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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 3

Chapter III: The Hand You’re Dealt

---

"What’s he doing?" Lance asked, peering around the corner of the kitchen door suspiciously.

"Gambit’s gonna kip on the couch, don’t see why not - it’s like a bloody family reunion having him back."

Pyro beamed, nearly skipping into the kitchen, though the linoleum beneath his feet popped and crackled with a menacing rumble. Lance glowered.

"Holster the tectonics. I’d like t’ eat me popcorn without choking." Pyro strained, heaving himself onto the counter to reach the highest shelf where Fred usually stashed his junk food. He flailed, nearly tipping backwards, but gripping the shelving at the last possible moment. "Little help, love?" he winked at Wanda over his shoulder, who scowled and flicked her wrist airily at the shelf.

Several boxes tumbled down on St. John’s head, knocking him to the floor where he landed with his legs splayed wide, and an assortment of boxes littering the space around him.

"Brilliant!" he called a moment later, holding a Jiffy Pop tin aloft.

"He’s not staying here," Lance snapped, preparing to barrel down the hallway back to the living room and haul the Cajun from his makeshift bed.

Fred blocked him - his bulk taking up the better part of the doorframe. "I think we should talk about it... maybe." He shrugged noncommittally. Lance bared his teeth.

"Get out of my way, Blob," he growled.

Fred frowned, his triple chin rumpling, and crossed his arms over his barrel-like chest.

"Dunno, man," Todd muttered, pulling himself out of the fridge. "Sounds like an easy gig."

"Too easy," Wanda muttered.

"I don’t like it." Pietro shook his head vigorously, his white hair quivering despite the amount of gel he’d gooped into it. "But still, it’s been a while since we’ve had any real action, youknowwhatImean? I’m getting antsy just thinking about standing around here doing nothing while the X-Geeks are still out and about having a complete ball."

"And I don’t like the fact that suddenly we’re playing hotel to that bum," Lance continued, ignoring Pietro. "Don’t you remember what happened the last time Gambit ’dropped by’ Toad?"

"Awe man, don’t remind me. Guy destroyed my favorite set of curtains, yo."

Wanda snorted and turned her attention to her chipped nail polish.

"Would you listen to y’selves?" Pyro grinned cheekily up at the group from his spot on the floor. "You lot have gotten so stinking jaded. I’m bored as piss with all this namby-pamby deliberation shite." He struck the nearby gas stove with a fist; the flame caught in the burner, and he pulled it into his palm with ease. "I think," he continued, holding the flame beneath the popcorn and waiting for the metallic cover to inflate, "that it’s high time you lot kiss n’ make up..."

"Wanda? You’re better with all that probability stuff. What do you think?" Fred asked from the doorway.

"Bury the hatchet..." John said a little more loudly.

"I can remodel probabilities; I don’t predict the outcomes," Wanda returned dryly.

"Let sleeping dogs lie..." Pyro continued in a singsong voice.

"Someone shut him up," Lance snapped.

"What? Do I have to start nattering on about how the ’dingos ate my baby’ to get your attention?" he chuckled.

"It has been a while," Fred said wistfully.

"Cheers, mate!" Pyro chortled.

"I don’t see what we have to lose. Maybe we’ll show those freaks up for once," Pietro conceded.

"Amen!" Pyro cackled. "Best start polishing y’ gear, mend those pesky uniform rips and such. We wouldn’t want to make a poor fiftieth impression, now would we?"

"Hey! Last time I checked, I was in charge here," Lance barked. "And I say this is bullsh-"

"Wouldn’t mind stretching the old tongue a little," Todd mused, his gaze sliding from a fly lingering near the empty fruit bowl on the table to Wanda in the corner.

"Don’t look at me like that, Tolansky," Wanda snarled. "I’m up for it if Pietro is. Let me know in the morning." She waved off Lance’s frustrated grunt of protest and swept out of the room.

