Xanadu

By Alara

Chapter 6: "And all should cry, Beware! Beware!"

"G'morning, chere," Remy greeted Rogue, not looking away as he carefully measured coffee grounds into a filter. "You're up a little later dan usual."

"Didn't sleep so well last night," Rogue replied shortly, digging into the cupboard for some cereal.

Remy glanced up, but didn't tell her he'd heard her wake from nightmares several times. He noticed she was wearing more makeup than usual today. He assumed it was for the dark circles undoubtedly shadowing her eyes.

He turned the coffeemaker on and commented, eyebrow raised, "A skirt today?"

She shrugged. "I figured best not to rock the boat this early into the job."

"I s'pose dat's a smart move… Want some coffee?" He offered, as the pot burbled invitingly a moment later.

She wordlessly thrust a hand at him from where she was perched on a stool at the countertop. He poured a cup and passed it to her. "You're too good to me, R—Raoul."

White-toothed grin. "I know."

She made a face at him over her mug as he retrieved his own and sat down beside her.

"Speakin' o' you realizing I be too nice, and how grateful you are for it," he began.

"Yeah?"

"What do you want to do for T'anksgiving? Only a couple weeks away."

She shrugged. "I don't know… traditional turkey and the works, I guess. Maybe rent a movie or something? If you have off of work—I know I do." She added, somewhat defensively, "I could make the turkey. You're not the only one who lives here who knows how to cook."

"Or we could work on de big meal together, and trade off de rest of the time."

"That sounds like a plan," she said, more agreeable with blessed caffeine entering her bloodstream.

"Hmm… Dat makes tonight your turn. What're we having?"

She shot him a look. "Give a girl a minute to think, Cajun!"

He chuckled, draining his cup, and looked at his watch. "Better t'ink fast, we got to be leaving soon for our second days of work."

She looked at her watch too. Her eyes widened. "Shit! It's late! And my hair's not done!" Much to her own surprise, she found she was genuinely upset.

"Looks fine t' me," Remy said, trying to calm her irrational upset. Guess that's what happens when she spends most of the night tossing and turning instead of getting sleep…what's dat called, transference? She gets upset at little things, not de big ones.

"What are you talkin' about? It's all over the place!" She jerked the elastic band binding her hair back, causing the white and auburn to virtually explode across her shoulders. Remy caught his breath for a brief second, amazed at the sudden beauty, and watched her try to braid it. Her hair would have none of it, though, seeming to fight her fingers. He shook himself from his reverie, and abruptly turned Rogue on her stool so her back was to him. He took the elastic from her hand. "What—?" she began, startled, when the feel of his hands in her hair distracted her from speech.

Remy was glad she couldn't see his face as his nimble fingers stroked through the thick, silky locks, tugging the twisting, heavy curls into a loose half-bun that drew the front half of her hair into an intricate-looking knot at the base of her neck. The rest of her hair, richly dark, he left to flow behind her shoulders, a V-shaped arrow of hair pointing down her spine. He gave the mass one final caress, letting a curl wrap itself around his fingers, then let the lock fall and gently nudged her shoulder. "Dere. You won't be late for work now."

Her mouth opened and closed in startlement. "I—" she began, then stopped. "Remy, where did you learn how to do that?"

"Got hair of m' own, chere," he said, flicking the end of his own discreet ponytail.

"Yeah, but you didn't pull my hair once. When you're doing someone else's hair, that takes practice—as I know from Kitty trying to do my hair. Where did you learn to do that?" She repeated.

He hesitated. "It's kind of part of the reason I had to leave N'Orleans," he said quietly, not quite looking at her. "From a girl I used t'know. Look, I promise I'll explain everyt'ing at dinner tonight; right now, we have to get going or we'll be late."

"All right," she said reluctantly, as she really had no other choice. "Let's get going, then." C'mon, Rogue! She scolded herself. It's not like you couldn't have guessed he must've had other girlfriends before you… and you're not even his girlfriend right now, you're just the girl he happened to get thrown into the freaking Witness Protection Program with. Get over yourself already!

