The Ante

by octobertown

When Gambit left Rogue on the shores of Blood Moon Bayou, he slipped a playing card into her hand. More than a conciliatory gesture, it signaled the start of something that carried the understanding: Never bet more than you are willing to lose.

25. On the Outside

Title: The Ante
Chapter 25: On the Outside
Fandom: X-Men: Evolution
Author: Lucia de'Medici
Summary: Never bet more than you are willing to lose.
Extended Summary: When Remy LeBeau left Rogue on the shore of the Ripper's bayou hideout, he slipped a solitary playing card into the palm of her hand. It was a conciliatory gesture — an offer for friendship, an unspoken apology, and the beginning of a less-than-friendly game between rivals. A year has passed, the stakes have been raised, and Remy is not a person who enjoys entertaining the idea of folding before the bluff gets called.
Rating: Teen/Mature
Pairing: Rogue/Remy
Warnings: Language, innuendo, angst, scenes of a naughty nature
Author's Notes: Thanks are extended to Lisa725 and Sionnain, my two brilliant betas.
Disclaimer: All characters and situations remain the property of their respective owners. Considering Marvel has not contacted me to write for them as of yet, I think it's safe to say they ain't mine.

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The Ante
Chapter XXV: On the Outside
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Set against the darkness that turned the windows glossy black and disconsolate, a delicate ashen flurry trailed down on their heads where Rogue and Remy sat in the server room of the Thieves Guild Mansion.

The floors were warm, warmer still was Rogue's bare hand where she pressed her fingers together, feeling the residual tingle of latent kinetic charge like a series of red ants marching across her skin.

"Damn," she breathed, doubly surprised by her choice in destroying the Black Queen as she was with the sensation of Remy's absorbed powers manifesting so suddenly. The afterglow of the small explosion felt absurdly good rippling through her body, like shockwaves ebbing out of her, a pronounced throbbing that left her feeling utterly relaxed.

No wonder Gambit was so laid back – if this is what it felt like for him all the time…

"Looks good on y'," Remy murmured, draping his elbows over his raised knees and catching her attention. "De eyes, I mean."

"Move, Cajun," she replied flatly, rubbing her fingers against her leg to work off the echoing burst of power.

"Or what?" he challenged, thrusting his chin out defiantly, drawing a card from the neatly settled deck between them. Pulling back his thumb, he cocked the two of clubs beneath his nail, releasing it to thwap her lightly on the nose.

Rogue scowled.

"Or Ah'll drop ya like second period." To emphasize her point, Rogue waggled her bare fingers in front of his face. It was a hollow threat, and it didn't seem as if Remy really cared all that much to begin with.

"Y' know y' just want t' put y' hands all over dis homme, chérie," he hummed, slanting his eyes at her.

Rogue yanked the card out of his fingers, and snapping it between her thumb and index finger, flicked it outwards so that a dull sizzle passed through the paper – sending up a flash before disintegrating just short of his nose.

"Damn, it's already fading," she muttered.

"Now y' fishin' f' an excuse t' touch m'… m' flattered," he hummed, "but y' know y' don't need t' fabricate dese intricate lil' protestations, chérie. If it feels right, y' might as well do it again t' see if it's just as good de second time…"

"Right, that's why ya keep glancin' at my chest, huh?" she shot back, ducking beneath his leg and snatching up the lost latex glove. "That yo' way of seducin' a girl, swamp rat?"

Wriggling into it proved more difficult than the first time, since much of the inside powder coating had worn off. Who knew her palms had been sweating?

"M' known t' appreciate de finer t'ings," he purred, tracking her movements as she settled beside him again. "Beautiful forms included."

Rogue snorted. "Touch me and Ah'll give ya a beatin' so sound you'll be feelin' it next Tuesday."

"Mmm," he rumbled, his voice husky, "I like a fille who leaves a mark behind."

"Ya just askin' for it, aincha?" she chuckled good-naturedly, giving him a quick once over that left him blinking at her. Unfortunately, it only took him a second or two to recover from her direct appreciation.

"Would it help if I said please?" Remy tipped backwards, abdominals clenching beneath the taut fabric of his tee shirt, to peer up at her with a pout.

Roughly, Rogue sat him up straighter, her fingers hovering at his back, releasing him quicker than she wanted. Her thumb twitched, edging closer to the dip of muscles leading into the bend of his spine, and stalling just short as soon as she noticed the rebellious journey of her fingers. Remy looked over his shoulder at her hand pointedly. Raising an eyebrow, he nonetheless complied, positioning himself so that Rogue had better access to his arm and not leaning back into her touch.

"P'tit?"

