It was early enough in the evening that the majority of the X-men present at the Mansion hadn't yet managed to drift into the den to catch an episode or two of television or a game of pool before drifting off again to whatever activity filled their evening. It had been raining non-stop for the the last three days and everyone was going a bit stir crazy. For the most part, they'd spent the day meandering around the Mansion looking for something to do and sniping at each other. Rogue had wandered into the den, hoping to find it empty so she might stretch out and do some reading before the others arrived and she once more needed to pull into herself. It was hard to get comfortable when she needed to be constantly vigilant about the exact location of everyone in her vicinity. An accidental touch could have dire consequences. Besides, though they tried not to show it, her presence made the others nervous.

Except, she wasn't alone.

Gambit—Remy—was already in the den, standing in the far corner and staring out the window. Raindrops splattered against the pane in an unceasing patter. At the sight of him, her traitorous heart raced with desire. It wouldn't do to let him know how much she wanted to be with him, because no matter how much she might wish otherwise, it would never work out between them. If she kept holding him at arm's length, maybe it would hurt less when he eventually got the picture and set his sights on a more attainable woman.

"Evenin' chère." Remy nodded his head in greeting before returning his attention to the window. He wore his long brown duster and wrapped his arms across his chest like he was trying to ward off a chill. The usual fire in his red on black eyes was dim and held an unfocused, faraway expression she wasn't used to seeing from him. He appeared content to simply think deep thoughts, or get lost in the past, or whatever thoughts the rain brought with it.

Biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from spouting the sardonic retort that bubbled on her tongue. Instead she settled on the couch and flipped through the book until she found her spot. Despite staring at the page, her thoughts kept wandering to the Cajun charmer at the window. She had come here in a quest for solitude, then found that she didn't really want him to leave. Since her powers manifested, her life had become a series of finely choreographed movements, always hitting her mark so she didn't risk making contact with another person. On the other hand, Remy improvised, threading his way through and around her life until they had become intricately entangled. When had sharing a room with Remy stopped feeling like entertaining an outsider and started feeling as natural as breathing?

Pushing aside such thoughts, Rogue dipped her head forward so her hair fell like a curtain between her and Remy as she forced her attention back to her book. After all, that was why she was here. She wasn't far into the first paragraph when she remembered why she had bought the book, and her cheeks grew heated. Burying her face deeper into the pages of her novel, Rogue hoped to hide the brilliant red until she could control it.

She had selected a historic romance for her evening read. One whose back cover blurb promised the innocent yet independent ingenue would fall in love with the rakish, debonair thief by the end of the novel. The story so far had been relatively mild by romance standards, but the cover showed the heroine in a Regency-esque gown with its high wait and a low-scooped neckline which displayed an impressive amount of décolletage. If that wasn't enough, the protagonist was being held in a rather intimate embrace by the thief.

All Rogue could do was keep reading and pretend that she hadn't noticed the coincidental similarities between the characters and the den's occupants. To leave now would appear as if she was trying to avoid his company, which, her red cheeks notwithstanding, she definitely was not. If Remy had noticed her embarrassment, he didn't comment. He cracked open the window, letting in the scent of wet earth and a rush of chilled air. The clock on the mantle ticked softly as they remained across the room from each other in companionable silence.

Rogue huffed in frustration as she yanked back her hair for what must have been the dozenth time in the last five minutes. It certainly had been one of those days where her hair refused to obey. The nonstop rain had done nothing to help settle the wild mass of curls. Instead, the rising humidity had made it a frizzy mess.

"You okay chère?" Gambit asked, breaking the silence. Reaching into his pocket he retrieved a package of cigarettes and tapped one out.

"Ah'm fine," she groused, pushing her hair back once again. It wasn't fair. His long hair was pulled back in a neat tail that appeared as though it never gave him a moments trouble. "Don' suppose ya have a pair of scissors in your pockets?"

He lit the cigarette with a small infusion of energy. "Non. What you be needin' scisors for?"

"To cut mah hair," she declared. A challenge burned in her bright green eyes.

Remy blew out a long breath of smoke towards the open window and held the cigarette to the gap while he studied her. "Whatcha want t' do dat for?"

"'Cause it's driving me nuts."

"Hmm." Remy rummaged in the pockets of his coat. "Try dis instead."

He flung a hair elastic across the room. She caught it before it could sail past her and become lost in the shadows. With a shake of her head, she held up the black band as though to fling it back. A long strand of straight, auburn hair wrapped around it. "Thanks swamp rat, but it won't work. Ah've got too much hair."

"Hmph." He crossed the room so he stood behind her. His hands rested along the back of the couch on either side of her head. With the cigarette clamped between his lips, his voice was muffled. "Do you trust me?"

Rogue found her herself nodding though a protest balanced on her tongue. Instead of answering, she bandied another question, "Ah thought there were rules 'bout smokin' in the house."

Even though she couldn't see him, she could feel his shrug by the way the pressure on the couch shifted. "Dats why I opened de window."

"Well, don' blame me when they decide to yell at ya again." Rogue could swear she saw him grinning in the reflection from the tv. He took one last drag of his cigarette, savoring it before slowly exhaling. Stubbing out the end of his cigarette, he perched the remainder along the edge of a glass ashtray left on the end table beside the couch.

Just as quickly, his expression grew serious and the red of his eyes smoldered with an intensity which made her heart race and her breath catch in her chest. His hands remained near her, but never touching.

"You never answered my question, chère. Do you trust me?"

"Yes," she whispered. She was glad no one else was in the room. How could she explain her attraction to Remy to the rest of them? They expected her to push everyone away, when, in reality, all she wanted to do was pull Remy close.

"All right, 'm gonna to touch your hair. I promise, I'll be careful. Dat okay?" He held out his hands so she could see in her peripheral vision that he wore his gloves.

"Okay. But just my hair," she agreed.

She sat in rapt silence as he worked. Combing his fingers through her hair, he worked out the worse of the knots. Slowly, her body relaxed and she hummed to herself as he patiently moved from messaging her scalp to separating her hair. With deft fingers, he worked her wild curls into a French braid.

"Chère, 'm gonna need dat hair band now." He reached over her shoulder with one hand while he held the end of the broad with his other.

Rogue started. She'd almost fallen asleep while he'd worked her hair in a soothing rhythm. When was the last time she had relaxed this much in the presence of another person? Certainly it had to have been sometime before Cody. Though she struggled to recall such a time.

"Right, here." Rogue fumbled to retrieve the elastic from where it had fallen.

Returning the elastic, her fingers brushed his as she handed over the hair tie. Using the reflection from the dark television screen as a mirror, she twisted her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the braid. Instead she caught his melancholic expression. She wanted to ask what was the matter, but surely that would be pushing the bounds of their friendship. So, she simply smiled and said, "It looks nice, swamp rat. Thanks."

"You're welcome, mon chère." He paused for a moment like he might say something or move closer. Instead, the end of the braid slipped from his fingers. Retrieving the half smoked cigarette, he gestured vaguely in the direction of the windows the continuous rain. "'M gonna finish dis outside."

Before she could ask him to stay with her or ask if she could join him, Remy had strolled out of the den with both hands jammed in his pockets. Tugging the end of her braid and running her fingers over the elastic, Rogue watched him go. Her scalp buzzed with the memory of his touch.

Strands of the shorter white hair escaped her braid and fell into her face. Rogue sighed and brushed them back behind her ear. After her encounter with Remy, her book held little appeal. His absence left something missing, something she neither name nor could all the novels in the world could not replicate.

Idly, she wondered, did he carry it in pockets?