The short: Basically takes off after episode 8 ("Time Bomb"). French phrases and their translations will be found at the bottom of each chapter, in the order in which the phrases appeared.

The long: Because WatXM is a limited series, my characterizations will most likely resemble a mixture of all X-Men incarnations, and because canon is a loose term in the Marvel Universe itself, you can expect the same here. The WatXM-verse had the jumping point I needed (Rogue on her own, Remy not with the X-Men), so that's why I've chosen it. I have a reasonably good idea about where this fic is going, but I have no idea how long it'll take to get there. If you have questions about length, time table, content, etc., let me know.

Prodigal

Chapter 1

Remy stood in the dark shadows, watching the rain pour down in torrents from the overhang he was standing under. He took a long drag from the cigarette he was smoking and blew the smoke out into the rain, watching it dissipate. He was getting impatient, but he remained where he was, his posture languid and relaxed where he leaned against the wall.

The harbor was generally deserted this time of night, which made it all the easier to make out the sound of footsteps under the pounding rain. Remy smiled, flicking his cigarette away.

"Gambit, I presume?" a voice questioned. A man of average height emerged from the shadows. His features were unremarkable in every way: brown hair, brown eyes, small nose, thin frame glasses that were slightly fogged.

"Enchanté," Gambit bowed slightly before raising his head. "M'sieur…" he allowed his voice to trail off.

"Carter," the other man supplied.

Remy nodded.

"De job?"

"Yes," Carter replied smoothly. He removed his glasses, pulled a cloth from a pocket, and wiped them clean. When he replaced them, he looked Remy directly in his glowing eyes. Remy waited for the telltale flinch. When it didn't come, he raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.

Carter reached into his jacket and pulled out a manila folder.

"Missing person," he summed it up. "You find her, bring her in, you get the money. Nothing more, nothing less."

"How much?"

"Five hundred thousand."

Remy whistled lowly.

" 'Nothing more, nothing less', neh?"

Carter's face remained blank as he adjusted his glasses once more. Remy shrugged and reached for the folder.

"Pleasure doin' business, M'sieur Carter."

Carter relinquished the folder with only a slight pause.

"There is one stipulation."

Remy grinned.

"Always a catch," he agreed. He tucked the folder into his overcoat.

"She can't be touched."

Rogue woke with a start. Putting a hand to her chest to calm herself, she listened quietly. The abandoned buildings the Brotherhood favored for hidey holes didn't give much privacy, and she'd be mortified if Toad or Blob saw her vulnerable like this. But she heard nothing and sensed no one. She let her breath out slowly.

She'd been having intermittent nightmares for a few weeks now, ever since the X-Men had taken Nitro back from the Brotherhood on their way to Genosha. The nightmares were always punctuated with the innocent mutant's desperate pleas and then screams as he blew again and again, recharging endlessly. Before long, her dreamscape would be destroyed, be it city street or MRD facility or isolated iceberg. But the terrible part was that after the destruction, there was always the vision of Logan walking away from her despite her apologies and attempted explanations. He never stayed long enough to hear her out, as if as far as he was concerned, Rogue's fate was sealed.

Rogue sat up in her bed, tucked her legs under her Indian-style, and fiddled with her blankets.

She knew why she was having these dreams: she'd made a bad decision, choosing the Brotherhood over the X-Men, but it wasn't a decision she felt like she could reverse. It was for the X-Men's benefit, after all. She knew they had something in the works, something big, but she still didn't know what it was. If only she'd held on to Toad a little longer… No, no. It was bad enough as it was to have his slimy thoughts pop up occasionally; she doubted she could handle any more of them.

She rubbed her temples in slow, methodical circles, trying to calm her mind, trying to think. Although she admitted that it had been slightly gratifying to give Logan a taste of his own medicine, deceiving the X-Men had a left an unpleasant aftertaste in her mouth even though she had done it for them. Unfortunately, they didn't know that, and she couldn't tell them without risking exposure. So, in order for her to be able to make amends—to even have a chance at regaining their trust—she had to make sure her information was solid; she had to have something to offer to them, evidence that she hadn't betrayed them for nothing.

The problem was that Pietro didn't trust her completely. She got the bare minimum in information, wasn't in on the planning, and was sometimes even left out of the execution—unless they needed her to suck information. It was frustrating and starting to grate on her nerves, but she supposed she didn't have anyone to blame but herself. She'd gotten so soft, she reflected, while she'd been with the X-Men. She shouldn't have protested so much about Nitro; if she'd played the obedient soldier Mystique had trained her to be, Pietro would have had less reason to question her. However, that was one of the reasons she'd stayed with the X-Men after leaving Mystique. The Professor's dream let her feel—she could be upset about the injustices in life without being bitter, and she could do something about it. Not in the revenge-driven, selfish way that Mystique wanted to settle the mutant question—by taking out anyone who didn't agree with her prerogatives—but with diplomacy, with reason, with nobility.

