Summary: AU: Remy LeBeau is a drunk gambler down on his luck. Owing Victor Creed a great deal of money, he takes the next job offered to him, despite his compunctions about going back to the War Zone. He's followed by his friend Logan and finds unusual help in a ghost spirit bound to a deck of cards who cannot remember her name or her life before her death. She is known only as Rogue
Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to the X-Men
AN: So this is a tad unusual. I have this original plot that I'm working on under the same concept: drunk gambler down on his luck, ghost girl that can't be touched, secrets, mayhem, etc. It wasn't until after I started planning it that I realized the plot could easily be made into a Romy fanfic since it easily has that "I can't touch you" "But you're keeping dark secrets from me" angsty feel. So I figured... why the hell not just write it as a fanfic first to get a feel for the plot.
So. You'll be seeing a lot of familiar faces as I work to push X-Men characters into the roles that I need for the plot. A lot of them work in rather well (i.e. Remy, Rogue, Logan). Some of them don't fit in quite as well but they have an element or so that fits the original character I created (i.e. Kitty, Scott). I appreciate everybody willing to bare with me.
Prologue: Out of Luck
"You sure you wants to be taking your chances, punk?"
"Ain't much of a risk wit' y', Creed."
"If you're so sure… I won't complain about taking all of your money."
The grin on Victor Creed's face should not be mistaken for playful or friendly. It was a menacing warning that any heavy gambler ought to heed. And usually Remy LeBeau wouldn't play at any table the ruthless Marauder (what passed for police in this area) was sitting at. But this particular bar Remy was rather fond of just didn't see the same amount of traffic that it used to. Times were tough and the people that gambled got tougher with it.
This was the only table currently running at the bar and Remy needed the money. He was fairly confident he could outwit the ol' cat or die trying.
There wasn't much metaphorical about the latter. Remy had seen Creed literally pull people's arms off for simply bumping into him in line. He was a nasty sort but he didn't usually come to this bar. Mostly because the bartender was just about the only person that could match Creed blow for blow. Remy didn't think ol' Sabretooth was necessarily afraid of their Wolverine bartender, but he didn't risk scuffles with Logan if he could help it.
Remy passed along a cred-sheet to the dealer letting him know how much he was good for. It was a bold face lie but fortunately they also got a dealer that didn't know Remy too well. The pot always deflated when working with empty chips, but it was the only way Remy knew how to get money at the moment. Jobs had been terribly short the tighter their Emperor, through Nathaniel Essex, pulled the noose around the populace.
Anybody not leaving a clean life style usually found their way into the cellars of the esteemed castle. And Remy lived a very, very unclean lifestyle… Wasn't much else for a solider that abandoned his post. He was branded a traitor in his own country.
But they'd brand him as far worse if he'd stayed to reveal the truth.
At first Remy was bleeding chips, but it was mostly on purpose to keep the game going longer. And to see if he couldn't get a handle on some of these chap's tells. Of course as the drinks started taking their effects, it became easier and easier to outwit the more civilian poker players.
Creed on the other hand… Well, Remy was beginning to think he either didn't have a tell or Remy was losing his touch. He kept an easy smirk on the entire game, keeping up with the banter and flirting quite lively with Madam Mystique, an older woman with dignified greying hair. Finally, a few rounds in a row Remy managed to rake in enough chips to put him over the amount on his cred-sheet.
But it wasn't enough. And Remy was still determined to discover Creed's tell, beat the swaggering man at this game. He still had the largest pile of chips and seemed to sneer in Remy's direction the most. A couple more rounds and Remy was down again, though he congratulated Mystique with a kiss on the hand as she pulled in a good amount. Dissatisfied poker players left, leaving just the three with the most to lose.
And Remy was certain his hand would win it. Bet big or go home, right?
His smirk didn't waver for a second as Creed got the winning hand, taking all but one lousy token Remy held on to for something to fiddle with. Remy congratulated the big oaf for his winnings, flipping the token toward Creed as Remy stood up, putting on his coat.
"Not so fast, LeBeau."
Merde.
"Y'know, it's common practice in dis bar for the winner to buy a round of drinks," Remy said, spinning around to face the monster of a man beginning to stand up as well.
"Is that so?" Creed leered. "Then how about we use your creds. Cough 'em up."
"I don't got dem," Remy said breezily, hands going into the pockets of his duster. Projecting a relaxed air when deep inside he really just wanted to turn tail and run. "Y'won all my chips, so y'got dem. See how dis works, mon ami?"
"This?" Creed growled, his composure breaking. Probably used to his victims cowering and begging, not staring him down defiantly. He picked up Remy's cred-sheet between two fingers and held it up. "This is an IOU. So you give me. See how this works?"