Rogue dug through the heap of medical supplies, extracting a sealed packet of gauze. It took a moment of careful scrutiny, looking at his shoulder, to decide where to start. Inspecting his injury dampened the urge to touch him any more than need be.

"Say what ya will, Cajun, but Ah don't want ta hurt ya anymore than necessary. This cut looks like shit."

"S' just a flesh wound," he said flippantly. "No harm, no foul. Don't change de subject."

"Ya know what Ah mean, so cut the macho crap for a second and let me be concerned for yo' well-being." She mopped at the mess as best she could, clearing away some of the rivulets that had caked down his arm. Making a face, she began swabbing at the larger part of the damage. The skin wasn't split open badly, and it didn't appear that he'd need stitches – but nonetheless, if she couldn't see skin, she wouldn't know for sure how badly he was hurt.

"Didn't know y' cared, chére," Remy mused aloud.

"It's a general sort of carin'," she mumbled, flushing heatedly and recalling his accusation from days before. "For everythin'."

He chuckled. "Sure." Just as quickly, he sobered. Rogue could feel the weight of his gaze like a warm heaviness across the top of her head.

"Y' powers?" he asked after a moment, almost guardedly. It was enough hesitation to draw her attention back to his face. Nothing other than the usual, casual indolence and wry twist of the mouth greeted her, but for a moment, Rogue wondered if she hadn't seen a flash of something vaulted peering through.

Nodding slowly, Rogue peeled back his shirtsleeve where it had fallen into the laceration, and frowned. "Can't be too careful with ya," she conceded. "Don't know what Ah'll do if Ah get too much of ya stuck in my head."

He snorted. "I'd say dat'd be a damned fine t'ing indeed."

"Ya notice anything, Cajun? Anything out of whack when ya charge stuff?" she asked cautiously, her curiosity getting the better of her. Below her hands, Remy stiffened, relaxing just as quickly.

It made the blood run afresh, and Rogue swore under her breath at the fresh mess of oxidized scarlet coating her fingers. "Damnit, Remy – ya bleed too much," she complained.

Scrunching her nose, she leaned forwards to better inspect the wound where it wept. Strange, she thought… it seemed as if there was more than one piece of meat missing from Remy's arm. Beneath all the blood, it was hard to tell.

"Mebbe we should leave dat conversation f' another time, Doc," he said carefully.

Rogue stopped her cleaning, pressing the gauze down to stop the fresh trickle that started so she could look at his face, rummaging blindly through the heap of medical supplies with her clean hand for the iodine.

"We'll talk?" he asked, uncertain. Rogue paused, her arm coming up automatically to brush the hair out of his eyes, and hesitated. Her hand hung there, fingers curling inwards at the sudden, uncontrollable desire to keep in contact with him nearly overriding her reluctance. She drew back, swallowing hard, and turned back to the streaked mess of his shoulder.

Remy took in every move, his body perfectly still, though his eyes moved with her each time she shifted beside him. There was something guarded about him that she hadn't noticed before.

"Yeah, later, we can talk," she answered. "Cher –" Rogue winced, trying to wipe the traces of his accent from her speech patterns. "Remy," she emphasized, "If this is about Etienne…"

"Oui," he answered quickly. Too quickly in fact. A glance to his lap revealed that he'd gathered the nearest deck of cards he could lay his sticky paws on, and he was shuffling with a speed that made her head hurt when she looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

He did that when he was nervous – or skirting the fact that he was nervous. As it was, Remy had already lapsed back into flirting with her to steady himself. Somehow, Rogue understood that while he kept her rattled, Remy leveled himself off.

What a mess. Why the heck couldn't things be simpler with him? Granted, there was a solution… a nasty little thing, at that, but nonetheless, something was better than nothing. Rogue wet her lips, unscrewing the top of the iodine carefully and setting it beside her knee. For a moment, she stared at the bottle so hard she thought she might blast it halfway across the room.

More surprising still was that even as she made the offer, she realized it sounded no more menacing than inviting him to go for a stroll through the swamp.

"If ya let me, Ah could absorb ya," she said slowly.

Remy's head snapped around so quickly that his neck must have cricked.

"Ah mean, it was hard for Theoren," she added hastily, "but he's got things all screwed around – so much so that Ah think he was messin' with my head there. When Ah… absorb someone, the way Ah react ta certain things gets colored by what the person was feeling."

Even when he was gobsmacked, Remy maintained forcible control over his features. Inwardly, Rogue sighed. There, she thought to herself. Not so hard after all.

"Y' really don't t'ink m' a total coyoon, do y'?" he asked.

