Well, hello there.

I'm back. With a sequel. I didn't think I would do one for a very long time. This was supposed to be a story all on its own, but the more I thought about it, I realized that it would make more sense to have a sequel. Too many things were set up in the last one. It would be easier to work off of the last fic, Knee High Socks, rather than struggling with starting from scratch. So here we are with a sequel. And look! It's gone up a rating. Don't worry. It won't get too graphic. But the violence has gone up a notch. But, on the plus side, so has the sexiness with Remy.

So I give you the prologue.

I might have a new chapter up within the next day or so. Family issues and final exams and whatnot. But summer is almost here so I can fully commit to this story. I would give the threat of "I won't be able to update very often so don't look for it" but I never seem to be able to follow through on that threat so...you know. So here's the epilogue. Please enjoy.


It was an awful feeling.

White hot pain shot through her body. It was the kind of pain that was so potent that it made her know that she was alive. Because if she were dead, she wouldn't have to endure such searing agony. The pain, the agony, worked its way to the base of her spine to the roots of her hair. She was alive, alright.

Death wouldn't hurt this much.

Conversely, the pain that stripped the air from her lungs was also making her acutely aware of the fact she was dying. The aching in her chest didn't subside but she could feel the life draining from her. She had faced pain before. Had tasted death. But never like this.

It was never this bad.

Behind her, a chest heaved. A heart stuttered. A hand tightened against her waist. He was so close. They were pressed together.

He was always so warm. Whereas her skin, no matter the time of year, was always chilled, he ran hotter than most. It was all that energy twisting within him. He was always so warm. It was assuring.

He wasn't warm now.

She could feel the warmth slowly fade from him. But she could at least feel his sluggish heartbeat moving almost in time with hers. That heartbeat was heaven. That heartbeat was her anchor. As long as that heart was beating, that meant that there was a chance everything would be okay.

In retrospect, she should have known better.

She thought she could fight it. Make herself not care so much. Maybe save some small part of her heart for herself. But, long ago, it had been stolen. She didn't want him to steal her heart completely. She wanted to have something for herself. Just in case. She had stolen his heart though, and she hadn't intended on giving it back. But now, as his heart stammered in time with hers, she knew she was too far gone.

Thump….thump thump…..thump…thump…thump thump….

Remy LeBeau had stolen her heart and all it took was being tortured by a psychopathic geneticist for her to figure it out.

Sometimes, Rogue decided, she was really dense.