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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 6

Chapter VI: A Scattering of Chips

---

"Oh my god! Piotr!"

The mansion rumbled, a tremor from outside creating ruptures over the once-smooth lawns, racketing through the sublevels and up the foundations. While the floorboards remained in tact, the reverberations rattled the Institute from its core like an earthquake. Colossus teetered on the top stairs, his armor coating his skin to blunt the pain from the impending tumble. Kitty, running at full tilt, crashed into him. In the same motion, she latched onto his arm. The pair phased through the last few stairs before they could fall over each other.

"It’s Lance," Kitty breathed, stumbling through Colossus’ chest and staring fixedly out the front doors. "Oh my god, what is he doing?" she cried shrilly. Piotr propped her upright, managing to restrain a grimace at the mention of Kitty’s former beau, but not entirely content that the petite teenager had phased straight through his midsection.

Kurt teleported in beside them, a rank cloud of sulfur trailing him in whorls of wispy grey. "It’s the Brotherhood! They’re attacking!"

"Team!" Cyclops bellowed, jogging out of the kitchen, already suited up. "Where is everyone?"

Jean soared from the west wing of the mansion, tailed by a panting Ray.

"I’m not made for this sort of exertion!" Berserker gasped, clutching at his chest with an exaggerated wince, only to follow Jean outside a moment later at a dead run. As he leapt off the portico’s stone banister, those left inside heard him let loose a loud cackle and a whoop!

"Let’s go everyone! Two teams! I want to see ground defense to match an aerial sweep. Let’s flush them out!" Cyclops bellowed. "Nightcrawler, status report!"

Kurt ported out and then back in. "I don’t get it! They’ve knocked down the gate and tripped the mansion’s light security. But - but they’re not heading for the mansion. They’re just tearing up the grounds. Everything’s smoking!"

"It is Pyro." Colossus hunched his shoulders and banged his way out the front door with a distinct grimace. "I vill settle the matter with him personally," he called over his shoulder.

"Where’s Logan?" Rogue shouted from the top of the stairs, tugging on one of her boots as she hopped past the landing. Her wet hair slapped at her cheeks, leaving her skin clammy and uncomfortable. Already she was flushed from her shower and sweating into a clean change of uniform, and she was no more appreciative that her muscles were protesting the effort of trying to get out of the mansion as quickly as possible.

Scrunched into her gloved fist, acting as a catalyst for the surge of vitriol-fuelled adrenaline currently flooding her system and keeping her momentum steady, were two playing cards that went utterly unnoticed by everyone else.

To Rogue, however, they were a solid, physical reminder that either she or Logan would soon be tearing Gambit a new one for his efforts.

"Logan left this afternoon, Rogue. He has not returned as of yet," was the Professor’s projected response. "I cannot get a clear psychic reading from the Brotherhood. It appears that they have either been deceived or the full intentions of their benefactor undeclared."

Rogue grimaced. It appeared that she was left with the honor of dealing with the Cajun personally. No one else set off charges like that - but the number of them... How the heck had he managed it? Sure he was a good shot with the cards he always carried with him, but there had been too many explosions in too quick of a succession across too large an area for Gambit to set off all in one shot.

Something didn’t sit right about it, Rogue decided silently, yanking hard on her laces and cramming the cards into her belt.

"Professor?" Cyclops asked aloud. "Is it Magneto?"

"Not at all, Scott. It is... difficult to tell, but I believe the reason for this attack is slightly more complicated than what is presented to us directly. I caution you all to stay together. Your strength as a team is formidable, and this may very well prove to be a valuable learning exercise."

"If you say so," Nightcrawler muttered, clearly dubious.

"Let’s go! Armatage formation!" Scott shouted, swiveling, he scanned the crowd of younger mutants filtering through the doors. Amara passed him, tailed by Boom Boom who ducked under his arm, sniggering.

"Where’s Bobby?" Cyclops called after them.

Jubilee bounded past him, her fingers crackling with repressed energy, and pirouetted with a shrug.

At the top of the stairs, Rogue swiveled, searching out the rest of the students, though most of them had made it outside before she’d even passed the girl’s wing. If she could avoid the crowd, then maybe she’d have a clear shot at finding Gambit. If she had to scrap with him, she decided, it’d be on her terms and not his.

Jamie tripped as he ran down the stairs, scattering himself into seven identical replicas. "What formation?" three of them asked simultaneously.

"Damnit, Multiple!" Bobby bellowed, sliding by on a bridge of ice and leaving a chill in his wake that frosted the tips of Rogue’s still-wet hair. "The double cheeseburger one!"

Rogue shivered; the defensive tactics gave her an opening, at least. While the others winged the Brotherhood from opposite sides of the property, flushing them out through the front gates as the covered area narrowed, she could skirt the edges of the forest and keep a look out. An aerial sweep by Jean, Storm and Cannonball would beat them back, giving her a clear path to search for the swamp snake.

"Oh!" Jamie grinned sheepishly, sliding back into himself and taking Cyclops’ extended hand up.

"Iceman!" Cyclops directed. "Help Storm with the fires. Multiple, you’re with me, north forest. Rogue and Kitty, south side. Now! And you heard the Professor, stick together!"

Perfect, Rogue thought as she leapt onto the banister, skidding down its length and pelting at full tilt across the foyer, down the stone steps of the portico, and onto the front lawn behind Kitty.

"Something’s wrong," Kitty shouted, making a break for the forest. "There isn’t anybody in the Brotherhood who can make explosions like that!"

"He’s mine, Shadowcat!" Rogue snarled.

"What?" she cried, her legs pumping hard to keep up. Jean and Storm were well overhead, taking the direct route towards the gates and Blob, who appeared to be tearing their topiaries to bits. "Who?"

"Gambit!" Rogue snapped, leaping over a flaming pile of twisted metal that had once been a recessed laser. "Who else would -"

FOOM!

"Evening shielas!" Pyro cackled. "Fine night wouldn’t you say?" he roared, clapping his hands together over his head. The flames between his palms exploded outwards, shaping into a wavering, roaring fireball that spread its wings wide.

"Get down!" Rogue shouted, tackling Kitty around the midsection as an enormous jet of flame shot towards them.

"Dragon!" Kitty gasped, and Rogue rolled over onto her back.

"Darn thing even has fangs," Rogue noted dryly, watching the inferno lick upwards, illuminating the grounds in a blinding blaze of red and gold before it bore down on them. "Guess we’ll have to do milkshakes some other time, Kit," she ground out.

Shadowcat managed a startled yelp of surprise in response. "That’s all you can think of right now?"

All things considered, Rogue was contemplating the life sentence she’d be sure to spend in prison if the Cajun had actually had the audacity to show up in person.

"She’s a beaut, isn’t she?" Pyro yelled, laughing as he directed the monster towards them again. It swooped, stuttered, and vanished mid-air just as Kitty reached for Rogue’s hand to phase them through the fire.

Rogue looked up in time to watch as Colossus hefted Pyro clean off his feet.

"I do not like it vhen you scare my friends."

Pyro emitted a strangled sound, followed quickly by two distinctive pops and a low hiss as the gas pipes were torn from the fuel tank on his back. They dropped to his sides limply, filling the air with the acrid scent of butane that hissed out of the chamber.

