It took Gambit a bit of exploration to find the kitchen. When he did, he found it occupied by Amara and Bobby (in his weeks of watching Rogue, he'd learned the names of almost everyone in the school) who, supervised by Storm, were making dinner.
"Beg y'pardon," said Gambit, addressing the teacher. "Mam'selle Gray said there might be something down here I could grab fo'a late lunch."
Amara and Bobby both stared at him for a long minute before turning to Storm for guidance. It was as though Apocalypse had wandered into their kitchen asking for a snack.
But Storm inclined her head without the slightest flicker of astonishment. "Of course. Dinner isn't ready yet, but there's plenty left over from yesterday. Few of us had much of an appetite." She went to the refrigerator and removed a Tupperware container. Gambit watched her move with appreciation and curiosity. She was graceful: no movement too hasty, no gesture unplanned. An inexperienced eye would have simply counted his quality as a part of her natural beauty, but Gambit knew better. The only people who moved like that were dancers and thieves.
She crossed to the microwave, but Gambit stopped her. "Don't bother." He took the Tupperware from her and charged it up. "Merci."
Scott Summers chose that moment to enter the kitchen. He stopped dead in the doorway and demanded, "Is that my shirt?"
Gambit grinned and squirmed his shoulders a little so he could feel the soft, expensive fabric rub across his back. "Pima cotton. Very nice."
"Gambit's clothes are in the washing machine," Storm informed him. "Jean lent him something to wear until they're dry. Did you need something?"
"Came to get a soda," said Scott.
"Have a cup of tea instead," Storm instructed. "You are agitated, and sugar will make it worse."
"Storm?" Hank McCoy stuck his head around the doorframe. "Can I get your help for a minute in the medical bay?"
"Certainly," said Storm. "What is wrong?"
"Logan's shoulder's dislocated."
Gambit raised his eyebrows. Logan hadn't even been favoring that arm. His pain tolerance had to be unbelievable.
"I am sorry to hear it," said Storm. "How would you like me to help?"
"Just come down. He won't swear when you're in the room, and quite frankly I'd like my ears to remain attached to my head while I reset the joint. I really think that his vocabulary's larger than mine."
Storm shook her head and sighed. "I will come. Amara, please see that the potatoes do not boil over."
"Sure, Storm."
Storm sent Scott a pointed, 'you-behave-yourself' look as she passed him in the doorway. Scott waited until she and Hank were gone, then took a Mountain Dew from the fridge and left. Gambit took a fork from the dishwasher and went to eat outside.
He circled the building as he ate, taking note of its impressive hidden defenses, its massive garage, its beautiful grounds. The curtains were drawn in Professor Xavier's office.
Once he'd finished the food—it had been a sort of stroganoff, bland to his Cajun palate but hot and nourishing—he returned the dishes to the kitchen and went in search of the laundry room. Somebody had already switched his clothes into the dryer. He let it run for a few more minutes, then pulled his things out and changed into them. Infuriating the Cyclops was all well and good, but Gambit felt safer in his own gear. Then there was nothing else to do but return to the entrance hall, where Rogue's friends were waiting in strained, nervous silence for some news from inside the office.
Jean emerged from the office more than an hour after she had gone in. Everyone in the entrance hall . . . Logan, Scott, Kitty, Kurt, and Gambit . . . jumped up, and Scott ran to put his arms around her.
"Rogue's going to be all right," she announced, letting her flushed forehead rest against that of her boyfriend. "At least, the Professor says so. Her mind is still . . . not quite right."
"How?" Remy demanded.
"I don't know. I'm not advanced enough in my telepathy to really understand it. And I need to take some aspirin and lie down."
"Encore merci," Gambit murmured.
Jean smiled at him. "Encore merci à vous." Leaning on Scott's shoulder, she headed upstairs to her room.
"Satisfied?" asked Logan, and it took Gambit a minute to realize that he was the one being addressed. "She's safe."
"I heard," Gambit answered.
"So there's the door."
"No," Jean announced from the top of the stairs. Even though she was still pale and unsteady, her voice rang out in calm command. "Rogue wants him to stay. She'll have a fit if he's gone when she comes out."
