Remy LeBeau stood at the edge of the driveway, holding the bag that contained all that he needed to survive. Clothes, money, thief's tools. And pictures of his family, the X-Men, most gleaned from newspapers that had covered their exploits, some taken by professionals without their knowledge. He stood now, looking up at the mansion that had been the closest thing he'd known as a home. He knew they knew he was there. He stood, sweating under the hot sun, waiting for them to come out and greet him.

Or kill him.

He didn't care, just as long as he could see her face one last time.

Finally, the double doors opened, only blackness showing of the cool interior. Ororo walked out, and stood on the wide shadowed porch, just looking at him. Her hair had grown long again, and swirled gently about her in the winds that never left her. Her blue eyes, that had always been expressive, seemed to assess him, weigh him. One by one they came out. Beast, Wolverine, Iceman, Cannonball, Phoenix and Cyclops. Shadowcat, Colossus, and Nightcrawler. There were new faces, as well, but they stood mutely by the rest of the X-Men, waiting.

Then she came out.

Remy almost broke then. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, and her face was filled with sadness. He was the cause of it, he knew. He had betrayed them.

Remy dropped his bag, and walked to the porch, never taking his eyes off of her face. Rogue waited, isolated in the midst of her fellows by the personal space they'd always unconsciously given her. At last he stood before her, not a foot away. It was all he could do not to reach out and touch her face. He settled for a gloved hand, instead.

"Rogue..."

"MOMMY! LOOK WHAT I MADE YOU!"

From out of the house a little boy came, running as fast as his short sturdy legs could carry him. He was waving a piece of light blue paper covered with crayon markings. He attached himself to Rogue's leg, looking up at her with red and black eyes.

Remy dropped her hand, his mind going numb. The little boy had called Rogue his Mommy. The little boy had his eyes.

He watched as she bent to pick the child up, perching him on a practiced hip. She examined the picture the boy gave her, murmuring over how wonderful it was, and how she would treasure it forever. When he grinned at her, a grin Remy knew only too well as the smile he'd seen in the mirror countless times, she kissed him on the cheek and handed him over to Hank, who promptly placed the giggling child on his broad furry shoulders.

Rogue walked back into the mansion, looking over her shoulder at him. "C'mon in, Remy. Ah think we have a lot to talk about."
 
 

Her room had changed. Some walls had been taken down, doors and windows added. There was now a room that obviously belonged to the boy, with toys, miniature clothes, and small blankets scattered all around. He stood in the doorway, taking it all in. A picture lay on the floor. He bent over and picked it up, looking curiously at the scribbles. Carefully scrawled across the page, in
orange crayon, was the name Michael.

He turned to the woman behind him. "Michael. I have a son, named Michael."

"He's real bright," she said softly. "His teacher says he's the smartest kid in his class, at Pre-K." She smiled. "Hank's been teaching him how to read an' write." She briefly touched the edge of the page. "He can already write all the X-Men's names. And 'fish'."

"Fish?"

She pointed to the windowsill, where perched a goldfish bowl and one fish, swimming energetically around a plant.

"How did dis happen, chere?"

She raised her eyebrows. " '...Our first, our last.' Remember that?"

He flushed. "I'm sorry, petite. I just...I never once thought in all four years I could have been a father, is all."

"Why are you here, Remy?" She asked the question in a hard voice that would have frozen over Hell itself. "Ah thought Ah made it clear you weren't wanted. Not after what you did to us."

He shrugged, looking down at the picture he still held, tracing the name. "I've come to let you kill me."

She stared at him. "What?"

"Rogue," he looked up, red eyes meeting Scarlett O'Hara green. "You were the best t'ing dat ever happened to me. Dere was nothin' in de world dat made me feel de way you did, like I was real, and alive. I lived to see you smile when I could make you." he shrugged. "Maybe dat's why I chased you so hard. I wanted to make you happy, Rogue." He carefully put the picture on a bright plastic desk by the door. "So, I figured, me, I failed you. Now I don't have a reason to live anymore, if you don't want me." He spread his hands, looking straight into her eyes again. "I hurt you, chere. An' no matter how many times I say I'm sorry, it won't fix t'ings, but I am. I'd rather die dan hurt you again. So I've come to let you kill me."

