Author's Note: Thank you for the continued patience, reviews and comments, and for reading. There are about 3 or 4 chapters left 'til completion, and then we're on to some brand new fics ;)

Chapter Seventeen

The last thing Remy LeBeau expected to see that night when he entered his room was Ororo Munroe. The former goddess sat waiting for him in the dark, draped carefully in a chair by his window. When she noticed him she sharpened immediately at his presence, watching as Remy sauntered slowly into the room. Ororo found herself staring at the lean Cajun with rapt fascination the closer and closer he drew. The dark shades that always covered his sensitive eyes were gone, leaving Remy's beautifully strange orbs unobstructed so that they glowed faintly in the darkness.

His beauty struck her so profoundly in that moment that Ororo swallowed and murmured softly: "My, Remy LeBeau . . . you are . . . beautiful."

Her tone was unduly reverent, but she found that she couldn't help herself. There were many things she had come to his room to say to him – important things – but she also was unable not be awed by his beauty, and so the words had fallen honestly from her lips without prerequisite.

Remy stopped less than half a foot from her, and she heard him chuckle suddenly. He shrugged out of the brown duster that he wore and tossed it onto his bed. "What about de Wolverine?" he said smartly. Remy turned towards her wearing a bitter smirk. "Gambit mo' beautiful den him, chèrie?"

"I did not come up here to fight with you."

"Non?"

"No."

"Den why did you come up here, Stormy?"

Her back stood up straighter and she scooted closer towards the edge of her seat. "Because there are some things I want to tell you, and I want you to listen and hear me out," Ororo said. "I want you to hear everything I have to say."

The Cajun exhaled loudly and pulled his thick, auburn fringe away from his face. He turned away from her, silently cursing. Looking at her under the natural light of the moon that filtered through the windows made Remy's heart swell painfully with tender affection. She was so damn beautiful, and the low, dusky quality of her voice created an irritatingly warm sensation on the inside.

Though he had only just came back from Harry's downtown – where he had imbibed generously – already the unflappable Remy LeBeau found himself hankering desperately for another stiff drink. Just one to soothe his anxiety before Ororo could start in as he knew she would—and especially after Rogue and the discussion he'd held with her earlier at the bar this same night.

Remy's eyes landed on the wardrobe in the corner and he made his way towards it quickly. He swung open the doors and rooted around for the coveted bottle he kept hidden in there. Retrieving the bottle with an inward sigh of relief, Remy unscrewed the top and quickly tossed back a large fiery gulp. He closed his eyes and savored the burning in his chest, already feeling better.

From across the room, Ororo stared at him with clear disapproval. Remy ignored it. "Does the thought of having a discussion with me displease you that much?" she said.

Remy laughed at her in that deep, syrupy way of his. This woman has no clue the ways in which she affected him, thought Remy, and he proceeded to tell her as much. "You jus' don't know, chère. You jus' don't know." How much I love you. He thought it, but he didn't dare say it out loud.

"What don't I know?"

"Not'ing, chère. Never mind, Gambit," he replied instead.

Remy slumped down in a chair across from hers with the bottle still in hand in case he needed another fortifying sip. It was then that he got a good look at her, cocking his head slightly and studying her.

She was breathtaking. Glistening hair fell in a careless white tumble down her back and around her shoulders. She wore a robe made of white silk with matching flowing pants and camisole. The purity of the color offset her icy blue eyes and chocolaty brown skin. Remy didn't think it possible anyone could be more beautiful. Of course, this didn't help his plight any. It just reminded him how much he wanted her to be his. It astounded him still that he had actually taken care of this woman, this goddess, once, as a child.

"Remy," Ororo began softly. She walked over to his chair, kneeling on the floor, and took his hand. "Remy, I'm sorry. I know I've hurt you by—just—" Sigh. "I'm very sorry." Blue eyes searched his face with a sincere, open expression, beseeching him imploringly to see the truth of her words.

"You sorry, eh? For what? Lovin' de Wolverine an' not me?" He scoffed at her. "Don't be sorry." Remy angrily brought the bottle back to his lips.

"That's not true," Ororo insisted. She snatched the bottle from his hand impatiently and slid it across a nearby table stand. "Listen—Remy, listen . . . you are my dearest friend . . ."

"Yeah," Remy interrupted, waving his hand impatiently. "We covered dis already, chère." He pointed at her and then at himself. "I'm your friend; you're my padnat – good ole' Stormy and Remy. I get it."

"That's right . . ."

"Yeah, well, you can save dat shit, 'Roro. All of it."

"What? How can you say that?"

"'Cause dat's not what I want or need anymore!" he shouted.

