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Chapters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
 
 
 

The Ante - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Lucia de’Medici
Last updated: 05/11/2007 10:19:38 PM

Chapter 19

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The Ante

Chapter XIX: Hooks

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In a cloud of sulphur, accompanied by the sound of air splitting violently as two bodies teleported through the very fabric of space, the X-Men aliased Wolverine and Nightcrawler appeared on a small footpath in Lafayette Cemetery number one.

Wolverine, his mask covering half his face, hunched his shoulders and sniffed at the air with ferocious determination.

"Bingo," he said gruffly.

Beside him, Nightcrawler narrowed his eyes. "Is she here?"

His prehensile tail flicked back and forth agitatedly as he took in his surroundings. The area of the graveyard they had appeared in was dark, but several yards away, men moved amidst the glow of security flares.

"We ain’t alone," Logan groused, stalking off into the night. Nightcrawler followed two paces behind. "There are cops crawling all over this place. Stick to me, Elf. They see that blue mug of yours and it’ll turn into hunting season quicker than you can say ’donut.’"

"How can you tell?" Kurt asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Smells like blood," was the only reply offered. Instantaneously, Nightcrawler was on guard.

"Who’s?" he asked, a twinge of nervousness lacing the question. "Is it Rogue’s? Is she... was she hurt?"

"She ain’t here. Neither is the Cajun. But they were, and not too long ago. I’d know his stink anywhere. This is human - baseline, it smells dirty, and it’s strong. Come on."

Logan ploughed forwards, his shoulder knocking into a crypt, though the slight buffer didn’t slow the stocky man down.

They emerged on the outskirts of a police line. It created an ugly, polygonal blockade around an even uglier hole in the ground. Worse, the place was crawling with feds who, for all they were concerned, would consider them either vigilantes or worse, suspects.

Logan sniffed again, thrusting an arm out to hold Kurt back to the shadows before they could be seen.

"Stay put," Wolverine rumbled, his teeth bared.

He sniffed again, taking in a lungful of the sodden air, and grimaced just as quickly. Logan shook his head and Kurt hissed, "What is it?"

From Nightcrawler’s vantage point, blocked from the light and the milling officers by a thick arm, he couldn’t see what the problem was, though from Logan’s expression, he was beginning to form a pretty good idea.

"They were here," Wolverine murmured in a decidedly grim tone. "I can smell them all over these two. That can’t be right."

"What? What can’t be right? Wolverine!"

"You shouldn’t see this, kid," he rumbled in a tone that left little room for argument and pushing him backwards. "The cops are going to be coming this way soon. There’s... another one... behind us. It’s downwind, but the scent’ll turn this way once the breeze picks up. It’s even nastier than this. We need to move."

"What? Why?" Nightcrawler asked, trying to push past the firm barrier that blocked his view of the hole.

"Back up, Elf," Wolverine warned. "I mean it. We need to get out of here. Now. Getting implicated in this mess will bring the roof down on us all."

"But you just said Rogue was here. Aren’t we going to follow her?"

Wolverine rounded on him, picking him up by his uniform collar and dragging him. "I don’t know what the hell that punk got her mixed up in, but this ain’t right," he said again, though this time, it sounded to Kurt as if Logan was trying to convince himself of some unspoken fact he didn’t want to voice. "Stripes wouldn’t... but Gumbo..."

"What are you talking about?" Kurt hissed.

Wolverine wagged his head. "Her scent is all over that poor bastard back there. He reeks of it. Gumbo’s fainter, but there’s only them two. I don’t smell anyone else - two others, maybe, but they didn’t touch the poor bastard."

Wolverine was losing it, Kurt concluded, his toes barely dragging over the ground where Logan carried him back the way they’d came.

Whatever it was that he’d smelled, it had to be bad.

Incensed, Kurt moved instinctively and teleported out of Logan’s grasp, delivering himself into the shadows of an overhanging oak tree that looked down on the splintered blemish marring the earth below.

What Kurt saw there nearly made him fall out of the tree entirely.

A moment later, once he’d swallowed the rising bile at the back of his throat, he looked up to see Wolverine’s figure stalking away, a black dot blending into the shadows discreetly.

He said he’d smelled Rogue on the body. Her scent must have been strong, because even with the overpowering coppery tang lacing the air above the twisted, gutted form on the ground, Logan would have known if she’d been here.

Swallowing thickly, he considered what Wolverine had told him.

If Logan could only smell Rogue and Gambit on the body, that meant... no. It was impossible. Rogue wouldn’t harm anyone unless she had to - and this... the body... it was mutilated beyond recognition. Kurt’s stomach dropped as vividly, he recalled the ruthless, cold grimace Rogue had worn the day she pushed Mystique off a cliff at the Institute.

There was a side of Rogue he could not recognize, would not recognize as his own family.

She had been repentant, he tried to convince himself. She was repentant; she was sorry for acting impulsively. But being sorry didn’t bring back the dead. Rogue had wanted vengeance. She had sought it and claimed it. Mystique, Kurt’s birth mother and Rogue’s foster mother, had been destroyed. One terrible moment was all it took, and in Kurt’s eyes, no matter how much he’d embraced her afterwards - even after he’d said he’d forgiven Rogue and they had found Mystique was alive and well, a part of him still understood that it was the potential for great evil that he would remember more clearly than anything.

With Rogue’s abilities, her training, her mutation - there was great and terrible ability there, and in some ways, Kurt knew it was not an unfounded fear.

He loved her, but love didn’t erase the fact that in some ways, by being a mutant with her unique talents, Rogue was more dangerous than any of them.

But was it possible that Rogue was a killer? Instinctively, he knew it could be true.

Kurt was going to be ill.

"Mein schwester," he choked under his breath, "what have you done?"

A whisper of something ephemeral lingered at the back of Rogue’s mind as she stalked across the estate lawns. The grass was dewy and left wet streaks across the toes of her boots.

She shuddered, reflecting on how easily her movements suddenly seemed to her. She felt changed, somehow - adapting to Remy’s absorption and knowing intrinsically the way to the bayou through the cover of trees that she ducked into a moment later. She knew the locations of the security cameras, the arc taken between two angled sweeps of the lenses, and the exact amount of time in between where she was afforded the cloak of stealth to pass beneath them undetected.

It was if the dream, the memory that had surfaced as she slept, had flicked an on switch in her head.

It had been second nature to slip into one of the side rooms and pull a spare bo from the mansion’s artillery. She hadn’t known the passcode to unlock the drawer in which the training weapons were stored, but she had picked the lock in under five seconds flat.

This was decidedly bad, she concluded, though not without some trepidation.

