Thanks to Scottfan, Avid reader, couplest, Jean1, ColossusR, NanamiYatsumaki, Anna Claremont, RRL24, Demon Flame, RachaelMaree, Warrior-princess1980, and all the guest reviewers! Last chapter was a lot of fun to see all of your insights!

BTW, she's baaack (sorta)!

Chapter 9

With their fight before bed last night, breakfast was another miserable affair for Rogue. She never thought she'd been happier than when the meal finally ended. As she left the dining room, she ran smack into Etienne.

"Oh, hey, sorry. Wasn't lookin' where Ah was goin'." Rogue apologized, letting some of the anger leach out of her voice when she saw it was him.

"It's no problem. Y' ready t' start trainin' t'day? Noncle Jean-Luc said y' needed an escort while yo' in de lower level." His confidence quickly melted into uncertainty as he added: "I thought maybe I could be yo' sparrin' partner too. If y' like, that is."

"Sure, Ah'd like that." Rogue genuinely smiled at his offer. "Lemme just go upstairs and change. Ah'll meetcha back down here in five?"

"D'accord." He agreed with a smile.

As promised, she was back in the short time and dressed in baggy yoga pants, an oversized long sleeved shirt, running shoes, and her ever present gloves. Together, they walked to the hidden door. Jogging down the spiral staircase, they rounded the last step and headed over to the master thief training room. Etienne quickly but discreetly entered the punch code and the doors slid open.

"We have all de equipment for a general workout. We can start there and then do a li'l sparrin' if y' feel up t' it." Etienne pointed out the designated areas.

Rogue stood in awe. The space was huge for the layout of the manor. This room had to take up at least half of the lower level's floor plan. There was no way anything more than the vault, Jean-Luc's office, and the training room could exist within the limited space. It meant her memorized blueprints were wrong. She was floored by all the room had to offer.

In one corner, every top of the line strength training machine was neatly arranged like sparkling chrome monuments. A section with a boxing ring and sparring mats took up another corner. But it was the majority of the space that was impressive.

In the main part of the room, a high tech, extreme obstacle course rose from the floor nearly to the ceiling. Balance beams, cargo nets, stunted ladders, uneven bars, mounted fitness balls, and a sheer rock wall jutted out at various heights. No harness equipment was visible in the immediate area. Each was intimidating on its own, but modifications made them seem even more impossible to master.

The rock wall was constructed a good thirty feet from the ground with few hand- and footholds. One wrong move would send the trainee to a nasty spill. And the uneven bars jutting out of the ceiling would cause serious injury if someone fell. As for the stunted ladders, they climbed to towering heights just below the ceiling without going anywhere except to a hanging rope.

The cargo net was made up of flat woven nylon bands arranged in a diamond pattern, each space between the bands no more than three inches wide. The smaller holes were okay for a few fingers but barely allowed the toes.

Though the balance beams were only about ten feet high, they were unbelievably narrow. And weighted blocking pads randomly swung over them. The mounted fitness balls were too small to navigate by foot, requiring a series of hand springs, flips, and twists to get over them.

If the obstacle course wasn't bad enough, a twenty square foot trampoline built into the floor rested directly below a maze like series of gymnastic rings at least fifteen feet above it. Right next to the trampoline was the same set up but with gym mats underneath a lowered set of rings.

The final section of the training room contained what Rogue could only describe as a bondage lover's wet dream. Nylon ropes hung from the ceiling while straight backed chairs and wide flat tables were bolted to the floor below. Various detainment devices were attached to each apparatus, ranging anywhere from plain handcuffs to straightjackets to ankle spreader bars and everything in between. Though it looked like some kinky fantasy playground, Rogue understood the area was used to train a master thief in the art of escape. Still, it gave her a creepy sensation to see it all in the open as if it was no more uncommon than the treadmill in the smallest section of the training room.

Smirking at her dazed expression, Etienne nudged her as he asked, "Y' ready t' get started?"

"Yeah, sure." She answered, startled out of her reverie.

As planned, they headed over to the strength training area. Rogue opted to get her heart rate up by running while Etienne worked on a rower. When a fine sheen of sweat turned her skin balmy, she jogged off the treadmill before doing a quick circuit to lightly work her major muscle groups. Etienne spotted her as she did her reps and when she was resting between sets, he worked in a routine for himself.

