Hank barely avoided the first shot. His opponent had a vicious aim and little pity, it seemed. The second took him squarely in the side of the head. Trish Tilby giggled girlishly and dodged the return snowball.

Hank laughed. She was quick, ducking behind her protective tree and then out to nail him. "You're a big target, Hank."

"Oh truly? Not only {{urrff}} must I endure the sting of your frozen projectiles, but I must also suffer the lash of your unrivaled wit?"

"If you don't move that slow furry butt of yours!"

Another snowball nailed him in the chest. "It is time for the bouncing bombastic Beast to show his brachiating talents, I think."'

He leaped up to a high branch and caught it, swinging over to the next one. With a snarl, he pounced, burying her in the soft snow. They laughed and giggled breathlessly. "Bastard," she growled without menace.

She leaned back against him and he wrapped his long arms around her. "And then some," he told her.

They looked into the dark sky, just now seeing a few twinkling stars. "It's so beautiful out here. I envy you a little, having lived here for so long."

"Don't envy me too much. You can't believe the problems I have with poachers."

She laughed softly against him, plucking at his fur. "Can't imagine why. It's such a mangy pelt."

He huffed indignantly. "I am not mangy."

One gloved hand ran up and down his furry arm. "I like it better, without that imager," Trish told him. "Makes me think you're hiding something."

"Me? You're the female. Hiding things is the prerogative of your gender."

"I'll kill you for that later."

"You'll have to take a number."

"No wonder why, smart-ass," she said with fondness.

They sat together for a while, staring up the sky. Comforted in each other's closeness. Warmed by that comfort. "Hank?"

"Yes, my darling dearest?"

She elbowed him. "Be serious now."

"Okay, sorry."

"Could we go inside?"

Hank cursed himself for thoughtlessness. With his fur, he hardly ever felt cold. But she was just a normal human and quite thin for that matter. "I'm sorry, of course we can."

"Don't be sorry, I enjoy being out here. But it'll be more comfortable inside."

He helped her to her feet. "Yes, I forget. I'd offer you my coat, but I'm sort of attached to it."

She smiled. "Always got the joke at the ready, don't you?"

He shrugged. "Laughing is the better way to deal with things, right?"

"Not always, not with love," she said, taking his hand.

He was silent for a moment as they walked. "I'm sorry. I told you those were things I had to work on."

"I'll help," she promised. She looked down at the snow. "I hope your room is heated, Hank. I chill easily when I'm not wearing anything."

Hank stopped dead in his tracks. He looked at her. "Trish..."

Her cheeks were red and from more than just the cold. "I'm sorry, I've never been too good at this. Words aren't my forte' like you."

Hank looked away. "Trish, I'm flattered. Touched. Honored. Things I don't have words for. But, really, it's okay to wait. I'm sure I can find a way to make myself...human again."

She locked gazes with him then, eyes intense. "Oh Hank." She brushed his cheek, startled to feel cold tears there. "Did you ever stop to think it didn't matter?"

And as they kissed, deeply and passionately under the stars, Hank understood that it truly did not matter at all.

"Tower, we're coming in!" she chirped into her hand.

She tugged gently on her father's ears and he spiraled into the living room, weaving around a startled Bobby Drake and coming to a rest at the foot of the stairs. "That was fun, daddy," she gasped breathlessly. "Wanna go again."

He laughed. "No no, moonrock," he told her. "It's past your bedtime. Remember the deal? One flight and you go off to bed."

"But I'm not tired!"

Knew that candy bar was a mistake. "Oh, all right."

They took off again, zooming through the house at reckless speeds, leaping over furniture and veering around whatever X-Men were roaming the halls. He finally put down outside the room they shared. "Awww," Luna whined.

"There's always tomorrow to play," he told her.

He carried Luna inside, tickling her mercilessly. The girl squealed and thrashed ineffectually. Pietro tucked Luna into bed and pulled the covers up around her chin. It had been a good day for both of them. They had both come out of it with a friend. For the first time ever, he felt the healing process begin.

