Purely out of reflex, Remy's head snapped around, focusing his attention, if not his eyes, on her face. He felt...what? If she really could see him, why hadn't he felt her shock at his appearance? Why had she not made that funny noise everyone else did when they saw him? He hadn't a clue what to say to her. While talking to her, he'd felt safe, anonymous. He'd felt...free. Now he felt threatened and scared, but by what he couldn't say. She was still Dakota. She hadn't changed the way she talked to him, she hadn't drawn back in disgust when he'd held her hand, she hadn't done anything to make him feel so insecure, so why was he feeling like this?

As the silence drew on, Dakota finally broke it. **What's the problem, wonderboy? Aren't I allowed to say you have a nice smile?** There was a laugh in her voice as she assessed his reaction.

"Chere, you sayin' you been watchin' me de whole time we been talkin'?" Remy grew tense, almost trembling as he remembered how he'd let his guard down, had reacted to what she was telling him, and to what he had relayed to her. The thief in him was yelling "You stupid imbecile!" at the top of it's imaginary lungs. The heart and soul of him was hushed and undecided, waiting for ... acceptance? No, better not to name that. Hope only hurts when acknowledged. If you never feel it, it won't leave you feeling completely beaten when it was taken away.

Dakota ruefully acknowledged that she was going to have to calm him down all over again. **Well, no, I can't say that I've been watching you the whole time. Mostly when I thought you weren't looking. Those Roy Orbison shades of yours make it hard to tell exactly where you're looking. I'll admit I'm kind of surprised you haven't caught me at it. After a while, I was getting pretty obvious about it. After all, there's something about you that's well worth looking at.** And how! She told herself as she eyed the gorgeous fall of reddish brown hair, and let that voice of his trickle up her spine.

"Chere, you don' know? You been watchin' me all dis time, an' you still don' know?" Remy was figuratively rocked back on his heels. Dark glasses or no, he figured every last one of his handicaps would have been pathetically obvious. Was it possible that he wasn't quite as bad off as he'd thought? No, there was no way he could have imagined the reactions of everyone he'd passed on the street. Everyone who'd looked, shuddered, and turned away. He'd felt it. No, his Dakota was just being unusual, as usual.

**What don't I know, Remy? You have something else to confess? Waitwaitwait, let me get into psychological therapy mode here. Okay, mein liebchen. Tell Dr. Dakota ze next problem ve haf to cure.**

Remy fought a laugh. "How is it you can always make me forget to be serious, petite?" A smile teased the corners of his mouth. "Should I call you Sigmund?" he asked.

**Depends. How do you feel about your mother?** Dakota's eyes twinkled as she looked across at him. God she loved him. But, as the ancients would classify it, filios. Brotherly love. Or they might have said ex animo, from the heart. What she felt when she looked at Remy defied description. They'd probably kill each other if they had to interact on a day to day basis for too long, but Remy defined friendship to her. She knew a heart could love many people. Love was elastic, and could stretch six ways from Sunday if it needed to. There were all kinds of love. For instance, one could love chocolate truffles with only slightly less intensity than a husband. One could love a spring day, but you could never wrap sunshine around you the way you could a smile. She knew she didn't love Remy as a lover would. There was a zero romance factor. Lust, yes. Romance, no. Ooh-la-la was there ever lust, though. A mental picture of herself drooling was enough to send her into a fit of the giggles. Thank God he hadn't caught that.

Remy quirked an eyebrow at her. "Somethin' funny, Doc?"

**Um...no. {chuckle} not at all.** She broke up again. **Ooooh! Ouch! Dammit! Owowowowow! Cajun, you make me laugh one more time, and I'll make sure you never do the horizontal hokeypokey again! OWWWW!** She did her best to make light of the fact that she was really hurting. He seemed awfully shaky to her, and he just might go off the deep end. Not that he was weak, she knew, it was more that he was extraordinarily fragile right now. Her knowing that was based on a lifetime of silent observation and having been in somewhat the same position herself.

Remy blinked, translated that, blinked again, and then started laughing so hard he fell out of his chair. "Damn but you got a way wit' words, chere!"

**Oh yeah? Damn but that hurt! ** she cut loose with a string of low level grumbling that left Remy in no doubt that everything right down to Kennedy's assassination was his fault.

"Um, petite?" Remy was stifling his amusement to the best of his ability, but unfortunately for him, right now that wasn't very effectively. Of course, Dakota noticed.

