

The very next day, the military had attacked.

-oOo-