Author's note: Blehg. I started this story a while ago, I thought I'd get an account and post it up here, you know, see if I'd get any more inspiration to finish the story. I probably will eventually. So, if you do start reading, I'll end up finishing it. xD
Generally, no character in this fan fic is mine. Though trust me, I wish Rogue was. She's just the type of person you want to pat on the head, take home, put them in your closet and feed them crackers. xD Aaaaannnnyways. I'll get on with the story now.
Boys and girls of every age,
Wouldn't you like to see something strange?
"Gawddernit, Remy, Ah swear t'gawd yer pushin' yer luck!"
Silence was broken by the shrill cry of a heavy southern accent, anger lacing every word as the woman's lips curled into an unimpressed scowl to match the tone of her words. Her emerald eyes flickered over the culprit at hand. A tall, undeniably handsome, Cajun stood grinning, striking a pose that just reeked of self-proclaimed innocence. His hand raking through the chestnut locks falling from the back of his head, as he looked sheepishly at the brunette woman in front of him; her mood lightened none by his expression.
"I swea' it wasn' my faul', chère."
The woman scoffed in disbelieve, "Sure it ain't honey, an' yer hand just so happened t'slip t'mah be-hind!" It wasn't so much the man himself that sparked the vehemence in the woman's voice, more so his actions.
"Gambit don' go where he's no' invited."
The words were followed by a small smirk of accomplishment, daring the woman to try and deny him the pleasure he received from both the southerner's bantering. There was no other woman that Remy would ever want to argue lovingly with. In response to the man's words there was a wordless, riled, sigh as the woman swiveled on her heel, striding away from the Cajun as she did. The amused brunette let out a small chuckle, it seemed that he had pushed the woman a bit too far this time, his well-mannered flirting earning him a moment in the dog house. Ha, not if Gambit could help it. Picking up his own pace once more, the man soon caught up to his Cherie.
"Cmon, Roguey, don' beh like dis. Y'know Remy loves y'."
"Ah wish he didn't."
Laughing at the curt reply, Gambit once more scratched at the back of his head in wonderment. "Why y' gotta beh so col', chère?" Trying to reach his arm around the woman's waist, his movement was smacked away by a gloved hand.
"You've gotta death wish, Swamp Rat?"
The words were followed by a vicious snarl, not because the woman honestly disliked the other's touch. But rather, she was concerned for his safety. For, if he were to make contact with her skin, he would end up in comatose. She'd done it before. Even with that threat it didn't stop Remy from loving her. In turn, Rogue, as much as she hated to admit it, loved him dearly. However, as she had kindly noted before hand, she wished he didn't. The southern brunette always saw her, and her curse, just a death waiting to happen to yet another man the woman loved.
---
Emma Frost lived for the click of the cameras. Her whole body yearned for the attention that the light of the flash inspired. Giving a good as gold smile to the photographers, the model flipped her hair, having a hundred more clicks and light spells catching every single movement the woman had to offer. The lenses were addicted to every flattering curve of her body, every bat of her icicle blue eyes and every turn of her white Go-Go boots. Giving a small flick to her luscious golden hair once more, the model was greeted by a flood of lights from the camera's flash. Had she not been on hours, she would have sighed contently; there was nothing more she adored than the attention she was showered with when at work. Well, except maybe for the thrill of the dating hunt, but that was strictly personal life.
Her crystalline eyes left the focus of the cameras for a split moment as they slid over to the glass of the clock, which dictated her working hours. As per usual, it was a morning shoot. It seemed everyone from Hollywood and beyond loved to dictate their schedules around work and a light brunch which could all happen within forty-five minutes of each other.
It wasn't like Emma was complaining.
It certainly freed her up for her night-job, per se.
In the daylight, Emma Frost was one of the most notoriously beautiful and well-known models on the western side of the world. Under the cover of said job, Emma lived and worked at a facility known as Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.
"Gifted" meaning people like herself:
People who were different.
People who could heal themselves almost instantly, for example.