"Certainly. And when I 'have' I'll be sure to give."
The growl ripped through the bar, shushing the handful of patrons, all eyes turning to see the table crash to the ground. Creed stalked over to pick Remy up by the front of his coat, pinning him to the wall. Despite the discomfort, Remy only broke into a slight frown, keeping his arms at his side.
"You're saying you don't have my money, punk?" Creed growled. His hot breath and little specks of spittle sprayed onto Remy's face.
But he didn't flinch. "M'sayin I don't have it yet."
The man pulled Remy away from the wall only to shove him against it again. This time Remy's composure was broken as he grunted, the air knocked from his lungs.
"Then where's my money!?"
"I've got a job," Remy lied through gritted teeth. "Done by de end of de week…"
"You better be good for it, LeBeau," Creed snarled deep in his throat.
"M'good for it. I swear."
They stayed in their stand off for minutes, burning eyes of a madman glaring into the unreadable ones of a born liar. Creed's grip on Remy's coat was tightening all the while, Remy's back and shoulders starting to feel the strain against the wall.
"Enough!" a third voice joined the party. A low rumbling one that made Creed back off the pressure on the young man. "Not in my bar, Creed. Not ever."
"Whatever you say, Logan," Creed responded lazily, dumping Remy onto the ground.
A wave of dizziness kept Remy on the ground for several minutes as Creed and his posse exited the bar. In that time, things certainly went back to normal for the rest of the inhabitants. So Remy shakily getting to his feet and righting the poker table went mostly unnoticed.
Yet as he reached the bar, Logan pulled up a bottle of bourbon and glass with a large sigh.
"Ya know you can't really afford this on yer tab, Remy," Logan grumbled, going back to cleaning out glasses with a rag.
"A gift and it ain't even my birthday," Remy chuckled with a halfhearted wink.
Logan gave the man a very hearty but wordless grumble on the matter but didn't correct Remy. Neither of them really gave a rat's ass about Remy's tab. But Logan always made a point to be disapproving of Remy's careless gambling.
"Always said you'd land yerself in too much trouble," Logan brought up. Once Remy was a good couple of glasses into his bottle of bourbon. And definitely starting to feel the effects.
"Pah! Dis one's easy. Just find myself a job by de end o'de week and poof," Remy said, waving his glass around and barely feeling the liquid slosh over the sides. "It all goes away." He downed the glass as if to add the effect to his words.
"And rent?"
"Sheesh, y'my mom now Logan?" Remy muttered, downing another glass.
"You need a steady paycheck, Remy," Logan huffed, giving him a dirty look. "You know it, I know it."
Silence fell on them as Logan leaned forward on the bar and Remy stared down at the bottom of his glass. They both knew this conversation wasn't over. But Remy was rather hoping that once again Logan would let it drop. Leave the words unsaid.
"The only thing you did wrong was leave," Logan said in a low voice. "You could go back."
"Non," Remy said sourily, trying to hide his shaking hand as he downed another drink of bourbon. "I ain't going back to the X-Corps. Not ever."
"Why do you have to be so stubborn?" Logan growled, fists tightening until his knuckles were white. "I'm telling you it's alright, Remy! You can give up on this whole loyalty thing—"
"And o'course Logan," Remy laughed dryly, tilting his head back to let the liquor run down his throat. "Y't'ink it's all about y'. How cute."
The glass flew from Remy's hand, exploding in shards of glass on the floor. Remy gaped a bit, wobbling on his stool only to be righted by Logan's hand closing around the front of his shirt. A very angry Logan, growling and glaring at a now very drunk Remy.
"I know you ain't squandering yer money and drowning in booze fer nothing, Remy!" Logan snarled, shaking his friend a couple of times before letting go. "Whatever yer shitty reason is, figure it out and get over it! I'm getting sick of looking at ya."
Remy's stomach rolled as he watched his friend stalk away into the backroom. It wasn't the first time Remy had brought out Logan's anger so that it came to blows and shouting. But it was probably the first time it hadn't been over Remy being an ass on purpose. That it'd been over something… personal.
Remy shoved off from the bar, his footing unsteady and his vision swirling. There was a cloudy, dark haze around the edges of his eyesight but Remy ignored it, managing to stagger to his feet. It wasn't the first time he'd gotten sloppy drunk and made his way back to the shitty one room apartment he called 'home.'
He found, almost gratefully, that Logan had left the bottle of bourbon. With an unsteady smirk, Remy grabbed it up and stumbled out of the front door of the bar.
Despite Remy's best of intentions, Logan's words still hung over his head as he shuffled through the streets and back alley ways. Years ago, an unfortunate set of events led to the woman Logan loved dying in the line of duty for the X-Corps. On that day, Logan left but not without sending one hell of a message of what he thought of the corps for letting her die.
