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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 8

Chapter VIII: The Cold Call

---

"Remy!"

To Rogue, her breathing was loud to her own ears — and she was nearly gasping. In the distance, a whippoorwill warbled a tinny falsetto, and beyond that, the open stretch of the interstate hummed with the rush of wind and clatter of truck tires.

True to his word, Gambit had parked his motorcycle in the small parking lot just outside the motel. It was one floor down and three spots over, just as he said. He was perched on the bike, his hands in his lap and his head bowed, fiddling with the keys to the Harley.

Fiddling, she thought, nearly breathing a sigh of relief. Was he waiting for her? Just as sharply, a quick twinge of ire at the fact he expected her to stagger after him met with her initial relief. Conflicted, Rogue raked her hands through her hair as she made her way across the second floor balcony.

The clang of her boot heels racketing down the aluminium staircase was unnaturally loud. Despite the fact that her steps were sure, everything else in the surrounding area, including the small thicket of undergrowth and the feeble forestation blocking off the motel from the highway, seemed slightly duller, a little more detached.

It was the polished machine beneath him — the gleaming chrome and brilliant red paint, the dewy black of the wheels, and the scuffed brown of his upturned collar that were the most real to her at that moment.

As Gambit turned his head, it was the glint of his eyes and the tired smudges beneath them that had more realism than anything that surrounded them.

She steadied herself against the railing; the metal was cold even beneath her gloved palm.

"Remy?" Rogue asked again, a little more quietly as she stepped onto the hard concrete.

The sun arched over the treetops in the east. Its fingers slowly crept across the parking lot where the shadows receded, and the light lit his features for the second time that morning.

There was a faint trace of stubble lining his jaw, and the little auburn pinch beneath his lower lip was a brighter shade of russet with the sun behind him. He scrubbed at his chin, running his fingertips through his trimmed goatee. For a moment, Rogue wondered what it would feel like to press her naked fingers against the roughened planes of his face — to cup his strong jaw, feeling the muscles flex as he smiled... She shook herself abruptly.

She shouldn’t be having thoughts like these when she’d obviously hurt him. The realization that she’d been the one to bruise him, not physically, but with her snappish replies, made her stomach constrict. Somehow, she thought, it might’ve been easier for the guy to take a punch.

He... she swallowed, suddenly nervous... he had come back for her. He’d never promised to, never in words; they weren’t friends, and he had no reason to do anything he didn’t have to. She was the self-reliant one. She was the one who’d made the decision to go back to the X-Men — it was just unfortunate that he had reminded her of it. She had done a fair job of convincing herself otherwise.

But he had, as promised, opened the door for her once before.

At least this time it didn’t seem like he’d forcibly shoved her out of it.

Somehow Rogue had hoped that despite everything, he’d left her the Queen of Hearts as a reminder that he would return someday; this was Remy’s version of an I.O.U.

She rubbed the new card between her fingers, feeling its stiff backing bend beneath her gloves.

She sighed quietly, unsure how to begin — if she could begin at all.

Rogue nearly missed the small upturn at the corner of his mouth.

"Bonjour."

It was just that simple.

And just like that, the spell was broken. Gambit turned back to the keys in his fingers, slinging them around absently. They jangled together, metal clacking into metal against the soft barrier of his palm.

Somehow, she could recall that particular feeling with absurd clarity now that she’d dislodged his memories adequately from her mind. He had calluses, and his fingers would be warm despite the chill — but not quite as warm as his mouth. She rubbed her knuckles absently.

Stop it, she berated herself.

Rogue shut her eyes and took a deep breath. "How far is it to Louisiana?"

He didn’t glance at her as he answered. "’Bout a day’s ride."

Silence. Nothing sounded save the intermittent drone of cars on the freeway, the irritating call of birds on the far side of the property, and the steady clink of keys.

"And..."

He looked over his shoulder, holding her gaze for a second, and looked away again.

Rogue blew out a breath and shifted her weight, crunching the card a little in her fist. She forced her hand to slacken around it and smoothed it against her hip forcibly.

"And if ya meant what ya’ll said up there..."

"I always mean what I say, chére," he said levelly.

"But ya don’t always say what ya mean," she returned plaintively. "How can Ah believe ya?"

