Getting Warmer

by Wiccamage

Updated 4/19/25! post Dark Horizons. After defeating the XMen, Apocalypse takes Rogue as his queen. Will a certain Cajun be able to save her before the unthinkable happens? Ch. 29: The circumstances of Rogue and Gambit's time together change drastically when doubt leads to disaster.

26. Chapter 26: Turmoil

~X~X~X~X~X~
Getting Warmer
Chapter 26: Turmoil
~X~X~X~X~X~

Chapter 26: Turmoil (Day 4)
- Falling Hard
-Betsy's Goodbye - (4pm)/7pm
-A Tight Spot - 4pm/(7pm)
-Playing Doctor/Precipice of Disaster - 6pm/(9pm)
-The New Jean Grey - (9pm)/12am

~X~X~X~X~X~

trigger warning* - this last half of the "Precipice of Disaster" section deals a lot with thoughts/plans of suicide. Once Rogue finishes doctoring Gambit and goes through the pack more thoroughly, that's where things start spiraling. Please be warned if you are sensitive to this. There is some really heavy stuff here, with Rogue literally teetering on the edge. It may be a hard one to stomach for someone who is struggling, but I hope Remy's message of "Don't give up. Not while there's still hope," will resonate with anyone who finds themselves on a similar path.

This chapter is a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, I won't lie. The title, "Turmoil" says it all.

~X~X~X~X~X~

Rogue watched as Gambit jogged away, using the edge of the tree line near the cliffs for cover. His gait was significantly encumbered as he held his left arm tight against his side. He was still intermittently bleeding from the bear attack, and she gnawed her lip in worry for his safety. Watching him head toward the ominous smoke, twin snakes of fear and anxiety writhed in her gut. She almost hoped he'd stumble and fall; struggle to get back up, so she could rush to his side and have a valid reason for refusing to let him go alone.

He'd made a good point, though. If Apocalypse's goons found her, all would be lost. It was smarter to sacrifice a pawn than a queen, right? The thought nearly made the onions she'd consumed come back up. Apocalypse wanted her for his queen, but she would die before she let that happen. Trembling fingers found the pocket knife in Remy's coat, and she clenched her fist around it. The cold steel pressing into her palm did nothing to calm her, however.

Rogue released a shaky breath as she watched the speck of his silhouette disappear between a distinctive pair of gnarled, dead trees about a mile away. She didn't move for a long while, just stared at the place where he'd slipped out of sight as if he would pop back into view at any moment. Her foot bounced as she waited. She wet her chapped lips. Fidgeted with the pocket knife. Drummed her fingers against her thigh.

Finally she began pacing, her eyes swiveling back to the pair of dead trees every few seconds. She sighed. Looked around. Debated on building a small shelter for nightfall. Paced some more. Shook her head. Toyed with the frayed hem of her now indecently short dress. Fiddled with her hair. She even gnawed at her fingernails, then pulled a face of disgust when she tasted dirt and blood.

Disgusting indeed. Covering her face with both hands, Rogue had to stifle a laugh at her own disturbing behavior. She was a complete mess just sitting here waiting, praying he would be safe. Her vision slanted toward the softly rising smoke in the distance - the spot where Remy would be a sitting duck if those henchmen were waiting in ambush. He would probably hesitate to use his powers, too, the lunatic. He'd be worried about attracting attention to Rogue, about clueing Mesmero and Apocalypse in on their location, and he'd hesitate and get himself killed - for real this time.

Damn suicidal Cajun.

She growled under her breath. It wasn't the first time she'd muttered those words in her brain, and it probably wouldn't be the last. Rogue clenched her eyes shut, forcefully rubbing the heel of her hand against her closed lids and scrubbing her face in frustration as she considered just how many times that man had almost died for her already. And how anxious she was that he wouldn't return THIS time.

She'd been worried when he tailed the robots the other day, had honestly cried herself to sleep thinking he'd been blown up by the metallic minions. But now that he was potentially walking into a trap, she was downright terrified. Her fingers went to her hair, tugging at the locks as she tried to control her breathing. She was almost hyperventilating, she realized, utterly panicked that something would happen to her Remy while he was …

Wait. HER Remy?

Oh god.

Rogue's face turned bright red, and she was almost glad he wasn't there to witness that moment of horrendous mortification. She knew she LIKED him - 'liked liked', as she'd realized a few days ago - but to consider him 'her' Remy…

Oh. God.

Clapping both hands over her face as if it would magically undo her embarrassing revelation, Rogue groaned. Then giggled. Then sat down and put her head between her knees to try and get control over herself.

She was officially losing it.

She had it BAD for a guy she'd essentially just met, yet had spent nearly a week with, trying to evade Apocalypse and his goons. She was falling - hard - for a thief and an Acolyte. For a guy who teased her with inappropriate jokes, touched her every chance he got, knew more about her than anyone EVER, had put her comfort and health above his own, slept in her arms (and vice versa), had saved her more times than she could currently count, and had very nearly died - at LEAST twice now - trying to protect her.

He made her laugh, made her angry, made her flush with desire and embarrassment alike, and had somehow turned her into a giant knot of anxiety and insanity knowing he was heading into the proverbial lion's den without her.

Rogue's knee bounced as she bent over, breathing slowly, but shakily.

Damn it all, but she was smitten. Not just a school girl crush, but head over heels, heartbreakingly in LOVE with Remy Etienne LeBeau. Cupid's arrow straight to the chest, throbbing cartoon heart eyes, sweaty palms and racing pulse, in love. The thought was sobering, exhilarating, nauseating, terrifying, and gratifying, all at once. Sitting up, she laughed. A choked, almost deranged guffaw of morbid understanding.

She was in love. With Gambit.

…

Logan was going to KILL her.

Hell, he'd kill Remy.

Wildly, she envisioned a rabid Wolverine chasing her Cajun all over the front lawns of the institute while the squirrelly Swamp Rat tossed naughty smiles and suggestive innuendos like grenades. A girlish giggle erupted at the image, and she clapped both hands over her mouth at the uncharacteristic sound.

Shit, shit, shit.

She stood again, pacing in circles as she shook her head and wrung at her hair. This was just too embarrassing, too cliche. A secret she'd take to her damn grave. But, how was she going to face Remy again, knowing she was harboring such intense feelings for the man? He'd ferreted out every one of her moods and bottled up emotions, somehow getting her to tell him more than most people would have revealed in a freaking autobiography. He was an expert at sussing out her secrets, so it probably wouldn't take him long to realize something was different - off - with her.

Sweet Jesus, what would happen if, or rather when, he found out?

Groaning into her hands, she paced between her rock and the tree line. Gambit would be absolutely INSUFFERABLE if he discovered how much she actually cared about him.

Or… maybe he wouldn't?

Rogue paused, face paling. She bit her lip. How WOULD the Acolyte react to such a revelation? Would he distance himself if he discovered the true depth of her feelings towards him? Or, maybe he wouldn't feel the same way. He couldn't, right? After all, it had only been five days, and Remy was far more practiced with relationships than she was. He was too mature and worldly to fall for a vapid teenage girl in less than a week.

From the sounds of it, he'd had his pick of women over the years. She'd probably touched fewer people - gloves or not - than he'd had intimate encounters. Remy was knowledgeable and experienced, and couldn't possibly feel the same way about her - who was unseasoned, short-tempered, and physically shy. She couldn't fathom a possibility where he might have the same feelings toward her. At best, he would try to let her down easy, and at worst, well…

A knot tightened in the Southerner's chest, already convinced of his inevitable dismissal. The mere idea of his rejection made the bridge of her nose feel tight and the back of her eyes sting. She bit her lip, hard, abusing the chapped, delicate flesh between her teeth so hard she could taste blood.

Nope. Shaking her head and steeling her resolve with a deep breath, she reasoned that she was absolutely not going to fall apart about this. Even if all she really wanted to do was run to Kitty, tell her everything, and beg her best friend for advice. The petite brunette was so much better at this stuff than she was, after all. Kitty would know how to handle the situation. She'd be almost as insufferable as Gambit, of course, granted he didn't get himself killed first…
On the bright side, at least if he died she wouldn't have to worry about how he'd react to her feelings for him. Once he figured it out, that was. Rogue wanted to laugh, but at the same time the knot in her chest stretched and thickened, threatening to free the liquid emotion swelling behind her eyes.

Green irises slanted toward the lazily curling white smoke. It was starting to thin out, might even be completely gone inside an hour. If it disappeared, it would be almost impossible to track the Cajun, and he could be lost to her forever.

"Screw it," Rogue muttered aloud, almost startling herself in the broken silence. "Ain't no way Ah'm pinnin' a dead Swamp Rat ta my conscience." Tying up his coat around her waist almost angrily, she put a quick bundle of sticks into an 'X' on the top of the rock. Hopefully if he returned and she wasn't there, he would understand to stay put until she returned. As obnoxious of an obstacle as the massive cliffs were, at least they made good landmarks for navigation.

Rogue took off at a fast clip, not quite running, but certainly not moving as slowly as her body demanded. Determination to back up her Cajun drove her onward even as her ribs begged her to slow. But, she had already lost too much time. It had taken nearly half an hour for her baser instincts and tenacious, stubborn personality to finally beat down the nauseating anxiety and heartsickness.

Remy would be furious at her for following him, but she was an X-Men, goddamnit! And hell if she was going to let that man fight her battles, tell her what to do, or turn her into a blubbering, lovesick fool.

~X~X~X~

At 7:00 p.m. at the Xavier Institute, the mansion was eerily empty. The whole place had been uncharacteristically quiet for the last week as the many residents grappled with the loss of one of their own. The students had been respectfully subdued up until the morning after Rogue's funeral, in fact, when the news that Kurt and Jean were now BOTH contesting Rogue's supposed death started spreading through the rumor mill. Then, once Mystique had been discovered missing, the atmosphere around the mansion had erupted with its usual cacophony.

But for now, at least, things were peaceful. Logan, Ororo, and Hank had taken the younger mutants out for ice cream, Kurt was with Amanda, trying to explain what had transpired over the last week, and Kitty had taken off to meet up with Lance. Only the Professor, Jean, Scott, and Doctor Braddock remained at the mansion. The two resident telepaths were currently holed up in Cerebro, looking for Gambit or Apocalypse, while the latter two mutants were sitting in the kitchen, sharing a pot of tea while they waited for updates.

Scott was seated at one end of the large dining table, closest to the door, while Betsy occupied the other end closest to the stove and kettle. She'd snuck in while Scott's back was turned, and set to making herself a cup just as he finished preparing his.