Worse, though she strained to find him, Remy’s psyche was simply not there, though a substantial amount of other indecipherable information was. It was patchy at best - a network of half-formed, foggy thoughts that meant little or nothing if she concentrated on them too hard.

Like faces in the mist, his memories rose to greet her. Women - hundreds of women, all nameless and indecipherable from one another beneath the grey veil of forgetting lined her thoughts. When Rogue tried to focus on any one of them, their features shifted - eyes turning blue and sad, hair shifting into silken blond. These were the ones he’d used to try and forget her, Bella Donna, and none could drown her out entirely.

Without his psyche, without Remy himself, there was no one there to see Rogue swipe at her dry eyes. They stung from crying, and after having looked in her bathroom mirror moments before, Rogue couldn’t bring herself to see what condition she was in since.

Dully, she reminded herself that even if her eyes were bloodshot, it wouldn’t be noticeable next to her red pupils.

She sniffed, yanking at her gloves, securing them to her hands to smother out the electric tingle she felt straight down to her bones. Her head hurt, her mouth tasted like ashes, and every thought that surfaced twisted itself into a grim reminder of what she had experienced in slumber.

It was all too hazy, and try as she might, Rogue was having a difficult time trying to pull out another clearer memory to block out the burden of Remy’s loss.

He had cared for Belle so much.

Rogue swallowed the defeated swell that accompanied the thought. Whether it was her own feelings for Remy, or Remy’s feelings for the woman he’d left behind, Rogue couldn’t tell. There was no clear mental line to distinguish between the two.

It hurt; it burned in her chest like an old fire that refused to be stomped out. Little embers, like searing spots of self-reprimand, lingered in the aftermath of the blaze. You couldn’t snuff that sort of emotion out.

That was all she needed to know to keep moving.

At the Institute, whenever she’d had a particularly bad day, the Danger Room had always served as an outlet to blow off some steam. Running against enough mechs and dealing with the sore muscles and bruises after a hard training session was better than therapy.

Physical pain blunted the lingering emotional aches.

That was good. She could deal with that, she reasoned. She’d relish a sentinel or two. Hell, she’d take on a dozen sword wielding Assassins if she could. But all she had was Remy’s agility, a pack of cards, and an adamantium staff tucked into her belt - and nothing to defend herself against.

She’d make do with a gator. She’d satisfy belting out a few rounds with the warm body that followed her at a distance, providing it wasn’t Remy.

With her luck, Rogue thought morosely, it probably was.

Part of him constantly stoked the flame, blowing on those lingering coals of his memory. Why he did it, Rogue couldn’t even begin to understand - but she did know that it served as some sort of mortal penitence for what he’d done.

She drew a shaky breath. In those terms, she understood Remy in a way that no one else could. It made her heart ache.

And that gave her all the more reason to evade him. Empathy had never been her strong suit.

A low breeze from the southwest pushed his scent to the line of trees beyond the docks where she stilled, breathing deeply. It was a faint smell, but distinctive. How that boy managed to get out of so many tight spots in his line of work, wearing that much aftershave, was beyond her.

Keep moving, she told herself, breaking into a clipped jog over the protruding roots where the ground turned to muddy shoreline.

She’d been foolish to take what he’d said at face value. Heck, the Professor had told her explicitly that whatever changes Gambit had undergone might not be permanent, and yet she’d gone and kissed him anyway. She’d blamed him for trying to get away as quickly as possible, but he’d probably known the entire time that something had gone wrong. It didn’t mean it wasn’t her fault; he’d given her the bait, and she’d reacted. Who wouldn’t, she thought defensively, launching herself one-handed over a fallen tree trunk.

"Like a damned donkey with a carrot in front of its face," she huffed.

It didn’t have to mean it was anything more than that, she thought defiantly. No strings attached, just the spectres in her head to remind her.

Rogue swore.

Perhaps there was more of him in her mind than she’d believed initially.

The thought chased her down, setting a prickle in her limbs she hadn’t noticed before. It was a nervous shiver, nipping at the back of her consciousness and making her fingers twitch. Accompanying it was the sudden, reflexive urge to test her strength, and just below that, the sharper craving for nicotine.

She grimaced, cursing the Cajun for being a smoker. She wasn’t about to humour him, she asserted herself, not with that filthy habit.

Bearing that in mind, Rogue broke into a run - darting into the thick twine of tree limbs and heavy mosses, leaping wide onto the first felled cypress that crossed her path, and extending her staff to vault into the trees.

For a moment, as she soared through the air, her heart lifted - savouring the ease of escape, if only for a moment.

Like a shadow, Remy tailed her through the cover of hanging vines and thick mosses that swayed lazily in the grey cover of the bayou. Despite his nimble leaps from branch to branch, banking over the deeper gullies that opened over the swamp, he felt clumsy, anxious.

He didn’t like it.

He paused a moment, fingers weaving through the tangles of Spanish moss that blocked his way, and listened hard.

It was still dark among the trees, though dawn was probably breaking in the East by now, lighting the plantation grounds and warming the windowpanes. The swamp, however, was as placid and rank as ever. Twenty feet below, the water was barely visible beneath the heavy overhang that concealed his position from view.

Either way, it was still too damned dark to really know where Rogue had gotten to so quickly.

She couldn’t move that fast, not without a little... help.

Remy grimaced.

His "help."

He snorted at the irony, uncaring that the sound carried easier here. If Rogue had absorbed his powers, she undoubtedly knew that he was shadowing her. Hell, if Rogue had his powers, if she was thinking like he usually did, she was probably luring him out here to have her naughty way with him.

He’d be an alligator’s breakfast in no time.

It’d be a small sacrifice, he smirked. Just as quickly, the smile vanished. This was all getting way out of hand, and that was saying something given the fact that he usually enjoyed the element of surprise.

The plan had been simple. Straightforward. An easy pull. A quick draw. A little scrapping. Some peace of mind for him. A whole lot of gratitude from Rogue.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

But like most things that carried with them the potential for great payoff, nothing was ever quite so simple or so effortless. It was the entanglement that was causing the problem. Or perhaps, had he been less impulsive, less determined, and less infatuated with the whole idiotic, romantic notion that he was somehow fashioned for her at the most basic, and therefore the most complicated level, then he could forgive himself.

The fact of the matter was, he wanted her.

Badly.

The problem was that in the grand scheme of things, Rogue wasn’t willing to let herself fall into the roll of "the conquest," and Remy, determined as ever, wasn’t entirely certain of what he thought of that.

He squatted on the tree branch, bracing an elbow against the pitted trunk, and scrubbed at his face. Things had been much simpler when they’d been fighting against one another — an Acolyte and an X-Man standing in the middle of a dockyard exchanging niceties by way of exploding playing cards.