He turned around on the seat, swinging his leg over the side, and folded his arms across his chest. Scooting over enough so that the passenger seat was free, he patted it, indicating that she should move a little closer.

Rogue squashed the playing card again in her fist.

"C’mon," he inclined his head.

She looked at him guardedly. "Said the spider to the fly," she muttered, to which Gambit grinned and blew out a breath. Looking at her from beneath his lashes, a small smile tugging delicately at the corner of his mouth, Gambit extracted a battered pack of cigarettes.

"Y’ already got dis Cajun tangled up in y’ web, Roguey. Not much worse y’ can do t’ me."

Rogue started and then pinched her lips shut, swallowing a retort.

"M’ not gonna bite." He raised an eyebrow, extracting a Marlboro and clamping it between his lips. The cigarette tilted upwards a little as he smirked. "Not unless y’ ask nicely, anyhow."

Gingerly, Rogue took a step forwards, though she didn’t take the seat.

Gambit pressed his pinkie finger to the end of the smoke, charging the tobacco into a slow burn. In his other hand, he began spinning the keys around his index finger.

Tink tink tink tink.

He inhaled, and Rogue watched the muscles across his chest stretch languidly.

The card was fast becoming a wad of matted paper in her palm.

"Can’t ya ever answer a question without skirting around it first?" she asked quietly.

"M’ just t’inking," he replied with a lazy shrug. "I say de wrong t’ing, an y’ gonna bolt like a jack rabbit." Seeing her incensed expression, he pointed. "Y’ see? Or y’ gonna try t’ hit me again."

"Ah didn’t -"

"Ah! Non, y’ kicked me in de back of de head. Y’ first punch was too slow. Je m’excuse. It’s a slight triviality, and I forget dese t’ings sometimes," he said in a monotone. "S’ all about de details." He pursed his lips and took another drag.

The keys continued their rapid spin around his finger. Tink tink tink tink...

"Yo’ forgetting that this is the second time this has happened," she countered, ignoring the sound as best she could.

"Trust me, I remember de first time quite well. Dis time, y’ not tied up, not drugged, not not’ing. Like I said," he gestured lazily, "y’ wanted t’ come... Y’ just -" He hesitated, surveying her expression as if calculating how irate his response would make her, "...didn’t know it yet," he finished after a moment.

Rogue inhaled deeply, balling her hands into fists, and squashing the ruined Queen of Hearts against her right hip. She shut her eyes briefly. She was not going to yell at him again, she reassured herself. But he wasn’t making this any easier either.

"Ya singing a different tune now, aincha? Ah don’t remember it." She shook her head. "Ah don’t remember making that decision."

"Vraiment?"

Tink tink tink tink tink... Rogue grit her teeth.

"Yeah, really."

"Mebbe it was de shock to y’ system. S’ been a while since y’ absorbed anybody," he said lightly, not looking at her.

She looked up at him — glared, actually — through the hair falling over her face.

"How do ya figure that exactly?"

"Quoi?" Gambit looked around himself, feigning innocence. "S’ why y’ didn’t want t’ absorb Toad, non? Y’ got control problems, Rogue, and dat’s just de beginning o’ de list. Y’ haven’t touched anyone since Apocalypse."

"No one knows that," she hissed, stepping forwards. "No one except -"

"De Professor and de good Doctor." He nodded, narrowing his eyes as he met her glare. "S’ in y’ file — but dat I knew six months back," he added flippantly.

"What file?"

"Doesn’t matter. M’ impressed y’ held out dis long wit’out using y’ powers. M’ more impressed dat no one else figured it out. Us two — y’ know de story, chére — we both got our share o’ secrets. Sometimes s’ better t’ keep a lil’ mystère about, non? Saves a lot o’ heartache."

"Don’t change the subject," she snapped, her patience wearing dangerously thin. "Ya keep avoiding the question, Cajun."

"And y’ keep avoiding de problem."

"Ah didn’t have a problem until ya showed up," she retorted.

"And y’ still don’t. All y’ got is a choice," he said. "Y’ can gimme de benefit o’ de doubt, get on dis bike, an’ forgive m’ past transgressions, or y’ can tell me t’ stuff m’self, and I’ll take y’ home."

