Is This Love?

by GratuitousViolets

The upcoming wedding of Scott & Jean brings 21-year old Rogue unhappiness. A certain unexpected guest to the wedding starts awakening feelings within her she's afraid of, and she's in for the most emotionally taxing year of her life (mature content).

7. Part 7 - Christmas

Is This Love...?

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Part 7

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CHRISTMAS

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Mature content warning: Sex

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Rogue didn't hear from Remy for the two months following their trip to Bloodmoon. The final words they'd spoken to each other had been over the details of the flight, barely three hours after he'd told her he was staying in Louisiana. Three hours later she had been boarded on a flight back to New York...alone.

It'd been awkward, having to answer questions about why she'd come back alone, trying to push off Kitty's and Tabitha's questions of whether something had happened between her and Remy. Nothing had, of course, there was nothing to really speak of.

Sometimes, she'd be out in the city and the smell of someone's cigarette smoke would remind her of Remy – of the brief good time they'd had together in New Orleans, or the times they'd been together in the team. She'd pass a man wearing the cologne Remy liked to wear and she'd wonder what he was doing right at that moment, if he thought of her at all or...if he'd moved on completely from his life in Bayville. Every now and then someone would ask her if he was returning, but she had no answers. She doubted he ever was. He'd be paying hospital bills for a baby that wasn't even his and helping rebuild a home that wasn't even his.

And that was his business, she supposed.

It'd occurred to her numerous times she could have called him...could have even text...or emailed at the least. A few times, she'd started a text or email and deleted it, been unable to really find a way to reach out and ask. Part of her hadn't wanted to know...she wasn't sure how she'd feel if he told her he was never coming back.

As Christmas time came hurtling at breakneck speed in Bayville, she begun to feel a sense of holiday blues approaching. Every year, she dealt with this depression but this time, something felt worse about it.

It struck her she had very little to gripe about. She had a comfortable home-life where every need was met and paid for, she had the second-best room in the mansion and would be in line for the best (Scott's) room as soon as the boathouse renovation was complete by about February. Her team was becoming more capable and no one had been seriously injured or had died. She had friends who she loved, and whom she supposed, loved her to a certain degree. It'd even gotten more tolerable to be around Jean and Scott now, despite their marriage. Even though they were in the 'honeymoon phase' of their relationship, she found herself caring less and less each day and she'd grown less resentful of Jean although she was never able to pinpoint why.

Everything felt like it was coming together and yet, as she took a quiet stroll on the morning of Christmas Eve, she felt a deep emptiness that she couldn't shake off. And she didn't want to admit to herself why.

She stared at the half-complete boathouse. Plastic tarps were flapping in an icy cold wind making noise, snow whipping around in a flurry around her. The lake was mostly frozen although no one had dared to skate on it this year. Sighing, she walked down the boardwalk and to the end of the short pier by the house to gaze upon the lake

"It's freezing out here."

Rogue turned at the sound of Kurt's voice; she hadn't even heard him approaching in the thick snow which was crunching loudly beneath her own boots. She turned to look around and her eyes finally spied him, he was perched on the roof of the boathouse, leaning over a little, almost gargoyle like, his tail swinging with the wind.

"Yeah, but it's peaceful," she reminded.

"The last of the kids are leaving right now. I have said my goodbyes," said Kurt, he hopped down from the roof and landed beside her on the wooden pier, his feet making a thudding crunch in the snow.

"Least they'll be somewhere else for Christmas. Ah...was always here," she supposed, she hugged herself against the winter chill.

Kurt touched her arm, "You were always welcome to come to my house in Germany," he reminded.

"Wouldn't have felt right," she sighed. "You've not seen your folks for a long while...you need your time with them – without my intrusion."

"It would never be considered an intrusion. You're family too," Kurt reminded.

She faintly smiled at the sentiment.

"You've been very distant lately," Kurt said. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, it's fine," she shrugged, and she turned and began walking towards the mansion, she heard him following her.

"These winter depressions of yours seem to be getting worse," Kurt admitted.

"Ah'm fine, it's just been a tough year. A lot of changes were introduced, Ah've had a hard time keepin' up and...with the new responsibilities and stuff...things have been really hard. Ah'll be okay, eventually."

"I'm about to leave for my flight myself," Kurt said, "my cab should be at the front gates any minute now. Ugh, the sooner I work out how to travel across continents with my powers, the better."

"Yeah, imagine the money it'll save."

"Exactly," Kurt smiled, his silvery yellow eyes gleaming in the weak wintery morning sun. "I would be able to see my parents any time I wanted. Perhaps my relationship with Amanda wouldn't have soured had I been able to teleport to her whenever I wished."

Rogue looked at him sadly, he'd been quiet about the Amanda situation, he'd not mentioned her since the wedding and she'd started to wonder if potentially he'd gotten over her. It seemed that perhaps some feelings still lingered. She couldn't blame him.

"You'll find someone better than her, Kurt," Rogue promised, "someone who deserves someone like you."

"Yes, Kitty keeps telling me the same. And Tabitha...and you. But...no one will be like her," he snorted, "anyway, I just wanted to say goodbye to you, or rather Merry Christmas before I go."

Rogue always felt awkward when Kurt hugged her without any fear of her powers, sometimes she'd feel the fine fur of his face skim her bare cheek and be reminded of how close they'd come to her absorbing him but he never feared the risk, she felt him squeeze her, as he always did every time he left for a vacation with his family. She sighed and closed her eyes.

"I'll miss you," Kurt said.

"Don't be so sappy," Rogue patted his back.

"Does that mean you'll miss me too?" Kurt chuckled.

"What'd you think?" she scoffed, squeezing him back weakly.

"I really wish you'd come with me," Kurt moved back and took both her hands and held them tightly, "you are always welcome."

"Maybe next time," Rogue said, "Ah've not even finished my wrappin' yet. You'll get your present when you return. It might even be wrapped by then," she feigned a smirk.

Kurt looked at her, "are you sure? I can delay my cab and you can get some clothes together right now..."

"No, it's fine," Rogue said, "go enjoy Christmas with your folks..." she took her hands away from him. "Ah'll be fine. Ah always am."

He put his hands – thickly clad in hand-knitted woollen mittens that Jean had made him some years before – on her cheeks, cupping her face. "Call me, sis."

"Call you?" she asked.

"If you need to talk."

"Ah'm fine..." she forced a weak laugh, brushing his hands away from her cheeks. "Stop worryin' so much," she began to walk again, the snow was getting so thick it was becoming a struggle, she was almost up to her knees in the snow in some spots.

Kurt teleported in front of her using his powers, "I do worry though..." he announced. "This year has been...different. You've been different."

"Different how?" she kept walking.

Kurt took her hand and teleported them both to the front of the mansion where the snow had been cleared away. Her stomach flipped and her senses were filled with the smell of his sulphurous smoke as he did so.

"Because you seem...lonely."

"Lonely?" she laughed, "Ah've never had a moments peace 'round here," she reminded.

"You know what I mean," Kurt said, his eyes full of concern. "Since you came back right before Halloween, you've been-"

"Look, that's neither here nor there. You better go, you've got a plane to catch and if this weather gets worse, they might just decide to ground any others. You might miss your chance."

"Maybe I should stay," Kurt held her shoulders. "I can always reschedule."

"Kurt, your folks miss you. Just go. Ah'll be fine. Ah'll call."

"Promise me," he shook her.

"Ah will..." she crossed her heart weakly.

He hugged her once again, and she shivered as she felt his hair tickle her cheek. She closed her eyes for a minute, because the tactility of it was something she so barely ever felt at all. At the same time, she pushed him away.

"Go," she urged, "you'll miss your flight."

Kurt picked up his suitcases. "Call."

"Ah will," she nodded.

And then he was gone, in a brief cloud of sulphurous smoke. She felt a strange relief that he had gone, like now that he wasn't there to see her or hear her sadness in her voice she could almost...be herself.

She banged her feet off the step at the front of the mansion to get rid of the snow caked on her boots, and then she went in. The mansion was so eerily quiet – more so than any Christmas she'd spent here before.

Ororo had gone to be with her sister in the city. Jubilee had taken up with some boy from the city and she'd gone to spend Christmas with him and his family in Aspen. Kurt had just left for Germany, Jean and Scott had decided to spend Christmas with Jean's parents in Long Island – they'd shared a car with Bobby who had also gone to be with his parents (although she suspected Bobby might, as always, return home early because he always fell out with his father by Christmas morning). Kitty had gone to spend Channukah with her parents and had taken Lance (who'd since returned from rehab) with her. Even Hank had gone somewhere, although he'd not quite specified where this time.

The students gone, the X-Men in her team all gone. The only ones remaining were herself, the Professor and Logan. She hoped that no emergencies would arise during the festive period. She took off her black wool coat, brushing some of the snow away from the shoulders before hanging it next to Logan's brown leather coat on the rack. The only coat left there.