Back then, the emotional baggage hadn’t quite weighed in so heavily for either of them.

The odds were evened up, so to speak. Rogue had her mental cargo, a head full of ghosts, and he had his skeletons tucked away neatly in his closet. In some ways, they were so alike it was unnerving.

Dieu, he deserved her.

The thought sobered him, bringing him back to his surroundings. The wood beneath his fingers as he pressed his palm into the tree was damp and mouldering. Pieces of the greyish bark peeled away as he peered at his fingers, clinging stubbornly to his palm in chipped flecks that would be difficult to pick off once they burrowed into the fabric.

"An’ isn’t dat an’ appropriate metaphor," he hummed to himself, a touch sardonically.

Rogue had absorbed him, and while she was dealing with the consequences of his assimilated memories, he was subsequently dealing with her, dealing with his dirty laundry. What were they at now: two, three times in the span of a week? It’d be downright hilarious if, like a disease inoculation, he eventually found himself becoming immune to her touch - but that was too much to hope for.

In fact, it seemed that the exact opposite was happening.

Each time he touched her, she took a little edge off his powers. Whether it was permanent, or if she was just exhausting him because she’d already reached a formidable level of strength, Remy had yet to determine.

"Dunno how much I want t’ find out either," he muttered under his breath, extending his staff with a muted click that he muffled with his palm and using it to peel apart some of the moss obscuring the view.

More disturbing still was the fact that he continued to mull it over, when clearly, he should have been making an active effort to prepare for endgame. The X-Men were in the city already, the Brotherhood would be close behind, no doubt, and the gemstone he only hoped Lapin could take care of.

He needed Rogue, but Rogue needed the stone. It was a pretty weighty catch fifty two, or was that twenty two? Whatever.

Instead of contemplating all that, Remy’s thoughts lingered on her.

Like the little bits of broken bark burrowing into his gloves, she had somehow managed to work her way under his skin. She was forcing him to develop a conscience, and that was a dangerous thing. In a time like this, with Jean Luc gnashing at the bit to level the playing field before the Assassins could attack, and Remy himself trying to delay the inevitable as long as possible, his defences were worn down, and Rogue had slid in.

It had probably been a bad idea altogether to pick the lock to her room and try to dismantle the surveillance camera positioned in the corner while she slept not ten feet away.

But that was part of the fun — not getting caught while appreciating her while she slept... or at least, it had been.

He’d heard everything as he stood at the foot of her bed, his toolkit clenched in his fist while he admired the pale curve of her bare shoulder; he could only stand by and listen. Exposed by the slipping blankets, as fragile and innocent in her slumber as she had ever been, even all those times when he’d perched on her balcony and peered through her window back in Bayville, Rogue spoke in her sleep.

She’d said the words that condemned him.

Worse, when she’d awoken shaken and sobbing, he hadn’t been able to comfort her.

Touching her skin again meant running the risk of getting absorbed again, and while he could live with the comforting abyss of unconsciousness, he doubted he wanted to find out what else she’d pull from his head.

"Cajun!"

Remy pivoted, dropping to a crouch on the branch and peering down through the woven branches.

"Ah know yo’ up there!" Rogue bellowed.

Over the solemn croon of bullfrogs, Remy heard her pacing, boot heels hitting wood at a fast clip, and the unmistakable sound of a deck of cards being shuffled.

Merde.

"Bon matin!" he called back tentatively, slipping his trench off his shoulders. Rogue didn’t reply. The silence stretched while Gambit waited. It thickened, growing in intensity with each moment that passed and she didn’t respond. He glanced at the garment a moment, contemplating, and with a heavy sigh, he dropped it through the tangle of tree limbs.

The explosion that followed was near deafening as a charged card hit the base of the tree in which he was perched. He moved sinuously, flipping off the branch backwards so that his shoulders took the brunt of the lashing branches on his freefall to the swamp.

A moment later, he twisted mid-air, landing in a crouch opposite Rogue. Beneath him, jutting over the swamp like a saggy bridge, a felled cypress trunk supported their shared weight. It sagged a little with the combined strain of both bodies, letting water slop over making the surface slippery. For the most part, it was still buoyant over the dark pool below them.

One misplaced step to the right, and he would have had his morning bath, though it was wide enough across to stand comfortably.

Remy chuckled. "Y’picked a good place f’ a fight."

Behind him, the waning flames left by the detonated card petered, the wood too moist to sustain the fire.

Before him, Rogue shucked another card into her palm, toying with the edges. She cocked her head to the side, surveying him in a manner that left him edgy and excited despite the obvious threat she posed.

"Ah don’t want ta fight with ya anymore, Gambit," she said evenly.

Remy stood, glancing behind him at the scorch marks left behind on the base of the tree. "Den what was dat?" He cocked his thumb over his shoulder. "A wake up call? Femme, I hope y’ didn’t ruin m’ favourite coat."

Rogue smirked, brushing her hair out of her eyes. Remy stilled, his breath catching at the sight.

"N’inquiet pas, cher," she murmured, favouring him with grin that was all too familiar. "Ah’d say it was best that it was yo’ coat and not you. Wouldn’t want ta damage the goods, now would we?"

Remy blinked away his surprise, though Rogue pursed her lips at him seductively, her eyes glimmering in the dappled shade offered by morning sun as it crept through the trees. Shining scarlet on black, her gaze reflected his sin back to him -if he could even call it that.

"Rogue," he began tentatively, taking a ginger step forwards.

She appeared entirely unconcerned, placing a hand on her hip and thrusting it to the side indifferently as she sized him up.

"Surprised, cher?" she asked, taking in his full measure slowly. It made his stomach clench, being acknowledged by her properly. It was still wrong, of course, since she wasn’t enjoying the view of her own volition.

"Y’ not y’self right now, p’tit," he continued. With each step forwards, the tree trunk sagged a little more, bouncing in the non-existent current and creating little ripples over the glasslike surface of the swamp. "An’ I t’ink dat’s partially m’ fault."

"Ya think?" she scoffed. "If ya kept yo’ distance ta begin with like Ah’d asked, Ah wouldn’t have hurt ya ta begin with, and Ah wouldn’t know what Ah know now."

"M’ not hurt," he countered. "M’ just peachy. See?"

He held his arms out to the side, his staff compacted in one fist, though he managed to pry his fingers off of it long enough to show her his hands were otherwise empty and he posed no real threat.

"Oh, ya look just fine, sugah." She lowered her lashes, peering at him with barely concealed suggestion. Swallowing hard, Remy tried to play it off nonchalantly. Less than a half hour before he’d seen her sobbing. It had been the desperate, hollowed out sound of someone who’d experienced an agony so acute that it felt like her heart was being shredded. He knew it; he’d lived it after all.