"Gambit," Rogue returned sternly. "The both of ya – you and Theoren, ya got some serious issues ta work out between yo'selves. Ah'm beginnin' ta think yo' whole family doesn't have the slightest clue what it means ta sit down and hash things out like normal folk."

"S' sorta hard when y' de black sheep," he groused in response.

Laughing outright, Rogue merely shook her head at him. "Ah think Ah might have fought ya too hard when ya said we were alike. Cajun – Ah know."

"Non, y' don't," he returned. "Y' got y' loyalty t' de X-Men 'cause y' come t' t'ink of dem like home. Me?" He lifted his good hand, counting off from thumb to pinkie finger. "I got m'self. I got a father who never tells m' de whole story, a cousin who t'inks I left his brother t' die, an' a full Guild who'd rather see m' dead den set foot back in dere city because Julien was too hasty. M' brother? Yeah, he's fine – Lapin too, despite bein' a runner more den a fighter, an' Mercy would stand by m' if dere was no other choice. But watch, Rogue – just wait an' see how t'ings go down if Jean Luc tells dem t' do otherwise." Roughly, Remy snapped up his cards again, cutting and shuffling one-handed with a nimbleness that would give anyone else carpal tunnel before they turned twenty.

"Ya got me," she said quietly. "Ah'll be here for ya, Remy. If ya need me to."

Remy paused in his tirade, his expression softening, turning nearly wistful. The cards drooped to the floor, forgotten. "Y' shouldn't make promises y' can't keep, chére."

"Ya said it yo'self; yo' indebted ta me, aincha?" Rogue cocked an eyebrow. "Ah'm callin' ya on it."

"I didn't say dat, exactly –" he tried to argue, the gleam in his eyes dimming in increments.

"Ya didn't say anythin' at all, swamp rat. Ya can pick at the semantics until yo' intricate little spider web unravels at yo' feet, but if ya can't dance out of it fast enough, there's gotta be someone there ta catch ya when ya trip up."

Remy fell silent, inspecting the cards beneath his palms with an intensity that Rogue found almost unsettling.

"Ah don't want ya keepin' anything like this from me again," she continued gently. "Ya want my trust, well this is part of the deal. Ah can respect that there are… things… that ya don't like about yo'self because of what ya been through before, but maybe… Well, Ah know Theoren wouldn't listen to ya if ya tried ta reconcile with him, but if Ah knew both sides of the story, then maybe when he wakes up Ah could try ta reason with him," she finished quickly.

"Y'd do dat f' me?" He sounded surprised, although the tightness in his jaw belayed a unique breed of suspicious skepticism that Rogue found oddly enchanting. For someone who found it so easy to skirt the edges of the truth, she hadn't considered what it meant for him to be offered a reluctant sort of solidarity.

Rogue switched the gauze pad, discarding the soaked one to continue cleaning his shoulder. At this rate, he'd never get bandaged up. It didn't seem like he needed bed rest, but in the least, she had to disinfect the wound and give him a band-aid… if not something a little larger.

"It means Ah'd be gettin' a piece of ya in the process," she deadpanned.

"S' not a problem," he shrugged, and Rogue had to grip his shoulder to hold him in place. "If I concentrate, I can pull out just de one memory. 'Sides, at dis point," he flashed teeth, "I'd give y' whatever piece y' wanted, chérie."

"Pig," she muttered. "Hold still, would ya?" Remy fought with her a moment, flexing the muscles in his arm so that she had to strain to keep hold. If he was trying to keep her clutching onto him as long as possible by struggling, she'd conk him in the head sooner than let him bleed to death.

"That's what ya did back at Xavier's the first time, wasn't it?" she asked through grit teeth, forcing his hand down to his side, genuinely curious of how he had developed that much control. If that were the case, the possibility that the stone very well could be the solution to her problems was enticing indeed. Remy settled his arm once she'd permitted him to rest his palm on her knee.

"Précisement, mais… what does dis mean exactly?" he pressed, idly drawing a light pattern over her leg.

"It means," she sighed, trying vainly to ignore the shapes he was making through her sweatpants, "that Ah can't expect everything ta just work out without a little effort, Ah guess. Ah know it's hard ta relive that sorta thing, but Ah've been doin' it for years." She shook her head, inhaling sharply at the residual warmth his fingers left on her thigh. "There's no one better than me who knows what that feels like… So Ah can't see why not. Ah'm just sorry Ah fought ya for so long on it, that was…" Rogue bit down on her lower lip.

"Selfish," Remy replied, nodding solemnly.

"Shut up, Gambit!" Rogue yelled, drawing back a hand to smack him. "Ah'm tryin' ta do somethin' nice for ya and there ya go brow-beatin' me like a sorry sack of –"

Remy's face split into a wide grin, and laughing, he caught her wrist, drawing his fingers beneath hers and maneuvering her hand to his mouth. Placing a lingering kiss on her knuckles, he lidded his eyes.