She gaped, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly.

"Just t’ink about it f’ a second," he held up his hand, mimicking a gesture from earlier by waggling his bare fingers, the keys dangling against his palm where the ring was slung around his finger. "How long y’ wanna wait b’fore y’ learn dat y’ don’t have t’ live like dat?"

"Like what?" Rogue hugged herself, her mouth suddenly dry.

"Y’ t’ink dat mebbe y’d be a lil’ less obvious if y’ didn’t keep up dis act?" He pointed at her with his cigarette, up and down, and circling around her face. "De makeup, de clothes. S’ very Seattle mid nineteen ninety. Y’ keep everyone at a distance. Y’ done it so long I don’t t’ink y’ even realize it anymore." He shook his head. "Y’ keep scaring everyone away who tries t’ get close."

She snorted. "Where do ya get off?" She struggled to keep her voice level.

He paused, a slow grin spreading across his face. Rogue winced a moment too late.

"Y’ wanna find out?"

"Ah set myself up for that, didn’t Ah?" she said flatly.

"No more den usual, chérie." He grinned cheekily and flicked his cigarette into the gutter behind her.

"Ya don’t know me," she argued.

"I know more den y’ t’ink."

"But ya don’t know me, swamp rat." She swallowed hard and dug her fingers into her arms. The ragged corner of the Queen poked out between her fingers and elbow.

Gambit’s gaze seemed to fall on the small triangle of paper; it was white and red against the black of Rogue’s uniform. If he noticed, he didn’t mention it. A moment later his attention was fixed on her expression squarely, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth.

"Not if y’ don’ gimme de chance."

She laughed humourlessly and turned away. Nothing good could possibly come of this. If Gambit was anything like he was a year back, there was nothing selfless about this entire interlude. She had every reason to be suspicious, she reminded herself. No one, no one at all offered up that sort of promise without wanting something in return.

Tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink...

Gambit began twirling the keys again.

"Do ya have ta have an answer ta everything?" she asked finally, ignoring the small lump gathering at the base of her throat.

"Do y’ have t’ be so stubborn?" he shot back, this time a little more good-naturedly.

"Ah don’t trust ya," she said simply.

"S’ funny. Half de time I rarely trust m’self." He winked.

"Just tell me something," she said quietly, ignoring his attempt to banter again.

"Shoot."

She turned and looked at him hard.

"Why are ya doing this?"

Gambit stood up, the motorcycle groaning as he lifted his weight. He took a step forwards so that he towered over her and then leaned down a little so that their gazes were somewhat level.

"M’ doin’ dis f’ me," he said intently.

Rogue blinked. Well, she had expected a whole lot of different things to come tumbling out of his mouth, but she hadn’t expected that. The leaden, heavy sensation in her stomach didn’t ease her tension, but she nodded slowly nonetheless. It was probably as close to the truth as he would get.

A pregnant pause settled between them, neither willing to step away. Rogue searched his expression. His eyes, veiled as they were with their unnatural colour, didn’t betray him.

Finally, bitterly, she accepted the statement with a frown and a nod.

Gambit’s eyes widened slightly as if surprised that she wasn’t arguing with him, and when Rogue moved to turn away, he tucked two fingers beneath her chin and drew her gaze back to his.

"Don’t," she cut him off firmly. She set her jaw, daring him to respond.

He blinked, but conceded with a slight inclination of his head.

"If Ah find out," she said in a low purr, "that ya lied ta me, that this is just another scam ta use my powers for your own benefit..."

A small smirk quirked the corner of his mouth, but he repressed it and cleared his throat. He ducked his head and squinted at her, almost comically.

"...Ah am gonna call up the organization that fitted Logan with his claws, and Ah’m gonna have ’em do the same thing ta me. An’ when that’s done? Ah’m gonna slice up yo’ hide, find that Tante of yours, and have her make me some real gumbo."

She smacked her lips, her eyes narrowed to slits.

Gambit hmmed and lidded his eyes. "Y’ just can’t wait t’ get a piece o’ dis homme, can y’?"

She scrunched her nose. "Ah take it back. Ah think ya might be too wirey ta make a good soup."