He felt a presence by the door, and looked over to see Michael staring at them. The little boy's eyes were wide, and he dropped a toy truck he'd been carrying. "Mommy?" He asked in a small voice. "Are you going to kill that man?"

Gambit cursed silently. He had not wanted the boy to hear that.

Rogue's gaze darted between them, and she strode across the room to pick up her son. "No sugah, Ah ain't gonna kill 'im."

"Why not? He hurt you real bad." Michael patted her chest. "He made you hurt here, huh?"

Remy choked back a sob.

Rogue smoothed back the hair from Michael's face, chewing her lip. "Michael, jest 'cause someone hurts you, don't mean you can kill them. There are other ways to solve a problem."

"Like how?"

"Like talkin' it over, and comin' to an agreement." Suddenly she looked behind him into the hall. "Where's your Uncle Hank?"

"Uhh...Uncle Bobby made him slip an' Uncle Henry got mad an' started chasin' 'im." The little boy put his little hand on his mother's lips. "An' I hadda put my picture up, so I came an' you were here, Mommy." He squirmed around. "Can I get down?"

Rogue let her child down, almost reluctantly. The little boy raced across the room, past Remy, to put his picture on top of a pile of others. He picked up a crayon, and proceeded to offer it up to Gambit.

Slowly, almost acting as if he was afraid, Gambit knelt by him, and took the proffered drawing utensil. "I like green," he said about the wax stick. "Jus' like your momma's eyes, neh?"

Michael nodded gravely. "Yup." He studied the man before him, biting his lower lip in an unconscious imitation of his mother. "You got--I mean, you have eyes like me!"

Remy glanced up at Rogue, a thousand questions on his face. She nodded once, and he turned back. "You know why dat is, Michael?"

Michael shook his head. "Nooo...Why?"

"It's because I'm your daddy, Michael. I'm your daddy."

The little boy's eyes grew wide, and a huge smile spread across his face, lighting up his eyes. "Really?" he squealed. "I've never had a daddy before! Are they as good as mommies and aunts and uncles?"

"Yeah, ev'ry bit as good."

"Cool! Do you sing? Do you like fish? An' pizza? What's your name?" the child rattled off questions in rapid succession.

Remy shook his head, smiling widely. "Well, I don't sing, fish are nice, I guess. Who doesn't like pizza? An' my name is Remy, but you can call me Daddy, neh?"

"Okay!" He kissed his father on the cheek. "Wanna see my stuff?"

Rogue watched from the doorway as the man she still loved, but had every right to hate, and the son born of their impossible romance explored the wonders of action figures and leggos. She couldn't help but wonder if it could last.
 
 

He hadn't been in his old room for over four years, and it had been emptied of everything by Bastion, so he'd been told. He sighed. He opened his closet, wincing at the squeal of rusted tracks, and looked in. His clothes were long gone.

"Christmas Eve," he muttered. "Gladiator zapped us into space on Christmas Eve."

He suddenly blew away all the dust, sneezing at the thick cloud that stirred up. His hand searched carefully along the floorboards, and removed the panel he'd installed there years ago, reveling a tiny compartment he'd told no-one about. Inside were lock picks and miscellaneous tools of his trade. Wrapped carefully in black velvet were enough rare gems to set him up comfortably for the rest of his life. He ignored those, bypassing as well the thick wad of cash, and pulled out a small box. He took it out, and replaced the panel, and was still looking at the box when a voice from the doorway made him turn around.

"I almost gave it to her myself." Hank McCoy leaned against the door frame, his blue fur looking almost black in the dim light. One large hand gestured to the box he held. "There are so many times I can think of when it would have made her life easier." He sighed. "But I couldn't find it, and besides that I'm afraid Cecilia wouldn't understand my giving that to another woman."

"Cecilia?" Gambit frowned. "The doctor? What happened to Trish?"

Hank looked down. "That's right, you wouldn't have known. She...died, about three years ago. Drunk driver." He looked back up. "Cecilia is my life now." He motioned again to the object Remy held. "When I 'updated' that for you, I thought you were going to give it to your lady love on Christmas. But, since that didn't happen, after we all got back, I thought of giving it to her myself, as I hated to see my friend suffering so much." He shrugged. "One thing led to another, and eventually I just let it lie."

"Why? You'd have eventually found where I put it."

