I have bad news. Like, really, really bad news.

Er… Guess who has Carpal Tunnel Syndrome from typing so much in an odd hand position! (Hint: It's me.) I guess that's what I get for writing six stories at once (You: 'But, Jamie… you're only writing two stories right now…" Me: "I'm only posting two stories. *waggly eyebrows*")

I'm not supposed to be typing. Like, at all. I'm writing this up in super secret (and it hurts like a mother)and I can't write anything else until I'm a-okay. (Because, guess what? Apparently Carpal Tunnel is a big deal. Who knew? When I first found out, I started laughing, but everyone else was all like 'This is super cereal. You could have permanent damage. Never be able to use your wrist again. Major surgery. So, stop fucking typing.)

So, I'm posting what I have of this chapter because I didn't want to be all lame and just leave you guys with this note, but this is the last you'll have of me until the Carpal Tunnel decides to go away. (Does Carpal Tunnel just go away? ... I should probably know that, shouldn't I?... Meh. I'll do some research or something…)

ANYWAYS! Here's the chapter, or, what I'd written of it before Da Tunnel reaped on me. Sorry if it's not funny, it's kinda only half done and HOLY GOD WHAY AM I TYPING SO MUCH? AAAAHHHHHOOOOOWWW.

"Bruce!" Remy's fist pounded into the wood of the front door of yet another decrepit looking apartment. Rogue was standing a few feet back from him with reservation, having fallen into a sort of daze since they'd kissed. "Bruce! I swear, if you don' open this door right this secon'—"

The door cracked open a fraction of its ability, halted by the locked chain.

"I'm curious." Bruce Banner peered out from the crack in the door. "What is it exactly you plan to do when I don't open the door?"

"I'll—" Remy held up his fist. "I'll—" It dawned on him that he had very little to plausibly threaten the scrawny man in front of him with. "I'll make fun of that stupid apron you wear when you bake!" He finally hissed in triumph.

"You take that back!" Bruce yanked open the door, revealing a pink apron with a sadfaced rabbit with the text 'Somebunny needs a cookie' bubbled across the front. "This apron is genius!"

"I know you're busy being antisocial and mopey," Remy growled in his throat. "But, I'm at the end of my rope. And I'm gonna use the little bit I have left t' hang m'self if I don' get this sorted out now." He snarled, flexing his hands in and out of fists.

Bruce eyed him skeptically. "Am I sensing some sexual frustration?" He grinned cheekily.

Remy made as if he were going to strangle the other man but reminded himself that the wiser decision would be to approach this diplomatically (re: Don't kill him, don't get killed by him.) so instead, he took a deep breath and counted to ten, which was usually Bruce's shtick.

"Bruce," Remy started again, taking a step back and gently guiding Rogue, who still looked completely thunderstruck, forward. "This is Rogue." He lifted her arm by the elbow and waved it sloppily at Bruce. Rogue didn't seem to notice or care.

"Uh…" Bruce was starting to wonder where exactly this was going. "Hello, Rogue."

"Rogue here is a mutant." Remy continued to explain. "Her mutation deprives her of the ability t' touch without rendering the other person unconscious. She 'absorbs' them, so to speak, takin' away memories and speakin' patterns, and wit' mutants, their mutations as well."

"…Alright." Bruce allowed dubiously.

"And she has no control." Remy added.

"Really?" Bruce's interest was piqued in spite of himself. That meant he and that girl had something in common. "Why are you telling me all of this?"

Remy held up one finger before prying off Rogue's glove and slapping her bare hand on the side of his face.

Bruce waited.

Remy smeared her hand around for added effect when absolutely nothing happened.

Rogue blinked, starting to come back to reality. "The hell are you doing?" She snatched her hand back from him.

"Proving a point," Remy took her by the shoulders and guided her in front of him, looking over the top of her head at Bruce, who was just confused enough to find out what was going on. "Something's wrong, and since you're the only doctor I know—"

"I'm not really a 'doctor'." Bruce explained quickly, realizing what was being asked of him. "I'm a physicist. 'Doctor' just sort of came with the degree. I'm not really qualified for this sort of-"

Remy knocked his elbow into Rogue's ribs, giving her the cue that 'Plan B' was now in effect as Bruce continued to babble.

