Summery: On Christmas Eve Rogue wants to be alone, and Gambit just doesn't get that no means no when he meets a beautiful Southern girl in a bar who seems to need someone to talk to and to give her a little Cajun style Christmas cheer. Post X3
Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel characters or the X-Men Movies.
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A young Southern belle walked out of the Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters clad in gloves, a heavy winter coat, a scarf which was wrapped tightly around her neck, and other winter necessities to keep out the winter chill, but for her absolute necessities to avoid skin contact. Ignoring most around her she walked into the snow, white flakes swirling in the chilly air around her.
People were outside, managing to spread the holiday cheer, building snowman, ice-skating, and having snowball fights and in some cases even supplying the snow, or ice, using their powers.
The belle, who normally went by Rogue, was used to this. It wasn't too hard to get used to living in a mutant manor, once you've been living there for several years. Especially when people can walk though walls, teleport into your room, see your deepest secrets by simply reading your mind…
No privacy what so ever.
This was why Rogue was leaving. She needed some privacy, and even though it was Christmas Eve she didn't feel like anyone would care if the untouchable girl left for the night.
It wasn't that she didn't have any friends at Xavier's, because she did. She just didn't like that everyone always cringed from her when she got to close or when someone braced themselves when they wanted to give her a simple hug, a pat on the back, or a even a hand shake.
Rogue never let it show how much it hurt when people shied away. Sometimes she wasn't sure who she was no more. The psyches never left her alone; most of them called her a monster, a leech, a steeling parasite that couldn't even control her mutation.
So Rogue left.
The voices in her head, the voices she had absorbed, didn't quiet down by any means. They were never totally quiet. But Rogue had gotten better at blocking them and putting up her mental barriers, with the Professor's help, of course, but after he had died she had trouble keeping the blocks up. And with no telepaths currently living at Xavier's she wasn't going to get any help controlling her powers soon.
She wanted to be alone this Christmas Eve. Go to a place where no one knew of her mutation and was treated her like a normal human-being. She was dressed head-to-toe in clothing and the only chance for her to absorb someone was if they touched her face. Rogue considered the likeliness of that minimal.
Rogue went to the garage, the keys dangling from her fingers as she got onto her beloved green Ninja motorcycle.
She wouldn't have been riding it if the rode was overly icy and slick but again it didn't matter to Rogue. She wasn't that big a risk taker and although she normally wouldn't she was going to stay within the speed limit.
Kicking the bike into gear, she put the helmet on over her two toned hair. Zooming off the grounds and out the gate; not even giving a second glance to everyone else before she flew out the gate and onto the road.
Snow fell lightly down on her, with her destination in mind Rogue headed to one of the local bars that she knew were going to be open today. She gunned the engine and turned into the parking lot, only slowing down enough so that she wouldn't slide down the road and miss the entrance.
Rogue parked the motorcycle in one of the still empty spaces and put down the kickstand. She pulled off the helmet and shook out her hair, hiding her helmet in the seat compartment.
She walked into the bar, shaking some of the snow off that hadn't already melted into her hair.
The bar was cozy and familiar. The atmosphere was welcoming and warm and Rogue walked right up to the bar, taking her seat on one of the backless stools and ordering a beer showing the bartender her license as she paid for her drink, which she took a sip of.
Sighing, Rogue looked around, there were a couple of regulars sitting farther down the bar, chatting with the bartender, like old friends.
Taking another mouthful of beer Rogue surveyed the place. A couple guys were playing some pool and Rogue thought about joining them but dismissed it. If she invited herself over they were only going to end up becoming friendly and checking her out. Some of the guys at the mansion had done it before but they at least knew not to say anything and not to act on their thoughts. These guys didn't know about her death touch and she wasn't about to tell 'em.
If there was one thing that Rogue really truly wanted for Christmas this year it was to gain control of her powers and to be able to touch again. After the Cure had worn off Rogue had broken up with Bobby, who she had already suspected liked Kitty a bit too much - someone he could touch, Rogue thought bitterly - and was going to break it off with her eventually.