His gloved fingers beneath her chin made her snap her mouth shut in haste. His bare fingers were held away from her delicately, but he did not hesitate to slide his covered knuckles against her cheek.

"Y’ wouldn’t accept an apology," he murmured, satisfied that she was significantly distracted. His thumb sliding against her jaw left a warm trail behind on her skin. "Not last year, not right now. Dis is how m’ gonna atone for it."

He leaned closer, invading her space. Rogue held firm, not pulling back. Instead, she leaned imperceptibly forwards.

"Cajun?" she murmured, peering down at the palm of his hand below her chin and dragging her gaze to his mouth — a bare few inches away from hers.

"Oui, chérie?"

His breath came out in a moist tuft against her chin. Rogue sucked in a small breath through parted lips.

"Just because ya can touch me," she whispered, her eyelids fluttering, "doesn’t mean Ah’m gonna let ya."

Gambit staggered backwards, cursing colourfully and caught off guard by the sharp pain in his stomach where Rogue had elbowed him.

"Just a technicality," he coughed, his hands braced against his knees where he stood doubled over. He grinned despite the attack.

Rogue snorted, advancing on light feet. Deftly, she plucked the keys from the ground in front of him before he could straighten up.

"Admit it, swamp rat, ya ain’t used ta having someone set ya straight."

She slid the small bundle of metal into a belt loop behind her back and delicately bit down on the middle finger of her left glove, peeling it off with her teeth.

"Non, mais, c’est quand-meme amusant."

"Only y’all would think it’s an enjoyable past time ta get knocked around by a girl," she muttered wryly, tucking the glove beneath her arm and sliding out the Queen with her bare fingers. She hoped this would work. It would be the only way she’d know for sure.

"But what a fine fille she is," he leered and jutted his chin. "Y’ can smack dis homme around as much as y’ like, p’tit. Punishment ain’t exactly m’ t’ing, but if y’ offering t’ spank me..." He paused, his eyes flitting between her hand and the crook of her arm. "Dat was de best pull I’ve seen y’ do yet," he admitted.

"Really? Why thank ya Mister LeBeau. Ah guess having a little bit of yo’ filth in mah head might be beneficial."

"Unless y’ aim t’ be playing dirty, I dunno how much good dat’s gonna do y’."

"Well, since we’re settling old scores this morning..." She sauntered up to him with a swagger that would have made Logan proud. Gambit cocked an eyebrow, amused by her boldness. Rogue’s eyes narrowed. "Let’s just say Ah owe ya this one."

She held his gaze and presented the card to him, face up. Curiously, Gambit peered down at the Queen.

A slow grin broke out over his face, and he leaned forwards, grasping the card — ensuring that his fingers grazed hers. Her inhalation was audible, and Rogue’s attention snapped downwards.

"Dis mean y’ forgive me?" He lidded his gaze and pulled her towards him a little. Rogue leaned in, her eyes downcast. "I told you y’ were de sentimental type."

When she looked up finally, she was smiling.

The shade of her eyes shifted from grey, to hazel, to green — and then, like smoke, from the corners tumbled deep obsidian. The black quickly overtook the white of her sclera, and her pupils slid into a burning red to match Remy’s own.

"This means Ah’ll give ya the benefit of the doubt," she murmured. "For now."

Between them, the Queen of Hearts flared to life — it crackled in Remy’s fingers as Rogue let go and made a break for the bike.

Gambit stared at her retreating figure and then at the charged card.

He grinned. "I like de odds of dat!"

With a deft flick of his wrist, the Queen sailed into the parking lot behind him. It exploded, sending a shower of gravel into the air just as Rogue turned the key in the bike’s ignition.

"Ya coming, Cajun?" She revved the engine, glancing over her shoulder mischievously.

Remy shook his head with a grin and broke into a run as Rogue swung the bike around. His trench coat flapping open, he leapt and landed on the seat behind her before she could ride off without him.

"Didn’t say nothing about y’ driving," he said into her ear a moment later as Rogue turned the motorcycle west and they peeled out of the parking lot.

She tensed, his hot breath against the back of her neck sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. Gambit slid both hands lightly into the juncture where her thighs met her hips, and Rogue blanched — the bike veering dangerously left, cutting off a beaten Buick as they cruised onto the overpass.