They didn't speak during their walk, and parted ways quickly, though surprisingly not angrily. On the contrary, by the time they got to her work, Rogue was starting to be intrigued—what could cause so self-assured a young man to leave his home and family behind? From what he'd mentioned of his family, she could tell it was a committed, caring one.

Remy, for his part, was saying yet another prayer, this time that she didn't leave him once she heard the bizarre, unbelievable tale of his reason for leaving New Orleans. More importantly, he prayed she didn't hate him when she found out who he really was.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Remy arrived back at the law office to pick Rogue up, his empathic sense caught feelings of indignation and upset coming from her. She exited the building when he walked up. There was color high in her cheeks, angry color, and she was breathing carefully, like she was trying not to shout—or trying not to cry. He looked at her questioningly, but she didn't say anything. They walked for several blocks in silence. Quickly, he ran their conversations of the past several days through his head. Couldn't be anything I said, he finally concluded, and ventured a comment.
"Cherie," he said, somewhat lightly. "Maybe dis place not be de best for you to be working, dis is the second day in a row you've been upset after leaving there. De skirt not the right color or something?"

"Oh, the skirt was fine," she snarled sarcastically, glaring at an inoffensive parking meter, so as not to turn her angry mien on him. She blew out her breath and tugged her coat closer around herself. "I'll tell you what happened when we get home, all right? Just don't ask me right now. I'll only get more upset."

He didn't reply, but merely raised an eyebrow and nodded. Like their morning walk, this one was silent, but it was filled with as-yet-unspoken tension. As though the weather was responding to the mood of the pair, it began to snow in thick, fast, icy flakes. The clouds overhead thickened so much that by the time they reached the apartment's door, it was completely dark outside. The warm lights inside were a welcome contrast as Rogue flipped on every light switch she could get to on the way to the kitchen.

"Breakfast for dinner sound good to you, Raoul?"

"Sure, Roisin. Whatever you feel like making." He watched her gather eggs, pans, butter, bread. "French toast, cherie? You trying to charm dis Cajun boy by reminding him of home?" He said, as she continued to assemble ingredients.

She snorted, shooting a half-smile at him over her shoulder as she stirred eggs and milk together. "Nah, just don't feel like going to too much trouble for one Cajun's sake," she teased back.

"Keep up with comments like that, I'll begin to think you're sweet on me."

"Hah hah. Hush, or I'll burn your dinner."

Remy smiled to himself as he set the table—A table for two, he mused. Been a long time since I've had anyone else to set table for.

In only a few minutes, their dinner was ready. "Sorry it's not much, but I'm just not up to making a lot tonight," Rogue said, as she placed steaming plates on the table.

"It's fine, cherie." Remy reassured her, and to her surprise, bowed his head briefly over his plate before beginning to eat. He caught her wide-eyed surprise. "Never seen a man say a grace over his meal before?"

She flushed, embarrassed to have been caught staring. "Just didn't think of you as the godly type. Kurt, maybe, but…"

He grinned at her. "Well, see, I've always had this feeling that his Tante will know if he didn't say grace, even if she not be there. She always seemed to know when we were kids, anyway. And b'sides, figure it's best to give God or Jehovah or whoever you want to call him his due—after all, before Trask, I never was caught. Someone up dere must be smilin' on me."

"And that didn't change after Trask caught you." Her tone was half-sincere, half-skeptical.

He considered as he watched maple syrup drip from his fork. "For a little while, sure, I cursed Him all I could—figured, what's the point of not letting me get caught all dis time, and now by some maniac bent on hurting me, not just jailing me?"

'Jailing me'? She thought, startled. Just what did he do for a living before Trask caught him! She didn't have time to ask, though, as Remy continued speaking.

"But then, see, even through the pain, I had a feeling it was important I be there, no matter how much it hurt."

"Was it important?"

