While I had Angel post 4th season in mind it doesn't really matter 'cause he's always broody, but the Rogue here is the X-Treme X-Men (post 18, circa 42) version. And while I've never seen... I don't want to say a name, but even though I've never seen him this depressed I'm sure it's happened. I mean, come on. If I had to live on the same continent as Akito, much less in the same family, I know I'd be depressed.

PG-13 because it takes place in a bar. And with everything that entails. I own nothing. Except the new socks I just bought. Would you like some socks?

This one is for Kam-chan and Re-chan. And three cheers for Gambit-sensei! You know, I originally wrote this because I wanted Gambit to kiss Yuki, but both of them ended up not being in the story. Oh well. I just took a Short Story class, which has probably influenced this heavily. I don't suppose you've ever heard of Raymond Carver? No? Oh well... In any case, enjoy.

"Conversations beyond the Edge of the Galaxy"

Where do you go when you're lonely?
Where do you go when you're blue?
Where do you go when you're lonely -
I'll follow you.
- The Corrs

Somewhere, just at the edge of the universe, there is a place. It is a place separate from the worries and the cares and the rules of the usual, everyday life. But just because it is a separate place doesn't mean those cares cannot be brought there anyway by those who cannot let them go.

There is a man sitting at the bar. He's tall enough, and well-muscled like a football player. This is easy to see, since he seems to have lost his shirt at some point earlier in the evening. It's getting late now, and he moves with the slow carefulness of someone who has had far too much to drink and is convinced that the world inside his head is five seconds from exploding. With his shirt missing, the tattoo on his shoulder is easily visible. It's a stylized "A" with wings coming up off the side of it. The wings of a bird, or, perhaps, of an angel.

There's a woman moving through the crowd; she's coming closer to the man, to the bar. She slides through the mass of people with a sense of wonder, as if it's something she is not used to doing. Her soft brownish hair, with its vivid white streak, trails across her shoulders; sometimes it falls in her face but her bright eyes see everything and can always be seen through the mobile curtain. She reaches out and touches people as she passes them, as if she can't get enough of touching them. It's as if she has never touched people before and she's making sure she knows how to do it, but it's something she might forget any minute now so she has to keep reminding herself. An intricate tattoo winds and twists around her left hand and up her arm to her shoulder. It too seems to revel in the feel of her skin as much as she enjoys the feel of the other people around her. She works steadily toward the bar, pausing and smiling at people as she goes.

She makes it to the bar; it was her destination, and she doesn't really strike one as a person who ever misses her goal. She sits down between two men. She gives the topless guy with the "A" the once-over, but she's drawn to the guy on the other side. He's slender, dark-haired, and doesn't seem to really be paying attention to what's around him. He's got that faraway creative look, and he's swirling his drink like he's not sure he really wants to drink it. Or like he's not sure he really wants to drink another one. She leans over him to get the bartender's attention, brushes against him, her body sliding against his shoulder as she leans out over the bar. She's the next best thing to topless and she figures that'll catch somebody's notice, but the guy next to her jumps when she touches him, as if he hadn't even seen her there at all.

"Hey, sorry," she grins. "Didn't mean to startle you." Her eyes are full of an appreciation of life, and her mouth promises an appreciation of the more carnal side of being, for anyone who would like to take a moment to appreciate.

He smiles back, but she can see it's false. Oh he's interested- she can tell these things- but there's something weighing on him tonight, something heavier than ships that pass in the night. He's not here for fun, but for some heavy drinking. He's not as far gone as "A" on her other side, but gone enough, and she figures he might talk. She could talk.

"Haven't seen you around here before." She can't resist one more- when she gets her drink she's still leaning across him and she comes right back across him to get back to her seat, practically falling in his lap. She'll never know how he does it, but he manages to not touch her at all until he takes her elbow and makes sure she's sitting steady until the world stops tilting around her.

The touch of flesh against flesh sends a thrill running through her body, and she crosses out number one on her mental list but there's still something about this guy; something more than he likes his personal space, something to do with "interested but not going to act on it." She smiles at him. "Thanks." She supposes her smile is a little tipsy.

"Hey, can't have a pretty girl like you sprawled all over the floor." His smile isn't entirely sober either, and his eyebrows hint that that proposed scenario really doesn't sound like such a bad idea.