This was his first line of defence, and she was using it against him. Part of him wanted to indulge in it, seeing it played back to him so easily, and part of him wanted to dive into the swamp and swim as fast and far as he could.

She was dangerous like this because he knew he was too.

"So what y’ gonna do?" he asked lightly. "Throw dat card?" He nodded at the Queen in her hand, which she rolled lazily over her knuckles with careless effort. The motion was buttery smooth, and Rogue replied in a tone that was equally laden.

"Ah’m not sure. Ya see, mon ami, Ah wouldn’t want ta mess up that lovely face o’ yours - but since ya wouldn’t let a girl have her privacy? Now that’s just plain rude."

"I was concerned," he answered honestly.

"More for yo’self, Ah’d wager." Slowly, her hips rolling in time with each step she took towards him, making her body sway with the hypnotic, slow curl that set the blood speeding through his veins, she approached.

"Worried about what Ah took from ya, Cajun?" she murmured. "Or is that morbid curiosity of yours actin’ up again, and ya decided ya just had ta find out for yo’self what it feels like ta be on the receiving end?"

"Can’t say m’ not appreciatin’ it, but I t’ink I prefer y’ with y’ own prickly attitude," he returned cautiously. The muscles in his hands twitched involuntarily as her forward motion slowed.

Rogue had discarded her jacket, but she’d pocketed the cards he’d slipped into the coat. From his vantage point, a bare few feet away, he could see the slight, rectangular bulge in her pocket. The deck made the fabric stretch flatteringly, wrapping a little more tightly around her right thigh.

Against his better judgement, he wet his lower lip. Rogue noticed.

Quirking an eyebrow, she drew out her next comment slowly so that it would sear a little longer. "Ah thought ya preferred the woman ya married, Remy."

"Rogue -" he began, struggling to find the words to explain to her what she’d seen.

"There’s other stuff in here, too." She gestured lazily with her free hand. "Things Ah can’t understand exactly, memories that are only half-formed," she continued, her voice pitched so low it was nearly inaudible below the drone of the bullfrogs lining the banks of the marshes that stretched beyond the immediate periphery of the trees. "There’s more, isn’t there? Others things ya buried because ya didn’t want ta be reminded, but ya do remind yo’self - all the time. Ya keep them close so ya won’t forget what ya done."

"Rogue -" he said more insistently, his patience tapering.

"If ya think ya can make me understand by sweet talkin’ yo’ way out of this one, ya got another thing coming," she said, a hint of reprimand evident in her tone.

"It was a long time ago," he tried to explain.

"The memory is as fresh as ever," she supplied, her eyes narrowing. "Which means that your concept of ’a long time’ is a little off."

"It’s not dat simple," he tried again. "Dere are circumstances involved dat go beyond what I did back den -"

"It’s what ya felt and not what ya did," she hissed, the Queen of Hearts in her hand sizzled into activity between her gloved fingers. "What ya did was try ta coax me into a false sense of security. Ya tried ta play me, Gambit - just like all the girls ya used to dampen that feelin’ ya had for Belladonna. How many were there? Ah lost count. There were too many faces, too many names - all of them swirling together in the end ta create one huge blur of senseless pain; all of them drowned out because ya did what ya always do. Ya left her. When she needed ya most, ya left her behind and went ta work for Magneto," she spat.

The card fizzed, emitting a high-pitched whine that could make any dog cower with its tail between its legs. Remy was no street mutt, and he wouldn’t bow beneath Rogue’s intimidation.

"Dere’s a reason f’ everyt’ing. If y’ let m’ explain den mebbe y’ can try t’ understand," he tried again, straining to keep his voice even.

"Ah know enough."

"But y’ don’t know everyt’ing," he countered, his gaze flicking to the charged Queen at her side with marked concern. "Throw de card, Rogue," he cautioned her levelly, keeping one eye on her face, and one on the flare of fuchsia at her side. "Y’ can throw it at m’ if y’ have to, but y’ gotta let it go."

"That’s yo’ motto, isn’t it? Just chuck it when it gets too hot for ya ta handle," she snapped. "Ah keep things, Remy. It all gets filed away in my head for later, Ah don’t throw anything away."

"We’re not talkin’ about what we’ve done or what we know - femme, dis ain’t some sort of elaborate metaphor. De card, Rogue - it’s just a damned piece of paper."

"Well maybe it meant something ta me!" she shouted.

The Queen sung at a higher pitch, the card’s excited molecules racketing for release, sending sparks to the dark water below and bouncing off Rogue’s slacks. There was no foreseeable way she could control the charge, and if it exploded in her hand, she would be blown to smithereens.

Deeply, he felt the tug of unbridled dread as he tried to read Rogue’s expression. It was the look of someone whose hope had been stomped out. Where that shine of promise had been when he’d kissed her, that sanguine swell of expectancy was smothered under the sick desperation of someone who’d known more losses than victories.

Yes, they were exactly alike in that respect.

There was no time to think on it longer, and seizing the only weapon he had at his disposal, one that would probably cause more harm than good for them both, he shouted, "Well mebbe you mean somethin’ t’ me!"

The words were out of his mouth before he could register them, and the effect was instantaneous.

Rogue’s expression fell, her eyes welled up, and her mouth twisted in a grimace. She sucked it back in the same way that her defiant stance slumped, letting loose one loud, dry sob before the black ringing her pupils dimmed to grey. His powers began to seep out of her, and sure of what would happen next, Remy lunged as the card’s whining reached its crescendo.

He caught Rogue around the waist, hoisting her off her feet and knocking her wrist with his staff - the card detonated not three feet away, sending the pair of them soaring into the trees.

Remy skidded on wet wood, trying to cover Rogue’s head as she tried to fend him off at the same time. They twisted, and the log dipped precariously, preparing to roll them both off into the bayou as their weight shifted.

"Putain de merde!" Remy swore, leaping up to solid ground as Rogue slid from his grasp and a sting of pain erupted in his side.

She’d clipped him in the ribs even as he’d tried to protect her.

He swivelled, launching himself up and over a tangled dam of mosses and broken branches. At his heels, Rogue followed, spitting an expletive in French that did not fall on deaf ears. She cut him off, the sound of a bo staff extending meeting his ears a millisecond before she knocked him between the shoulder blades and dove ahead of him, coming up fast on another tree bridge and blocking his way.

"Rogue!" Remy hissed, wincing at the twinge in his back. "Dis isn’t going t’ resolve anyt’ing!"

She rattled down the log, feet moving quicker and steadier than he’d seen yet, and spun to face him. In her hands, a staff that matched his own crossed her chest. She spun it once, deftly, and snapped one end to the side of her boot. It made a hollow thock! sound that echoed amongst the quieted grove.