"So," Scott started, blowing on his cup of chamomile. "You're taking off, huh?" He gestured to her duffle sitting at her feet.

Betsy nodded, her lips twisting up into a mock smile. "Aren't you the observant one," she teased. Finally, she sighed, disheartened. "I'm afraid I've outstayed my usefulness. After all, of the two students Charles had most hoped I'd be able to help, one never came to see me, and the other only once. If any of the others had wanted to talk, they likely would have done so already."

Concern and understanding washed over the young man's features. "Yeah, Kurt's convinced Rogue's still alive, and now he's got Jean and a few others believing him, too." A dejected sigh escaped downturned lips. "I still don't understand why she…" He shook his head and trailed off, brows furrowing in anger and disgust.

Besty lifted her teacup to her lips, gazing over the rim through dark, amused lashes. "Trouble in paradise? I take it you and the girlfriend don't see eye-to-eye, hmm?"

"How did you…?"

Betsy chuckled, picking up her teacup and saucer and moving to sit directly across from Scott. "It's a school full of pubescent teenagers, Scott." Her voice was droll, but honey sweet as she winked at him. "The things one overhears are borderline obscene." The purple haired telepath raised an eyebrow as she gave the young man an appreciative once-over. "You know, I can stay a little longer if you need someone to talk to. About your perspective on the matter. Or perhaps the problems between you and Jean. You must feel terribly lonely, being at odds with the redhead." She smiled up at him through hooded eyes, long, dark lashes batting earnestly.

"Jean?" Scott put his mug back on the table as Betsy lifted hers back to her lips, taking a calculating sip. "What do you mean? Everything's… Everything's fine."

An amused chuckle puffed between perfectly painted lips when Dr. Braddock lowered her teacup. "If you say so, darling, but the rumor mill is in strong opposition to that opinion." Her grin grew at Scott's sigh of frustration.

"I just... Man. I thought we were good again," Scott grouched, ignoring his mug of tea to torture his hair. "She was acting so weird after Rogue - after we got back - and I thought she was just in shock, too. Mourning in her own way, you know? But she just - she practically ignored me. Acted like she was mad at me, you know?" Scott's cheeks were flushed, brows knitted together.

"I thought she… I thought she was angry that we failed, like I am. But now I come to find out she's been lying to me the whole time? She doesn't think Rogue's dead, either, now! I don't know if she ever DID. I tried to talk to her about it, but she won't listen to reason. Won't TALK to me." Elbows resting on the table, the young leader of the X-Men dropped his head into his hands, groaning in frustration. "Times like this, I - I'd hoped we'd have each other to lean on. Find comfort and connection with one another, you know? But I feel like we're more distant than ever. It's like I don't even KNOW her anymore. Like she doesn't even know ME."

The sympathy shining in Betsy's lavender eyes made Scott's face flush with embarrassment. "Sorry," he replied quickly. "I didn't mean to dump that on you. I probably shouldn't even be talking about this with you."

The former model giggled prettily. "Well, that IS why I'm here, you know." She dropped her chin slightly, staring up at him through those thick, fluttering lashes. "To listen. To give advice." One delicate, confident hand reached forward, wrapping around the strong fingers gripping his mug. "To help - however you may need it."

Her eyes darkened, still gazing at Scott with an intensity that made him squirm and pull his hands back into his lap. "Um, thanks?" he muttered quietly.

Betsy gave him another sultry smile, then reached into the pocket of her dark blue blazer. "This is my card. I've taken the liberty of writing my personal cell phone on the back. You can call me, day or night, if you'd like to talk a little more, or if you'd just like some … company." She slid the card across the table, waiting until he took it before deliberately brushing his fingers with hers a second time. "I'll be staying in New York for a few weeks. My hotel and room number are there, too. Just in case you'd like to drop by sometime." 1

At her wink, Scott immediately did his best impersonation of a fire hydrant, and Betsy chuckled. "Be a gentleman and see me out, will you Scott? I'm afraid my bag has been positively overladen with gifts from a few of the students here. Would you mind terribly carrying it for me? I'm afraid I'm unaccustomed to the strenuous workout regimen you receive here."

She joined Scott as he retrieved her bag from the floor at the opposite end of the table. He marveled at how light the duffle was, and his face twisted up in confused disbelief as he gestured toward the garage and her rental car with his free hand.

Anything else that passed between them was muffled and obscured from view while Jean Grey stood with her hand on the other side of the cracked kitchen door, eyes wide and blurred with tears.

~X~X~X~

Lovesick or not, Rogue wasn't a complete moron. As she headed towards where she knew Remy would be, she kept an eye out for large, recently fallen branches, picking up several limbs as large - or larger - than her own body. After gathering half a dozen or more, she used some of the dress scraps still stored in Gambit's coat pocket to lash them together, creating a sort of teepee out of various bits of pine, fir, and aspen trees.

Using a longer limb for a center 'pole' of sorts, the southerner ended up carrying the entire bundle like an oversized umbrella, covering almost her entire body with the makeshift disguise. She knew from previous encounters that the robots weren't the most high-tech machines, and had been unable to detect the pair of mutants if they were hidden.

It had to be somewhat effective, she thought, as she'd gotten within 10 feet of a herd of deer before they were alerted by a small twig snapping under her foot. Still, the ten or so creatures - including a large, 8 point buck - didn't flee, and she gave them a wider berth as she skirted around them to follow the trail of white vapor. She only hoped that if the smoke WAS a trap, the metal minions would be as easily fooled by her disguise.

It took much longer to get to her destination, as she had to creep along carefully so as not to trip over the branches, but as the trees thinned out, Rogue could see the rising soot curling amongst the foliage from nearly a hundred yards off. Between the trees was a hint of something bright yellow fluttering in the light breeze. A tent, maybe? She was so busy looking around at the ground, trying to see between the thinned out forest, that she almost didn't see the guards until it was too late.

Rogue had momentarily lost sight of the smoke, and by chance happened to look up, only to see two or three small metal robots clinging to the tops of a few larger pine trees. Their colors were different, now a mottled green and brown rather than yellow sandstone and gray marble, and she almost missed them. She held her breath, standing completely still for a few moments as she tried to determine if they could see her from this distance.

They didn't appear to be moving towards her, nor did they seem to be looking away from the source of the smoke. It was as if they were transfixed by the fluttering bit of yellow on the ground, in the middle of their pseudo-circle.

All sound dissolved as her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

Oh god.

Remy.

A thousand what-ifs and hopeless scenarios ran through Rogue's brain. What if they'd killed him? What if he was hurt worse than before? What if he was being used as bait to draw her out?

Taking a deep breath, the X-Man backed away slowly, stopping only once when one of the robots turned to stare in her direction. A few minutes later, its attention diverted back toward the smoke, however, and she continued retracting her steps.

There was no plan, no thoughts, just the consuming need to get to where she knew Remy had to be, and somehow draw the robots away from the center of that clearing. She at least understood that she couldn't risk herself - couldn't be the 'bait' and take the chance at being captured, but she could still create a diversion and draw the robots away.

Tying more scraps of her dress into a sort of lasso, Rogue inched ever closer to the herd of deer with the large buck. She was careful to come up behind them, opposite of the smoke, stepping less than an inch at a time and pausing for a solid 30 seconds between each movement. If the creatures bolted, she wanted to make sure it was in the direction of the smoldering camp. Thankfully, the herd was less than the length of a football field from the robots, and she hoped it would be enough to draw the minions' attention if the deer all took off at once.

Her arms were nearly numb from holding the branches, and her back ached by the time she got within 5 feet of the large buck. Taking a breath and saying a silent prayer, she gently worked one hand out from between her 'disguise' with the remaining black scraps of fabric balled in her fist.

As the buck turned toward her, Rogue lunged, throwing the wad of fabric over the animal's horns while simultaneously shouting and flailing to scare the herd up towards the campsite. The 8-point male startled so badly that he fell backwards on his hindquarters for a moment, and Rogue was afraid the swath of black would fall off his antlers. It wasn't much, but she hoped that the fabric would act as some kind of target and draw the attention of the robots. Thankfully the creature jumped back up quickly, the scraps still looped around the points of his antlers, and took off after the rest of the herd, running straight toward the awaiting robot guards.

Rogue jogged carefully after the animals for a moment, making sure to keep her arms carefully hidden inside her disguise. She followed just long enough to see the creatures dart through the camp and, as she hoped, the metal minions took off in every direction, each chasing down a deer. The camouflaged guards' robotic voices, each crying 'Movement Detected, Investigating,' could be heard bouncing through the forest as they pursued the animals.

Not wasting a moment, Rogue dashed up to the camp as fast as she could, praying all the while that Gambit would be there, unharmed.

"REMY!" she whisper-yelled as she approached the camp, "Remy, are ya here? Are ya okay?!" She dared not raise her voice, but was also nervous to get closer.

Finally, she stepped into the clearing and gasped at the sight before her. The tattered remains of a yellow tent fluttered in the breeze, half of the shelter melted and still smoldering. There was a fire still crackling lightly in a hand-made pit, the source of the white smoke they'd seen. Scorch marks littered the ground where the robots had presumably fired their laser blasters, and an unrecognizable body with bare, blackened feet was partially sticking out of the charred tent.

Peeking through the foliage of her makeshift disguise, Rogue's eyes scanned the site again, tears blurring her vision. She couldn't withhold a muffled cry of anguish when she found a second body laying face down in the dirt some ten feet from the fire pit. It looked as if that one had tried to run, with laser burns littering the ground in a line leading up to the charred figure.

Her one free hand did nothing to stop the sob that bubbled up in her throat, and she stood rooted to the spot, staring at the soles of the smoldering boots, wondering who they had belonged to. Could the decimated figure have been another innocent hiker, or was it…?

"Rogue?!"

Whirling around at the sound of her name, a gasp caught in her throat as a pair of glowing red eyes peeked through the remains of the tent.

"R-Remy?" Her breath left her lungs in a relieved rush, her knees nearly buckling.

"What de HELL you doin' here?!" He hissed, staring incredulously at the strange vision she presented. She watched him peeking up at the trees, trying to locate the robots that had been watching the spot just moments ago.

"I - I got the guards chasin' some deer," she stammered, heart still racing. "But Ah don't know how long 'fore they come back."