"Piotr!" he squeaked, scrabbling at the metal hand that fisted around the front of his uniform. "Long time no see. Yer looking in fine condition. Urk!"

"Colossus!" Kitty bellowed, getting to her feet. "Don’t hurt him!"

Piotr paused mid-stride with Pyro flailing at arm’s length. "I take out ze trash." He gave her a small smile and turned his back. By the looks of it, he really was heading to the dumpsters on the outside of the property.

"Ok," Rogue breathed, pushing herself off the ground. "Ah don’t see any point in letting them have all the fun."

"But Scott said -"

"Ah’m gonna find that Cajun an’ Ah’m gonna leave him a vegetable for this!" she interrupted vehemently, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the lawns for a telltale flare of offensive pink.

"Rogue! Wait! How do you know?" Kitty protested.

"He left his calling card!" she snapped, tearing the welted playing cards from her pocket and brandishing them before Kitty’s face with a rough shake. Rogue grimaced, trying to ignore Kitty’s dumbfounded expression as she took in the King and Queen of Hearts that she had torn off her mirror in her haste to head off the attack. They were still taped together, stubbornly refusing to be pulled apart.

Kitty squinted, taking a cautious step closer to read the message written across the faces. It was almost comical the way her eyes widened in disbelief. "Oh no way!"

Beneath their feet, the ground rumbled again, and Rogue forcibly restrained herself from scowling.

"There ain’t time for this," Rogue shouted over the shrill, creaking whine of the sprinklers being torn from the ground with the aftershocks. "Take Lance out, Kit!" Rogue spun, bracing herself into a crouch, her fingers clawing the grass so that the rippling ground wouldn’t knock her over. "Phase him down ta China if ya have ta. Ah ain’t rebuilding the mansion one more time."

"But -" Kitty began in protest, only to be silenced by a wet, SPLAT! "Mmmph!"

"Girl talks too much," Toad called, clinging to the side of a tree nearby.

Kitty phased out through the ground, struggling with the thick puce-colored mess coating her face. She was out of reach before Rogue could get to her.

"C’mon slimebag," she goaded, turning to Toad and fisting her hands before her. The cards crunched beneath the leather of her gloves, but Rogue ignored the sound. Furious that she was still allowing herself to even touch them, she stuffed the pair into a pocket. "Ya can get down here, or Ah’ll come up there myself."

"Heh," he chuckled, his uneven yellow teeth bared in something close to a grin. "Everyone wants a piece of the frog man!" He sprang off the side of the tree, twisting mid air, with both arms and both legs reaching to tackle her.

Rogue didn’t even flinch. Toad’s momentum was lacking, and without the force to propel him, Rogue stepped out of the way easily as he hit the ground and tumbled.

"Ow!" he moaned, doubling over on himself.

"Some challenge you are," she muttered, stalking over to where Toad had fallen. She peeled off her glove, locked a foot beneath him, and rolled him onto his back.

"I hate this part," he whimpered, wincing.

"What’re ya doing here? Where is he?" she hissed, waggling her bare fingers over his face menacingly, stopping just short of the point of contact. Usually, it was enough to scare anyone who knew what she was capable of into talking.

When Toad tried to wriggle away, she planted her foot square on his chest. "Trust me, the last thing Ah want is ta have ya bouncing around in my head makin’ a mess of things. Talk."

"Yo, home girl," he laughed nervously, "ya got it all wrong, see -" He looked nervously to either side of him, searching for a way out, and stopped. Grinning, he cheered, "Babycakes!"

Rogue turned her head a millisecond before she was slapped backwards off her feet by a jet of blue light. It crackled, wrapping around her torso like a fist of sizzling, static current that shot her upwards fifty feet into the darkened night sky before she’d even realized Wanda was stalking across the grounds towards her.

She hovered a moment, straining against the pulsating bubble of energy that clapped her arms to her sides, and her glove to her thigh where she clutched it. Once Wanda had decided that Rogue was sufficiently immobilized, the tension eased off just enough for Rogue to squirm. Peering downwards and swallowing the rush of vertigo that came from dangling at a height high to kill if Wanda released her, Rogue’s eyes widened as she took in the level of destruction occurring on the property below.

A blue blur was knocking over her teammates at random; large parts of the grounds, the topiaries, and the gardens were aflame - though Iceman was making quick work of the larger blazes. Blob had successfully overturned the ornamental fountain, drenching the lawns nearest the street in a muddy mess, and with Nightcrawler porting in and out, visibility was steadily decreasing with the lingering clouds of smoke from his teleportation.

"Shit," she muttered. There was no sign of Gambit.

Rogue could just make out Cyclops’ optic blasts through the haze. They were forcing them towards the street.

Below her, Scarlet Witch grimaced. "How does it look from up there, princess?" she shouted.

"Looks like a party," Rogue yelled back, wincing as Wanda’s hold on her tightened, drawing her back to the a height where conversation could be maintained without bellowing. "Ah’m sorry Ah’m missin’ it!"

"You’re more anti-social than I am, Rogue," Wanda laughed. "I don’t believe for a second that you’d actually like to mingle with these plebes."

"Yo’ boyfriend and Ah were just havin’ a little heart ta heart, sugah," she shot back, straining a little. "We were about ta go and get us some punch."

"Spare me the feeble puns," Wanda waved at her airily with her free hand, her other fingers twisting in a way that made Rogue’s bonds tighten uncomfortably. "We’re not here to chat."

"Didn’t think ya’ll were much the type for social calls."

"The Brotherhood?" Wanda sniffed, drawing Rogue level with her. At her side, Toad grinned broadly, clearly proud of the woman who bluntly refused to return his affections. "No, I can’t take these cretins anywhere."

Toad frowned.

"That mean we’re still on for the Marilyn show next month?" Rogue asked, mockingly.

"For fifty bucks a ticket?" she smirked. "Standing room only? How will you cope, Rogue? I’d love to see what you’d do in a mosh pit."

Rogue bristled. "Ya wanna tell me what’s goin’ on here, Wanda? Maintaining that tentative truce and all we had goin’ -"

Wanda shrugged, peering at her coyly while brushing her nails on the lapels of her trademark red coat. "I said I couldn’t take these halfwits anywhere. You, on the other hand, have an old friend in town who’s made us a very reasonable offer if we clear your schedule."

"What?" Rogue snapped. Wanda ignored her.

"Bearing that in mind," she continued lightly. "You need to get out of the way."

With that, Wanda flung Rogue across the lawn, releasing her hex and letting her drop. She hit the ground hard and rolled, coming to rest at the opposite end of the property, winded, bruised, but otherwise still in fighting form.

Rogue coughed as the air rushed back into her lungs. She sat up, her chest heaving, and struggled to her knees, yanking on her glove as if it were her lifeline.

Behind her, a low chuckle and slow, sardonic applause broke through the relative silence of the north forest.

"Gambit!" she bellowed, her voice returning to her from the heavy silence beyond the trees. She stood, grateful that her legs supported her. She’d be a little bruised from the fall, but otherwise she was raring to go. Her fingers itched beneath her gloves.

"No need t’ yell. M’ here," he murmured from her left.

