COMPLETED. I've never finished a fic before. *Grins* Happy New Year, old chaps.

Chapter Seven

(13)

"I have cramps all over." Rogue moved her head, touching it to each shoulder. The muscles of her neck made cracking noises as she attempted to stretch them. "I didn't even visit the Danger Room today, but I'm in pain right now. Maybe I'm dying of some terminal illness."

"You can sit on my lap, cherie, if that'll make you feel better," Gambit waggled his brows suggestively.

"Don't count on it, Remy." She rolled her eyes and lowered herself onto her own barstool. Even the muscles of her gluteus maximus hurt. Gambit's lap suddenly sounded very tempting.

"Well, a man can hope." Gambit glanced at her fingers, which were bright red from the outside chill and were turning violet. "Why aren't you wearing gloves?"

Rogue shrugged. "I don't feel like it."

"Do you own any? I could lend you a pair. Your fingers are getting frostbitten." He touched her icy hands in concern, rubbing them between both of his hands to transfer warmth.

She laughed somberly, though she secretly enjoyed the feel of his skin against hers. "Oh, I have a lot of gloves, Remy. I just don't like wearing them anymore. Being gloveless is personal sign of victory."

He stared at her, mystified, then shook his head. "I don't get it," he said, though he had a vague idea of what she was talking about. It was likely that a girl who had once been unable to touch people without stealing bits of their identity and putting them to sleep would have a collection of gloves. If you walked and talked, you used their hands more than anything else. And if you were Rogue, and you couldn't touch anyone, there was no choice but to cover them up.

When the blood had returned to her fingers, Gambit dropped her hands and looked expectantly into her face. "Well," he began, a different subject on the tip of his tongue, "I'm all packed up. I'll be moving into the mansion on Thursday."

Rogue's eyes widened in pleasant surprise. "Really?" She asked excitedly.

"Really."

She jumped from her seat and practically tackled him, though her entire body screamed in pain at the action. "That's amazing!"

He chuckled. "I should've decided to move in earlier, then."

Blushing furiously, she removed her arms from his neck, fingertips snatched from the nape, and climbed off of him. "Oops. Sorry."

"S'okay," Gambit smiled, and leaned back.

Her skin tingled. Denydenydeny, her mind chanted. Deny what?

"Yo." Terry shimmied over, as smoothly as a person with a broken arm could. "You want something to drink? There's, like, nobody here tonight."

Gambit and Rogue were quiet. Rogue shook her head slightly; alcohol wouldn't help the massive migraine forming in her head.

"Hey!" Terry frowned. "You guys dead or something?"

"Maybe." Gambit scratched the back of his neck.

More silence.

"My birthday's coming up soon," Rogue blurted randomly. "This month. The last Monday."

Terry blinked. "Oh, cool. Remind me, will you? Your drinks will be on the house that day." He smiled warmly.

"Thanks, Terry."

"Don't mention it."

Gambit was looking at her strangely. "What is it?" Rogue demanded.

"Nothing." He glanced away. "Just… you're turning twenty-three, cherie?"

"Yep. Twenty-three." She cringed at the thought that she'd be Gambit's age—just with the digits in reverse order. She had the sudden desire to be older.

"Hmm." It seemed like he wanted to say something, but was holding back.

The atmosphere was so awkward that the uneasiness seemed almost tangible, as if Terry could reach out and grasp it and throw it in the faces of the X-Men in front of him. He wasn't the smartest guy, but he could tell what was going on between Rogue and Gambit. The only dumbasses who couldn't recognize what was going on were probably the two people in question.

"Do you want some drinks or not?" Terry asked, resting his injured arm on the counter. He haphazardly chucked a napkin at Gambit, who didn't even flinch, and then scooped it up and tossed it to Rogue, who barely moved, even when it got stuck in her hair.

"God," Terry muttered in annoyance, adjusting his sling and stepping back. "You stupid lovebirds are so—"

"Where are you going, Terry?" Rogue said, snapping out of her trance at the perfect time. She swatted the napkin from her tangled locks."Can I see that tattoo I've heard so much about?"