It wasn't until the sweat had started to bead down her back that Rogue finally felt she had gotten a good enough warm-up. Several days had passed since she was last able to work out and it felt refreshing to push her muscles into action.

"Ya ready t' try a li'l hand ta hand?" She asked Etienne, taking a swig from a nearby water bottle.

"Bien sûr! Les femmes d'abord…" He gestured for her to go first.

Rogue was nervous as she stepped onto the practice mat. The match itself and the confidence in her skill set were no cause for worry. Instead, she was concerned about hurting Etienne. From a young age, she'd been trained to assess her target before ever thinking about a kill shot. This time would be no different. In that sense, she figured her training wasn't much unlike the thieves. The best of the best cased a place before running headlong into unknown security measures.

No, instead she was concerned that she might actually hurt Etienne. Though not necessarily peacekeepers, the thieves were much less bloodthirsty than the assassins. She had been raised to ignore the moral implications of murder. What the assassins did was a job, nothing anymore unusual than taking out the garbage. It was a cold separation from the rest of humanity. The thieves also held this same lack of morality, but generally only where stealing was concerned. Many were disturbed by the prospect of having to kill or willing to use deadly force if necessary to survive. That same drive for survival and kill success had been drilled into her until it was instinctual.

Despite their "girl bonding" time yesterday, Rogue still felt as if Mercy was treating her kindly out of obligation. She didn't think her sister-in-law was being disingenuous, but neither did she have the warm and fuzzy feeling most people did over new family. Etienne on the other hand had taken an innocent liking to Rogue from the very start. He was completely transparent, his emotions clearly played in his words and gestures. And Rogue hadn't felt that honest connection with anyone in a long time. So she most certainly didn't want to use her skills on him if it meant hurting the fledging relationship. She would just have to take a dive to spare both his pride and physical well-being.

After a few light stretches to loosen up her limbs, Rogue began to bounce back and forth on each foot.

"Do y' have any specific style?" Etienne asked as he also limbered up.

Rogue gave an evil smile. "How well d'ya know Dambe?"

It was a West African fighting style that involved striking, kicking, and some wrestling elements. Gris Gris had taught it to her, just like his father had taught him and his grandfather had taught his father and so on through several generations.

"Dambe?" Etienne questioned. "Wow, didn't expect y' t' say that. I've only ever heard of it, never seen it done. But ain't it kinda like kickboxin'?"

"The American version, kinda." Rogue agreed.

"I think I can keep up then." Etienne tossed her a boyish grin.

As Rogue shallowly squatted into the Dambe opening stance, Etienne tried to imitate her pose.

"Here, lemme show ya the basics. Yer weak hand is yer shield. Yer strong hand is yer spear. Normally, ya'd wrap it, but we can go without it today." She said as she demonstrated the arm placements.

The shield extended high out front, her palm open and facing out. It kind of looked like she was trying to slap his shoulder instead of shake his hand. Her spear was a tight fist and kept close to guard her stomach and exposed side.

When Etienne repeated her actions, she said, "Good. Now when ya wanna feint, slap my hand. Like this."

She quickly darted her hand forward to slap his before retreating back with the same lightning speed. Egging him on, Rogue motioned for him to do the same.

"Got it." He agreed.

"Okay, so ya feint a coupla times ta get yer opponent ta drop his guard and put him in a false sense a' ease. Then when he's least expectin' it, ya strike wit' either a kick or a punch. The match is three rounds and a round ends if there's no activity; one of us halts it; or if one of our knees, hands, or body touches the floor."

"Don't seem too hard." Etienne slyly smirked at her.

"Uh-huh. Tell me that when we really start ta fight." She smiled back.

Just like she'd done earlier, she smacked his hand. But instead of retreating back, she brought her spear leg to slightly kick his calf. As she came down, all of her weight landed on that foot while her shield leg shot out high for a roundhouse kick to Etienne's head. He barely ducked out of the way of the blow.

"Whoa! Y' weren't kiddin'." He regained his balance and stepped back into the crouched stance.