"Read me a story, Daddy," Luna begged.

Pietro nodded with a gentle smile. "Which story would you like me to read you?"

"Gree' n'eggs in ham!" she mispronounced badly.

Pietro retrieved the book and got into bed with her. Then he held her in the crook of his arm and read to her. Luna nestled close to her father, smiling a happy child's smile. He stroked her hair and held her close, soothing her into sleep. When she was completely out, he slipped from the bed and turned out all the lights except her nightlight. Then he went into the bathroom.

Stripped to the waist, he brushed his teeth studiously, reflecting on the pleasant turn to today's events. Maria was very nice, and was not put off by his brusque manner. Like Crystal... He refused to go down that line of thinking. It had been too good a day to end it on unhappy thoughts. What was it I said today that got her laughing so hard...?

Pietro gave up trying to remember. She had given him her address, suggesting that Luna and he could stop by, if they were ever in the neighborhood. I would only do it for Luna's sake, of course. Joey seems like a good boy. A little reckless, but that's the nature of young boys. And Maria is certainly a good parent. Yes, it would be nice every so often to leave Luna there, when it was necessary. Once we've talked to each other some more.

Pietro eyed himself in the mirror and slapped his flat stomach. Not too bad for an old guy, he told himself with a smile. Hell, I guess it's in my genes. When I turn sixty or so, I'll suddenly become twenty again. He grinned at his own jest and toweled off his face.

It would be nice to see her again. Oh Pietro, you're just so messed up right now. It's only been a few months. You have to give it time, not go grasping at the first prospect that comes along. Like I know? I've only been in love once, and certainly don't know how long it is proper to grieve. I'll probably never stop grieving, but I have to keep on living. For Luna. Yes, for Luna...she is all that's important to me now.

Pietro pulled on his pajama pants and climbed into the bed across from Luna's, looking up at the ceiling. And the most incongruous thing happened. Something that would have floored Jean Grey had she seen it.

He smiled.

Truly and with happiness, Pietro smiled and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep.

"Yah prah'ly think I'm being silly," she said shyly as she stroked her fingers over that hand, trying to memorize every sensation. For she knew this could not last. Dreams never did.

"Not at all, Rogue," Joseph said softly, smiling in the gentle way he had.

"All mah life I've been aching to touch someone. Just t'know what it was like. And you've made it happen."

Joseph took her hand in his. "I am glad to give you this. You have been my only friend here since my...change. You are very important to me."

She brushed her cheek against his fingers. "Ah think Ah like being important to someone."

He held her close for a time, not speaking. "You know, Rogue, since you are so unused to being touched, there is something I'm fairly sure of."

She braced herself for the question she knew was coming. It was tiresome and more than a little childish. She had expected Joseph to be better than to ask her. Perhaps she had misjudged him, or gotten her hopes up.

"That being?" she prodded wearily. Men were in fact pigs, it seemed.

"That you've got to be terribly ticklish," Joseph said, and pounced.

Rogue gasped and squealed as the overwhelming sensations buffeted her, his teasing fingers tracing over her sides. Joseph smiled brightly as he continued the torture, making her thrash and squirm. "Joseph, you bastard!" she gasped helplessly.

Rogue lost control and pushed him off, perhaps a bit too roughly. Joseph rolled away with a startled "whuff." "Oh my..." she exclaimed, going over to him. "You ahlright?"

He chuckled as she helped him stand. "Perfectly."

"Sometimes Ah don't know my own strength," she told him guiltily.

They settled again by the fire. Now her attention focused on his bare feet, which protruded from the jeans he wore. The skin had a different texture here, especially on the bottom. Softer. He twitched. She looked up at him quizzically, but he said nothing. Another feather touch and he jerked again. "Ah see ah'm not the only one who's ticklish," she crowed, catching one ankle and taking her revenge. Joseph howled and thrashed and finally begged for mercy.