Touch, Rogue sighed; such a simple common thing most took for granted. The most innocent touch, like brushing against a stranger on the streets, to the most intimate, like making love, were foreign to Rogue ever since she had absorbed David when her powers had manifested during her first kiss five years ago.
Bobby had tried to find ways around her mutation, but they only delayed the enviable and she ended up absorbing him eventually. It's why she had taken the Cure, so she could get touch back, but she hadn't gotten to enjoy it enough before the voices came back and she ended up absorbing someone else. People called her a traitor and a coward for taking the Cure and she mostly ignored them, mostly. When her powers came back some said she deserved it. Said that she couldn't get rid of her powers and the traitor and freak deserved what she got.
When the torment got to out of hand, Rogue always put up a disinterested face before she ended up crying alone in her room at night. She was a freak amongst freaks and worse then that a traitor to her kind.
The voices in her head whispered horrible things to her, even now, and as Rogue clutched her head, she had been so happy when the voices had quieted after the Cure had entered her system. Something that, in the end, had worn off, and made her slowly go insane, considering all the people in her head.
Getting louder and louder Rogue clutched her hair more, saying over and over again, "Shut up, Shut Up!" The voices and psyches didn't listen to her as Rogue attempted to quiet them, putting up her mental blocks.
"Y' okay, petite?" some beside her asked, a Cajun twang in his attractive voice.
Rogue removed her hands from her head, tensing. She hadn't even notice someone sit next to her. She was getting sloppy. She definitely hadn't heard him walk up and take the seat next to her.
The voices began to quiet down, as Rogue blocked them, placing the louder voices, of the people she had absorbed most, behind her mental barriers one at a time.
"Yeah," she answered before she had time to stop herself, "just a slight headache." He didn't seem to believe her. The last psyche quieted and Rogue took a sip of her beer, indifferently, as she studied the man closely. How long had he been sitting there? How much had he noticed?
The man was definitely attractive, and he seemed to know it, if the cocky look he was giving her was any indication. He was several years older then her twenty-one, early thirties at the oldest. His jaw line was well defined, with stubble on his chin. He had auburn brown hair that was quite long, and went to his chin, and pulled back into an elastic band and he was wearing some sunglasses, expensive, although Rogue had no idea why. Still, she couldn't make out what color his eyes were through the shades.
He was wearing a brown duster, no winter coat, and fingerless gloves. His chest and arms were well-developed, or at least Rogue imagined they were, as he looked at his lean, well defined figure. He looked like the type to work out and train. An excellent fighter, Rogue thought, she couldn't decide if he was better then her or not.
"Y' done checkin' moi out yet, chère?" the guy asked his rich, baritone voice, his Cajun accent distinct. Rogue silvered slightly when she heard it.
Remy LeBeau, better known as Gambit, had entered the bar about five minutes earlier. He was in New York on a job and had decided to stop in town for the night. When he entered the bar, he had immediately noticed the belle femme with the two white strips in her otherwise auburn-chestnut hair.
He had approached her, and had taken the empty seat besides her. When she hadn't seemed to have notice him, he saw her muttering to herself and clutching her head a pained expression on her beautiful face. When she had started to mutter "shut up," to herself is when he made his presence to her know.
Gambit didn't know why he cared; it was just a femme after all, even if she was a belle femme.
Maybe he cared because the girl was all alone on Christmas Eve and had decided to go to a bar for company, nursing a bottle of beer. Maybe he cared because of the desperation in the girl's voice. Maybe it was because her hunched over figure at the bar seemed to screamed leave me alone and help at the same time. Maybe it was the combination that made him notice her and care.
She looked like someone who needed a companion and someone to talk to and that what Gambit planned to do. That was what the Christmas spirit was all about, giving to others. Gambit may be a thief and a crook, but he cared, and that seemed to be what the beautiful woman at the bar needed most. To know that someone cared about her and that she wasn't alone. Because, Gambit justified to himself, a woman as beautiful as her shouldn't be alone on Christmas Eve, it just wasn't right.
"Ah wasn't checkin' ya out, Cajun," the woman told him, fire and anger flashing in her beautiful emerald green eyes. She's sexy when she was angry, Gambit thought to himself as he looked at his fellow Southerner, the amused smirk on his face angered Rogue even farther.