Pietro shrugged, cocking his head to the side and appraising Lance. "Hell, if you’re not good for a fight, maybe we should re-evaluate the whole ’fearless leader’ bit, don’t you think?"

"Ooooh, sounds like a challenge, that," Pyro snickered, dousing the flame and tearing into his popcorn.

"Just give me one good reason..."

"I get it!" Pietro announced. "Lance still hasn’t dealt with his residual animal shelter issues."

Pyro snorted, spraying bits of half-chewed popcorn across his lap.

"PUTTHY WHIPTH!"

"Literally." Pietro sneered.

"What? No! There’s nothing between her and me anymore -" Lance said defensively.

"Naw!" Toad called, springing out from behind the fridge door and aiming for the stairs, out of reach. "That big metal man muscled in on your game, homeboy. He’s scorin’ while you’re out on the bench."

"What!"

"Colossus?" Fred made a face. "The big Russian guy?"

"Wonder if he can metal-up only selected parts of his anatomy at a time," Pietro mused loudly.

Pyro choked.

"FINE!" Lance bellowed, the floor of the kitchen warping as a tremor shook the foundations of the house. "JUST SHUT UP ABOUT IT ALREADY!" With that, he stalked out of the kitchen; little trickles of plaster dust from the ceiling followed him as he stormed upstairs.

"Crikey." Pyro coughed. "That’s all it takes?"

Pietro shrugged, whistling.

At the door, Fred scrunched his face in confusion.

"What body parts?"

---

Remy awoke to the sun filtering through the moth-eaten curtains, striking his closed eyelids. He groaned, his neck creaking audibly from where he’d slept on an odd angle against the diced armrest of the Brotherhood’s couch.

"G’morning, sunshine!"

Remy cracked open an eye and peered blearily at Pyro. He had coffee.

"Mmph."

John, bouncing on his heels, set the steaming cup down on the table before him and nudged it forwards.

"Nice to see you too, Gambit. You don’t write, you don’t call, you left me all by my lonesome here, and I don’t even get a proper stinking ’bong-jer’ outta ya. Southern hospitality, me arse."

"The hospitality’s offered, John; don’t work de other way ’round. Cinnamon?"

"Yeah mate, just the way you like it. No chicory, but the cinnamon’s the next best thing to take that old edge off... you big softie."

"Merci," Remy murmured, sitting up.

"So?" Pyro pressed, his nervous tension palpable.

Remy sipped his coffee, stretching out the kinks in his shoulders and trying not to grimace at Pyro’s feeble attempt at the dark brew. He appraised St. John over the steaming cup.

"Well don’t leave me dangling on the wire, mate!"

"Time’s it?" Remy finally asked, setting the cup down and swallowing to clear the foul taste from his palette.

"Half-six and daylight’s wasting," John replied eagerly. "I’ve got me gear all sparkled up, real shiny-like for the occasion. So when do we leave?"

Remy smirked, standing.

"S’ just you, den?"

"What? No, no," John waved it off. "They’re all in. They’re just having a nice lie-in since they prattled on about ’their decision’ until two last night. Bloody sods - ya’d think they get opportunities like this all the time what with the way they’re acting."

"Y’ cool, John?" he asked seriously, inclining his head and appraising his former teammate levelly.

"Sweetums, I am on fire," Pyro declared. "Ya should have heard some of the stuff I had to spit out at them ta get them ta go along with it. The next bit’ll be a piece of cake - if you’ve got everything sorted on your end, if ya catch my drift. Wait... where are you going?"

"First, m’ gonna take a shower."

"And then we’re leaving?"

"Non, den m’ gonna do some reconnaissance."

Pyro made an impatient noise.

"Patience, mon ami. Y’ gotta pay y’ respects before cremating de bodies."

"Mate," Pyro exclaimed. "Have I ever told you how much I bloody love your way with words?"

"De femmes, dey tell me dat all de time," Gambit called over his shoulder with a smirk.