---
There was a brutish snarl that cut the cold, crisp, Canadian air. A man, who looked no older than thirty-five directed himself around the heavy Rocky Mountain brush, looking for some sort of tell-tale clue. Wolverine could practically feel his hunt looming in front of him, dragging him forward in the pursuit of his past. The man's sense of logic kept him still, alert of his surroundings. The insatiable longing to reclaim his memories kept his nerves on edge, begging the man to proceed, to keep hounding forward.
There was a brisk crack.
Snapping his body around there was a distinct shink as the man's trio of claws unearthed themselves from each dip between the knuckles. The animalistic addition was metallic. The gleaming metal was pure, rare, and completely indestructible. It was known as adamantium.
It was this addition that kept the man always searching. Always hunting . . . always haunted.
They were some of the only clues he had to his past, and they were as permanent at the man himself, and would always remain as a constant ghost to keep him tormented. Letting out another of his lone wolf, guttural sighs, there was the nagging realization that the rustle had been nothing more than resident wildlife, probably nothing more than a bird or rabbit. Looking skyward the man released the intake of breath he had been holding, evening any slight imbalances in his breathing patterns.
It was now late in July, Logan had been hunting for his past for a good three months in this interval; perhaps it was time to head home and take charge of his present. He had been separated from in the institute for much too long, Wolverine figured, it was time for this lone wolf to rejoin his pack.
---
These people once thought they were all one of a kind, and now, under the guidance of one, Charles Xavier, they are united as a race, a team and much like a family. These people, they are mutants, Homo superiors. All have chosen to use their progress in human evolution for the greater good of all mankind, humans and mutants alike. Yet, there are still those who wish to use their gifts for their own personal gain in love, war, and the twisting of their own futures . . .
---
There was a loud gun and kill of a motor in the underground parking to announce the return of the one, the only, Wolverine, designated lone wolf of the infamous "X-men". His eyes slid around the concrete room, falling on the exit stairs that led up to the school's corridors. Sniffing, the man, although home, refused to let his guard slip even an inch. Logan refused to relax until he was comfortably seated, beer in hand, hopefully a silence looming over the building, if he'd be so lucky.
Unfortunately, Lady Luck had never seen fit to grace the man with her 'good side.' As soon as he hiked the stairs up to the hardwood platform he could already hear the bickering of two of his teammates. And judging by the accents, there was no doubt it was Rogue and Gumbo. Rearranging the bag the Canadian had situated on his shoulder, he ambled in on the argument as it seemed to be drawing to a close. Logan let a small smile grace his rugged features as his eyes confirmed what he already had known. The first sight to grace his presence was that of Rogue's chocolate locks, accented by one aged strip, which she kept tamed behind her ear. Which, the man now noticed to be pierced, apparently that was one thing to have changed while he was away on 'business'.
"Hey, kid."
Rogue whipped around as a new voice entered the conversation. Her anger at the Cajun had clouded whatever recognition she held for the voice. Emerald eyes falling on the new comer, the Southern Belle's entire face lit up into a bright grin.
"Logan!"
Was the shrill reply, the woman leaving the Louisiana-born man for a moment to hug the man who had entered, cautious as always to make sure her exposed flesh remained away from his. The action gained a small frown from Remy, but in all fairness, at least the Canadian had taken to covering up his skin. Gambit's own skin-tight, ebony T-shirt, left his arms unskillfully exposed. However, to hide whatever green, horned monster that was growing beneath his skin, Remy still managed a nod in recognition towards his fellow teammate, tastefully following it wish a small, two fingered salute to the forehead.
Logan caught the nod and reciprocated it with his own. "Gumbo." The name was slid into conversation with good humor on the Canadian's part, he had managed to eye a small expression of jealousy on the others brunette's face. It didn't take a mind reader to figure out that it was just burning up the Bayou boy to see the woman of his desire to be hugging another man when she was so cautious around Gambit, allowing nothing that could possibly put him in the way of danger. If Logan hadn't years of maturity, he would have felt the need to stick his tongue out over the Southern Belle's shoulders.
"I's been a while."
Almost shocked to hear the Cajun speak, Logan figured it was a warning to untangle himself from the other's woman. Allowing his arm to slip from the perch around her waist, Wolverine raised both hands in mock-surrender pose. Rogue, looking at the position gave a small chuckle and backed away standing between the two men.
