Remy sat at the kitchen table, where the letter from the X-Men sat in silent accusation, as it had for months. His fingers danced around the edges of it, never quite touching, as if he could deny the reality of it. Instead, his fingers strayed over to the small tape recorder sitting next to it, and for perhaps the thousandth time, pressed play.

The voice was that of a stranger, reciting the letter he'd had forwarded to her with the rest of his mail. Again he listened, and his troubled thoughts grew no clearer.

Chat sat at his knee, leaning against him in that universal way dogs have of offering silent understanding. Remy allowed the comfort to flow through him. He always felt better knowing Chat was there. He'd grown by leaps and bounds since that day three months ago, when he'd been a scared, shivering scrap of fur who looked at Remy as if to say, "I choose you."

Now, he stood almost to Remy's knees, and showed no signs of stopping. Remy felt like the pup had saved his sanity after Dakota died. He'd been someone to focus on, someone to understand, some one to be there when he cried. In return, Remy lavished all the affection he'd stored inside for years on the puppy.

Remy dropped his hand onto Chat's head, and gave his ears an affectionate rub. Silently, as he seemed to do most things these days, he slowly stood, and made his way to the door. Opening it, he headed out into the early evening, holding the door for Chat to follow.

Their evening walk led, as so many of them frequently did, to Dakota. It was where Remy often found himself when he needed to talk to someone.

Remy had learned from Dakota that no matter what he looked like, he had consequence. He had meant something to Dakota, and that made him more special than anyone else on earth for a little piece of time. No matter what his past told him, now he had value. There was no more need to court death in an effort to atone for past mistakes. He'd carry the shame of his past to the grave, but he couldn't try to make the past right. The past was just that, and could never be changed. What mattered was now.

As he sat near her, Remy thought about his current quasi-life. *It's not enough any more*, he thought to himself. He felt Chat settle at his side, and absently stroked his ears. The preoccupied petting soothed him, and allowed for clearer thinking. He wanted more than this non-existence.

He'd put off answering the X-Men for months. Why, he wasn't exactly certain. He emotional scars were healing, but still sensitive. Could he go back looking like he did? The people in town still shied away, but it no longer mattered, much. They were strangers. Control of his empathy had returned, and with it had come a measure of serenity. He would be risking that hard won calm should the X-Men turn away, too.

*Pointless, homme. You got not'ing de X-Men want, or need.* They'd explained in the letter about how sorry they were, and how they wanted him back. But that was only because they didn't know, and he didn't know how to tell them, or even if he wanted to.

*One t'ing at a time, homme. Jus' do de surgery, and see where you stan' after dat. No more decisions till den.* And then, fingers buried in Chat's fur, he realized he had one more decision to make. *What am I gonna do wit' you, pup?* His heart clouded in worry.

He understood full well what the docters had outlined for him. Four successive surgeries, with months of physical therapy after that. He'd be in the hospital for about 4 months, and there was no way he could care for Chat.

His fingers stilled their movements as he thought. Chat grew impatient with Remy's preoccupation, and nudged his nose against his cheek, urging him to continue. Remy sighed, and twisted to pick the growing puppy up, and held him on his lap, feeling again the heart-ease that came with the simple showing of affection.

Remy knew what he had to do, much as his emotions rebelled against it. *Gotta find you a home, pup. More of a home dan you got wit' a broke-down mutant. You need a fam'ly. T'ink maybe I know jus' where to fin' you one. Dey're not my fam'ly no more, but dey can be yours. Den I be like an in-law, maybe. Closest I t'ink I ever gonna get again.* He bent to rub his cheek against the softness of the young dog's fur. His turbulent thoughts grew calmer, letting Chat once again soothe him. *T'ink it's de right t'ing to do, Chat. I need to be me again, an' it's gonna take me goin' away for a while to do dat. 'Sides, if I know Stormy an' Ro-…well, you gonna be spoiled rotten in no time.*

He still violently shied away from thoughts of Rogue. It was the one thing in his life he had no idea what to do with. He knew he couldn't run from his feelings for Rogue forever, but he wasn't yet ready to open that overful closet.

He made himself relax, and carefully traced a hand over Dakota's name on the headstone. *I'm finally headed in de right direction, chere. Wit' you're help, gonna get t'rough dis. Won' be back for a while, but I'll be t'inkin' bout you all de time. Don' tease de cherubs too much, eh?*

He placed Chat back on the ground, and as he stood by the gravesite, a small summer breeze teased the ends of his hair, and quickly kissed his cheek. Remy smiled, and in his husky voice said "Love you too, chere."

Rogue strode impatiently up and down the hall. Controlling her temper resulted in a couple of unfortunate side effects, one of which was constant motion. Finally spotting Cyclops leaving the study, she pounced.

"Three months! For three dang months Ah let you tell me not yet, not now, soon, we'll talk about it, and all the other kinds of garbage Ah let you hand me, mostly 'cause Ah knew you were right, but Ah can't take it no more, Scott! Ah know you keep sayin' Remy's got to make the first move, but Ah need to know he's all right. Please can Ah just go check? Ah promise Ah won't talk to him, and Ah won't let him see me, but Ah just got to know!" For a moment, it sounded like the old Rogue demanding her own way in sheer defiance of what should be done, and she replayed her outburst in her head, wondering if she needed to apologize for jumping all over Scott when he least expected it. No, not this time, she knew. Her outburst was prompted by honest concern, and she also knew that despite her bluster, she'd abide by whatever he decided.

Scott gazed thoughtfully at the rose tinted Rogue standing before him, all but vibrating with nervouse energy. Hiding a smile, he was surprised she'd lasted the past few months without wearing holes in portions of the mansion floor. His amusement faded quickly though, for he was as concerned as she.