" – Shit," she finished lamely.

"S' not what I was t'inkin' about," he murmured through her fingers, the tips of the gloves ghosting over his lower lip, and his gaze trained on her. The look on his face indicated that he was thinking of much more unwholesome things. It figured.

Remy leaned in a little closer, seemingly satisfied that she didn't share Theoren's poor opinion of him. The movement made her edge backwards only slightly. "Does dis mean we get some alone time?" he asked conspiratorially, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

Rogue pressed down on the gauze over his wound with her free hand, forcing him backwards and making him hiss. Inwardly, she smiled.

"Yeah, swamp rat, it does." She smirked, yanking her hand back and continuing to swab at his arm. "But not if ya bleed ta death first. So stop movin'."

"Dieu… Y' somet'in' else when y' get all bossy like dat," he breathed.

Rogue rolled her eyes. "Really? Good. Ya can just go ahead and shut up now so Ah can finish this… Consider that an order."

"If I do, y' gonna kiss it better?" he whispered.

Rogue ignored him, but it didn't stop her ears from searing, or the one, wayward thought that whispered, "Ah just might."

Slowly, the damage was becoming visible, revealing more than one cleanly made laceration. With the blood continuously welling up, it was difficult to tell how deep the cuts were. "Ah don't know if Ah should try cleaning it and wrappin' ya up, or if Ah should just apply pressure until the bleeding slows. Yo' a mess," she said instead, making a face.

"M' a marked card, chérie – bit o' shade work t' keep dis joker de one interesting t'ing in de deck," he remarked. "M' gonna hold y' t' it, by de way. Don't t'ink I won't."

"Ta what?" she asked, looking on demurely. It was an admirable show that she hadn't burst into sniggers at Remy's look of righteous indignation.

"Now who's bein' evasive?" he goaded.

Rogue merely shrugged. "Lex Talionis, Cajun. An eye for an eye. Ya can keep houndin' me as long as ya like, Ah think it's sort of sweet… in an oddly pathetic kinda way."

He scoffed, but allowed her to tend to him nonetheless. "Suppose I deserve dat," he noted blandly.

She glanced at him, partly interested that he was acting more sullen than usual, despite her willingness to give him her unconditional support, the promise that she'd stick by him. Hell, she'd blown up a figurative representation of herself to prove to him that she was ready to claim something terrifying and unexplored. She was ready to become the Queen of Hearts, his lady luck when every other option ran out. What the heck else did he want?

It was a fleeting look – battered male pride or something of the like. It occurred to her then that in finding her after he'd returned home, she hadn't yet asked him how he'd managed to get banged up so badly. Truthfully, she'd assumed that he'd met up with the Assassins – and if that were the case, she had to wonder if Belladonna really was out to bump Remy off the New Orleans food chain of crime.

The thought of his ex-wife sent a spike of discomfort through her that Rogue found difficult to ignore. Shit, she thought to herself, she hadn't even considered Remy's lingering attachments.

Rogue swallowed back the sudden ripple of nervousness that rang of haste and the Icarian seedling of self-doubt.

"What in hell did ya do ta yo'self, Remy?" she asked, trying to press down on the wound and avoiding the mental image of the blond woman from his past. Apparently, she wasn't doing a very good job of it. Remy's shoulder buckled under, and he grimaced.

"Sorry," Rogue said, flinching.

"S' fine, chérie," he managed, trying to leer. "M' better with m' right arm anyway."

She scoffed, albeit a touch uneasily. "Here Ah thought ya were ambidextrous," she returned. It was another cagey answer, not really an answer at all, in fact.

"Got other body parts t' compensate f' m' failure elsewhere." Remy waggled his eyebrows, coaxing out a fresh spread of heat that Rogue felt all the way from her neck to her ears. If anything, Remy certainly was good at throwing off her line of thought.

"Lay it on any thicker, Cajun, and Ah'll be scrapin' it off ya come Christmas."

"Promise?" He leered.

"Scoundrel," she muttered.

"Tease," he shot back.

"M' I interruptin'?" Lapin asked from the doorway.

"Oui!" Remy snapped.

"No," Rogue said at the same time, a little too quickly.

They peered at each other. Slowly, the tension was easing between them, returning to the normal barbs and innuendo that simmered lightly, just below the surface. It helped foster the acute awareness of his knee brushing hers, the warmth of his skin, the light, salty smell of sweat and aftershave that hung around them. It wasn't perfectly comfortable, that shared, compounded knowledge, but it was better than wondering what he was keeping from her this time.