The Wolverine, who could pick up grown girls with a dislocated shoulder, had no weapons to counter either Jean's argument or her determination. He sat down on one of the entrance hall's curtained benches, flexing and relaxing his fingers as though his claws itched to have at Gambit's head. Gambit ignored him. Instead, he took a seat on the floor with his back against the far wall, eyes closed, perfectly still. Through his eyelids, he could see the light in the room shift as Kurt resumed his perch in the chandelier.
Silence reigned in the Xavier Institute.
When Rogue opened her eyes again, it was dim in the office. She felt wary, frightened, as though any of her movements could trigger a bomb or an avalanche. She knew that there was something she was not, under any circumstances, supposed to think about, but she couldn't remember what it was and was afraid to try.
"Rogue?" asked the Professor. "How do you feel?"
"Uh . . . okay, Ah guess." Rogue sat up, trying to re-accustom herself to the unrelenting solidity of everything. The dreaded memory didn't immediately spring to mind, which was a good sign.
"Memory modification tends to make one feel . . . odd," explained the Professor. "I would advise you to go straight to bed. Can you walk?"
Leaning heavily on the arm of the couch, Rogue tried to stand, only to find the floor pitching annoyingly underneath her. Not in a mood to put up with this kind of thing, she removed herself from the floor and hung comfortably in the air. Much better. She drifted off towards the door.
"I did say walk," said the Professor from behind her, a touch of amusement in his voice.
"Ah'll walk when the floor stops actin' like a seesaw," Rogue grumbled. She pulled the door open.
"Rogue? Are you okay?"
"Rogue!"
Kurt and Kitty were on top of her at once. Both of them immediately launched into long strings of questions, leaving no time for her to actually respond to any of them. Other students came pouring into the hall, attracted by the sudden noise, all with noise and questions of their own.
"What happened? They wouldn't tell us anything. I'm so sorry we left you in the mall! Are you hurt? Did you know Gambit's here? Sam saw you on the news; you fell out of an airplane! How did you escape? Where have you been? Are you all right? Are you all right?"
Then Kitty asked the question that brought the interrogation to a screeching halt. "Hang on . . . did you get taller?"
"Huh?" asked Rogue. She, along with everyone else, glanced down at her feet, which were still a comfortable four inches off the floor. "No. Ah'm just dizzy is all."
"You're not on the floor," said Kitty, in case Rogue had missed this rather obvious fact. "Did you absorb Jean?"
"No. Why?"
"Well . . . because you're floating."
"Y'all didn'know she could fly?" asked Gambit, smirking. "Comme vous êtes bêtes! Quite de left hook, too."
Rogue met his eyes across the crowd, a smile springing unbidden onto her face. He'd stayed to see if she was all right. It was so strange to see him standing there among her friends and teammates, like . . . . like a real person. She wouldn't have been surprised if he'd vanished into the last wisps of fog the moment she turned her back. But no—he'd stayed. And he was the only person not staring at her like she'd grown another head.
"Rogue," said the Professor gently, coming up behind her, "you really must go to bed. If you don't feel up to walking, Kurt can take you."
"Yeah." Kurt reached for Rogue's shoulder, but she pulled away.
"Just a sec," she told him. She drifted through the crowd to Gambit, ignoring how the other students made way for her. She had to say something to him before she fell asleep again, or he might vanish as abruptly as he'd appeared. But she didn't know what to say.
"Gambit—"
"Go sleep," he ordered her.
"Will yeh be there when Ah wake up?"
"If you want."
"Promise."
"Ma foi." He crossed his heart. Then he stood back so that Kurt could reclaim her attention and port her up to her room, where she promptly collapsed into bed. She was asleep before Kitty appeared to tell her that she needed to change into pajamas. This did not stop Kitty from making her change into pajamas anyway.
"X-Men," said Professor Xavier, addressing the crowd. Silence immediately fell in the hall. "I know that you're all glad Rogue has made it home safely, and that you all have a great many questions for her. I would ask that you keep your questions to yourselves for the time being. Rogue has been through a very trying experience, and needs time to adjust . . . as do we all. She will discuss all this when she is ready. Until then, please continue to offer her your love and support, no matter what changes may have come to her in her absence. Now I suggest you all go and wash up, as it is almost time for dinner."
