A/N: Okay...this story was inspired by a multitude of other Romy sotries, so, if anything familiar is seen, I promise I'm not ripping it off, I was just inspired.

Thoughts/Telepathy= //...\\


//Face it, Remy. You lyin' to yo'self. Tellin' yo' mind, and yo' heart that it be rain on yo' face, and not tears. Cajun, you jus' all washed up, now.\\

Gambit stood in the pummeling droplets, the blackness of the night sky, starless and moonless, hovering above him. He was alone in the center of this great park. Central Park, to be exact. What was in New York for him? Nothing. Nothing but his iced breath before him in a gray cloud.

He began to walk, chillded fingers dug deep into cacky trench pockets. He heard a cry in the distance.

The sound was not a yelp, as though in trouble, nor a sob, of physical pain, but a wail, a moan, a bellow of unimaginable, untangible emotional turmoil. So enthralled was he, in the desperate sound, he missed the rain's subtle change to snow, and in minutes, the ground was littered with soft blankets of white flakes. He continued to follow the low bay.

He hunched slightly, as he passed under a deep set stone bridge, which served no particular purpose, and turned a corner, to finally come into the sight of his 'prey'. The crying person, which he could see only a faint silhouette of, but all to obviously, a woman. He ventured further.

He wondered to himself, if in this all too early hour of the morning, the woman would be alerted by the sound of his boots crunching into the snow surrounding him. He guessed not, do to her current emotional state.

Soon, he was able to make out colors and clothes, and saw that this woman was laying in the snow, head buried in crossed arms, stomach flat to the ground, and knees crossing eachother as they layed in a most uncomfotable looking position. This girl looked as if she had just fallen, and could not move, but this is not what disturbed the Cajun. No, not this at all. It was what this woman was wearing.

She had what seemed like a sort of, summer evening fashion. A pair of dark jeans, obviously new, for their color bled into the snow around them, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of all black canvas shoes. She still racked with sobs, or shivers. Remy couldn't tell, and so, seeing this woman in distress, he kneeled beside her, noting the familiar ale skin, and auburn hair.

"Chere?" he whispered lightly, his breath dancing around him.

There was no answer to him, from the fallen woman, and so he nudged her lightly. Finally, a response. Her face turned slightly, and she shook violently from cold. HEr deeply chipped emerald eyes gleamed up to him, and her nose glew with red chill.

"Chere!" Gambit cried, recognizing her features. Her head fell back down, face first into the snow.

Remy removed his jacket with great speed, wrapping it around her shoulders, and lifting her from what could have been her snowy grave. He continued to rope it aroung the length of her wet, frozen body. She barely responded to his touches, and stared blankly as he lifted her in princess-like style, carrying her to the street, to catch a cab.


A/N: That was just a prologue. I'm a Romy fan, and decided, I had to write my own fic. I apologize for any spelling/grammer errors. Let me know, and I'll fix them. (And, if you're confused about anything, it will be explainded in later chapters, but you have to let me know if you want one. Thanks!)