Gambit nodded, but the hard, angry glint in his dark eyes didn't fade. Rogue pulled back a branch of her disguise as she stepped forward, eyes drifting to the bare, burned feet protruding from the remains of the tent. Remy dashed forward and ducked his head inside her teepee, taking the long limb she was using as a pole. It was only when he handed her a large hiking pack that she realized he was trying to join her in the small space.

"Put that on, and climb on my back," he commanded softly, trying to keep his voice low. He could see the fear and shock on Rogue's face as her eyes darted between him and the dead bodies on the ground. "Now, chère!" he hissed, trying not to wince as his injuries from the bear pulled painfully under the weight of the branches.

"But your shoulder…" she protested, voice almost inaudible.

"We gotta GO, Rogue. Get on, now." He dropped to one knee, letting the long middle 'pole' of her disguise rest on the ground as he helped her climb onto his hips. He grunted as her elbow scraped lightly against the wounds on his left side before she looped her arms around his neck and helped him hold the middle branch. With his hands free, he was able to carefully part a slit in the branches with his left hand so he could see better, while using his right to help stabilize Rogue's thigh on his hip.

The pack he had procured, plus the branches of her 'disguise,' easily added another 50 or so pounds in addition to Rogue's weight. Altogether, it was pushing Gambit's overtaxed body to its limits. Nonetheless, he moved slowly and carefully out of the clearing, pausing for a long while after every step to ensure Apocalypse's minions weren't lying in wait or following them.

Rogue was deathly silent, not only because it wasn't safe for them to speak, but because she was still coming down from the shock of thinking he had died. Again. As it was, he could feel her heart hammering in her chest, her lungs hitching occasionally as she tried to slow her breathing. Delicate hands trembled slightly as she held the branches above their heads, and Remy wasn't sure if it was from the exertion of the extra weight, or her emotional state.

Gambit was still angry at her, his fury at her stupidity and the risks she had taken flaring white hot in his chest. He wanted to yell and scream; to rage at her for putting herself in peril after he'd expressly told her to stay away for her own safety. She'd done exactly the opposite of what they'd agreed to, and he was furious with her for it.

Some of his anger melted away, however, as he felt a single drop of moisture land on the back of his neck, accompanied by a quivering against his shoulders as Rogue tried to repress her own emotions. Although she couldn't see it, Remy's eyes softened as his mouth tilted into a smile. It was rather endearing, actually, that she'd been so worried about him and had essentially rescued him from such a volatile situation.

She cared about him. That much was obvious. She wouldn't have risked getting caught if she didn't. And, as angry as he was at her for jeopardizing her own safety for his, he couldn't help but be touched - and impressed - by her concern and actions. Rogue was one hell of a spitfire, with a temper and a stubborn streak to match.

Remy shook his head, suppressing a chuckle. He realized now that he would rarely get the upper hand when it came to telling this girl what to do. If he wanted something, it would either have to be her idea, or he'd have to trick her into THINKING it was her idea. As it was, he knew he'd never be able to leave her behind again. He had a feeling she was going to stick to him like glue, or pitch a hurricane of a fit if he tried to ditch her - be it for her own safety or not.

"What's so funny?" she demanded quietly, her breath hot and irate in his ear.

"Jus' t'inkin' how I'm gonna have to up my game if'n you keep rescuin' me like dis," he whispered back, a grin splitting his face.

There was still a coil of fear and anger simmering in his stomach, but he was starting to recognize it for what it was. He wasn't angry at her because she'd come after him despite their agreement. He was angry because he was afraid. He was afraid for her. Afraid of what would happen if she got caught. And not just because Apocalypse would gain ultimate power, but because of what she would be forced to endure, personally.

Remy was afraid that she cared too much. About him. Cared so much, in fact, that she was willing to endanger herself - willing to risk being misused by Apocalypse - just to save his thieving hide. He'd never in his life had anyone stick their own neck out for him like that. Never had someone so fond of him that they would gamble their own well-being over his. The thought was sobering.

Could it be? Could she really care that much? About him?

Mon Dieu, what was he going to do?

~X~

Rogue and Gambit - well, Gambit anyhow - had been walking for at least an hour, with no end of the cliffs in sight. For her part, Rogue was trying to keep her eyes closed in the hopes that Apocalypse wouldn't be able to find them, but she could feel Remy's weariness weighing him down with each step. She winced every time his foot slipped, whenever he grunted in pain. Gambit now had both his hands wrapped around her knees to keep her stable, while Rogue held tight to the heavy branches. Thankfully, the majority of the weight from her crafted 'tree' was positioned across the large backpack she had donned, sparing her arms from excessive fatigue.

"Remy, can we please stop?" she tried for the umpteenth time. "Just for a bit? Mah legs are fallin' asleep." Her limbs WERE numb and tingly, but really, she wanted to stop for his sake, not her own.

"Just a bit farther," he gritted through his teeth, reusing the same poor excuse for at least the third time. "'Nother few minutes, chère. Hang in dere, d'accord?"

Rogue huffed but fell silent, allowing him to continue pushing through his own exhaustion. Finally, another ten minutes later, the Cajun stumbled hard, nearly throwing her from his back as he struggled to regain his balance. The southern girl instinctively grabbed him around the neck, and dropped the tree branches. Her movements accidentally disturbed the claw wounds on his arm and shoulder, and Gambit couldn't stifle his yelp of pain.

"Alright, that's it. Ah tried playin' nice, but you're DONE, Swamp Rat." Disentangling her legs from his waist, Rogue forcefully pushed off his back, vaulting to the ground now that her makeshift disguise had fallen to the ground. Her legs were indeed numb, however, and the pack was heavier now that she was supporting her own weight, as well as the contents Remy had recovered, and she nearly collapsed in a heap. She wobbled for a moment, trying to regain her footing. Thankfully she was able to use a birch tree for support. She watched as Remy remained hunched over, using his right hand to cover the wound on his back and shoulder.

The fiery southern opened her mouth to yell at him for his stubborn, macho B.S. stupidity, but he turned to look at her at the same moment, and her voice caught in her throat. He was ghostly pale - more so, in fact, than he'd been last night when she was sure he was going to die. Blood was soaking through his uniform, seeping from underneath his fingers, and his features were twisted and gnarled into a mask of utter agony.

Suddenly, she felt like someone had knocked the wind out of her, and her brain froze, unable to think clearly. She must have stared at him, open mouthed and tongue-tied for a beat too long, because Remy's mouth turned up in a forced smile; his perfect, straight white teeth gritted in an attempt to hide his misery.

"So dis is how Gambit finally renders de femme speechless, ehh?" He attempted a joke, but his whole body was shaking from pain and exhaustion.

Anxiety and guilt clenched in her stomach, while her legs finally regained some feeling. Her instincts finally took over for her shuddering, terrified brain, and she pressed against his side, draping his injured left arm around her own shoulder. She was still wearing his duster, and she slid her arm around his waist without hesitation. "Yeah, yeah Cajun," she smiled lightly. "You're hilarious. Now, let's get you somewhere warm and comfy, so Ah can patch you up again, huh?" she suggested. Her tone was a little less irritated and more affectionate than she would have liked.

"Sounds nice," Gambit hummed in her ear as he reveled in her closeness. Despite her attempt to take his weight, he refused to burden her. He did take advantage of her slightly more stable gait, however, and dutifully walked alongside her, his arm draped over her shoulders as comfortably as if they were a real couple.

It took another five minutes before Rogue found a suitable spot to sit and address his wounds. It was tucked within a tiny grove of four or five tightly woven evergreen trees, but still within view of the never-ending cliffs. The copse created a little clearing, maybe six feet wide, that provided several hiding spots with boulders, bushes, and fallen logs. In any other situation, Rogue thought, it would have been an ideal 'hang out spot' for a couple of teenage mutants she knew.

She helped Remy duck under a couple of enormously tall blue-green pine trees. Although, when Rogue lifted a branch, she was surprised that the needle-like leaves were flat and soft to the touch rather than prickly and rigid like many of the other pines they'd encountered. With as soft as they were, she couldn't help but think that they'd make for a very comfortable bed, and she suddenly realized how incredibly tired she was.

Blinking, Rogue shook the weariness from her mind. She had to focus on Remy and getting the bleeding back under control. His uniform concealed the wound, leaving only a dark patch on his shoulder, but his fingers were stained red.

"Okay, suga'. Let's take a looksee; get that bleedin' back under control." The southerner forced a smile as she maneuvered him onto a three foot tall, somewhat flat-ish rock. It wouldn't be exactly comfortable, but at least she'd be able to address his wounds without either of them falling asleep. Hopefully.

Once Remy was seated, and Rogue was sure he wasn't going to pitch sideways like some wacky cartoon character, she shrugged the large hiking pack off her shoulders, letting it thump to the ground. How she managed to contain her groan of relief was beyond comprehension. Her ribs throbbed in time with her heartbeat, and she had to force slow, shallow breaths. Still, she took a moment to breathe through the pain as she gingerly kneeled beside the pack.

"Can you keep pressure on that while Ah see if there's anything in here we can use?" she asked, glancing up at him. Remy grunted in response, his chin barely tilting in a nod. His face was pale and pinched, brows furrowed with an intense pain he was trying desperately to mask. Rogue bit her lip, fighting back tears as she noted how much he was suffering.

Because of her.

With trembling hands and blurry eyes, the southern girl unlatched the waterproof bag and carefully pulled one item out at a time. The first thing in the sack was a hastily packed, partially charred sleeping bag. A tendril of excitement bubbled up in her chest before she pursed her lips and stuffed her joy back down.

Those men had died because Apocalypse had been searching for her, and here she was, practically giddy over the 'treasures' Remy had managed to pilfer from their corpses. The thought made her sick, and she took a deep breath to calm her suddenly queasy stomach. Thrusting her hand back into the bag, she grabbed a pair of hiking boots next. They were too small for Remy's feet, and would be big on her, but it would be a far cry better than these horrendous sandals. Again, her excitement - and subsequent guilt - rose in her throat like bile.

Licking her lips, Rogue dumped the entire contents of the backpack at once, shaking it out for good measure. If she had to go through this one piece at a time, she'd never make it to the bottom of the bag without hyperventilating, crying, and/or vomiting. Shaking hands swept over the scattered contents. Two pairs of wool socks, a few pouches of freeze-dried food, a headlamp, hand sanitizer, soap, bug spray, sunscreen, a flint stick and lighter, a baggie with tent patches and needle and thread, a multitool knife, a couple of half-empty collapsible water bottles, some kind of empty bag with a long tube, a compass with a paper stuffed inside a waterproof baggie, and finally, a small white waterproof first aid kit.