Rogue pivoted, searching the thick veil of shadow before her, her heart rate climbing to the point where she could feel her pulse singing just below her skin. A flare of fuchsia blinded her momentarily from beneath the broken canopy of her oak tree, and grimacing, Rogue stood to full height as the rush of adrenaline hit her bloodstream.

He grinned, eyes flashing mischievously, and doused the charged card.

"Bonsoir."

Gambit tipped an imaginary hat, giving her a dutiful half-bow from the waist. His eyes didn’t leave hers as he stepped out from the gloom. "Figured it was time we had dat lil’ chat y’ promised me." Gambit rested his quarterstaff against a shoulder, rolling it lazily between gloved fingers.

Rogue fisted her hands at her sides. "Ah didn’t promise ya nothin’!" she spat, her sudden desire to smack the smirk off his face overriding the immediate concern of the battle.

"Dat may be true, but m’ not the sort t’ take no for an answer." He raised his chin, letting his gaze slide over her, before returning to meet her hard stare. "S’ a shame - y’ didn’t get de chance t’ show m’ what y’ can do dese days. Wanda, y’ know, she’s a little eager when it comes t’ dese rendezvous type t’ings. Woulda been a pleasure t’ watch, m’ sure."

"That’s right, yo’ always watchin’ and never doin’," she snapped, holding her ground as Gambit spun the staff over his knuckles. The space between them sung with the sound of cold metal cutting through it with practiced ease.

"S’ dat an invitation?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"For what exactly? Ya askin’ ta get dropped like yo’ buddies over there?" she lied, deliberately bating him.

He chuckled, strolling around her lazily. She tracked him, matching his steps, her muscles tensing with each soft pad of their footfalls. "Y’ mean y’ were savin’ y’ self f’ me?" he leered. "Y’ didn’t touch any of ’em, Rogue."

"All Ah need is one finger ta take ya out. One touch, Gambit," she said bracingly, though she was none too thrilled at the prospect.

Gambit shrugged, it didn’t appear as if he was at all concerned by the threat, and given the circumstances of Rogue’s recent display in the Danger Room, there was probably a damned good reason if the idiot was still coherent.

"Prefer a kiss, m’ self," he replied in that same, languid cadence that he’d always used when trying to soften her up. Deftly, he flipped the staff over his shoulder and let it rest against the back of the opposite leg. "Considerin’ the last one y’ gave me, I don’t remember."

"What’re ya talkin’ about? Ah never -"

"Oh yes, y’ did. Had t’ watch de security tape t’ be sure, but y’ did." He smirked. "Guess Mesmero wiped that from y’ mind, too."

Cold, hard history never stung quite as badly as that.

"Yo’ lyin’," she argued. There was a security tape? The Professor hadn’t told her that. "Or maybe it just wasn’t worth keepin’ that memory tucked away in my head," she spat as an afterthought.

It was a lie, she decided. When she’d been under the control of Mesmero, she’d done a lot of things she regretted even though memories were no longer there. Used like a puppet for two days, only to become Apocalypse’s vessel of deliverance, there were a a handful of things from that time in Rogue’s life she was glad to have forgotten. She hadn’t had the control to stop herself from absorbing the Brotherhood, the X-Men and Magneto’s Acolytes - only to be told in the aftermath what she’d done.

Leave it to Gambit to bring that up now.

"Y’ wound me, chérie." He pouted, thrusting out his lower lip. His eyes betrayed the expression; they glittered in the darkness like beacons.

He was deliberately trying to unsettle her, throw her off guard; just like he’d done that morning. It steeled Rogue’s resolve.

"Ah’ll do more than just wound ya, ya filthy, manipulative -"

"Now, now, p’tit, s’ not polite f’ a nice young fille such as y’self to run off at the mouth like dat."

"What did ya do ta me this mornin’, Cajun?" she ground out. "Ah’ll give ya one chance ta explain yo’self, and then Ah’m takin’ ya out just like Colossus did back there to yo’ buddy, Pyro."

"Quoi? No time t’ get reacquainted?" He chuckled, low in the back of his throat. "Dat’s a sorry situation indeed, chére. Back home, we take t’ings a little easier, show some hospitality t’ old acquaintances -"

"Enemies, Cajun," she shot back. "Adversaries."

"Details," he purred. "S’ not de past dat matters, Roguey - it’s de present."

She snorted, clenching her fists tighter. "Comin’ from someone who lives by the seat of his pants, Ah’m not surprised that ya say that."

"Comin’ from someone who knows that y’ haven’t absorbed no one since last year because y’ too afraid of repeatin’ history, I do," he quipped.

Rogue froze, the skin on the back of her neck prickling in a way that was far too familiar for comfort. It was a sensation she hadn’t experienced in a long time, and now she knew why. It was the sort of second sense that made a person look over their shoulder when walking down a dark alley; the sort of uncomfortable prickling at the back of the neck that indicated the weight of someone else’s gaze. He’d been watching her. He knew.

As Gambit appraised her, that familiar self-satisfied, smug grin drawing his mouth up at the corner, a cold fury settled into Rogue’s limbs.

"This time, Ah’ll make an exception," she hissed.

Rogue sprang at him, throwing the first punch. Gambit dipped out of the way, her fist whipping past his ear where his head had been only a moment before. He stepped around her nimbly, tapping the back of her thighs with his staff, and turned to face her again with a grin.

"Could learn a thing or two, chérie. I’ve got plenty t’ teach a willin’ student," he purred. Somehow, he managed to make it sound perfectly dirty.

She swiveled, her leg whipping out to catch his side with her heel. Gambit blocked her, grabbing her leg.

"What were ya thinkin’? Dance lessons?" she snapped, her fists raised before her, ready to crack him in the jaw. While Rogue tried to yank her foot back from his grasp, Gambit merely chuckled. He tugged on her ankle lightly, bemused by their stalemate.

Rogue forced herself to ignore the warm press of his fingers through her boots.

"S’ not a bad idea," he conceded. "Dat mean we get to do dis more often?"

He thrust her leg out so that Rogue spun blindly, her balance offset by the force of the throw. Gambit’s arm slipped around her waist and dipped her, her back arching against his knee; one arm was around her shoulders, one hand against her hip, and his bo staff cast to the ground.

"I t’ink I could get used to dis," he hummed, his eyes half-lidded.

"Could ya?" she asked, breathing hard. Defiantly, she ignored the rich, rained-out scent of his trench coat and lifted herself onto her toes. She kicked upwards hard, catching the back of his head with her shin. Rogue tumbled over, using his knee against her back for leverage before he could drop her, and landed on all fours a few feet away, her fingers sinking into the soft, cold grass.

Tossing her hair out of her face, she bared her teeth at him.

"Dieu," he grimaced, scrubbing at the back of his head. "Y’ kick like a mule."

"And ya smell like one," she murmured.

"Thought I was de swamp rat," he grinned. "Wouldn’t let anybody else call m’ dat after you."

"Why’s that?" she asked, breathing hard. Her muscles tensed as she stood to full height. In the distance, nearer the road, someone yelled. Whether it was a shout of pain or victory, Rogue couldn’t discern.