Everyone is gone, she realised. A sense of heavy loneliness hung in the air and she wished she didn't feel a sense of abandonment at it. She'd been offered the chance to go with Tabitha to see their friends in X-Factor. She'd been offered to go to Germany. Hell, she'd even been offered to go to Long Island to visit with Bobby's parents. She'd resisted every single offer.

The large twelve foot Christmas tree in the foyer was lit up splendidly, tinsel shone and tiny intricate real glass ornaments sparkled, and the smell of pine was light in the air. She approached the tree to admire it, telling herself to cheer up. Just because she was here alone for the most part didn't mean she couldn't have a good time. She knelt down beneath the tree and sorted through a few of the gifts that had remained, the presents left for those who were staying.

A tall white glittering gift bag with her name written in gold pen caught her eye, the 'from' part signed from Tabitha. Despite knowing it was cheating on Christmas morning, Rogue pried the gold tissue paper side from the opening in the bag and peered in. It was a bottle of very nice Chardonnay, they'd gone out for dinner in a few weeks before and Rogue had tasted it and mentioned thinking it was the only wine she'd ever actually properly liked.

Thoughtful, Rogue had to admit thankfully.

"Cheater," she heard Logan's grunt near her back.

Rogue turned to look at Logan, he was in a thick red plaid shirt, his cowboy hat propped on his head. He looked like he'd actually shaved. "You goin' somewhere?"

"Yeah. Out," Logan grabbed his brown leather jacket from the rack by the door and slipped it on.

"You be back tonight?" she queried, decided not to press him on where he was going. She'd learned long ago that Logan had his places he liked to go and – she assumed – people he liked to see and he never discussed them. It was pointless to try asking any more.

"Probably not. Definitely be back tomorrow though – morning most likely," he zipped his jacket up right to the collar then picked up his gloves.

"Oh," she said.

"If an emergency comes up, just get me through the usual channels."

"Ah'm sure nothin' will come up. Christmas is usually quiet," she reminded, she followed him to the door. "Even evil takes a break at Christmas sometimes."

"If somethin' does come up, I'll make it, I swear," Logan pulled his gloves on; he took a moment to study her. "You gonna be okay here alone?"

"Wish people would stop askin' me that," she muttered.

"Maybe it's that you've barely said six words all week," he buttoned his gloves at the wrist.

"Ah'm fine, just tired. Ah'm gonna spend this whole Christmas weekend sleepin', drinkin' really nice wine, eatin' stuff Ah probably shouldn't, and catchin' up with Netflix shows Ah've not had time for all year."

"If you want me to stay-" Logan began, seeming conflicted. She was sure though if she had asked him to stay he would have forgone whatever plans he'd made.

"No, god no," Rogue shook her head, "come on, Ah'm fine. Ah'm used to bein' on my own and after half this damn year of leadin' the Gold Team, Ah need a break and some peace and quiet from bein' leader, from bein' teacher, from just bein' around kids and bickerin' adults. Just go...enjoy your Christmas eve. Ah'll see you tomorrow."

Logan wasn't a hugger, yet, he grabbed her and pulled her to him, crushing her against him with his strength until she could barely breathe. The gesture caught her off guard because it wasn't like him. She touched his sides weakly, cringing at the coarse roughness of his sideburn as it brushed her cheek.

"Stop bein' so mooshy, it ain't you," she laughed uncomfortably, grimacing.

"I'm only gone til tomorrow. But if you want to call-"

"You sound just like Kurt," Rogue pulled away, having to really struggle to be let go.

Logan tilted his head, his eyes squinting, "Charles is here, you know..."

"Ah know," Rogue nodded.

"And he'll always be ready to listen."

"Yeah, Ah know," she nodded.

"And I'll always be ready to listen. You know I'm not the best with advice but-"

"Logan, just go. Enjoy your day. Ah'm fine. Ah'm always fine," she reminded.

He cuffed her chin lightly with his gloved knuckle, "see you in the mornin'."

She smiled and gave a firm nod, "see you then."

When Logan was gone, she locked the door and set the alarm. Despite the loneliness, despite the odd echo of sound her boots made on the marble floor as she walked, she didn't feel resentful of them all being gone. She felt...almost relieved, like she could let go and stop putting up a front of trying to not seem as depressed as she actually felt.

Her eyes moved down to the bottle of nice Chardonnay at the tree and she shrugged. "Doesn't matter if Ah have this now or later," she decided, intent on taking it to the rec room and settling down to watch some Netflix on the very large screen television. "Merry Christmas to me."

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The sound of the mansion's door alarm caught her completely off guard. She'd dozed off on the couch in the rec room, barely halfway into the first episode of 'Stranger Things' most recent season. She felt a little of the Chardonnay in the glass she'd been holding spill on her breast as she jolted up, she'd fallen asleep before she'd even had half a glass. She put her tumbler on the coffee table quickly, threw the thick faux fur blanket off of her lap, grabbed the heavy antique iron poker from the fireplace and she started for a run to the foyer where the alarm was going off.

At first, her eyes were too bleary to know what she was seeing. Someone was standing with their back to her, tall and in black, head covered in a thick woollen beanie hat and body clad a long black leather coat, both heavily dusted with snow, black boots thick with snow crusted all the way up to the ankles. Whomever it was was pressing buttons hastily trying to override the damn alarm desperately.

"Stop right there!" she yelled loudly over the sound of the alarm, holding the iron poker up threateningly, both hands tightly curled around it, thinking it had to be some kind of house burglar, someone who'd expected the mansion would be empty during the holidays and that it'd be the ideal time to rob the place.

But how would he have gotten to the door without setting off the exterior alarms? No normal person would ever get past...

She spotted a large, flat box propped up against the wall by the door, a familiar tote bag on the floor, one that had the two familiar cigarette burns and a sewn on patch of where there'd once been a tear...and the house keys with the Harley Davidson logo keychain on the small table by the door.

And then the burglar turned...

Only it wasn't a burglar at all...it was Remy LeBeau.

Remy looked red in the face from the wind and cold, his nose red and slightly shiny, snow clinging to some tendrils of hair on his shoulders. Rogue blinked in shock to see him there; it'd been the one person she'd have least expected.

"I...forgot the damn code..." Remy called loudly to her over the shrieking alarm ring.

"We changed it this mornin'..." Rogue managed weakly, she rushed over and quickly tapped in the new code she'd had to memorise earlier, the alarms immediately ceasing, leaving her ears ringing a little. They looked at each other, and she felt her body tingling. Caught between the want to throw herself at him glad to see him, and the need to distance through hurt.

Remy took the poker from her left hand and looked down at it and then to her questioningly, as if to ask if she'd really have hit him. "What y' gon' do wit' that? Stoke me t' deat'?"

"Ah thought you were a burglar..."

"Not t'day."

"What..." she started, she swallowed feeling a sudden building up of nerves and emotion causing a slight lump in her throat. "What are you doin' here?"

"Professor knew I was comin'," he put the poker down against the wall and removed his hat and shook his hair out, "didn' he say?"

Rogue shook her head.

"I...contacted him two days ago...t' tell him I'd booked the fligh' back. I...tried t' get in touch wit' you too, but...your number doesn' seem t' be in service any more..."

"Oh..." Rogue shook he head, "Ah changed my number...some Friends of Humanity figured it out, Ah kept gettin' harrassin' texts and calls so...Ah got rid of the number after Ah kept gettin' death threats...Ah...forgot to share it out with everyone on my list."

He looked at her, "You cut your hair..." he reached out and touched her hair; she'd forgotten that since she'd seen him last, she'd had her hair cut in an assymetrical bob. The last time they'd seen each other her hair had been past her shoulders, long enough to tie up.

"Yeah," she brushed his hand away gently. "It...got singed durin' a mission...wish Ah could say it wasn't from 'friendly fire'," she looked down at the floor with a shrug, she felt her cheeks growing hot. Every insecurity she had somehow bubbled to the surface to have him there. Her mind drifted to the last talk they'd had, the way she'd been so...cold to him, angry that he'd wanted to stay in Louisiana with his family. Part of her felt so guilty for being angry with him that he'd chosen his family over the X-Men, that he'd chosen family over her, but there was a large very logical part of her that understood he'd had no choice.

It was the right thing for him to do...Ah should have seen that at the time...

"I...brought your boots from Monsieur Labatt..." he gestured to the box.

"Thank you..." she felt her cheeks flush. "Ah'll pay you back...Ah swear."

"It don' matter," he said.

"Remy, it's twelve grand."

"It don' matter, I did him some favours t' pay mos' o' the tab..."

"But-"

"Jus' call it a chris'mas presen'," he shook his head, "Y' tol' me y' didn' wan' Tiffany..." he took a breath. "This place is...dead..." he swiftly changed the subject as he looked around, noting the incredible silence. "Never known it t' be so quiet..."

"Yeah...everyone is gone, apart from me and the Prof. Logan went...out. Ah don't know where," she shrugged.