"You're a very bad girl," he told her, holding her again.

"Me? Why, Ah'm the soul of innocence."

He kissed her neck and rested his cheek against hers. "You are truly beautiful, Rogue."

She smiled at that, feeling beautiful for the first time in her tom boy life. It was a dream too unreal to her. To be here, held in a good man's arms. To be safe and comfortable. "Joseph, can Ah tell yah something?"

"Of course, my dear."

"Ah...Ah don't want ya take this the wrong way, but, well, Ah don't think Ah'm ready, just yet."

"Ready for what?"

Her cheeks burned. "To have...you know...to..."

"Ah." Blissfully, there seemed to be embarrassment there too. "I assure you that was not my intention in bringing this all about."

She gave him an artfully wounded look. "Ya don't want me?"

Joseph paled, caught between discourtesy and insult. "Rogue...I...am unworthy of you."

She grinned. "Nice save."

He smiled back. "I thought so." He looked deep into her eyes. "Rogue, I won't lie and say I'm not attracted to you... But I know this is all happening very fast. I mean, just a little while ago, I was your enemy."

She nodded with a quirky smile. "That's not the problem, though, ya see."

"What is?" Genuine curiosity. A gentlemanly courtesy.

Rogue pushed the sleeve of his sweater up and trailed her fingers along his arm. "It's kinda funny, ya know? Ah've waited mah whole life t'be touched, an' now that Ah can, Ah'm scared."

"Of what?"

Rogue blushed again. "A lotta things. Ah mean, Ah've never done anything like this before." She laughed in embarrassment. "Ah could be quite bad at it."

Joseph gave her a curious glance. "Rogue...I have no reliable memory of my life before. For all intents and purposes, I'm a virgin too."

Rogue smiled gently at the truthful admission. She turned and kissed him, tingling all over as she felt the soft warm flesh of his lips meet hers. "Ah thank yah for that, but still an' all, Ah'd like ta...Ah don't know..."

"Savor the moment?"

She nodded and snuggled closer. "That's right."

He wrapped his arm tightly around her shoulder and kissed her hair. "I would be most honored, to savor it with you."

Rogue felt a tremendous peace flow through her at those words. So it was only a dream. Let it go on for a little longer. Enjoy it now girl, while it lasts. Don't be waiting for the other shoe ta fall. Leaning against his chest, she could feel his heart beating and she thought she had never been happier.

Professor Xavier looked up as one of the scientists entered his cell. A Dr. Jacobs, he believed. The tall, bald scientist glanced down his long pointed nose at him. Charles was quite weary of their constant testing, questions and abuse. He had surrendered voluntarily in good faith, as a gesture of his good intentions. And since his arrival he had received the worst kind of treatment.

This was all on top of the reality-altering fact that he had lost his mental powers. Unlike some, it was not the power itself he grieved for. Power meant nothing to one such as he. No, the real pain for him was...the loneliness. No more could he feel his beloved X-Men and take comfort in knowing they were there. Now he was isolated, alone, and in a way he was not used to, helpless.

Dr. Jacobs adjusted his spectacles. "I never expected to see you like this, Charles."

Professor Xavier frowned, confused -- how frustrating to not be able to know what the man was talking about! "What do you mean? You put me in here."

Dr. Jacobs smiled. "The mighty Charles Xavier, powerless, captured, defeated. I hardly believed it when I was told."

Only now did Charles see the lab was empty save for him and the oddly-behaving scientist. "What are you talking about?"

"How unfortunate that you do not have your powers so that you could sense my hate."

Xavier leaned forward, frowning. "Who are you? What is going on?"

A sparkling light poured down Jacobs' form, leaving behind the sinister figure of Mystique. "I have hated you for so long for taking Rogue away. Not a day has gone by that I did not imagine killing you. And then the opportunity just falls in my lap."

