Okay, chapter 7. Hope people like it :) Only one more to go after this...
For anyone who's interested, the story Remy tells Rogue here takes place a couple of years after he takes Logan to Three Mile Island.
Disclaimer: I own NOTHING. Wish I did, 'cus I have no money, but I don't.
Gambit is used to waking up beside beautiful women. He is well accustomed with the feeling of a soft, warm body pressed against his side, his left arm tingling because her head is lying on it. He is familiar with the first scent of the day being a flowery or citrus hair product, and the first action, before he's even fully awake, to gently wake her by dragging his lips up her throat, kissing delicately at the vein that pulses until he reaches her ear. His first words are soft, a mere breath as she stirs and he whispers "bon matin, chérie," before turning his head for a close-mouthed kiss, so as to avoid morning breath.
He is not used to waking up beside Rogue, however.
As is usual, he wakes slowly, feeling the pins-and-needles in his left arm and her soft curves lying against his side. He smells her hair, jasmine and some other scent he can't put a name to, not that he's trying very hard. He grins lazily as he remembers the previous night; getting back to his apartment at just gone four, kicking the door shut behind him as he gathers her into his arms and carries her, giggling, towards the bedroom. Her refusing to be carried all the way and spinning around to lift them both into the air, then dropping him on his back onto the bed, laughing at the expression on his face.
He rolls over so he can reach her neck better and begins his usual routine, brushing his lips along her throat. He's prepared for the usual reaction; a slow awakening, a satisfied smile when she realises what's happening, finished off by a simple kiss and a muttered greeting back to him.
What actually happens is that Marie wakes suddenly, her eyes snapping open as she smacks him in the throat. He gasps for air and rolls off her, coughing and rubbing at his neck. The blow brings tears to his eyes. He feels her roll off the bed, but doesn't hear her hit the ground. She must be flying. He doesn't much care why; he's more concerned with getting his breath and vision back. By the time he manages and rolls over to look at her, she is kneeling on the edge of the mattress, blushing and looking down at him guiltily.
"Are you ok?" she asks. He coughs once more and pushes himself to a sitting position so as to be level with her. He blinks at her, raising one hand to massage his aching throat.
"What the hell was that for?" he gasps, his voice raspy. It's going to take a while before he can talk normally again, though given her strength, maybe he should be grateful that he can talk at all.
She blushes deeper and looks down at her lap. "Sorry about that. I don't have the best experience with waking up to people leaning over me. Normally leads bad places."
He lets his hand drop and considers her statement. She is an X-Man, and while he knows that it's dangerous, he's never really thought about her being in that kind of position. Next time, he's going to find a different way to wake her up.
"It's ok, chère. No harm done." At least, he thinks not. Once his voice gets back to normal, he should be fine. "I didn't think about what it'd look like to you."
"I didn't hurt you, did I?"
He rubs at his throat again and shakes his head. "Winded moi. It'll heal."
"Sorry," she repeats, not meeting his gaze. He sighs, winces at the sensation it causes in his throat, then lifts her head gently and presses a kiss to her lips. She responds slowly, uncertainly. He shakes his head. How did Bobby react to that welcome in the morning, he wonders, not sure if he wants to think about his Rogue and her boyfriend in this position. He doesn't realise he's asked aloud until Rogue sniffs, her emotions spiking in anger and hurt.
"He didn't. Even though I'd taken the Cure, he'd never let me stay with him at night. He was scared I'd absorb him in my sleep, and not be able to stop."
Gambit blinks at her. Is she serious? He shakes his head at the stupidity of it, wondering privately why she ever agreed to date the little prick at all. "That's stupid. He's stupid. Don't you listen to him, Anna."
"I try not to," she agrees, calming down, her head tilting to one side as she regards him with amusement. "Anna?"
He blinks at her. "It's your name, isn't it?"
"Yeah, I just don't normally use it. Even with my parents, I was always Marie."
"Sorry, I won't use it again," he says, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. She stops him with her hand on his arm.
"No. No, it's ok. I... I like it. Nobody else calls me Anna."
He grins at her, warmth spreading through his chest at her words. Not only does he have her name, a thing denied even to her boyfriend, he has permission to call her by a unique version of it. With any other woman, this would mean nothing, but he is finding more and more that he wants to learn all these little things about her. He wants to have parts of her that nobody else does. And, even more strangely, he wants to give her those parts of him too.