Remy took his leather coat off and hung it up; Rogue took a moment to admire his physique. In the two months since she'd last seen him, it almost seemed like he'd gotten slightly more...burly. Suppose Belle has been feedin' him well, Rogue thought dully, unable to even hide the bitterness from her own thoughts. "So...how...are things in Bloodmoon?" she asked quietly, she started making her way towards the rec room. She really needed that wine, now.

"Baby got out o' the hospital a week ago...things are improvin'," Remy followed her.

"How is the baby?" Rogue asked.

"She's fine...small, obviously. She's still gon' be back an' fort' t' the hospital a lot...but she's home now."

Rogue entered the rec room and sat down on the couch, she paused 'Stranger Things', then picked up her glass, she downed the contents quickly, noting Remy watching her curiously as she did. "What'd they name her?"

"Kennedy."

"Kennedy?" Rogue tilted her head curiously.

"Don' ask," Remy shook his head, "they always agreed baby was gon' have a boy's name."

"Fair enough," Rogue poured herself another half glass of the wine.

Remy waited for her to finish and then picked up the bottle and gazed at the label, "this wine is forty dollars a bottle...ain' like you t' splash out."

"It was a gift, actually..." Rogue took the bottle from him. "If you want some, the glasses are in that cabinet under the television."

Remy went to the cabinet and picked out a glass – they were all either long glasses or tumblers, like the one Rogue had been using for her own drink because she'd been too lazy to go looking for the proper wine glasses in the formal living room or from the top cabinet in the kitchen. "Tumblers are f' whiskey, so uncouth t' put wine in one," he sighed.

"Ah don't care. All goes to the same place. Ah'll be peein' it out in an hour."

After giving a weak laugh, Remy brought a tumbler to the coffee table and Rogue filled it halfway; he picked it up and looked down into it. There was an awkward silence between them, and after a minute, Remy lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip. "Nice..." he admitted.

"Yeah...Tabitha came through," she took a sip of hers then put it down. "So...are...are you stayin'...or is this...just a fleetin' visit?"

"I've...stayed as long as I need t' back home an'...got the place t' where it needs t'be, managed t' get the money t'gether t' deal wit' the debts f' the property tax an' some o' the renovations. Covered the cos' o' the baby's care 'f the most part...it's up t' Henri t' do the res' now. It's his family..." Remy drank half the contents of the glass then put the tumbler down.

"You're not going back?"

"Not this time. Tol' Jean-Luc it was time f' me t' move on permanently...forge my own way, figure out my own pat' now. Explained that if they wan' a relationship wit' me, it's gon' have t' be wit' out me bein' made t' go on the grift."

Rogue was impressed but she wondered if this was really true. If Jean-Luc called Remy in two days asking for him to return, would Remy acquiesce?

"It's...been weird, y' know..." he sat at her side.

"Weird?" she asked.

"I'd think o' somethin' funny t' say or...I'd have this really clever thought an'...I'd look f' y' an'...y' weren' there. I'd do somethin' stupid an'...be lookin' t' get tol' off or reprimanded...y' weren' there."

Rogue kept her eyes glued to the table, her bottom lip pressed between her teeth. She felt his fingers skim her back through her thin mesh top and her cotton tanktop beneath, his touch was light, delicate.

"I've...had a lot o' time t' think, y' know..." he spoke up after a moment.

"Oh?" she asked, not moving her eyes.

"Done...nothin' but think actually, since...y' lef' me out there..."

"Ah didn't leave you there, you...just stayed..."

"I didn' have a choice."

"Whatever..." she shook her head slowly, her eyes locked to the floor. She wished she could stop being bitter, could forgive him for that choice. She understood in her soul it could not have been easy staying back with his brother and his ex-fiance having to pay to support them and a child that wasn't even his. It must have made him miserable, she realised.

"It don' matter...the poin' is I...thought a lot..."

"Sure you did," she muttered, wishing she could fight off the bitterness she still couldn't help but feel even these months later.

"I did..." he said firmly, "An' I wan'-"

"Remy! I'm so glad you've finally made it home again."

Rogue and Remy turned to the door as the Professor moved in with his electric wheelchair, a red festive looking blanket draped over his legs.

"It's good t' be home," Remy responded.

Rogue noted Remy had left his hand upon her back and she didn't want the Professor seeing this so she moved away, got up and went to the fire, pretended to be eager to warm herself; the room had a specific chill at this time of year, and she'd forgotten to put the radiators on earlier, leaving the only heat source as the lit fire in the hearth. "Why didn't you say he was coming home?" she asked, trying to hide the tension in her voice.

"I had forgotten, honestly," the Professor picked up her wine and examined the label curiously, "it has been rather hectic lately with all the departures. I haven't even had time to change the gate codes yet..."

Rogue supposed she had to agree; things had been very hectic.

"I was thinking..." the Professor put her bottle back down, "that it might be nice if the three of us went for dinner. A friend has a very nice restaurant in the city, a cancellation has come up and he's willing to let us take the booking this evening."

Rogue wasn't sure she really wanted to go out at all for dinner; her mood she awas certain would make for poor dining company. "Are you sure? Ah can whip up some mac and cheese or somethin'..." she offered.

"Nonsense. We should go out, celebrate Gambit's return."

"Gambit don' need no celebration, Professor. He jus' glad t' be home," Remy spoke up, Rogue glanced over to Remy and he gave her a strange look. It seemed unusual for him to not want to go out.

"You really don't need to go to any trouble," Rogue said insecurely, she hugged herself against the slight chill in the room and she stepped closer to the fireplace to warm herself. "Ah don't mind cookin' for three people. Ah could even whip up garlic bread – there's garlic...herbs...butter...we have Baguette..."

"That soun' kin' o' good," Remy admitted. "I'm...perfec'ly fine wit' that."

"There's no trouble to it. It's Christmas, and we all deserve some time off. I'll go let my friend know we'll take the booking and be there in two hours. You should get ready," the Professor started moving towards the door. "Formal wear, of course."

It seemed decided despite their reluctance, the matter was settled and Rogue decided to accept defeat. The Professor rarely asked for much. Perhaps he's feelin' blue this Christmas as well, she realised. Just allow for a few hours to spend some time with the guy...he does so much for everyone here. Dinner isn't much to ask.

"Yeah...Ah'll...do that..." Rogue agreed.

The Professor left them alone. Rogue stared down at Remy who was still sitting on the edge of the couch, his hands were clasped together now. He seemed pensive, like he had a lot on his mind. She wasn't sure she had the capacity right now for any difficult conversations and it seemed he had one already about to reach his lips.

"Ah should go get ready, might take me a while."

"Yeah...okay," he sighed.

"Ah'll see you in a while," she told him as she picked up her half-finished wine glass headed for the door.

"Yeah. See you."

She immediately went to her room and put the glass of wine on the dresser and she stood in the centre of her room for a moment, looking around, feeling suddenly a little lost. She felt somewhat numb and she couldn't quite comprehend why. Remy's return had blindsided her, and she didn't quite know how to process it all yet. She was glad to see him back, absolutely, but at the same time she felt like she wasn't prepared for this.

Logan always likes to remind me everythin' in life happens when you're least prepared, she reminded herself.

She moved to her closet to examine the garments within, trying to decide on what might be appropriate to wear to a fancy dinner in the city. Most of her outfits were barely acceptable for Pizza Hut. She ran her fingers across the sleeves of tops and blouses, eyes searching through the items.

And then her eyes fell on the dress. That dress. The black lace dress with the plunging neckline, the one she'd worn for that one date with Remy back around the end of August, the one she'd worn hoping to piss off Scott. Only now...she didn't have anyone to piss off.

She slid her hand in and brought the hanger out and she held it against her body, examining it in the mirror on the inside of her closet door. Was that appropriate? She supposed she could always keep her wrap over it to cover her cleavage, just like she had before.

As she stood with the garment against her frame, she thought of standing there after that one and only official date with Remy. The way he'd stood behind her, his eyes roving her, the way she'd ached for his touch and he'd left her standing there alone instead.

It's not like Ah have many other options at this stage, she supposed, deciding that this had to be the dress. With that finalised, she went and took a hasty shower, did her hair as best she could now that it was short, and she dressed in the garment. This time wearing the dress, she felt oddly less self-conscious than before and she wasn't sure what it was. Maybe it was...that she knew Remy liked how she looked in it...or at least, he'd given her the indication he did.

She put on her makeup, some jewellery, and her satin gloves, borrowed some black stilettos and a purse from Tabitha's closet (knowing she'd not mind) and she made her way down to the foyer. Remy was standing by the Christmas tree taking the time to admire it; he was in the same suit he'd worn on their date, but this didn't surprise her as she was sure it was probably the only suit he owned – it seemed to her he had a very small and limited wardrobe.

Remy seemed to sense her presence as she was coming down the stairs and he turned to look at her as she descended the grand staircase.

This time, no one was there to make her feel quite the same insecurity she'd felt the first time she'd worn the dress. Remy was the only one there and as she came down she was very aware of the way he was letting his eyes travel up and down her body, from her exposed throat, to her cleavage, and down to the short cut of the dress and her dark pantihose.

