Whispers

Day Three, 8th Hour, 26th Minute

Rogue was fuming. She stared out over her car door, nails tapping evenly on the top. She could practically feel the smirk aimed at her back.

"Something the matter, chère?"

She whirled on him. "Oh, don't you give me that!" Rogue narrowed her eyes dangerously.

Remy merely returned a smug smile, one hand lazily guiding the wheel. He reached out with one finger and flicked the radio back on.

She cringed at the blare of rock music blasting out from the speakers. "You're a jerk. You know that?" She hit the button for Program 7 and lowered the volume.

"Backstreet Boys?" He glanced at her pityingly. "Tu sais, you have no taste in music, chèrie."

"You're the one that's tone deaf." Rogue slouched down in the seat, crossing her arms. She noticed him stealing a look. "Eyes on the road, swamp rat!"

He reached out and changed the station back to his but left the volume low. "Got a plan?" he asked. The fingers of his left hand flexed, and she figured he was craving a cigarette. "'Cause there's at least one thing they're bound to notice."

She looked at him warily. "Oh?"

His red eyes burned brighter for a moment as he shot her a pointed look. "My eyes, chère. I ain't wearing shades in the church."

Rogue leaned over, changed the station back to hers, and cranked the volume, watching as he winced. "Don't then."

His jaw suddenly tightened and set. He kept his gaze steady on the road ahead.

Something twinged inside her as she studied him and she found she couldn't look away, instead wandering her gaze over the hard planes of his face, the fixed intentness with which he drove, the gleaming, ember-like quality of the liquid red glow of his irises. They were sharp and burning against the black. She looked lower at the tenseness in his broad shoulders, the way his shirt fell against his muscled chest, the alertness, the guardedness.

Her eyes flicked upward again. "You got a problem with that?" She felt pleased at how strong her voice sounded. She thought for a moment it would fail her.

He jerked one shoulder in a shrug. She had the distinct feeling he was angry at something.

"I don't care what they think," she said.

Remy laughed. It was a short, sharp sound, but his cocky smirk was back as he glanced over at her. "If you didn't care, you wouldn't be bringing me along."

"Oh?" She raised a brow.

"Oui." He switched the station.

Rogue cringed beneath the onslaught of a heavy bass drum. "Remy!" She lowered the volume and switched it back to hers.

"Plan," he repeated patiently.

She huffed at him and crossed her arms again. "I do have a plan," she stated icily.

He hummed appreciatively and moved one hand in a "go on" gesture.

Rogue said nothing.

Remy glanced at her, then gave her a wolfish grin, eyes brightening. "Do tell, ma maîtresse." It was a challenge, a dare, a gauntlet thrown in the most seductive, flirtatious voice he had used with her to date. He winked at her and a slight flush burned her cheeks.

If he didn't have such a good point, she wouldn't, just for spite. But he did. If she didn't convince him to play nice, then the whole thing would go down the drain. She sighed heavily.

He changed the station.

"You blasted swamp rat!"

She reached for the radio, but he was in her way, holding one hand over the controls while driving with the other and looking straight ahead. She batted at his hand, but it remained. She growled. He chuckled.

"Glad you find this so amusing," she bit out sarcastically.

His hand moved quickly, winding around hers in an unexpected gesture and holding it between them.

Rogue stared at him, speechless. Finally, she pulled together a shred of composure. "What are you doing?"

"Calming you down," he said. "You're always so tense. Just relax."

She regained her head and squirmed her fingers in his. His thumb traced a soothing circle on the back of her hand, but his grip was firm and did not let her go.

"Let go of me, Remy."

"Non."

She sighed in exasperation. "You're impossible." With her free hand, she reached out and hit the button for her station.

His chuckle rumbled out again, and she despairingly realized she actually enjoyed the sound.

"Remy..." She tugged on her captured hand again.

"Plan," he tossed back. "I need to know, chèrie."

She subsided, gradually giving in to the realization that he wasn't going to let go and this warm feeling and every spike of discomfort his rubbing her hand incited wasn't going to go away.

He killed the radio. "Well?"

Rogue huffed and outlined the basic details of her campaign, not the least of which involved careful avoidance of skin on skin contact and conversation safe from unpleasant topics. She was about to tell him what she wanted him to do when he suddenly released her hand in surprise.

"That's a plan?" Remy gave her a horrified look, which promptly settled into stubborn disapproval. "Mine was better."

"It's a good plan!" she protested and crossed her arms again, now that she could.

He snorted disbelief.

"You know, swamp rat, you're not the only one that can come up with a plan." Rogue fixed him with an unhappy, narrow-eyed gaze.

He shook his head, undrawn. Then a gleam came into his eye. "How about this?"

She listened, horrified at the colorful description of his imagined visit with her family.

She sputtered. "Absolutely not! They'd think... I can't believe you!"

"Ah, chère." He was grinning like a little kid at Christmas. "That's a plan. They wouldn't even be concerned about your mutation."

"No! They'd be too worried about my innocence, you idiot!" Her usually extensive collection of disparaging names for him had dried up and given way to less ambiguous standbys. Her volume went up as she got more and more upset. "I will never let you put your hands anywhere near there, you good-for-nothing, skirt-chasing—"

Remy slid one finger across her lips and winked at her. "We all know how you really feel."

Her eyes narrowed at him and her mouth tightened into a frown. "Remind me to kill you sometime," she said.

"Désolé, chèrie. I'm all booked." His appreciative grin said otherwise.

She turned the radio back on but conceded to lowering the volume—slightly. Keeping her eyes averted made it easier to drop her next line. "And if I said to remind me to sleep with you sometime?"

"I'm sure I could reschedule a few things." Remy gave her a once-over that put a light burn in her cheeks.

Was she really flirting with the most infamous player in the mansion?

No. She wasn't. She was still angry at him, she decided, and lifted her chin. She delivered her words with haughty condenscension. "I'm sure."

But she was smiling as she turned away.

So was he.

Day Three, 3rd Hour, 59th Minute

Remy stirred groggily from his sleep, wondering what had awakened him. Then he stiffened. There it was again. A tapping on his door.

He rolled over and stared at the clock. Somebody had to be kidding him.

He swore profusely in French as he clambered out of the twisted covers and yanked open the door. He stared, stunned.

Rogue stood, fiddling nervously with the pale green shawl that wrapped around her bare arms. A hunter green sheath dress hugged her curves with spaghetti straps doing little to hide her sleek, smooth shoulders—or anything else. Her hair had been done up in a chignon with the white strands out and curling around her face.

"Hey," she said, offering a tiny, nervous smile, her gaze focused intently on his face.

He could just catch the whiff of Erotica, the perfume he had chosen for her. He opened the door a little wider.

"And how may I help you, ma chèrie?" His eyes drank her in from head to toe, ignoring every bit of discomfort the look elicited.

"That ride?" She breathed out a sigh. "We need to leave around 4:30. I forgot to tell you that last night."

4:30? As in, the morning? He stared at her, the expression significantly changed.

"Out of sheer curiosity," Remy finally managed to bring out, "when do you sleep?"

Rogue glanced down his bare chest quickly, drawing a wicked grin and another devouring gaze, before turning away and fiddling with the edge of her shawl again. "Dress nice, Cajun. We're going to church."

"Wait un moment, chère." Once again, he was forced to backtrack and get his mind off of her clothes—and all that tantalizing skin beneath. He released the door and gestured as he spoke. "You want moi to go into a Protestant church?"

She rolled her eyes. "Catholic, huh?" She managed to look at him highly amused.