He chuckled. She could practically feel him wetting his lips.

"And Ah didn’t say nothing about putting yo’ damn hands all over me!" she snapped over her shoulder. "Hold on to the bike, swamp rat, or I’ll leave ya with stubs instead of arms!"

"And if Remy falls off? Y’ gonna come back f’ me?" he teased.

She snorted, twisting the throttle hard and accelerating as they took the turnoff onto the interstate. "Ah think ya’d make a handsome stain on the road, cher," she shot back.

"Das not right, m’ not dat cruel," he spluttered, indignant.

"Naw, that’s just my take on yo’ lame pick up lines."

"Dat Mississippi flavour, ein?"

"Damn right."

"Bet it tastes like mud pie," he goaded and obligingly removed his hands from her hips. He gripped the back of the seat and leaned forwards to blow into her ear.

"Ya ain’t never gonna find out either way," she snapped, hunching her shoulders against the tickle of hot air. He smelled like smoke and spent spearmint. "Ah said -"

Remy grinned, peering at her in the rear-view mirror and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Y’ said ’don’ touch meh!’" he parroted in a falsetto. "And m’ not!"

Rogue grumbled, scowling at him in their shared reflection, and then took a double take at her smeared eyeliner.

"Oh my gawd..."

Behind her, Remy chuckled at the horrified look on her face, partially relieved that her eyes had returned to their normal colour. "Y’ beautiful, chérie," he murmured huskily against the shell of her ear. Rogue flinched, her lips drawn down into a thin line, choosing to ignore him.

A few minutes passed in silence, the sound of the bike a steady purr beneath the pair of them while Rogue grew increasingly irritable.

"Cajun!" she barked after a moment, swerving the bike between two shuddering trucks warningly. "Stop smellin’ my hair!"

---

"I don’t like this one bit, Chuck."

Charles Xavier steeped his fingers pensively before his face, his elbows resting on the arms of his motorized wheelchair. Surrounding him at the kitchen table, the X-Men scrubbed the sleep out of their eyes, sipping coffee or tea or juice. Absent were the younger students, who had lingered long enough to be debriefed in the early hours of the morning regarding the Brotherhood’s attack, and were now regaining their energy or tending to minor injuries.

"It is suspicious behaviour, I must admit — but perhaps we are over estimating the situation. Gambit would not attempt a second kidnapping."

"How can you know that?" Wolverine growled, pausing in his pacing. The Professor was showing visible signs of fatigue, having stayed up the better part of the night attempting to determine a reasonable course of action that would not involve a nationwide bounty hunt.

"I am familiar with him, Logan," he replied simply.

"Either you’re not telling us everything, Charles, or you really have no idea what to do. I say you let me take the jet, and we’ll have Rogue home by dinner. How does everyone feel about a little bit of mutant jambalaya at seven? I’ll bet there’s still enough meat on Gambit’s hide to carve out a nice chunk."

"Ew, I’d rather not," Kitty winced, rubbing at her face. She sagged against the kitchen counter, having returned to the deliberations table moments ago from a disturbingly sleepless night.

"If I may propose a theory?" Henry interjected, pushing his glasses up on his nose. He pulled several printouts towards him. "I am afraid I must agree with the Professor, Logan — granted, I do not share the same telepathic link with our estranged colleague — but the evidence regarding Gambit’s present evolutionary status would suggest that his verbal methods of coercion have improved considerably."

"You’re saying Rogue agreed to go with him?" Logan snarled.

"It is a distinct possibility," Henry conceded thoughtfully. "I was under the impression that the pair shared a fledgling camaraderie upon Rogue’s return from Louisiana last year. Incidentally, Gambit does possess mild hypnotic powers. It wouldn’t be entirely unreasonable to suggest that he finessed the conversation to some degree. Regardless, Rogue’s self-imposed mental blocks would have blunted the effect — perhaps not entirely, but she would not lose her wits fully were that the case."

"They were friends, you think?" Kurt piped up. "I thought Rogue hated him?"

Kitty shook her head. "She never mentioned him, you know? But then again, Rogue doesn’t exactly tell me all her secrets." To emphasize her point, Kitty nudged at the pair of cards she’d placed on the table for everyone’s inspection the night before. The King and Queen of Hearts stared vacantly overhead at the florescent lights, the message across them dark and black against the white faces.