His eyes bored straight into hers, fixing her in place for a timeless instant. Quietly, "I met you, got to keep you with me for a time. I'd say that's pretty damn important."

She drew a startled breath in through her nose. Before she could respond to that, he changed the subject.

"Speaking of 'important,' what was so big it had you upset today?"

She sighed. Hoped he'd forgotten about that… "I got to meet the other partner, Mr. Straub, today."

"The one with de issue with de skirts?"

"That's the one. Didn't see too much of him, and I'm glad. He gave me the creeps."

Remy raised an eyebrow. "So what did he do to make you so mad, then?"

"I was waiting to take the elevator down to meet you, and he was there too. I guess he must have seen me leave yesterday, because he asked who 'that young long-haired punk' was who picked me up yesterday. I told him, 'The same guy who's picking me up today.' He kind of snorted, and muttered something about 'these young trampy girls these days.' I asked him to repeat himself, because I 'hadn't quite heard' what he'd said, and he looked straight at me and said, 'You know you heard me. …At least you're properly dressed today.' Then he got off at the next floor. He made me so angry, I wanted to punch someone."

"Sorry about that, chere. Don't really know what to tell you."

She blew out her breath. "It's all right. I shouldn't let him get under my skin, I guess, since I'll be working for him for a while. But still—! Ooough!"

He smiled at her indignation. "I'm sure a Southern spitfire like you won't let him get you down for long."

"Nah, guess I shouldn't. Speaking of the South…" She began clearing the dishes away.

"Yeah?"

"You promised this morning to tell me about why you left New Orleans." She paused for a moment, then bit her lip. "If you don't want to tell me, it's okay…"

"Nah, you can hear the whole strange story. Can't promise you'll believe all of it. And I can't promise you'll even like me after you hear all of it. But I did promise to tell you."

"No, R—Raoul, it's all right—"

"You've got the right to know, seeing as how we're sorta stuck with each other for a while at least. And I ought to tell you now, so if you decide to leave, the Feds will let you. But this doesn't leave the apartment, all right?"

"All right…" What the heck! How bad is this, my GOD he's serious…

"Let's go sit down for this strange tale, I think it'll take a while." He led the way into the living room, where they sat on the couch. He took a breath. "'Member when we were escaping Trask's base?"

"Like I could forget."

"Remember when I introduced m'self to you?"

"Yeah, you said, well—'Remy LeBeau'—" she whispered, conscious of the FBI's warnings not to say their real names too often—"'thief and charmer, at your service.'" He gave her an eloquent look; her eyes widened in comprehension. "You really are a thief?"

He looked away. "In fact, I'm a prince of the Thieves' Guild, based in N'Orleans." He glanced at her expression, to see how she took the news.

She blinked several times, slowly. "Well, that certainly explains more than a few things." She remembered his stealthiness during their escape, as well as the feebies' comments on Remy's physiological workup.

"You're not mad? Or horrified at m' lawless ways? 'Cause I'll tell you now, chere, I love the life and de famille, and both require I do the work."

She gave him an exasperated, 'now, you should really know better than that' look. "Remy. I am looking at the one person I know at all well who I have ever seen give thanks to God for his food. I am so not going to get up on a high horse about your…inherited profession."

"We do only steal from the very rich, and never everything, only a few valuable items." He said almost pleadingly, not quite trusting her blasé acceptance of his profession.

"Well, of course." At his look she continued, "If you've never been caught, then you must have been getting out with a minimum of loot. And you don't strike me as the greedy type. Although," and she smiled slyly, "I'll bet your kinetically charged cards come in handy when you have to make a getaway, huh?"