He growled. "Oui."

"Imagine that," she drawled. "Shave." With that, she whirled around in the heeled strappy sandals he just now noticed and left with a royal progress.

Church!

What would she think of next?

Day Three, 4th Hour, 33rd Minute

"You're insane," Remy informed Rogue bluntly as she slipped into the passenger seat of his car.

"Well, thanks," she replied sarcastically. "Always one for compliments."

He sighed. "Some reason we're leaving this early for church?"

Rogue paused and looked him over, apparently unable to suppress the expression of interest that blossomed over her face. He wore a dark blue dress shirt and slacks, but had skipped the tie and slicked back hair. He raised one eyebrow at her and she blushed.

"Seem to like what you see this morning." He leaned toward her.

She looked out the window. "Just drive." She passed him a slip of paper.

He read off the directions. "This isn't in Westchester."

"You noticed."

"This is almost twelve hours away!" Remy sent her an incredulous look.

"I believe so." A tiny smile quirked at her lips. She still didn't look at him.

"What are we doing, chère?" he demanded. "It's a little late for church."

She fastened laughing green eyes on him. "There's an evening service. And I said, 'Just drive.'"

He muttered under his breath, fastened his seat belt, and started the car. Drive. He had experienced a lot of obligations in his life, but this slavery thing was perhaps the most demeaning. He had never been entirely under the command of another female before in his life. And he was beginning to discover just how aggravating it could be if that female was as coy as Rogue.

He just drove.

The road flew by in a neutral silence that held neither comfort nor discomfort. He flicked on the radio. His favorite sounds blared out and Rogue cringed. He couldn't help the chuckle that followed.

"You seem to like your music..." He searched for the right word. "More controlled." He let it roll off his tongue as the guitar and drums beat into his blood. He tapped the wheel with one hand and stole a glance at Rogue.

She glared at him. "More enjoyable."

He laughed openly at that.

Rogue reached over and viciously spun the dial to the same pop music channel as before.

"No need for that, chèrie," he said smoothly. "You're number 7 on the buttons."

She frowned and looked at the panel. "You programmed my station in?"

"Oui."

"Why?"

"Why are we going to church?" he lobbed back.

She sighed in disgust, crossing her arms. He really couldn't help but sneak a peek at that. He almost lost her next words.

"To meet my family."

The car slowed slightly and he gripped the wheel tighter. "Votre famille."

"Is that a question or a statement, Swamp Rat?" she drawled out lazily, then shrugged. "We're meeting in the middle. It's another eight hours or so to home, so this way we can both get home at night."

"So why do you need me?"

She caught her breath and looked away. "They think I'm Cured."

His knuckles began to turn white. Remy forced himself to loosen his grip.

He just drove.

The road flew by in uncomfortable silence. Finally, he broke it.

"So."

Rogue twisted in her seat. "So? That's all you're going to say?"

Remy shook his head forcefully. "So what am I supposed to do?" He didn't look at her, not sure he really wanted to know what was running through her head.

She didn't answer right away. She took a deep breath.

"Rogue..." It was a warning, a questioning, a demand.

"I'm no good at lying," she said abruptly.

He wanted to laugh. She had just made the understatement of the century.

"Least not to them." He caught a movement at the corner of his eyes, like a shrug he guessed. "And you are."

"And I am? That's it?" He glanced toward her.

She bit her lip and stared straight ahead. "I didn't really want to do this alone."

Remy gave up trying to multitask in this strange conversation with a girl who never had been easy to understand. He pulled over onto the side of the road, despite her instant protests. He pulled the key out of the ignition and turned to her.

She crossed her arms again and glared at him.

"Start from the top," he commanded.

"No." The response was blunt. And defensive.

He reached out and ran his fingers along one white lovelock. She dropped her mouth open slightly. Her anger intensified. He turned the charm full on and she leaned back, slapping at his hand.

"Don't touch me!"

He laughed shortly. "You do know the usual reason a girl brings a guy along?" He let his eyes dance as she slowly absorbed what he was saying.

He wouldn't allow her to react fully, but kept the charm going. Kept her calm. Kept her interested.

"Remy. Stop that." She didn't manage the full emerald death glare of the Rogue, but she was certainly holding out better than most young women of his acquaintance.

He leaned forward, mere inches from her face, and let the scent of her perfume wash over him. "No." The response was blunt. Eye for eye.

She put up both hands and shoved him back by the shoulders. He leaned over on the door and laughed again.

"Roguey, you're no good at lying 'cause you're no good at planning." He tilted his head and smirked at her, waiting for her reaction.

This time he got the full emerald death glare of the Rogue. "Do not call me that," she commanded imperiously.

Remy's smirk widened. "Roguey? Ma chérie. Ma belle fille." He leaned closer again. "Mon amour. Which would you prefer?"

"None of them," she replied helplessly, clearly this close to throwing up her hands at him. "I'm not your anything."

He laughed then, a real laugh, and she kept glaring at him while he kept laughing.

He finally gave her a sideways look. "I'm thinking you're too uptight, chère. Gotta relax. One more reason you're no good at lying." He slipped one arm possessively around her shoulders.

She immediately stiffened and tried to shove him away, this time in vain.

"We'll be the perfect couple," he said, smirking at her wide-eyed expression. "Unless you had some other plan." He managed to pack the last line with insinuation.

She finally managed to shove him off. "Shut up, you swamp rat! And keep your hands off of me."

"Just saying." Remy shrugged and restarted the car. "You want me to be of assistance, chère,"—he sent a calculating glance her way—"then you might want to come up with a real plan. And tell me what it is."

Rogue crossed her arms and pouted as he pulled out onto the road.

"I hate you," she said.

He shrugged. "You won't."

She didn't respond.

Day Two, 19th Hour, 21st Minute

Rogue glanced at the clock on her way in after dinner, noticing it was after seven. She sighed and flopped out across her bed. She wanted to scream. The image had played over and over in her mind like an annoying song from the radio.

The image of Remy in only jeans.

She groaned. She was not interested in the Cajun. He was arrogant, self-centered, chauvinistic, entirely too irresponsible...

The image played before her mind again.

And entirely too hot.

Rogue sat up suddenly. "Scratch? Where are you, sugar?" She leaned over the edge of her bed and peeked beneath it. The kitten had curled up in one of her shoes and fallen sound asleep.

She scooped him up with one hand. Her gaze landed on the leg of Kitty's chair.

"Oh no," she groaned. "Scratch, you little rascal."

A nice set of kitten scratches marred the wood. She'd have to sneak in some of the wood putty before anyone noticed. Except Kitty that is. Kitty was in on the whole somebody-got-me-this-sweet-kitten-that-I'm-not-giving-up-just-because-pets-are-against-the-rules.

Rogue took to stroking the tiny purring ball of fluff. She was glad he seemed to sleep so much. But she had to make sure she brought up food and beverage for the guy on time. Earlier that day, he had twice opened his mouth to let out some sort of screechy cat yowl of injured hunger. She had been required to clamp down with her gloves over the mouth and set him in sight of his meal, then been further obliged to make sure no one that mattered had heard. So far, she'd lucked out.

Kitty phased into the room, singing at the top of her lungs with a chipper smile filling half her face and an armload of papers to grade.

Rogue stared at her roommate.

Kitty was singing the theme from the Aristocats.

Rogue lunged for Kitty.

"Whoa!"

Kitty didn't phase in time, and she let out an indignant squeak as Rogue's nonkitteny hand made contact with Kitty's mouth, and the papers erupted in a cloud of floating white and redness.