"But, Dr. Banner," Rogue frowned, looking up at Bruce from her eyelashes, clasping her hands fretfully under her chin. "Ah can't go tah the hospital 'cause Ah'm a mutant an' they wouldn't treat me real good." She purposefully put inflection on her accent. "An' what if it's somethin' real serious?" She gasped, eyes glossing over with crocodile tears. "What if I die?"

"What if she dies?" Remy repeated, tilting his head and making his own pathetic face. "Help her?"

"Pleeeeaaaaaasssssseee?" They both chorused, successfully looking like kicked puppies.

Bruce winced, looked away, looked back, winced again, wondered if they'd practiced this routine, looked back, shuddered slightly, and finally caved. Because, really, who could say no to those faces? Not him, that's for damn sure.

"I'll see what I can do." He sighed in defeat. "it's not like I have anything better to do with my life."

"Yes!" Remy fist pumped in victory and Rogue did a small dance before they both high-fived.

"But—" Bruce intoned, cutting them off. "I'm not making any promises." He warned them.

"Fair enough." Remy shrugged.

"Do I smell something burning?" Rogue sniffed the air.

"My cookies!" Bruce gasped and bolted, pink apron fluttering in the wind, door left ajar.

Remy and Rogue stood in the hallway.

Remy gestured to the open door in a sort of 'Ladies first'.

Rogue eyed the door tentatively in a sort of 'But we weren't really invited in...'

He rolled his eyes and scoffed in a sort of 'Scardy cat'.

She put her hands on her hips in a sort of 'Am not!'.

He grinned in a sort of 'Are too.'

Rogue huffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she stomped into the apartment in a sort of 'Bite me'.

Remy chuckled and followed after her in a sort of 'Anytime.'

Rogue stood awkwardly in the center of what was probably a living room underneath all of the clutter, looking around skeptically. There was junk absolutely everywhere. Not normal junk like dirty clothing or spent pizza boxes, weird junk like beakers and busted stress balls and papers. She picked up one of the sheets of paper and was greeted with a short, gruesome description of a starfish's ability to regenerate completely even under the extreme duress of being cut in half.

"Charming." She placed the paper back down next to a picture of a beautiful young woman with black hair, which seemed to be the only well kept item in the room.

"Bruce is usually pretty organized." Remy shrugged, trailing his finger distractedly along the side of the fish tank, the little gold fish inside devotedly following his hand from the other side of the glass. "Must have had a bad day recently."

"Huh." Rogue allowed, not really wanting to ask what a bad day in the Banner household entailed considering the very strong command from Remy early to 'Don't make 'im angry. Ever. Jus' don't do it. I tried it once. Worst decision of my life. Well, no. Not the worst. Top four, easy. Maybe five. Anyway, don't try it.'

"Saved 'em!" Bruce clucked happily to himself, sweeping out of the 'kitchen' with a plate full of only very slightly burned cookies. "Baking helps relieve stress." He informed them, holding out the plate to them.

Remy took a cookie graciously and motioned for Rogue to do the same.

When Rogue happened to glace back there, she noticed that the entirety of the kitchen was absolutely covered with baked goods.

"I keep my equipment in the spare room," Bruce pulled the apron over his head and hung it up, ushering them towards the back bedrooms.

Remy whistled appreciatively as he flicked on the lights of the spare room. "You hold up a hospital?" He snorted over his shoulder at Bruce, eyebrow rising on his forehead as he took in what must have been a fortune and a half of medical equipment.

"I guess we never stop searching for a way to cure ourselves." Bruce looked around at the stolen equipment, as if seeing it for the first time. "I've got enough here to test blood and radiation, but if your problem stretches beyond anything out of normal physical health, I don't think I'll be able to help you." Bruce turned to Rogue.

Rogue put a sympathetic hand on Bruce's shoulder, knowing exactly what he had meant about searching.

Remy eyed her hand from the other side of the room. A weird thought struck him. If she could touch now, what happened?

Remy flopped down on the couch, the only place to sit other than the table on the other side of the room, and brooded on this very thought.

Did it change anything?

Remy munched on his cookie and made a face when he only got burned bits.

"Have a seat on the table and I'll see what I can do." Bruce smiled at Rogue.

A half an hour later Bruce informed her that there was absolutely nothing physically wrong with her.

"I mean, I can't really get a good look at your brain, but everything seems to be fine." Bruce shrugged as he tossed his stethoscope on the table next to Rogue, who had been forced to take off her shoes, tights, sweater, and gloves.

