Rogue angrily brushed the tears streaming down her face, smearing off some of her white powder onto her glove. She stilled her leather-clad hands and wanted to rip them off. They were nothing but a constant reminder to her that she was an anomaly amongst those that strayed from the norm. They were cold and inhuman, much like she was.

She still didn't know why Kitty's comment, as silly as it seemed, had set her off like that. She was usually able to keep her emotions well in check, honing the cool and aloof persona she chose to portray. The Gothic garb and appearance helped keep people away even more, widening the circle of isolation few but her were allowed into.

She heard the soft crunch of boots behind her.

'Ah ain't in tha mood rahgt now Logan,' she said, not slowing her pace. It was always Logan who came to get her. Up ahead she spotted the wooden gazebo overlooking the lake within the Institute's grounds.

'Ya're never in the mood Stripes,' Logan simply replied. His hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder – covered by mesh and leather - to slow her down.

'Don' touch meh!' Rogue all but yelled out. Logan merely grunted in response, jerking her around gently. Her green eyes blazed with anger and her streaked makeup presented an amusing yet heartbreaking picture to the short feral man.

'You look like a demented clown,' he remarked, chuckling slightly. Her anger increased.

'Thank ya Wolvie, that makes meh feel so much betta,' she responded dryly. 'Ya might want ta take ya're hands off before Ah put ya in a coma.'

'Stripes, I'm one of the damn people in this mansion that doesn't flinch whenever I touch ya.'

'Yeah. 'Cause the rest of 'em back there are smart enough ta stay away from a gal who can render 'em unconscious.'

Logan sighed, keeping his hold on the younger girl.

'Look Rogue, I ain't gonna come out here and start preachin' to ya how I understand what ya're goin' through, 'cause that'd just be a load of bull. But what I can say is that I'm sick and tired of ya wallowing in self- pity.'

'Self-pity?' Rogue yelled, causing Logan to wince mentally. 'Ah do not wallow!'

'Really? Then what do ya call lockin' yourself up in ya room all day and only comin' out when everyone is asleep? With that damn Cajun no less,' Logan growled.

'Ya think Ah like that? Trust meh, if Ah could jus' force mahself to mingle Ah would. But afta havin' all those psyches screamin' around up in mah head, and loosin' control of 'em, Ah wouldn't exactly want ta repeat tha experience.'

'You're lettin' your powers control ya Stripes.'

'Ah am mah power! Ah'm protectin' all of ya'll from havin' to be sucked dry lahke some kind of vaccum cleaner,' Rogue answered angrily, waving around her covered hands in front of him.

'Ya're protectin' no one but yourself. I know ya kid, and I know ya can beat this and control it.'

Logan found himself staring into a pair of jade eyes, filled with disappointment and self-hatred.

'Maybe ya don' know meh as well as ya thought.'

Rogue pulled herself out of his grasp and bolted into the woods. Logan sighed and muttered under his breath.

'Ya can come out now Gumbo,' Logan said.

'Magnifique job Wolvie. Y'managed to scare ma chere off wit' y're wonderful social skills.'

Logan's claws popped out and he extended them towards the cocky teenager, who merely grinned in response.

'If it weren' for the fact that Rogue likes ya – for some twisted reason – I'd gut ya right now.'

'An' if it weren' f'de fact dat mon chere likes y' – f'reasons beyond m'comprehension – y'd be charged up like one of m'cards.'

'Jus' go talk to her before I kill ya,' Logan growled, his patience wearing thin. As much as he hated to admit it, the Cajun stood a better chance at getting through to the Southern girl than he did. Gambit gave him a mocking salute and disappeared in the direction Rogue had fled.

'I need a drink,' Logan mumbled to himself, his hands massaging his temples.

Rogue thought longingly of the gazebo standing peacefully behind her as she pushed through the trees and underbrush. It had been her spot, where she had gone to sort herself out after discovering that Kurt was her brother and Mystique her mother. Rogue cringed as she thought of the blue-skinned woman. As if her life wasn't screwed up enough that she had to have a psychotic terrorist for a mother. Rogue sighed as she thought of what everyone would think if she had chosen to reveal this particular fact about herself. The only person who knew was Kurt; she owed him that much.

'Goin' somewhere chere?'

Rogue rolled her eyes. What did it take to get a moment's peace in this place? The familiar scent of cigarette smoke and cinnamon entered her nose. Rogue inhaled it discreetly, marveling at how Remy always managed to smell that way, even after all this time. It was oddly comforting.

'Did Logan send ya afta meh?' She asked, resigned. She continued pushing through the forest, hoping that the Acadian would take the hint. Unfortunately, Remy was almost as stubborn as she was.

'Y'know dat Remy never listens t'wha' de badger tells 'im t'do chere. Don' see any reason f'm' t'start now.'

'Look Remy, Ah ain' gonna try an' be nice ta ya. So go bother someone else right now, alright?'

'Non Rogue.'

That caused Rogue to turn around abruptly. From the day she had met Remy, he had never once uttered her name, choosing instead to refer to her as 'chere'. In fact, he seemed serious.

'Did'ya jus' call meh by mah name?' Rogue asked incredulously, her misery forgotten for just a moment. Almost as suddenly, the ever present smirk he seemed to have plastered on his face appeared, giving his features a rakish quality. It was hard not to see why woman found him attractive.

Except meh of course. No guy would ever want a gal they couldn' touch.

Remy looked at Rogue, studied her really. The shock – had it been pleasant? – had worn off and her eyes seemed to harden, like two chips of hard emerald set into a beautiful visage hidden by layers of powder and paint.

C'mon chere...tell dis Cajun w'at t'do.

'Remy know's dat dis here t'ing got not'ing t'do w'it de Kitty Kat's clothes,' Remy started, unsure of where to begin. With Rogue, he always had to be delicate. He thought before he spoke. She was different from the rest; Remy could tell the first day he laid eyes on her. 'An' y've been cryin'.'

'Ain' ya the observant one Swampy,' Rogue replied sarcastically. She turned to leave and Remy grabbed her hand.

'Y'flinched,' he stated softly, seeing her wince as his hand encompassed hers. 'Y'never done dat before w'it dis Cajun,' he said, almost to himself.

'Didn' ya hear meh Swamp Rat! Ah said don' touch meh!' She hissed to him.

'Why?' Remy asked. 'De wors' dat could 'appen is gettin' absorbed by a belle fille.'

'This ain' a joke Gambit. But then again, ain' everythin' nothin' but a big fat shaggy dog story ta ya?'

'Chere,' Remy started, regretting his words. He gave himself a swift kick mentally. 'Jus' stop an' listen t'dis here Cajun f'a minute? S'il vous plaît, pour moi (Please, for me) ?'

'Ahm sorry Remy, but there's nothin' ya can say that will make everythin' alright,' Rogue said. The tone of her voice tore at Remy's heart; it seemed like a lost little girl trying desperately to make sense of the world.

And the next thing he knew, a familiar cloud of brimstone and sulphur erupted. Remy coughed violently as the noxious fumes entered his air passage.

'Quel le fuck (What the fuck)?' Remy said.

Rogue was gone.