"You've already graded them?" Rogue asked, scrunching up her nose, from her perch on Kitty's stomach.

Kitty glared at her, shoved her hand down, and spat out some cat hairs. "Scratch had better be clean," she warned.

Rogue kept staring at the papers falling to the ground like so much snow. "What teacher brings graded papers home to work on?"

"The kind who...Oh!" Kitty must have decided Rogue was a lost cause and stood up through her, brushing herself off. "Why did you do that, Rogue? I was just hitting the break!"

Rogue narrowed her eyes. "We've got enough on our hands keeping this secret without you singing that. Besides, no one else will wonder why I shut you up. They might wonder why I didn't."

"Really..." Kitty narrowed her eyes in return. "Hmph." She gathered the papers. "Actually these are reports, and they still need comments."

"Oh." Rogue grinned wickedly. "Actually I hadn't washed Scratch yet."

"Ew!" Kitty dropped her papers in another snowstorm, to Rogue's giggling amusement, and vanished through the wall in the direction of the bathroom.

Scratch woke up and started his cry for milk.

She clapped a glove over his mouth and cursed.

Just then someone knocked on the door.

Kitty suddenly appeared from the closet, head first, and tumbled into the room.

Rogue gave a startled squeak.

"Hide him!" Kitty whispered. "It's a flowers guy and Logan's coming up the stairs!"

"Oh..." Rogue cursed again and looked around for something to tie his mouth. Getting a better idea, she grabbed Kitty, yanked her over, shoved Scratch into her hands, making sure his mouth didn't come uncovered, despite his scratching protests, and ordered the girl to phase him. "Take him anywhere. I don't care."

She dumped some clothes in front of Kitty's chair legs and a small bit of wall that had apparently served well and the foot of her own bed.

Kitty narrowed her eyes at her chair.

"Go, for Pete's sake!" Rogue shoved Kitty back into the closet.

Thankfully, she phased in time.

The 'someone' knocked again, and she smoothed her hair before walking over and opening the door. "Hello?"

Logan was indeed coming up behind the innocent stranger handing her a vase of a dozen long-stemmed red roses. Rogue gaped.

"For me? But who...?" She didn't continue, just grabbed the roses before Logan did. "Thank you."

"No problem." The delivery guy grinned. "Someone thinks you're real special."

She hoped whoever thought the delivery guy was real special wouldn't notice the red marks later where Logan had shoved him away with a tiny bit of claw unsheathed.

"You've delivered your package, bub. Now out!"

Thankfully for her, Logan decided to escort him out personally. She watched as they rounded the last bend.

Rogue whirled into her room, setting the roses down carefully, and hurried out, locking the door. She had to get deodorizer, cleaner, and the vacuum cleaner before Logan got back up. And she had to shower.

She knew without a doubt that roses would bring him in to her room. And she also knew he'd smell the cat.

Day Two, 19th Hour, 33rd Minute

Rogue turned off the vacuum cleaner and leaned it against the wall, then finished dressing in her new clothes. Logan had been waiting outside for a few minutes now, because she had the brilliant idea of being "not decent" when he demanded entrance. And then kept right on cleaning.

She heard him muttering under his breath when she let him in. "What?" Rogue asked innocently.

He gave her a look. He wasn't buying it.

She grinned and gestured at the roses. "Aren't they beautiful?"

Logan grunted. "All right. Who are they from?"

"I don't know." She picked up the card again. "It says, 'To a beautiful girl, the light of my life.' I don't think I'm the light of anyone's life." Except for maybe Scratch.

Logan eyed the flowers distrustfully. "Poetic."

She grinned wickedly. "Isn't it? I thought so."

He glanced at Rogue. "Don't go falling for some secret admirer, kid. Not until you know who he is. Even John could wax poetic."

"Pyro's gone," she replied flatly. "And I'll go falling for whoever I want to."

"I'm just saying..."

"What happened to the whole I'm-not-your-father speech? Hmm?" Rogue demanded, bracing her hands on her hips.

He sighed. "I'm just saying."

"Well, I like them. And the card. And what it says."

He stood up, hands raised. "Fine. I'll see you in the Danger Room tomorrow morning."

She blinked at that. "Umm, Logan..."

"What?"

"I was wondering if I could maybe skip that? I've got somewhere to be."

He repeated her words incredulously. "You're not skipping out on Emma are you?"

Rogue shot him a look. "There is no where to be at 4:30 in the morning."

Siryn suddenly poked her head through the door. "Guys, come quick! The flower guy got stuck in the security system on the lawn!"

Rogue narrowed her eyes at Logan.

"What?" Logan threw up his hands and stomped out. "Girls!"

Men!

Day Two, 17th Hour, 45th Minute

Remy woke well past noon. In fact, he slept most of the afternoon away too. It was the first time in ages that his body came alive due to his internal biological clock he'd set for himself in Guild training instead of due to an inhumanely set alarm clock he'd used to meet the team standards and schedule.

Did he mention they had a lousy schedule?

He was in a good mood as he leisurely pulled on a shirt over his jeans. He had to fish it out from some of the newly upended junk in his room, but a small price to pay to get rid of Logan killing any chance he had of catching up on his sleep.

Remy considered whether he should go to bed at a reasonable hour. Rogue's wake up call would probably become a regular gig, meaning he shouldn't stay up all night. He was still undecided when his stomach grumbled and he ambled over to his bedroom door, opened it, and nearly tripped over Jubilee.

The mall rat had settled in, stretching her legs across the doorway and looked up at him with a cheeky grin. "Hi!"

He cursed, grabbed her by the shirt sleeve, and yanked her into his room, then closed the door quietly behind him.

"Firecracker, you want to keep this thing going a secret," he started in, "then you can't show up outside my door like that! Anyone could've seen you! You call that secret?"

She popped her bubble gum and glanced around at the wreckage left over after his…disagreement with Logan earlier. "Nice room."

Remy narrowed his eyes at her. "Jubilee..."

"Chill, dude." Jubilee held out one hand. "Cough up the dough."

He stared at her. Unbelievable. She was positively unbelievable.

"C'mon," she said coaxingly. "Those shots and registration weren't cheap."

He growled in frustration and opened a drawer, digging through it for a moment. He withdrew a small amount of cash, counted the bills, and handed it over.

She took the money, held up a hand for silence, and solemnly counted the bills herself. Her eyes widened. "Geez, Remy! Is this your petty cash drawer?"

"I have other jobs for you," he replied diplomatically.

She snorted inelegantly. "I bet you do! This is over a G." She raised her brows at him, as if he might not get it. "You know, a big one. A thousand dollars."

"Oui," he answered calmly.

"And you keep this in a drawer?" She was going to lecture him on money etiquette?

Remy laughed. "Take the money, 'cracker. You'll need it." Then he handed her a list and pushed her out the door.

She squawked before he could close it. "Long stem? You've got to be kidding me!"

He slapped a hand over her mouth and chocolate colored eyes focused on him, still wide and disbelieving.

He narrowed his eyes and hissed out softly. "Silence."

Then he closed the door.

The kitchen wasn't a safe bet with her around, so he'd go ahead and start cleaning up his room. He picked up the King of Hearts and grinned. It was fun.

Day Two, 18th Hour, 2nd Minute

About ten minutes later, Remy had his room into decent array and he ventured out into the land of the living, whistling a little when he came into the kitchen.

Bobby waved at him from the counter and received a scowl in return.