"Y' a bad liar, chère," the Cajun stranger told her, still with that irritating, infuriating, arrogant, sexy- Rogue caught herself before her thoughts slipped. She'd admit the man was handsome, but no way was she going to admit he was sexy. No way, nuh-uh. She was not going to say it. Even in the private recess of her thoughts. Rogue had learned that not even her own mind was safe. She didn't want this man to know that she found him attractive. That knowing smirk continued to irritate the hell out of her.
"Wasn't lyin', Swamp Rat," she told him, her voice low and dangerous that screamed don't test me. Her Mississippi accent became stronger.
"Oui, y' are," he said back, ignoring the warning as he leaned his chin into his hand, his elbow resting on the bar top, as he became dangerously close to Rogue.
Rogue leaned away on reflex; she didn't want to absorb the guy, no matter how much of an arrogant bastard he was being. Even covered from the neck down in protection, in enough layers that she had started to get warm, her skin flush, in the warm bar.
Gambit thought she was even more beautiful when her skin was flushed pink. He had noticed that the girl still had on her thick winter jacket. And although Gambit loved the color green against her skin, he didn't want his chère to be uncomfortable. He had noticed her flinch away from him when he got closer too and that intrigued him to the women more. Did she think he was going to hurt her?
"No, Ah wasn't," she shot back, trying to down play her discomfort as she tried to get farther as he began to reach for her hand. "Don't ya dare touch me," Rogue snapped automatically, snatching her hand away from the man.
"Didn't mean t' startle y', petite," he spoke softly; he may have been trying to rile up the woman when he leaned closer to her but her furious reaction had startled him. He could hear some desperation, but mostly fear, in the woman's voice, like she was begging him not to touch her.
Rogue turned away from him, ignoring him, sipping her beer and slamming it down on the counter top, hoping that the man would get up and leave her. Just like everyone else eventually left her when they found out what she did. A rogue tear slipped down her face. She wiped it away in frustration.
Gambit wanted to reach for the women and take him in his arms where she could take out all her frustrations out on him, hit him, or cry into his shoulder letting it all out. But he listened to her, she didn't want him to touch her, and although Gambit was normally one to ignore rules he wanted to gain this intriguing woman's trust.
"Chère, are y' okay?" Stupid, Gambit told himself, of course she isn't okay. "Y' can talk t' moi about it if you want," he spoke softy, he only wanting to make her feel better and to make her smile.
Gambit was tempted to reach for her hand, to give it a gentle squeeze, to let her now someone was there. Gambit decided that he could face her anger, as long as she stopped trying to ignore him.
Gambit sighed, "Not talkin' 'bout it isn't goin' t' help chère. Tell moi what's botherin' y'. A beautiful woman like y' shouldn't' have anythin' to cry about. It's the holiday season. Y' should be celebrating with famille et amis. Talk t' moi, chère, s'il vous plait?" He reached forward to her hand, taking it in his own. Rogue was startled when she felt him grab her hand. Her gloved hand, so there wasn't any danger, but that wasn't the point. The point was that the idiot hadn't listened to her. She obviously just wanted him to leave her alone, and did he? No, he started to sweet talk her and become understanding. But he didn't understand, no one understood. And this stranger wasn't going to be any different.
But his hand was so warm, and although Rogue was covered in layers, she felt at ease; the hand also seemed to be displaying thoughts and emotions into words. Words that told her that he understood and that he would listen. Not pass judgment.
Maybe this was what Rogue really needed this Christmas. Someone to understand and she thought that this man just might be the one she could trust with her thoughts and her feelings. He wanted to help.
Rogue laughed bitterly at her thoughts. He was going to be the same as everyone else. The second she told him her mutation he was going to treat her like a freak. Put some distance between them. Possibly run from her, although Rogue found that unlikely. This Cajun didn't seem the type to run from danger but to invite it. That made him even more dangerous to Rogue.
"Ya wouldn't get it," she told the Cajun quietly, calmly, solemnly, "no one ever does."
Gambit was tired of this, tried of her trying to ignore him, "I'd like t', chère." Gambit stood from his stool, dragging Rogue up with him. "We can talk over dere," he pointed to one of the booths, taking both their drinks in his hand.