"Ah ha!" Rogue cried triumphantly, forgetting to be quiet in her excitement. She popped open the white box and took a peek inside. Rolls of gauze, medical tape, antiseptic wipes, painkillers, chapstick, moleskin and blister patches, a tube of something, tweezers, butterfly scissors, bandaids, and a silver emergency blanket were packed away nice and neat and undisturbed by the destruction at the camp.

Rogue's heart lurched, and she lifted her face skyward in silent prayer. As horrible as the men's deaths had been, she was eternally grateful for their supplies. Her hands were still shaking, and she could feel tears leaving tracks down her cheeks. Without looking up, Rogue forced a lightness into her voice. "Well Cajun, looks like Ah'm about ta make all your fantasies come true." His head swiveled in her direction as she stood, holding up the first aid kit. "Time ta play doctor, suga'."

Remy laugh-coughed, barely stifling another groan. "Somehow, de reality seems much less appealin' than de fantasy."

Rogue ruffled his hair tenderly and gave him the kit to hold while she unzipped his uniform from the back. "There's a needle and thread, too, though Ah'm not sure if sewing the wound closed is a good idea. We do, and it'll trap the infection inside, but if we don't, you might keep right on bleedin'."

Remy nodded in agreement as he popped the lid off the white box and examined the contents. After a moment he held up a small yellow and white tube. "Dis is Medihoney. Best damn stuff around for clearin' up infections - aside from ma Tante Mattie's healin' poultice. Put dis on de wound, cover it wit' gauze and de tape. If'n anythin's down to de bone or muscle, you'll wanna suture it. Otherwise, Gambit's got a tiny bit of a healin' factor. Not like Wolverine, mind, but 'tween dat and de honey, should keep de infection from getting très mal." (very bad) He hissed as Rogue peeled his uniform away from the wound on his shoulder, but he still caught her tiny gasp as she inspected the damage and quickly pressed some fabric scraps against the wound.

With a deep breath, she nodded in agreement. "H-hand me the sanitizer, will ya?" she asked shakily. When he raised his eyebrow with an incredulous look, she snorted. "For mah hands, not your back," she reassured him with a forced smile. "But Ah'll want some antiseptic wipes for that, too."

With a pained chuckle, he handed her the bottle of hand sanitizer and antiseptic wipes with his good hand, noting how her fingers trembled. "No offense, chère," he whispered, "but you'd make a TERRIBLE poker player."

Her high-pitched bark of laughter resounded through the trees, and she bit her lip to silence herself. There was no telling if those robots were still staking out the wisps of smoke in the distance, or if they were now patrolling the forest in search of the two mutants. "Sorry," she breathed, taking a moment to steady her nerves. She watched as Gambit shook out a handful of pain pills from the bottle in the first aid kit and swallowed them dry. "Here," she bent down and grabbed one of the water bottles and a pouch of freeze-dried food from the mess of the backpack's contents. "You should eat somethin' with that so ya don't get nauseous. Pills ain't good on an empty stomach."

While Remy busied himself with prepping and eating the pouch of food, Rogue bent down and grabbed the second water bottle, dripping the liquid over the wounds on his back and arm to better clean the seeping claw marks.

"There's a couple spots here that'll need some stitches for sure," the X-Man whispered apologetically. "Ah've - Ah've never sewed someone up before though, and Ah don't wanna make it worse. And Ah don't have Mr. McCoy's memories anymore either, so Ah won't have a clue what Ah'm doin'."

Remy shrugged his good shoulder. "Don't think dere's a lot you can do ta make it WORSE at dis point, petite," he reassured her. "But mebbe just work on de cleanin' and de MediHoney 'til those pills kick in, yeah?"

Rogue pursed her lips and nodded, though it went unseen by Gambit. So too, were the tears that formed in her eyes as she went about doctoring the seemingly unflappable cajun. By the time she started working on the makeshift stitches, however, sanitizing the needle and thread from the tent patching kit with the alcohol wipes, her traveling companion became a lot less unflappable.

Afraid he would pass out from exhaustion, pain, and blood loss, Rogue was forced to move him to the ground, his good shoulder leaning against the base of the rock he'd been sitting on. He was barely conscious when she finally finished stitching the worst of his wounds, and she took a moment to unzip and drape the slightly damaged sleeping bag over his front. He dozed lightly while she finished applying the last of the sticky yellow 'cream,' gauze, and medical tape to his torn flesh. Gratefully, the cuts on his arm were indeed looking better than one might expect from such serious injuries, already appearing days old instead of mere hours.

Once done, the southern girl used the last of the water to quench her parched throat and partially clean her stained hands. Afterwards, she went back through the contents of the backpack, inspecting and mentally cataloguing everything. There were at least six more packs of the freeze dried food, and while she was tempted to eat one now, she decided against it. Her stomach was bunched up in knots after 'playing doctor,' and the likelihood that she'd throw it back up was too high a possibility. Plus, Remy needed the sustenance far more than she did. Especially if he was going to insist on continuing to carry her everywhere.

Silently, she packed up the headlamp, sanitizer, soap, flint, and lighter. Those would be mostly useless to the travelers right now. The headlamp would make them too easy of a target at night, as would a fire. She considered tossing the items - burying them somewhere - but reminisced on their desperate need for a fire last night and thought better of it. The soap was pointless, really, but if they found a quiet moment, it WOULD be nice to take a quick bath, freezing water notwithstanding.

The bug spray and sunscreen would certainly come in handy, although Rogue's fair skin was already painfully red and burnt in several places. Despite their ability to keep under the cover of the trees, the sun had still managed to scorch the pair almost to the point of blistering. Her nose, cheeks, and tops of her shoulders were already sporting some first degree sunburns. Thankfully, Remy had convinced her to try using mud for a makeshift sunscreen, otherwise her face and shoulders might resemble broiled cheese by now.

Placing the sunscreen and bug spray into an easily accessible pocket of the hiking bag, the X-Man continued silently sorting through the other items. The tent pouches went into the bottom of the bag. She'd rolled up the cleaned needle and the rest of the thread into the plastic zip baggy and put them in the first aid kit with what was left of the gauze and medical tape. She'd used almost all of the MediHoney on Gambit's wounds, but there was still a tube of antibiotic ointment in the first aid kit. She would have used it on Remy, but it wasn't great for gaping wounds, as it was designed to keep cuts open and fresh to help heal infections in the dermal layers.

Currently, however, Remy wasn't necessarily showing signs of infection, and according to Beast's lessons in field medicine, antibiotic ointment had been proven no more effective than petroleum jelly. Of course, considering the circumstances, she wasn't about to dismiss any supplies they'd managed to procure from the camp.

Thinking about the camp - and the two dead, burnt men - made Rogue's stomach turn all over again, and she forced herself to focus on going through the rest of the supplies. Both the collapsible water bottles were empty now, and Rogue examined them thoroughly, trying to take her mind off the fact that they'd been used by those unfortunate campers until very recently. She unscrewed the lid from one, letting the last drops of water fall onto her outstretched tongue. God she was thirsty.

Licking her lips, she examined the strange contraption attached to the lid of the water bottle. With a start, she realized it contained a built-in water filter. Likewise, the squishy silicone bag with the tube also appeared to be a water filter. Even though she and Remy had most likely picked up some parasites from the water they'd consumed already, it was a godsend nonetheless. So far, they'd been very careful to only drink from fast moving, cleaner looking rivers. With this, they could potentially use water from almost any source without fear of getting sick from bacteria or protozoans.

A lump formed in her throat as she wiped away tears of gratitude and guilt. It was hard to contain her joy over the stolen goods when these items were so beneficial - hell, they were essential - to her and Remy's survival. Yet, she couldn't shake the horrid, gut-wrenching shame she felt for indirectly causing the demise of those men.

Busying herself to distract from her spiraling anguish, she stored the pouches of freeze dried food and the onions from Remy's coat pockets in the bottom of the backpack, along with the multitool knife, and placed the shoes and wool socks aside for when she was ready to tackle the blisters and wounds on her feet and legs. She picked up the other clear baggy with the compass and paper and flipped open the simple navigational tool.

The red needle stuttered inside the plexiglass shell, and she twisted the dials until everything lined up. The mountains and camp they'd just left were to the northeast, meaning they were currently heading southwest. She pulled out the paper, sucking in a breath as she realized it was a map. Her fingers rushed to unfold it, to find out where they were and which direction they needed to go to find civilization. Her heart thudded in excitement as she read the header in one corner.

Nahanni National Park Reserve, NT, Canada 2

Holy hell, they were in Canada! Simultaneously she felt closer to and farther from home. She was on the same continent as her family, at least, yet they were thousands of miles away. Unless Xavier was scanning for her with Cerebro, there was no way he'd be able to find her. And, as Gambit had warned her, she couldn't even try to contact him telepathically. The best she could do was decipher the paper and figure out where they were and how to get to the nearest city.

Halfway through opening the map, however, she realized her folly. If she discovered their exact location, as well as how to escape this damn maze of wilderness, then Apocalypse would be able to find them quick as a wink once she fell asleep. He'd have an almost bird's eye view of where they had been and where they were going. Even now, knowing that they were heading southwest from the burnt out camp was basically like handing him a homing beacon. Especially with how close they were to the cliffs.

Mentally, she cursed a blue streak up and down and six ways from Sunday as she refolded the map and stuffed it back into the baggy with the compass. They could be SO close to ending this nightmare. Those men had come from SOMEWHERE. The first aid kit, as well as some of the other supplies looked brand new, so the hikers couldn't have been out here for long. For all she knew, they could be within a day's hike of a town, a phone. If only…

If only Apocalypse wasn't targeting her dreams. If only Remy hadn't been so injured as to share the same prodding visions set by that madman. There was no way either of them could stay awake long enough to navigate their way out of the woods - after all, there was always the possibility the two backpackers had arrived via helicopter rather than hiking in. Not to mention that Remy had been absolutely right about how badly their bodies needed rest. With their injuries, and the lack of nutrition and good sleep, they were barely able to stagger through the woods for a few hours now without needing to rest.

Rogue gnawed her bottom lip, green eyes wandering from the compass in her hand to Remy's dozing form. Her throat squeezed, and her eyes stung. The bridge of her nose felt tight and she bit her lip as she fought back tears of desperation. Suddenly everything hurt. Her head, her ribs, her legs and feet. Ripping off the sandals and grabbing the first aid kit, she pushed back her emotions, but couldn't stop the tears from dripping down her face. She hissed in pain as she untied the laces of the golden sandals, biting back whimpers and cries as she slowly peeled away Remy's socks and her shoes.