From the first time the two had met, they did not get along. That had only intensified when Remy found out that he'd dumped Rogue because he couldn't touch her. It didn't help that she'd turned down the Cure and any chance to be normal along with it. And Remy pretty much held this boy accountable for the Friday night call with its attendant tears. Rogue was so strong naturally, it must have taken an incredible jerk to bring her to that state.

Remy drew himself up short. He went back over his thoughts.

He was starting to get protective.

Non. That couldn't be right.

He went back over the previous paragraph again. He was starting to get protective.

Non. He was simply noticing what any decent male would, that Rogue was desirable and beautiful in spite of and partly because of her mutation. It was just a lovely quirk of what was her.

And he had all sorts of ideas on how to get around it.

"Going to get food this century, Gumbo?"

Remy sent up an injured prayer to whatever god might be listening. Really. Did Logan have to turn up everywhere that Remy did?

"Sure, mon ami," he replied easily.

He slipped in past the Canadian and swiped some milk from the fridge, cereal from the pantry, and opening a lower cupboard...

"What do you think you're doing, bub?" Logan's claws magically appeared at the back of Remy's neck.

With a long-suffering sigh, the Cajun withdrew from the Wolverine's stash, hands in the air. "I didn't get any."

"Only 'cause I caught you."

Remy conceded with a shrug. "What can I say, homme? You have the best taste in beer."

Bobby nearly spit out his cereal. "You can't drink in here!"

Remy raised an eyebrow. "Non?"

It was a dangerous statement around either Logan or Remy. Good thing that Logan stopped the popsicle from putting his foot further into it by "helping" him so he wouldn't choke. Good thing for the popsicle that is.

Logan grinned as he stopped lambasting Bobby on the back. "Shouldn't talk while you eat."

Remy chuckled.

Bobby aimed a glare in Remy's direction.

He grinned back like a Cheshire cat and winked. "Wouldn't want you to choke, now would we, garçon de glace?"

Bobby frowned. "What does that mean?"

"Ice boy." Remy dug into his cereal.

"Hey!"

Remy paused for only a moment. "Shouldn't talk while I'm eating." He even pulled off the angelic innocent expression usually reserved for his Tante Mattie.

Things were definitely looking up.

Day Two, 5th Hour, 30th Minute

Rogue woke to a pair of glowing ruby eyes staring at her from the foot of her bed. She screamed and nearly fell off.

"Easy, chère." His rich voice, smooth as honey, reached out to envelop her, calming her.

She narrowed her eyes at Remy Lebeau perched like a cat on her footboard. "What are you doing here?" she snapped.

A slow, easy grin spread across his face beneath those devil eyes. "Ah, chère, I figured if I was going to get tortured for wondering, I really should get a peek at your night clothes."

Rogue stared at him. He had to be kidding, right? But no. His eyes devoured her, wandering down the light T-shirt and sweatpants she wore to bed.

He clucked his tongue disapprovingly. "I'm thinking you're too uptight."

"I'm too uptight?" Rogue was beginning to feel dangerous.

Remy seemed to not notice. Kind of like Logan when he went off.

"What am I supposed to do?" she had asked the gruff loner a lifetime ago.

"Don't know."

"You don't know or you don't care?"

Logan hadn't even spared her a glance. "Pick one."

She crossed her arms at the present-day menace. "Maybe I don't like changing to grab a midnight snack," she snapped.

Remy raised both eyebrows. "Or maybe you're scared and they're all fools." There was a tight edge to his tone that hadn't been there a second ago.

She tried hard not to notice, not to analyze. "Out of my room, Swamp Rat!" She glanced at the clock. "I've got training."

Remy merely grinned again and a coffee cup materialized in his hands from seeming nowhere. "Firecracker asked me to give you this. It smells awful."

It smelled heavenly and Rogue snatched the chocolate cream coffee concoction she had designed alongside the other girls and held it close to her hands, grinning. Chocolate was truly the way to a girl's heart. And chocolatey coffee with Rocky Road ice cream was the way to Rogue's.

"Thank you. Now"—she waved a royal hand—"you may go."

Day Two, 5th Hour, 42nd Minute

"You're late." Logan crossed his arms at Rogue's hurried entrance into the Danger Room.

"Sorry. Small rat infestation." She limbered up quickly, before Logan's less merciful colors decided to show. "Had to take care of it."

He merely looked at her in disgust. "In your room?"

"Hey!" Rogue straightened indignantly. "It's not like I invited him in!"

Apparently satisfied, Logan nodded then tossed her a wooden staff. "How's Emma doing?"

Rogue froze. "Well..." She tucked some errant white strands behind her ear and fiddled with the tip of her braid. "Not so well. The Professor was so sure it was psychological, but Emma's having a hard time finding it."

"Really." He looked thoughtful. "She find the psyches?"

"Alive and well," came the dry response.

"Good." Conversation over. Logan swung his staff into her without warning and the session was on.

Day Two, 6th Hour, 45th Minute

Friday morning had definitely been Rogue's morning to take on Logan. Saturday morning had lost its charm. Rogue groaned as she settled her already aching body into a seat at the counter.

"Did you have to go so hard?"

Logan snorted as he poured himself a cup of java. "Payback, girl. 'Sides. You can take it and we both know it."

And that was supposed to be reassuring. Rogue shook her head at him. Then stared at the stove. "Is that...?"

She slipped down off the stool—wincing—and sidled over, leaning an arm on Logan. A covered skillet bore her name in some fancy script that looked like calligraphy and removing the top revealed fried catfish and johnny cakes. She squealed with glee—even if catfish didn't seem like a breakfast item.

"What is that, kid?" Logan eyed the food like it was going to wake up and start attacking them.

"It's real food," Rogue answered in bliss as she dished up onto a plate and poured the waiting berries over the corn pancakes.

Logan grunted, unconvinced.

She ignored him and savored her meal. She hadn't even asked Remy for breakfast, and she was fairly certain this was his handiwork.

"Of course, doll, you do know he left you the dishes." Logan smiled at her, thoroughly amused.

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Yeah. But he worked hard yesterday. And I don't regret it, but I can still be nice and let him sleep today." Especially after his description of why he hadn't gotten to sleep until late last night. She might be cold when necessary, but she wasn't cruel.

"Come on, Logan." She changed the topic. "Try a bite of catfish."

He shuddered. "I'll pass."

Rogue giggled. "Your loss." And then she dug into breakfast and polished off every last bite.

More surprises came later. She was startled to find a soft, tiny kitten cuddled up on her pillow, sound asleep and purring, when she returned to her room. The kitten's fur was a soft grey and striped with a slightly darker color. Rogue cuddled the sleeping cat close.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

He sat up, opened his eyes, and let out a mewling yawn, showing tiny white teeth in a red mouth.

She nestled the soft fur against the skin of her cheek. Rogue had learned last year that fur seemed to protect animals and Hank from her powers. But who had thought to leave this cat here? Storm would probably have a fit.

She petted the kitten, then noticing a collar, read his name off the tag. "Scratch? Oh, boy. You're going to be a handful, little guy."

Scratch yawned again and started licking her gloves.

"You're kind of cute, you know that?" Rogue snuggled the kitten next to her chest and started in on homework.

Day Two, 8th Hour, 1st Minute

Rogue was just walking up to Remy's door when she heard loud shouting, small explosions, and something glass shattering. She paused startled. Emma was standing outside the door, arms crossed and grinning. Jubilee was also near (Rogue didn't stop to wonder why), aiming wide eyes in the direction of Remy's room.

Emma glanced at Rogue. "Logan wanted to stop and pick up Gambit for our Danger Room session."