"It didn't seem...right, somehow." A melancholy expression stole across his features. "Why didn't you just tell us, Remy? We thought you trusted us."

Remy LeBeau closed his eyes, shook his head. "Would it have mattered? I worked for Sinister, Monsieur Bete."

Beast shook his head. "We would have listened. You aren't the only one with a shady past, Gambit. Storm was a thief, Wolverine was a hired assassin, Marrow was a cold-blooded murderer."

"But you..." Gambit groped for the right words. He shook his head angrily. "Pah!"

"Why didn't you just tell us?"

Gambit clutched the box in his hand, watching his knuckles turn white from the grip. "At first I wasn't plannin' on stayin' with de X-Men. And after a while, I thought, 'Maybe I just stay a little bit longer, den I go.' A little bit longer turned into years, Henri. I didn't want you to hate me, none o' you, an' I knew you would if you knew what I'd done. So I kept my mouth shut, an' after a while, I thought, me, maybe I'd done enough good to leave behind the bad." He peered through the dim light at the Beast. "I shoulda known better, non?"

The Beast sighed heavily. "We don't know what to do with you, Remy. Why did you come back?"

"I wanted to see her one more time." Gambit opened the box, watching the tiny object within catch the light and shine like a beacon. "And now, I have a son."

Hank McCoy unfolded his arms and stepped back from the doorway. "Maybe you should give that to her. Maybe it's time." He nodded his head, blue hair falling over his face. He turned and left.

Remy listened as his footsteps receded down the hallway, eyes fastened on the box.

"Maybe you're right, Henri, maybe you're right."
 
 
 
 

She remembered the way his kisses felt. She could still feel his hands holding hers, and his breath on her neck. The texture of his cheek...the smoothness of his skin. She could still hear the whispers, the promises. The way his breath had caught in his throat when...

Rogue sat up in her bed, shaking her head to rid herself of the dream. Over the years the pain hadn't receded, but she had become more adept at pushing it away, locking it up in the far corners of her mind. In the next room, she could see Michael sleeping, his little head pillowed on the Bamf doll Kitty had made especially for him. The boy was take with the doll that had looked exactly like his "Uncle Stinky", and carried it almost everywhere. She smiled in spite of herself. Even now, when he was over three years old, she still was filled with wonder at the sight of her own child. The fact that she had been a part of his creation never ceased to amaze her. Michael was perfect, exactly what every little boy should be.

Of course, she thought to herself, Ah'm a bit biased in my opinion. After all, she was his mother.

Quietly, Rogue got out of her bed, and padded across her room to Michael's beyond. She bent over the child, taking in every detail. It was her nightly ritual, a way to assure herself that it hadn't been a fantastically vivid dream, that he was her son, and that he was real. She placed her hand on his hair, marveling at the silken texture of it, hair softer than any little boy had a right to have. She bent closer, and kissed him softly on the cheek.

"Michael," she whispered. "Mah little angel. A miracle if there evah was one."

"You think so chere?"

She spun around, instinctively putting herself between the voice and her child, and dropping into a protective stance. Gambit leaned against the far wall, almost in the corner, idly toying with a small box. He smiled. "Den dat makes two of us." Remy walked around to the other side of the bed, looking down on boychild. "He's immune to your powers."

"Yeah. Good thing, too, or he would nevah o' survived his own birth."

Gambit gulp audibly. "When was he born, Rogue?"

"October first. Just in time for Holloween, Ah guess." Then she noticed the box he held. She pointed to it. "What's that?"

Gambit looked at her for a long moment, seeming to drink her in with his eyes. "I've missed you, chere." He said instead of answering. "Dere were times when I just about died 'cause I knew I could never see you again. Dere was nothin' on Earth, nothin' in the universe, I wouldn't give to change what I did."

"But you did do it, Remy. You hurt us all so bad. You jest better be glad Angel isn't here. Ah know for a fact that he still hates you with a vengeance."

"Who else still hates me, chere?"

Rogue avoided looking at him, instead bending to pull the covers over the sleeping boy. "Sara, Marrow--she hates you too. She told me once she wished you'd left her to die there, instead o' savin' her like you did."

"Dat's all?" There was something in his voice she couldn't define.