Scott didn’t move from his seat other than to grimace at the cards. "I still can’t believe Gambit got into the mansion undetected."

"Into Rogue’s room," Logan growled. "Wonder how many times he’s managed to pull that off right under our noses? Chuck?"

The Professor remained pensive, after a long moment, he answered, "Never. This has been the first incident where Gambit has infiltrated the mansion’s walls."

"But not the first time he’s been on the grounds?" Scott pressed.

"No," Charles replied, his tone neutral.

"Great," Logan snarled.

"Do not blame yourself, Wolverine. I have been aware of Gambit’s activities for some time, as has Jean. We have monitored his movements as best as we could. As it were, Gambit’s mutation creates a substantial psionic block."

Several heads swivelled to look at Jean, seated next to Scott. She flushed a little, but met everyone’s stares.

"If it helps any," she managed, "he hasn’t been here in a year. The Professor and I only noted his return two days ago with the help of Cerebro."

"At which point, he reacquainted himself with Rogue," Henry supplied.

"He WHAT?" Logan and Kurt barked simultaneously.

Jean sighed. "They had a conversation. That’s not a crime is it?"

"You’ve got to be kidding me?" Kurt blanched. "That’s my sister, you know. And Gambit’s... Gambit!"

"Quiet, Elf," Logan snapped. "Why weren’t we informed of this ’conversation’?"

"Talking isn’t a crime, is it?" Jean returned archly.

"Everyone, please." The Professor rubbed at his temples. "I must remind you that we are not in the same predicament as we were one year ago. Jean and I both feel that Gambit’s intentions are non-hostile, perhaps even benevolent."

"But, Professor, how can you know that without being able to get into Gambit’s head?"

"Because Gambit likes her," Kitty blurted, and almost as quickly, she clamped her hands over her mouth.

Kurt swivelled, a horrified look on his face. "Katschen?"

Mutely, she pointed at the cards and the message scrawled across them. "It’s like it’s right out of Cosmo."

Professor Xavier chuckled. "Perhaps nothing so dramatic, Kitty. I am inclined to believe that Gambit may feel somewhat indebted to Rogue, however. Given the circumstances of their abrupt departure, he may have come to the conclusion that our response may not have been as favourable to a proposed vacation."

Logan snorted and Scott muttered, "Is it any wonder? He sent the Brotherhood here as a decoy. He’s a bad seed, Professor."

"Acolyte," Kurt supplied, glancing uneasily at Kitty. "Lackey."

"Without Magneto around, Gambit has no one to... lackey... to, though," Kitty countered.

Piotr, who has otherwise remained silent for the duration of the morning’s conversation, murmured, "I vos an Acolyte as well."

Kurt blanched. "Sorry, mein freund. I didn’t mean it like that."

"What about Rogue?" Jean asked, standing. "Don’t you think we’re putting a bit too much responsibility on Gambit, here? She’s nineteen, and you all know just how stubborn she can be. Contrary to popular belief, she is capable of making her own decisions."

Several glances were exchanged across the table.

"Nope."

"Not possible, Red."

"Nien."

Henry cleared his throat. "Might I offer a hypothesis?" He pulled out a chart outlining Rogue’s bioelectrical scan from the previous day’s Danger Room session. Alongside it, he placed a similar linear scan, belonging to Gambit. "The scans denote the variation in molecular constitution at the height of physical exertion, at the exact moment when there is a release of bioelectrical charge. If you look here, here, and here, there are enormous augmentations of kinetic feedback in various places on both readouts," he explained. Henry slid the two translucent acetates over one another. "They appear near-indistinguishable."

"In English, Hank," Logan muttered.

Henry blinked.

"It appears that Rogue absorbed Gambit, if partially," he translated. "These assessments are his and her readouts, respectively."

"Indeed, that is enormous personal progress," the Professor murmured, a small smile apparent on his thin lips.

"Professor? I don’t think I understand," Kurt said.

"Rogue hasn’t absorbed anyone since Apocalypse," Logan ground out. "Not by accident, and not on her own. Think about it, Elf. When was the last time she used anyone else’s powers in a training session?"