"Oh, no? Then what is Rogue? Did you decide to replace me with her? So its only my friendship you don't want anymore."

"Are you kiddin' me, chère? She could never replace you. Unlike Remy and de way you replaced him."

"I didn't replace you, Remy! Ever! Do you not realize how my heart broke the first time you left me?"

"So what, yo' punishin' me by bein' wit' dat couillon?" Gambit spat contemptuously.

"What sort of question is that? Are you punishing me by being with Rogue?"

Gambit ran his hands over his face and through his hair. "'Roro, what does Rogue have t' do wit' anyt'ing?"

"It's obvious you want her. You're always together. I know how you are when it comes to women, Remy."

"Dat's 'cause I like de fille. She's become a friend to me jus' like de rest of de team. Plus, it's not like you care, you don't want Remy right? So what does it matter, chère?" The Cajun pushed up from his chair and stood to his feet, and Ororo followed him.

She stood behind him and inhaled shakily, afraid to say it. "I do. I love you." But she did.

"Don't say dat, 'Roro. Don't lie t' me."

"Remy, I love you!" Ororo bellowed. A bright streak of lightning flashed outside the windows, but with no accompanying thunder, and several silent moments ticked by in the sudden stillness. Both waited anxiously in the thick tension-filled bedroom.

"And I love you, chère. I swear I do, mon couer." The desire to touch her was so strong Gambit's hands clenched eagerly at his side. "But for de first time, I can't believe you, chèrie." He continued, sadly, "You'd go right to de man if he was here now. Dat's why y' never answered me dat day in de locker room."

Ororo's thin shoulders slumped ever so slightly. Her hand stretched out towards him as a peace-offering. "Remy, come to me please."

Remy looked at her, hesitating. He wanted to, desperately, but even so, remained right where he was.

"Come," Ororo beckoned.

Remy shook his head obstinately. "No, chère, I can't. It's not fair for you t' do dis t' me."

"To do what to you?"

"Play wit' me like dis."

Ororo's hand fell heavily to her side like a stone. Her eyes watered. Now at a loss for how to proceed. Physical contact had always been a way of communicating comfort towards each other, ever since he first held her as a de-aged 12 year-old girl suffering in the throes of a nightmare.

Just now, when Remy had refused to come to her, she'd felt totally bereft and wounded at the rejection. She regarded him with pleading eyes but her body language remained cool and tense.

"Can you tell me?" Ororo said, swallowing to hold back her tears, "what it is I should do to . . . to fix this? I promise I will try, I promise."

Gambit slowly shook his head. "No, chère. You tell me."

"What do you want me to say?" she cried.

"What it is you want. Who it is you want. It's jus' like in that dream you told me about—you don't really know. Do you, ma chère?"

So he had her there.

A long moment passed and Ororo explained, "When I came up here it was to apologize to you. To tell you I'm sorry—that I miss you and yes that I care for you . . . so much Remy . . . But I care for Logan too, and I miss him. I never wanted this . . . animosity and bitterness to exist between us. I can't give you want you want if what you want is for me to forget and renounce any feelings I have for Logan . . . and because of that, I can understand if you do not care for me anymore. After what happened last time I just . . . I don't want to feel that way again. I want you in my life, so I'll wait however long it takes for you to forgive me," Ororo vowed. "Just . . . don't give up on me, Etienne."

The Cajun's head slowly began to shake side to side, and he glared at her in disbelief. "How could you even t'ink dat? After all dis time, even now, you don' really believe I love you," he mused incredulously.

She let her hands drop and took a step back. "I could ask you the same." She parted with a look on her face that was bittersweet, a mix of solemnity and affection. "Goodnight, Remy."

Remy watched Ororo make her exit and close the door softly behind her, as graceful as always. When the African beauty was gone, Remy let out a vicious string of curses that could have made a hardened sailor blush. The feelings he was experiencing ran the gamut from love, lust, anger, desire, sadness, frustration, and each emotion seemed to war for dominance within him. Remy wanted to make all the rest disappear, and to give place only to the love and desire, but how could he if the object of it all wouldn't receive it?

He fell onto his bed and thought about what she had just said, about waiting however long it takes. Before he drifted off to sleep, still fully clothed, his last cognizant thought was thought he would too.

CANADA . . . . . .

It was his last stop before Alkali Lake.

Logan's bike—or rather Scott's bike—was parked outside of the library, it's rider inside thumbing brusquely through newspapers several decades old. He had searched the more recent ones earlier and found nothing. Story of Logan's life. It was fortunate he had an uncanny healing factor or Logan was sure his fingers would have fallen off an hour and a half ago. How far should he go back looking? Just how old was he?