Gambit was impressed with how quietly everyone seemed to take this. With a minimum of curious whispers, the group broke up. He saw Kitty take off upstairs, no doubt to join Rogue in the bedroom they shared.
"Gambit," said the Professor, "would you care to come in? I would like to have a word with you in private."
"He's armed, Charles," Logan grumbled.
"Yes, I know."
Gambit eyed the doorway warily. He could see straight off that the door wasn't wood: between the panels was a slab of metal. Of course, it made sense in a house full of young mutants to have the doors reinforced, but all the same, Gambit's instincts flinched. He didn't like being trapped. He'd had enough of that when he'd been working for Magneto.
Warily, he entered the comfortable and well-lit office. The wide windows gave him easy escape routes—unless the house went into lockdown, which the Professor could probably initiate without his even being aware. Gambit took a seat on the couch that Rogue had so recently vacated, sprawling languidly to give the impression he was much more at ease than was truly the case.
Professor Xavier pushed the door closed, then brought his chair over so he was face to face with Gambit. "I've seen in Rogue's mind all that you did for her," he began, "and I want to offer you our gratitude. Without your help, she would almost certainly have been captured, either by Mystique or by our honored colleagues in the U.S. Military."
Gambit inclined his head, acknowledging the praise without committing himself to anything.
"I'm eager to recompense you for your services."
Gambit raised an eyebrow. "What kinda recompense did'je have in mind?"
"Well, to begin with," said Xavier, "you're welcome to stay here until you're satisfied that Rogue is recovered."
"Merci."
"In fact, you are welcome to stay as long as you would like. I would be happy to count you among the X-Men."
Gambit grinned. "Me, an X-Man? You t'ink yo' bodyguard would approve?"
"Logan does not trust easily, but when his trust his earned, he becomes loyal to a fault. And he, like many others here, knows how difficult it can be to start your life over again. This is a place for new beginnings."
"Notwithstandin' de fact dat I've tried to kill just about every membuh of yo'team?"
"So did Rogue, before she joined us."
Gambit raised an eyebrow. "Bet she give you a run fo' yo' money."
"She was a formidable opponent. But she has been a valued member of this team for many years now, and no one here would have it any other way."
Gambit sighed. "Y'offer's mighty generous, Professuh. I might even'a took it. But I got some t'ings tuh settle before I take up de quiet life. Dis a one-time-only chance?"
"As long as I command the X-Men, the offer stands. You're free to go, if you need to, and you're welcome to return, if you can."
"Dey is one t'ing I'd like to do before I go, though."
"And that is?"
"Where'd yo'Golden Boy git to?"
The Professor smiled. "Ah, yes, I forgot. You and Rogue have a bet. Would you like me to have Scott give you a sparring session?"
"Nah. Jis' point me in de direction o'de Danger Room."
As soon as Gambit closed the office door behind him, Charles wheeled himself to his desk and picked up the telephone.
"Hello, Chris. This is Charles Xavier. I need to know about someone down at one of your Florida bases. I'm not sure which. The name is Danvers, D-A-N-V-E-R-S, Carol."
There was a long pause.
"Comatose? I see. Is there any brain activity at all?"
Another pause.
"M-hm. Thank you. Was she sufficiently insured? Enough to cover this kind of long-term care?"
Charles selected a pencil from a drawer and scribbled some numbers on his notepad.
"When the coverage runs out, call me. I absolutely insist. I'll see to everything. You needn't worry about confidentiality. Yes, I will. Thank you, Chris. Have a good night." The Professor returned the phone to its cradle and leaned back in his chair, sighing. "Perhaps," he murmured to himself. "Perhaps one day. But probably not."
Translations for the chapter:
Comme vous êtes bêtes! Gosh, you're all stupid!
And a note from the author:
I know that you're all used to an update per day, and I'd love to continue providing that, in gratitude for all the wonderful feedback with with you have been showering me. Unfortunately, my younger sister and I have a date with southern California this weekend. So Chapter 13 will be here on Sunday at the earliest. I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! But the long drive there and back will give me time to ponder and assemble my various plot bunnies into a coherent sequel . . . small comfort, I know, when you all want to know how Cyclops vs. Gambit turns out. I beg your patience, just for a few days. And feel free to lay your own wagers in the meantime.
I remain, your obedient
Seri R.