She had thought to distract from her suffering by redirecting her energy into something more productive and less dire, but she had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob as she examined the oozing, infected wounds littering her feet and legs. The pain intensified in triplicate as she started to apply the antibiotic ointment to a few of the worst ones, and she bit her tongue hard enough to taste blood.

Most of the blisters had popped and were seeping with a mixture of blood and pus. Some had continued to expand, and had turned black with trapped blood, while others were yellow with infection. A few of the open wounds on her ankles were turning black around the edges from dead and decaying tissue. There was an open ulcer on the bottom of her right foot, too, and she slathered it with the antibiotic before covering it with a gauze pad and sealing it with tape.

She inspected the other points of infection on her legs, feet, and ankles, and sighed. She didn't even bother to put on any more ointment before capping the tube and replacing it in the first aid kit. If she put the salve on every wound, the entire tube would be gone, and she needed to reserve it for Remy's wounds. So, she pulled on one of the pairs of wool socks and the sneakers instead of wasting their supplies on what she considered to be a lost cause. Best case scenario, they could avoid Apocalypse for a few more days, she'd get her powers back with the moon shifted out of phase, and Wolverine could heal her. Worst case scenario, Apocalypse would catch her, and having her feet amputated wouldn't be such a big deal in comparison.

Even with the extra tall, warm socks and the oversized sneakers, her feet hurt so badly that walking was going to be a near impossibility, however. And Gambit was in no shape to carry her, either. Whatever 'healing factor' he might have wouldn't do him any good if he kept breaking open his stitches by carting her around the forest like a pack-mule.

She knew he had a few small blisters from walking around without socks (since he'd given his to her), but his feet would probably be fine with a bit of the moleskin and blister patches. As far as she knew, none of his had popped and festered as of yet. Not like hers, some of which were starting to look positively gangrenous.

Rogue's breathing hitched. Rapid, unsteady gasps puffing around hopeless, shuddering sobs. She clutched the map and compass tight to her chest, trying not to wake Remy with her tumultuous emotions. Green, tear-filled eyes watched the peaceful rise and fall of his back and chest as the Acolyte slept against the boulder. It was her fault he'd nearly died from eating poison berries; her fault he'd been hurt; her fault those men were dead; her fault that all this mess had even started.

In her heart she knew Apocalypse was really the one to blame, that the megalomutant and Mesmero were the ones responsible for enslaving and kidnapping her. That his guards had killed those men. But if it weren't for her, and her powers, none of this would have happened in the first place. If it weren't for her, Remy wouldn't have almost died eating poison berries. He wouldn't have fought off a bear to protect her. He wouldn't be suffering from atrocious wounds that had nearly cut him to the bone.

She couldn't stand the guilt, knowing how badly he was suffering - how much he was still going to suffer - because of her. Yet, she knew he wouldn't leave her. Wouldn't abandon her to go for help even if she begged him. With the wounds on her feet, Remy was probably going to have to carry her 24/7 within a day or two, and his own injuries were too severe to maintain that kind of Herculean task. With the map and compass, Remy could still make it out of this mess alive, but not if he was burdened with her.

The pain, the guilt, the shame, the hopelessness… was all consuming, tearing at her very soul, and she was standing, limping away from the copse of trees and Remy's sleeping form before she could comprehend what she was doing. She knew she was on the verge of yet another breakdown, but didn't want to wake him. Didn't want to disturb the tenuous peace he had found in a few minutes of healing slumber. Dragging her feet, the pain and anguish ripping at her chest slowly faded into numbness as she headed toward the rocky ledge of the cliff, the peaceful greens and purples of the trees and mountains beckoning her like a siren's song.

Rogue swallowed hard, her feet a few scant inches from the cliff. She kept her eyes on the skyline, staring out toward the east, where the sun was just starting to descend toward the horizon. It was probably 6:00 in the evening based on the sun's position. If they were in the Northwestern part of Canada, that meant it was about 9pm back home.

Her heart jolted with a pang of homesickness as she wondered what her friends - her family - would be doing right now. On any normal day, Scott and Jean might be on a date, or else cuddled up on the couch in the rec room, watching a movie with the younger kids. Kurt would be on the phone with Amanda Sefton, his girlfriend, as they made plans to sneak away while her parents weren't home.

Swallowing hard, Rogue swiped at her tears as she imagined Kitty typing away at her laptop, probably studying for an ACT or learning about some new kind of programming language. The brainy valley girl had taken a shine to all things techy lately, and had gotten pretty handy with a computer.

Rogue's lips quivered as she thought of her best friend and her brother, and how they were doing. She hoped they would forgive her. She knew Logan probably wouldn't. Although, with his warrior code and history with the Samurai, maybe he would understand her decision to 'fall on the sword' rather than risk Apocalypse getting to her. Because with every minute that ticked by, every pitfall and injury, the possibility drew closer and closer. And damned if she was going to be that madman's puppet, or cause Remy any more pain and suffering.

She only wished she could tell him… No. To her grave, which wasn't too far off, now. More tears leaked from her eyes as she let her mind caress and cherish all the sweet moments she and Remy had shared. All in all, it was more than she could have asked for - more than she ever could have hoped. Even if he didn't feel the same way as she did, he'd made her FEEL loved. With every little touch, every kiss, and pet name, and teasing, flirtatious banter, she'd felt… adored. Cherished. Valued. Not for her powers, but just for who she was as a person. If she could tell him anything, leave him with a single message, it would be gratitude for that.

A cold wind whipped through the southerner's hair, and she pulled Remy's coat tighter around herself, turning her face into the upturned lapels and breathing in the musky scent of him that still clung to the cloth. With a shaky breath, Rogue pressed a kiss to the collar, then shrugged out of the garment, folding it reverently before burying her face in the material one last time.

Hot tears soaked the supple leather as she muffled her sobs with it. She hoped he would understand. That he would forgive her for her last, selfish act while he slept. She knew he would never let her go through with this otherwise, and she couldn't let him suffer any more - or die - because of her.

Heart racing and breath hitching, Rogue trembled as the icy winds whipped her hair. With one last, steadying breath, she gently placed Remy's folded coat on a rock just behind her, and froze.

"Rogue?" From near the treeline, just a stone's throw away, Remy's red eyes flashed, his expression almost unreadable save for the dark glint in his gaze. "Qu'est-ce que tu fais, ma chère?" (What are you doing, my dear?) His voice was tight and rough, and he held his injured arm tight against his side.

Errantly, Rogue realized she should have made him a sling for that arm, but she shifted a little closer to the ledge rather than answering him. She tried to take another step toward the cliff, but she was suddenly ensnared by the intensity of his gaze, and she paused, breath catching in her throat.

Remy raised his good hand out to her, beckoning her in much the same way that the mountains had. Even from his vantage point, half a dozen yards away, he could see the tip of her oversized sneaker slide timidly toward the precipice. With the setting sun bathing her in golden hues, and her hair whipping around to intermittently obscure her face, she looked like a fallen angel, contemplative, melancholy, and hauntingly beautiful.

"Y'r lookin' très belle, mais très triste, petite. (very beautiful, but very sad). How 'bout you come away from dere and we talk about it, oui?"

Blinking, Rogue finally tore her gaze away from Remy's entrancing gaze and turned toward the horizon, watching the breeze dance through the tops of the trees in the valley below. "Ah want ya ta know, Remy," she spoke softly, barely audible over the whistle of the wind across the cliffs. "Ah really do appreciate everything you've done for me. Ah never would have made it this long without you, and - and Ah've really enjoyed the time we had together." There was a hitch in her voice, her tone a quiet lilt with a faraway, dreamy quality that made her sound almost prophetic.

He flashed her his most brilliant, charming smile, still holding out his hand to her as if she were a hair's breadth away rather than several yards. "Bien sur, ma colombe," he replied flippantly even though his heart was hammering in his chest. His empathy was practically screaming at him, latent and repressed though it was, and he very nearly turned it on in full, just to soothe her overwhelming sorrow.

Instead, he took a careful step toward her. "Mais, why dontcha come down from dere and you can tell Remy all about how amazin' he is, oui?" He forced a playfulness into his voice, hoping to disarm and snatch her away from the hopelessness that had sunk its claws into her heart. When she gave no response, however, the Acolyte swallowed hard, placing another careful step forward.

"Those men died because of me, Gambit," her voice carried on the wind, a forlorn whisper antagonistic to the gorgeous backdrop of trees and mountains behind her. "You're hurt bad - nearly died - because of me. Mah powers freed Apocalypse, and if he catches me, the world as we know it is prob'ly gonna end." She continued staring out at the valley beyond the cliffs, her eyes dropping every now and then to examine the ground directly below her, some 300 or so feet down.

"You know, chère, Gambit didn't mention it before, but he's really not a fan o' heights. Pretty sure De Venetian in Vegas could fit 'tween us and de ground, yeah? Could ya mebbe come away from dere? Pour moi?" He drew a deep, slow breath as fear fisted in his stomach even though he kept his voice light and playful. Moving so slowly he wanted to scream from lack of progress, he paused as he watched her feet shift sideways, AWAY from him despite his pleas, and ever closer to that perilous ledge. He couldn't just lunge at her, though. To do so could spell certain disaster. A mere redistribution of her weight could send her tumbling over the cliff.

Rogue's breath hitched and she shivered against the cold pummeling her from both inside and out. "Ah won't let any more bad happen because of me, Remy. Ah've got enough blood on mah hands." As if to make her point, she turned towards him slightly, pivoting her palms to show him the bright red fluid that still stained her lily white fingers.

"Rogue, listen to me, fille." His voice deepened, all playfulness and levity carried away like ash in the wind. It was time to lay his cards down. To play the hand he'd held so close to his heart throughout their time together, and hope he came out the winner in this high stakes gamble.

"I need to tell ya sum'pin, 'fore you do what I think you're plannin' t'do." He watched her swallow hard, a single tear cascading unchecked down her cheek as she glanced over the edge of the cliff. "You ain't de only one wit' blood on y'r hands, Rogue." He took another gingerly step toward her, slowly reaching out to show her his own palms in a gentle, placating manor.

If he could just get her to look him in the eyes again, he'd turn up his empathy full-tilt and encourage her to step away from the ledge. Apocalypse and the consequences be damned. He wasn't going to just sit by and watch her fling herself off a cliff out of guilt and fear.

