Alright...(shuffles notecards) I own not X-Men: Evolution, Rogue, Remy, the idea of a Rogue/Remy relationship, a kitchen in a mansion, dim hallway lighting,or mint chocolate ice cream. Aaaand...oh, yes. This fic was written in the wee hours oftwo mornings during a bout of insomnia, therefore any really stupid things within are errors that I don't really care about.

She wasn't sleeping again. Rogue sat up at the kitchen table, her bowl of ice cream melting silently in front of her, and stared wide-eyed in the darkness at the silhouette in the doorway.

"Chere?" the voice was low and southern, and reminded Rogue of cayenne peppers for some reason. She didn't say anything, hoping that the Cajun would just pass through. Insomnia is supposed to be a solitary act.

"Remy knows y' dere, Chere. 'E can see in de dark, r'member?"

Rogue sighed and realy wished she hadn't given in to Kitty's constant nagging and questioning about a certain pajama set she'd given Rogue for Christmas but hadn't seen since. The goth-during-day felt very stupid in the minty green satin suit with little dancing ice cream cones on it. And, of course, the once night she even wears it is the one night the resident playboy also has a case of insomnia and is creeping through the mansion.

"Remy's starin' right at ya, Chere. An' 'e must say, dem's some nice p.j.s." He moved closer silently in the darkness until his silhouette completely blocked out the dim lighting from the hall. Rogue could smell him now- a comforting mix of motor oil, aftershave, various Cajun spices, and that unique Remy smell, the one that probably made all girls over the age of twelve want to jump him. His charm didn't affect her, though. Rogue had a bitter theory that she was immune to love.

"D' you see some humor in eatin' mint chocolate ice cream while wearin' little dancin' mint ice cream cones? Dat's gonna bug me."

Rogue heard rather than saw Remy lean over the top of the counter and take something out of a drawer. Sitting down beside her in a much less embarrassing plaid flannel pants and white undershirt, Remy stuck what appeared to be a spoon into Rogue's ice cream and scooped half of it out in one go. "Howevah," he said as he sized up the lump of mint chocolate he was about to stuff in his mouth, "de green material brings out de green in y' eyes."

"Yeah," Rogue gave up on the silent treatment as another wave of sleepless exhaustion swept over her, "And the bags under 'em."

"What's got cha up tonight, Chere?" Remy asked between spoonfuls. Rogue hesitated, then gave up on trying to drive the man out of the kitchen. Gambit was like a shadow already anyway, he might have already figured it out.

"Ah don' sleep much." she stated, fully planning on making a quick exit and hiding on the roof until he gave up searching for her and fell asleep somewhere. But…

"Why not, Chere?" Rogue could just see him put down the spoon and put his chin on his hands and turn his attention fully to her. "Scared of the dark?"

Rogue snorted and turned her attention out the windows in the breakfast nook. "Scared of the voices," she whispered, half hoping he wouldn't hear and half hoping he would. Remy was silent. "The people Ah absorb, their…psyche, or somethin', stays with me, in here," she tapped her temple with one slender white finger, "and there ain't nothin' Ah- or anyone- can do to make them go away. It gets…temptin' to listen to 'em now and then, and once Ah actually lost control. Ah don't wanna again. So whenevah they get strong, Ah sit here and eat ice cream and wait for 'em to go away again."

Remy could see her clearly, and he could see her quickly wipe a tear away. He decided not to mention to her that he saw that.

"It's just," Rogue continued, unable to stop now, "Ah hate this so bad. Ah can live without touch. It gets hard, but Ah can do it. It's all these voices in mah head, telling me to let mah guard down…it…it gets…lonely…." she trailed off when she couldn't think of what was missing.

Remy reached across the table and helf Rogues arm, safely enclosed in childish satin dancing ice cream cones, right above her exposed wrist.

"How often does dis happen? Dis…insomnia?" he asked quietly and very un-Remy-like. Rogue wiped her eyes again before looking at the Cajun again.

"Coupla' nights a week. Why?"

"Well," Remy shifted in his seat some, "Mebbe if de Chere don' mind, Remy can go get some ice cream and Rogue an' him can watch a movie o' somethin' until she falls asleep on dose nights. And if y' start actin' like someone else, Ah'll poke ya awake."

Rogue looked at him a little sharper, then let out a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Ya know, Ah'll think about it." She got up a little clumsily and after putting her bowl in the sink, went to bed and then into a voiceless, dreamless sleep.