She's thinking like a t'ief already… Maybe she's been hanging around me too long. But won't de famille love her! If she doesn't leave me…
"That's not all, chere." He swallowed dryly. "I'm going to need you to not interrupt me, here. Never told anyone this part of the story before, and I don't know if I can start again if I'm stopped." She nodded. "See, there's more than one Guild in N'Orleans. Quite a few, actually. And the two most powerful are the T'ieves' Guild and the Assassins' Guild. Now, these two ladies been fighting for a real long time. Assassins would kill T'ieves, T'ieves would kill Assassins, and both would try to one-up the other. Finally the leader of the Assassins' Guild, Maruis Bordreaux, and the leader of the T'ieves' Guild, mon pere Jean-Luc, well, they got together and decided that enough was enough. They settled a peace agreement, and to seal that agreement they arranged a marriage between Bordreaux's popular daughter Belladonna, and Jean-Luc's ladies'-man son. Me."

Rogue drew in a deep breath through her nose, but didn't say anything, sensing that he wasn't finished speaking just yet. He's married. Well, Rogue, it's not like you two were going out or anything, right? You shouldn't be upset. You have no right to be upset.

But I'm upset!

"Everyone was happy with the arrangements—more or less, we thought. Two most popular young people in de area, getting married… storybook tale, right? But then, on our wedding day, just after the "I do"s but before we even got a symbolic kiss, Belle's brother Julien called me out. Seems he didn't want his precious sister marrying a filthy t'ief, even if I was a prince. I had no choice but to leave, or start up de feud again. So I left N'Orleans that night. Truth be told, I think Belle was just as relieved. I'd had a lot more girlfriends than she'd had boyfriends—one of de girls I went out wit' for a while, she insisted I learn to braid her hair. Said it'd be useful someday. Anyway. As I said, I think Bella was just as happy I left. Our wedding day was only the second time we'd met, and she was just 17 while I was 19 going on 20. After most of a year living on my own, Trask caught me, and the rest you know."

His tone had a note of finality to it and after a moment of thought, Rogue ventured to speak. To Remy's surprise, she didn't recriminate him for not telling her sooner, or for leading her on, or anything he was expecting.

"Didn't you say you were on your way back home when Trask caught you?"

"I did."

"So if you couldn't go back because it would start the feud again, why were you going back?" Hope rose, unbidden, within her.

"Well, see, just before dat bâtard snatched me, I got a telephone call from mon frere. It seems that Bella has gone sweet on someone since I've been gone, and is willing to sign annulment papers as soon as I get back."

"An—an annulment?" Rogue repeated.

"Says the marriage never really existed in the first place. Should be easy to get, since the marriage was never consummated. Dat's by both church and state law, too. Julien doesn't want to kill me anymore, either, since I won't be sleeping with his sister now."

"Oh." Rogue considered that for a moment, then her features softened. "Remy, your family! They can't have heard from you in nearly five months! They must think you're dead!"

"Well, dat's a problem I've already addressed, see, I met this young aspiring pickpocket yesterday…" He related the story of young Henry to her. She rolled her eyes at his method of luring the kid into the alleyway, and her eyes lit with interest when he mentioned the tattoo.

"You have a tattoo? Can I see it?"

"Sure." Casually, he shrugged off his suit coat, and unbuttoned only the top couple of buttons on his button-down shirt before pulling the button-down and undershirt over his head. It was Rogue's turn to catch her breath as expanses of toned muscle were unveiled to her eyes. He turned his shoulder to her.

She examined the stylized tattoo closely, before venturing a finger to trace its lines. The tattoo ran from the smooth top of his shoulder nearly to the bottom of his shoulder blade. When her fingers tapped the hollow that marked the bone's edge, Remy jumped. Experimentally, she ran her fingers gently across the spot again. He twitched.

A tease was in her voice as she asked in her best Southern drawl, "Why, Mr. Remy LeBeau, are you ticklish?"

"Non. Not at all. Nope." Came the strangled response, as though he were holding in laughter.

She considered for a second, and dug her fingers into the spot. Remy nearly levitated from the couch, and spun, to face off her attack. "I think you are ticklish, Cajun!" She exclaimed, and proceeded to chase him around the room. The chase only ended when they inadvertently flipped over an end table, which threw a clock to the floor. Remy glanced at the time as he replace the clock. "Time for bed, chere, we've got work in the morning." He sighed.