Another blue streak of cussing ripped through him. "Um...Dakota? You're not helpin', petite." Remy almost lost it again at a particularly inventive curse that in no uncertain terms told him to perform an anatomical impossibility.

He finally got a finger and toe-hold on his laughter. After sternly warning himself that she might commit physical violence if he didn't quit laughing at her, he tried again.

"Chere...non. Dakota, it don' feel like a problem no more. Don' feel like I worry 'bout nothin', not when I'm 'round you. T'ink I need to keep you 'round, permanent, jus' for dat." Best not to make a big deal about this, just spit it out. It wasn't worth agonizing about, not anymore. "I'm blind, chere."

The silence in the room rocked for a minute, as if his words had been ping-pong balls spoinging from wall to wall.

**Izzat it? No more dark, depressing, ew-ick-yuck stuff to tell the Doctor? 'Cause I gotta tell you, Remy, I need to be unprofessional here for a sec.**

"Dat's de last of it, chere. When you told me you'd been watchin' me, t'ought you knew dat I was blind. Isn't like I can hide it, much." Remy felt nothing but matter of fact as he told her that. No self-pity, no sadness, no regret, no 'I wish it were otherwise'. It simply was.

**Good,** she told him, and promptly burst into tears.

"What de matter, petite?" Remy stood, and hovered at the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do. He badly wanted to simply pick her up and cuddle her on his lap, but there were too many tubes, wires and machines in the way. And so he settled on the edge of the bed, and placed his clumsy but workable left hand on her shoulder in an awkward pat. "Please don' cry. Not 'bout me."

**About who, then? I don't know anyone who deserves my tears more, Remy. No, I don't mean that I'm sorry for you, but I hurt for you, and I can't do a dang thing to make it better. I hate that.** She wound down to a few sniffles, and tried to wipe her nose with the back of her hand, but couldn't quite make her hand reach. **Gotta kleenex, Cajun?**

"Not on me, petite. Didn' know I be meetin' up wit' a damsel in distress, and you caught me jus' a li'l unprepared." He quickly ran his hands over her bedside table, and discovered the standard issue box he'd been hoping for. "But, bein' de resourceful fellow dat I am, I foun' one anyways." He said, "Can you do dis, petite?"

**Sorry but I can't make my hands move quite that far. Guess you get to play mom.** She half smiled at the thought of him being anything even remotely approaching maternal.

"I give it a shot, petite, but I don' do so good on de small actions." He acutely wanted to be of some comfort, but he was scared he would knock her in her eye, or something. "Tell you what. Does it hurt if I move your hand for you?" He lifted her arm an inch or so, and waited for her evaluation.

She appraised her condition on a pain scale of one to ten. It stuck at about a 6 or so, with occassional flares of three hundred and twelve. **I can live with that,** she told him. But not for long, she silently added.

"Den I let you do de mop up, but I get your hand dere for you, deal?" He got hit anew with how serious her condition was, and how much pain she must be in. He refused to think about what the next few hours might bring.

**Deal.**

After a couple of swipes with the tissue, Dakota managed to ask a question that had been nibbling at her since she first opened her eyes. **Remy?**

"Yeah, chere?" He'd settled back in his chair, and was doing his best to not think too much about anything at that particular moment.

**Do they hurt?**

"What, my eyes? Non. I get headaches, sometimes, but non, de eyes don' hurt nomore. Accident happen' 'bout a year ago." His voice was matter-of-fact, with no particular sign of stress or strain when he mentioned the accident.

That wasn't what she'd been going to ask, but it would have answered her next question. **And the scars?**

At that question, he visibly tensed. The blindness was … tolerable. The scars the world saw were the scars of his soul being worn on the outside instead of inside. He couldn't hide any longer. His invisible wounds had become public knowledge. He should have known sooner or later she'd ask, but he'd forgotten for a while. For another small moment out of time, he'd been…normal. He'd almost been the old Gambit, living in the moment, and not worrying about the future. "Yeah, sometimes dey hurt." His voice was clipped, really not wanting to go there.

**I really wasn't trying to upset you there, wonderboy. I just wondered. I know what it's like living with pain, and I know it can be …tough. Isn't there anything they can do?** Her eyes roved over his face with compassion.

The question didn't do anything whatsoever to relax him. If possible, he grew even more strained. But, he answered. "Not 'bout de face, Dakota. Stuck wit dat. De Doc's talkin' 'bout some surgery on de hands, though." He drew in a deep breath and let it go slowly. "Not sure I can do dat."