"Must be a real morbid lot you’ve been hanging out with lately, Gambit. That weird, zombie voodoo shite they’ve got going on in New Orleans is finally getting to you."

Gambit grinned. "Y’ got no idea, Pyro," he murmured to himself, climbing the stairs.

Remy could just barely make out John’s next words as he locked the bathroom door behind himself. It sounded something like, "That can’t be healthy."

He couldn’t be more wrong.

---

The grounds of the manor were hazed, kissed by the first rays of bleary sunlight that filtered through the lingering mist. It was damp outside, which made his light steps cautious as Gambit leapt onto the perimeter wall. One false step, one slip, and he’d trigger the mansion’s security system.

The light artillery would wind up first - springing out of the foliage that lined the property, lifting up concealed panels in the ground and taking aim.

He had them memorized - their locations, their rate of fire, the speed at which the stunners could swivel, and the angle at which the lasers arced before reaching their target.

The only thing he couldn’t calculate was the intensity of the blast. He hadn’t given the mansion’s feeble defenses the opportunity to clip him, ever, and frankly, he didn’t want today to be the day he found out how much a shot from one of those cannons hurt.

Remy slid his bo staff from beneath his trench coat, extending it and using it as a balance as he ran the length of the wall from gate and into the safe haven of the north forest.

He grinned, looking at the path through the tree limbs. It was a little more tangled than the last time he’d been here, but for the most part, it was familiar to him. Using his staff to vault the first row of cleverly concealed cameras, he swept upwards and landed nimbly on the first sturdy tree limb.

Trop facille, he thought, tucking his staff away and adjusting his cowl.

From here, it was a hop, skip, and jump to his desired destination, his second most favorite place in the entire world — the shadows.

---

"Perhaps there is an alternative we have not yet examined."

Rogue sighed, slouching a little lower in her seat before the Professor.

"Ah don’t know what other ’alternatives’ there are. Ah mean, its not like Ah haven’t thought about it, but Ah can’t see what more Ah can do about my powers than Ah already have."

"If I’m not mistaken, Rogue, like several other students - your powers have yet to develop fully. There is still a chance yet that complete control will manifest itself gradually."

She frowned.

"This is about yesterday, ain’t it?"

He regarded her thoughtfully, folding his hands on the blotter covering the better part of his oak desk.

"Is there something you wish to tell me?"

She hesitated, unsure how to answer his question, and not willing to reveal everything.

"Sir, Ah... it’s not that... Yesterday, when Ah couldn’t find my glove, Ah knew Ah shouldn’t have left the mansion, but this is the second time Ah’ve had to go through senior year. Ah just..." she exhaled. "Ah just want to get it over with, Professor. Ah’m sorry. Ah knew it was wrong of me, it was irresponsible, but Ah just want to finish this part of my life and move on."

"Rogue, were it not for the incident with Apocalypse..."

"Ah know, sir," she said stiffly. "Repeating a year ain’t the end of the world so long as at the end of it Ah don’t have ta think about it again. Ya’ll just did what ya thought was best."

He smiled at her gently and moved from behind his desk, his wheelchair making the barest of whispers as he rolled across the carpet and stopped before her.

"As did your teachers, Rogue. You have so much potential — both academically and as a gifted individual."

She continued looking at her lap, and muttered, "Cursed, more like."

"You were under much strain," he said sympathetically. "Matters with Mystique did not help matters. It was a difficult time for you, and that I cannot pretend to understand. Regardless, I am here to help in any way I can."

Slowly, Professor Xavier reached for her and placed one weathered hand atop her gloved ones. She flinched, but only slightly.

"Give it time, Rogue. Patience is the greatest virtue you can possess: patience and determination. The latter of which I am certain you have in abundance given your recent record in the Danger Room."

She looked up, smiling a little. "Logan told you?"

"The repairs have presented Cyclops with quite the challenge." He beamed.