She winks at him, then sips at her drink, savoring it. She's had enough really; this one is for nursing. "Naw, you'd break my fall before I got all the way down to the floor." That's the truth, she can see it, and she can see that the possibility scares him. No... he's not scared. Just... it wouldn't be pleasant. It's part of the problem. She takes another sip, longer this time, and wonders when she got so good at reading people. Maybe she actually picked something up from her boyfriend- he's always been good at observing details and reading what wasn't being said. Or maybe it's the alcohol doing the thinking.

"Do you come here often?" he says, and her attention snaps back to him as she realizes he's talking. "You said you hadn't seen me around here before. That implies that you've been here a lot. Or that you're desperate and resorting to clichéd, hackneyed pick-up lines to get a date." His smile takes any sting out of the words. "Which would be hard to believe, for someone with your obvious... attributes." He talks like a writer, she thinks, and he likes to restate what he says as if he's not quite sure she'll understand him, almost as if they're speaking different languages. She wonders idly what language he is speaking; in this place it never really seemed to matter, in order to be understood.

"No, actually. This is practically my first time. Well, the first time I felt I could really appreciate this place anyway." She brushes her hair back with her hand, pulling it off her neck and fanning herself a little. She reaches out to pick up her drink, her hand touching his. He doesn't pull away from that, and her wheels are turning. "And as for the pick-up line idea, well... did it work?" She flashes him that grin, the one her boyfriend says makes her irresistible, the one that lights up her whole face and makes her eyes laugh out loud.

He can't help but smile in return, and something must be working because he loosens up and starts flirting back a little. His hand turns a little, and his fingers start stroking her arm lightly, just brushing against the hairs really, and she thinks she's got him. "You're in luck, oh you beautiful desperate woman! For you have found someone as desperate as you."

She draws back, in pretended surprise, then leans in close to him, careful this time to not try to touch him, and whispers, "I though today was going to be a lucky day."

He opens up a little more, seeming to be as glad of the chance to do a little harmless talking as she is to give it to him, and she can already see him planning in the back of his mind to get her very drunk and leave her somewhere thinking... whatever she wants to think, so long as they haven't really done anything.

Of course, it's right then the other guy has to get noisy.

At first he's unintelligible- just loud, making noise. She rolls her eyes at him; he catches her eyes and thinks she's listening to him. "Why?" he manages to get out.

"Why what, honey?" She smiles at him, the kind patient smile for children and retarded people.

"Why... why is... Why is the world the way it is?" He gets is out, then turns and looks at her, as if he's really looking for an answer to what sounds like a rhetorical question. "Why is everything so..." he can't find a word that expresses what he wants to say. Creative type, on her other side, helps him out.

"Bad?" he whispers, then stronger, "Horrible? Awful? Ghastly? Is that perhaps the word you're looking for?"

"A" with the shoulders looks at him like spiders have just started crawling out of his mouth, which, you never know, he could very well be seeing. "Yeah. Yeah, that's it."

The slender man smiles, a hard, sardonic thing, and says "That is a question to which I would also like an answer."

"Boy you two are a pair!" The woman takes a big swig of her drink, and when she puts it down they're both looking at her as if she had suddenly proposed setting fire to their boat while in the middle of the ocean. "What?" Her eyes are harder now, challenging.

"Oh nothing." Sardonic takes a big drink, too. "Forgive us for raining on your parade."

Shoulders is still looking at her. "You... you don't think life is..." He's still searching for the word, but he finds it. "Bad?"

"Well, sure it is honey. And I'm sure mine's been a lot worse than yours. And you know, I used to sit around and cry about that, but..."

"But?" Creative type seems really interested.

She switches gears. Picking up her drink, she grins at him slyly. "You got a name handsome? Or should I make one up for you?"

He grins back, willing to humor her for a story, to hear her troubles and take his mind off his own. "Shigure," he says simply.

She nods. "Rogue." There are no last names or titles in this place. She nudges Shoulders. "How about you there 'A'?"

He gives her a strange look as if he can't quite understand what she's asking, then he clears up a bit and she swears he's actually sobering up as they talk. She hasn't actually seen him drink anything since she sat down.

"Angel," he says. She raises her eyebrows, and he clarifies. "That's my name. Not my job or anything..." He stops and thinks about that for a minute. She leaves it alone.

"Okay boys, now that we're all introduced." She takes a sip of her drink. A small sip, a time-buyer. As she puts her glass down she spies something out of the corner of her eye and an idea hits her. "Come on boys." She gets up, dragging them with her. "Let's go play some pool."

She hooks Shoulders, Angel she reminds herself, by a belt-loop and pulls at him. He comes without resistance, and she runs her hand along Shigure's arm until she can interlace her fingers with his. He comes with more reluctance, but he comes. She tows them over to the pool table and she sits on the edge of it, leaning forward with her legs crossed, and looks them doubtfully in the eye. "I don't suppose you know how to play pool?"