"Oh my gosh," Kitty murmured, her elbows phasing into the table a little before righting herself.

"Was? Does that mean she’s had control this long and hasn’t told anyone?"

Scott shook his head. "I can’t believe I didn’t see it. Storm, did you know about this too?"

Ororo nodded silently. "It was evident. Rogue’s lack of faith in herself has been as much a hindrance as her inability to touch without harming another. She fears that someone may try to take advantage of her unique abilities again."

"Was!" Kurt shouted for the second time, his head snapping back and forth between his team-mates.

"No, Kurt," the Professor answered patiently. "Rogue has not developed any more control over her powers than she has had previously. She has been exceptionally careful not to use her own mutation against anyone, in turn so they may not be used against her as they were when Mesmero used her as a vessel to deliver Apocalypse. She has instead focused on other means of self-discipline and combat tactics to survive the Danger Room sessions. She has been quite successful thus far."

"And pretty clever about hiding it, too," Scott muttered. Jean patted his shoulder consolingly.

"Only from you, kid," Logan muttered, resuming his pacing.

"Hey!" Kurt and Kitty echoed. Logan grunted in response.

"Consequently, there is a distinct possibility that with Gambit’s evolved mutation, he has presented to Rogue the opportunity to take matters into her own hands as well."

"Doesn’t that guy know that if a thing ain’t broke you shouldn’t fix it?" Logan grumbled.

"Rogue may not see things in the same light, Logan," Jean interjected. "Think about it. If you were her, what would you do if someone gave you the opportunity to obtain full control?"

"Stripes isn’t that desperate," he growled. "This has everything to do with Gumbo. Whatever the hell he told her to get her to leave with him, I don’t like it."

"Mr. Logan?"

"What, Half-Pint?"

Kitty fidgeted, bringing her knees beneath her on the stool. "Maybe she is." She shrugged, wincing a little. "I mean, you can kind of tell, can’t you? With Rogue, I mean? She doesn’t like her powers."

"Like?" Kurt squeaked. "More like she hates them."

"We must not confuse hate with fear, Kurt," the Professor corrected. "Rogue has undergone many tribulations at the hands of her mutation — whether directly or by the influence of others. If it is Gambit who has managed to entice Rogue to trust herself in respect to her abilities, then I can say in full confidence that Rogue will be in contact shortly."

"The dilemma," supplied Henry, "is not necessarily the methods by which Gambit has proposed such a drastic physiological change, but how he intends to accomplish it."

The Professor nodded. "I agree, Hank."

"Mr. McCoy?" Kitty asked.

"Allow me to surmise my findings, again. Perhaps that way we may investigate the options more thoroughly by understanding Gambit’s modified mutation."

"Great," Logan rumbled. "With all do respect, Hank, Charles, but the more time we sit around trying to figure out what Gumbo’s got cooked up, the farther away Rogue’s getting."

"I’m sorry Professor, but I have to agree," Scott chimed in. "We could be using our time more effectively if we were to track Rogue."

"Find the Cajun and ask questions later." Logan nodded grimly.

"Do you not mean, ’Slice first, ask questions later?’" Storm murmured.

"That’d work, too." He grinned at Ororo. "That punk and I have a score to settle for the last time he did something this stupid. He’s just doubled the stakes on his head."

Henry puffed himself up, clearing his throat, and folded his large blue hands on the tiled tabletop before him.

"Go ahead, Hank," Logan muttered, giving in though he rubbed his knuckles impatiently.

As Henry opened his mouth to slip into lecture mode, he was cut off abruptly by the sharp ringing of the kitchen’s telephone.

"Kurt?" The Professor smiled, gesturing to his student. "You will want to answer that call, and please, hold the line for me. I will take it in my office."

"Chuck?" Logan cocked an eyebrow questioningly.

"It’s Rogue."

---

Translations:

Attends, p’tit: Wait a second, little one

Bonjour: Hello/good morning

Certainement: Certainly

Fille: girl

Homme: man

Mam’selle: (Madamoiselle) Miss

Merde: Shit

Non: No

Non, mais, c’est quand-meme amusant: No, but it’s still funny

Oui: Yes

Quoi: what

Vraiment: Really

 

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