Rogue licked her lips, running her gaze over Remy's profile as if just by looking at him she could suss out what was going on inside his head. Vaguely, she contemplated if Theoren's psyche would have a better idea. If anyone would know about Gambit's ingrained mannerisms, it had to be his family.

Lapin was frozen half out into the hall. Ever the rabbit in the headlights, he dawdled in the doorframe. Remy lifted his good hand, making a come hither gesture and wearing a devil's grin. When Lapin didn't move, the clean shirt he'd brought for Remy sagging limply at his hands, Remy retrieved the bottle of bourbon from the floor. He shook it gently, the contents sloshing around.

"What are ya doin'?" Rogue asked, peering between the bottle, Remy and Emil.

Out of the corner of his mouth, Remy replied, "Oiling de machine."

A thought blossomed in her mind, a dangerous, unstable thing that had her eyeing the liquor like it was the key to unlocking the coveted secrets in her head. Never a good solution, she decided, but still… Theoren liked bourbon.

"What are ya planning on doing, exactly? Tellin' him ta fetch?" she scoffed, plucking the bottle neatly from his fingers and tipping it up to her own mouth. Impulse, she decided, it was pure, unadulterated impulse that made her do it – some last vestige of Remy's personality foisted upon her from the last time he'd touched her.

The bourbon hit the back of her throat, stinging for a second, and proceeded to burn a searing course to her stomach. Rogue shuddered and plonked the battle back down with a grimace.

Gawd, it tasted like battery acid!

"Disgusting," she managed, forcing herself not to cough though her voice grated hoarsely.

Both boys stared at her like she'd sprouted a second head.

Rogue swallowed, smacking her lips and managing an "Ahh," just the same. It was worth the warm after burn to see the look on Remy's face.

"What? Ah was thirsty," she said defensively, throwing Lapin a coy grin over her shoulder. "Ya can leave that here, sugah. Remy'll be patched up in no time."

"Mebbe find Mercy, hein?" Remy added, casting Rogue a sidelong look that indicated he wanted Lapin to beat out of there as quickly as he showed up. Accessorized with his trademark smirk, it was difficult to focus on scouring her head for any signs of the psyche that might colour her understanding of the man before her. "Gotta get Theoren outta here before Jean Luc goes apoplectic."

"Bonjour," Lapin wheedled from the doorway, dropping the shirt to the ground and toeing it into the room. "Welcome t' de LeBeau mental institution. We are now serving patients numbered fifty two to four thousand eight hundred an' ninety four," he trailed off, disappearing into the hall. His voice carried after him in too-high tones.

Nonplussed, Rogue turned back to Remy's shoulder.

"Oh, he's just fine," Remy nodded after Lapin, glancing at her without any real marked concern. Instead, it appeared that he was more interested in the shy two inches of space between them, and the abandoned deck of cards on the floor.

Rogue pursed her lips. "No more tears tonight, Cajun, so wipe that face off yo' head." She smirked, controlling the muscles in her cheeks as best she could. The smile probably didn't reach her eyes.

"See," he began, edging minutely closer, "Emil's family. I can knock de sense into him if need be, but… de rest of de world?"

"Ah know, Remy," she said stiffly. "They're my powers, remember?"

"How could I forget?" he muttered.

Rogue pursed her lips, restraining the urge to belt him. Violence wouldn't make her point. Pity. "That's what we do – the X-Men. It's a matter of changing people's perceptions of mutants as much as it is ta keep the peace."

"Écoute moi," he insisted. "De rest of de world don't give us de opportunity t' take back our mistakes an' explain ourselves."

"They just don't understand, is all. People react badly ta the things that are unfamiliar or unusual." She laughed humorlessly. "Look at me, Ah'm a goth. Ah go out of my way ta test the limits of everyone's comfort zones. Lapin'll be fine; it's Theoren Ah'm worried about. He didn't seem ta be too receptive of me ta begin with." Rogue drew a breath, giving Remy's shoulder a small smile instead of looking at his face. "But still, ya never know unless ya try, right?"

"M' glad we understand each other, chére, but dat don't make it right dat y' have t' get dat look on y' face when y' start talkin' about what y' can do. Y' gonna absorb m'? Fine. Y' gonna touch m'? Fine. Y' have t' want to, though. If y' not comfortable, m' not gonna force y' into somet'ing dat might hurt y' even more den I –" he caught himself. It was an audible pause that made Rogue tense. A small slip, but a slip nonetheless. "Den y' already have," Remy corrected.