They look slightly affronted, and Angel takes down a cue as if to prove something to her. She rolls her eyes at him and looks over at Shigure. He locks eyes with her, then, with a rueful grin, admits, "Not really."

"Excellent." And if her boyfriend was here he'd recognize that gleam in her eye. As it is, she thinks maybe this Shigure does too but he can't possibly know what he's in for.

They select cues and she racks the balls so that Angel can break. He does so, with an equal amount of drunken stumbling and unbearable smugness. She rolls her eyes at him and moves over next to Shigure. She's standing behind him, and she reaches around to "show him" how to hold the cue. But she's not even that close when he stiffens up on her. She freezes, but he doesn't move away, and she starts moving in closer. She slides her arm along his, he hadn't seemed to mind that before, then sets her chin on his shoulder, letting it rest on top of her other hand. He relaxes, slightly, and her wheels are still turning like a psychotic hamster has taken over her mind. Her lips are half an inch from his ear and she shoots Angel a sly grin as she makes a big show of explaining the proper method of holding the cue. Shigure plays along, purposely getting it wrong as she pretty much hangs off of his shoulder.

"How's this?" he asks, turning toward her, and she could kiss him then, but, looking in his eyes, she decides that it's his move to make right then. So all she does is touch a finger to his cheek and whisper, "Perfect."

And she backs up to let him take his shot, and she steps right next to Shoulders. She doesn't suppose she'll ever stop thinking of him that way. Unless it's to call him Eyebrows. He has this hulking, brooding sense about him that fits perfectly with the way he's slightly hunched forward right now, his face a deep scowl. She really can't resist. She reaches over and slides her hand into the back pocket of his pants. The scowl is displaced as he sends a look of surprise in her direction. She winks at him. He takes everything too seriously. He needs to lighten up, and she is just the girl to help him with that tonight.

-

It's a ways later into the night, and Rogue is dancing the tango with an Angel who's quite possibly even drunker than she is. At least, the tango is what they're supposed to be dancing. She can't seem to remember how it goes, and she doesn't think Shoulders here ever knew. "I take it back," she mumbles as he pulls her in after an impromptu spin.

"What's that?" He blinks at her heavily, and his hand is at the small of her back as he lowers her down with an exaggerated slowness then raises her up so that she's standing.

"What I said, before. I take it back." She nods emphatically to emphasize her point. Unfortunately, this causes her to lose her balance and she stumbles, falling on her butt.

Angel looks down at her quizzically. "What did you say before?"

She peers at him owlishly. "You know... I don't remember. I just remember that after you were telling us about that Darla woman, I just kept thinking 'I take it back.' Oh!" She jumps up suddenly, almost falling over again in her haste. "I remember! When I said earlier 'I bet my life's been harder than yours'? I take it back." She nods again, groping with one hand for her drink, which rests peacefully on the edge of the pool table several feet away, while she clings to his arm with the other hand.

"Oh." He processes what she said, which takes longer than usual. "I don't know. You haven't had it easy either, Rogue." He walks toward the table so that she can reach the glass. What he's imbibed hasn't affected his balance at all, just slowed down his thought processes. "And it's like you said."

She stops and looks at him, interested. "What did I say?"

He frowns. "I don't remember." But as she turns and reaches for her glass, it hits him, and he says, "It was what you said about life. The getting on with it part." Rogue looks very interested to hear what it was she said, not remembering the event in the slightest. Angel frowns, concentrating, before continuing. "How life can be hard and mean, but we shouldn't let that get to us. Shouldn't let that stop us from doing what it is we need to do." He pauses, his eyes getting wistful. "I think I knew that once, but it's always nice to hear it again."

She smiles, and it's that one smile, the one that changes her whole face, putting all her emotions out there to be seen. "Yeah, that's it. I remember now. Shouldn't let that stop us," she mumbles, repeating. "'Cause there's plenty of good stuff out there, too. You just gotta know where to look for it." She meets Angel's eyes. "And how to take it for what it is when you find it."

"And not ruin it, wanting it to be something different, something more," he responds in a voice that knows what it's talking about. "Thank you," he says, his voice a little husky, and she nods.

"It's been a pleasure, Angel."

He kisses her hand, a strange, old-fashioned gesture that seems out of place in this dark, grungy room, with their modern clothing, but she smiles knowingly as she touches his cheek.