"S’ got a special ring t’ it," he smirked, peering at her from beneath the shag of hair that fell into his eyes. It had grown out some, she thought - and vehemently, she concluded her appraisal abruptly with an audible huff.

"An’ it makes y’ stop scowlin’ long enough f’ me t’ appreciate ya properly," Gambit added.

Rogue grimaced. Unbelievable - even in the midst of a spat, he was still trying to flirt with her.

"What do ya want, Remy? Ya came here to fight, so let’s get on with it," she said, unable to reign in the spike of irritation that laced her tone.

Gambit toed his staff and kicked it into the air. He caught it easily and compacted it, slipping it beneath his trench coat in one fluid snap of the wrist.

"Say dat again," he said evenly, challenging her. In the darkness, backlit by the security lights that were now flicking on around the property, his eyes glimmered, growing brighter and more intense steadily.

Warily, her gaze transfixed on his own, she asked, "Say what?"

"Y’ know what." He took a step forwards and stopped, waiting to see if she’d comply. When his name failed to roll of her tongue again, he shook the hair out of his eyes. "M’ not here t’ fight ya. I told y’ already." He opened his arms, displaying his hands, palms up, in a gesture of plaintive surrender.

Somehow, that rattled her more than his presence alone.

Across the grounds, a loud KRAKOOM! echoed. Rogue flinched, turning her head just in time to witness a large part of the forest bathed in growing firelight.

Gambit’s mouthed curved into a small frown, and he rubbed at the stubble on his chin.

"Y’ can’t blame me f’ dat. Dey be a bit boisterous, being cooped up so long."

Rogue hunched her shoulders, balling her fists at her sides she strode forwards.

"Ya set this up, didn’t ya?" she snarled, shoving Gambit in the chest. "Ya came here, planting yo’ stupid cards to explode everywhere ta draw everyone outta the mansion. Ya just couldn’t leave well enough alone!" she shouted, pushing him again. Gambit walked backwards, matching her pace, and keeping his hands at his sides.

"Y’ didn’t wan’ t’ listen t’ begin with. Y’ left me no other choice," he countered.

"They’re my family, Gambit, and when ya mess with my family, ya mess with me!"

"M’ not messin’ with y’ family," he said, stopping dead so that she walked straight into his chest. She swore, shoving at him again, though he proved immovable.

He wrapped his hands around her upper arms and dipped his head so he could meet her furious gaze evenly.

"M’ not messin’ with y’ either," he said in an undertone, his eyes glowing a brighter shade of crimson.

"Ah don’t give ya that much credit!" she spat, her jaw clenching as she struggled against him. "Yo’ a liar and a thief, LeBeau."

"Reformed t’ief," he corrected with a wry grin.

"But still a liar. Ah absorbed ya this morning, Cajun - Ah don’t know how yo’ still standing, but Ah did and Ah blew the absolute shit outta the Danger Room when Ah realized -"

"Y’ did?" he interrupted, grinning broadly. When Rogue persisted in fuming at him, he relented, cocking his head to the side and pursing his lips. "Y’did," he conceded with a low whistle.

Rogue scoffed, and continued her attempt to extricate herself from his grasp without tearing his arms out of their sockets.

"Ya expect me ta believe ya?" She struggled, opting for the less gory approach and trying to shake him off by squirming out from beneath his hands, but Gambit held firm. "Ya just popped back inta Bayville ta shoot the shit and catch up? Yeah right. Yo’ not that selfless - that much Ah remember from the last time Ah absorbed ya."

"Why don’t y’ touch me, den. See f’ y’self if y’ don’t believe me," he said lightly, deliberately goading her with the one thing she did not want to do.

He let go of her arms, and stood back, offering her his hand.

He’d changed his gloves, she thought absently, rubbing at her arms with something close to consternation at the fact that he’d managed to hold on long enough without getting smacked once. The last time she’d seen him, he’d worn scrubby-looking things with the fingers cut off, frayed down to nothing over his knuckles. These were a new acquisition. Thin black fabric covered his palms and thumbs, his middle and ring fingers, but the other digits were exposed.

It was still too much skin, she thought, though she collected herself enough to smile at him derisively.

"Like Ah want ya runnin’ around inside my head," she bit out, turning away.

He chuckled. "How’s dat any different from now?"

Rogue bristled, wanting nothing more than to turn around and belt him, but instead, she hunched her shoulders and began stalking in the direction of the flames.

"How bad is it, Rogue?" he called.

"Ah don’t know what yo’ talkin’ about!" she barked, quickening her pace and not turning around.

"How much does it take f’ you to hold back like dat? Y’ still can’t control it, can ya?" he shouted. "Dat’s why y’ didn’t absorb Toady back dere. Y’ afraid of what might happen if y’ do, dat someone else like Apocalypse might come along an’ try t’ take advantage of what y’ got again - but lord knows, s in y’ nature, chére. S’ what y’ are, an’ someday, y’ gonna get tired of always runnin’ from it!"

She froze.

In the distance, she could make out the floating form of Blob, levitated at least fifty feet of the ground by Jean’s telepathy. They needed her, her conscience reminded her sternly. This joker just wanted to waste her time.

"Ah get by," she said evenly in the effort to squash the rising swell of humiliation that his words triggered. He knew she hadn’t absorbed anyone; he hadn’t been back in Bayville more than a few hours, and already he understood more about the past year of her life than the people she lived with. Gritting her teeth, Rogue tried to shake it off. The momentary hesitation gave Gambit the opportunity to close the gap between them.

"Y’ can’t live y’ life like dat, chérie. Y’ keep runnin’ but y’ never get nowhere." His voice was softer, closer. She heard the whisper of his boots through the manicured grass, smelled that familiar rich, earthen scent that clung to his clothes as he moved to stand behind her. "An’ de legs get tired after a while," he said lightly, trying to take the edge off with blunted humor. "Trust m’, y’ run around in m’ mind enough f’ me t’ know it."

She could feel his smirk, and it stung.

"Ya left," she returned, accusing. Turning to face him, she added with barely concealed bitterness, "How’s that for running away?"

He searched her face a moment, and not for the first time, Rogue was struck by how well she knew his face. Each angle, each shadow, she had memorized, but now that he was standing in front of her - it betrayed his memory. This was too real.

This could not be happening.

"One time," he said slowly, "I told y’ dat dere was always gonna be someone watchin’ over y’. If it couldn’t be me, it’d be dem."

He looked over her head at the waning battle across the grounds, and forcibly, Rogue had to draw her gaze away. She fixed her attention on a spot just beyond his shoulder so she wouldn’t focus on the way he’d aged.

They were subtle changes; longer hair, the rugged stubble that peppered his cheeks, and a hardness to his eyes that she might’ve noticed once, a long time ago, and forgotten. Or maybe it was the look of someone who’d seen and done things she herself could understand from having been to those darker places. They threatened to lure her in with the promise that something surely dwelled inside, laying in wait.

That was Gambit, she swallowed; just a snake in the grass ready to lead her by the wrist to the nearest apple tree.

The flames over the forest had been staunched, and it appeared that the few remaining members of the Brotherhood were just about ready to stagger home, the poor fools.

"Besides," he said after a moment of scrutinizing her expression and leaving her flushed under his stare. He cracked a small, but triumphant smile. "Y’ left me, as I recall."