Dakota eyed him carefully. He was wound up in knots from a couple of emotionally charged questions. Questions that he'd probably be hearing a lot once he left his hideaway. And she'd make sure he'd leave it. He needed to become strong again. Right now, he was hurt and hiding, whether he admitted it or not. She suspected that he knew it; he wasn't the kind to deliberately lie to himself. So, how to help him deal with this? She was under no illusions. Her time was running out and she could feel it. The feeble amount of strength she'd managed to hang on too was slipping away, bit by bit. Remy wasn't ready to let her go, though. And until he was, she wasn't going to give in to the darkness she could feel edging up on her.

**Remy?**

"Yeah?" His voice was blunt, waiting for the next arrows in the dark.

**Would you come here for a minute?** Dakota's mind gave him no clues, but he stood, and once again perched on the edge of her bed. **Lean over.**

He gracefully complied with her request, although not understanding it. Making a herculean effort that she knew she was going to have to pay dearly for, she struggled to lift her hand to his face.

He "saw" the hand coming, but made no effort to flinch away. This was Dakota, and if she wanted to find out just what a topographical map felt like, so be it. But he couldn't help her to do it. He just hoped his shields would hold. There was no way she could touch him, and not make him even more aware ofl the ruin his face had become. He couldn't quite force himself to believe she didn't mind how he looked. He sat braced and vibrating with uneasiness.

Slowly, she ran the backs of her fingers over his scarred and twisted face. It was almost like she was petting him, soothing him with her hands. With a feathery light index finger, she began stroking each individual scar one by one, working her way over his face. And then she began again.

On the third repitition, some of his tension had seeped away, and he regained a measure of control. "What're you doin', petite?"

**Unhurting you.** With those simple and evocative words, a wall in Remy gave way. He was awed and humbled that he'd so underestimated her. He caught her hand, and held it to his cheek. Another deep breath, and he felt some of his mental pain utterly disappear. In some unknown way, she truly had "unhurted" him.

"Chere, you're a gift." He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. "T'ank you don' seem like much to say. Don' seem to be good wit' words, no more. Before, words don' mean much. Now, dey mean everyt'ing. I don' know how to tell you so you believe me when I say you did unhurt me." Remy struggled to find the words to tell her that once again, she'd opened a locked door for him. All his skill as a thief, and there were still locks in his mind that he couldn't or wouldn't open for himself. She'd shown him there was nothing in that dark closet but old ghosts who'd lost their power to torment his dreams. He felt hope again. No, not again. This was the first time he'd ever allowed himself to feel it, and accept that it was not going to leave him crushed and bleeding from a different kind of scar when it left. For the first time, he knew that hope brought with it peace.

Never in his life had he been comforted after a nightmare, and the luxury of it flooded his senses. He felt his chest tighten, and the back of his throat start to close as it started to become too much for him. His breathing became strained, as he struggled against the ache in his chest. He silently battled for control, and Dakota watched him combat his emotions, knowing he needed the release like no other man she'd ever met.

**Let it go, baby. Don't keep all that garbage inside you. Hasn't anyone ever been good to you?** The last was said with a sad incredulity, knowing that such was exactly the case. She weakly put her hand behind his neck and tugged. **Commere,** she said as she pulled his head down to her shoulder. Her price for offering comfort was to watch her vision dim, but she fought to keep her thoughts calm, knowing that she needed to for his sake. **Let it go, Remy. I know talking about all of that mess won't help. Trust me, I've had so much therapy, I could tell the plumber my past and not have it mean a thing. It's having another moment, another memory to replace it, and I know you'll find one.**

His shoulders began to heave, but still he fought releasing all that ugliness where Dakota could see. The conflict she was watching broke her heart. She needed to add one more straw. With every last scrap of strength she possessed, she drew her other arm around him, and pulled his head to her chest in a faint hug. **Let it go, Remy. Let it go. I'm here for you. It's okay, you're safe here.**

That did it. Right then, it all came crashing down around him. The walls that looked like concrete from the outside, and woven straw from the inside crumbled into dust. The faded remnants of his control kept the storm away from Dakota, but anyone else in the room would have been assaulted with a lifetime's worth of pain, unhappiness, and hatred of self. Through it all, Dakota held him. Providing him with an unstinting measure of compassion and undemanding comfort.

Just a few miles away, Chat woke from his nap, sat up and whined in sympathy, his emerald green eyes filled with a human gentleness and sadness.

Hundreds of miles away, Rogue began quietly crying in her sleep.