The door suddenly burst open and Logan came stumbling out followed by a sizzling marble that exploded in a pink flash.

Rogue stared in amazement. Jubilee gaped. Emma giggled.

Logan's clothes had been damaged by more than a few explosions and his arm was just now finishing healing. His claws were out. His expression was murder.

He pointed at Rogue. "You tell that Cajun he's dead at 2:00. Meet me in the Danger Room."

Instantly indignant, Rogue drew herself up. "You can't kill him! He's my slave! For another thirty days! I've got owner's rights!"

"Storm's schedule first," Logan replied.

"This isn't X-Man," Rogue protested. "This is your personal thing."

"C'mon, Logan," Emma insinuated with a small smile. "We both helped her for twelve months for this. You can't hurt that now."

"Why were you fighting?" Jubilee asked, drawing everyone's attention.

Logan glared at the tiny, unfazed mall rat. "He was supposed to get up."

"Guess he didn't want to," Emma taunted.

"It's a Saturday." Rogue crossed her arms and glared back at Logan. "He's mine. You can't hurt him."

"Fine. Thirty days. Then he's dead."

Emma smirked. "He might survive. He's like a cockroach."

"He might try." Logan's look was dark.

Jubilee stared back and forth from Logan to Emma to Rogue, who was smugly content with Remy's current chances of life.

"I can't believe you're talking about this!" Jubilee began. "You're not seriously going to kill him, are you?"

Logan growled and stormed off.

Emma laughed. "Like killing a cockroach."

Rogue just shook her head and knocked on Remy's door.

It flung open again and she drew back startled from the Cajun's somewhat disheveled half-asleep appearance. He wore jeans. Nothing else. Just jeans.

She blinked.

"Chère?"

She leaned forward, peeking into his room. Looked like half a deck of cards had gone off in there.

"Umm. I just wanted to thank you for breakfast, and..." Rogue glanced around the room.

Remy gave her an amused smile. "And discuss further details on convenient timing for my demise?"

"No! I..." She stared at him, then broke out laughing. "I was going to ask you to take me somewhere tomorrow, then give you the day off."

He glanced at Jubilee then gave a long look at Emma. "Sure thing, chère. Call me when you're ready. Now—" His gaze narrowed in focus to include just Rogue. "Good night."

He closed the door. The girls exchanged looks, then broke out into giggles. Jubilee sat on the floor and let the laughter overtake her, shaking her entire frame.

"Did you see the look on Logan's face!" And she collapsed into giggles again.

Day Two, 3rd Hour, 1st Minute

Remy LeBeau had never met a fille as good as this one at killing sleep. He'd tossed and turned after midnight when Rogue called him, wishing there was something he could do for her. Well, without being her shoulder to cry on.

The clock mockingly blinked 1:00 AM at him, then 2:00 AM, and now 3:01 AM.

Life was simply cruel.

He groaned and launched out of bed to get dressed. He might as well give in and realize that now, he couldn't sleep.

"Est-ce que je pourrais dormir?" he grumbled to himself as he pulled on a t-shirt over his jeans.

And what did someone do to cheer up an untouchable romantic that preferred to pound all comforters into the dust rather than admit she might be feeling bad? Considering his recent rounds of sleepless hours due to the tasks she had set him and her rather uncanny knack for figuring out how to get under his skin, he figured it was entirely likely that if he tried to comfort her when she hadn't asked, she'd kill him. Or at least try.

Remy lit up and sat on the corner of his desk pondering his dilemma. The first thing he had done when receiving this room was disable his smoke detectors. Safety and liability and all that. So he aimed neatly toward it in an unconscious test of his handiwork as he smoked.

He was a thief. He could certainly use those skills to help him now.

Who could he frame?

Day Two, 3rd Hour, 31st Minute

Remy had always prided himself on his photographic and kinesthetic memory. Unfortunately, he discovered nearly 36 hours of not sleeping meant that didn't seem to apply to making sense out of his convoluted plan to cheer up Rogue. He was having difficulty concentrating. So he decided to write down notes. He could always charge them to destroy the evidence.

The Prince of Thieves wandered his fingers through a drawer, drew out a pad of paper, and started to scribble down his thoughts.

The words swam in front of his eyes, and finally, he gave up in disgust.

"Café!"

He slipped off of his perch on his desk, hid the pad in a location nobody would ever think of, and left the room en route to the kitchen. Naturally, the halls were empty, and he made no sound in his passage.

Remy was almost to the kitchen when he heard it and froze. Somebody was humming--in the kitchen! He slid his body up against the corner and peered around.

Firecracker.

The little Asian mall rat was humming the theme to Mission Impossible, dancing around the kitchen in her new silky black nightwear (he was glad to note it didn't advertise sex, seeing as Logan would kill him if it did), and waving around an ice-cream scooper while sipping on steaming hot coffee that smelled like...chocolate?

He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. The firecracker didn't vanish and he was forced to realize this was not an insomnia-induced nightmare. Well, no help for it.

Bracing himself, he entered the kitchen.

"Oh! Hi, Remy!"

He winced at the high-volume squeal and shushed her with his hands. "Keep it down, petite. It's 3:30 in the morning."

Jubilee furrowed her brows, then shrugged. "Couldn't sleep." She turned back to the other counter, opened up what was left of the gallon of rocky road ice cream he'd bought the girls last night, and counted out three scoops into her sickeningly chocolatey coffee. "How do you take it?" She gestured toward the nearly full pot.

"Noir." He sank gratefully into a seat at the counter. "Black."

She handed him a mug of black coffee. He downed it in a gulp. Then took to staring at her concoction.

"Jubilee."

The girl startled, turned, and stared at him. "Did you...did you like, really...Whoa, man! You called me by my name!"

"Keep it down!" Remy glanced both ways, but no one seemed to have heard. "It's 3:30 in the morning," he whispered fiercely.

"So what does the master want, that he would actually call me by my actual name?" Jubilee grinned, still swinging her coffee.

Remy winced, at her choice of words, and at what he was about to say. He pointed at the atrocity in her right hand.

"One of those."

Day Two, 4th Hour, 10th Minute

After finally convincing the girl that he was neither crazy nor high, and then finally being forced to fill her in on his plan with the hopes that he could impress her with the urgent need for secrecy, and most of all enduring all the high-pitched squeaks and squeals that were necessary per dealing with Firecracker, Remy finally felt comfortably that he could leave it all in her capable hands.

So, weary with a job well done, he trudged up to bed and collapsed across the covers.

Maybe every girl liked chocolate, but he shuddered at the thought of what he'd had to go through because of it. But he smiled. It was worth it if it would cheer up the fille. He'd plotted on coffee, chocolate, ice cream, and a good Cajun breakfast to follow up for a start. There was more but those were secret things, and secrets were his treasure.

Finally, finally, he began to feel his eyelids grow heavy. His thoughts stilled. Sleep, so close.

The phone rang.

"Merde!"

He viciously yanked open the cell phone cover and held the thing to his ear. "Gambit!"

Rogue's sexy voice flitted breezily over the phone. "Got out with Emma early. Wake me up at 5:30 sharp."

Remy counted to a hundred in French in his head. She needed comfort? Cheering up? 5:30!

"Oui, chère," he said sarcastically. "A pleasure to serve."

A pause.

"Good. Bye." The call ended with a sharp click.

He grumbled to himself, set the alarm, and on a whim, got a piece of chocolate out the drawer of his nightstand and chewed on it before falling asleep.

