X-Men and all related characters are the property of Marvel comics. I promise to give them back when I'm done. I admit freely that I was in a bad mood when I wrote this one. I was getting sick of the whole Rogue/Gambit regret/angst thing. Still am, actually. And if Rogue comes out looking like the bad guy, well, that's the way I saw it. Personally, I can't wait until Marvel has her acting like the mature, responsible grown woman she's supposed to be. ________ Remy and Rogue So he's not perfect. Who is? A few mistakes, a couple bad decisions, doesn't mean that he's a bad person. Yeah, and Apocalypse is up for sainthood. The woman known only as Rogue sat in the corner of the couch, legs curled beneath her. Despite the warmth of the room, she felt cold. It was something from the inside, she knew. No sweaters or thermostats could warm this. She was numbed. But not nearly enough. Not if she could still feel and think, if she could still hurt. Why did this hurt her so damn much? It should have been easy, especially after Israel. Remy was bad news. A womanizing criminal with a past so dark that he blocked it away in the deepest, darkest corner of his mind where even he couldn't find it. The man who had touched her heart and soul. She buried her face in her hands, one breath away from crying. How could he do this to her? Didn't he know how much she was hurting? A traitorous voice in the back of her mind demanded an answer. He didn't exactly fight me off, Rogue thought miserably. Yeah, a good way to die, but a more horrible way to be reborn, holding the unconscious body of the man she loved in her arms. And even worse, she knew how he felt. His lips against hers, his arms around her waist. How could she forget that? How could she forget such perfect joy? Because I can't have it again! Rogue's thoughts cried out in her mind, echoing against her skull, as if trying to rip their way out of her head. It was wonderful, perfect, fantastic! And It'll never happen again! I can't touch anyone or I'll kill them, if I'm lucky they'll just go into a coma for a while like Remy did. How can I expect to love someone, anyone with that floating over my head? I just hurt the people I love. Joseph is different, Rogue insisted stubbornly. He's not Remy. "Oh. What do you know?" "Rogue?" Rogue looked up, blushing slightly when she realized she'd spoken out loud. "Hi, Warren." "Is everything all right?" Warren Worthington, the winged X-Man, gave Rogue a cursory look. "Yeah, sugar. Just - talking to myself ah guess." He regarded her for a moment, then nodded. "We're going into town for a while, me, Betsy, Hank and Bobby. Want to come along?" "No, sugar. I'm not really in the mood. Maybe next time." "Okay. See you later." Rogue waited until he had left before dropping her head back into her hands. How stupid. Suddenly wanting to move, to do something - anything before she jumped out of her own skin, Rogue stood in one fluid motion and strode into the kitchen. Hot chocolate. Rogue began the water boiling and turned on the radio while she waited. She sang along with Celene Dion while she dug through the cupboards for cookies. The song ended and another began. A new one, she hadn't heard it before. *I'll tell you what I want, what I really, really, want...* I have a life. I'm not talking to you anymore. *If you want my future, forget my past...* *...If you want to get with me, better make it fast.* And who would blame him? *Get your act together and we'll be just fine...* Rogue sank into a kitchen chair, head spinning from the truth she'd ignored for so long. She claimed she couldn't be with Remy because of his past, but his past had always been there, she'd always known he had things he was ashamed of, and she'd still loved him. She blocked him out, pushed him away because of what she'd sensed, not what she'd known. And what she'd sensed was fear. And the idea of something so horrible that Remy LeBeau was scared to the center of his soul...That was what had sent Rogue running. Fear that he wouldn't be able to out run his past. Fear that she couldn't handle the truth. The truth was she never gave him a chance. Oh, God. What have I done? Joseph? Magneto? How was he different? That little voice in the back of her mind was right. Magneto was worse than Remy, because he didn't regret what he'd done. To him it was all necessary. All unavoidable. All somebody else's fault. He'd promised to change, and gone right back to the old ways as soon as he was given the slightest reason. He'd killed hundreds of people, directly and indirectly and his followers had killed even more. He was everything he professed to hate. And Joseph couldn't even atone for his sins because he couldn't remember them. And if he could, would he? It was true. She'd sensed that as well. Overwhelming guilt, grief, shame and pain. And a firm, unrelenting promise to his heart and soul that it would never happen again. He didn't justify what he did. He hated it and the person he had been. Remy LeBeau was no longer Remy LeBeau. Why had she been unable to see that? Why had she run away? Why had she done this all to herself? Suddenly unable to think anymore she let the tears that had been threatening to fall flow freely down her cheeks. *If you want to be my lover you have got to give.