The librarian had been giving him odd looks from he first stalked through the doors, but now the poor woman look half-frightened at hearing his intermittent animal-like growls of frustration. She asked Logan if she could help and Logan had declined in another intimidating growl. The spectacled woman had paled, and immediately returned her attention back to her work.

He ground his teeth in frustration. There wasn't shit here. No Department H, no archives or documents mentioning anything about government experimentation on mutants, and Logan figured quite correctly that such information, if it existed, wouldn't have been privy to the public regardless.

"Shit!"

He jumped from the table and snatched his jacket off the back of the chair. The two people in the sharing the room with him gasped, quickly stowing their books, and scurrying away. He was passing along the checkout area near the entrance when the sight of a plaque caught his attention, and Logan stopped. He walked over towards it, and began reading aloud softly: ". . . This library is named in honor of John L. Howlett Senior and his wife, Elizabeth Howlett. Established 1894."

Suddenly it felt like a blade had sliced through Logan's skull leaving a trail of white-hot pain that seemed to melt his mind. Logan fell to his knees, grabbing his head, and howling painfully.

Green grass. The trees. Laughter. Running. His hand in hers. Running. Red. Laughing. Her hand. His. Red hair. His hand. Intertwined. Laughter. Red hair. Green eyes. Red hair.

They tumbled playfully in the grass.

"Oh, James, my dress!" she cried, her girlish laughter loud and joyous. "Oh, I've soiled my dress. Ha, ha!"

Then his father's voice. "James dinner is ready. Time to come inside. You as well, Rose. Come on."

Logan cried out loudly, and then there was blackness.

The fact that her talk with Remy hadn't gone as planned was all Ororo thought about as she sat in the War Room, alone, waiting for Scott, Jean, and Professor Xavier. Her intent—her plan—had been to talk, apologize, and begin solving the tangled web she and Remy had unconsciously woven about each other, but it hadn't worked like that at all.

Nothing had been resolved—if anything their issues were now exacerbated. What now? was the current question she pondered anxiously.

Scott and Jean entered first and the Professor right after. When the three newest occupants had settled in Charles greeted them each in turn. From the corner of her eye, Ororo could see Scott observing her warily and she knew he'd try to corner her when the meeting was done.

A group of 10-15 Gifted Youngster students would attend a week-long exchange at the Massachusetts Academy which was presided over by its infamous headmistress, Emma Grace Frost in a joint program – newly instituted – that had been initiated between Xavier's Gifted Youngsters and the Massachusetts Academy. They assembled group would sample the different curriculum and classes offered, while experiencing a new setting and meeting new students, in a new environment, fulfilling one of Charles Francis Xavier's most core objectives—introducing and broadening his students to the wide spectrum of mutant culture. Two chaperones were to accompany the children on the excursion. The three senior X-Men and Xavier were now convened in the War Room to discuss it.

"Ororo, Scott, you two are team leaders, it's a given that one of you two should join the children," the Professor was saying.

Seated next to her fiancé, Jean tried not to look anxious, but the three others picked up on it notwithstanding. There was no debate that among the three senior X-Men that Jean Grey would go since she was a telepath. By a majority, a portion of the visiting students were telepaths as well, who would be sitting under Emma's tutelage during some of the instruction, and it made since for Jean to present.

One would be hard-pressed to discover anyone who liked the cunning, frigid Emma Frost, but with Jean Grey the dislike was compounded by the fact that Emma had a thing for Scott, and only several weeks ago had been dangerously close to sinking her well-manicured claws into him. Even Scott's deliberately neutral expression morphed slightly at the mention of the beautiful ash blonde telepath. Scott had lingering feelings of guilt and general awkwardness, and Jean absolutely didn't want the known seductress anywhere near her fiancé—not even for a week.

For the sake of the team, one of the two leaders would be required to stay behind. Ororo knew this and for the sake of both friends' peace of mind, volunteered to be the second adult to join Jean.

"If Scott has no objections, I volunteer to accompany Jean and the students."

It all fit in rather nicely with Ororo's insistent confusion about Gambit and Logan. Perhaps a week away from the mansion and the mess she'd created might prove beneficial. Ororo reckoned it would and was suddenly very glad that she had accepted.

She probably wasn't even aware of it, but Jean's face instantly slackened in relief. The sight of it almost made Ororo crack an amused smile. Commendably, Scott retained his usual neutral expression and offered a sharp nod.

"It's fine with me, Ororo. I have some new drills I want to start working on as soon as possible with the team. What do you say, Professor?"

