I want to thank everyone who asked when I'd get off my duff and finish "Reflections". I apologize for the delay, but my computer was taken over by hostile forces. This is the final chapter in a story that I still can't believe I wrote and had "published". Many thanks to Darqstar for allowing me this forum to tell my stories J Thanks to everyone who's read my story, and made me blink when I looked at the stats page and saw the numbers keep climbing into the unbelievable range.

Remy jacknifed into a sitting position, jerked awake from a sound sleep. His heart heartbeat thundered in is ears, sweat poured from him, and he couldn't stop shivering. **Damn dreams!** he thought, rolling his shoulders as if to shrug the nightmare off. Would they never cease?

This one had been a killer. He'd dreamed that he was watching Logan and Iceman square off in the Danger Room, when suddenly, he'd been Logan. He'd felt what Wolverine had felt, but not from the standpoint of a third party. He'd become Wolverine. Remy LeBeau had ceased to exist for those moments. From there the dream got worse.

Wolverine had picked up a chunk of rock to throw, intending to distract Iceman into looking toward the noise while he came at him from behind. He hesitated, thinking. Something about this situation was bothering him, and the more he worried at it, the worse the nagging became. Something was wrong. He eased back into the shadows, and thoughtfully went over the controlling factors. It was a simple Danger Room training session. Bobby was easy enough for Wolverine to neutralize, but his orders were to give the kid a remedial lesson in Sneak 101. Unseen, unfelt, the hand holding the rock began to glow.

It was the pain after the explosion that had rocketed Remy into wakefulness. He'd felt the agony of burning skin, smelled the stench that accompanied it, had his lungs seared by superheated air. Another violent shudder raced its way through him. **Shake it off, homme. Was a dream, dat's all. Jus' a dream.**

After one of those dreams he knew there was unequivocally zero possibility of returning to sleep. He rose, and dressed in one of his familiar sweat suits. As his nightmare subsided, he realized the cabin was cold enough to make him shiver without the aid of fear. Grabbing a quilt from the closet, he wandered out to the porch where he curled up and contemplated the sunrise he couldn't see.

**Keep tellin' myself it's time to go do somet'ing, but I keep runnin' in place. Enough of dat. You've hit de end of de road, homme. Time to make all de decisions you said you'd make tomorrow. What's it gonna be, M'sieu Solitary?**

Again and again he'd asked himself what he wanted. Again and again he'd rejected the involuntary answer. But not this time.

He remembered the weight that had fallen off his soul when Dakota had shattered the mirror of the past. He didn't have to earn the right to go home. Nor did he have to earn Rogue's respect and trust. Either they would welcome him or not. Either Rogue loved him or not. There was no middle ground to be found.

Did he want Rogue's love? Ah...there was the middle ground he didn't find elsewhere. He couldn't be the Remy LeBeau who'd started out with a heart full of hope. He was Solitary now. He couldn't make decisions he couldn't live with.

The questions he was asking himself showed the fundamental changes he'd undergone in the past months. He no longer questioned his right to human understanding and compassion.

**Ever'body got free will, homme. De choices you make from here on out have consequences, but de choices others gonna make have consequences, too. Dat's why bad t'ings sometimes happen to good people, like Dakota dyin' 'cause of a drunk driver. And maybe dat's how sometimes good t'ings happen to bad people, like l'il Stormy wanderin' into my shadows.**

**So, dis be my choice. I want to go home.** But could he? Home meant Rogue. And as to his other question, maybe he should turn it around.

**Do I love Rogue?** He knew his anger at Rogue stemmed in part from his frustration with himself and his limitations. His head knew she had nothing to do with his accident, but his heart knew that because he'd been thinking of her instead of watching what was going on around him, she was the cause of his difficulties.

**Do I love Rogue?** There was no question she'd hurt him deliberately, and without care for the consequences of her actions. He'd reached out for her, and she'd flayed his emotions with the skill of a professional.

**Do I love Rogue?** She hadn't come looking for him, not that he really exptected her too. The letter from the team had said they were all sorry for what had happened when he left, but did that include Rogue? He'd never once known her to apologize. That stiff necked pride of hers wouldn't allow her to admit she was wrong.

**Do I love Rogue?** He couldn't touch her. Not even in her heart, where it counted. She'd kept miles between them, even sitting a mere foot apart on the couch. That wasn't going to change until she did, which would probably be about the 12th of Never.

**Do I love Rogue?** The 64 million dollar question. **I'm angry with her!** But that was not an answer. **She hurt me!** That also was accurate, but still not an answer. **She doesn't want me!** Answer the damn question! Do you love her? **YES!**

And so, he had his answers. Now, the decisions would be easier to make but no less costly. He sat for hours, feeling the sun creep higher. He thought of his past, his time with the X-Men, Rogue, the accident. And he grew intensely introspective while thinking about Chat and Dakota. Time went by unnoticed, until the cooling temperatures of evening once again made him shiver.

His mind felt like it had been turned inside out, but finally it was decided. He rose, heading inside to gather what few things he couldn't walk away from. Chat's rubber ball, and his memories.

The End.