Rogue couldn't remember the last time that she hadn't felt hungry. Sure, she had managed to snitch a roll from the baker's stand this morning, but it still wasn't enough to fill the gnawing emptiness. A series of painful coughs wracked her body as she observed the swirling mass of humanity that seemed to thrive even in the midst of humid, rain-soaked, New Orleans winter.
The pouring rain plastered her tangled hair to her face and her tattered T-shirt to her thin frame, further adding to her discomfort. She ignored it, along with the sharp pain in her right wrist and continued to map out possible targets in the crowd.
That woman looked promising, large bag hanging temptingly open. And that well-dressed man with the tell-tale bulge in his pocket, eying a few hookers down the street. Oh yes, he was definitely distracted. And so was that flashily dressed tourist who had obviously had a few too many drinks. She smiled, these would be easy pickings if she was lucky, and maybe a chance at the first hot meal she'd had in almost a year.
Another coughing fit took hold of her and she clutched her chest as each agonizing one ripped though her body, leaving her torn between gasping for breath and passing out from pain.
Ah wish these pains would jus' go away, she thought as her breathing finally evened out, Ah can't hardly move anymore, and Ah can't remember the last time Ah got a good night's sleep. Besides, a loud pickpocket is more likely to get caught than a quiet one.
She straightened herself up as much as possible and slipped from the alley with a practiced, fluid grace that comes from years of practice. She slunk through the crowd, being careful not to stray too near anyone. She approached the man who was still eyeing the hookers hungrily. She passed by him, lifting his wallet from his pocket without a movement betraying the theft. She slipped into the shadow of a nearby building and opened it. The sheaf of bills in it made her eyes widen. Quickly she removed the wad and stuffed it into the pocket of her torn and dirty blue jeans.
"Hey, you!" she looked up at the shout and saw the man she'd just pick pocketed standing there glaring at her.
"Merde," she muttered before turning and bolting out the opposite side of the alley.
Her chest burned with each breath she took and she gasped air as fast as her weakened body would allow. She couldn't keep this up much longer. She moved her way through the crowd and dashed through an outdoor café, nearly upsetting a waiter with a tray of wine glasses. After a few minutes of taking whatever twist and turn she could find, she staggered to a halt and leaned against a nearby building, vision swimming.
Her eyes started to swim with unshed tears, but she pushed them back forcefully. Tears weren't going to help her should that man find her. Running footsteps in the alley made her look up, afraid that he had found her.
Instead a tall man ran towards her. His slightly long auburn hair tousled itself in the wind as he moved, in perfect sync with the brown duster that swirled out behind him. She stood frozen in the alley as her eyes met his, ruby irises swimming in a sea of onyx. He slowed down long enough to grasp her hand in his and lift it to his lips, brushing a kiss along the knuckles of her glove.
He smiled at her charmingly and winked one of his unusual eyes at her before turning and fleeing. She stood staring after him in shock for a moment before realizing that he had slipped something into her hand. She glanced down and felt her mouth drop open at the stunning elegance of the necklace in her hand.
A pair of hands grabbed her arms roughly, forcefully grounding her back to reality.
"All right missy," a short stocky man with a decidedly unfriendly expression ground out, digging his nails into her skin," Yo' going downtown."
"Ah didn't steal the necklace, it was given ta me," she squeaked in protest as the stocky one's partner, a lanky blonde, grabbed hold of her other arm.
"Yo' can tell your story at da station. Now let's go."
"Hey, that girl stole my money," a familiar voice rang out and she wanted to groan as the man stumbled to a stop by them.
"Oh she did, did she?" Blondie asked and started to frisk her.
His hands lingered near a couple of areas a little too long and she wanted nothing more than to either slap or kick him. He eventually pulled the cash from her pocket and handed it to the fuming tourist.
"Now I demand that you lock her up immediately, street scum like her ought not to be wandering about," the man said and reached out to take her wrist, which had come uncovered from the officer's grip.
Her eyes widened and panic raced through her system. "No," she cried out as he grasped her skin," Don't!"