Remy said absolutely nothing; she saw the flickering of lust there for just a moment, the way that she supposed most men often behaved when there was flesh on offer, but this time he looked slightly bothered. He seemed to swallow and he looked away, his expression was almost in disbelief, a little surprised.

"Ah...don't have anythin' appropriate for a classy dinner...last nice pants and blouse set Ah had got wrecked durin' a fight so..." she gestured to her dress. "Ah...really need to get new some new clothes."

"You...look fine...y' look classy..." he said, he tapped his jacket pocket, "I f'got my phone...I'm gon' be back in a minute..." he headed for the stairs and passed by her. Rogue shrugged and went down the rest of the steps just in time to see the Professor coming from the direction of his room, he was in a much more formal suit than usual. He always looked impeccable no matter what he wore.

"Rogue," the Professor blinked at her ensemble.

"Ah don't have many formal clothes," she explained, she quickly put the wrap she'd been carrying around her shoulders to hide her exposed cleavage, "Ah...really need to do some clothes shopping. Last nice stuff Ah had to wear got wrecked durin' that thing in November when we took the kids to that theatre show and the Friends of Humanity turned up...and threw the red paint on us..."

"You look..." the Professor paused, trying to find an appropriate adjective, "lovely. It's...just that you suddenly seem so very mature."

Rogue was almost amused as she approached.

"At Jean and Scott's wedding, you looked so much like a little girl in adults clothing...I guess I've...always seen you as that angry young girl who came to us so many years ago," he supposed, "today was the first time I've...really looked at you and seen you as...a grown up..."

She felt her cheeks flush a little, "Had to grow up some time," she supposed.

"You look very elegant. I'm sure He won't be able to keep his eyes off you," the Professor said, his voice was tender and he looked at her almost knowingly.

She looked down to the floor, examining her borrowed stilettos for scuffs. "That's not why Ah wore it."

"Yes, I know," the Professor nodded, although she was certain he sensed the lie. "It's all you had in the closet."

Course this is for him, she scolded herself. As much as she hated being exposed, she wanted his attention, wanted to just...matter. Feel even vaguely desired.

"The car should be here momentarily," Xavier spoke up, "Where is Remy?"

"He went up to get his phone."

"Oh," the Professor replied, "I see."

"He said he'd be a minute."

"I'm so glad you're both here. The thought of spending this Christmas by myself was quite depressing," the Professor admitted.

"Didn't you get invited to go to London?" Rogue asked.

"I had three different invites, but Christmas has never felt like Christmas anywhere else but here."

Rogue understood the sentiment; she barely remembered Christmases with Irene anymore. Christmas here was the only Christmas that ever seemed to stick in her mind now. When she thought of Christmas, it was always the real tree in the foyer, it was always the twelve strings of Christmas lights, it was always the scent of pine, it was always the snow laden grounds on the Xavier estate.

"This is the quietest it's ever been here since Ah came," Rogue admitted, glancing around the foyer absently. "Usually someone stays...Scott or...Jamie...or Bobby. Someone usually always wants to hang back for the holidays. Everyone's gone this time around, even all the kids are gone...it's...so silent."

"Yes...the house feels empty," the Professor nodded. "I spend so much time wishing for just a little peace and quiet when each semester comes, and...when each holiday comes, I find myself missing the noise, the life, the chaos."

"Ah don't know, Ah think Ah kind of like the quiet and the lack of chaos...at least for a little bit," Rogue said, "it's...been a hectic year."

"It certainly has," the Professor nodded.

Rogue shifted from foot to foot, wondering what was taking Remy so long. Surely he'd gotten his damn phone by now. She hated trying to make conversation with the Professor. They had very little in common.

A moment or two later, Remy appeared back down, he seemed slightly flustered.

"Took a minute t' fin' my phone," Remy apologised, his face a little red. "I mus' be losin' my mind."

For just a brief second, Rogue was sure she saw something of a tiny smirk play about the Professor's face but he recomposed himself quickly.

"Do you really need it?" Rogue asked.

"No, but-"

"Just want it on hand in case your daddy calls with a job?" she teased quietly to him, although she caught the bitterness in her tone. "Kiddin'."

Remy gave a weak almost guilty smile, "I...was gon' leave it here t' night but..." he looked at her, "I...wanted t' take a photo."

"A photo?" she asked.

"Yeah...wit' you."

"You...huh?" Rogue blinked.

Remy held his phone out to the Professor, "woul' y'?" he asked.

The Professor chuckled, "yes, of course."

Remy moved to Rogue's side, sliding his arm around her waist. She felt slightly uncomfortable of his familiarity while the Professor was watching. She was sure the Professor sensed the tension between them but he said nothing and took some photos as per Remy's request. Rogue stood, feeling uncomfortable as Remy pulled her closer, his grip on her felt tight, almost...needy.

The Professor's phone rang and he answered it, holding Remy's phone back towards him.

Remy took the phone and searched through the photos, "these turn out good..." he admitted, "migh' a been nice if y' had smiled though..." he criticised.

"What do Ah got to smile about?" she sighed, not really meaning to say it aloud. Remy looked at her briefly, concern in his eyes.

The Professor hung his call up, "the driver will be here any moment," he gestured to the coat on his lap, "Remy, could you help me, please?"

"Sure," Remy handed Rogue his unlocked phone and he went to help the Professor get into the coat, which required helping the Professor prop up a little in his manual wheelchair.

Rogue took that moment to quickly swipe through the photographs in Remy's unlocked phone. The Professor had taken five photos of them by the Christmas tree, and although she wasn't smiling, she had to admit...the photos did come out splendidly. She and Remy seemed such a smart match standing together by the tree, his arm around her, his hand around her waist, slightly pressed on her rib right below her right breast. She was able to pinpoint the shyness in her own expression, the tension in her body.

He's right, she thought dully. Ah probably should have smiled. But how can Ah? It's...so hard to smile. Everythin' feels so hopeless.

With Remy still distracted, she swiped further past the photos just taken, finding a few photos there of Remy sitting on the velvet couch in the LeBeau's living room and in his arms was the tiny baby Belle and Henri had brought into the world. She was incredibly small, smaller than most newborns Rogue had ever seen, clad in a red velvet Christmas dress with white lace frills, a tiny little matching bow on her nearly hairless head, her tiny squashed up face seemed to be in mid-yawn. Remy seemed slightly uncomfortable, an almost nervous smile on his face as he looked down at her, his large hand cupping her tiny little head.

In a different lifetime, she'd have been his, Rogue realised. Wonder if he thought that...wonder if he wishes she was.

"I'll take that back," Remy said to her.

Rogue raised her eyes to his, her cheeks growing red again and she hoped it didn't show through her pale foundation. Remy gave her a knowing look, he seemed to realise she'd been snooping through his photos. "Ah was just..."

"Snoopin'," he recognised.

"The...baby is beautiful, Remy," she admitted softly.

"Yeah. She is," he agreed. He held up her woollen coat, "here, chere...it's freezin' out."

Rogue turned her back and let him help her into the coat.

"Are you ready?" the Professor asked of them.

"Yup," Remy nodded, "let's go."

---

Dinner was the most exquisite meal Rogue had ever had. She'd thought the meal Remy had taken her to on their one date had been extravagant, but this restaurant was the most spectacular place she'd ever been to. A live pianist played a grand piano as they dined – tinkling Christmas music drifting from the far end of the room. Fairy lights twinkled everywhere, the lights were subdued and the ambiance was serene but excitable. All the people dining there seemed happy and their mood lifted her a little. She normally hated anything like this, she'd never been fond of extreme luxury, but tonight she allowed herself to enjoy it, to partake in wine without worrying about who was driving, and indulged in all the things she wanted to deciding she'd worry about holiday weight after the New Year.

She wasn't as skilled at conversation as Remy was, but she took a back seat and let Remy and the Professor talk about travels and culture. She sat feeling her head swimming with the wine, watching as Remy matched her glass for glass.

Remy discussed a broad range of things, even his new niece, which surprised Rogue. She honestly found it a little odd that Remy could be so...casual about being the uncle of a child born of the woman he'd been engaged to only years before. She wasn't sure she'd have been able to be quite so open and accepting of that same situation herself.

She wondered if Jean and Scott had a baby – and she was certain they eventually would – would she be able to overlook her feelings for Scott completely and love the baby like family? Would she be able to accept that baby as kin the same way she supposed she accepted Kurt and Logan?

Only time will tell, she supposed, downing another glass of wine.

The chef – the owner of the restaurant – made an appearance at the table to speak with the Professor and while the Professor was distracted, Rogue turned to Remy, finding him gazing at her with a slight smile on his face, his wine glass in his hand just below his lips.

Below the table, she felt his foot brush against hers; she wasn't certain if it was an accident or not so she curled her feet beneath the chair, drawing her breath nervously through her nose, trying to pay attention to what was being said between the Professor and the Chef.