Day One, 18th Hour, 22nd Minute

Rogue smiled into the breeze as Remy drove his convertible back toward the mansion. She had enjoyed herself and had about eight or nine of her own bags to prove it. She kicked back the seat, let down her hair, and pulled off her gloves to take advantage of the cool wind on a summer afternoon and listened idly to the girl talk behind her in the back seat.

Suddenly, she became aware of another murmur of sound. She glanced over at Remy and saw him flipping cards in one hand and driving with the other lazily guiding the wheel.

"Remy LeBeau!" she screeched. "Are you trying to get us killed?"

If he hadn't been driving, Rogue would have lunged for the cards. As it was, Remy merely gave her an annoyed look.

"It's that or a cigarette, chère, 'less you want me charging this here wheel."

She swiped the cards out of his hand, opened the glove department viciously, and exchanged the deck for a pack.

"Here, Swamp Rat. One."

"Merci, ma chèrie."

"I'm not your darling nothing," she snapped back.

He smirked and lit up with a touch of a finger. Emma, Kitty, and Jubilee immediately protested loudly.

"Not in the car!" Jubilee whined.

Rogue shushed them with a hand. "Oh, he's been so nice today, I had to let him." She had no intention of telling them that he had successfully threatened her.

Remy rolled his eyes.

Payback. She flipped the radio station to her favorite station and cranked it up.

Remy cringed. "Mes tourmentés. Pop music torture now?"

She laughed at him and his genuine horror. Kitty and Jubilee were singing loudly to the chorus. Emma tapped her hand to the beat.

"I like it," Rogue said with a smile.

Remy set his face grimly and locked his eyes on the road.

Day One, 23rd Hour, 40th Minute

A lovely afternoon went sour soon after Kitty went to bed. It was a Friday night, which meant late night ice cream, girl chats with any female that dared to enter, and modeling the clothes they bought. Which meant Rogue got an earful about romantic touchy-feely relationships and saw Jubilee and Kitty's new night clothes with all their wonderful, painful potential.

It was tough being the one girl who couldn't have it all when she couldn't have anything.

So after the ice cream and bubbly effusiveness of her roommate wore off, Rogue tried unsuccessfully to sleep. Lost cause. She kept thinking, kept remembering, kept wanting.

Rogue huffed and slipped out of her bed, glided softly toward her closet, and pulled down a soft, clingy lace negligee, the only sexy nightclothes she had. She ran a bare hand over the maroon fabric and sighed wistfully. Suddenly, she flung the slip onto her dresser and threw herself on the bed.

She would not cry.

A sheet of paper on the nightstand by the phone caught her eye. Emma had given both Remy and her a copy of the terms they'd agreed to at the end of their poker match.

Rogue reached for the phone and hesitated only a moment before dialing Remy's room. It rang twice.

"Gambit." His voice was matter-of-fact as always, but this time, it held a hint of real irritation.

"Remy?"

A long silence ensued. Just when she thought he wasn't going to speak at all, he did.

"Chère. You're cute and all, but phone sex at midnight isn't exactly what I had in mind."

"Gambit!" She sat up straight in bed. This time he had really gone too far! The nerve of him!

"What do you want?" he demanded with enough growl in his voice to compete with Logan.

It startled her a little to realize he used sex as a cover for anger. She sighed deeply and let it go. "Could you sleep?" It was always the polite way to start into the I couldn't sleep conversation.

"Could I sleep?" Remy repeated in absolute incredulity.

"That is what I asked," she said with some annoyance.

"Let me get this straight, chère." His voice made it clear that he couldn't believe she was asking him. "We stay up 'til almost midnight on a school night playing poker, you wake me at a ridiculous hour this morning, haul me out of bed to make your breakfast, drag me along to fifteen different stores, have me lug enough bags to make up Logan's weight again, send me to the store at 10:00 at night to pick up ice cream, then wake me up from my well-deserved rest at nearly midnight again, and you're wondering if I could sleep?"

Rogue stared wide-eyed at her mirror when he let loose his tirade. "Yes," she whispered.

He gave a strangled groan. "Est-ce que je pourrais dormir?" he muttered darkly to himself.

She pulled herself up sharply. "Seeing as I won the bet, I'm perfectly allowed to call you whenever I want."

"Oui. But I'm not required to be nice about it." Apparently, the charm was worn out for the evening.

She narrowed her eyes, even though he couldn't see her. "Required company was deemed labor, Swamp Rat." Her voice softened. "I just want to talk. You don't have to listen if you don't want to."

Remy gave a long-suffering sigh and settled down. "Proceed."

She could practically see his magnanimous gesture accompanying the word.

Now that he was calm, she didn't know what to say. She'd had so much to say when she first dialed his number. She took a deep breath.

"Sometimes I just wish I could touch people."

She stopped there. There was silence on the other end. She sighed again.

"Just seeing Kitty and Jubilee today..."

"Not Emma?"

"No! She's different," Rogue concluded quickly. Then realized he'd sounded genuinely interested. "I just sometimes wonder why me? Why was I the one life decided couldn't have anything?" She almost forgot who she was talking to as the feelings overtook her. "Why can't I keep a boyfriend or have sex or children? Why?" Her voice broke.

"Whoa, chère." Remy panicked. "You can talk, but don't start crying on me."

Suddenly, she was laughing in the middle of her tears. The sobs were less painful now. "Oh, Remy. What is it with guys and tears. You'd think you'd melt or something."

"Feeling better, chère?" His voice was tentative. Maybe he was afraid she'd cry again.

"No," she said. Then she thought about it. "A little."

"It's Bobby as was the fool. Not you."

She choked on that.

"You're not crying again, are you?" The panic was back.

"Goodnight, Remy," she said softly and hung up the phone. Then she curled up under her covers and went to sleep.

Day One, 15th Hour, 39th Minute

"They're late," Rogue snapped as she slid into the passenger seat of Remy's car.

"Ah, chère. They'll be here soon." He couldn't resist grinning at her despite her irritation. But nine minutes after classes let out wasn't that much after school.

She gave him the emerald death glare.

Remy grinned like a Cheshire cat. The first rule he'd learned about bluffing the opposition was never lose your cool. He'd already lost it more than once in this crazy bet, but he didn't intend on doing it again.

Rogue suddenly turned toward him and, narrowing her eyes, looked him over carefully. Then she sighed. "You'll do."

He raised both eyebrow. "Excusez-moi?"

Just then, the girls decided to appear. Emma would not do if he guessed Rogue's standards even somewhat correctly. Her top could hardly be called one. Jubilee was swinging a HUGE purse excitedly and chattering nonstop to Kitty who had a sizable amount of shopping bags.

"The stores give you bags here, non?" he asked, indicating Kitty.

Rogue laughed. "She's on a green thing. Reusable canvas."

"And she'll do, chère?" He pointed at Emma as the White Queen entered the back seat.

"I will always do," Emma said with a royal wave.

Rogue smiled lazily. "I wouldn't push it with her, Swamp Rat. Oh, and no stealing?"

It was worded as a question but it certainly wasn't one. He cranked up the stereo. Rogue cringed at the blast of rockiness that came blaring out.

She killed it. "No music today." Then glared at him. "And no smoking."

He clenched his jaw, popped on his shades, and answered, "No problem."

Day One, 16th Hour, 3rd Minute

Living this close to the mall with Jubilee had to be a health hazard. First of all, he thought he was good at getting through a crowd? He had nothing on Firecracker in her determined march through the masses into the mall entrance to Macy's. He kept up only by grabbing hold of a female, since the shoppers seemed to decide that only females belonged, which meant getting continually slapped by Emma and Rogue (and she slapped hard!) since Kitty would just phase away.

