AN: The song does not belong to me. It is "Breakeven" by The Script. I hope you enjoy the story :) Feel free to review!


"What would I do without you? What would I- What would I do without you. Come on, what would I do without you?"

The two of them had spoken those words to each other over the years, but only now were they truly being put to the test. At the moment, Remy LeBeau wasn't so sure. He sat in his New Orleans apartment, cigarette in hand, beer bottle on the rickety coffee table in front of him.

"I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing,

Praying to a god I don't believe it…"

He coughed, which started a series of them and he put out his cigarette even though it was nowhere near finished. He closed his eyes and sighed, leaning back into the couch. He had been off of them for so long because of her. "Damn her," he muttered, though he didn't mean it. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. "God…"

"Cos I got time while she got freedom…"

And it was true. He did indeed have time. Way too much of it in his opinion. His old self would have laughed at the thought, mentally slapped him out of the funk he was in, and gone out to a bar or museum; the bar for drinks and tricks, the museum not just for looking at art if you knew what he meant.

But no. Not anymore. Not since her. She had changed him in ways no one else could have, or ever would again.

"What am I supposed to do when the best part of me was always you…"

That was true as well, she was his better half. She'd say it jokingly but he would always truthfully agree. That would always make her laugh…

Remy shook his head, trying to snap himself away from his thoughts. "Gotta get out," he muttered, standing up and grabbing his trench coat. He pulled it on as he left his apartment, ignoring the locks; there was nothing inside for anyone to steal anyway.

He took to the streets of the French Quarter with no destination in mind, only the thought that he needed to go somewhere. Somewhere where he wouldn't think about her. He laughed out loud at that and got a couple odd looks from passerby. He smiled and stuck his hands in his pockets, staring at the ground. "Let them t'ink I'm crazy," he said.

He wandered the streets aimlessly, trying to steer clear of places he knew she would linger. So he avoided the café on the corner, the restaurant over by the florist, Audubon Park… Definitely Audubon Park. He walked the hour and a half to the Lower Garden District and lost himself amongst the flowers and other flora and fauna, trying to focus on them instead of her.

But he couldn't. The way certain flowers smelt reminded him of her, or the smoothness of a petal, or the colour of a leaf. He couldn't get her out of his head.

"Cos she's moved on while I'm still grieving…"

He groaned and sprinted out of the district, just blindly running up Race Street to Coliseum Square Park, where he collapsed onto a bench. Now he was tired, but all he could think of was how her silhouette looked against the curtains or how her body moved as she breathed. He dropped his head into his hands and gripped his hair, digging his nails into his scalp.

"Now I'm try'na make sense of what little remains ooh,

Cos you left me with no love and no love to my name…"

Slowly he sat up and blinked to clear his eyes. He looked around the park at the trees, at the couples, at the grass, at the couples, at the dogs, at the couples with dogs… "Why am I so obsessed wit' her?" he asked himself quietly, even though it was a stupid question. It was because of who she was…

"…the best part of me was always you…"

With a defiant sigh he took out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and lit it despite the looks his got from people. He just shrugged and took a drag, spiraling the smoke towards the clear blue sky. The best part of him was always her, so that left him with what he was before, and he was going to embrace what he was before.

Getting up he started the trek back home, noting some jewelry and art stores along the way. Tonight he was going to start to go back to his roots.

Later that week Remy straightened his tie as he stepped out onto the street. He waved a hand to flag a cab and was soon driving off towards his destination. He stopped the driver a block away from the building and paid him as he got out. He walked the block to the building and smiled. Tonight was going to be fun.

He opened the door to the gallery and presented his fake ID for the institution that was running tonight's showing. As he ventured further into the gallery he blended in with the crowd, attracting no attention. He lifted a champagne flute and the wallet of a passing waiter off of the man as he headed towards the back of the gallery where the prized pieces were.

He smiled as he started to pass them, but then stopped to admire them like everyone else. His smile dropped as he turned around to look at the other pictures, and he nearly dropped his glass in the process.

Rogue looked surprised, then happy, as she met his eyes.

"I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing…"

His breath caught in throat as he quickly allowed himself a moment to admire her. A silver dress showed off her curves and heels gave her another inch or two of height, though still not quite enough to match him. She tilted her head and flashed him a teasing smile. She thought the break-up was a good idea for the both of them, but had she known what seeing her did to him she would have possibly reconsidered.

"Hey," she said. He gave her a smile back and was happy that it didn't appear as false as it was. The only thing he wanted to do with his mouth was to kiss hers.