Just a few doors from Rogue, Jean once again fell out of bed. This time, there was no mistaking what had woken her. Abruptly waking Scott and quickly briefing him, she headed for the Control Room and Cerebro, with Scott following right on her heels. An astute observer would see an odd mixture of impatience and nervousness in his steps, although his face remained impassive.

Dakota knew she didn't have much time left. She had to know Remy was going to be all right, but she was racing the clock for every minute. It was getting harder to breath. All of a sudden it was lots harder. She tried to relax by slowly closing her eyes, and opening them just as slowly. Nothing. She blinked, and saw nothing but blackness. She blinked again, and tried to look at Remy, but saw only darkness. She felt a stab of panic, and unfortunately, Remy caught it.

"Chere? Non! Non, chere, not now!" Remy had no shields remaining, and once he focused on her, he knew there was no question that Dakota had little time left. He'd known this would happen. He'd been happy for a day, and this was the price he'd have to pay for it. He knew he wasn't going to be allowed to keep her. NON! No more! It was all going to end here. There was no way he was going to lose yet another friend. This time it would end. He ignored all the paraphenalia that was in his way, and clutched her to him. Her cheek was soft against his. Soft as Chat's fur. That there was someone else depending on him was the tiniest of islands in his ocean of misery, but it was a focus. It was somewhere to cling as the waves got higher and higher.

**Shhh, Remy. It's all right, really it is. Don't worry so.** her mental voice was growing weaker.

"Dakota, non! Don' give up on me, petite. You're gonna be okay. You'll see, you're gonna be fine. Don' go!" Remy was in a full blown panic. There was absolutely no way he could handle this right now. He'd been swinging on an emotional pendulum for the past 48 hours, and he'd been on the high end not fifteen minutes ago. He was headed for the return swing on a crash course.

**You'll be …fine…Remy. We…both knew I …wouldn'…be there…for you…but…you'll be….jus' fine. Her thoughts were fading in and out, causing the edges of her words to blur and bleed together.. Did Remy just say something? His voice sounded at a distance, desperately trying to pull her back to him.

She knew God had given her Remy and let her know what it was like to have a heart-friend before she had to go. It was a precious gift. She would always be his friend. She needed to tell him not to be so unhappy. She wasn't going away forever. She'd always be with him. She needed to tell him that. The indominatable will that had seen her through so much was faltering. Just once more, she pleaded with her heart. One more time, please give me the strength to do this right.

"Remy…" So faint. Did he hear it? Please let him have heard it. "Remy…" Just a little stronger. Was it enough? It was so much easier than it should have been to form the first words she'd spoken in decades, but she was so weak. She strained and fought for time. That's all; just a little time.

"Dakota? I heard you, petite. I heard you." The husky voice was lodging in his heart, a memory to keep. But he knew the effort she was making. "Don' talk, please? You need to be quiet, get your streng't back. Den we talk all day long, neh?" He didn't believe himself. Who was he trying to convince? He held her just a little tighter, knowing he couldn't stop what was happening right in front of him. As Dakota herself had told him, sometimes even God has to bow to the rules.

"Don't…make me…feel…sorry…for you. Don' …quit…caring …'bout…people." He was holding his breath, fearing that no matter how small the noise, it would cover one of her soft, almost soundless words. She fell silent for a minute.

A collage of impressions from the past several hours ran over him. Dark notes of pain, bright spots of laughter. And as he continued to remember, the bright spots slowly began to outshine the dark. There began his acceptance. He drew in a deep breath of air, and released his fear. It was a selfish fear, he now knew. Fear for himself, not for her. His heart still hurt, but the tight ball of confusion and pain in him was softly dissolving. He let himself feel the comfort of simply holding her, and it helped.

"Dakota, you de best frien' I ever had. An' I won' let dat go." He felt the barest ghost of a smile begin. "I'm good at rememberin' t'ings. I always remember you." The panic was gone. He couldn't affect the situation, so he told himself to let it go. **Guess you gonna have to deal wit' life as it hits you, homme.** It was time.

He gently laid her back onto the bed, smoothing his disfigured hand over her face, learning for the first time by touch what he would never see. He felt the moisture of her tears, and his heart echoed them. "S'okay, Dakota. You've made it okay. Chere, you got a corner of my soul forever."

Her hand lay weakly on top of his. "Be…good….Cajun. Or…I'll…haunt…you…for...ev…" Like that, she was gone.

**If only you would, Dakota. If only you would.** He offered up a silent prayer, asking God to make her a special angel. He pressed a last kiss to her forehead, and at that moment, he finally believed his life was going to be okay.