* And I never did. I took his love and his memories, but I never gave anything. I ran away when he needed me, when he was hurting, blamed him for everything that was wrong with me, then blamed him again. I hurt him, and I did it on purpose. I took the best and the worst that there was to him, and only remembered the worst. I ignored everything else that he'd ever done or said or stood for and concentrated on that one thing. And I made him relive it in his mind how many times during that confrontation in Seattle? Continuously? I made him see the hurt, but I wasn't strong enough to see it for myself. "Oh, Remy, forgive me." "For what, chere?" She gasped, head snapping up. Through her tears she'd never noticed Remy enter the kitchen. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and for once he'd neglected to wear his dark sunglasses. For just an instant, Rogue was embarrassed, then she was crying again, harder than before. "I'm so sorry." "Hush," Remy whispered softly, kneeling beside her chair. "What you crying for, mon jolie? Sometin' wrong?" "I never realized..." "Ma belle chere, you can tell me. What's wrong?" She caught her breath, choking slightly on a jagged sob. She met his red eyes with her tear-filled ones. "I love you." Remy was startled. She could tell. "That's a bad thing?" "That's why I'm sorry," she whispered. "Because I love you but I hurt you." "You didn't hurt me." She laughed bitterly. "I didn't hurt you? You were in a coma for three weeks. Then I ran away when I should have been there, working with you to get through this. Then Seattle, all I did was hurt you in Seattle. And you know what? I wanted to. Because if you hurt then I didn't have to. And Joseph was so sweet and so kind and so lost, and it was so much easier to tell myself that I could have something with him, but all the time I was just afraid to face you, because I knew that you had every reason to hate me for what I'd done to you. And because I already hated what I'd done." "Rogue..." Remy's voice was only slightly steadier than Rogue's at this point. "I don't hate you. Never could. Never will." She barely heard him at this point. She was drawing further into her own memories. "In New York, on Christmas Eve, when I found out that you had plans, I was so angry, because they weren't with me. And I was jealous. And sad. And then I thought 'who cares?' But I did. I missed you Remy. For the last few months, all I've really done is miss you." "I missed you, too," Remy said softly. He took her gloved hands between his own. "I'm sorry." "I love you, too." "How can you?" Remy touched one gloved hand to her cheek, brushed away the tears. "My heart doesn't care if you made a mistake or two. And you had every right to make up your own mind." "I shouldn't have hurt you." "I hurt you." "No. I think I hurt myself." "That's even worse." Remy smiled at her gently. "Only way to hurt me is to hurt you." She felt the tears coming again. He stood, pulled her up from her chair. "Your water's boiling," he said. "Hot chocolate?" She nodded. "Go sit down. I'll bring it out." He gently pushed her into the living room, then returned to the kitchen. Rogue curled up on the couch without fully realizing what she was doing. That emotional cleansing had been what she'd needed ever since that horribly wonderful day in Israel, but she'd never allowed herself to feel it. Now she felt tired, but clean and whole. Remy joined her a minute later, a cup of hot chocolate in his hands. She accepted it absently, then started when she realized he was leaving. "Remy?" He stopped at the door. "Oui, chere?" "Sit with me for a little while?" He joined her own the couch, settling her against his shoulder, one of his arms resting around her waist. Rogue couldn't say how long they sat there, except she finished her hot chocolate less than half way. Eventually her eyes began to drift shut and her head dropped onto Remy's shoulder. "You fallin' asleep, chere?" "Jenna." "What-?" But Rogue had already slipped into sleep, and Remy sat and watched her until Storm found them hours later and helped him get her upstairs. ________ End