He nods, leans over and kisses her once more, whispering "Anna," to her before he shoves off the bed and pads towards the bathroom. He is going to have a hot shower, and hope that the steam rids him of the unusual feelings this girl gives him. He calls to her over his shoulder, telling her to help herself to breakfast, he'll be right out. She calls back an agreement, and when he emerges into the kitchen ten minutes later, she has made him coffee – black, the way he likes it – and is sat at the table with her own mug wearing nothing but one of his shirts. He grins at the sight.
"I was looking for that a few minutes ago."
She looks up and grins at him cheekily. "Do you want it back?"
She reaches for the top button. He lets her undo two of them, bringing her cleavage into view before he shakes his head. "Non, you keep it. Looks better on you that it ever did on moi."
She smirks at him and turns back to her coffee. He grabs his own mug and sits beside her.
"So, that was quite the welcome. You always wake up that suddenly?"
She shrugs and apparently finds her mug very interesting all of a sudden. "Only when my 'sixth sense' goes off like that. You're lucky I was still half asleep; if I'd hit you at full strength, you'd have gone through the wall."
He thinks she's trying to make a joke, but her words are all too true, and her tone tells him that she's scared at how close she came to doing just that. He smirks at her and kisses her cheek. She watches him out of the corner of her eye.
"Well then, I'll just have to find a way of waking you up that doesn't set off this 'sixth sense' of yours. Maybe I'll poke you with a big stick next time; something that keeps me out of reach, hein?" he jokes. She looks up to him with wide eyes.
"Next... next time?"
"Ouais. There a problem, chérie? I thought you had fun last night."
Is he losing his touch? She wouldn't fake anything with him, would she?
She blushes and looks back at her coffee. "I did. I just thought, after I hit you..."
Oh, right. Her insecurities. He swears, if he ever meets Bobby face to face, he's going to beat him up then blow him up. Maybe he should thank him first actually. If he'd never cheated, then Gambit would have never met Rogue. Ok, so thank the little bâtard, then beat up/blow up. Remy grins. He likes this plan.
"Of course there'll be a next time, Anna. Unless you don't want to?"
"No! No, I mean..."
He leans over and kisses her. She squeaks in surprise, then kisses him back. She's a little breathless when she pulls away.
"Ok, so, when can I stay again?"
He laughs and opens his mouth to reply, but is interrupted by the upbeat jangle of his cell phone. He mutters an apology and picks it up, checking the caller ID before he answers.
"Bonjour Henri. You're up early."
"S'il te plait, tell moi you're not in New York."
Gambit blinks, frowning at the phone. He normally gets at least a 'bonjour' before they get down to business. "I'm not in New York."
Henri breathes a sigh of relief over the phone. "Good. Where are you?"
Remy rolls his eyes. "New York. I was just telling you what you wanted to hear. Why shouldn't I be here?"
Anna looks up at him as he says that, concern in her gaze. He puts his free hand on her shoulder, though who he's trying to reassure, he's not certain.
Henri swears violently in French. "You went to that bombing yesterday, didn't you? Fils de putain! It was a trap, Remy!"
Gambit pales and tightens his grip on Anna's shoulder. "The Assassins."
"Oui. Belle set them onto it; something about rumours you'd settled down in the Big Apple. Damnit Remy, how stupid are you? You know the Assassins are still gunning for you! What you thinking, staying in one place?"
"I..."
Henri sighs down the phone, and Remy can picture him in his mind, running his hand over his bald head as if he forgets momentarily that he has no hair to pull on. "Is she good in the sack, at least? She'd better be, to be worth dying over."
"Damnit, Henri, I'm not gonna die!"
Anna starts at these words, looking at his with wide eyes. Her emotions match his own; worry, shock, and not a little fear. And she doesn't even know Belle. Then again, the word 'assassin' probably gives it away.
Henri takes several deep breaths, making the line echo as he doesn't bother pulling the phone away from his mouth. "Non, you're not. You're gonna get the hell outta Dodge before they track you down and shoot you full of holes. Go anywhere; I don't care. But get outta there. Now."