"Apparently not long enough. You still mad, Gumbo?"
"Gambit'd beh a lo' less ahngry if y' stop callin' 'im 'Gumbo'."
There was a curt laugh at the other's expense, "It was just a little goodbye peck," The other tried to explain; perhaps he was the only one to get away with kissing Rogue and not being put into a near coma. In fact, throughout the course of knowing the supposedly 'untouchable' woman, Wolverine had gotten four times lucky [surprisingly enough. Albeit, majority of the time had been a life threatening situation where it was kiss the woman, or let her die. However, the fourth was a peck on her cheek before Logan had departed back home. Perhaps it was his own mutant gene counteracting Rogue's, but his healing ability seemed to have allowed the Canadian to make contact with her bear skin for the moment in which Logan allowed his lips to grace her cheek.
The explanation was greeted with the expected scowl, which Logan waved off with his now free hand; he wasn't about to fight in front of a Southern woman, it just wasn't proper. God forbid, Logan ever be proper.
"Don't ya two be fightin', ya hear?"
Rogue warned, despite the fact that Wolverine had seemed to wave off whatever conflict may have been brewing between the two, too-arrogant-for-their-own-good men.
"Wouldn' dare figh' in fron' a lady,"
Gambit assured Rogue, with a charmer's smile fully in place. If there was thing he knew she hated was full-blown, over-escalated brawls between friends. If you could call Remy and Logan friends; they were more 'friendly rivals' than the earlier assumption. Watching the Canadian intently, his crimson eyes never left the back of the other male as he sauntered his way over to the fridge, opening it expectantly.
The Wolverine's fingers raked through the fridge, searching for one of his many vices. There was the scrape of glass against plastic as the bottle was pulled from the very bottom of the refrigerator and a soft pop as the lid was shed from the lips of the bottle. Once more the Canadian turned to face the scene he had strayed from a good three seconds. His fingers drummed across the cold of the bottle as he looked to both parties in the couple. Logan was almost tempted to ask what had gone on since his departure; he didn't expect much news.
To his knowledge Storm, Phoenix, and Cyclops had all gallivanted off on one of "Chuck's" special ops missions; some of the younger X-men like Iceman and Jubilee were preoccupied with soaking in as much summer as they could; Dazzler had dragged Angel on one of her trips to Manhattan to pull some shows, and well, the Squirt and Elf? They were around somewhere.
That left the three of them, a couple of stragglers and whoever was running the joint in Xavier's absence.
Even though Logan's knowledge flourished with the absence of the institutes' inhabitants he still asked the aged question, letting it drop casually into conversation before taking a swig of his beer. "What's happened since I've been gone?"
Rogue looked to Gambit, who reciprocated her look. It seemed as if between the two of them they were trying to come up with the best way to drop the news on the recent absentee. Since his departure an old
'friend' of the X-men's had come and reconciled, joining their growing team. However, both Southerner's knew the information would not sit well with Wolverine; he wasn't one to give up bad blood.
"Uhm, well," Rogue stammered slightly, still trying to fortify her words into sentences. Her emerald orbs slipped to Gambit once more as if requesting he take over her job as the bearer of bad news.
He did.
"Emma Fros' she came 'n' joined de team."
Logan pushed himself up from his comfortable slouch against the fridge. "What?" There was a small growl slipping into his words, perhaps one of the more animalistic qualities that accompanied the claws.
Remy knew that look that Wolverine was giving him, it was slightly more vicious than the look the Cajun would receive when his flirting with Rogue had gone too far. The glare was swimming with protectiveness for the institution as well as the look of being betrayed. However, had he been there two months before Logan would have been able to project his opinion when the team opted to give Emma Frost a limited membership into the X-men. The limited membership had throughout the months evaporated into thin air, the restrictions went with it. The psychic was an X-man and there was nothing that anyone other than Xavier could do about it.
Besides, admitting to himself and only himself, Gambit sort of enjoyed having the White Queen around. She had attempted to help Rogue and himself with their relationship, trying to strengthen it on a psionic level. Not to mention she was yet another addition to the ever beautiful X-femmes, and Gambit could never help but appreciate a pretty face. . .