"Who says Ah want resolution?" she shot back. "Ah’m teachin’ ya a lesson, Cajun. Ah might be ta blame for bringing this on myself by touchin’ ya, but sugah, there’s stuff up in here that needs some serious explainin’ - and if ya can’t tell me like a normal human being, Ah’m gonna beat it outta ya!"

Remy grit his teeth, moving up to stand on the log. Five feet below, the swamp offered a mirror reflection in the water. He peered over, looking at the pair of them on the rippling surface - each of them mimicking the other’s stance.

"I t’ink y’ might need t’ cool off a bit, Roguey," he hummed, extending his own staff. "Don’t wanna hurt y’, truth be told, but if y’ don’t want t’ be mature about dis -"

"Oh shut up about maturity. Ya got about as much aptitude for mature conversation as some of the kids Ah babysit at Xavier’s. Honestly, Ah think some of them already surpass ya, and they’re half yo’ age."

"- Den m’gonna cool y’ off m’self," he finished, grinning wickedly. "Now what’s dis about, exactly? De fact dat I’ve got a few secrets or de fact dat dere was someone before y’ who knew dem?"

Rogue’s eyes darkened, her grip tightening on the staff as she leapt at him, swinging it wide over her head. He blocked the blow easily, though he hadn’t anticipated the force of the hit. It left both their hands quivering with the shared vibration as his staff held hers off.

"This is about tellin’ me half-truths," she hissed. "For misleadin’ me, and for making me feel like crap because it makes ya feel better about yo’self. Ya don’t care about anyone other than yo’self, Gambit. That’s how it goes, so don’t ya dare try and pull that garbage that ya care fo’ me, because of all things, that ain’t in my head with the rest of yo’ leftovers!"

"Wasn’t m’ intention t’ mislead y’," he replied, squatting as she parried backwards, the staffs coming together with a resounding clang, and then another, and another as she tried to knock his legs out from under him. "An’ dat’s not de truth. Y’said y’self, y’ got pieces up dere, Roguey - it’s a big jigsaw, in’t it? Buncha t’ings dat don’t mean much unless y’ have de picture t’ sort dem out an’ see what it’s supposed t’ look like."

Remy leapt up, using the top of the bo to grind down to her knuckles as he tried to force her backwards along the fallen tree. Rogue held firm, though her feet skid a little as she tried to swing at him.

He blocked her, chuckling to himself. "Funny story," he continued. "Y’ been blamin’ y’self, non? Dat’s why y’ takin’ it out on m’ - y’ t’ink y’ all alone in dis, but y’ forgettin’ y’ partner in crime."

"Ah said Ah was sorry!" she bit back, her eyes narrowing.

"So did I as a matter o’ fact," he returned, ducking as she swung wide again and leaning away as the bottom of her bo sung towards him. "But prolly not f’ what y’ t’inking," he said as he popped up again.

"Ah’m sure ya got a lot ta apologize for - might as well start now before Ah knock yo’ head off," she snapped.

"No famous last words just yet, chére," he returned, blocking another stinging blow that clipped his fist. He winced but tapped her staff away again just as readily. "Y’ need dis, don’t y’? Dis is how y’blow off steam? Saw it when y’ were fightin’ de Assassins. Y’ love de energy, y’ love how it makes y’ feel afterwards - all soft an’ sore an’ drained. Helps y’ stop t’inking for a bit, hein?"

"Shut up," she snapped. "This ain’t about me! It’s about you and what ya keep feedin’ me ta keep me around." He blocked a blow with his heel, kicking her staff away and forcing her backwards. "What Ah couldn’t figure out is why ya even bother, especially now that Ah know about yo’ wife."

"Ex-wife," he interjected, flashing her a controlled, deliberate smirk.

"Ya loved her Remy," she protested, her voice breaking. "Doesn’t that sorta thing count for somethin’ with ya? Or have ya forgotten what that does to a person when someone takes it away?"

"M’ a t’ief. Dat’s what I do; I steal t’ings," he countered, leaping backwards as she jabbed at his stomach. A low chuckle escaped his lips, and smirking wryly, he took the offence. They parried backwards, staffs swinging in wide and controlled arcs, clapping together at measured intervals. Not once did Rogue hesitate, her footing on the narrow beam suspended over the swamps sure each time. "Hearts included," he added with cagey candour.

"An’ that makes ya a threat," she bit back, leaping as Remy tried to land a blow to her calves. She landed with a grunt and cracked him soundly in the side.

"One!" he hissed.

"Oh, are we keepin’ score?" She laughed mirthlessly.

"Best t’ ten wins." Remy grimaced, driving his staff between her feet. He twisted the bo, catching Rogue’s leg and setting her off balance. She flailed uselessly a moment, and on instinct, Remy reached out and snatched her wrist, yanking her upright. "Winner take all if de other goes down."

"Ah’ll take yo’ sorry hide with me, swamp rat!" she snapped, somersaulting backwards, her foot narrowly missing his chin, before landing a few feet down the bridge.

Remy grinned, his hands sliding down his staff, caressing the cold metal lightly.

"I’d follow y’ either way, chérie. All y’ gotta do is ask."

"Would ya get lost if Ah asked ya ta do that too?" she snarled, her hair flopping listlessly into her face. She swatted at it roughly, smearing her cheek in the process with soot. Blinking, Rogue looked down at her partially scorched glove, her lip curling in distaste as she peered back at him.

"Not a chance. M’ sworn t’ protect any belle femme in distress," he replied, giving her a once over and cocking an eyebrow.

Rogue huffed, compacting the staff and sticking it roughly into her belt.

"An’ y’ too, I suppose," he added lightly. He couldn’t stop himself from laughing outright at her incensed expression.

Face flushed, her eyes narrowed, the spark of red renewed itself in the depths. Rogue’s posture loosened, though she still braced herself as she reached for the cards.

"Dat’s not playin’ fair," he muttered, snapping his staff into a more manageable size and discarding it.

"Ah guess ya know how it feels, now huh?" she returned. "Let’s see what happens when the odds are in my favour... cher." She smiled at him in a way that made his stomach tighten, and for a moment, Remy contemplated the possibility of ten lifetimes spent sweating in hell, as opposed to ten minutes beneath the femme’s stare. Surely, heaven couldn’t be that great - not when she looked at him like that.

"De odds don’t belong t’ y’. Dere de playt’ings of fate," he said levelly. "Y’ an I? We just goin’ along f’ de ride."