Charles Xavier was not a man who panicked, nor was he one to beg and plead for his life. He simply stared at the hateful woman and said, quite calmly, "I could never have taken Rogue away from you. What you must know, since you know her so well, is that she makes her own choices. No one can make them for her. And the choice she made was to leave you."

"You with your mental powers. You tricked her!" Mystique snarled.

"I did not," he told her. "I did not take her away, you sent her away. Her heart is too pure for your purposes."

Mystique glared at him for a long moment and then smiled. "Very good, Professor X. Even without your powers you are still a worthy opponent." She brought forth a small hand gun. "That will make this all the sweeter."

And he needed solitude to resolve the problem he had been wrestling with for what seemed like forever. The problem was, quite simply, Rogue.

I don' know why I can' jus' let it go. I mean, she's found 'er 'appiness. Tain't hard to see dat, the way her and Magne...Joseph (Magnejoseph?) looked at each other. De oders, dey don' understand. T'ink I'm jus' being a jealous jerk. Dey don't see de betrayal.

For that was what it was, really. He had courted Rogue in a gentlemanly way, sharing with her all the things lovers share, save one. He was a naturally tactile individual, and had a great love for sex, but he had been willing to give that up indefinitely. To be with her until they found a way to be together totally.

And den dis Magnejoseph walks in and boom, I'm out in de cold. And den when I'm unhappy, everyone t'inks I'm a jerk. He sighed heavily, his breath puffing out in a white cloud. I wonder if I DID change my name to James an' said I was a bad guy, if like dat Vertigo chick would fall f'r me? The jokes didn't seem funny anymore, though, and so he simply sulked.

There was a part of him that suspected he had other attractions to Rogue which had less to do with her and more to do with how untouchable she was. His thoughts drifted backwards, to the old days in New Orleans. Aw shit, what was 'er name? Jasmine! Yes, 'ow could I forget?

He had been a vastly successful thief, the envy of his rivals and not without admiration by the females of his station. And yet none of them interested him. No, the one he had pursued was named Jasmine, the banker's daughter. He still remembered seeing her in the park, her long, lustrous black hair swaying in the breeze. How he had longed for her.

She looked at me like a fisherman looks at somet'ing he didn' want to catch, Remy thought with a grin. An' I kept at it, following her, sending her flowers. De harder she pushed me away, de harder I pursued. Poor t'ing. I t'ink she was really afraid. I guess wit Jasmine an' now Rogue, it's just dat I want what I can't have. Maybe in dat way I make my own misery.

I t'ink I was jus' fooling myself anyway. I mean, what kind of relationship can dere be witout de touching? When you let someone touch you in dat kind of way, you're making dem a unique part of your life. You're saying, 'you're special enough to be more den jus' a friend.' But Rogue an I can't share dat, and so we can't ever be more den friends, I guess.

But did it have to be Magnejoseph? Amnesia Boy?

Dere is no justice.

The cold finally drove him inside and he decided that the best way to warm up and get his mind off his problems was to go to the Danger Room. When he arrived in the control room, though, he discovered to his disappointment someone was already using it. He paused, noticing first it was only Jean and second that she was going at her exercises in a furious, disjointed way. Looks like someone else is not having de good night.

"Ahem, Jean?" he called into the microphone.

The woman with the flaming red hair paused, glaring upwards at him. "What is it, Remy?" Her voice was cold, dangerous.

"I was wondering if I might join you."

"This is not a training session, Remy."

He grinned. "I can see dat. I have some problems of my own. I promise not to break de t'ings you're breaking."

Jean shrugged. "Fine, whatever. Restart the program."

Remy did that and then went into the Danger Room. It was a basic program, an army of AIM agents trying to take them down. It was an amusing distraction for them both. Glowing cards arced across telekinetic blasts, taking down one simulated enemy after another. Slowly, despite their mutual aggravation, the two began working in sync. They were X-Men, after all, and it was only second nature.