Remy went with him. For one to keep his friend from doing any harm to others and two because Remy simply couldn't stomach it anymore. Not just losing friends and loved ones in the battles. But what he was asked to do for his allegiance. What Remy had chosen to do…
Whether by the poisonous effects of the bourbon or dread for the nightmarish things Remy had done, his stomach emptied its contents in an alley. Remy groaned and managed to get only another step on before his vision black out and he fell to the ground. The impact of his head on the hard ground brought him back to consciousness, but only barely.
He opened his bleary eyes, the way the world spun making his stomach churn again. But he was even too weak to vomit, forced only to feel the steady wave of nausea. He managed to turn slightly on his side, head resting on his arm. Trying to debate whether he ought to bother getting up.
Better to just die here. Save everybody some trouble, Remy thought.
He couldn't though. For all the pain and suffering he'd brought on to other people. For as much as anybody that knew the truth would hate him. For all the hundreds of awful, sleepless nights. Remy couldn't just let himself end like this. He'd go down fighting or not at all.
"Yau're feelin sorry for yourself, ain't ya?"
Remy chuckled a bit to himself, almost finding it ironic as he spotted feminine legs kneeling down in his view. Any other time this would be a view he would cherish. He would reach out a hand, a devilish smirk on his face, and caress that thigh. Until he had the woman panting and ready to be pleased in other ways that Remy would enjoy immensely.
But right now he couldn't trust himself to move without puking, let alone make his delicate ministrations feel less like drunk pawing.
"How y'guess, Chere?"
"You always this stand offish? Even drunk as you are?" the woman continued. Sounding more interested than confused, though it was definitely a question.
"Remy can be anyt'ing y'want him to be." He managed to pull off a grin though he couldn't shift his gaze to look at her without his vision going dark. So he kept to her knees. "Just say de word."
"Ah want you to be yourself."
"'Fraid I can't do dat one," Remy grimaced, deciding now was the time to close his eyes. He wasn't sure why he was being so honest with this stranger, but he felt compelled. He also felt like sleeping.
"Giving up, Remy?"
"Non," Remy grunted. He grit his teeth and managed to open his eyes again, glaring at the opposite wall of the alley.
"Then get up."
Through some sort of strength of will power, Remy managed to brace his elbow into the ground and shakily push up into a half sitting position. Though lights danced in his eyes, he brought them up to see the girl that was motivating him. Seeing her kneeling there, almost sparkling with sunlight though it was only barely dawn. Still she seemed to shimmer as she looked at him with bright green eyes, her round face framed by lone white streaks in her otherwise auburn hair.
"Who are y'?" Remy asked, reaching out a hand to touch that face. The one that was smiling at him so sadly.
"Ah don't know…"
His fingers passed through her cheek, meeting no resistance. Remy gaped, trying to form words in his muddled brain by finding nothing until the girl started to fade away.
"Wait!"
With a muffled groan, Remy sat up in bed, eyes looking around his sparse apartment wildly. Trying to remember how and when he'd gotten here. The majority of his clothes were piled, rumpled, near the foot of the bed. And quite quickly, Remy felt the pounding headache that was the result of his binge drinking.
So the bar had been real. He must have blacked out from there, though, reality mixing in with a most remarkable dream. Remy ran a hand over his face, trying to calm himself down. But for the first time waking up from a dream, he was panicked and scared not because he was desperate to escape. But because he wished not to lose the dream.
He closed his eyes, trying to recall the details of the girl. The one that pushed him on from giving up in a dirty alley way even though he had nothing left but demons to live for. He recalled every angle of her legs, her wide hips coming up to a well-proportioned waist and bust. Her face was soft but with angular and full lips that looked well experienced. Her eyes and hair he remembered well. And her hands…
They'd been covered by silk green gloves coming up to her elbow. They'd been clutched in her lap and holding a small bouquet of dried white roses.
Then all at once it faded and Remy reached out into thin air, snarling, like he could bring it back. He sighed in frustration, bringing his fist heavily down on the bed. But it was gone now, only a faded memory that he could barely grasp the recollection of.
He stood from his bed and went over to retrieve his clothing, shaking out his poor dirtied trench coat.
And from a pocket fell a dried white rose. Remy looked at it sadly, scooping it up in his hands and placing it safely upon the nightstand.
But he'd already forgotten why the sight of the rose filled him with such warmth.
AN: Thanks for reading. I look forward to seeing some reviews! It might be a couple of days before an update on this fanfic as I feel the need to try and finish my other fanfic up within the next week or two. So it had first priority. But I'm really excited about this idea and the more reviews I get, the more motivated I will be to write up updates.