"That’s yo’ problem, Remy - ya just lettin’ yo’self be led wherever. Ya don’t look, ya don’t think, ya just keep moving. That’s what happened with the stone, and that’s what happened with Belladonna, and that’s what yo’ doin’ with me too," she returned, her tone unwavering as she stared him down.

"What would y’ like m’ t’ do? Take it back? I can’t. Tell y’ dat it’ll be ok? M’ tryin’. Tell y’ not t’ worry? Den I’d be lyin’ - dere’s plenty o’ stuff t’ be scared of out dere, an’ I bet I seen more of it den y’."

"Ah’m not making any more wagers with ya." Rogue shook her head, as if she was trying to clear her vision. "Ya haven’t been straight with me ta begin with, and now it’s just a little bit useless ta try and make things right. Ya can’t, Remy, but yo’ right about one thing - ya can’t take back what ya done. Ah know all about that."

"I know y’ do," he said, his tone dropping an octave in the effort to sound consoling. "Dat’s why it’s gotta be y’, Rogue."

"What’s gotta be me?" she asked, her brow furrowing. With a little remorse, Remy noted the way her mouth curved downwards in a small frown.

Merde, he thought. When your toes hit the line that divides "Point of No Return" land from the rest of sanity, sometimes you have to lob yourself forwards. Other times, you stagger over that line and pray to whatever higher power you believe in that you’ll survive it. Remy found himself doing precisely that.

"S’ gotta be y’ here an’ now. S’ why we need each other," he admitted dejectedly.

"We?"

Remy sucked in a breath, already running a number of mental curses at himself through his head. "Oui."

"Ah’m sorry," she snorted in disbelief, "what did ya just say ta me?"

"Don’t gloat or anyt’ing," he muttered.

"No, no, Cajun - say that again." Remy winced at the sharp, brittle bite to her words as she took a step towards him.

"I need y’."

A pause. Remy held his breath, cringing inwardly at himself while trying to keep his expression neutral. Rogue’s eyebrows shot up. Unable to hide her surprise, she advanced on him, her eyes lit with the fire of the rising sun filtering through the canopy of trees. It was as if they glowed, the tongue of flame dancing in the brilliant flicker of red and gold set against blackened sclera.

She didn’t want to believe him; that much was evident. What he didn’t expect was the sting of the thought that accompanied it. Somehow, it was crucial that she did, almost as much as it was important that she took the risk to believe in him.

But when had that become so important to him?

Remy couldn’t find an answer to that, so instead, he shrugged, gritting his teeth as he looked down at the few feet between them and to the water below. It reflected their frames in shivering, distorted pictures. Funny, he thought, that was how he usually saw himself too.

"Ah believe that about as much as Ah can take yo’ word for what it is, Remy," she whispered.

Remy pursed his lips, forcing his gaze upwards to settle on her. For a moment, he merely stared, trying to sort out what was going through her head at that instant. He scrutinized her, just as she did the same to him.

"Ya skimped on our bet!" she yelled finally, exasperated.

With a quick snap of the wrist, Rogue produced four cards, crackling to life between her fingers. Three she held in her left hand, and one, an Ace, she flung at him.

Remy snatched it out of the air and snuffed the charge before it could detonate.

"Y’ threw this one out, chérie! It doesn’t count anymore!" he shot back.

"Oh yeah? Well Ah recall ya kept a Joker up yo’ sleeve, swamp rat - see if this counts!"

She lobbed the next one at him, and that too he plucked out of the air, absorbing the charge effortlessly though the ripple of energy felt tweaked and foreign. His hands sung with it.

"Keep it comin’, Roguey. Mebbe by de time y’ blow m’ up y’ realize de mistake in blamin’ y’self all de time."

"Speak for yo’self!" she snarled, launching three cards this time in the general direction of his chest with a loud, "Ha!"

Two Gambit caught, somersaulting backwards, but one landed on the log. He shot out with his leg, kicking it into the swamp. It sent up a spray of reeking, putrid brown bayou muck that splashed his boots as the card exploded beneath the calm surface.

"Why can’t ya just be sorry and mean it for once?" she shouted, shucking out a few diamonds, two jacks and a club.

"Doesn’t matter what I say if y’ don’t believe me," he bit back. "Y’ get past dat emotional blockade o’ yours an’ we’ll talk about f’giveness."

"Ah already apologized for absorbin’ ya!" she snarled. "Those are my powers, Gambit - Ah don’t have the luxury of turnin’ them off!" she bellowed back, the cards gripped between her fingers singing in a furious harmony.

"An’ I’d like t’ help remedy dat, t’anks - wit’ y’ kickin’ an’ screamin’ de entire way no less. Dat’s gratitude!" he chortled. "Unfortunately, I can’t do not’ing about it when y’ start internalizing."

"And what do ya do? Basic manners, Cajun!" she spat, sending the cards flying. Four hit the water, drenching them both, and two hit the log. That was enough, Remy decided as he pelted down the bridge at her. "Ah do somethin’ wrong, Ah say Ah’m sorry. You do somethin’ wrong, ya act like a jackass - psychologists call that ’projectin.’"

"Keep blamin’ y’self, chére. Y’ do it for everyt’in else, so dis ain’t no different." He laughed, goading her.

The cards primed behind him as Remy leapt, catching Rogue around the midsection and covering her to shield her bodily from the impending blast.

"What -?" she began, only to be cut off as the cards exploded and the bridge tipped to the left.

Even as they wobbled, Remy found himself smirking in triumph. "Because I kissed you an’ m’ not apologizin’."

With that, Gambit dipped low, pulling backwards and catching her hand. He placed a lingering kiss on her gloved knuckles and pivoted before she could lash out at him. The fallen tree dipped precariously beneath the weight of them both. The wood had splintered, forcing them to balance on an uneven keel.

"What y’gotta say ’bout dat, Roguey?" He laughed, a full, throaty chortle that echoed amongst the vigilant cypress.

Her response came in the form of an angry shove.

It happened so quickly that even as Remy was tipping backwards, his hand reached on instinct and latched onto her elbow, effectively pulling her down with him as he tumbled, the pair of them hitting the water with a noisy slap.

Below the surface, the murky calm of the bayou with its rank water stung his eyes. He felt Rogue pull away from him, breaking the surface a second before he did so himself.

Spluttering, she spun to face him, swiping at her eyes and blinking hard.

He was grateful to see the usual hue had returned to her pupils, the sclera white again, and ringed with red.

"Dis make us even?" he asked, treading water to stay afloat.

Rogue coughed, and blinking at him wearily, she asked, "What are ya referring to; yo’ little contest up there, or... what happened?"

"I concede t’ de duel," he said with gentlemanly pomp, "but de stakes are still up in de other respect as far as m’ concerned." He favoured her with a grin, before spitting out the rancid water in his mouth and grimacing. "Dieu, dis is disgustin’."