Rogue opened her mouth to snarl out something objectionable, but Remy had pressed his two covered fingers against her lips. Rogue flinched, trying to draw backwards, but finding herself incapable just the same.

"M’ not done," he said warningly. "Y’ had de choice, and y’ chose dem."

She wrenched his wrist away and jabbed him in the chest with her fingers.

"It doesn’t matter. Ya done the wrong things for so long now that Ah can’t even begin to figure out which way yo’ head’s screwed on."

He smirked, vainly trying to school his expression.

"What?" Rogue cried, hating the way her voice cracked.

"I suppose de cards I left on y’ mirror were one o’ dem wrong t’ings, ein?"

Rogue froze, pulling her hand back slowly, her eyes widening. Remy stepped back, his expression veiled, and slipped his hands into his trench coat, hooking his thumbs into his belt. In the same motion, Rogue touched her fingers to the seam of her pockets, pressing down gingerly and feeling nothing but her own leg through the fabric. With a sinking feeling in her gut, she noted that the cards were no longer where she’d put them.

She’d lost the King and Queen in the scuffle.

"Wouldn’t y’ like dat? Didn’t know y’ were so sentimental, Rogue, wantin’ t’ keep a piece o’ ole’ Remy all t’ y’self," he continued, enjoying her shaken expression as he strolled in a slow circle around her. "M’ offerin’ somet’in’ a lil’ different, dat’s all."

"Like what?" She narrowed her eyes, readying to pull off the glove that she’d kept on stubbornly to keep herself in fighting form. Without them, she was exposed.

That made two occasions, in the span of two days, where she’d either gone gloveless, or forced herself wanting to despite the inherent threat of her mutation.

Reluctantly, and though she didn’t want to admit it, it felt good to have her hand uncovered. Quickly, she crushed the thought. It was useless to even think about it.

"See f’ y’self," he said, holding his hand out to her patiently for the second time.

She clenched her fists, and bit out, "Ah can’t."

"Rogue -"

"Ah don’t wanna hurt ya, Remy! Ah don’t wanna hurt anyone!" she snapped, her voice turning gravely as she pulled away from him.

"Chérie, I can take de pain." He stepped towards her, smiling gently, his hand between them. "Y’ might even like it." He winked, the usual arrogant smirk back in place.

"Trust me, Ah wouldn’t take any pleasure in it. Heaven knows where ya been prowlin’," she returned blandly. "Ah’d be scrubbin’ out the filth in my head for weeks."

He grinned. "Dat’s right, y’ got y’ own way of keepin’ me around. Looked like dat Queen of Hearts card got enough of y’ special sort of care."

Though she was ready to snap at him, Gambit cut her off.

"All m’ askin’ is dat y’ give what I got t’ say a chance."

"Why can’t ya just tell me? Ya been so intent on talking that ya set all this up!" She waved at her friends who were still trying to usher the Brotherhood off the property.

"S’ not dat easy." He looked at her seriously for a moment. The expression faded almost as quickly as it came, and Rogue found herself searching for it again, locked in a failing battle with his stare. "Y’ won’t want t’ give me y’ trust even if I could put it into words. S’ better like dis, y’ll know f’ sure."

Strange, she thought after a moment, her vision taking on a hazy, detached quality. Remy really did have the nicest eyes - oddly colored, certainly, but no one else that she knew had eyes that glowed in the same manner. It was as if a smoldering ember was set into the black surround of ash. They warmed her, and looking at him, truly looking at him for the first time in a year, Rogue felt the hint of a dewy smile curving her mouth.

Rogue glanced absently at his hand again, and tried to shake of the cottony sensation that suggested he was doing something to her head.

"De heart don’t lie," he said calmly, offering a small smile - a genuine one, the shine to his eyes more intense than ever.

It felt good, she concluded, like the last two years had never happened and they were back at the docks on the first day they met; Gambit was pulling her towards him with his stare, pressing a King into her outstretched fingers...

Rogue hesitated, trying to recall why exactly she had put up such a fuss to begin with, and failing. Her fingers reached slowly of their own accord and then drew back. The pads of his fingers looked rough, calloused from wielding his staff for so many years, but that wasn’t what deterred her... slowly, she returned to herself, shaking her head a little as if to clear it.

What was she doing?

"It’s ok, chérie," he reassured her, and with her vision softening once again, Rogue nodded.

"Don’t blame me if ya spend the rest of the month in the med bay," she said vaguely, her voice trailing off as she slipped her glove from her hand and let it drop to the ground beside her boot.

It felt good. Everything was fine. She was floating. Remy was home. Everything was fine. Rogue hummed. Her head swam. Remy’s eyes shone. Everything was fine. They were such a pretty shade of red...

She exhaled languidly, like she was breathing easily for the first time in what felt like forever, and brushed her fingers against Remy’s. It was a ghosting of flesh, silken and barely there - and Rogue’s awareness returned to her with a crushing force.

Oh no, was her only thought. Oh no, oh man, oh no, she recited to herself.

She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the onrush of his memories - that bright sizzle of his mutation flowing into her... What the heck had she been thinking?

"Hmm," he hummed.

Rogue peeked open an eye, her mouth forming a small "Oh!" of surprise as she realized there was nothing in her head but the pounding of her own heart. Remy’s fingers were beneath hers, curling her hand around his gently.

"What?" she gasped, staring at their fingers - their touching fingers - skin to skin, rough and soft, tanned and ghostly white pressed together so easily. So normally. "How?"

"Y’ ready, ma belle?" he asked, still wearing that insufferable smirk.

There was a slight beading of sweat over his forehead, like the struggle against the pull of her powers was putting an acute strain on him. Nonetheless, he was grinning - a triumphant, lopsided smile that made Rogue’s breath catch. His eyes were brighter than she’d ever seen, but this time, as she looked at him, she felt nothing but an acute distress that his skin was unimaginably warm against hers. The sharp, brutal awareness that he wasn’t dead yet from the contact made her breath catch.

She nodded mutely, her heart lodged firmly in her throat, and utterly dumbfounded that he was touching her, actually touching her.

He laughed and bent forwards, placing a lingering kiss on her bare knuckles.

It came at her in a rush - a barrage of sounds and sights and smells that flooded over her as she staggered backwards. She let out a small groan, snatching her hand back and clutching at her head as the memories, his memories, began to form clear pictures.

Before her, Remy dropped to his knees, breathing hard, but still beaming, victorious.

Rogue didn’t even notice as he strained to catch her before she swayed and fell to the ground next to him.

---

She’d kissed him.

But for the life of him, Remy couldn’t remember the feel of her lips, whether her skin was warm or cool to the touch, or what she tasted like.

He sat in front of the recording system in Magneto’s stronghold, his trench slung over the back of his seat, and hit the rewind button for the twenty-third time that hour. The large screen before him paused on one frame, then rapidly, the figures began moving backwards; scattered bits of dialogue crackled through the speakers in a higher pitch than normal.

"Awe, ya not still at it, mate?" Pyro wheedled, banging the door shut behind him.

Remy didn’t turn around, and he didn’t deign to respond.

"Magneto says we’re leaving in an hour, and I’d like," Pyro paused, dropping into a chair on the far side of the room and wheeling over with a spin and a flourish, "some bloody entertainment me’self."