Remy put his glass down after a sip and turned to pay attention to what the chef was talking about. Rogue felt something graze her pinkie finger and she looked down to see his bare pinky hooking with hers on the table. Nervously she took her hand away and tried to focus on eating her rather decadent dessert, her stomach in knots.

She felt dizzy from all the glasses of wine that she'd stopped counting, but pleasantly so. She hoped she wasn't going to be falling all over the place this time. The last thing she wanted was the Professor to see her staggering drunkenly and Remy having to carry her to her room yet again.

All the same, she couldn't stop herself from drinking the wine, and she couldn't contain her surprise that the Professor wasn't monitoring her intake – he seemed to be enjoying quite a lot of it himself...as did Remy, whom she was sure was matching her glass for glass.

After their meal, they returned to the expensive Rolls Royce the Professor had hired for the evening and as Rogue was pressed next to Remy in the back seat, she felt his fingers tentatively brushing against her knee, the warmth of his fingers so noticeable through her black nylon pantihose. She pretended to not notice, fought to not react as his delicate tapered fingers circled her knee a little.

Swiftly, she brushed his hand away, not wanting to let the Professor see what he was doing...it seemed so inappropriate after all. But she had to wonder if they'd been alone in the back of the car, would she have felt differently?

At the end of the journey, they thanked the chauffeur and the Professor tipped him generously. Rogue stood watching as the chauffeur retrieved the wheelchair from the trunk of the car; observed as Remy helped the Professor into the chair.

A chill whipped around her almost bare legs and she shivered in spite of herself, watching Remy make sure the Professor's feet were properly secured. Rogue felt a slight tinge of worry as she noted the Professor's legs had become incredibly thin, his pant legs clung to his bony thighs and his knees seemed to jut more than usual. The sight of it caught her off-guard.

That's why he always keeps a blanket on his lap these days...so no one can tell how much his legs are wastin', she realised unhappily.

The Professor caught her looking and she felt her cheeks redden and she looked away, feeling slightly embarrassed. Nothing was said; Remy put the blanket over the Professor's lap and pushed him up the ramp towards the front door, he unlocked it and Rogue quickly deactivated the alarm.

Everything was as they left it; the Christmas tree lights had been turned off, but the foyer lights were on bright, to give the illusion that someone had been home if someone might be looking up the long drive.

Things in the foyer were so serenely quiet. Not a peep; every tiny movement they made seemed to echo.

"So silent," Remy noted, standing gazing around the hall.

"Yes, it's a novelty," the Professor chuckled, he sounded more drunk than Rogue had ever heard him before. His voice was slurring and she felt a strange little tingle of worry about it.

"I trust you'll be able to lock up?" The Professor asked, gazing up at Rogue.

She gave a small nod.

"I'm very tired, I think I've had a little too much of that wine," the Professor gave a weak chuckle, "I should wheel on off to bed before I fall asleep in this chair. It's never good for my back when that happens."

"Sleep well, Professor," Rogue nodded.

"See y' in the mornin'."

They watched the Professor wheeling off down the hall towards where his private quarters were located, he bumped into the edge of a table and they heard his laughing as he readjusted the chair's position and took down the hall.

Once the Professor was gone, Rogue turned and locked the door, checked it was secured properly, and then she re-activated the alarms for both the gate and the house via the panel. She reached to the nearby light switches to turn the lights down low for the night.

"Here, let me take y' coat," Remy slurred a little as he moved behind Rogue and helped her out of her wool coat, she felt his breath tickle the back of her neck as he leaned in just a little and she felt weak and giddy. The smell of his cologne filled her senses, her stomach tightened and she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to get a hold of herself.

Stop it, she warned herself, aware of her drunkenness and resolution dwindling.

She briefly glanced over her shoulder as he hung the coat up; he seemed slightly distant, almost distractedly so, he lingered for a moment, his hands still on the coat he'd already hung. He seemed oddly miles away and slightly off kilter.

"You okay?" she asked. He's drunk, she realised. She'd never actually seen him properly drunk before. He'd claimed to have been drunk at Jean and Scott's wedding, but he'd seemed fairly sober to her. Now, she could see the slackness in his face, that slightly glazed and unfocused expression in his eyes.

"Yeah," he answered, sniffing a little, he took a breath.

"Ah'll...see you in the mornin', then," she said softly.

He gave a small nod, not looking in her direction. "Night, chere."

Head still pleasantly buzzing, she kicked off her borrowed shoes and she picked them up and made her way up to her room in her stocking feet. Everything was as she'd left it, makeup scattered over her dressing table, her clothes from earlier discarded on the floor. She peeled her dress, hose and underwear off, kicking them to the corner, and avoided examining her nude body in the mirror dressing table mirror as she quickly pulled on her black satin robe and tied the sash around her waist.

Feeling giddy, she sank down to sit on the stool. She was surprised her makeup was still mostly in place, and that the loose curls in her short hair were still perfectly intact. The only thing that'd moved was her lipstick, she'd left most of it on the wine glasses back at the restaurant.

She stared at the reflection but in her minds eye she was replaying the journey home again, thinking of the way his warm hand had felt on her left knee in the back of the car. It'd been so almost...innocent and yet, it made her think of how much further it could have gone. What if she hadn't pushed his hand away? What if the Professor hadn't been sitting there to his left, would he have done more?

The idea of being with him in the back of a car alone made her ache in ways she wasn't used to; ways she hadn't really ached when it came to thoughts of Scott. But then she'd never gotten close to Scott...not like this. What made the ache feel so powerful was that she had a tangible memory to work with. She pressed her legs together and closed her eyes tightly.

It was so difficult to not imagine how much further things could go, especially now having something to work with, something to fantasize about.

Stop...just...stop torturin' yourself. He flirts but when it comes down to it, he never follows through with it, he leaves you hangin', she warned herself as she peeled a makeup wipe from the packet and began rubbing her makeup off. He likes to keep you wound up. He's a tease...it's just a game to him, that's it. He'll never be serious. He had the chance in Bloodmoon - nothin' happened.

A soft ping in her small borrowed purse alerted her to a text message on her phone and she got up to retrieve the phone, settling in her reading chair as she unlocked it. A text message from Kurt that said Merry Christmas. She realised where he was, which was hours ahead, it now was definitely the twenty-fifth of December. Where she was, it was still minutes from midnight. She text back the same nonetheless and opened her social media apps to check for messages and clear out notifications.

There were dozens of new items in her Facebook feed, her friends all posing for Christmas Eve photos with their families and lovers. Kitty with Lance and her parents posing all together, Kurt with his parents smiling brightly, Jean and Scott embracing by a Christmas tree. The photo of Jean and Scott reminded her of the photos she'd taken with Remy at the Christmas tree only hours ago. There was a photo of Tabitha and Sam smiling together, Tabitha sitting on Sam's lap, her eyes glimmering.

Knowing she was torturing herself, she tapped Tabitha's name to go to her Facebook page and went to the photo area, scrolled through her photo albums to find the one from Jean and Scott's wedding. She had to see the photos again. She sat curled up in her chair, gazing through the photos. She became so increasingly aware that looking at the photos of Jean and Scott together at the wedding no longer made her feel that same sense of bitterness and jealousy. She no longer had that same sense of heartache when she looked at Scott. She hadn't had it for a while, she supposed.

And as she came across the photos of herself and Remy again, she realised why that was. She'd transferred her feelings from Scott to him inadvertently.

This is just...stupid. You've just gone from one extreme to another, haven't you? She told herself dully as she put her phone aside and sighed. But she realised things were drastically different this time around. Scott had never given her the same type of attention. Scott had never touched her; Scott didn't even innocently touch her shoulder or poke her in the back...Remy on the other hand always seemed to find some way to do so.

Feeling very compelled right then, she pushed herself up and left her bedroom, heading down the hall towards the room Remy was occupying. She needed to speak to him, ask him for a real definitive explanation of what he felt was going on between them. If this was just playful flirting...something casual and fun as far as he was concerned then she needed to know.

Would it be so bad if it was just somethin' casual? She wondered as she got to his door, her head swimming from the wine she'd drank too much of today. Least it'd be somethin'...somethin' more than Ah've got now. Bein' used is better than bein' lonely, she thought dully.

She knocked on his door lightly but there was no reply, although she could see that the light was on within as she looked at the bottom of the door. She tried the handle and the door was unlocked and she leaned in a little to gaze in; he wasn't there and she invited herself in cautiously, wondering if he might be in his small private bathroom.

"Remy...you in here?" she asked softly. There was no answer.

His room was immaculate, basic and Spartan. Plain bedding, no wall art, little clutter. Clothes all tidily away; the tote bag he'd arrived with that afternoon was hanging on the hook on his closet door. She went all the way in and checked the bathroom; the light was off in there. No sign of him.

Guess he went out for a cigarette, she supposed as she gazed around.