Unfortunately, the professor was gone, and so with him his dream. Because, it seemed, no matter how they all felt individually, it had been Xavier's convictions that kept them all together. Without him, she supposed, they were all still doing the best they could, but it was so messy.

Which brought her back to where she'd started.

She lay back down and put a hand over her eyes.

The Brotherhood was using her, she knew it. She had expected it—she had just planned to use them as much in return. Too bad it wasn't working out like she had hoped. She sneaked as much as she could, which wasn't much. Pietro was suspicious enough already; she didn't have much room to maneuver unless she outright pulled from him what she wanted to know.

There were drawbacks to that: Pietro wasn't smart enough to be doing this on his own. Someone else was pulling the strings, and she was willing to bet that whoever it was was keeping him on a need-to-know basis only. If she found out whose orders Pietro was following, maybe that would be enough for the X-Men. She was sure that if she took his mind, his contact would be easily found; she just wasn't sure how useful that information would be by itself.

Rogue shook her head, not willing to take that much of a chance. She wanted to be sure. As part of her ruse, Rogue had harmed innocent people, used them like tools. She had to make sure it wasn't in vain.

She turned on her side and curled up, bringing her knees to her chest. The quiet all around her was stifling to some part of her. She closed her eyes and focused on the minute sounds of air whistling through the cracks in the walls of the dilapidated building.

Storm, she thought absently as she shivered. The more she concentrated, the more she could feel the wind outside.

She opened her eyes abruptly and shook herself. She'd invested herself in this; she had to stay until it was finished.

Remy LeBeau smiled at the blonde waitress sauntering towards him with a fresh pot of coffee.

"Refill, suh?" Her voice was velvety smooth and matched her looks.

Remy smiled and inclined his head. He knew he should say something flirty and fun, but he couldn't make it come out. He had been all prepared to, as he'd watched her approach from behind his reflective sun glasses, but as soon as she had opened her mouth, his mind had blanked.

Her accent was all wrong, reminding him forcefully that he was, in fact, in Charleston, South Carolina and not in New Orleans as he had been pretending.

The waitress smiled coyly when she finished pouring the coffee, so Remy winked at her, almost by reflex. She rewarded him by adding an extra oomph to her gait, her sashaying hips quite the show as she walked away. Remy watched her at the counter for a moment, but even her belle visage wasn't enough to distract him from the bitterness welling inside him at the thought of New Orleans.

He forcefully pushed away thoughts of sultry jazz clubs, voo-doo, and the vieux carré . He couldn't go back, and that was the end of the story. After all, that's what banishment meant, wasn't it?

To distract himself, he pushed his thoughts to the proposition that had brought him to Charleston in the first place. It was a simple job—a package delivery, basically, and the pay was phenomenal. That was what made it interesting: he couldn't see any reason for a girl being worth so much. It also made him suspicious: clearly there was more going on then what he'd been told. The manila envelope hadn't even contained a picture of the mark, just a first name, a brief physical description, a projected list of residences, and the delivery address.

His gut told him it was a risky job with so many unknowns—he didn't even know who he was working for. Carter was just the message boy for whoever was shelling out the money, that much was clear.

He took one last sip of his coffee before standing. Remy threw some cash on the table, leaving a generous tip for the blonde, almost as if he wished to make up for the fact that he was leaving without saying goodbye to her.

He muffled a sigh when he reached his bike. How he was beginning to hate being on the move. While he had always been a free spirit, always craved action, he resented being forced to it. Especially now, with the MRD openly hunting mutants. Before, it had never been much of a problem because he'd always had the Guild to back him up, to hide him, to watch out for him. Now, no longer. He was on his own.

Remy cursed silently to himself as he started his bike. It roared to life immediately, ever sensitive to his touch, and the rumbling engine gave him some comfort. He shoved thoughts of his banishment away and focused on the road ahead of him.

"I don't know… it sounds risky."

"Rather than making excuses, Pietro, perhaps you should be brain storming how to accomplish this."

Pietro hesitated, frustration rising inside him.

"I don't trust her. She won't go along with it."

"Make her go along with it."

"Why is it so important?"

"Do not question the Cause, my son."

Pietro did not reply.

"If you're incapable of handling this quietly," the voice continued, smooth as steel, "I can send Wanda to do it for you."

Pietro winced, glad his father wasn't there to see his expression.

"No, no. I can do it."

"Don't disappoint me again," the voice retorted harshly.

There was a click, and Pietro knew the conversation was over. There were never good-byes in these conversations, just orders and veiled insinuations about his worthlessness.

Not this time, Pietro promised himself. He was being given a second chance after the incident with Nitro, and he wasn't going to mess it up.

Translations

Enchanté literally 'enchanted,'a formal way to say, "Pleased to meet you."

M'sieur [Monsieur] mister

belle visage pretty face

vieux carré French quarter