Gambit caught his wrist before he could hit the play button.

"Later, mon ami," he said evenly, his gaze fixed on the paused frame before him.

"Ow! Gambit! Leggo!"

Remy held firm to Pyro’s wrist.

"Y’ gonna lemme have m’ five minutes peace, John?"

"Ugh! If ya let me have my wrist back before ya break it, ya duffer!" Pyro struggled to get free, and Gambit looked at him out of the corner of his eye, his lips drawn into a thin line.

"Ha! Alright, alright!" Pyro laughed nervously. "Ya can bugger ya’self all you like to that tape. Go ahead, see if I care." He grimaced. "So much for share and share alike," he added in an undertone.

Remy gripped his wrist a little harder, and Pyro’s sleeve hummed to life as the molecules of his uniform began to vibrate rapidly, taking on a bright fuchsia glow.

"Ack!" Pyro screeched, struggling to break free of Gambit’s hold. "Fine! Ya not a perve! I take it back!"

"S’ better," he murmured, diffusing the charge and releasing him with little ceremony.

Pyro snorted. "If the Sheila’s worth blowin’ up your buddies, mate, I’d say you’ve gone soft on us. Bloody tosser." Pyro pushed back in the chair, hard, so that he rolled well out of reach.

Gambit smirked over his shoulder.

"Take a squizz at this, Gambit - once Mags is finished with her, there won’t be much left to have a naughty with anyway. Best hold onto that tape, it’s all ya got."

Pyro ducked out of the room a second too soon. Remy looked at the crackling card between his fingers, produced with little more than the flick of his wrist, and frowned. He chucked it into the hallway anyway.

Gambit turned back to the screen as the card exploded behind him, hitting the play button one more time as the door to Magneto’s surveillance room slid shut.

"Bravo, chérie." His own voice returned to him from the speakers, in the eerie, surreal quality that comes from listening to one’s own self. No matter how many times he replayed it, it always served to unsettle him. Onscreen, the security camera looked down on two figures from overhead, tracking their motions across the base’s storage facility with the aid of automated motion detectors.

He was clapping.

"Looks t’ me like Rogue is up t’ no good."

He lifted his staff, poking her in the shoulder. The glint off her armor was disconcerting, and for a moment, she merely stood there before returning to her normal shape, devoid of Colossus’ stolen powers.

"But hey," his recording continued. "I like dat in a girl."

She knocked his staff out of the way; batting it like a cat would a piece of string.

Before the monitor, Remy leaned his chin against his fists, trying to force his mind to comply with what his eyes were seeing.

"Only t’ing is, y’ not alone in dis, are you? Who’s behind it — Mystique?"

He evaded her reaching arms, grunting as he flipped backwards onto a crate.

"I t’ink so. Question is, why?"

"Remy, y’ damned fool," he cursed himself, squeezing his eyes shut.

"See if ya can guess," Rogue snarled.

Gambit listened to the scuffle, knowing she’d brought him to the ground. The only things between them were his legs lifting her by her midsection and his quarterstaff. Rogue strained, reaching for him.

With a heave, he flipped her off of him. Remy opened his eyes, watching his own figure turning slowly, searching for her.

From behind him she emerged swiftly, a blur of torn clothing, lily-white skin, and smeared eyeliner.

Remy bowed his head before the computer screen. He heard his own muffled groan, and again, he tried to recapture that sensation: that swift peck on the lips that plucked his powers from him with such absurd ease.

He frowned, his mind drawing a frustrating blank where the memory should have been, and hit the rewind button again.

---

Rogue gasped, her eyes fluttering open and straining to find him. The ground was wet beneath his knees, and his arms were heavy, but nonetheless, Gambit reached for her.

She struggled, clutching at her head as he pulled her against his chest.

Rogue whimpered and her eyes closed again.

Remy held on gently, waiting for her to ride out the memories.

---

They’d failed.

Remy strained, grit sliding beneath his fingernails, hurting his hands as he tried to push himself off the dusty floors of Apocalypse’s tomb.

They’d failed, and somehow, they were still alive - the ones he could see anyhow. His ribs were bruised, his face caked in sweat and dirt, and it was probably a miracle that his head hadn’t cracked with the force of the blow that knocked all of them, the Acolytes, the Brotherhood and even the X-Men, to their backsides.

He coughed, feeling his chest expand painfully. His arms shuddering with the effort, Gambit pulled himself to knees that could barely support him. Pyro was out-cold to his left, and Xavier was breathing shallowly ahead of him - thrown clear from his wheelchair.

Magneto?

Remy blinked the grit out of his eyes, though they burned anyhow.

Alive. He coughed. Unconscious, maybe, but alive. There was hope yet.

On the far side of the room, Sabretooth was growling to himself, cursing the slowness of his healing factor, apparently. His leg was sticking out an odd angle.

"Gambit?" he snarled, his teeth bared.

Served him right, Remy thought vindictively.

He nodded after a moment, little more than a grim acknowledgement of their mission, and recognizing the look the larger man fixed him with. The three of them, Sabretooth, himself, and Wolverine had been appointed a specific task, and damned if one of them wasn’t going to finish it... even if it was half passed the eleventh hour and Rogue was probably dead anyway.

At least Creed wouldn’t be the one getting to her before him. So much for putting past trespasses aside, he thought. That was one of Magneto’s orders he wasn’t willing to stomach when it came to Sabretooth.

He winced, unsure whether the pain was issued by a twinge from his insides or from the thought that Rogue might be gone for good. Who she was, where she’d come from - all of that, just like him, was tucked away neatly under years of well-concealed contempt. What a shame that it could disappear so quickly. He hated it, as much as he hated the sluggishness of his limbs, and the despicable sense of failure that threatened to overtake him.

Creed growled again, and Remy brought himself to unstable legs.

"Good t’ see y’ well, homme." He sneered as best he could, hobbling past the downed motley crew of mutants.

"If ya don’t move any faster than that, you won’t be."

Gambit waved him off with a wince. "Heard ’nuff of dat already. Save it f’ Wolvie when he comes to."

When he reached the first wall, Gambit nearly groaned. At least, he would have had his throat not been so dry. It was as if he’d swallowed a sandbag and washed it down with a healthy glass of dust.

Two figures were sprawled at the bottom of the chamber. They lay together, a twisted mass of limbs crumpled together on the floor. Dolls, he thought, they looked like rag dolls that a child had grown bored of.

Wasn’t that entirely appropriate, given the situation?

He staggered down the long row of steps, knowing that regardless of how fast he could move, getting to her any more quickly wouldn’t give him the answers he was looking for.

She was dead, snuffed out without ever really offering him the chance to know if they were as alike as he’d thought. One more missed opportunity, one more sacrifice, and one more death on his hands because he wasn’t quick or strong enough.

And just like that, she moaned.

Gambit staggered down the last few steps, nearly collapsing over the prone body of Wolverine.

"Rogue?" he croaked, dropping to his knees and reaching out to feel for a pulse. He stopped, his hand inches from her throat.

"Merde!"

Her skin - he couldn’t touch her skin, he reminded himself. Wincing a little as his side pulled painfully, he held his fingers beneath her nose, saying a silent prayer.