But she wasn't looking at him. It was almost as if she KNEW he could charm her with a simple smile and a flash of his smoldering ember eyes, and refused to meet his gaze. So he opened his heart to her, allowing the first true glimpse at his own tarnished soul. "Few years back, I had some trouble on a job. Got involved wit' a girl, and she died. Was my fault. She'd still be alive if it weren't f'r me."

Remy watched Rogue turn toward him, her red, chapped lips parted in an 'O' of shock, eyes widening slightly as they brimmed with sparkling emotion. "I KNOW, Rogue," his voice assured her quietly, yet with more conviction than his cracking tone belied. "I been where you are, and I know EXACTLY how you feel right now." His eyes never left her slumped form, even as she lowered her face to stare back at the ground, dizzyingly far below her feet.

Her chest heaved, lip captured tightly between her teeth to keep from crying outright. It broke his heart to see her wrestling with such inner turmoil, to see her innocent hands stained - literally and figuratively - with blood. "But YOU didn't take those men's lives, chère. Dey didn't die 'cause of any choice you made. You feel responsible, but their ghosts ain't yours, not really." He took a few cautious steps closer, hands still outstretched toward her. "I'm de reason dat girl died, plain and true. I made a choice, and she suffered for it. I LET her die." While he spoke, he crept ever closer to Rogue, her auburn hair, white streaks, and exceptionally short skirt flapping in the violent wind created by the sheer drop.

"Ain't lyin' when I say I been where you are, petite; I've stood exactly where you are, now, looking out over a bridge, just a step away from endin' it all. Dat water seemed so inviting, so calm and peaceful," he spoke from real experience, letting the guilt and shame he'd tried to bury burst forth to connect with her own tarnished soul.

"But it was overwhelming and awful, and so gruesome dat I didn't go through wit' it. Thought I wanted t' die, but when I looked right into de face o' death, I couldn't do it. I don't doubt you would - you're braver than anyone I know - and more stubborn, too."

A bit of lightheartedness tugged at his lips, and he could almost hear her huff at his joke. Her attention was mostly on him, now, but she still refused to meet his eyes as she stole furtive glances over the massive ledge. Her legs were trembling, almost uncontrollably, and he was concerned she would fall regardless of her intentions.

"I know ya wanna protect people, Rogue, but dis ain't de way," he continued, gradually closing the gap between them. He was less than 10 feet from her now, but it wouldn't be enough if she suddenly decided to hurl herself off the edge. She seemed to realize this and tensed, shifting along the edge. Her oversized hiking shoes knocked a few pieces of gravel loose, and the stones bounced and echoed off the rocky cliff face.

Remy froze, too afraid that she'd jump out of sheer desperation if he got any nearer. "You think you're gonna keep me - and everyone else - safe by doin' dis, but it ain't gonna help anyone. Who's gonna protect Kurt from Mystique if'n you ain't around, eh? Who's gonna keep Kitty from runnin' off wit' dat punk, Lance? Hell, who's gonna keep dis one from eatin' de poison berries, or bleedin' t' death, huh? Y'r friends need you, Rogue. Kurt needs you. *I* need you. Don't give up, chère. Not yet. Not while dere's still hope."

Thin, bare shoulders shook as Rogue hunched against the biting wind. "Ah'm so tired, Remy," she finally admitted, looking up at him through flooded green irises. "Ah'm tired of people bein' afraid of me an' mah powers. Ah'm tired of bein' angry and alone, and hurtin' people. Ah'm so damn sick and tired of bein' USED and MANIPULATED! Risty, Mystique, Mesmero, Apocalypse…" A choked sob erupted from her chest as she wrapped her arms around her waist. "And now those men are dead, and you're hurt - you nearly DIED - because of me, and Ah'm just… Ah'm so TIRED, Remy. "

"I know, Rogue," Remy's voice was a low rumble, smooth as satin and warm as fleece. "I know. But ain't none of dis your FAULT, ya hear? Gambit made a choice when he fought dat grizzly. Mighta been a dumb choice, but it was still mine." He tried to put some levity back in his voice, but found he was shaking almost as badly as her. The fear that she would jump - that she would leave him alone in the woods; that he would never again see her pretty flush, hear her sweet laugh, or feel her warm supple body in his arms - scared him more than the grizzly, the robots, or Apocalypse himself.

Finally, FINALLY, he was close enough to reach her, and his fingers carefully coiled around her wrist, a lifeline in the storm that was threatening to drown her. She tensed, and he tightened the cord - his grip - tethering her back to this life. With a quick, gentle yank, he tugged her away from the ledge and into his arms. A huge sigh of relief burst from his lips once she was safely enveloped in his embrace, and Rogue deflated almost immediately, sobbing into his chest.

The front of his uniform absorbed the flood of her tears as he anchored the trembling girl against the frantic, staccato rhythm of his heartbeat. He allowed them a few, silent moments to just breathe, sending a silent prayer of gratitude to the heavens.

Whether it was her swirling emotions, the silence of the forest, or some larger force at play, he'd awoken with a jolt of dread. When he found her missing, he'd nearly forgotten the pain of his injuries, vaulting to his feet to find her. He'd been terrified that Apocalypse had somehow gotten to her while he'd slept, but when he'd found her standing along the edge of that cliff, his heart had nearly stopped.

Now, with Rogue safely secured in his arms, he snatched his coat off the rock with his other hand, guiding them farther and farther from what had almost been her self-imposed doom. When the treeline hid them from sight, and he felt they were a safe enough distance that she couldn't just push out of his arms and fling herself off the cliff, he finally stopped. Draping his duster over her shoulders, he fully encased her in both his arms. Adrenaline was still thrumming in his veins, but he let out a shaky, relieved breath all the same.

He kissed her forehead, resting his cheek against her temple as he held tight to her quivering form. Silent tears rolled down her face, the last of her walls crumbling like a sandcastle being thrashed by the unrelenting waves of the ocean.

~X~X~X~

In Westchester, the rec room was once again filled with teenagers, snacks, and all the sounds of a pajama party. Pillows and blankets piled up like snow drifts around the television, as the kids watched an old rerun of the Scooby Doo movie. Storm, Wolverine, and Beast had acquiesced to one final 'group sleepover' before the regular routine of chores, studying, and training resumed tomorrow afternoon.

Kurt, Kitty, and Scott had been relegated to 'babysitting duty' over the younger kids while the four adults conferred in the basement, discussing Mystique, Apocalypse, and Kurt's letter from Destiny. Jean was currently M.I.A. - no one had seen her since she and Professor Xavier had finished their most recent scan with Cerebro right after dinner. Scott had spent almost an hour searching the mansion for her, but a quick conversation with the Professor had assured the team leader that she was simply taking some personal time.

Cyclop's sour mood over his girlfriend's disappearance cast a chill over the otherwise happy mood of the party, and about 20 minutes into the movie, he finally excused himself, telling Kurt and Kitty that he'd be in his room if anyone needed him.

Once he was out of earshot, Tabitha snickered and leaned over to Bobby. "Pay up, Popcycle. I told you so." The pair were tucked against the mound of pillows between the couch and armchair with Jubilee and Rahne on Tabitha's left, and Ray and Sam on Bobby's right. Amara and Roberto were on the couch next to Kurt and Kitty, while Jamie had quickly moved to the armchair when Scott had abandoned it.

Grumbling, Iceman pulled a five dollar bill from the back pocket of his pajama pants. "Yeah, yeah," he grouched, plunking the cash into Tabitha's awaiting palm.

The blonde firecracker snickered as she folded the money and secured it in her 'brocket'. 3 "Nice doin' business with ya, Bobby," she grinned.

"What fool gamble didjya get yourself into this time, Drake?" Sam asked with a chuckle, blushing as Boom Boom shot him a flirtatious wink.

Folding his arms like a petulant child, Bobby muttered something unintelligible under his breath while Tabby snorted and answered for him. "We had ourselves a little wager about whether or not Miss Perfect and Mr. Boy Scout were still fighting. And since she took off without a word to him - or anyone - and he's got a big enough cloud over his head to rival Storm's powers, I win. Obviously."

"Hey, now!" Amara piped up, leaning forward from her comfortable position against Roberto's side. "That's not fair, Tabitha! We don't know for sure that they're really fighting. They're just… not … talking."

"That's practically the same thing," Ray argued. "Especially for those two." He passed the popcorn bowl over to Bobby, who stuffed a handful into his mouth and begrudgingly shared it with the blonde girl beside him. On the couch, Kurt and Kitty exchanged worried glances as they listened to the younger mutants argue about the relationship status of the two most seasoned students at Xavier's.

"Vait just a minute, you guys," Kurt defended the redhead. "You don't know vhat's going between zhem. We only know zhat they have different opinions about … certain matters." A quiet, discontent murmur passed awkwardly through the group as they glanced between each other. The rumor mill had been churning endlessly for the last 24 hours as each mutant teenager took up sides on the 'Rogue is (or isn't) dead' speculations.

At last count, Scott, Kitty, Ray, Jubilee, and Rahne all agreed that Rogue had most assuredly 'shuffled off this mortal coil.' Meanwhile, Jean, Bobby, Amara, and Sam had taken up Kurt's mantle, insisting that there was still hope that their southern teammate could be alive. Tabitha, Roberto, and Jamie were the only ones who hadn't yet declared their opinions, though it was widely understood that Roberto simply didn't want to be at odds with Amara, whom he had finally asked out, and young Jamie was just conflicted. He'd already mourned her death, yet he desperately wanted to cling to even a sliver of hope.

Only Tabitha's stance remained a perfect mystery, as no amount of poking, prodding, begging, or bribery had swayed her into revealing her take on the matter. The most anyone had gotten her to admit to was that she 'didn't know who to believe.' And all the while she flirted shamelessly with nearly every boy in the Institute, save for Scott and Kurt, who had girlfriends.

"Yeah, well," the blonde raised an eyebrow back at Kurt as she handed the giant metal popcorn bowl over to Jamie. "Considering they've been joined at the hip for the better part of a year, and now they can't even be in the same ROOM together, I think their status speaks for itself." She rolled her eyes and snorted. "I still can't believe Little Miss Perfect would let such a hunk slip through her fingers. If a guy like Scott Summers worshiped me as much as he does Jean, I'd be all over him like that." She snapped her fingers to accentuate her point. "You'd think a girl like her would do everything she could to keep someone like him."