"Don't worry 'bout me none, sugah," she said softly, wiping away the last traces of blood across the three lacerations wrapping around his shoulder and the fleshy part of his upper arm. A niggling, irritating warning bell sounded in the back of her head. He was keeping something from her… again.

"M' not. I know y' can hold y' own, Roguey, an' dat's what makes m' nervous." He laughed.

Too cleanly made, too perfect, she realized as she stared at the lacerations. Rogue blinked, fingering the iodine bottle, toying with a growing sense of dread.

"Tell y' de truth, I t'ink dat's always been somet'ing I appreciated," Remy continued. "Y' don't take no guff, not even from dis Cajun. S' all I wanted, chére – just wanted y' t' see y' own strength an' be comfortable with it again."

The cuts were equally spaced, and shallow to boot, but the knowledge that she knew who'd sliced Remy up didn't make her any less easy.

"…An' if it means dat y' take a piece of m', well… I just hope it's not somet'ing too incriminating, hein?" he joked. "Always willing t' give," Remy trailed off.

Had he known, she wondered. Had he known the X-Men would have followed? Was that the reason for such secrecy, such discretion when talking about his real incentives bringing her here?

Who was Remy really helping?

Theoren's words, though not his voice, and most certainly not his psyche rose to the fore of her mind.

…Whatever Remy does, he does it f' himself an' not f' de sake of it.

"Rogue?"

Rogue swallowed thickly, her mouth suddenly dry. Before Theoren had grabbed her, Jubilee had been trying to tell her something… Something about Magneto.

"Gambit," she said stiffly. "Why didn't ya tell me they were here?"

"Quoi? Who?" Remy froze, twisting around to find her attentions focused on his arm. He offered her nothing but silence as he swallowed, and Rogue peeled back the gauze fully, exposing the slight wells of fresh blood.

"Did ya know they were comin'?" she asked lightly, forcing her unease out of her voice and being at least partially successful.

The pause drew out, lengthening from a brief inhalation to a silence so thick that Rogue could have clawed at it, were she so inclined. Once Remy's lack of response became elastic enough to allow the rushing swell of blood in her ears to drown out the unspoken lie, Rogue tilted her chin enough to glare at him accusingly.

Remy's face was a careful, immaculate mask. Watching her wordlessly, his ostensible expression betrayed him just as much as it shut her out entirely. Damn him.

"Ya knew," she said, her tone neutral and steadier than it should have been. "Why didn't ya tell me?"

Evenly, his words as indecipherable as his expression, Remy replied, "I was tryin' t' help y'."

"Help me by helpin' yo'self. Oh, Ah know about that alright." Rogue's eyes narrowed, the irises darkening in anger – a slow-rolling, consuming fury masquerading beneath a hearty layer of disdain. "Why is it that whenever Ah start thinkin' ya actually the slightest bit different than ya were when ya were working for Magneto, ya have ta go and prove me wrong?"

She snatched up the nearest thing, not the iodine, but the open bottle of bourbon that she splashed liberally, furiously on the cut – effectively disinfecting the damage and making Remy grit his teeth against the pain.

He couldn't even open his mouth enough to yell. But with some satisfaction, Rogue noted that it made his eyes water as she yanked out a length of surgical tape and set to slapping the bandages across the front of the cuts Wolverine had made.

"Can't even defend yo'self," she spat bitterly, her teeth clenched hard enough to hurt as she tore his shirt back from his collarbone.

"I didn't do anything wrong, Rogue," Remy ground out plaintively.

"Your sense of right and wrong is slightly skewed, Gambit," she snapped, giving him a second dose of impromptu disinfectant over his back.

It got him swearing, but that wasn't enough. Suddenly, Rogue found that all she wanted was to force the same degree of pain into him as he had into her… into the psyche in her head that woke sluggishly. Theoren's anger swirled upwards in a drowsy burble of confusion and white-hot heat to mix with her own.

"Don't –" Remy protested, the first lick of his own irritation evident as he reached for her wrists.

"Don't what?" she yelled, throwing down the left over gauze and the tape so it rolled away into the streaked smears still decorating the floor. Remy froze. "How much of what ya said was ta keep me placated enough until they showed up? Ah wondered…" Rogue shook her head, fingers twisting into the fabric of her sweats just to keep from slapping at him.

"Rogue –"

"Ah wondered," she yelled over him, "and Ah asked ya why ya dragged the Brotherhood ta the mansion. Ya said it was a distraction ta get me out – and Ah believed ya! And yet ya did the same thing with the X-Men; ya knew they'd come after me, ya wanted them to – and that's why ya let me make that phone call in Virginia without so much as battin' an eyelash. Who did ya call when we were at that diner, Remy?"