Rogue dipped her head again, retracting her hands from beneath his. She took a moment to adjust her gloves before meeting the Professor’s gaze.

"What can Ah do?" She held up her hands. "About these?"

"Well, there are certain psychological studies that may be of interest to you, if you were so inclined to pursue a new form of training."

"Psychic?"

He chuckled. "Thankfully, no, and nowhere near as invasive, I might add." Taking a breath, he continued gently. "Dr. McCoy has informed me of what you may very well already know, Rogue. Your powers are not limited to your skin, though absorption occurs through the epidermis since it is an active organ that offers transference - minerals, vitamins, hormones and the like. We are inclined to believe that it may simply be a psychological link that activates your powers. Essentially, it is your mind that controls your ability to imprint others."

"Ah just can’t control my mind," Rogue interjected.

"With time, my dear, you may find that it is simply a matter of perseverance in discovering, and subsequently, conquering the involuntary aspects of the trigger. I would not be surprised if we were to discover that there are indeed, certain telecognitive aspects to your gift as well."

"Ya mean... Ah might be..."

"Predisposed to a mild telekinetic ability? In a way, it is indeed possible, yes, though I do not believe that your mutation is within precisely the same vein as Jean’s, or even my own, for that matter. My dear, believe me when I assure you that you are wholly unique in your gifts." He smiled gently. "It would be the one aspect of your nature that allows you to effectively copy the abilities, memories and personalities of individuals for a time, and perhaps," he quirked an eyebrow, "with adequate motivation, you may learn to recall those specific attributes of those you have imprinted before."

"Great," Rogue exclaimed, flopping backwards heavily into her chair. "Yo’ sayin’ my head’s like a library catalogue."

"In time, Rogue, in time..."

He paused, his mouth pinching a little at the corner and his eyes narrowing as his gaze shifted to a point beyond her shoulder. He pressed two fingers to his temple in concentration.

Rogue knew the expression. Usually, it meant he had detected something or was communicating telepathically with someone else in the mansion.

"Professor?" Rogue began.

"I’m sorry, Rogue. Perhaps it’s best if we continue this discussion after school," he said, returning to himself. "If would appear that... ah!" He smiled openly, his gaze clear as he focused on her again. "Yes, I see, Jean. Thank you."

He smiled openly at her, his eyes alight with something that, were he not such a serious individual, could be mistaken as mischief.

"Uh... ok, Professor. Ah’ll see you later, then." She stood, slinging her book bag over her shoulder and heading for the door.

"Rogue?"

She turned around, halfway into the hall.

He hesitated, a slight grin turning his mouth up at the corners. "Remember, patience."

She nodded, puzzled but determined not to show it, and slipped down the hallway, into the foyer, and out of the manor.

Her sneakers skidded a little in the wet grass - the bright green blades streaking across the canvas leaving patchy black smears on dusty charcoal. A light breeze ruffled the leaves as she made her way across the lawn to her favorite spot beneath an overhanging oak on the northernmost side of the property. With the sun rising, the ground beneath the tree would be dappled in shade - and for a little while, she could sit on the bench and think a bit before being rushed off to school by Kitty or Kurt.

Maybe, she’d just walk today, clear her head a little.

Control. She sighed, tugging her sleeves a little lower over her forearms. It was like some sort of abstract ideal held in front of her like a donkey with a carrot before its nose. The question was: Could she be moved by it?

She sat on the stone bench beneath her tree and dropped her bag on the sodden ground beside her. The seat was as cold as the morning air, and she hugged her arms around herself to stop from shivering.

To think that for her whole life, she’d convinced herself that she would be the only one to hold herself like that was a little frightening. She’d made it this far giving everyone a wide enough berth, but to say she liked it would be a gross understatement. Control - she snorted aloud. Xavier saw the good in everyone, and sometimes, he could be almost frighteningly idyllic. It was best not to get her hopes up, she decided. Failing a trig test was one thing, but failing herself by dreaming of something she couldn’t possibly hope to attain and never getting it, that was masochism.