"Henri..."
"No arguments. I'll call you back later. Be someplace else."
There is a second of tense silence, then Henri sighs and speaks once more, his voice soft this time.
"I love you, petit frère."
"Love you too, Henri."
Gambit hangs up and lays his phone on the table without seeing anything. He's too engrossed in his thoughts. It's Anna's hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing, that brings him back to the present.
"Remy?"
He shakes her hand off and stands, pacing around his kitchen agitatedly. She sits and watches him, waiting for him to calm down enough to talk. He takes a shaky breath and collapses into the seat opposite her, leaning his arms on the table and resting his forehead on his clenched fists.
"I've got to leave," he says quietly, muttering into his elbows rather than look her in the eyes. She rests her hand on his fists gingerly.
"There's somebody after you," she says softly. It's the kind of voice one uses when approaching a wounded horse, trying to keep it from bolting. He sighs and lifts his head, turning his hand over to entwine their fingers. She deserves to know.
"I told you I was raised a thief." She nods, her eyes trained on his. He takes a deep breath, then jumps in with both feet. There is no point in shielding her from his life any more. She's never going to see him again after today.
"I was adopted off the street when I was six. The man who adopted moi was Jean-Luc LeBeau, the head of the Thieves Guild. Raised moi in the profession; I was one of the best Thieves in the Guild. I was supposed to lead the Guild when he retired."
She squeezes his fingers gently. He smiles at her. So far, she's taking it well. Now for the hard bit.
"There is another Guild in New Orleans."
"The Assassins," she interrupts. He nods.
"The Assassins and the Thieves don't get along; been feuding for centuries. There was a pact to try to bring peace, stop all the fighting and the killing. I was supposed to marry the heir to the Assassins Guild, Belladonna Bordreaux. Belle.
"Her frère, Julien, he didn't like this plan. I didn't either, but if it helped stop all the killing, I'd have gone through with it. Almost did too. Was all set to say 'I do' when Julien bursts into the church, stinking drunk and waving a gun around, ranting about how a 'dirty Thief' weren't good enough for his sister.
"He starts firing pot-shots; don't none of them hit moi, but I ain't gonna just stand there and see if his aim improves, you know? I hit the ground, Belle's shrieking at everybody to grab him, but the first guy that tries ends up with a bullet in the chest, so nobody else wants to get too close. I ran down the side of the church, hiding behind the pews, managed to get close enough to grab him, knock him over. Charged the gun, grabbed it and threw it outside. Blew it up, thought it'd be safe enough then."
Anna takes his hands in both of hers and rubs little circles on his palms. He barely notices; he's stuck in the past, reliving the memories he's kept buried for years.
"I let him go, got to my feet. Thought someone else would grab him so we could get on with the wedding. Stupid. Shouldn't never turn your back on an Assassin. Next thing I know, there's a white-hot pain in my back, and when I turn around, Julien's standing there grinning, a knife in his hand with my blood on it. I got mad, grabbed for him. People were yelling and trying to pull us apart; I think Henri was trying to patch up my back best he could, I don't remember too clearly. Just pain and rage, and then I..."
He gulps, suddenly realising Anna is looking right at him. He drops his gaze to their hands and grips her fingers as tightly as he can.
"I charged him up. Didn't mean to; guess my powers reacted to the way I was feeling. Didn't even realise what I'd done 'til he..."
Anna moves around the table without letting go of his hands and pushes his chair back far enough to sit on his lap. He takes what she's offering and buries his head in her neck.
"I passed out, woke up three days later in some outta-the-way little motel with mon frère and père leaning over moi, telling moi to leave, that the Assassins were out for blood. I grabbed what I could carry and got the hell outta Dodge. Few days later, got a phone call saying they'd talked the Assassins outta having me killed on sight, but I was exiled from New Orleans. Can't ever go back home. That's been the hardest part. I miss them all so much.
"Got surgery to reduce my powers. Guy called Sinister. Creepy bâtard, but I was desperate. It worked; I can't charge living things any more. Cost a small fortune, but worth every cent.
"Lived like a nomad for years, passing from place to place, doing the odd job but mostly just... wandering. Reckon I saw most of the back roads of the US in those days. Stayed in some awful places...