"So grabby today," Emma said inside the store as she coolly evaluated a skimpy camisole top. "I thought you liked shopping."

"He likes thieving," Rogue corrected.

Jubilee didn't bother to comment or ask. She merely decided that better things were in another section, "See you girls!" and yanked Remy by his duster in the appropriate direction.

Remy struggled to maintain his balance as she continued her Juggernaut-style march into the Women's night clothes section.

"Petite, are you sure I'm the best companion for this part?"

Firecracker turned and gave him the chocolate death glare. "I need help picking some PJs that don't advertise sex, but do look cute," she replied with a miffed, turned up nose.

"I don't know, petite," he answered smoothly. "I rather like those teddy bear pants you've got going."

His whole body tingled and felt incredibly weird as Kitty phased through him to reach Jubilee. "Nonsense," the phaser said breezily. "That's not the kind of cute we're going for."

Girls and their definitions of cute. They must have had a million. He groaned internally, but made himself lounge comfortably in the chair next to the dressing room. He sized Jubilee up.

"No sex, hein?"

Emma breezed by. "Of course not! She's far too young!"

Jubilee's chin came up.

"But this..." Emma fingered a white negligee. She started flipping for her size.

"Where's Rogue?" Remy glanced around for her.

"Whoa! Remy!" Firecracker waved her hand in front of his face. "You're supposed to be helping me!"

He turned back. "Oui." He glided out of his chair, pulling on the charm, and fished up a silky black tank top and matching long pants in her size. "Try these."

She stared at them, eyes wide. "They don't say sex?"

Emma glanced over. "Definitely not."

Kitty grinned. "They come close though," she squealed. "Try them on."

"This was not what I had in mind," Rogue said harshly.

Remy turned to her and saw she had her arms crossed and her eyes sparkled more than usual. If he wasn't mistaken, she was about five minutes away from tears.

"Perhaps there was something else you needed, non?" He slipped his arm around her waist and she blinked in surprise as he led her away from the lingerie. "I'm having too much fun; not enough punishment," he said as excuse.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh?"

Anything for a femme, right?

"I'm sure you'll fix that," he added reassuringly.

"I'm sure I will, Swamp Rat." She shoved his hands away and led on.

But he grinned. She had been grateful somewhere deep in that femme heart. Then he winced. She'd probably make him pay for that too.

Day One, 16th Hour, 52nd Minute

"Makeup!" cried Jubilee with an unwavering excitement that had Remy groaning.

This was their third store and he was already loaded down with about eighteen bags. Emma hung her handbag on his arm and began to appraise the models cynically. Make that nineteen.

He decided to count to a hundred in French to help himself get through this. He never carried this much at a go.

Rogue merely grinned at him as she fingered an expensive perfume. A gleam came into her eye.

Mon Dieu. What would she think of next?

"Remy, come over here," she drawled.

He obeyed grudgingly.

"I need to pick out a perfume for the party next week."

"Party?"

She put a gloved finger to her lips. "Kitty's birthday."

The surprise party. He'd forgotten in all the fuss of the bet.

"Oui. And how can I help you, chère?"

She picked up two testers. "Temptation or Erotica?"

He raised both eyebrows. "You, ma chère, are both."

Her startled flush warmed him, but then she narrowed her eyes again. "But I have to pick one." She sighed and slid her gloves off carefully.

Remy swallowed but maintained a calm expression. He'd never seen Rogue without her gloves on and it was, well, erotic.

She spritzed the first tester on one wrist and held it out with a raised eyebrow. He sniffed appreciatively.

"The other." He handed her the second bottle.

She used it on her other wrist and held that out.

He tilted his head appraisingly. "Erotica."

"Did you just pick her perfume?" Jubilee asked excitedly.

He groaned inwardly.

Rogue smiled wickedly. "I'm sure he'd be more than happy to help you two as well."

"Really?" Kitty manufactured the widest smile he'd ever seen on a fille's face.

Day One, 18th Hour, 17th Minute

At 6:17 p.m., he stumbled out of the mall drenched in the smell of twelve different perfumes and carrying about fifty bags from different stores. He managed to get them into the trunk just barely.

Rogue smiled at him as she slid gracefully into the passenger seat. "We should do this again."

"Oh, totally!" Jubilee enthused as Kitty nodded vigorously.

"I rather enjoyed it," Emma condescended to say.

Remy desperately needed a smoke.

Day One, 5th Hour, 38th Minute

Rogue passed through the boy’s dorm on her way to the Danger Room—if “passed” isn’t too polite of a word for her stormy progress. She startled quite a few of the high-school age boys, having caught a few without shirts on, and worked up quite a temper and a small audience by the time she banged on the Cajun’s door.

Remy opened it, looking the part of perfect gentleman. “Oui, ma chère? How may I be of assistance?”

She narrowed her eyes at his easy nonchalance and slid her hands to her hips. “I’ll be done with Logan in an hour. When I get back, there better be a very good Cajun breakfast waiting for me.”

“A pleasure to serve, chère,” he replied smoothly with a bow.

She had forgotten just how charming he could be when he wanted to, but with her current mood was rather unimpressed.

“Or weren’t?” she asked dangerously.

Remy sighed and ran a hand through tousled auburn hair. “And have you decided the punishment?”

“It involves torture.” She sized him up once again and decided his gift for defusing tense situations was just that and not an indicator of how he felt about them. “One hour,” she warned. “And shave?”

Some of the boys behind her gave a snicker, but she ignored them, instead continuing her royal progress and heading for the Danger Room. Rogue decided that Logan would be feeling it today.

Day One, 6th Hour, 43rd Minute

Bell pepper, onion, celery, cayenne, bay leaf…

Rogue sniffed appreciatively as she entered the kitchen and settled in a chair to watch the Cajun cook.

He was a master, and he moved with an easy grace in the kitchen. Some would look at his creations and find them a little plain and brown, but it was the real authentic deal and tasted heavenly to Rogue’s south-deprived taste buds.

For the last thirteen months since Remy had arrived at the mansion, looking for Storm and catching the bad end of a bet she had won from him, Rogue had most appreciated his southernness. Of course, he had to ruin that by immediately hitting on her, then every other available girl in the mansion, before unwisely winning away her dignity in poker. Then of course, like most men, he didn’t even realize she was fuming about it until she won away his last night.

She smirked again remembering.

“Morning, chère.” He didn’t even glance her way, just slid her a very full plate and handed her a glass.

“Merci.” She could be a little polite when it suited her.

This time he did look up. Smoldering red on black eyes a girl could drown in met hers. The man was handsome. And charming. And interested in anything female with legs on that didn’t have a man already. Well, Emma and Logan kept him from acting on interest in a girl that had a guy already.

“So what’s the punishment?” he asked, leaning casually against the counter. His devil-may-care attitude was yet another reason she’d loved beating him at cards. “Chinese water?”

“No.” Rogue set down her glass. “American shopping.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, and she frowned. She hadn’t even noticed he’d been tense.

“I happen to be a very good judge of female attire,” he said with his usual charm.

“I know.” She smiled sweetly. “And Jubilee, Kitty, Emma, and I will want your opinion on everything.”

Remy blanched. “Firecracker?”

Rogue turned her voice saccharine sweet. “You know Jubilee will just be delighted to have a man that is a very good judge of female attire to help us out and carry the bags.”

“Merde!”