She moved the dresser and examined two bottles of cologne, an electric shaver on charge, and a boxed deck of cards. If not for those things, there was very little to indicate it was his room. She picked up his bottle of Sauvage, she remembered it was what he'd worn at Jean and Scott's wedding. It was different to the cologne he'd had on tonight, she hadn't liked that one as much. She opened the bottle and raised it to her nose, taking in a deep breath of it and closing her eyes. The scent took her back to the wedding almost immediately, made her think of how close they'd danced in the garden when they were far from everyone else, how he'd held onto her, how the scent of him had filled her senses when he'd backed her into the tree to steady her. How it'd felt for that brief moment when she'd pulled him on top of her in the bed.

Ah was drunk as a skunk then. Maybe even drunker than now, she thought. God Ah was so stupid...

A touch at her hip surprised her, and she almost dropped the bottle, the cap fell and bounced off the dresser and she quickly scrambled to catch it, barely managing to get a hold of it before it fell down behind the dresser. She saw his reflection behind her in the mirror, a smirk on his face.

"An' y' think I'm the sneak..." she heard him accuse near her ear.

"Ah was just..." she swallowed as she closed the cologne and put it back in it's spot, "...lookin' for you..."

"I ain' in the cologne," he teased.

"Yeah...Ah...know..." she said nervously, letting out a breath. Her head swam with the wine, body flushed with embarrassment.

He stepped close up to her, she felt his breath tickling the back of her neck and she tried to compose herself as she smell of the cologne he was wearing mixed with the smell of good wine, at least one other liquor – whiskey perhaps - and cigarettes mingled and caught her senses. It should have been a revolting cocktail of smells and yet, to her, it was...intoxicating.

"An' why y' come here at this hour lookin' f' me?" his voice was slightly teasing, his words slurred a little. "In my bedroom..." he added. "All alone."

"Ah wanted to talk..." she managed weakly.

"About?" he queried, she watched him in the reflection; he was hovering at her back examining her reflection in the mirror, his eyes roving, observing the thin flimsy satin of her robe draped over her; her nipples protruded through the fabric and she was very aware that he was aware of it.

Didn't even think about what you were gonna say, she thought in dismay. That was the problem with being drunk, actions were always impulsive and words were never well thought out. She turned slowly towards him, lifting her eyes to him, she chewed the inside of her cheek and tried to find something to say but words were escaping her.

"Ah..." she began, she swallowed, she tried to compose herself.

"Y' come t' chew me out about October?" he asked jokingly, the liquor was strong on his breath and despite she'd never liked the smell or taste of hard liquor (at least the very few times she'd experienced it), she still wished she could taste it on his lips. He stepped forwards a little and she stepped back; she felt the hard edge of the dresser pressing against her back, and despite he wasn't so much taller than her – maybe five or so inches, she felt he practically loomed over her, and she felt small and childlike, looking up at him.

His bare finger skimmed down the front of the satin robe in an almost playful fashion, his eyes following it. He breathed in through his nose as that finger hooked into the satin sash around her waist and hovered on the knot, his expression thoughtful.

She felt weak, jelly-like, aching at the thought of how close he was. He was right there and she wanted him. But she was so afraid of the not knowing what he wanted. Instinct and his definite flirtations told her he was open to play, but she didn't want to start something that might leave her being discarded like a toy that'd lost its novelty come the morning light.

Her eyes caught a grey feather clinging to his white dress shirt, and she brushed it away gently.

Why can't Ah say anythin'? She thought in dismay. He's gonna think Ah'm a freak. God my head is swimmin'.

Remy was standing there so still looking down at her, his expression full of concern now, the playfulness quickly dropping. "What is it?" he asked.

Just say what you feel, for gods sake, Rogue. It isn't hard. Everyone here says what they feel...sometimes they get hurt. It's part of it. If he rejects you, he rejects you. At least you can say you tried...you're so drunk right now, you can pretend you don't remember this come the mornin'.

She drew her breath and finally managed the most honest thing she could say. "Ah...just wanted to say...uhm..." she exhaled, took another breath, "that...Ah'm glad you're back...Ah've really missed you."

It must have been the right thing to say because quite swiftly he pulled her to his body, his arms wrapped around her tightly and held her to him, her face pressed against his left shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him in response, gripping the back of his dress shirt tightly, a sense of almost desperation dancing down her veins.

Holding him felt so...different to the dance she'd had with him in July. He felt so tangible and real in her arms, he'd seemed so unobtainable only seconds before and there he was, right in her arms, warm against her.

She heard him exhale, as if he had been holding his breath. It was almost a sigh of relief. "I missed y' too..." he murmured softly.

She held onto him tighter, closing as much of the space between her body and his as she could. The smell of him was so heady, made her feel even more drunk than she had been before, the warmth of him even through his clothes made her flush with an intense physical need she was so unfamiliar with. She hated it and she loved it at the same time, loved that he made her throb for sex like thoughts of Scott never had. It wasn't until she felt him bite lightly through the satin fabric on her shoulder that she realised he, too, definitely felt the same.

Remy squeezed her left buttock and although it wasn't the first time he'd done that, this felt different. This time it wasn't to irritate Scott...this time it was for him...for her. His long tapered fingers slid right beneath her ass, finding the dip between her legs and pressed against the fabric. She gasped and he moved her towards the direction of his closet door, pushing her against it as he rolled his hips into hers and she became aware that he was aroused.

A soft moan escaped his lips and she felt weak at the knees at the sound. She suppressed a moan of her own as with his left hand he grabbed her satin clad thigh and raised it a little to get purchase on her, to push his centre into hers and as he did, the protrusion pressed on her just right. She pursed her lips tightly, she was afraid even from downstairs, the Professor might hear, or that Remy might find any kind of sound she made vaguely off-putting.

She heard him fumbling through something at the right of her, and she twisted her head to see his hand was in the side pocket of his tote bag hanging there on the hook of the door, he was fumbling as he tried to concentrate on what he was doing with his body against hers. She let her hands grip his waist, trying to pull him to her as hard as she could get him, standing on her tiptoes so she could try to get some kind of purchase on getting him in the right spot that'd help dull her own ache. He seemed to find whatever it was he was looking for, and he swung her again, this time towards the bed, and he mounted her body and this time the pressure of him between her legs hit perfectly.

It was frustrating; she wanted to kiss him so badly but couldn't; his trying to keep his distance from her face felt infuriatingly necessary but at the same time torturous as he rolled his hips into hers, grinding his arousal into her with definite urgency. He rolled her onto him and sat up and she drunkenly attempted to match his enthusiasm with her own clumsily inexperienced rhythm, rolling herself against him, hanging drunkenly onto his shoulders. At her back she was aware of him fumbling with something, every now and then he looked past her shoulder, frowning, seeming to be getting irritated and momentarily distracted with whatever it was.

She grew very aware her robe had come loose with their rolling around and she could feel the edges starting to slide down her shoulders, hanging by her arms. As drunk as she was, she was beginning to panic with the thought of so much skin being bared, the worry of what may happen, the thought of accidents. He moved his hands from behind her and she felt a touch on her right bare hip and she flinched a little at first on instinct. She glanced down to see he was wearing black latex gloves, his fingers rolling against her flesh sensually.

Had that been what he'd been getting from the bag? Was that what he'd been fumbling with at her back.

His left hand came up her waist, exploring her ribs delicately, then cupped her breast, his thumb gently brushed her nipple as he watched himself touching her with soft lustful eyes. She gasped a little, feeling sensitive and giddy. His right hand was massaging her backside and then he extended his reach, twisted his wrist and she felt his gloved fingers sliding beneath the robe and between her legs. She was so aware of the involuntary "oh..." sound she made as he touched her properly for the first time, and even more aware of the triumphant look in his eyes that he'd made her make that sound. She shifted her body a little against his touch, aching harder now.

He was so gentle, teasing, chuckling softly at her as she kept trying to control the rhythm and pressure by trying to drunkenly ride his hand and he'd pull his hand away until she stopped. He finally twisted her down into the mattress. She felt his gloved fingers exploring her, circling and sliding, tips slightly penetrating but never enough. She felt him pinch her flesh between two fingers and pull a little and she pursed her lips hard, arching her back; she was aware of the way he rolled the two fingers against each other with her flesh between and she bit down on her lip, closing her eyes tight. He didn't give her any warning when he fully penetrated her with his fingers and she cried out. That...that was something she had very little experience of save for tampons and that one time she'd experimented with a Diva cup.

Everything drunkenly swam around her and she was overwhelmed with new sensations she'd never imagined she'd feel in anything but a dream. It was hard to be aware of everything, of the feeling of his thumb brushing her, his fingers sliding, the way his body rocked against her so his groin could get some relief from her left thigh. Her head spun and she couldn't keep her eyes open any more, she lay there letting him, trying to burn it into her memory, worrying that tomorrow she'd be too hungover to even recall it.

He stopped what he was doing, and she opened her eyes again, hearing the drawer in the cabinet at the left of his bed sliding open; she turned to see him fumbling through items quickly, and eventually happening on what it was he wanted. A condom.

Was it possible? Could they be together without skin to skin? Would it be too risky?

She moved her eyes to his and looked at him, her heart started hammering as she watched the concentration in his face as he tore the packet and reached down between his own legs, she heard the unzipping of his pants and she didn't dare look down.