"Chére, I –"

"Who?" she screamed. "Was it yo' old boss? Did ya lie ta my face again ta cover yo' own sorry hide when Ah asked ya –"

"Non!" he shouted back. "Everyt'ing I've done I've done because dere was no other choice –"

"That's such bullshit! If Ah've learned anythin' from ya in the past five days it's that there's always a choice. Ah chose. Ah made my decision. Why can't that be a good enough example for ya ta follow?"

"It's m' duty, it's what m' purpose is –"

"Yo' 'duty' was supposedly ta help me, or was that a lie too? Ah'd have made a great prize, Ah'm sure –"

"It's fate dat brought us t'gether – dat day on de docks. It was a bad draw dat got m' into dis life, but dat's how de cards were dealt f' us both an' m' not about t' fuck up de one t'ing dat I was meant for."

"This ain't you!" Rogue countered. "Those are Jean Luc's words comin' outta yo' mouth!"

"Dat's absurd, m' not'ing like him…" he argued fiercely.

"That's funny, 'cause ya sure sound a whole lot like yo' daddy right about now. What's one small sacrifice if there's a big payoff?" Forcing as much disdain into it as she could, she glared at him.

"Rogue," Remy said firmly. "Dis isn't what y' t'ink it's about."

"Ah called the Institute, Remy. Ah was on the phone when Theoren touched me, he grabbed my arm ta stop me – Jubilee told me Xavier was gone, visiting ol' Buckethead – yo' old boss! Why is that, huh?"

"Just a coincidence." He frowned, for a moment, looking genuinely surprised. Rogue didn't buy it. Remy was too good at controlling the face he presented to the world.

"There seem ta be a lot of those with ya – like it was just a coincidence the Assassins showed up at the right time when ya left me back at Lafayette, just a coincidence that the Botanica was blown ta shit and the stone was gone, just a coincidence that Logan found ya and nearly took of yo' arm. What do they know that Ah don't? Why in hell did he attack ya unless he had good reason to?"

"M' runnin' de worst streak of luck known t' mankind," he admitted.

"Then it's a set up?" she hissed.

Remy blinked, looking blankly at the wall, guilty as sin but playing it off admirably well. Rogue snorted outright, shaking her head. For a moment, she almost believed his confusion to be genuine.

"It's a set up," he echoed, his voice hoarse and eyed wide, like realization was striking him for the first time.

"Who did ya call from the diner, Remy?" she asked, wanting to believe him. If he just told her the truth, just once, they could find their footing and level off a way out of this mess.

Remy shook his head, his expression turning hostile and mouth pinched down into a tight line.

"Merde," he exclaimed, barking out a laugh of pure self-deprecation. "Putain de merde!"

"Tell me, Remy," she bit out insistently.

Glancing at her, his mouth curling upwards into a wry half-smile, there was a gleam in his eyes like cold fire – he was just a joker running numbers. She frowned. Remy tipped his head to the side, appraising her with a look that declared he was taking her measure, trying to weigh out the probable success ratio of disclosing whatever it was that was going through his mind.

Rogue slammed the heel of her hand into the floor angrily and shoved away from him so that she skidded into the leg of the poker table. Between them, the cards scattered in a flutter of glossy paper.

"Still can't do it," she spat, levering herself up to a standing position. Her knees wobbled, the blood-flow stammering into a series of pins and needles she felt from the knees down. "Yo' own built-in martyr complex keepin' everythin' ya say and do in check. Right. Self-preservation at its best."

Something closed off in his expression. Maybe it was being compared to his father, or maybe accusing him of being something just short of a sanctimonious bastard had done it. Whatever it was, Remy disappeared in an instant, a hard sneer returning full-force. It didn't make Gambit any less attractive, she realized – but the beauty was in the breakdown and not in the whole gestalt of his features.

"How would y' know?" he replied coolly. He stood in one fluid motion, like a puppet being pulled up by strings. "Y' don't know anyt'ing about m', Anna Marie," he spat, her name rapier sharp on his tongue. He stalked backwards across the room, giving her a dutiful little half-bow and snatching up the shirt Lapin had left for him to change into.

Silence. The deafening, solid press of air on the eardrums that amplifies each breath, each shudder bearing the weight of the truth. He was right. She didn't, and Remy had never wanted her to know more than he was willing to reveal, never gave her a hint at the hand he was holding. The only noise was the sound of tearing cotton as he yanked off the remains of his tee shirt, exposing a lean torso, the bend and shift of coiled muscles as he slid the clean garment over his head, shoving the front into his waistband as he turned to face her, smirking broadly, his eyes lidded.