Rogue huffed a disgruntled sigh, crossing her arms over her chest.

Remy grinned from his spot on the couch, eating on a slice of pound cake and enjoying the view.

"I want to try one last thing." Bruce told Rogue.

"M'kay." Rogue said hesitantly.

Bruce put out his bare hand.

"Touch me."

Remy was on his feet now, cake forgotten as he materialized at her side. "You don't have to." He informed her, noting her discomfort.

"No." Rogue shook her head. "I'll do it." She reached a shaky hand out to Bruce's, telling herself that if there was nothing wrong with her than it would be fine. She swept her bare fingers across Bruce's palm.

"Woah." Bruce stumbled backwards, holding his head.

"I'm sorry!" Rogue muttered quickly, clutching her own head where a vague impression of Bruce Banner had imprinted itself, the touch not lasting long enough for anything else. "I didn't mean tah—"

"No, no, it's fine." Bruce waved off her concern.

Remy frowned at her, snatching up her wrist.

"What are you-?" Rogue was about to protest as he laid out his bare hand against hers.

Still nothing.

"Why doesn't it work on you?" Rogue pouted, flustered.

Remy's brow furrowed, but he had no ready response.

"Wait," Bruce interrupted. "If your mutation still has effect on me, and you're physically fine, you know what that means?" He grinned.

Remy paled. "It's not you, it's me."

A half an hour later, Remy and Rogue had switched positions, Rogue sitting on the couch, happily nibbling on a slice of pecan pie as she kicked her bare feet back and forth, grinning, and Remy scowling from his spot on top of the table, shirtless.

"Interesting." Bruce hovered next to the computer screen.

"Interesting enough for me to put my shirt back on?" Remy muttered under his breath.

"It's almost as if your mutation has creates some sort of static barrier that blocks out her mutation." Bruce explained. "Pretty neat, huh?"

"So I can touch him?" Rogue piped up. "Nothing's wrong with either of us?"

"I can touch her?" Remy repeated, and the real weight of the situation hit him. "I'm the only person who can touch her?"

"It would appear to be the case." Bruce shrugged.

The clouds parted and a ray of sunshine fell down on Remy LeBeau. He chuckled deviously, almost a full blown maniacal laugh, rubbing his hands together subtly.

"Wait a second." Rogue glared at him, cutting off his scheming. "Are you thinkin' that just 'cause you're the only person I can touch, Ah'm jus' gonna settle f'r yah like some sort of loose slut?" She demanded, absolutely furious that he would think so little of her.

Remy hesitated. "I'm sensing the correct answer here is 'no'."

"Damn straight it's no!" She screamed, chucking a textbook in his general direction.

"Woah! Chere!" Remy ducked under the book, hopping off the table and taking shelter behind the bookshelf.

"What kind a' woman do you take me for?" She shrilled, throwing absolutely anything she could get her hands on.

"Chere!" Remy jumped to avoid a flying plate of pecan pie. "Rogue!" A fork smacked him in the forehead. "Ow."He rubbed the red spot. "Anytime you wanna jump in."He glared over at Bruce, who was leaning against a wall.

"You seem to have in handled."Bruce munched on a brownie contentedly.

"Ah!"Remy squeaked, throwing himself to the floor as she hurled a microscope at him.

"You think that just because you're my only option that you're my only option?" She demanded, absolutely irate.

"Beau," Remy soothed in a placating tone from his spot hidden behind the couch. "Remy didn' mean nothin' by it." He assured, taking up the role of 'appeaser' now that they were having a fight that was actually about something. "And he surely don' expect y' t' jus' settle f'r 'im!" Since inanimate objects of the room had ceased to become airborne, he hazarded standing, rising to find her, seething, in the middle of the room.

"Ah'll have you know, Mr. LeBeau," She snorted, stomping forward and prodding him in the chest harshly until she had him pinned against the wall, swallowing thickly. "That Ah will kiss anyone I damn well please."

She grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him long and hard.

"Ah hate you." She hissed when she pulled away before stomping out of the door.

"I…"Remy stared after her. "I'm so confused." He looked over at Bruce.

Bruce shrugged.

So, while you were reading, I did some research. Apparently Carpal Tunnel is a big deal… I should probably stop typing now…

Right now.

Annnnd now.

This time, I swear.

WAIT! Sorry this sucked so much. Pity me. I'm in pain. And my hand tingles. ow. ow. ow.