"And you'd think a girl like YOU would learn to keep her mouth - and thoughts - to herself in a house full of telepaths, wouldn't you, Tabitha?" All at once, the noise and air was sucked out of the room like a vacuum as the movie suddenly muted itself and Jean stood in the doorway, her fiery red hair accentuated by the yellow glow of the hallway lights behind her.

The blonde - as well as the rest of the teenagers - clung to the safety of the silence, no one daring to breathe, let alone respond.

At least, for a moment.

Finally, Boom Boom folded her arms, one eyebrow raised in haughty defiance. "I'm just saying that if you care about that guy at ALL, you'd actually talk to him. Everyone can see how hard he's taking all this. Seems like BETSY was the only one who offered him any kind of comfort, though. But you know, if you two are through, I can offer him a shoulder to cry on." Tabitha smirked, a knowing glint dancing in her blue eyes.

Beside her, Bobby, Ray, Sam, Jubilee, and Rahne physically recoiled away from the apparently suicidal blonde as Jean's hair literally floated around her like a demented, blazing halo. The television flickered and cut out, and the lights blinked, threatening to plunge the room into utter darkness.

"Ugh, guys," Jamie whispered from where he had curled up in the farthest corner of the armchair. "I voted AGAINST the scary movies, remember?"

Thankfully, his attempt at humor created a chink in the nearly palpable tension, and the telepath's eyes softened as her gaze flicked toward the frightened boy. "Sorry, Jamie," she muttered, "but I've had about enough of letting Boom Boom drag my name through the mud."

Despite the venom in her words, Jean's hair gradually relaxed and deflated to the point it was a bit more natural looking, although it was nowhere near her typical tamed state. In fact, as she stepped fully into the light of the rec room, Jean Grey painted a picture in total opposition to her usual 'perfect' persona. Her clothes were rumpled and smudged with dirt in a few spots, as if she'd fallen asleep on the ground. Her red hair was tangled and unkempt, and it almost seemed like the young woman swayed on her feet as she stood at Tabitha's feet, hands on her hips.

"I'm just saying what everyone else is thinking," Tabitha shot back, straightening her back as she lounged against the couch, trying to appear unfazed. "You've been acting the same as ever, except when it comes to your BOYFRIEND. Cheery and chipper, yet you refuse to talk to the one person who can actually stomach the disgusting act you're putting on. It's like you don't even CARE."

Kurt and Kitty exchanged another glance, Roberto put his arm around Amara almost protectively, pulling her as far away from the conflict as possible, while the kids on the floor inched farther away from the blonde, all of them wishing they had access to Kitty's particular power set at the moment so they could literally disappear into the ground.

"I - I DO care," Jean fired back, her face glowing with a hot flush. "I just agree with Kurt. I don't think Rogue's dead." She nearly stumbled when she folded her arms and jutted her hip in an almost perfect imitation of the aforementioned southerner. Her green eyes narrowed. "And at least I'm not PRETENDING to be sad, or telling stories just for some damn attention!" the telepath railed. Her use of a swear word - the first anyone had ever heard uttered from her lips - created a chorus of gasps and murmured exclamations throughout the group.

"At least I'M not the one who's more concerned with what the boys think of my new swimsuit than what happened." Her eyes then flicked to Jubilee. "Or trying to hide how goddamn SCARED I am that I'm going to die, too." Green irises targeted Bobby, then Rahne. "I'M not the one thinking of abandoning the team to run back home to my parents and be 'safe,' or wondering if I like GIRLS instead of BOYS." With laser focus, she found her next quarry in Kitty and Amara. "Or if I should wear sexy underwear with my FUNERAL dress, or if I should start dressing like a GOTH just because everyone is suddenly thinking and talking about ROGUE!"

Jean's tirade was suddenly cut off by the sound - and smell - of Kurt teleporting out of the room, and Tabitha snickered as she cast her gaze around the room, unperturbed by the redhead's accusations. "At least *WE* didn't run Rogue's brother out of the room by throwing a telepathic tantrum. WE haven't been acting like she never existed, or avoiding Scott like he's got the plague," she sneered right back.

Another BAMF, and Kurt reappeared in the doorway. "For zhe record, Tabitha," the blue-furred mutant spoke softly. "I already know how Jean feels. And I didn't run away. I brought backup." He moved aside, and the very austere team leader stepped through the entry, his ruby visor glinting in the low lighting from the television.

"And," Scott spoke, his brows furrowed angrily at Tabitha, "if Jean's been avoiding me, then that's OUR concern. Not yours." He stepped forward, coming to stand alongside his girlfriend. "Your only concern right now, Boom Boom, is that you've got a six a.m. Danger Room training with me tomorrow morning." He turned his severe countenance on the remaining teens. "The rest of you, either go to bed or quiet down and mind your own business. I hear another word of gossip from any of you, and everyone's going to get a full month of double D.R. sessions."

Scott snaked a hand around his girlfriend's waist, giving her hip a gentle squeeze before turning and leading her from the room. It was a simple gesture that nearly made the telepath fall to pieces, and she was grateful his taller stature blocked her from view as a few tears escaped to roll down her cheeks.

Although she didn't speak, Jean wrapped her arm across her boyfriend's lower back with one hand, grabbing his other shoulder for support as she stumbled along. Her quiet sobs were barely contained long enough for the pair to make it out of earshot, and Scott opted for the sanctity of the elevators rather than the long trek up the stairs.

Once inside the metal box, Jean threw her arms around Scott's neck, bawling into the collar of his neatly pressed red button-up shirt. Her words were slurred and muffled, and the team leader pulled her back, trying to get a good look at her before the elevator doors opened. "Jean?" he asked gently, "Are you…? Have you been DRINKING?"

Rather than answering, the redhead covered her face with her hands and sobbed harder. "Oh honey," Scott soothed her, pulling her back into his arms. "It's okay. Whatever's wrong, it's going to be okay. I'm here for you." By the time the bell chimed for the second floor, Jean was hiccupping between muffled sobs. Her emotional distress was such that Professor Xavier even contacted Cyclops telepathically to determine the trouble. Thankfully, the man was satiated by the team leader's quick mental reply of 'Just a bad day. I've got her.'

The young woman hadn't made it five steps down the hall, however, before her legs gave out, and Scott scooped her up into his arms, carrying his girlfriend the rest of the way to her room. Locking the door behind him in case of nosey teenage teammates, he entered Jean's private ensuite with her still cradled against his chest. Placing her down on the closed lid of the toilet seat, he filled the cup that was sitting on her bathroom counter.

"Here, just take small sips, okay?" he instructed, handing her the small blue glass before reaching under the counter to retrieve a washcloth. Wetting it and wringing out the excess water, Scott smoothed the damp hair back from Jean's brow and encouraged her to tip her head back. Her chest heaved sporadically as she fought to contain her turmoil, and she pressed the cool cloth against her aching eyes.

Crouching on the balls of his feet in front of her, Scott took the empty cup and placed it on the counter, then rubbed circles into the redhead's knees. "Boy, aren't we a pair lately?" he joked. "First I'm falling apart, and now I've dragged you down with me." He sighed, shaking his head despondently while still rubbing the outsides of her thighs. "I'm sorry I've been so distant, Jean. I never should have pushed you away like I did. I was all twisted up, trying to figure things out, and I didn't want you to suffer, too, through your empathy."

He reached up with one hand, cupping her cheek gently and brushing away the tears with his thumb. "But I didn't realize how much you were already suffering. Or how hard this has been on you, too. I was only thinking about myself - about my own grief - and I guess I forgot that we're supposed to be a team. Not just as X-Men, but as a couple." Strong fingers grasped delicate, shaking digits, lifting them to press a kiss to the back of her hand. "Please forgive me, Jean."

With a deep, shuddering breath, the telepath dragged the damp cloth off her face, clutching it in her shaking fist. "Are you…" she started, her voice cracking. "Are you in love with R-Rogue?"

Scott's eyes popped wide. "What?" he exclaimed, unsure if he'd heard her correctly.

"Are you in LOVE with Rogue?" the redhead repeated, her words spat like curses now instead of choked and broken.

Brows furrowed in concern, Cyclops shook his head. "No, Jean, of course not. What would make you think…?"

"I HEARD you," she whimpered, crumbling once more. "You were talking to Logan right after… and you told him you l-loved her."

"Oh baby, no!" Scott took the washcloth from her hand, depositing it next to the cup before tugging his girlfriend into his lap on the floor. She smelled very much like Wolverine after he'd been on a drinking binge. Like whiskey and car grease, and dirt. Briefly, he wondered if she'd been hiding out in the garage all night, drinking up Logan's hidden stash of hard liquor.

Rather than chastise or question her, however, he rocked her back and forth like a child, holding her close to his chest. "I loved Rogue as a close friend - almost like a sister, even - but not the same way I love you."

"What…" she hiccupped again. "What about Miss Braddock then? I saw you two in the kitchen tonight, Scott!" she pushed him away slightly, turning her face up to his. "She was all over you! I heard her tell you to come to her hotel room and everything!" Another sob broke free, echoing in the small ensuite as Jean clung tight to Scott's shirt, pulling him closer. "And you didn't - you didn't say anything. Didn't tell her you weren't interested or anything!"

The young man encircled her slim body with both arms, pulling her tight against his chest. "I - I don't really know what that was all about," he confessed. "She think she was trying to flirt, but I promise you, I did NOTHING to lead her on. I thought she was trying to help as the Professor's 'therapist' friend, but now I'm starting to wonder if she even IS a real therapist."

Jean positively growled. "Yeah, well, if she is, she should lose her damn license for inappropriate conduct." A flash of golden malice danced in the telepath's eyes, and a few of the drawers and toiletries in the bathroom began to rattle and levitate from their designated spaces. "I swear if I ever see that two-faced, conniving, boyfriend-stealing bi-"

"Hey, hey. It's okay, Jean. You're right, she's definitely no professional, but she isn't going to steal me away." Scott quickly smoothed down his girlfriend's hair, pressing kisses to her temples. "Take a deep breath, okay, honey? No reason to wreck your bathroom over her, yeah?"

With an indignant set to her jaw, Jean huffed, but her bathroom accessories slowly settled back into place.

"I promise you, Jean," Scott continued once his girlfriend was sufficiently calmed. "You are the only woman for me. I -" he paused, taking a deep breath and gathering his thoughts. "I haven't been in my right mind lately. Losing someone else I care about has made me a little nuts, and I've lost sight of the people that I still have. I'm SO sorry, Jean. I love you. I'm IN LOVE with you. I loved Rogue - platonically - and I've had a lot on my mind, but I should have talked to you instead of pushing you away."