He rolled over her back to avoid one shot and struck someone whose cover was suddenly removed by an invisible hand. Someone came in too close. He knocked their weapon aside and Jean took him down. After a long while, the program ended, leaving them breathless in the huge empty room. They slid to the floor, smiling a bit.

"So, what did he do dis time?" he asked.

Jean frowned at him. "And what are you doing here? Don't you have those naked pictures of Rogue for when you're excited?"

Remy looked down and away at that. An uneasy silence fell over them, and then he felt Jean's hand on his elbow. "Remy..."

"Hey, non, don't worry over it. I'm de only one who can find my prick anyway." His laughter was reflexive, defensive. He did not look into her eyes. Could not, really.

"I'm sorry, Remy. I didn't mean to snap at you. I just can't help knowing you all talk about me and Scott. Always wondering which fight will be the last."

Remy shook his head. "Non, cherie, I am just interested to see what stupid t'ings oder guys do."

Jean did smile a little at that. "He's just being paranoid, and I'm tired of it. I married him, made a vow. Isn't that enough?"

Remy did look at her then, and he hated to see the pain there. "My friend, I cannot speak for de one-eyed guy, but I can tell you, if I had a wife as pretty as you, I'd be paranoid too."

A small light lifted her features at that. "You are a smooth talker, Cajun."

He laughed. "Not really, I still can't say a 't' an'a 'h' togeder."

She chuckled at his irrepressible humor. Her hand was now entwined with his. "And have you finally stopped mooning over Rogue?"

Remy shrugged. "Girl like dat, hard to get over. Maybe if I change my name to Joseph, she come back?"

Jean rolled her eyes. "I think it's the trenchcoat, Remy. Makes you look like a bum. Women don't want to be seen with guys like that."

Remy looked injured. "Dis was my pa's trenchcoat. An his pa's before him. It been in de family since de Civil War."

"Liar."

They shared another laugh. "No, I t'ink de reason I lost her was because she saw somet'ing in my past she didn't like. Somet'ing even I'm ashamed of."

Jean frowned. "We know you have a...colorful past."

"What is dat? You t'ink I was a painter?" He shook his head with a rakish grin. "Let's just say it, non? I was a t'ief, a rat. I did a lot of bad t'ings."

Jean could not help but telepathically "see" the secret he was referring to. It was radiating off of his surface thoughts like a neon sign. He saw it on her face and looked away. "Remy, we have all of us done things we're not proud of. I can't forgive you for this, for what you did...only you can. I can say, though, that I still count you as my friend."

Remy stared at her in disbelief. She could not forgive him, true. His inner demons could only be resolved by himself. Yet she offered him a kind of absolution, a beginning perhaps to salvation. And suddenly, he was holding her, tightly, like a frightened child might clutch his mother. It had been too long since he'd felt the unique comfort that was a woman's to give. Had long denied that to himself. But he need it now, and she gave that to him.

There were no words. There were none to say. And after he let her go and stared into her eyes, the silence lingered. There was a different quality to it now, though. Sharper and more dangerous. Finally, she looked away and said, "Remy, we can't..."

He smiled and turned her face back to him. "I know, but wouldn't it piss dem all off?"

He could see the fires of rebellion in her eyes. The temptation to throw all caution and care to the wind. And he knew that at his insistence, those flames would grow and turn to passion. Remy smiled softly and stroked her cheek. "I'm going to go," he whispered. "I got a date wit some pictures."

Jean watched him go, a smile slowly dawning on her face. They had just wandered very near to a dangerous cliff, and had come away unscathed and perhaps a little closer. And he had come away with a new perspective, and a sad, melancholy decision.

He went upstairs and took out some paper. For the next several hours he wrote the letter to Rogue. He did not know later what was in the note, would never remember. Only the feeling he had wanted to convey, that he was letting her go to be happy. Then Remy LeBeau, the thief and scoundrel, went to sleep.