All joking aside, Rogue concentrated on the match at hand. Even though it didn't look like it, she'd been ready to pull the kick short if Etienne hadn't moved so swiftly. It would take all her attention to make sure she didn't hurt him now that they were ready to fight.

Etienne slapped her hand as he'd been shown, Rogue staying firm against the feint. It had taken her a long time to patiently wait and keep her muscles coiled for an attack. She didn't know how many times Gris Gris had handed her ass to her before she gained the unwavering confidence of a master fighter. She slapped Etienne's hand in return, but made no move to attack.

The feints went back and forth for a few exchanges before he lunged forward with his spear fist. Rogue easily blocked the cross punch and attacked with another kick of her own, going for his ribs. A flurry of kicks and punches ensued until both competitors had their arms locked from making any further strikes.

Panting, Rogue said: "A referee would tell us ta break it up right 'bout now."

Etienne gave her a big grin as he stepped back. "All de more room t' strike again."

Once they were distanced, he gave the first slap and quickly followed it up with a kick to her shin. Rogue took the hit, but she hadn't been expecting the uppercut after it. Etienne hit her square in the chin. Maybe she didn't need to hold back as much as she'd thought. Shaking it off, she shuffled back two steps out of his range.

Their sparring went on for quite a while before Etienne lost his footing and braced his fall with his hand. The round went to Rogue. Sometime after the third round started, a small group crowded around them. Rogue ended up not throwing her punches as much as she'd anticipated and both of them were dripping sweat. As fatigue set into her muscles, she could see the same lack of fight in Etienne's eyes too. Both had taken a few good punches and kicks, but Etienne wasn't willing to give up.

Wanting to give him the victory of the win and boost up his ego, Rogue feinted before retreating back on her shield leg. It left an opening for Etienne to land a solid strike to her ribs. Going down to her knees, Rogue fully landed on her bottom. It was the closet to the "killing the opponent" face-down knock out she was willing to take.

"Looks like ya win." She said through heavy breaths.

Though weakened with exhaustion, Etienne's grin still beamed across his cheeks. "I think y' went easy on me."

"Bon sang droit." Remy's interruption wiped the smile from Etienne's face. "Never seen anyone throw a fight as obviously as she did just now."

Rogue furrowed her brow as she scrambled how to salvage Etienne's pride in winning. A furtive glance back showed the damage had already been done. Angry at the way his cousin ruined Etienne's good mood, she leveled a glare at Remy.

"Lemme guess, yer gonna challenge me now?" It was too predictable to be otherwise. "Prove how much better ya are?"

"As a matter a' fact," He said, stepping forward and pulling his tank over his head, "Ouais, I am challengin' y'."

Rogue slowly climbed to her feet. Since she hadn't pulled as many punches as she'd anticipated, she still had enough juice to fight Remy. But the fact still remained that she'd gone three intensive rounds already while he was fresh. The only way to keep up with him would be to pull out all the stops.

"Fine. No holds barred. No protection." She immediately called. It would be her only advantage.

"D'accord." Remy moved over to the boxing ring, pushing the ropes down to climb inside.

Reluctantly, Rogue followed. For the first time since marrying him, she let her eyes wander over his defined torso. She suddenly understood his reputation as a ladies man. It was obvious he spent a majority of his time in here toning the thick, corded muscles. His pecs were smooth, wide and firm, leading down to the ridges of his well sculpted abs. The sweatpants he wore hung loose on his hips, exposing the sharp cuts of his hip flexors. Overall, he looked like one of those Grecian marble statues she always had to touch to believe such beauty had been carved out of hard stone. She felt like running her fingers over the firm muscles to confirm what her eyes were seeing. It really was too bad he was an arrogant, hateful man.

Climbing into her corner, Rogue took the water bottle Etienne handed to her. After a few sips, she gave it back before turning to Remy.

"Trois rounds. First t' end up on de mat ends de round. No pullin' punches or throwin' de fight. Anythin' goes." He set down the ground rules as he moved toward the center of the ring.

Stepping up to him, she assumed a traditional fighter's stance, both fists close to her face with her elbows tucked in to protect her sides. Taking her cue, Remy repeated the stance before striking first. His rapid jab nearly caught her off guard, but she deflected it just in time.