Control. Sure. Mild telecognitive ability. Sure.

Some promises were never meant to be fulfilled, she decided. Why make them when they only left you hurting after they fall apart?

But still, there was a spark of something there. Maybe it was dormant, maybe it was biding it’s time, or maybe, like the small seedling of hope that made her chest tighten imperceptibly with unvoiced contentment, there was something inside her that she couldn’t deny forever.

She wanted more than this, she concluded resignedly.

Gambit knew that, and he’d offered it to her freely... for the wrong reasons, but he’d given her the chance, and she’d taken it once.

Rogue paused, her mind straining to slip back into the familiarity of the thing buried in her dresser drawer.

That damned card was a reminder of all that "potential" Xavier had been talking about. It was like a fist of pent up energy just begging to be released.

She snorted bitterly at the unseemly justice of the thought. Gambit was the one just splattering it about everywhere, while she had kept it all under lock and key.

She flexed her fist. "Under glove," she muttered, and then fell to pensive silence.

It was unusually quiet that morning, and the sound of her own voice made her feel excruciatingly hollow.

She strained her ears, looking up for the first time since she’d sat down. It was too quiet, she thought. Usually there were birds, at least. The forest was full of them - whippoorwills and crows and now, absolutely nothing was making a sound. Except...

There was a strained groan and Rogue snapped her attention overhead a second too late. The branch overhanging her bench was dipping lower, cracking beneath the weight of...

"Merde!"

Gambit leapt, springing off the splintering limb just as Rogue stood and staggered backwards. He dropped ten feet to the ground, clipping her on the side and taking her down with his momentum. The pair rolled over each other, absorbing the impact though their limbs tangled.

Rogue inhaled hard, realizing, despite the fact that her hair was obscuring her vision, that she had landed on top of something extremely firm... Something extremely firm that was breathing and smelled like aftershave and had just swore in French.

She sprang upwards to her knees so that she could see better, to see for sure...

"Y’ miss me, chérie?"

Rogue, eyes widened, took in the fine line of stubble on his chin, strong jaw, the smoldering red cast of his pupils set into fully blackened sclera, and the wry quirk to his mouth.

Remy.

"What are ya doing here?" she spat, planting her hands over his wrists and struggling to extract her calf from beneath his knee. He held firm, locking her leg in place and pulling her hips flush with his. She squirmed, forgoing the gasp.

"M’ just enjoyin’ de view." He smirked, trying to lift a hand to brush her hair away from her face, and failed, realizing she still had him pinned. He let her think she could hold him down, for a moment. "Mind, I usually prefer de top m’self."

She was about to open her mouth to make a snappish retort when Gambit forced her hands off his wrists, his attention fixed on the tree overhead. He wrapped his arms around her, covering the top of her head and rolled to the side just as the tree branch snapped. It came down heavily where they’d just lain, a stray branch lashing at his shoulders.

"S’ better," he murmured into her hair after a minute, his breath tickling her neck.

"Get off me!" She shoved at his chest.

Obligingly, Gambit stood in one fluid motion, sweeping into a low bow a moment later and offering her a hand. The gesture teemed with chivalrous pomp, and Rogue slapped his gloved fingers away without as much as a blink.

"Ya could have gotten yo’self killed, ya fool Cajun. What were ya thinkin’?" she yelled, standing up.

He shrugged, peering at her through his fringe as he brushed himself off. "Tree’s not as sturdy as it used t’ be. Or mebbe I spent a bit too much time up dere, outdid m’ welcome."

Rogue gaped.

"S’ been a while, non? Y’ yellin’ at Remy, Remy threatenin’ t’ blow up a box car..."

"Remy speakin’ in third person? Yeah. It coulda been a stretch longer," she snapped.