Frowning slightly, Rogue glances around. "Where'd that Shigure get to anyway?"

"He went that way," Angel points vaguely toward the dance floor that's only partially lit, "awhile ago, with about three teenage girls."

Rogue raises her eyebrows. "Interesting." Angel grins, a broad, knowing, manly grin. She rolls her eyes. "You know," she says thoughtfully, "I have my suspicions about him."

Angel snorts but he knows that's not what she's talking about, so he listens to her.

"The way he doesn't like people to touch him. But how it's not really about that." She starts off toward the dark corner where Angel had gestured, dragging him with her. "Kinda like you. How you don't like getting close to people, but it's not really about getting close to people, it's about you starting to care about them."

"Because everyone I care about ends up dying horribly or getting their life totally screwed over and then coming back and blaming me? And they're usually right," he puts in, half sardonically.

"Yeah. But," she turns around and pokes him in the nose with her finger, "also how you know you can't not get close to people. You have to live life, Angel. People get hurt and that's part of it. But you can try your darndest to keep them from getting hurt. And that's the best you can do."

"Think of what would happen if I wasn't there to protect them," he adds by himself, and she half-smiles proudly.

"That's my boy! Now, about this Shigure," she peers into the gloom. "Do you see him around anywhere?"

Angel sniffs deeply. "Maybe. But first I want to hear what this thing is that you think you know about him."

She glowers at him. "It's kinda a show kinda thing rather than a tell kinda thing. Where is he?" Angel just looks at her, smiling patiently. She growls softly and strikes her best pouting pose that always gets men to give her what she wants, then decides she'll gives in, this time. "Fine. I think it's not about touching so much as a sort of..." she searches for a word to describe what she wants to say, making encircling motions with her arms. "A sort of embracing kind of touching. And it's only with women, too. He doesn't seem to mind you so much."

Angel smirks, and she swears that expression makes her want to kick him. Or tear his shirt off. "Well, Sherlock. How do you intend to prove your hypothesis?"

She kicks him, since he isn't wearing a shirt anyway, and he continues to smirk as he points to a corner where she sees Shigure sitting on a couch in a cloud of smoke, kissing a girl. He has one hand twining with both of hers above her head, and his other is under her shirt skillfully keeping their chests from touching. She obviously wants more than the lip-locking action she's getting, and, as Rogue starts toward them, she throws her leg up around him trying to pull him closer. His eyes narrow as he breaks contact, and he's about to say something to her when Rogue stalks up, picks the girl up by the waistband of her scanty skirt, and drops her off to the side.

"Run along honey," she says coldly. "He's with me." The girl gives her an evil look before flouncing off, but Rogue's looking at Shigure, whose expression is a very polite "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Rogue smiles her "well, if that's what you wanted" little smile, and leans over to grab a handful of his shirt and pull him up so that he's standing next to her. He puts a hand on her shoulder, to keep her away more than anything, and opens his mouth to say something. But, before he can articulate a word, she kisses him. For all that she doesn't get much practice, she's a quick study, and she's studied with the best. After a minute he relaxes, just enjoying the experience, and when the hand on her shoulder moves to caress her neck and up around the back of her head into her hair, she feels amazingly privileged. It almost makes her feel bad for what she's about to do.

Rogue turns them around slowly, so that she's standing in front of the couch, and she lowers them down so that she's sitting, Shigure above her. He's about to sit next to her, but she breaks off the kiss. She turns her head and nuzzles against his neck before she slides her arms up and wraps them around his body, pulling him close against her. She thinks she hears him swear, or make some soft despairing sound, but she can't be sure because there's a loud POOF! noise echoing in her ears.

Her eyes are closed, so she opens them slowly. There's a large black dog sitting on her lap, wearing the most hangdog expression she has ever seen. She gives it a funny look, but the hamster wasn't killed by the strange POOF! noise and he's still hard at work turning those wheels. A smile pulls at her lips, and as it pulls them up a laugh escapes from her mouth. Not a harsh, cruel sound, but a joyful expression, celebrating everything that is beautiful in life. She laughs loudly, heartily, and hugs the dog again as she buries her face in his soft fur.