Rogue let the Cajun drag her toward the booths, all the while cussing him out in her head, pushy, arrogant, Swamp Rat. But she was also enjoying the fact that he was touching her, nevertheless through gloves, but Rogue, or at least part of her, enjoyed the fact that this Cajun was touching her, interacting with her. Treating her like a normal person.
Gambit took the seat across from Rogue and looked at her through his shades. "Take y' jacket off chère, want y' t' be comfortable." He told her while he slipped off his trench coat, grabbing a deck of cards from his pocket as he began to shuffle them.
Rogue sighed, slipping off her jacket, revealing a long sleeved grey shirt, underneath a green t-shirt. Rogue left her scarf and gloves on. She leaned back and crossed her arms across her chest, "Ah don't wanna talk to ya."
"Y' don' have t'. Jus' thought we'd play a friendly game of cards. Y' shouldn't be alone on Christmas Eve, chère, just wanna keep a belle femme company." He started to deal the cards, "Dat okay wit' y'?"
Rogue accepted the cards, rolling her eyes. "Fine. But stop calling me chère, Ah'm not your darlin', Swamp Rat." She huffed.
"What else am I suppose t' call y' chère, don' know y' name." He smirked, as he looked over the cards in his hands.
Rogue sighed, "Mah name's Rogue," she looked over the cards in her hand, keeping her eyes off the handsome man sitting across from her.
"Rogue huh, strange name. Y' happen t' be a mutant, chère?" Gambit looked at her, but she still wouldn't meet it eyes, and that was all the answer he needed. Her whole body tensed at his question Gambit assumed that he was right on the mark. He continued hoping to make her comfortable, like nothing was wrong. "'Cause so am I." And after a second hesitation – something about this particular women intrigued him, and made him want to tell her – he removed his sunglasses.
Her head jerked up as she looking up at the man, who was – although she'd never admit it – starting to grow on her, she was surprised that he would tell her so openly that he was a mutant, although that was probably because he thought that she was too.
Still, his admission didn't stop her from gasping in shock when he took off his glasses and she got a look at his eyes. The sclera was a deep black, where it should have been white. And his iris's glowed red in the dim lighting of the light that was swaying above the table at there booth.
Rogue gasped because they were the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen.
Gambit sighed expecting her gasp to be in fear. "I know dat dere scary, chère. Dey called moi le Diable Blanc back in N'Awlins." He made a reach to put his sunglasses back on, but Rogue swiped them off the table, stopping him.
"Not sure why," Rogue said seriously, still staring at him, "they're beautiful."
Gambit was surprised. No one had ever called his eyes beautiful before. Everyone normally tended to avoid looking into his eyes, eyes that Stryker had taken from him. Strangely, Gambit had never been happier when his eyes changed back.
When the Cure had come out a couple years ago, Gambit had stolen some batches for his own use. He never thought that it was right that something like that was created. That it was used as a weapon against mutants; by people who wanted everyone to be normal; people who weren't use to the changes; people who saw mutants as monsters and as lesser beings because of the way they were born.
Upon hearing that the Cure had worn off, Gambit had gotten an idea and had injected himself with the Cure. Suffering the effects of loosing his powers, powers that he loved, and where a part of him, his birth right, just like his eyes.
Sometimes he still wondered what had made him take it, but he was glad it did. After a month or two he noticed that his powers were coming back and with them, his old eyes, his red-on-black eyes.
Still, what Rogue said meant a lot to Gambit. No one who ever saw his eyes for the first time thought they were beautiful – truthfully no one called them beautiful before. After awhile some got used to it, but he had never met anyone who had accepted his eyes right after meeting him. And this femme called his eyes beautiful.
"Merci, chère." He told her, really meaning it, sincerity lacing his words, as he looked straight into Rogue's emerald green eyes, "y' don't know how much dat means t' moi. No one ever call dem beautiful before." Rogue couldn't seem to break his gaze, but for once she didn't really want to. "Y' got belle eyes t', Rogue." He told her, still gazing into her eyes. He reached out his hand to touch her cheek, to move the stubborn white hair out of her eyes.