"Still got dat old sass. Dieu, I was afraid dat fire’d gone out." He grinned, taking a step back to appraise her properly. Rogue folded her arms across her chest and scowled.

"Whaddya want? Plan on gassing and kidnapping me again? It’s getting’ kinda old, Gambit."

"Remy, chérie. S’ what m’ friends call me."

"Ya ain’t got no friends here, ya swamp rat."

He grinned openly. "Figured y’ wouldn’t be too pleased t’ see me. S’ cool." He shrugged. "Y’ want t’ play dat game, m’ all for it."

"Ah ain’t playin’ anymore games, Gambit, now just tell me what ya want and off with ya, I’ve got class in a half hour."

He cocked an eyebrow, slipping his hands into his pockets as he sidled up to her. Rogue held her ground, furious that he’d just dropped in on her out of nowhere like nothing had changed between them. The fact that there wasn’t a "them" to begin with didn’t faze her in the slightest. He was such a... such a...

"Y’ keep starin’ like that I t’ink y’ might be tryin’ t’ burn a hole in m’ skull," he murmured. Unaware of how he’d managed to get so close, Rogue took a staggering step backwards.

"Or mebbe y’ just like what y’ see. Sight f’ sore eyes?"

He held his arms out, turning around on his heel, his trench coat opening to reveal a lean torso, muscular legs, and those stupid shin guards he insisted on wearing over his boots.

"Haven’t changed a lick," she said wryly. "Ya still just as cocky as ever," she tossed back at him, turning away to conceal a rising blush. Rogue sidestepped the fallen branch to retrieve her school bag, cursing herself all the while for allowing herself to be baited.

"Just came t’ check in on y’, Rogue," he said, two steps behind her. "S’ all. Jus’ wanted a word, if y’ willing to hear a scoundrel out."

"Ah wouldn’t bet on it if Ah were you," she muttered. "Ya tried to apologize to me once, LeBeau..."

"And y’ listened den." He caught her wrist, turning her to face him. "Or were y’ lyin’ when y’ took dat card?"

Her breath caught despite herself. The card - it wasn’t a good luck charm, it was a damned omen. She should have known, Rogue groaned inwardly, not entirely convinced she was that disappointed, but what did that matter? He hadn’t written, called, or even e-mailed in a year. Some truce that had been.

"It’s not like it meant anything," she spat, finally finding her voice.

"T’ you or t’ me?"

Rogue sucked in a breath, biting down hard on her lower lip. A pause lengthened between them, and they struggled equally to stare each other down.

"Let me go," she said finally through grit teeth.

After a pause, Remy lifted his fingers, one by one, from her sleeve. He’d managed the twist the garment so that a small patch of skin was exposed between her wrist and forearm.

Lily white, he thought, before shoving the image away forcefully. He watched her turn, heaving her bag onto one shoulder, and he didn’t protest as she broke into a run across the manor grounds to the garage.

Remy cocked an eyebrow, contemplating the light tingle in his thumb where he’d brushed her wrist. She hadn’t felt it. He patted at himself, a slow grin spreading across his features, albeit fleetingly.

Not comatose, he decided. That was good.

Her reaction to seeing him? Not so good.

"Eh bien, LeBeau, dere are two ways of doing t’ings." He sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "Gonna make Pyro a happy man, at least."

There was only one thing left to do, having already secured the perimeter on the way in. Remy scanned the grounds before slipping back under the cover of the trees and making his way to the mansion.

He ignored the uneasy feeling in his stomach that was rapidly dissolving into an jittery burst of adrenaline, brought on by the aftermath of the gamble he’d just taken. Smirking, he calmed himself by reaching for the pack of cards he’d saved for this very occasion.

---

Translations:

Bong-jer: Bonjour (Pyro’s Aussie accent getting in the way of proper pronunciation.)

Dieu: God

Eh bien: ok

Femmes: ladies/women

Merci: thank you

Merde: shit!

Mon ami: my friend

Trop facille: too easy

13

 

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