Then, three years ago, Marius Bordreaux died. Belle took over the Guild, and the first thing she did was revoke my exile."
He pauses there. Anna waits a few seconds, then speaks hesitantly. "Isn't that a good thing? You can go home now."
He laughs hollowly, pulling back from her shoulder to rest his forehead against hers. She frees one hand and begins to rub it up and down his bicep. He smiles at her attempt to comfort him and continues.
"Oui, I can go home. I can go anywhere I like. Problem is, she didn't just call off the exile. Put out the kill-on-sight order too. Femme wants me dead real bad."
Anna's eyes widen, and her emotions whirl as she puts together what she heard of the phone call with the story he's just told her.
"They're coming after you here?"
He nods without pulling away from her, feeling her head move with him. He closes his eyes wearily.
"The bombing yesterday – that was them. Trying to ferret moi out, see if I really am in the city like they thought. Henri – mon frère – that was him on the phone. Told moi. I... I gotta go, chère. I gotta leave the city. If I stay, I'm dead. They'll find moi, and I'm dead."
He feels damp on his cheeks, and opens his eyes to see her face tearstained. She pulls him into a brief kiss, then pulls away and stands upright, still holding his hands in one of hers.
"I'll grab my things and go," she says softly, crying silently. Tears roll down her cheeks, and he stands and reaches out to brush them away. She lets him, smiling slightly and leaning into his touch, closing her eyes as his thumbs linger on her cheeks. She sniffs and moves back, clutching at the collar of the borrowed shirt.
"I'll give you the number for the mansion; please, Remy, call me and let me know you're ok. I know you can't tell me where you're going, but at least let me know you got out alive. Please."
He nods and kisses away the next two tears that well up. "Je te jure," he whispers, not taking his lips from her cheek. "I'll let you know."
She nods and moves away again, slowly working her way out of the kitchen backwards. She tugs at the shirt collar again and sighs.
"I'll take this off and go. Be safe, Remy, please. I need... I need to know you're safe."
"Keep it," he croaks, on the verge of tears himself. She nods, cracks a weak smile his direction, then turns and walks to the bedroom to gather her scattered clothing. He slumps against the table, wiping at his eyes and trying to work out why this hurts so much. He's known all along that someday the Assassins would find him, and he'll have to leave. He's prepared for it too; most of his possessions are in a travel bag under his bed. All he has to do is grab it and go; he can be out of New York in thirty minutes. So, why isn't he moving?
It hits him as Anna reappears in the kitchen doorway, dressed and clutching his shirt in her fingers. The Assassins blew up the Advice Centre yesterday, which means they were watching it. They must have seen him there, though if that's the case he's not sure why they haven't come for him already. He must have given them the slip somehow in the X-Men's rainstorm. He doesn't really care about that; if they saw him, then they must also have seen Anna. They'd have seen him run around the building looking for her, seen their interaction on the roof; hell, maybe they even saw them around together last night. She's in danger.
He hesitates in the kitchen as she looks in at him. The security system at the mansion is good, oui, but it's not going to keep out an Assassin. If he skips town, and they think that she might know where he is...
He can't do it. He can't leave her to face that. Invulnerable or not, he can't let her take the brunt of the Assassins hatred for him. Add to that the fact that there are a lot of young mutants at that mansion who aren't invulnerable...
She senses his indecision and tilts her head to one side. "Remy?"
He takes a deep breath. There is a way out of this, but she isn't going to like it. Nor will his frère or père, but he doesn't see another way. He can't put her in that danger. He can't. He exhales shakily, coming to grips with his decision, then nods and walks over to her, pulling her into his arms and breathing in the smell of her hair.
"I'll drop you off at the mansion," he says, leaving no room for argument. He looks up at him in surprise, but he kisses her firmly, not letting her argue, then pulls her from the apartment before she can resist. He doesn't bother with his emergency bag. He remembers to grab his keys, and leads her down to where he stashed his bike last night. She slides on behind him, wrapping her arms around him tighter than she did last time, but that's fine by him.
With a roar, he sets off for the mansion. He is going to make sure that she gets home safely, he's going to settle his score with her dick of a boyfriend, then he's going to do it. Nobody is going to hurt his Rogue. His Anna Marie. Not because of him.