Charles elegantly splayed his hands out in front of him in a gesture of indifference. "That will work just fine, Scott. Thank you, Ororo, for your willingness."

After the meeting, as Ororo was leaving the room, Jean cornered her before Scott had the chance. The redhead looked back at her fiancée, as if asking silently if she could go first, and Scott waved her on.

"Hey, Ororo, can I have a minute?"

The two of them wandered off to the side a ways. They stopped and Ororo watched the other woman shove her hands in her back pocket and stare down at her nervously shuffling feet.

"I'm glad that we'll be going together. Really glad," she stressed. "You didn't mention it in there, but I know part of the reason you chose to go was for Scott and I."

Ororo smiled at her. Jean smiled back and said, "It's a little uncomfortable for me knowing I'll have to spend a week with Emma Frost, but I feel much better with you there—my best friend. I know we've made up and everything, but we haven't been as close since I messed up and I miss that. I miss you. I want us to spend some time together while we're away." The telepath's voice was entreating.

Jean was right and Ororo, in spite of everything, laughed a little and leaned forward to give the other woman a warm hug. "That's great, Jean. I appreciate what you said and I think I'd like it as well."

Suddenly, Jean's embrace around her grew taut and she laughed, earnestly happy.

Ororo darted away quickly after she and Jean parted to avoid speaking with Scott who, she knew, was waiting. But he found her later that evening following a Danger Room session after she'd showered and holed up in her classroom where she was marking test papers.

"Evening, Ororo."

A big, 94% on St. John Allerdyce's paper with a thin, red marker. She flipped it over and picked up another paper from the opposite pile.

"Evening, Scott," she returned. She watched him as he came further into the room, exasperated slightly, but not surprised to see him there. The oldest X-Man took a seat on one of the many empty desks and folded his hands in his lap.

"How're you feeling about the trip?" he asked.

"Everything will be fine," she answered. "I'm not worried. Nice change of scenery for a week. It'll be interesting, I'm sure."

"Yeah, well, I appreciate what you did, Ororo. Volunteering to go on behalf of Jean and me."

"You're welcome, Scott."

"We're really coming along after everything, Jean and I."

"Mm-hm." Ororo marked another paper, flipped it over, and grabbed another from the pile. She waited, and then his voice came: "Are you and Gambit coming along?"

Cat eyes, a cool cerulean blue shot up instantly. Ororo put down her marker and the chair creaked as she sank further back in it. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"You kissed. I saw you both the night you woke the mansion with your nightmare; Jean too. I know that you both have feelings for each other."

Ororo studied the dark wood of her desk. Her dark skin hid the warm flush sweeping across her face. Her mouth was open, though words themselves momentarily escaped Ororo. Scott and Jean had seen her kiss?

"He was comforting me . . ." she offered lamely. The look Scott directed her way spoke of just how lamely inadequate Ororo's defense was. The white-haired woman sighed pathetically, wondering why it was she was trying to defend herself at all. The initial kiss with Remy had occurred because she had feelings for him, and all the other kisses since as well. Her feelings for the former Cajun thief couldn't be denied, even to herself, so what was the point trying to deny them in front of Scott? she wondered.

"Alright, I have feelings for him," Ororo admitted. "I always have—even after he left. I did kiss him. I love him. Now, what of it, Scott?"

Hearing the truth put forth so forthrightly from his friend and teammate filled Scott Summers with surprise, astonishment. Her comment stunned the older X-Man.

"Well, I guess you can say I've been, uh, rooting for you both. That's why I asked. You and Gambit haven't seemed particularly close, and it's been very noticeable." He grinned a little and attempted a rare show of humor. "You could say I'm pretty . . . invested."

It worked. Ororo laughed and scoffed genially despite her sour mood. "You might've put your money on a losing horse," she lamented afterwards.

"Ah, because of Logan."

The woman sitting behind her desk said nothing. Then, finally, "Are you invested because you dislike Logan?" she inquired.

"Whether I do or do not like Logan has nothing to do with what's best for you," Scott explained.

"But what about the team? The potential disaster if—"

"It seems every X-Man that has ever been a part of this team has had his fair share of personal drama. It damn near seems to be common place with us, yet here we stand. We're quite resilient, Ororo. This team can withstand anything—and you're the heart of it."

Ororo smiled at this, showing her teeth, and that rare, dazzling white smile. Scott grinned back, standing up and patting her hand. He stopped at the door before turning to leave and imparted one last thought.

"Logan's been gone a long time with hardly a word. In your case I think the question that needs answered is: "Did absence make the heart grow fonder or not?" And then, he was gone.

To Be Continued