"Bonjour," he replied, his Cajun accent smoothly rolling the word of his tongue.

"Long time no see, what'cha been up ta?" she asked, her drawl hitting certain words.

He shrugged in reply and took a sip of champagne to try to steady himself. "Not much, the usual."

"Is that why you're here?"

Busted.

He shook his head. "No. Just came for da art."

"Is tha' so? Don't ya need a pass ta get in?"

Double busted.

"How'd you get in then?" he replied, diverting the attention away from him.

In response a blond haired man stepped up behind her. He handed her a drink as he loosely, comfortably, wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Leon got me in," Rogue replied.

Remy nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and took another sip of champagne even though all he wanted to do with the glass was throw it at the other man's head.

"She finally found a man that's going to put her first…"

Remy glanced away, pretending to look at some abstract painting on the far wall.

"Who's this?" Leon asked.

"My friend Remy, though he hasn't been much of one lately. Ignorin' me?" she asked jokingly. Remy looked back at her and inside his head he was screaming "All I thought of was ya!", but instead of saying it out loud he laughed quietly and shook his head. "Not intentional mon cherie." He cut himself off at the end, and he noticed in her eyes that she hadn't missed the title. But instead of calling him out on it she laughed. "Sure, sure, I believe tha'."

Leon smiled at her and kissed her cheek.

Remy nearly punched him.

"Cos you got my heart and his heart and none of the pain…"

"And who's dis?" he asked slowly, not trusting his words.

"Ma boyfriend, Leon."

Remy nodded, once again not trusting himself to speak. It was obvious that he was her boyfriend, so why was she pointing out the obvious?

"I think we interrupted his thoughts," Leon said. "Perhaps we should look around and leave your friend to the art."

Remy pointedly didn't look away from the girl in front of him and she met his gaze without a problem. Remy didn't understand how she could hold him in front of her like that.

"Have fun," was all he said, to which she replied with a smile and "Be good." as she used to do whenever she was going somewhere without him.

"Her best days will be some of my worst…"

He gave her a last smile as she turned her back on him, possibly but God hope not, forever. And all he could do was keep his feet planted and not run after her, grip the stem of his champagne flute and not wrap those same hands around Leon's neck, look at her back and not rush to look at her eyes.

"They say that bad things happen for a reason,

But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding,

Cos she's moved on while I'm still grieving…"

Once he lost her in the crowd he turned and scoured the room for the perfect picture. On his third circuit of the room he stopped in front of one. He smiled and glanced at his watch. Three hours until closing.

A couple days later a postman walked up the front walk to a house in New York. He knocked on the door as he glanced at his roster, double-checking the address. A pretty looking brunette answered the door.

"Hello?" she asked, looking him up and down.

"Parcel for a… Rogue? " He looked up at her, hoping that this wasn't a joke. Who named their child Rogue? And why wasn't there a last name?

"I'm Rogue," the girl answered, and the postman wiped the skeptical look off his face.

"Well I-I have a parcel for you." He turned to the poster sized, flat box that was rested against his leg. He handed her the roster and pen and she signed, staring at the box with a mixture of confusion and worry on her face. "Thanks," she said slowly as he passed her the semi-heavy package.

The postman left and she stepped back into her house, closing the door behind her. She couldn't think of anyone who would go through the hassle and expense to send her such a large package. Most of her friends lived in New York or in an area nearby so who would-

She spotted a Louisiana address in the corner and her eyes widened. He didn't… He wouldn't…

She laid the parcel on the dining room table that sat in front of the window and tore off the wrapping, slitting the top of the inner box open with a nearby pair of scissors. She slowly slid the delicate present from inside and rested it on the table next to the wrappings.

It was a painting. One that she recognized from the gallery a few days before. She covered her mouth with her hand as she turned it over, expecting a note or something-

And there was.

An intricate heart drawn with a black medium of some sort rested in the middle of the back of the canvas. The heart was in two pieces but the bottoms lay close to each other, only a hair away from touching.

The heart was enough; there was no need for the jack of spades card that lay tucked into the bottom corner.

"Damn ya Remy," she whispered.

Across the street in a non-conspicuous red car Remy watched the exchange between Rogue and the postman, then watched as his ex wandered into her dining room and opened his gift.

With a satisfied smile on his face but tears in his glowing red eyes he turned on the ignition and drove off.

"And what am I supposed to say when I'm all choked up that you're ok…

Oh you got my heart and his heart and none of the pain…

I'm falling to pieces…

Cos when a heart breaks no it don't break even."