The man stiffened and she fought back a whimper as his mind copied itself into hers through her skin. So many emotions, memories, his voice faded to the general uproar that already resided in her mind. Flashes of his life danced on her eyelids. His teenage years, his first kiss, his wedding, the ugly divorce, watching the hookers with carnal hunger, a slight girl with two tone hair making off with his wallet, agonizing pain as he touched her wrist; it all flashed through her mind.
The man, Wallace Richards, collapsed back onto the pavement unconscious. Stocky turned to her, "What did ya do ta da homme?"
"She's a mutant," a passerby shouted and instantly a group of people flocked around the alley.
The two cops shoved her roughly out into the crowd, who immediately formed a ring around her. "Do what ya want folks," Blondie called out casually," She ain't human, so she ain't our problem."
A burly man dressed in black leather stepped out from the crowd and kicked her in the ribs. She couldn't help the squeak of pain that broke through her lips. The man grinned and then his expression turned murderous.
"My brother was killed by a mutant last year, now I'm gonna get a little payback," he spat and grabbed her injured wrist.
She screamed and he laughed, sending a chill through her. He twisted her wrist even harder and her drawn out cry of pain filled the air. He started kicking at her ribcage and she felt the intense agony of bones breaking.
Then, suddenly he was gone and a series of explosions filled the air, sending the milling crowd scrambling in all directions. She sensed a presence nearby and a gentle hand laid itself on her shoulder. She tried to jerk away, but all she could manage was a weak flinch.
"Shhh…. It's okay chere," a rich voice said soothingly," I ain't gonna hurt yo' none."
Her eyes flickered open and widened as she met a pair of familiar crimson and black ones.
"You," she whispered, anger and pain infiltrating each word," Ya'll …are the reason …Ah'm in …this mess."
"Oui, desole," he said with an apologetic grin, before scooping her up in his arms," But we'll discuss dis later non?"
She meant to answer, she really did, but the sudden movement of her battered body and already aching chest sent a wave of pain over her so strong that she slipped into unconsciousness.
Remy LeBeau rarely felt guilt for anything he did, after all he stole, lied, cheated, and manipulated for a living, and he did it all with cool calculation. This, however, was one thing he did feel guilty for.
He had honestly never meant for things to get that out of hand. He saw her; dirty, tattered clothing and tangled auburn hair marked with white streaks. And her eyes, deep pools of emerald green that met his with a slightly dazed expression. He knew she'd get caught with the necklace. But she was innocent, and they would have let her go with lack of evidence to convict her on. He watched as the officers apprehended her, as he expected.
What he didn't expect was for another man to come running up to them and point at the girl accusing her. He watched as the blonde officer began to frisk her. He snorted in disgust as his hands lingered at her chest and rear; he had zero respect for men like that. He watched as the officer pulled a sizeable wad of cash from her pocket and his eyebrows rose, suitably impressed. The cash was handed over to the tourist and he said something before reaching out to take the girl's wrist.
His empathy rang with her panic and he watched as both man and girl stiffened for a moment, before the man dropped back onto the pavement unconscious. The officers looked shocked and he heard someone call out, "She's a mutant."
Merde, he cursed internally, What have I done?"
He turned as he sensed Henri sidling up to him. "You lose the necklace?" he asked.
"Oui, I lost it," he said as her pain began to infiltrate his empathy again," But I jus' brought down de law an' a crowd on a mutant fille."
Henri's eyebrows rose and he opened his mouth to say something just as her pained scream rang through the air. "Go get 'er," he said and Remy darted out into the crowded street.
A handful of charged playing cards sent the crowd running pell-mell in all directions. He knelt by the girl, who was obviously struggling to keep conscious, and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. She flinched from his touch and he hastened to reassure her.
"Shh… It's okay chere, I ain't gonna hurt yo' none."
Her emerald eyes flickered open and he nearly gasped at the depths of the anger and pain in their depths that leaked out into her words. "You, ya'll…are the reason …Ah'm in …this mess."
"Oui desole," he said and scooped her up, well aware of the fact that the fear of the explosions was slowly being overridden by the crowd's hatred of mutants," But we'll discuss dis later non?"