Moist warmth, barely there, but there nonetheless.

She was breathing.

Ignoring the throb in his side, he scooped her up with a taxed groan. Sliding one arm beneath her legs and the other below her shoulders, he rocked her against his chest so that her head slid back against his shoulder and her airway was clear.

He didn’t spare a second glance at Wolverine, though his leg twitched a little against the ground in a spasm. He’d be up sooner than later.

Remy turned, checking to see that the unconscious girl in his arms would stay there without slipping until they reached the top of the stairs, and he began the upwards climb.

She weighed next to nothing, and in the dim light of the darkened chambers, Rogue appeared paler and more drawn than ever.

What had that fils de putain done to her?

Remy fixed his eyes on the top of the stairs, a grim line setting his jaw, and climbed.

One step at a time, he moved towards the light.

"I’ll take it from here, bub."

Remy winced, his arms shuddering a little. Wolverine stood at his side, ready to intercept. His wounds had knit together already, mostly, and he was getting healthier every second.

"I’ve got her." Remy grimaced, protesting even as his legs threatened to crumple beneath him.

"Ya done enough, Cajun."

It was that simple. And just like that, Logan slipped her from his arms and into his own.

Gambit frowned, closing his eyes for a moment and letting his arms drop to his sides limply. His muscles burned, his head hurt, and he was cold.

Wolverine turned, taking the last few steps to the chamber room with increasing ease.

Remy LeBeau wasn’t built to be a hero anyway.

---

"Ya not..." Rogue moaned, her fingers flexing uselessly against her head. "Ya didn’t..."

"Shh, s’ almost over," he murmured into her hair, rubbing slow circles over her back with the palm of his hand. Gambit swiped at his forehead, mentally gauging the amount of time Rogue needed to work through the last of it, and the amount of time they had before the X-Men returned from damage control.

She shuddered. "Ah know," Rogue said weakly. "Ah know ya meant well. Just like with Jean Luc..."

"Don’t struggle against it," he whispered, unsure whether she could hear him or not. Wordlessly, he collected her fallen glove from the ground, and slid it over her bare fingers as gently as he could.

Rogue slipped away again, sinking back into her mind and his memories with a groan fresh on her lips.

---

Remy ducked his head, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. The alley stunk from the backlash of Rue Bourbon - rain water, trash, stale alcohol, and that sweet, heady perfume of hot house blooms that hung heavily over window boxes.

Beneath that, the unmistakable scent of the swamp.

He knew each cobbled road, each corner, each lamp post like he’d grazed the pads of his sticky fingers over them all, caressing the city’s dips and curves, her damp, secret places untouchable to only those who feared them.

She was his, and she offered the sheltering cloak of night to him eagerly.

He smirked, appraising the Botanica’s decrepit exterior with something akin to amusement — but not quite.

The address was correct; he’d memorized the scrap of a note left by Tante Mattie and destroyed it without as much as a bat of an eye. He couldn’t leave any traces lying around that would incriminate her if either of the Guilds showed up.

The last time he’d been here, Julien had made him the promise of a permanent slumber at the bottom of Lake Pontchartrain - not that that would ever happen; not now, at least - not with Julien rotting in the Boudreaux family crypt at Lafayette number one.

All that bad blood washed aside, Remy had to admit, his small flat overlooking Rue Saint Anne was comfortable, especially with Tante Mattie coming around once a week to fill up the kitchen with the heady scents he remembered best from childhood... Last night’s crawfish étouffée had been particularly good; it was still burning in his throat today.

He cast a lopsided smile at the woman in the doorway who did not fail to purse her lips and look down her nose at him like he was a sewer rat just waiting to be swatted off the stoop with a broom.

He was here only because it kept him from the crowds of grazing, drunken tourists - those easily distracted by a brush of a shoulder or a sly half-smile.

They opened their pockets to him willingly, and the ladies, they opened their hearts, and more often than not, their thighs.

"Hmph," the woman standing within the rectangle of light cast from the back rooms said for the second time. Her hands were tucked into a faded, patterned apron that covered her sizable belly.

"’Cho name, chile?" she asked him. Her voice was like rich chocolate spiked with a sharp bite of cayenne.

"LeBeau, mam’selle. Remy LeBeau."

"Maman don’t see nobody she don’t know, an’ she don’t know yuh if I don’t know yuh." She appraised him sternly. Proud woman, he thought. He liked her already — especially since she was lying through her teeth. "An’ don’t yuh try spreadin’ dat charm nowhere, boy-o, devil yuh do."

"S’ what dey call me," he inclined his head politely. "Le Diable Blanc. Y’ t’ink y’ were readin’ m’ mind."

"Hmph," she said again, folding her arms across her large bosom, blocking even more of the doorway than she had a moment ago.

"Cecile! Quit yuh small talk an’ bring dat boy in heah!"

Cecile "harrumphed" one last time before stepping aside to let Remy pass.

He could feel her gaze on the back of his neck as he ducked beneath the doorway. The inside of the Botanica was small, smelling heavily of incense, burned herbs, and the metallic twang of copper beneath that. Blood on the floors, he thought; there was nothing out of the ordinary then. This place, like many others in the city, served as a temple for old ghosts.

"T’ de back," Cecile muttered, giving him a light push to the shoulder. "An’ mind yuh manners ’round Maman Brigitte," she added with a frown.

The air was considerably warmer than outside, and a thick layer of dust covered the artifacts piled high on the shelves and tables he navigated around. Not wanting to brush anything to the floor, Remy peered at the wide assortment of bell jars; their magnified contents were floating suspended in liquids that had obviously gone off with time. Roots and stones and bones, trinkets and talismans, twine and buttons - all kinds of worthless knickknacks that any self-respecting thief wouldn’t bat an eye at.

He frowned. Tante was a wise woman, but perhaps her age was beginning to show. He hadn’t taken her for the superstitious type.

"Mmmhmm. Superstition, ein? Yuh c’mere boy, an’ let Maman see yuh f’ herself."

Beyond the thin layers of moth-eaten fabric, a low gaslight flickered. A woman, stooped with age, sat beneath the shadows where the torch light couldn’t reach.

Cecile had disappeared abruptly.

Slowly, Remy slipped behind the thin curtain that divided two rooms and stopped, suddenly wary.

"Don’t yuh know, chile? Dere more like yuh in dis world, an’ some o’ us have seen more an’ done more den yuh’ll evuh imagine."

She shifted in her seat with a groan, beckoning him closer with a gnarled finger.

Remy didn’t move.

"Dey say yuh got red eyes; dat yuh gifted."

"Oui," he replied cautiously.

"Take a seat chile. Dis ol’ damme canna do nothin’ but help yuh."

She leaned forwards, her body creaking from the effort - or perhaps the weight of her numerous shawls made her old bones grind together. The light overhanging the small table cast a warm glow across her weathered features; it deepened the shadows beneath her eyes and made the lines around her mouth look like worn tree bark. Her eyes were hidden beneath a pair of sunglasses that looked as if they’d been plucked straight out of the 1980s. They caught the flare of gold from the low-burning tallow candles, creating oddly tinged reflections in the lenses - like amber irises floating on the plastic surfaces.