"Ugh," Jean grimaced, turning her face away from him despite his heartfelt confession. "Scott, let go of me. Now."

Hurt and confused by her reaction, Scott gingerly raised his hands in surrender. "I - Okay, Jean. I - I understand if you can't forgive me right now." His conviction faltered as the redhead scrambled out of his lap. "I'll go."

"No, you don't…" Jean moaned, her breath coming hard and fast now. "I DO forgive you, I just… Oh god!" All at once the toilet seat flew open of its own accord, slamming so hard into the porcelain bowl that the screws on the seat broke loose. In the next moment, Jean was hanging over the rim, vomiting violently.

It took a second for Scott's brain to catch up, but he quickly gathered up his girlfriend's mess of hair and pulled it away from her face. His other hand rubbed up and down her back as she coughed and choked, spewing what seemed like an entire bottle of Logan's whiskey. It certainly SMELLED like Logan's whiskey. Errantly, he wondered how much she'd consumed and whether he should be concerned about alcohol poisoning.

When she was finally done a few minutes later, Scott refilled the water cup, handing it and the damp washcloth to her after she flushed the toilet. "Feeling better?" he asked almost playfully. All things considered, he was rather overjoyed that Jean's erratic behavior and dismissal of him had been in response to her digestive pyrotechnics rather than his presence.

"Ugh," the redhead grumbled. "Except that that crap burns just as bad coming up as it does going down, yeah." She gratefully accepted Scott's hand as he helped her stand, then watched as he dutifully retrieved her toothbrush and slathered it with toothpaste before passing it to her. Her boyfriend gave her a quick kiss on the temple, then went back into her bedroom, pulling open a few drawers to retrieve some clean pajamas for her.

Jean felt her heart swell with adoration and gratitude. How she ever could have doubted him was sheer lunacy. Almost a week of misery and solitude, and for what? All because she'd been too stubborn and prideful to just TALK to him? It was a shameful waste. All that time they could have been together, taking comfort in one another's embrace and deepening their connection, and she'd let a few misunderstandings and overheard conversations ruin it.

Leaning against her bathroom counter as she brushed her teeth, the redhead watched her boyfriend putter around her room, gathering clothing, comfort items, and little trinkets for her. He laid out her pajamas at the foot of her bed, placed the stuffed bear he'd won for her at a carnival by her pillow, and even plugged in her phone and laptop. As he finished the final touches on her bed, pulling down one side of the covers for her, Jean quickly spit, rinsed, and stepped into her bedroom, her heart positively swelling with love for this man.

"Alright honey, I've got everything set up for you so you can… MMRRMPH!" His words were cut off as Jean flung her arms around Scott's neck, crushing his lips to hers in a searing kiss. When they finally broke apart, the team leader was flushed almost as red as his ruby quartz visor.

"Wow, Jean, that was…" He stopped short again as the redhead pushed him back, falling with him onto her mattress as she kissed him with all the vigor of a lioness devouring a gazelle. They were both breathing hard, eyes clouded with desire and pulses racing when they finally came up for air a few minutes later. This time, Scott wasn't able to utter a single syllable before Jean had ripped his shirt open with her telekinesis, licking a hot streak down his now bare chest.

"J-Jean?" he stammered, rational thought quickly fleeing as she peppered him with open-mouthed kisses. Her hands were roaming almost wildly, caressing every inch of bare skin she could reach. "Oh… Oh my god, Jean, please…?" he begged as she lavished his nipples with warm, wet attention.

"I want you, Scott," Jean confessed, her voice rough and husky from a combination of crying, booze, vomiting, and desire. Her mouth trailed lower, down his abdomen as she glanced up at him with hooded eyes.

"I - I thought you wanted to wait?" he managed to squeak out as her tongue darted in and out of his belly button. Good god, she was like a wild thing, and as hot as it was to see her in such a state of wanton lust, it was also a bit unsettling considering how out of character it was for her.

"I don't care anymore," she answered glibly, her hands skimming over his chest again, fingers pausing to toy with the little nubs. "I just want you. I want to show you how much I love you. I want everyone to know you're mine, and I'm yours." Her fingers danced back down his abdomen, tangling in the sparse smattering of hair below his belly button before fumbling with the button on his trousers.

"Jean, wait," Scott's tone was quick and almost harsh as he grabbed her hands, stilling their movements. "We - we can't do this. *I* can't do this. Not when you're drunk. I don't want to do something you'll regret."

Green eyes darkened, disappointment flashing across her features like a tsunami. "I won't regret it," she demanded, tugging her hands free of his hold just so she could go back to the button.

"Yes, you will," Scott restated, grabbing her wrists once more and trying to sit up a little while she straddled him.

"Nope," she giggled coquettishly. With an impish, seductive grin reminiscent of Betsy's, the redhead turned the tables on her boyfriend, using her telekinesis to break free of his grip and in turn trap his wrists at his sides.

"Jean, listen to me," Cyclops tried again, forcing his tone to seriousness even as she stroked his growing erection through the fabric of his pants. "At some point, you'll regret it. You don't really want to do it like this. You're drunk and not acting like yourself, my love."

"That's the point," she growled, finally sitting back on his thighs while his feet dangled off the end of the bed. "I'm tired of being 'myself.' I don't even know who that is anymore! I'm tired of playing the perfect little princess for everyone! I want to have fun and do naughty things and stop being so. Damn. Fake!" She punctuated her point by ripping her t-shirt over her head, using her telekinesis to send her bra sailing across the room along with it.

Scott grunted, his brows furrowed and pulse thumping as she rubbed her bare chest across his. "O-okay, Jean. But not - not now," he groaned at the delicious friction she was causing. "You don't want to have sex right now, like this, do you?"

"Yes, I do!" the telepath huffed as she folded her arms and sat against his pelvis, her hips gyrating slightly. "I've never objected to premarital sex when it's with the right person. My parents did. Society did. My 'friends' did. Not me. And I'm not going to pretend to believe the same things anymore. I'm done pretending, Scott. I'm not going to pretend I wasn't JEALOUS of Rogue's crush on you. I'm not going to pretend I wasn't worried she'd somehow take you away from me, or that Betsy was going to lure you into her bed. I'm not going to pretend that I'm not hopelessly, desperately in love with you and that I don't want you every minute of the day. And, I'm especially not going to pretend that I don't want to have sex. Right NOW."

With a flourish of her hand, Scott's pants flew open, and she reached for his boxers with trembling fingers, only to be stayed by a hard mental shove.

"No," Scott said, pressing against her mind even as he spoke the word aloud.

"Wh-what?" Jean asked, dumbstruck by his refusal.

"I said, 'no', Jean." When her eyes welled with tears, his voice softened. "If you want this - REALLY want this - then show me. Show me in your mind that you're not just drunk and feeling vulnerable. That you really, truly want our first time to be just like this. Because to be honest, Jean, I don't."

A gasp of surprise and anguish passed over her lips, and suddenly Scott's hands came free from the mattress. He reached for her as she tried to retreat, and tugged her back onto his lap as he sat up on the bed.

"Jean, please, listen to me," he hooked his index finger under her chin, encouraging her to look him in the eyes. "Look in my mind and see what I mean, my love. I DO want you, Jean. I LOVE you. But I want to do this right. I want to make it special - for both of us."

Closing his eyes, he reached for her mind with his own, their souls and bodies touching - connecting - in a way that was deeper and more meaningful than mere sex could ever be. Inside the astral plane, Scott projected dozens of images and imagined scenarios to his girlfriend, the love of his life.

A special weekend away on 'vacation' to Coney Island. A beautiful, perfect date night with a movie, dinner, and dancing on the rooftop of one of New York City's finest restaurants. Sailing on a yacht in Hawaii. Renting a hotel and booking a spa day in Atlantic City. Even a spontaneous getaway to Las Vegas.

Tears were cascading down the telepath's cheeks when Scott finally spoke again. "I've imagined this moment a hundred different ways, my love, but never like this," he said firmly. "If you want, we'll go away this weekend - just the two of us - and I can show you just how much I love you - and want you - too."

"Oh Scott," she sobbed, wrapping her arms around his neck and just breathing him in, their bare skin combined in warmth, comfort, and promise. This time when she kissed him, there was only love and gratitude, and they quickly redressed and cuddled up together in Jean's bed, sleeping soundly in the peace of one another's embrace.

~X~X~X~X~X~

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

1 - In the comics, Betsy/Psylocke joins the X-Men and IMMEDIATELY starts hitting on Scott, even though he and Jean are a couple. She's super obvious about it, but Scott doesn't ever tell her to back off. Jean takes it as a misunderstanding, and confronts Betsy, who admits she's well aware that Scott is 'taken' but intends to pursue him anyway. Jean's barely contained fury is one of the things that started changing my mind about my general dislike of her character

2 - Full disclosure, I had originally picked 'Glacier National Park' for the setting of this story, but RedStrandofFate mentioned that Nahanni matches up with all the same geography and features and is a LOT less inhabited than Glacier. So I changed it to Nahanni National Park Reserve in the far Northwestern Territories of Canada. Thanks SK!

3 - A 'brocket' (bra pocket) is a term a friend of mine used that I loved. It's just the space in a woman's brasserie where we like to stuff things from time to time when we don't have pockets. Although, you should never utilize the 'brocket' when wearing a bathing suit. RIP to my phone. *facepalm*

Many thanks (as per usual) to SK and AJ for being my cheerleaders, betas, and idea gurus! This story would not be where it is today (or as GOOD as it is) without their help!

Please leave a comment/review! How did Rogue's realization make you feel ? Did you like 'drunk Jean'? Did 'Precipice of Disaster' make you cry, too?

Warning: Next chapter will be both bad and good. There are some serious Non/Con elements involving Rogue, Apocalypse, and a dream/vision, but also the ROMY goodness you've all been waiting for (provided you didn't already read the standalone version). It will depart in minor ways from the stand alone I posted, but the concept will be basically the same with adjustments made to reflect Rogue and Remy's relationship growth. It will (hopefully) feel a lot more natural and less of a 'the world's ending, so why not'.

I'm also hoping that since it's 90% complete already, it won't take more than two weeks to get posted. Almost every chapter from here on out is at least partially written and just needs to have a few elements added and edited. Crossing my fingers that the entire thing will be completed very soon!

Thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story over the year/s. We're seriously almost at the finish line now! (Also, this chapter is 39 freaking pages, and I had to take out the last section and put it with the next chapter.) Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!