Terry sighed. He couldn't say no to a pretty girl. That (sort of) explained how he'd gotten into a relationship in the first place with his sociopath ex-girlfriend. "Okay," he gave in. "But I can't roll up my sleeve by myself. I need help." He gestured toward his good arm. Gambit easily reached over and pushed up the fabric for him.

"Whoa." Gambit gasped. Rogue struggled not to gag. The tattoo that had been a splotchy newborn pink only a few weeks ago was now bruised and yellowish, a contrasting rainbow of colors. The whole area was swollen and puffy.

It was a crime scene.

"As if trying to kill me wasn't enough for her," Terry joked weakly, trying to roll down his sleeve. Rogue ended up helping him, gently tugging the cotton over the infected Old English lettering.

"You need medical attention," Gambit pushed.

"I don't. I'll be fine."

"Terry, mon ami Hank McCoy can—"

"Hey, man, why don't you worry about your own problems right now?" Terry interrupted fiercely. "Like your girlfriend over there. You think she likes waiting around? You're an ass."

Gambit's jaw dropped. So did Rogue's. Terry usually clung to every word Gambit said, a lovey-dovey fanboy living in the shell of a regular guy. He didn't talk back against him, didn't spit words like poison. And although Terry's words were uncharacteristically brash, they rang true.

Rogue broke the uncomfortable, shocked silence that had ensued. "You know what?" She said hurriedly. "I'm late for, uh, my book club meeting."

"Book club?" Gambit said incredulously, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yesiree. We're reading To Kill A Mockingbird, and I won't be considered a Southern girl at heart if I don't participate. See you all."

And with that final note, she left.

(14)

It was snowing again, a terrible storm that wreaked havoc throughout the county, crazy flakes shooting from the sky and blistering winds accompanying them.

The weather matched Rogue's mood perfectly, and it was no coincidence. Getting up early in the morning, she'd felt a wild rush of endless energy that coursed through her veins like streams of liquid power. The discovery scared her shitless. She hadn't felt that energetic in a while, and she was sure something was wrong with her.

So, she went off to get herself checked out in the infirmary, and accidentally bumped into Storm in one of the long, winding hallways.

The rapid events that followed could only be described as part of a living nightmare.

She didn't want to think about it anymore.

"B-bonsoir," Gambit shivered, sitting down. His teeth chattered. His coat dripped. "I haven't seen you all day. I heard about what happened, though."

Rogue was silent, refusing to speak.

Gambit hesitated, then laid his hand over hers, which was securely swathed in green silk. The glove was beautiful yet slightly faded; it had clearly been worn before. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "It'll be all right."

She snatched her hand away. "It won't be all right," she hissed through gritted teeth. "I've lost it all. I lost everything." She glared at floor, her head bowed, reluctant to look up and face him.

"You haven't lost me."

A dizzying shock of emotion charged through her. "I don't care." She forced herself to say flatly.

He didn't recoil the slightest. "Are you sure, cherie?" He asked gently, knowing the answer.

Rogue raised her head. Her eyes were wet and drippy. "No." Her face crumpled. "I just hate… I just hate that I can't touch you anymore." She let the tears fall freely. "I can't touch anyone. You were right, Remy. The Cure wasn't permanent."

Gambit touched her damp cheek with his index finger, then pulled back. "Oui, but you've missed this, haven't you?" He watched in rapt fascination as spider web cracks formed on his skin and Rogue's eyes glowed slightly red, just from that single second of contact.

She shook her head wildly in denial. "Non!" She bit her tongue to hold back the growing surge of French phrases she'd just received from Gambit's touch, adjectives and verbs and nouns and conjugations all threatening to spill out.

"You have." He confirmed.

Her shoulders slumped. "I have," she whispered. "But that doesn't mean I want it."

He felt a current of sympathetic sadness, and carefully met her eyes. "Remember when we first met, and you said you would find a way to retake the Cure if it wore off?"

"Yes." The idea sounded pretty enticing now; it was beginning to sound like her one and only choice. But how would she be able to do so

"Are you still going to do that?"