If Ah look down, Ah'll chicken out, she realised. If she looked down and saw his size again, she was too aware she'd be afraid of the pain and lose her nerves.

He climbed between her legs and she felt his manhood, the latex sheath on him sliding across her, his head brushing her as he manipulated herself with his right hand, using himself against her, his eyes locked to hers.

She couldn't help but freeze, so aware of him, aware of his maleness, so very much in disbelief this was really happening. For a time, he just rocked himself against her, she sensed the frustration of wanting the kiss and she couldn't bear to see it in his face so she turned her head and closed her eyes again, gasping each time he'd brush her in just the right way.

There was a silent trust between them, an agreement...something went unspoken that it was going to happen. She was terrified but she didn't want to say no...didn't want to give this up, knowing this could be the only chance she might ever have. She'd been needing him all night, needing him since the moment he'd walked through the damn door that afternoon. She'd been needing him since the day Jean and Scott had wed...

She felt him slide down to her opening and rest just there, he seemed bulbous and rock-like and the panic began. The insecurities of being too small or...not even being normal enough played up and her heart was thrumming hard and she was trembling. He pushed forward more enthusiastically than she'd expected and she cried out in pain, grasping onto his body tightly.

She had expected pain, but not a sense of initial shock that it'd finally happened, she gripped his shirt hard, her breath coming out in spurts as she lay beneath him aware of his bodyweight, aware of the way he held her thigh and led her leg up.

Everything after that was so slow and careful, and she was aware of every damn stroke. What had started as almost feeling drunkenly desperate, urgent and exciting became unpleasant and uncomfortable. She held onto his body as he moved with control and restraint, listening to him moaning low in his throat, aware of his breathing and the way he felt warm against her. Although he definitely knew what to do with his body and had stamina, penetration wasn't remotely doing it for her the way his touch had and things began to go very quickly and unexpectedly south much to her absolute heartbreak.

Very soon each thrust was getting more and more unpleasant and clumsy, and she couldn't stay lubricated long enough for him to build any kind of a decent rhythm. He'd withdraw every few moments, spitting onto his fingers and rubbing her, trying to keep her wet enough for comfortable penetration but it never lasted; having him spit directly onto her hot and sore femininity did nothing to help excite her although she was certain it was supposed to. Instead, it only killed the mood for her entirely, disgusted her immensely.

She could sense him fighting to not show he was getting disappointed, frustrated and exhausted with all the effort that was going nowhere, she sensed his irritation every time he patiently withdrew to repeat the act of trying to lubricate her again, tried to excite her.

She tried to get into it, tried to close her eyes and let mind run free with fantasy, tried to imagine his kiss, his touch, how his skin may taste, but nothing was working; she kept getting distracted with the sounds of him, how much clumsier it felt each time they had to stop, how much her head was spinning from the drink she'd imbibed far too much of tonight.

She became incredibly preoccupied now, worried that she was so inept at being close to anyone that she wasn't able to do this properly the natural way she'd been taught about in sex-ed. It all felt so damn humiliating; she wished she could just tell him to stop, forget it, it clearly wasn't supposed to work between them. She couldn't find her voice, it seemed pointless to try and stop now. Might as well endure the mistake and let him finish and then they could somehow try to find a way to pretend it'd never happened at all.

Eventually, he gave up, it just wasn't happening any more, she could feel every time he tried to push in, her body wasn't as accepting of him any more, as if she were getting tighter, her body resisting him. Soon, she realised he'd lost his excitement in the process, and the drunken but disappointed and frustrated look on his face said it all.

Rogue lay on the bed feeling emotionally numb. What'd started out being so incredibly arousing and exciting had been one of the biggest disappointments of her life. She felt him sinking to the spot at her side, she could feel the mattress shake as he yanked the condom off and put himself away.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be, she thought with humiliation and complete disbelief as she rolled onto her side facing away from him. She couldn't even look at him any more, she was so embarrassed it'd all gone so terribly wrong. She stared at the wall, her eyes following the tiniest slithers of a crack in the painted plaster. She couldn't find anything to say and it seemed he couldn't either. She was sure he was laying there thinking of how lousy it'd been, thinking of how it'd never been that lousy with other women.

After a time, she recognised the soft even breathing pattern of his quickly having fallen asleep, and she rolled her eyes and laughed darkly in her head at how that was just the cherry on the top of the rather disappointing and very painful sundae. She waited a while for him to get into a deeper sleep before she left the bed – she didn't want to disturb him, have him wake up and ask where she was going.

When she was certain he was in a deep sleep – his drunken snoring an indicator – she picked up her robe and slipped it on; she gazed down at him, he was stretched out on his back, his eyes closed lightly, handsome, his face slightly pink from his exertion (or was that the alcohol?), his hair tinged with sweat.

Least Ah can say Ah know what sex feels like now, she thought dully as she left the room and walked quietly to her own. Walking was sore, she'd been in the position of laying with her legs spread so long that her hips and thighs hurt, and low in her belly, she felt a pain within that felt almost like menstrual cramps. She felt hot and irritated between her legs too.

She went to her bathroom and turned the shower on, stepping in before the water had even had time to get hot. Ah thought sex was supposed to be romantic and...excitin'. It was...messy and embarrassin', she decided unhappily as she washed herself off, scrubbing the parts of her body that felt dirtiest the most. She was surprised that when she washed herself below, it stung.

No one ever talks about that part, she thought unhappily.

After a long hot shower, she got into her warmest pyjamas and slid beneath her own covers, curling up tightly into a ball in her bed. It was some hours before she fell asleep herself.

---

In the morning, the Christmas day sun spilled through her window and cut a beam across her face, and it disturbed her from slumber. She sat up with a headache, feeling hungover from last night's wine. Everything had felt strangely vague for a time, and she for one moment had almost thought the events of the night before had been a dream, until she went to move and felt the aches from last night's sex lingering in her hips, her belly and between her legs.

She rolled over and faced away from the window, gazing across her room at the discarded clothing she'd kicked off the night before, the stilettos scattered on the floor, her panties and hose dangling from the closet doorknob. It all felt like the evidence of a bad night with very poor decisions.

How do we go back to normal after that? God, Ah have to face him. How do Ah look him in the eye after that absolute nightmare of what happened in bed? Ah should have never let myself get that drunk, she spied the empty bottle of the strong wine Tabatha had gifted her for Christmas. She supposed it was her own fault for drinking so early in the day and continuing on at dinner.

After laying in bed for an hour, and seeing the clock hit ten am, she realised she couldn't just lie in bed for the rest of the day. It was Christmas day, she was supposed to get up and feign like she was actually looking forward to it, as always.

She dressed in the stupid Christmas sweater Jean had gotten her for Christmas when she was seventeen – it still fit although it was a little tighter at the bust these days – and a pair of black jeans, brushed her hair and went downstairs not bothering with makeup, deciding it wasn't worth it this time around.

The moment she got to the bottom of the stairs, she could smell coffee and she followed it's promising aroma to the kitchen hoping that Remy wasn't going to be the one in there. She was glad it was Logan; he was still in yesterday's clothes, standing with his back against the kitchen counter, a coffee cup in his hand, his face unshaven. Even from halfway across the kitchen she could smell the booze he'd clearly been imbibing all night. The kitchen radio was playing Christmas music, a song by The Pogues drifted depressingly across the space.

"What time'd you get back?" she asked tiredly as she went to where the coffee pot was, grabbed herself a mug and poured herself some.

"Bout twenty-five minutes ago," he grunted. "You been drinkin' wine?" he asked, frowning a little.

She'd forgotten to brush her teeth and she realised he'd have smelled it on her at once, especially with his heightened senses.

"Professor took us to that restaurant his friend owns, that Chalanes or whatever it's called..." she moved to the table and sank into a seat, every time she moved it hurt her nether regions. "He wanted to celebrate Gambit comin' home."

"Thought I smelled gumbo and cigarettes in the hall," Logan remarked, he took a long drink from his cup, "When'd he saunter back?"

"Yesterday around five or six...Ah don't remember," she rubbed her throbbing head.

Logan moved to the table and dropped into the seat opposite her, he moved to the cabinet and drew a box of generic asperin from inside a box of teabags and tossed them towards her, "here."

"You're hidin' aspirin?" she blinked.

"No one ever checks the teabags," he said, "Professor and Jean are the only one who drinks them."

Rogue gave a weak laugh, "right...the two people in the place who get headaches the most."

"Exactly," Logan snorted. "Anyway, they'll take the edge off that hangover you clearly have judgin' by the look on your face."

Rogue took a tray of pills from the box and popped a few out and dropped them into her mouth, she swallowed them with a mouthful of coffee. "Least this one isn't as bad as the one Ah had after Jean and Scott's weddin'," she tried to look on the bright side.

"The Professor will probably be up soon, once him and Gumbo are up, I suppose we can start openin' the-" he stopped himself, he looked at her with a sudden dark expression but he composed himself quickly, "-presents," he finished.