"Guess you're right." She began to head for the stairs, and was startled when Remy suddenly hugged her, burying his nose in the curls atop her head. "Thank you, chere, thank you so much for believing me and not leaving this Cajun in the dust. Dunno if he could take dat right now."

She smiled into his chest. "It's all right, Cajun… Got it pretty nice here, don't think I want to leave anytime soon." She felt his smile before he released her, and headed upstairs.
"Bonne nuit, chere." He said softly, before going to get ready for bed.
She smiled, and did the same.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Remy awoke to the sound of a woman's cry. It took no more than a second to identify the voice: Rogue.

He rolled out of bed, and walked down the dark hall to her door. He tapped on it. "Chere?" The only response was a repeat of the sound. That settled it; he opened the door.

Rogue was perspiring, and her blankets were tangled and on the floor, as though she'd been kicking them in her sleep. She slept fitfully, her head moving from side to side, her hair tangling against the pillowcase. Another of her nightmares. We're away from Trask and Meyers for two months and they're still torturing her!

"Sssh." He soothed, as he sat on the edge of the bed. He projected calm and safety at her. "It's all right, chere. They're not here. It's just you and Remy now. Sssh. Just a dream you're having. No reason to be afraid. Sssh…." He stroked the damp hair from her eyes. Her sleep calmed somewhat, but not entirely. He grabbed the fallen blankets and gently placed them over her. It didn't seem to help much. Softly, he began to sing a lullaby his Tante had sung to him and his cousins when they were kids. Her sleep calmed entirely, and her face smoothed into normal sleep. After a time, her eyes heavily opened.

"Remy…?"

"Sssh, p'tite, just a dream."
"Don't leave me here alone…" She muttered, and her eyes closed. He looked at her for a moment, then replied, just as softly, "Wasn't planning on it, chere." He retrieved blankets from his room and dragged a chair close to her bed, wrapped the blankets around himself, and settled in to sleep close by should she waken again. Such a belle ange worth a bad night's sleep, no? He thought to himself. Just hope she remembers in the morning that she asked me to stay.

Gradually, he, too, fell asleep, and quiet descended on the apartment once more.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Review Responses:

Riderazzo—Thanks for your comments! Could you tell me why chapters 1-3 were particularly good, so I might be able to fix up the others? And Remy's WP name meaning is in there—Rogue reads it.

A.M.bookworm247—Yay, you've kept with it! Thanks! Sorry about my confusion; you'd referred to stories, plural. Was afraid you'd gotten me mixed up with someone else, your praise was so effusive. And don't skip homework to read fanfic! The fic will still be there! C'mon, I am not contributing to the delinquency of anyone here. : ) And this story isn't as weird as… what, if I may ask? And I try to only use clichés when I must; sometimes they do work well. Thanks for your comments, keep reading!

coldfiredragon—Hope you like this chapter. Lol I must have hit on a stroke of genius or something—everyone's loving the feebeis and the witness protection program. Yay! ishandahalf—sorry the quick updates stopped, comp ate a chapter (damned thing!) and I had my wisdom teeth removed to-day… sorta messes with the creative thing, being unconscious.

Allimba—grazie, please keep reading!

abril4—Aah, the New Boss angle, what will I do with him: )

Lady Godiva—Again with the slacking from studies—people, get your work done first, I guarantee you'll get your work done before I post again! Really! C'mon: ) Thanks for the enthusiasm.

DemonicGambit—No killing sprees? Good. Hopefully you got some chocolate for that withdrawal, but here you go!

enchantedlight—Thanks for reading!

heartsyhawk—Wow, more new people reading. I feel so special…. Does this count as "soonish"?

Eileen B—Aaah my faithful one. Hello to you too! Soon as I get back o campus to the servers there, I'll send out my beta to you. Hopefully you liked these parts too!

Sweety8587—get rid of the goatee? Por quois? Believe me, he needs the goatee...for now. Oh, and "Mazy" means "like a maze". Maze-y. a winding, twisting path. Got it?