Rogue exploded in a blaze of rage and contempt, as if the answer was obvious. "Of course! I hate my mutation! I don't want it! I never wanted it!"

He studied her upset, fuming expression. "Don't waste your time and energy on getting rid of something that's part of you." He nudged her gently. "Keep it, cherie. Your mutation makes you who you are."

She burned like a flame. "How do you know, Remy? You met me when I was mutation-free. Maybe the non-mutant version of me is better. Maybe you like her more." Her eyes smoldered angrily.

Gambit gripped her shoulders. "I know what you're thinking. I understand. And listen to me—" he gave her a small shake, "I—don't—care."

She was motionless, a bit confused.

"Do you think I care about whether or not you have your mutation? You're still Rogue." He inhaled sharply. "Oui, it'd be better if you accepted yourself, but it'd also be better if I could touch you. I don't care." He watched her lips part in shock. His voice cracked a little. "And—and I know this is a horrible time to say this, but I really like you. I've liked you for a while, actually."

Her cheeks colored. Her wall of resistance and fury crumbled. Everything melted, softened, and turned to mush. "I…I…" Rogue stuttered.

He drew her close, arms wrapping around her, and crushed his mouth to hers.

In a heartbeat, she felt it all. She could feel everything from him, and it made her woozy. Passion, want, love, pure craving for her—she was absorbing his feelings like a sponge. They so strong, she feared she would suddenly faint from the engulfing rushes of… of Gambit.

And that boy, that man Gambit was slipping, slipping, trying to hold on but failing. He would pass out soon if he continued to keep her in a lip-lock.

Her hands shook with the abrupt power that danced on her fingertips, her toes, even her tongue. She could charge up anything she wanted, make the whole world implode. She could do it.

She could also push him away, instead of letting him get weaker and weaker like that.

But why would she do either one?

No. She had to break away. Too much contact could put Gambit into a coma.

But first—

Taking a moment to surrender to temptation, Rogue gripped his face in her gloved hands and kissed him fervently. His eyes seemed to roll back into his head—was it his lust or his fading consciousness that made him do that?

Her mind swarmed with French, with skillful thievery tactics, with gambling tricks, with memories of an adoptive family in New Orleans, with recollections of all the women that hadn't been right for him.

She murmured words against his lips, trying to fight off another flood of tears rising up, "You have the worst timing, Remy."

His face fell slack. His arms, which were curled around her waist, went limp. Eyes widening, she broke the kiss in a panic and tried to keep him away from her skin, pushing him away and supporting him at the same time.

Then Gambit grinned and stood up, stunning her. She didn't know he still had the energy to that.

"Do you know what happened to me today?" He asked, his voice husky and hoarse. When she didn't move, just staring at him, he went on, "I kicked ass in the Danger Room. I forced Terry to go to Hank." Rogue looked around, and sure enough, their familiar bartender wasn't there. "I went through a blizzard to get here. And"—his grin widened—"I kissed the most gorgeous, amazing leech in the world, and I'm still standing."

"Oh, Remy…" Rogue whispered, eyes burning red and black. She wanted to attack him in a very inappropriate way, and that wasn't just the Gambit personality getting to the best of her.

"Cherie, you can take everything from me, but I'll still have more."

"Je t'aime," said Rogue.

"I love you too," said Gambit.

And that was an ending, or maybe just the beginning.

She laced her fingers through his, and together, they walked out of the bar.

YES! WHEEEE!

Okay, I totally could've made this story better. Heh. Sorry. But it's my first, so give me a break.

I have to get back to school on Monday... aw, shucks. The holidays were fun. I'll probably post my new Romy-with-a-side-of-Deadpool fic on Monday afternoon. It's called "Questionable Sanity". Very fitting title for Wade Wilson, eh?

Thanks to pawprintsxoxo, tfobmv18, ChamberlinofMusic, angel897, Rogueslove22, ithinkimaninja, Chellerbelle, Simle Abby, Demon Flame, and My Beautiful Ending for reviewing... hell, thanks to everybody.

:D

Since this is the last chapter... you should probably... CLICK THAT BUTTON RIGHT THERE!