He was going to touch her.
That seemed to bring Rogue back to the present as she moved away from his hand, letting it away from her exposed skin, she moved as far away from him as she could. Rogue flushed and took a sip of her beer, trying to clam her nerves, and her heart, which seemed to be flying.
Gambit's hand fell to the table, dejected. "Désolechère, didn't mean t' make y' uncomfortable. Shouldn't have done dat. Probably should b' leavin' anyway." He made his way up to leave.
Rogue interrupted him before he could stand up; just now realizing how much she was enjoying the Cajun's company. "No, no. Sorry, it doesn't have anything thing ta do with ya…" she trailed off not realizing that he still hasn't told her his name.
"Gambit," he seemed to realize it the same time that she did.
"Gambit, this has nothin' ta do with ya." Rogue told him. Thinking about how much the name seemed to fit him. "It's just," – Rogue sighed, before she continued – "my mutation; it doesn't allow me ta have any skin-to-skin contact. If ya touch me, Ah'd hurt ya, Ah hurt people."
"It's okay, chère." Gambit got up from his seat, and before Rogue was going to ask him where he was going. Or panic that he was leaving her, like she feared he would. Much to Rogue's surprise, Gambit stood up and took the seat right next to her, pulling her into his arms.
Rogue wasn't sure what it was, but she hugged Gambit back, burrowing farther into his shirt, taking deep breaths of his spices, tobacco, and musk scent that clung to the fabric, and began to cry in his arms.
Several minutes later, and one thoroughly drenched red dress shirt later, Rogues tears began to slow. She couldn't believe that she just cried in the arms of a man – a very attractive man – that she had just met. Pulling out of his arms as far she he would let her she looked into his beautiful red-on-black eyes.
"Ah'm sorry, sugah. Ah don't know what came over me." She wiped her cheeks with her gloved hands.
"It's okay, chère. I don't mind, especially when de woman cryin' in moi arms is très belle." He smiled at her charmingly. "How 'bout we find a place t' talk privately. Y' shouldn't b' alone on Christmas Eve, chère, and there's obviously more t' talk 'bout. Y' can trust dis Cajun. And I'd like t' get t' know y' better, Rogue." Gambit kissed the top of her head through her hair, wrapping his arms more securely around the Southern Belle in his arms.
That sounded nice. And even after learning about her mutation, he still touched her. Rogue looked up at Gambit and nodded, giving him the first truly genuine smile. Maybe, just maybe, Gambit was her Christmas wish; someone who she could talk to, someone who could understand her, someone who wasn't afraid to touch her.
Sliding off his lap, Rogue stood, and slipped on her coat and followed Gambit, now adorned in his trench coat and sunglasses, out of the bar, walking together hand in hand into the cold.
"Hey, chère?" Gambit asked, breaking the silence when a thought occurred to him, "Earlier, if you weren't checkin' moi out, what were y' doin'?"
Rogue looked him straight in the eye, before she smiled. "Wonderin' who was a bettah fighter, sugah, ya or me?" She, let go of his hand, heading towards her motorcycle, not looking back to see Gambit's reaction. "Truthfully, Ah think Ah can kick your ass."
Gambit grabbed her hand, stopping her, "That'll never happen chère," he denied, she laughed at him, and joked with him. The two mutants smiled at each other, thinking that this is all they needed this Christmas, as fluffy white crystals swirled and danced in the whispering wind of the cold winter night.
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Planned on having this up by Christmas, but I didn't get to finish it in time. So I hope you don't mind a bit of after Christmas Romy-ness. Oh and Hope you all had a happy New Year.
Not sure if what I said about Gambits eyes changing back after he would have taken the Cure, if he had taken the Cure, but I find it a possibility, even if it's a slight one. I also don't know if Gambit's eyes were red-on-black before he was captured and experimented on by Stryker, but I like that possibility better, and I just couldn't find it in my heart to leave Remy's eyes brown like they were in X-Men Origins. So I made up the necessary changes and gave Remy back the eyes that we all know that he should have had in the movie, special effects be damned. And that's all I got to say on that matter.
Don't forget to review and tell me what you think.
Thanks for reading,
silent