She didn't answer and he felt her body sag as she slipped into unconsciousness. Quickly he moved his way through the still slightly shell-shocked crowd and disappeared down a nearby alley. Emil stood by the door of a plain black Honda Civic, holding the door open while his gray-green eyes sparkled with interest and excitement. He could almost see the adrenalin rolling off him in waves.
Remy slid in the backseat, being careful not to jostle the girl in his arms too much. Emil slammed the door behind him and Henri quickly pulled out into the afternoon traffic. There was tense silence for a moment as everyone kept glancing over their shoulders, looking for signs of pursuit. When it became apparent that there was one, they all visibly relaxed and Remy took the time to study the girl in his arms more closely.
Her hair was tangled and full of street grime and dirt, the white streaks a pale creamy brown. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her delicate features had a thin, starved look to them. Which, he admitted to himself, probably wasn't far from the truth, life was hard on the streets and starvation was an all too common occurrence. Her clothing was faded, torn, and was past the point of doing anything but throwing the garment away. Her tennis shoes were ripped at the sides and the simple black gloves she wore were threadbare and nearly falling apart at the seams.
He glanced over her clothing with another appraising glance as he remembered the incident in the alley. Apparently her mutation was in her skin, and from her outfit he could tell that she did do her utmost to hide her skin. And, he swallowed; the wet shirt was doing a lot to show off her curves, thin and emaciated as she was. If she looked this good now, the he could only imagine how she'd look when she was well fed and clean.
He finally tore his gaze away from her and became aware of the intense, feverish, warmth that radiated off her.
"Emil," he said," Yo' had better call de masion an' tell dem and Dr. West to get de medical wing ready."
Henri glanced back at him in the mirror with a raised eyebrow. "We takin' de fille home?"
"Oui," he replied resolutely," It's my fault she got hurt. De least I can do is ta make she gets better."
Henri nodded and Emil raised his cell phone to his ear.
"So I brought de fille home wit' us," Remy finished and eyed the man sitting across the desk from him.
Jean Luc LeBeau puffed on a cigar unconcernedly, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression on his face.
"So de cops got de necklace back hein?" he asked.
"Oui pere, we'll just have ta try again."
Jean Luc nodded and focused his brown eyes squarely on Remy's red on black ones. "Yo' did right mon fils. And dis might end up workin' ta our advantage. Yo' say she's a mutant."
"Oui, but I don' know much more about it other dan it's in her skin."
He nodded again and opened his mouth to say something when there was a knocking at the door. "Enter," he called and the door swung open to reveal a man in a white lab coat.
Dr. West was a short man with a mop of blonde hair and a sorrowful expression that reminded Remy of a basset hound staring morosely into its empty food dish. He took a seat on a velvet lounge and sighed.
"How is da fille?" Jean Luc asked and the doctor focused weary eyes on his leader's face.
"She's in pretty bad shape," he admitted, his English accent clashing with the Cajun ones so common in the Guild," Three of her ribs are broken, two others are cracked, her right wrist is badly sprained, she's terribly malnourished and has a rather horrid case of pneumonia. All in all, she's quite under the weather."
Remy kept his carefully crafted poker face in place, though inside he has hanging his head in shame. How many of her injuries had he been indirectly responsible for?
"I have her attached to an IV and am giving her some antibiotics and vitamins though it, as well as the liquids her body needs," he continued," But she still has a long road of recovery ahead of her."
"Can I see her?" Remy asked, keeping his face carefully neutral.
Dr. West nodded," Yes we moved her to the recovery ward. But don't stay too long, she needs her rest."
Remy nodded and vanished out the door of his father's study and down the hall. He found himself at the door to the ward and stepped inside. Only one bed was occupied, and he made his way to her side.
The nurses had obviously bathed her, and her once grimy hair now fanned the pillow in glittering auburn and white waves. She looked almost childlike in the innocence than formed itself across her features while she slept. He smiled a small yet sincere one as he came to a conclusion. She was beautiful.
He ghosted a gloved hand over her cheek and then swept out of the recovery ward as silent as a shadow.