She threw a right cross of her own which he quickly batted away. But it was only a ruse to get him to open his side for her short, stiff uppercut. The liver punch was a move she'd used to successfully take out opponents in the past. As if sensing her intent, Remy counterbalanced just enough that she landed a swiping glance to his ribs instead.

"Figthin' dirty already?" He taunted her.

"Last time Ah checked, that was a legal move." She refused to rise to his bait.

Ready to end the round and prove him wrong, Rogue tried for a sweeping kick to knock his feet out from under him. But as her leg connected with his, he grabbed the underside of her thigh and quickly stepped forward. Taking advantage of her unbalanced backward momentum, he continued to surge forward until her supporting leg failed and she tumbled onto her back. Remy continued with the follow-through, extending his arm toward her throat as he squatted over her. Stopping his fist right before he crushed her windpipe, the anger in his eyes held no satisfaction. First round: Remy.

"Gon' have t' do better than that fille if y' think y' can beat me." He spat out.

Ignoring him, she batted away his fist and hopped onto her feet from her back in a rolling push up jump. Rogue retreated to her corner for some more water. Shame burned her cheeks. She'd let him get under her skin and forgotten her training. She was so wrapped up in ending things quickly that she didn't bother to observe her opponent to learn his weaknesses. And since she'd never seen Remy fight before, she had no prior knowledge about his skill set.

Clearing her mind, she stepped back toward the center of the ring. She would have to sacrifice this round so that she could pick out any flaws in his form. As agreed, Rogue wouldn't take a dive. But she wasn't going to do much more than block his attacks either.

"Bring it on." Rogue spat back at him.

They both put their arms up in the opening stance, but this time Rogue hooked first. Remy easily blocked her punch and tried for the same uppercut to her ribs she'd tried to give him earlier. His swing missed as she narrowly hopped back out of his range.

Quickly advancing forward, he used a fouetté. The whip like roundhouse kick allowed him to attack and advance at the same time until she was backed into the corner. With no place for her to go, Remy's kick landed firmly on her chest. But after taking the hit, she countered with a low kick to his shin.

Though the hit landed, Remy opted for a right cross toward her chin. Rogue barely had enough time to block it, but the punch left him open for her hook-jab-cross combo. Easily blocking her volley, he powered back with his own series of punches. The focus on crosses, jabs, uppercuts, and hooks left her feet free to skip away from the corner and back toward the center.

They continued their dance of kicks and punches for several minutes. Each landed solid hits on the other; neither gained a clear advantage. But Rogue had learned some very important things about Remy. He always followed his back-fist, cross back, hook punch combo with a roundhouse kick. When he tried a one-two punch, he feinted before going into a rear knee kick. And when he finished blocking her hook, his left side was completely exposed.

Seeing a few opportunities to exploit, Rogue lunged forward with a median chassé kick to his thigh. It was meant to throw him off guard so he would block and leave himself open for her hook. But instead of the quick piston like kick darting in and out, Rogue immediately noticed his knee waiver.

Before Remy could recover, she slammed a second median chassé into the exact same spot as he tried to hop away from her. She'd temporarily cut blood flow to his femoral artery. Involuntarily, he went down to his knees before falling onto his side on the mat. Rogue was about to surge in with a killing blow move, but Remy rolled up as she stepped closer.

Realizing that he might object to her knock out, she pointed out: "Ya went down. The round's mine."

Remy's response was sour. "Apprécierez. Y' won't win de last."

Moving back to center, they each reset their stance. Barely a second passed before Remy jutted out with a right cross and coup de pied bas. Not expecting the sweeping kick to her shin, Rogue started to tumble backward. Reaching out, she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck in a collar tie. With a strong grip, she flung her other hand out to brace her fall. From there it wasn't hard to hook her leg around his and bring him down with her.

Even though he touched the mat too, the round was his as soon as her back hit it first. But she was bound and determined to prove her worth. He'd landed on top of her, his chest flattened against hers. One of his legs rested between her thighs because of the way she'd hooked him on their way down. Similarly, her leg was pressed against his groin. Both of his hands were flat on the mat as he tried to break the holds. Her hand was still locked around his neck, bringing his sweating face close to hers. Their lips were inches apart. But her free hand had landed in the perfect position for her next move.