Rogue looked at him, for a moment she didn't understand what it was that'd stopped him mid-sentence, and then she realised he'd smelled something. She saw the slight flare of his nostrils and she realised that somehow, even though she'd washed every trace of Remy off of her, he still somehow recognised something about what had happened.

Logan said nothing, but he looked down to the table, his face slightly confused...irritated. She wondered if it was that she'd let herself get used by Remy or if it was that Logan hadn't been there to stop her letting herself get used. Guiltily, she looked down into her black coffee, her cheeks growing hot with embarrassment.

"Joyeux Noel."

Rogue pursed her lips and closed her eyes at the sound of Remy's voice at the door; he sounded cheery, upbeat, just like he always did.

"Seems to be, for some, not so much for others," Logan got up from the table, taking his cup to the sink to rinse it off.

"Good t' see you, too, mon ami," Remy said.

Rogue lifted her cup to her lips and sipped, she shrank down a little into her seat, wishing the world would swallow her up.

"I'm gonna see if Charles is up yet. Wanna get this present garbage over and done with so I can go to bed," Logan put his cup upside down on the drying rack and he breezed by Rogue, she heard him grunt as he passed by Remy.

"He's in a good mood," Remy mumbled as he passed by the table on his way to the counter to where the coffee maker was. He grabbed a clean mug he poured himself some and came to the table, he spied the box of aspirin on the table. "Oh, perfec'," he said, and he picked the packet up and popped a few out into his hand and into his mouth, he downed them with his coffee. "I ain' usually a wine drinker. Always go t' my head. It wen' a lil' more t' my head than I thought...I had a couple scotches when I got home after I checked all the other locks an' alarms...it all caught up wit' me...I was pretty hammered."

Yeah, Ah know you were, Rogue crossed her ankles and slid them beneath her seat, she kept her eyes down on her coffee, not wanting to look up at him. "Me too," she admitted.

"Maybe f' New Years resolution we shoul' do dry January, non?" he asked, he gave a weak laugh.

"Probably for the best," she supposed. She wondered if she hadn't drank all that wine last night if she'd have gone to his room at all. Could she blame the wine? Could that be her excuse for such a stupid mistake?

No...it wasn't the wine. It was him. Ah wanted him. If Ah'd been sober, it wouldn't have mattered. It just...it didn't go right.

Part of her hoped he'd say he remembered nothing about last night past the meal. It'd be so perfect if he could have forgotten.

Ah'll bet Ah was the worst lay he's ever had, she thought dully.

"Y' hungry? I can whip up some toas' or eggs...somethin'."

"Don't think Ah could stomach anythin' right now," she admitted, she leaned forward on the table. God, that goddamn depressin' song, Ah fuckin' hate it. "Can you change that radio station...?" she rubbed her head. "Anythin' not Christmas will suffice."

Remy got up and moved to the radio, he stood pushing the buttons, trying to find a station until he come up with one that wasn't playing Christmas pop music or Christmas choir music. It was an 80s station, and she found a certain irony that the song playing was that same song that'd played in the car on the end of that one and only date she'd had with Remy. He returned to the table, sinking down into the seat corner-wise to her, he pushed the chair along the floor a little closer to her.

He glanced towards the door to the hall, as if he was making sure Logan was really gone, and then leaned a little closer.

"Did I hurt y'?" he asked quietly.

Guess we had to talk about it sooner or later. Might as well get it over with so we can move on.

She gave the smallest of shrugs. She wasn't sure if it was the physical pain or the emotional pain that was worse. Or if it was the humiliation she felt letting herself get into that position at all. She felt so incredibly foolish for putting herself in that situation. She only had herself to blame and she was very aware of it.

Should have never gone to his room.

Remy was silent for a moment, contemplating his words carefully. "I got caugh' up...I didn' have time t' prop'ly prepare f' it...I didn' expec' somethin' t' happen. It jus'...did."

She was quiet, listening, staring down into the blackness of her coffee wishing it could swallow her up...wishing the ground would swallow her up. Hell would be a step up from this.

"I'm usually not lousy like that, I swear...that...don' usually happen t' me."

She finally looked up at him for the first time since he'd entered the kitchen. He was staring off into space, his expression slightly annoyed.

He thinks he was the lousy one? She was surprised. Or is he just claimin' responsibility so we can put an end to it, so Ah don't blame him for it. Or don't...accuse him of somethin'?

There was a brief silence between them and she got lost in her thoughts. At the weddin'...what if he just...had fucked me? She wondered, feeling her cheeks grow hot with humiliation and dismay. What if it'd hurt even more? God, Ah was so insistent. He could have...and he didn't.

"I..." he started again, breaking her from her reverie. "I thought I was gon' be able t' be more patien' than I was."

She raised her eyes to him finally, examining him in the mid-morning sun, it cut across his face, making his eyes seem bright. His expression was guilty...sad.

"Patient...?" she repeated.

"F' you t' show me any kin' o' affection back t' me...I promised myself if it ever got t' physical stuff I'd go slow but...once it started I..." he stared down at the table, frowning, "I...coul'n' help myself. I was drunk an' you were so..." he trailed off.

"Look..." she sighed, "There wasn't any point Ah felt like Ah was bein' pushed...Ah never felt like there wasn't a choice..." she run her finger along the rim of her coffee cup.

He studied her.

"Ah made a choice too, Remy."

His expression softened.

"Maybe..." she started and then stopped herself with a sigh. "Never mind..." she shook her head.

"Maybe what?" he asked, he touched her arm.

She looked at him, "maybe Ah'm just...not meant to be with anyone..." she shrugged a little, she chewed the inside of her cheek, "maybe that's a sign that...Ah can't."

"Bull," he shook his head, disbelieving this, "It's my fault, chere...y' know that."

"How can it be your fault? Ah was the one who...couldn't...it didn't want to happen..." she trailed off.

"It started good, chere. Everythin' was workin' – y' know that," he squeezed her arm. "You felt it, right? I know y' did..."

She studied his eyes. She couldn't deny up until penetration things had been vastly better. She'd been incredibly receptive and enjoyed his touch until he'd taken things further.

"Y' were enjoyin' it, chere...I know y' were. Y' felt...right..." he put nicely, she sensed him fighting the urge to be a little more vulgar and descriptive. "I pushed y' too fast...I raced us t' the finish line before we even got t' the firs' lap an' y' got...anxious an' in y' head an' y' body started t' lock up. It wasn' your fault, it was me...I jus' wan'ed y' so bad I...I've waited so long that...I coul'n' hol' back any more."

She was quiet, looking at the table and trying to assess his words.

"I'm sorry I ruined it," he admitted.

Had he ruined it? Or had she? She could have stopped him at any time, asked him to turn his attention to something else, or...just asked him to give up at the first sign it had been obvious it wasn't working. Instead she'd let him, she'd lay there letting it escalate.

Lets face it, you went to that room with the full intention of somethin' happening. You had it in your head that you could let yourself be used. You wanted to get off...you wanted him to give you somethin'. You can't blame him for this, you were completely complicit. This was completely your own fault.

"Can we just...not talk about this any more?" she asked uneasily.

"Not until I know we're okay," he squeezed her arm. "I don' wan' this t' be the thing that stops things dead 'fore we've even prop'ly started..."

She raised her eyes to his, searching his own.

"I made a mistake, an' I'm so, so sorry..." he said with an almost desperate look in his eyes, he took her right hand within both of his. "I wan' t' right this. I don' wan' it t' get in the way..." he raised her hand and kissed her gloved knuckles. "I've missed y' so much..." he held her palm against his face, looking at her.

"Ah've missed you too," she admitted shyly, dropping her eyes to the table, taking her hand back from him. "But...it's...clear when it comes to us, it's not gonna work..." she pointed out.

"Chere..." he pleaded.

"We can't seem to get on the same wavelength...no matter how hard we try...this just proves it."

"Oh c'mon..." he groaned.

"You know Ah'm right..." she swallowed hard.

"No."

"If things were meant to work out, they would have. Last night would have been fine. But things weren't right. It's clear it doesn't work between us."

He was silent, he dropped his eyes, "that really how y' wan' it?"

No, it wasn't how she wanted it but it felt incredibly crystal clear to her that things just...didn't work when she even tried with him. As much as she wanted to be with him, it didn't work, they were too different. And trying to have sex had proven that they were incredibly incompatible.

"It doesn't work, Remy."

"C'mon, chere. Y' really gon' let one stupid shitty drunken romp change everythin'?" he demanded, his voice sounded oddly thick.

"Things don't have to change, Remy," she decided as she stood up, "We'll...go on as we always have...it'll be fine."

"But we won' be t'gether..."

"We never were..." she pointed out and she drained the contents of her mug and took it to the sink to wash it.

"An'...that's how y' really wan' it?" he asked, his voice tense.

She didn't respond to him, but she was sure he understood her lack of response.

He gave a "huh..." and she heard him standing, and he left the kitchen without another word, leaving her standing there guilty and alone again.

---

End of Part 7