"Noah," he began, he paused, considering the impact of what he was about to say, and decided that although it would hurt, it was the truth, and she'd understand. "Noah, I don't think he wants any of us near him, right now." *Especially you,* he added silently.

"But he might be hurt, or maybe he didn't believe us when you wrote the letter and told him how we all were real sorry, and wanted him to come back!" Rogue didn't want to agree, but she was unwillingly aware she was fighting a losing battle.

"Noah, you know as well as I that Jean's been keeping tabs on the "chimera" Remy who occassionaly makes an appearance here. Jean feels that due to the reduced frequency of his visits, and the way his astral image has calmed recently, he's doing fine. I know you're concerned, and believe me, I share it, but I won't allow you to disturb whatever peace he's made for himself. With his empathy, I'm not convinced he wouldn't feel your presence nearby, even if he never saw you." Scott hated the way he felt after forcing her to confront facts, but how he felt was the most unimportant thing in the world right now.

He studied Rogue, and saw the worry in her eyes, and how desperation was driving her. Softly, he sighed, and weighed the team's almost frantic concern against the necessity of allowing Remy to make the decision to return. The only apology they could make to Remy right now was to allow him to choose. So far, the choice he'd made was fairly obvious.

As time had gone by, though, each member of the team grew more and more upset with themselves, and the longer time went by with no answer from Remy, the worse it got. Every last one of them was, bluntly, moping, and something needed to be done.

"All right." Scott blew a larger sigh, and ran his over the back of his neck in resignation. "All right. I'll send someone to check on him. But not you!" He added quickly as he saw her twitch towards the door.

Rogue smiled and all but bounced up and down. "Thanks, sugah!" she said, and no longer able to keep still, bolted for the nearest window, heading for the sky.

Remy stood at the gate at the end of the road, looking at his former home. He'd done nothing but think on the long flight here, and while he was sure that this was the best thing for all concerned, he didn't much like it. One hand firmly rested on Chat, and he again reminded himself that this was what needed to be done.

He knelt, and took Chats muzzle in his hand. "I know you be good, so I don' need to tell you dat. I know dey gonna love you, so I don' need to worry bout dat, neither. But I wan' you to be special good to someone else for me, neh? Her name be Rogue. She don' like me no more, but she needs somebody. She don' know you were wit' me, so dis give you a good chance to be her somebody. An' dis way, I can know you're takin' care of her de way I wanted to. She couldn't never touch me, an' I've learned dat touch is a valuable t'ing. So maybe she touch you, an it be almost like it was me." Remy stopped, unable to continue. He pulled Chat to him in a clumsy, one-armed hug. Standing, he rang the bell, and swiftly turned back to the cab waiting just around the bend.

Rogue flew lazy circles in the sky, her unexpected success with Cyclops leaving her feeling giddy and weightless. Turning on her back, she floated, daydreaming and looking at the clouds, letting her mind conjure them into fantastical shapes and images.

She heard the faint ring of the gate bell, and rolled over in time to see a cab pulling away, and a small figure waiting at the gate. Curiosity pulled her from the sky to see a young puppy sitting there, watching her with a gaze that could only be described as considering.

The first thing she noticed about him were the emerald green eyes, a color that mirrored her own. The second thing was the color of his coat. It was the exact shade of dusty cinnamon she held akin to Remy. The expected longing and sadness swept through her, and was set aside for the moment.

She landed several feet away, and knelt to his level. "Well, where'd you come from, sugah? Looks like somebody done left you here." She watched as his head tilted, first one way, then the other. His gaze never wavered from hers, and slowly, as if his decision had been made, his tail wagged. Once, twice. "Well, guess Ah pass, then." She was unexpectedly charmed by the dog. She'd never had a pet, before. "If you got left here, you must be for us, then. Let's get you inside to meet your new family." At the word "family" he stood, and looked toward the mansion. "Yup. That's where they are, all right. You're a smart dog, ya know that?" Rogue opened the gate, and the dog followed at her side.

Entering the front door, she stood just inside the entry way, and hollered for the X-Men at top volume. "VISITOR!"

They scrambled from every floor, floating, jumping, or, the sensible ones, simply walking down the stairs.

"That's the visitor?" Jean questioned, humor lighting her face.

"That runt?" this from Logan.

"Who donated the furball?" from Bobby.

"New student, perhaps?" Beast.

"Does he have a license on that collar?" Who else but Cyclops.

"What beautiful eyes." Understandably, Storm.

"Mine." Definite, non-negotiable, Rogue.

Suddenly, Logan stilled, sniffing the air. He looked at the dog with a piercing gaze, and advanced.

Chat narrowed his eyes, looking back at Logan.

Logan stopped and thought briefly, flashing a look at Rogue, who was still focused on the dog. He looked at Cyclops, who had noticed Woverine's sudden stillness, and was waiting. Wolverine jerked his head in the direction of the study, and the two quietly closed the door.

"That there dog's from the Cajun. Must'a been here not twenty minutes ago, scent's still fresh. You want I should go after him?"

"No." Cyclops' response was immediate. "No, if he wanted us to know he was here, he'd have left a note with the dog. Don't tell the rest of the team yet. Let me think about this for a while, all right?"

"Sure. Just thought you oughtta know." Logan turned, and left Scott alone with his thoughts.

Meanwhile, Rogue had sat down on the floor of the hall, and was petting the young dog. She felt like something that had been missing from her for a long time was falling into place. She looked at the puppy's collar. *Chat?* She wondered who in their right mind named a dog after a conversation. "Chat?" She said aloud. Immediately, the dog turned to look at her. "Well, guess ya know your name, even if it is an odd one. Think ya wanta be mah dog?" The puppy yipped, and licked her cheek.

Rogue laughed and hugged the young dog.