"If y’ lucky, yuh’ll look olda den me one day, if dat’s why yuh starin’," she wheezed, laughing at him dryly. "M’ a hunnert an’ foa’, if yuh curious," she added primly, puffing herself up. "Yuh git t’ be m’ age, yuh know, chile. Yuh got a long time left - ain’t no young foolhardy children gonna tell yuh diff’ren’."

"Pardon madame," Remy bowed his head, moving forwards to take the seat before her. "Je m’excuse, Tante didn’t say why I should visit. She just said t’ come. M’ t’inkin’ she tryin’ t’ gimme a taste o’ m’ own medicine."

"M’ blind chile, so don’t make Maman strain t’ hear yuh too. Viens, sit by me."

Remy did as he was told - sweeping his duster out from beneath him as he perched on the small stool opposite the Mambo.

"Yuh Tante, oui. She told Maman alls about yuh. She say, ’Dat boy’s got de luck. He carries a Dead Man’s Hand wherevuh he go.’ She say, ’But de boy, he foolish, and he don’t always t’ink. He don’t realize his full p’tential.’ An’ dat’s where Maman comes in."

She groaned, raising herself to a stoop and shuffling from behind the table. Her fingers dragged across the surfaces that fell beneath her arthritic hands, feeling her way by combination of memory and touch. With the aid of a gnarled cane, she made her way slowly to a concealed cabinet, buried beneath several thick shawls. These she parted, revealing a dusty looking curio. She opened it with gnarled fingers, and to Remy’s surprise, revealed a strong box with a combination lock that would be intimidating to anyone other than himself.

"She want me t’ give yuh some’tin’," she murmured. "A lil’ gris gris t’ finish off dat mojo a’ yuhs"

Remy coughed, masking a chuckle. He stifled it with his fist and prepared to stand.

"Désolé, madam, no disrespect, but m’ not much de sort t’ put stock in magic. Tante Mattie musta told y’ bout de cards -"

"Yuh just plant yuh rump," she snapped fiercely.

Remy did what he was told, properly cowed.

"Bon p’tit," she continued, turning around with a small bundle held loosely in one hand. "But did ain’t no hoodoo, no sleight o’ hand neither."

She settled herself before him once again and beckoned for him to lean closer.

Placing the package on the table, her knotted fingers peeled back the thin fabric covering the item in question.

Best humor her, he thought. If he didn’t, Tante wouldn’t let him live it down - not to mention the fact that he’d be cooking for himself as long he stuck around in the city. Quite frankly, Tante Mattie’s gumbo he could survive without if he had to, but the nagging? Remy repressed a shudder.

"Yuh gimme yuh hand, boy," she said, revealing a mouth full of gummy, blackened holes where her teeth had once been. "An’ hold on tight. S’ gotta touch yuh skin f’ it t’ work."

Carefully, she dropped the bundle’s contents into his hand.

He blinked, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the strange stone. It was a dull red, nearly the size of his palm, and cool to the touch - cool, until from its depths, a light flickered and his fingers began to tingle.

"Dieu," he breathed, his eyes wide. The sensation spread from his palm and up his arm. It was a crackling heat he was familiar with - it was his own powers siphoned through the stone. It felt... cleaner, somehow, stronger. The stone crackled in his fingers, leaping charges of fuchsia wrapping around his wrist and rocketing beneath his flesh. He could feel it - it sung in his veins. He gasped, dropping the stone to the table as he felt his power surge. It imbued the air around him in a kinetic ripple - he could practically see each molecule of dust vibrating, desperate to explode in the small confines of the room.

A ringing filled his ears, and he looked up at Maman Brigitte as his vision tripled, swimming hazily out of focus. She was doubled over across the table, shaking and grinning her toothless smile.

The stone pulsed on the table, once, twice, and on the third time - Remy blacked out with the sound of the Mambo’s laughter in his ears.

---

"Remy?" Rogue groaned, her pupils an unfocused red on black as she opened her eyes. She blinked up at him, the color draining from her irises as her power overtook his. After a moment, they settled into the familiar slate he’d grown used to; tinged with green around the edges.

He breathed a little easier for it.

A steady rain had begun to fall, smothering the errant fires that flared across the grounds courtesy of St. John.

No doubt, the X-Men had Storm to thank for the change of climate. The Weather Witch had taken care of his friend in much the same way before.

"M’ right here," he reassured her. His strength had returned for the most part, and lifting her to his lap had been easier than expected.

"Ah didn’t take all of ’em," she murmured tiredly. Remy reigned in a knowing smirk.

"S’ fine, chérie, I didn’t give y’ all of ’em. Just de important parts."

She tried to smile and ’hmmed’ instead.

"Y’ want me t’ take y’ to de med bay?" he asked, hoping just the same that she’d say no. For added emphasis, he gave her a small mental nudge - a grazing of his propensity to manipulate people into agreeing with him. He was not disappointed.

"Mmmno," she murmured into his chest. "Ah’m good right here, sugah."

He chuckled. So she was a little delirious. While he hadn’t quite expected that sort of response, he wasn’t about to stop her either. A little charm couldn’t hurt the girl, really, he reasoned.

"’Fraid y’ friends aren’t gonna t’ink de same way, belle." Remy slipped an arm beneath her knees and lifted her easily as he stood.

"Remy?" she whispered.

"Oui?"

"Ya gonna show me how ya did that?" She yawned, trying to curl a little closer to him. "How ya were able ta touch me?" It had become cool enough outside to incite a chill if you lingered in the damp long enough.

"Like dey say, sometimes, its best t’ have nine lives an’ six packs of cards." He chuckled, setting off across the grounds. "F’ you, let’s just say I owe y’ dis much."

"Are... did she... Ah mean..." She mumbled something unintelligible, but Remy understood her nonetheless.

He smiled.

"Louisiana," she whispered after a moment, her lashes fluttering lazily, with a small smile on her face.

"Dat’s right, Rogue. Dat’s where we’re headed."

With that, they slipped beneath the cover of the trees and out of sight.

---

In the grass, not more than a few yards away, two crumpled playing cards lay where they had fallen - a King and Queen of Hearts, taped together at the corner with a promise scrawled across their faces.

---

Post Script:

- "Like I want you running around inside my head." X-Men #8.

- "I can take the pain." Ultimate X-Men #53.

- Memory Number One: Based off Dark Horizon I

- Memory Number Two: Based off Dark Horizon II

- Totally random inclusion: If you’ve ever read "The Sandman," and encountered that crazy old bint Hattie - that "hunnert" was my little paean to Neil Gaiman.

- Lafayette number one: A cemetery in New Orleans, one of the many Cities of the Dead.

- Big love to Kataclysm for providing the link to the Evo transcripts for the dialogue so I wouldn’t have to sit in front of the TV taking notes.

Translations:

Bonsoir: Good evening

Désolé: Sorry

Fille: girl

Fils de putain: son of a bitch

Gris gris: A curio, a conjure, a bit of N’awlins hoodoo

Homme: man

Je m’excuse: Excuse me

Ma Belle: My pretty

Mon Ami: my friend

Merde: Shit.

Oui: Yes

Pardon: Pardon me

P’tit: little one

 

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