"At first we all did, nearly all of us, anyway. We didn't talk about it much, though. Ah think Storm was the first one to really forgive you. Her an' Hank, maybe. But Ah know their both still hurtin'." She crossed her arms. "We trusted you."

"I can't change what I did--"

"Ah know!" She stopped as Michael fussed in his sleep. She beckoned Gambit, and they walked out of the boy's room, Remy softly closing the door behind them. "Ah know," she said again. "Ah know history is immutable, but how can any of us evah trust you again? How many other things did you keep a secret from us? How many other things did you lie about? You say you changed, an' maybe you did, but how can we know for sure?"

He reached out, caught her arms in gloved hands. "Listen, chere, you were inside of me. You know dat I changed. Don't you? Isn't dere somewhere inside you right now dat knows I'm tellin' de truth?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Somewhere inside you dat knows I regret what I done so much I'd sell my soul to fix it, if it weren't already damned. Somewhere dat knows how much I love you?"

The tears which before she'd been able to ruthlessly barricade from overflowing spilled out now, and all the pent up emotions she'd kept at bay for four years came with them. Sobbing, and hating herself for it, hating him for it, she sat abruptly on the bed. Remy came with her, pulling her closer, as close as she knew he dared. "It's alright," he soothed, running his hand through her hair. "Go ahead an' cry."

And cry she did, for a very long time, until she'd wept her last tear. For a while she sat, hiccoughing, wiping her face, and leaning against him. Then she noticed the box in his hand again. He was toying with it, rolling it between and around his long fingers idly. She stopped his hand. "What is that?"

"Your Christmas present." He said, and when she looked up in surprise he went on. "It was somethin' I was gonna give you, before Gladiator beamed us away into space."

She frowned. "Where was it? Bastion took all of our stuff, yours too."

"In a hiding place in my closet," he replied. "Mon pere always said to split your assets, an' hide 'em well. Seemed sensible to me." Then he pressed the box into her hands. "Open it. You prob'ly already know what it is, neh?"

"No, Ah don't, Remy." She opened the box. And gasped, in spite of herself.

Nestled inside dark grey velvet was a simple gold band, nearly as thick as a man's ring, with a perfect oval diamond set within. She wanted to put it on, to pretend for a moment she was normal. Rogue swallowed. Inhaled. "Remy, Ah--"

"Please, chere, jus' put it on for one second. I'm not askin' you for anything more dan dat. Jus' put it on. Please."

She couldn't ignore the pleading in his voice, and carefully, she took the ring out of its box and slipped it onto her finger. It fir perfectly and looked as if it had been made for her and her alone. "Ah...It's beautiful." She said, her voice husky with emotion. She turned to look up at him, and before she knew it, he was cupping her face.

His glove was off.

Rogue jerked violently away, eyes wide. "Do you want to kill yourself?" She hissed, wanting to scream at him but aware of Michael sleeping in the next room. "What the Hell were you doin'?"

But instead of looking ashamed or abashed, Remy was grinning. "Think about it chere. I just touched you, an' nothin' happened."

She stood there, gaping at him. Her mind was scrambling around, trying to find purchase in this new territory that he'd thrown her into.

"Wha--?" She gasped as he stood up, took the step needed to close the space between them, and kissed her. For a long moment they stood there, and without realizing she was even doing so, Rogue slipped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. She felt his hands pulling up the hem to the top of her nightshirt, and move across her back. He pulled away, trailing kisses along her jaw, down her throat and across one shoulder. She shivered, eyes closed. Her hand found his cheek, and Remy turned his head to kiss her fingers.

"Chere," He whispered. "I've only dreamed o' doin' dis."

He eyes snapped open at the word 'dream', and she suddenly shoved him away, not caring about his inarticulate protest or how he landed on his rear. She retreated across the room, shaking. "That's all it'll evah be, Gambit. A dream. The day you decided to lie t' us, an' the day you went t' work for Sinister, was the day you decided to live in a dream, 'cause after what you did, Ah seriously don't think your livin' in reality."

She turned away from the stricken look in his eyes, turned away from the sound of two hearts shattering. "Get out." She whispered.

He faded into the shadows, and like a true thief, she didn't hear him go. Minutes later, when she climbed back into bed, her hand encountered something small and slick. She took it in her fingers, and held it up to the moonlight streaming through the window. It was a card.

Queen of Hearts.