Rogue shook her head. "That’s all it is in the end," she said tiredly. "It shouldn’t be about who wins. I ain’t a prize at the end of a card game."

"Non, y’ not," he agreed simply, and continued garnishing the half-truth, "but y’ see... if I kissed y’, an’ y’ kissed me, an’ we were playin’, par exemple... dat would make us both winners, non? It’d be a draw."

"Ah think yo’ forgettin’ something, Remy - one, Ah can’t touch ya, and two, that love ya had for Belladonna..." she trailed off, shaking her head. "Ah ain’t a substitute for somethin’ that ya claim ya left behind."

"Never said y’ were," he said shortly.

"But Ah felt it," she argued vehemently, a touch of something cold lining her expression as she drew up the exact sensation in her mind.

"Regard," he said, pulling himself closer and bobbing a little in the water before her. "When I say dere are a multitude of other t’ings involved... Rogue, not’ing is ever dat simple. What I might’ve given y’ in dat kiss by way of m’ memories, it isn’t anyt’ing other den de simple truth o’ what happened den. But it ain’t everyt’ing, and dat y’ gotta believe. We all need our secrets, chére - some are more difficult t’ dredge up den others."

"How do Ah know yo’ not lying ta me?" she asked warily, swiping at the hair plastered to the side of her face and slopping more filthy water on herself. She grimaced, appearing utterly disgusted for only a moment. It was a look that Remy found oddly endearing.

There was so much she had seen and had experienced, and yet at the same time, she retained an innocence about her that couldn’t be covered up with her heavy makeup and cantankerous demeanour.

"I can’t offer y’ anyt’ing more den m’ word when I say m’ not de same person as I was back den. Dat part o’ m’ is dead, Rogue. It goes with de territory of bein’ exiled," he replied, albeit a touch more dispassionately than he’d intended.

"What’s the difference?" she pressed, blinking the water out of her eyes.

"I couldn’t die for her," he said guardedly, struck by the sudden honesty of the statement. "Dat’s de difference. I couldn’t stop de war. Dat’s de difference."

"It would have kept on without ya," Rogue argued, her tone gravely. She coughed, wincing at the taste of the river’s cast off in her mouth.

Wordlessly, Remy reached for her to pull her alongside him as he continued to tread water. She batted at his hand, splashing him with a face-full in the process. He glowered, his chin dipping back into the swamp as she tugged on his hand, holding him back.

"You dying instead of Julien would have made no difference," she insisted. "For them - the families. That madman would still be on the loose, and then what?"

"Absolution," he muttered, kicking away towards the log.

She let him, though from behind, he heard her murmur, "It broke your heart ta leave."

Remy didn’t reply as he pushed towards the shore. When the fallen tree was closer to the waterline, he latched onto the side, hauling himself upwards. It took a considerable effort with the added weight of his soaked clothing dragging him down. Mostly, he felt heavy and leaden, though he doubted it had much to do with his dip in the swamp.

Rogue swam towards him and a card floated by on the water. He ignored the Jack of Hearts in favour of the girl who was looking at him so quizzically.

"S’ resilient," he muttered after a few moments, offering her a hand up, which to his surprise, she accepted.

She crawled onto the log, dropping her legs over the side and swinging her feet distastefully for a moment, undoubtedly feeling the slop of water in her boots. Rogue glanced at him uneasily before taking a heavy breath.

"Not when it doesn’t heal properly," she murmured.

Remy hummed, crouching next to her andlacing his hands together with his elbows propped onto his knees. "Dat’s m’ problem... not yours, Anna Marie."

Her head whipped around to stare at him in stupefied recognition. Eyes widening, her lips parted in silent shock, she shook her head slowly, not wanting to understand, though she did fundamentally. That much Remy could see without her having to confirm it verbally.

"Like I said, we all have our secrets," he murmured.

"How did ya know?" she whispered.

"De both of us, we run from de t’ings dat have caused us grief. We’re born t’ fight and die in a world dat loves us not at all, an’ cares for us even less. Me? My whole life’s been orchestrated f’ me. Don’t know m’ parents, don’t know how much Jean Luc had his hand in de way I lived before comin’ t’ de Guild, but I do know dat even before I was adopted, he was workin’ m’. He turned m’ into an asset t’ be exploited both f’ m’ powers, an’ as a link between de Guilds when he an’ Marius arranged m’ marriage t’ Belle." He looked at her hard, trying to read her expression though she was closing herself off to him quickly. "I don’t even know how much Belle knew about it. Mebbe she never loved m’ at all, but what difference does it make? M’ here, m’ alive, an’ I got a purpose."

"Arranged...?" she started.

Remy shut his eyes, holding up a finger that requested a little patience. "Mystique done de same t’ y’. She worked y’, she turned y’ - but even before den, before y’ started runnin’ f’ de first time, y’ buried who y’ were, an’ along with dat, y’ left somet’in’ behind. Dat was y’ name, Rogue. Y’ want m’ t’ face m’ past? I can’t do dat. Not alone, an’ I t’ink y’ know why because y’ don’t always want t’ face y’ own either."

Rogue remained silent, her gaze turning to the trees that surrounded them, the soft sound of water moving around their roots, washing them clean over and over again.

"Dat’s how I know. Dese secrets, dey keep us safe, non? Dey may leave some scars behind, but we can look at ’em later and remember where dey came from. Dere ain’t no one in de world who understands dat unless dey felt de pain of it demselves."

She swallowed, looking upwards into the canopy of grey green leaves and virgin sunlight and blinked hard.

"M’ sorry I hurt y’," he murmured. "But I meant it when I said it - y’ an I, chére, dey cut us from de same cloth. We just been runnin’ in different directions ever since, dere’s no reason f’ it. Not anymore."

He held out his hand, patiently, and waited.

"Ya knew my name," she hissed through grit teeth. It was an accusation, thick and laced with the sour taint of self-defeat. She refused to look at him, choosing instead to drop her chin to her chest, letting the fan of wet hair obscure her face from view.

He nodded slowly, knowing that he’d taken out her defences in one fell swoop. "It don’t mean nothin’ t’ me. Names don’t make us who we are inside. An’ I know what’s inside y’, Rogue, dat’s all dat matters."

"But Ah don’t know anythin’ more than Ah’ve taken from ya." She shook her head. "That ain’t right."

"Den we fix it. I’ll fix it."

"Ya can’t," she said plaintively. "Ah can’t change what Ah am, and ya can’t change who ya are either. Ya don’t just go back ta zero every time somethin’ goes wrong. It doesn’t work like that."