“No cussing in the kitchen, Gumbo.” Logan came in, claws out, looking like he just came out of a particularly rough Danger Room session, and pulled down a mug to get coffee. “A kid comes in here, and you’d be hearing it everywhere.”

“You cuss too!” Remy objected.

“Don’t bother Logan,” Rogue tossed off and dug into breakfast, effectively silencing the conversation.

Remy’s red eyes glowed hypnotically as he stared at her. He was miffed. She caught it in the line of his body. He wasn’t used to being ordered around like that. Or maybe he just didn’t like it.

“We leave right after school’s out,” she informed him a few minutes later. She handed him her empty plate.

Logan watched with interest.

“Careful, homme,” Remy threw at him. “Next time, she might get you.”

“Nah.” The Wolverine downed the dregs of his coffee. He grinned wolfishly. “I taught her how to play. I’ll never bet the house on her.”

Remy’s jaw dropped. “You taught the femme?”

Logan and Rogue both laughed as they joined each other on their way out, leaving Remy with the dishes.

Day One, 1st Hour, 10th Minute

Remy had never for a moment thought that he would lose. And now for the next thirty-one days (or 744 hours or—best not to think of minutes), he was entirely at Rogue’s mercy.

Remy knew from personal experience, Rogue had no mercy.

He growled in frustration and paced his bedroom while holding his head in his hands and trying vainly to find some way he could have played it differently. Won.

They knew what their big blind was from the beginning. The slavery. But for fun, they opted to work terms as bets.

Round One:

Start time. Rogue had yawned and called for start time of 5:00 am following the game. He’d raised her, went for midnight. She grinned lazily. He won that round, two out of three.

Slavery began at midnight directly following the game. His win. Wake up calls were a viable labor available (no way that Rogue would be wanting to get up the next morning; Remy, of course, said he’d be fine). Her win. Duration would be the length of the longest month, namely thirty-one days. His win.

His grim smile at that.

Round Two:

Acceptable labors. Rogue seriously won this two out of three hands. One of his first clues, something was afoot. (Who taught that femme to play!)

He’d gone for physicality (or at least trying; he may not have known her well, but he did know she had killer skin). She’d slapped that down with a full house on top of his flush of hearts (yes, he’d been making a point).

Rogue bet any physical labor, including but not limited to errands, chores, bodyguarding, and general non-contact manual labor. He’d been dealt a made hand, four of a kind. Unless she had something real special going on (and she had a fabulous poker face!), then he had her. He called without raising. They drew. He won. She smiled slightly, having learned he bluffed.

Remy decided to bet the house: any kind of labor whatsoever, providing it neither broke rules (at Logan’s forceful suggestion) or dignity (disregarding earlier clauses regarding manual labor), was eligible. Rogue raised to drop the dignity clause. Lousy sucker, he went for it. And lost. The femmehad a straight flush to his full house. Of course, this was after he re-raised for required company being dubbed "labor."

Round Three:

Punishment for misbehavior. He won the hands solid. In summary, punishment of the slave could be anything the imagination of the winner devised, provided it was acceptable by Xavier’s house and, if applicable, school rules.

Never should have gone there.

Remy groaned, still pacing, and glanced at the clock by his bed. 2:30 a.m. A slave and already dreading it, though his mistress was sound asleep.

He sat down.

They went six more rounds. The slave’s schedule belonged to Storm first, but afterwards to the winner. The winner had to provide any funds if required for slave to accomplish duties and assignments. The slave had to be available to help with classwork if required (Remy had liked that one especially, as he was a much worse teacher than he was a thief). Thievery was not allowed by the slave in the completion of his assignments (this was after she let on that she was playing like a poker master). No arbitration was available for the slave. Clothing and general appearance of the slave could be determined by the winner.

Finally, they played to take the pot.

Round Ten:

This time, it was only one hand and Remy’s was anything but a made one. The Ten of Spades, the Ten of Diamonds, the Ten of Clubs. The Jack of Diamonds and the Queen of Diamonds. He could draw for four of a kind (easier to achieve perhaps) or for a straight flush in Diamonds (more valuable).

Rogue made an infinitesimal frown at her cards before blanking her face like a stone. Emma Frost smirked.

He’d bet money she had a drawing hand too. Of course, not his money.

Remy called. Rogue called.

They drew.

He traded in his Club and Spade and got back the Nine and Eight of Diamonds. It had been a risk, but unless the femme went royal, the hand was his.

Remy had never thought for a moment he would lose.

Until she lay down a Ten of Hearts (good thing he hadn’t gone for four of a kind!), a Jack of Hearts (this wasn’t looking good), a Queen of Hearts (this was impossible!), a King of Hearts (he was speechless), and the Ace.

No mercy. He knew from personal experience that Rogue had no mercy at all.

Day One, 4th Hour, 28th Minute

The Prince of Thieves had finally fallen into some kind of a fitful sleep when his cell phone began a violent assault on his dream world. He stumbled out of the bed and opened it.

"Gambit." His voice betrayed nothing but the perfect thief for hire.

"Hey, sugar," Rogue’s sexy voice said breezily. "I just finished a session with Emma and I need a wake-up call in exactly one hour. 5:30 sharp, ya hear?"

He sank back onto his covers. 5:30 a.m.? Didn’t she know he needed sleep too? But as he toyed with it, ideas came to mind. Not unpleasant ones. Thoughts and images of her sleeping flitted through his consciousness. "Certainly, chère. I’ll wake you up."

Something in his tone must have tipped her off. "Just call, Swamp Rat," she snapped.

From sugar to rat in a matter of seconds.

"You wound me, chère."

"The only thing wounded is your pride. Here’s Kitty’s cell number." She drawled out her roommate’s phone number.

"Kitty’s? What about yours?" Remy grinned. "You need the wake-up call, non?"

He heard some shuffling of papers and something, then a thump and Rogue’s voice again. "If you’d ever heard the obnoxious ringtone she has for when you call, you’d know it’s more than sufficient to wake you after one of your drunken binges—"

He sat straight up at that. "Chère!"

"—from here!" Rogue huffed. "So call Kitty. Five thirty. And you don’t have to wait for her to answer."

She hung up.

Remy swore softly at his cell phone in French. He’d wake her up. He set his own alarm for another forty-five minutes.

Day One, 5th Hour, 30th Minute

At 5:30 a.m. sharp, Remy picked up the phone and tapped out Kitty’s number.

She picked up fairly quickly. A groggy voice demanded, "Hello?"

"Morning, petite," Remy replied smoothly. "This is your wake up call."

"My what?" Kitty squealed.

He winced.

"Wake up—" Kitty’s loud voice stopped abruptly. "Oh. Her wake up call."

"Oui. Time she be up."

Kitty broke out into giggles. "You should see her, Gambit. She’s running around this room looking for the rest of her clothes."

He could hear angry shouting in the background, but his curiosity was piqued. "And what is the Rogue wearing?"

"Remy!"

Remy grinned. He had apparently shocked her enough to get his proper name. "Well, what is she?" He had all sorts of ideas of what Rogue wore to bed. More interesting the idea that she might be getting dressed.

"You’re evil!" Kitty choked out between giggles. "I can’t tell you that. Rogue!"

"Non. Merci." Remy withdrew hurriedly. "Rogue not be needing to know I asked."

No arbitration was available for the slave.

Kitty snickered.

"He wanted to know what you were wearing." A slight pause. "Or weren’t."

Remy cringed and a shriek in the background assured him that Rogue would exact revenge. He hung up the phone and stared at it.

Remy knew from personal experience, Kitty had no mercy.