"I win." Remy panted in her face, triumph gloating in his eyes.

"Really?" Rogue countered as she flicked her wrist.

She never went anywhere without her Bloodletting karambit. She'd put her shoulder harness on under her shirt and had been able to slide it out as they fell. With a simple twist, she could slice through his side like his skin was butter.

"Y' sure 'bout that?" His triumph was replaced with an odd confidence.

Remy's eyes flicked down toward her knife and she broke her gaze away from his long enough to take a quick peak. The curved, claw-like blade glowed bright cerise, as did her shirt.

Leaning ever so closer, he whispered in her face, "Bang. Yo' dead."

His cocky smirk infuriated her beyond rationality. Surging up, she closed the distance between them and pressed her lips fully against his mouth. His eyes widened in horror, but Rogue held the clinch hold around his neck. Quickly turning her power on full blast, she concentrated on only gaining his mutation and the knowledge of how to control it. Draining him unconscious was a secondary thought. She needed him weakened just enough to push him off. She didn't really want to hurt him.

As the thick, black spidery veins began to pop up on his face from the effect of her mutation, she gained just enough of his powers to de-charge her blade and shirt. The reabsorbed energy tingled through her body but gave her a strange strength. Rogue could feel the kinetic energy of everything around her. She also felt a surge of enhanced agility and dexterity, using it to roll him off of her. As Remy gasped and tried to fight off unconsciousness, she straddled his hips. With one gloved hand on his shoulder, the other held the blade against his throat.

"Nope. Looks like you are." Rogue held the pose as he continued to choke for air.

When she was sure her point had been made, she climbed off of him and headed toward the edge of the ring. The other thieves stood in shock, giving her a wide berth as she hopped down. Behind her, Remy rose to his knees.

Regaining enough air, he coughed out, "Y' cheated! I won de round first."

"Maybe so." She threw over her shoulder. "But Ah got the kill."

Feeling a mix of emotions aimed at her ranging from awe to hostility, Rogue headed toward the door. Etienne ran to catch up with her, serious about his role as escort.

"No one's ever beat Remy before. At least, not since he earned his mastery." He was one of the awestruck bystanders.

"First time for everythin'." Rogue countered, not really in the mood to talk about it.

"Y' have t' admit though, that last bit was a dirty move." Etienne tried to smooth things over. "Even if they didn't like yo' method, y' earned some respect wit' some of de other thieves just from yo' mad skills."

"That's nice." She strode over to the spiral staircase and started to jog up the steps.

She could honestly care less if she gained any friends or made more enemies. She just wanted to get as far away from the training room as possible.

"Hey! What's a' matter?" He grabbed her elbow to get her stop.

The grip halted her as she turned sad eyes on him. "It's nothin'. Ya wouldn't understand."

It was true. He had no clue what it was like to have to fight for his life from the time he was eight. Etienne didn't understand that her little maneuver wasn't a means to end a match, but rather the only way she knew how to earn anyone's respect. In the assassins, a person's worth was determined by how well he or she could execute a kill. And it was drilled into them from the time they were children. Just like the thieves had loose morals around stealing, the assassins held no ethics for "fighting dirty". Using every resource available was just common sense.

"Well how 'bout we get outta de house and forget all this. Y' ever been in a pirogue before?" He tried to change the subject.

Even though she'd just done a good job of bringing his hero down to a human level, Etienne was still oddly interested in her. It should have given her pause. Why was he still so insistent on being friendly? But Rogue was too worked up over what had just happened to think straight.

"Uh-uh." She answered as she began climbing the stairs toward Remy's suite. Though she'd heard mention of the small, canoe like boat, she'd never actually been allowed out to see one, much less use it.

"Maybe we could go now. I got nothin' better t' do for de rest of de afternoon." Etienne hedged.

Rogue didn't even think twice as she said, "Ah don't think so."

"Oh. D'accord." His dejection rang solidly in her ears. "Maybe some other time."