He moves over, so that he's sitting next to her on the couch, and his eyes search her face for something. Sighing softly, he lies down, putting his head in her lap. She caresses him, running her fingers along his shoulder and down his back and then brings them back to touch his ears before stroking his head and down again. He whimpers, but his pain is not physical, and he curls on his side. She hears that strange POOF! noise again, and then there's a man curled next to her on the couch, in the dark room with the air heavy with smoke. His clothes are on the ground at her feet, but she doesn't move and neither does he. Her hand has paused in its movements and is resting quietly on his shoulder, so she stirs it softly and sends it on its course again, across the top of his arm and ghosting gently over his side. Then back again to tangle in his silky hair, and it stops there because she can feel him trembling. And he turns his face down, burying it against her thin skirt, inhaling the earthy scent of her legs, and she knows before she feels the moisture against her skin that he's crying. She leans forward, her hair falling like a shielding curtain around their faces as she murmurs soft nothings against his ear and kisses his hair, and Angel stands not far away, his arms folded across his chest as he gives anyone who pauses as they pass by the full effect of his eyebrows in a determined, protective glare.

-

Rogue looks up from where she is lying on the floor, and the first thing she notices is that somewhere during the passage of the night Angel found a shirt. The next thing she notices is that the shirt is covered by a jacket that reminds her a great deal of a certain someone. A long coat... a certain someone...

"Oh!" Rogue mumbles to herself. "I'm supposed to meet Remy." She checks her wrist for a non-existent watch, then frowns when the pattern of her fairly recently acquired tattoo fails to inform her of the time. She manages to pull herself up from the floor, waving off Angel's proffered hand. "I've gotta meet Remy," she repeats.

"Remy?" Shigure questions softly from behind her. He's back at the pool table and he's got the eight ball in his sights. Shooting, he manages to sink the cue with precision and a satisfied smile.

My boyfriend," she explains, holding the edge of the table while the world stops doing a jig in front of her eyes and settles down to a stately waltz.

"Boyfriend?" the two of them echo each other, never having considered such a possibility. "He's not..." Angel runs a hand through his hair nervously, "the overly jealous type is he?"

"Or overly large and inclined toward smashing others into small compact shapes I hope?" Shigure adds.

She giggles wildly, the habit brought to excess by her present lack of reserve. But at their looks of terror she tries to find her voice again and reassure them. "No, it's alright." She giggles again. "Remy's a good guy. He knows I like to flirt and he doesn't take it out on my poor victims. Too much anyway." One last smile, and then her expression is serious. "And he knows he owns my heart."

"What a precious possession." Shigure's eyes meet hers as he comes over to stand beside her.

She looks at him and smiles. "He seems to think so. He's stuck with me through some rough times."

"Good," says Angel, "'Cause I'd hate to have to teach it to him. And on such a nice night, too." He rolls his shoulders in the jacket, checking his range of motion, as if prepping for a fight. Then he raises his eyebrows at her and says, "One more for the road?"

She couldn't refuse, supposing she'd want to. She holds out her hand, and he takes it, and she's pleasantly surprised to learn that he does know how to waltz, and the darkness and smoke and people seem to fade into a hazy background as she twirls around and the light material of her skirt flutters against her legs and whirls out like a fan. Pulling her in after one last spin he kisses her softly, chastely on the cheek. She smiles at him. "You're welcome." The words are ones he feels he's heard before, or will hear again perhaps, on some particular occasion not yet bound by time. They mean something especially important, but he's not sure he grasps just what, except that it is a small, good thing.

And then she steps away from him and turns around, and Shigure is standing beside her again. He holds out his hand to her, almost hesitantly. She takes it firmly in her own. He pulls her close, and takes a deep breath. Their hands clasp, their fingers intertwine, their bodies move together to the rhythm of the music, and rather than it fading, she just forgets that there is anything else to the world at that moment. There are just his hands, soft and strong, and the breeze she creates, cool against her skin, and the music, and it fills her like nothing else. And she can feel him, as he moves toward her, moving against her and the dance they're dancing has no name, and it didn't exist before they created it right there, right in this moment, and she thinks that's one of the most beautiful things she's ever heard of. Long before she's ready she realizes the music's stopped, and he's standing there in front of her looking in her eyes. He's not sure what to say, and neither is she, but it's something that needs to be said, it can't just stay in the speech of the eyes. "Thank you," he says simply, and it's strange because she swears she can hear him say "arigatou," and she knows what it means. She smiles, because that's not something she's ever had happen before, and he leans forward and his mouth touches against hers for a moment briefly, asking, testing, and then he's kissing her deeply, truly.

His lips break away from hers, and he leans his forehead against hers for a moment. "For the road," he whispers. Her grin is nothing but encouragement, knowledge that mountains can be scaled. And then he turns and Angel steps forward, and the three of them nod to each other and then they turn and disappear back into their separate crowds.

-