She paused, turning to look at him seriously, her eyes a shining, brilliant green. The random patterning of shades falling across her face from the cover of cypress looming over them broke her steady expression. Resolutely, Remy refused to back down.

"Ah have the potential to truly know ya, and Ah... Ah don’t think Ah want ta," she whispered. "How can ya live with it inside all the time?"

"How can y’?" he countered gently, offering her a small, genuine smile.

She didn’t have an answer to that, though she sucked her lower lip between her teeth to keep it from trembling.

Remy shook his head, smiling sadly. "Sometimes, y’ don’t get de chance t’ t’ink beyond y’ own fear. When y’ ready, chére. Only when y’ ready." He sighed, moving to sit next to her, and pausing in case it was too close for comfort just yet. He hovered, stooped at her side. "Y’ not protectin’ y’self anymore when y’ start hurtin’, especially not when y’ try t’ push everyone away t’ keep y’self from feelin’ it, an’ I know dat all too well. We all hurt somewhere, chére - but some of us, well, we learn how t’ live around it."

"Ah get by."

Remy bowed his head, nodding silently. "Y’ said dat t’ me before we even left Bayville, but y’ know it an’ so do I; skimmin’ de edge of happiness ain’t livin’. Not lettin’ y’self have what y’ want from time t’ time, dat’s self-flagellation."

"My entire mutant power is about restraint," she ground out. "Ah can’t touch another livin’ being without fear of swallowing that person whole. Their thoughts an’ hopes an’ dreams become mine. Ah got no control over my abilities. And you?" She shook her head, turning to face him, her eyes hard. "You got no control over yourself. Chargin’ up an’ object an’ throwing it away - that’s your ’special gift’. Ah ain’t an object, Gambit," she said warningly. "Ah’m a person. If ya can’t - if ya won’t - treat me like one, then please leave me alone." She croaked, continuing, "If ya have any feelings for me, then just go. It’ll be easier in the long run."

Slowly, Remy nodded, standing to full height and folding his arms across his chest. He peered down at the top of her head in an almost contemplative silence.

"Dat’s de bargain, huh?" he asked after a moment.

"No bargaining. Ya level up with me and ya show me that whatever yo’ saying is the truth without... without forcin’ me ta steal it from ya. Those are my terms."

Rogue sniffed, pulling her knees below her chin and hugging them close. The swamp water left her hair a matted tangle that hung limply to her shoulders, sending little streams of dirt down the back of her equally soaked shirt.

The parts of her arms that were exposed were streaked with strips of murky brown, and peering down at himself, Remy noted that he appeared in no better condition.

For a moment, he stood by watching, though Rogue didn’t say anything more, and she didn’t turn to look at him.

With a resigned nod, he turned, and walked away.

Rogue shut her eyes tightly, blinking out the grit and tiredness and the last trickles of water that undoubtedly teemed with microbial life.

The log bounced a little with every step Remy took, his boots squelching unpleasantly as he tracked off back the way they’d came.

It was a moment before she allowed herself to breathe in shakily.

Rogue sat there, listening to him slip away, too stunned to call him back, to say she’d been wrong. It confirmed one thing, though - at least there was some shared respect between them. That did little to soothe the ache, however.

It was another moment before she buried her head in her arms.

The swamp around her thrummed with morning life; the odd bullfrog croak, the throaty hum of dragonflies flying low near the water, and the liquid gurgle of water laving the tree roots lazily.

Every sound was disjointed, unconnected to her though life continued despite everything else that had broken the natural rhythm of the bayou for a few short minutes. It was another moment after that when she felt the log dip beneath the weight of a person, bouncing softly, the soles of his boots squishing.

Remy didn’t hesitate as he slipped his jacket around her shoulders, his hands a warm weight that drew her against his chest where he folded her against him.

Rogue didn’t protest, finding herself unable to do so around the lump in her throat. She did not uncoil herself from the foetal position she’d taken, though his touch was welcome through the coat he’d wrapped around her.

If she could have made a noise, it would have been a sigh of utmost relief.

"S’ funny," he murmured into her ear gently. "M’ feelings f’ y’ are the very same reason I’m stayin’."

Translations:

Merde: Shit

Bon matin: Good morning

Femme: Woman

N’inquiet pas, cher: Don’t worry, dear.

p’tit: little one

mon ami: my friend

Putain de merde: Son off a bitch

Post Script:

- Hook: A Jack. So named because the "J" resembles a hook. (Ahem. "So the hooooook brings you baaaaaaaack. I ain’t tellin’ you no liiiiiiiieeeeee." That’s my feeble attempt at singing. Damned song’s been stuck in my head all week while writing this.)

- Remy’s "Empathy": Someone mentioned this in the reviews a long way back, and I suppose now is as good a time as any to address it. Remy’s not an empath. Not in the comics, not in Evo, not in the Animated Series, not ever. Accordingly, I’m not using it here - and I’ll tell you why: Remy’s empathic abilities that you come across in fanfiction so frequently are fanon canon. (Sounds funny, doesn’t it?) Lori McDonald started the trend something like a decade ago, and for some reason, it stuck. Incidentally, the stories that make up "The Gestalt Arc" where Remy’s empathy first shows up are a great read. You need to dig a little to find all of them, but if and when you do, enjoy it. It’s a great series.

- "We’re born to fight and die in a world that loves us not at all, and cares for us even less." John Mason Skipp, Dark Destiny.

- "Names don’t make us who we are inside. An’ I know what’s inside y’, Rogue, dat’s all dat matters." (X-Men #24)

- "My entire mutant power is about restraint," she ground out. "Ah can’t touch another livin’ being without fear of swallowing that person whole. Their thoughts an’ hopes an’ dreams become mine. Ah got no control over my abilities. And you?" She shook her head, turning to face him, her eyes hard. "You got no control over yourself. Chargin’ up an’ object an’ throwing it away - that’s your ’special gift’. Ah ain’t an object, Gambit," she said warningly. "Ah’m a person. If ya can’t - if ya won’t - treat me like one, then please leave me alone." (Uncanny X-Men #297)

-"M’feelings f’ y’ are the very same reason I’m stayin’." (Uncanny X-Men #297)

- Everyone missed something huge last chapter about Remy’s motivations, or at least, everyone who reviewed. It was so strategically placed that from what I can tell, everyone read straight past it. (Who’s lying to whom and who taught who just how to do that?)

- Endnotes: Unforgivable Horror asked about this, so I’ll say it to all of you at once: I’m writing this on the fly. It’s not pre-written. Everything you’re getting is fresh fic. Thirty pages of insanity a week and I still have some semblance of a social life... and work... and eventually school but I’m trying very hard not to think about that. Feed the writer. She likes it. Leave a review. (Poccy says so.)

 

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