As she continued on to the third floor, he back peddled the few steps to the second. Already feeling horrible about the scene in the training room, Rogue couldn't stand disappointing someone else.

With a sigh, she asked, "How 'bout next week?"

"It's no problem. Y' don't have t' go." Etienne waved her off.

Tilting her head back, Rogue took a deep breath before going back down the stairs. "No. Really. Ah'd like ta go next week."

"Ouais?" The hopeful note was back in his voice.

"Yeah." She gave him a weak, but encouraging smile as she clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Ah'm really tired now though and Ah just wanna take a shower."

"Bien. I'll see y' 'round then." Etienne beamed back at her before hopping down the last few steps to the second floor.

Once he was out of sight, Rogue made her way upstairs. As soon as she was in Remy's suite, she was assaulted by the ringtone used only for Marius. With a curse under her breath, she rushed over to her side of the bed and grabbed the phone before her voicemail could pick it up.

"Bonjour." She forced her breath to calm so she wouldn't sound weak.

"Fille." Marius said by way of greeting. He continued in French. "I haven't heard an update since y' left us."

She wanted to say 'that's because there's been nothin' ta report', but she knew she couldn't sass off that way. Instead, she answered: "Ah'm workin' on it. They still don't trust me, but Ah've made a little progress."

"That is not a good enough report. Do y' wish t' displease me?" He asked. It was a bait he used to provoke someone into either action or insolence.

"No, père. Ah'll have more next time we speak." Rogue promised, though she may have to come up with more of the lie she'd already started.

Unlike loving fathers, Marius' closing was a threat. "Bon. Make me proud."

Pressing the button to end the call, he immediately dialed another. The shortened beep-pause cadence was indicative of an international call. The pattern repeated several times before a person on the other side finally picked up.

"Patriarch, I wasn't expectin' yo' call." The weak, male voice on the line panted out.

"I would hope that isn't de way y' are treatin' my daughter." Marius reminded .

"Non! Of course not. Bella Donna is bein' treated très bien. I wouldn't dream-" He started with placation, but Marius cut him off.

"Assez! There has been a change of plans. Belle must stay wit' y' longer." Marius instructed.

"Mais bien sùr!" The man vowed, ingratiating himself to the assassin leader.

"I expect her to be returned in excellent condition when de time comes." Marius reminded him.

"It shall be no other way." He responded, but Marius had already hung up.

The man sank back in the chair for only a moment before he nervously jumped back up and headed over to the heavy steel door. Sliding it across the flagstone flooring, bright light flooded the dimly lit holding cell. The young woman restrained in the chair struggled at her chains. Her muffled protests were rough from screaming herself hoarse.

Even though Bella Donna was blindfolded, gagged, and held in place by thick, heavy chains pulling her arms behind her back, her ears had remained completely free. She could hear everything that had happened since she woke up in the metal chair.

"Now princesse, I am under strict orders from de Patriarch. If y' keep fightin' it, y'll only be hurt." Her captor said as he entered the room and crossed over to her.

From the first moment he'd spoken, Belle had clearly recognized his voice. It was Monsignor Renault. The priest who had conducted her pre-cana with Remy.

His hand landed on her shoulder as he gently squeezed it before traveling down to grope her breast. A gentle kiss landed on top of her head. Belle mumbled expletives at him. She didn't believe what he'd said for one second. She was her father's favorite and he'd never instruct anyone to hold her hostage and treat her the way she had been. Her only conclusion was that he'd kidnapped her.

There was no way to tell time other than one of the three times she was brought a nourishment shake each day, so she had no clue how long she'd been wherever she was. And besides being bound and gagged, she'd been more than physically abused. Once a day, her captor gained added pleasure when he took it upon himself to sponge bathe her. His hands wandered to placed only Remy had previously touched.

There were still too many unknowns in her escape plan, but Belle did know two things that would happen when she got free: the monsignor was a dead man and she swore revenge on whoever helped him miss her wedding to Remy.

(X)

Bien sûr! Les femmes d'abord - Of course! Ladies first...

Bon sang droit. - Damn straight.

fouetté, median chassé, and coup de pied bas are kicks in Savate

Apprécierez - Enjoy.