As angry as she was, Rogue couldn't stop watching him – couldn't stop seeing the unconcerned, unselfconscious and graceful movement. Still, she couldn't turn away from him. And if she couldn't turn away, how the hell was she supposed to escape?

"Ah wish Ah'd never come here," she whispered finally, eyes wide as if seeing him for the first time. "Ah wish Ah'd never set eyes on ya, LeBeau."

Remy bowed his head, neither consenting defeat nor claiming his victory over her. Like this, neither of them could win – and it occurred to Rogue then, it had always been a game — she, the reluctant player and Remy, the wild card.

There were no rules, unspoken or otherwise, just the constant stakes and threat of losing everything that was once precious. Herself. Her control. Her heart. All of it.

She had already cashed in. She'd taken his hand, taken his powers, and destroyed the part of herself that she'd kept safe for so long… for him. She'd done it for him just because he'd asked.

Remy folded his arms across his chest, idly pulling the shirtsleeve over the bandages and scrutinizing her through the shag falling into his eyes.

"John."

Rogue stilled, unsure if she'd heard right. She shook her head, not understanding.

Remy looked to her, an eyebrow cocked in challenge, demanding that she make of it what she would, and that he wouldn't give a damn either way.

"I called John," he said again.

"Pyro?" she whispered, her breath hitching a little.

At his leisure, Remy nodded.

"Why?"

He didn't answer – unable or unwilling, it didn't matter anymore. Instead, Remy cocked his foot back, toe catching on the lip of a large dress box lying near the door and kicking it towards her. Cardboard skid over the wood floor, make a light dragging sound and coming to rest just short of her bare toes. The box's trail spread the scattered playing cards, shuffling them in a random assortment of reds and blacks against the hardwood.

The dress he'd bought her. Shit. Of all the reminders she didn't need…

Remy remained watchful, self-assured and torpid.

"Fine," she said at length, gathering her wits and whatever remained of herself that hadn't yet been beaten down into pieces too small to put back together. If that's all the information he was willing to offer up, some sordid reminder of their little battle of wills, she didn't need it. Rogue wouldn't be bought.

"Y' are y' own worst enemy, chére. Doin' it t' y'self," he murmured. "I wanted t' keep y' out of it," he continued, little more than a sigh.

"Like I believe that," Rogue spat, shoving off the table and getting ready to barrel past him. For a moment, she hesitated, trying to glean something meaningful from simply staring at him across the room. He offered her nothing more than the same placid condescension. "Why the hell else would ya have lured me out here if yo' boss didn't want somethin' from me? Ah'm gone, Gambit. Ah'd say Ah don't give a damn, but Ah have a better idea what lyin' does ta the people ya care about now. Thanks for that."

"Y' can't care about de people y' not attached to," he answered, wincing to himself a little as if saying it cut a little deeper than he was accustomed. Truth hurts, Rogue thought sourly.

"Ya know that better than anyone, sugah," she said, her voice deceptively even. "Ah'll keep it in mind for the next time someone wants ta turn me inta a notch on their bedpost."

"Non." He shook his head, hair flopping into his eyes listlessly. "Non, I don't deserve dat. M' tellin' y' dat's de exact opposite of what m' doing," he managed.

"Ya called Pyro," she snapped, raising an accusing finger. "Ah saw the Brotherhood on the news; they're coming this way too."

He shrugged, barely more than an indolent lift of one shoulder.

"Not y' concern. None of dis, apart from de stone, has anyt'ing t' do with y'… let alone Magneto," he scoffed, smirking outright. "Dat's pretty funny." He shook his head, giving her a coarse smile. "But y' shouldn't mistake one villain f' another."

"Oh, no. Ah know exactly what Ah'm up against," she snapped, kicking the box out of her way hard enough to send it careening to its side, opening in a crush of tissue paper and the heavy clang of metal against the floor.

Something spilled from the inside, a neat assortment of pipes and something that resembled a metal backpack. One look at the warning label pasted to the front declaring the contents, "Flammable," was enough to let her know it was a flamethrower.

She flinched.

"You have no idea, Rogue," he said quietly.

"So tell me." Dragging her eyes from the settling black paper, the sleeve of something satin and fingered poking out from the box, she turned back to him. Anger seeped away, replaced by something far more hollow – a gaping, aching void that left her numb from the center of her chest outwards.

It was the dangerous sort of calm that was foreign, derived either from Theoren, who continued to simmer angrily beneath the thin veil of her forced control, or Remy himself, though his psyche was nowhere to be found. The tension slackened in her limbs, loosening her gait as she moved across the room towards him, hips dropping into their own languid dialogue that caught his attention and drew him off the wall and towards her.

They met each other halfway, a soundless danse macabre in a room with dirty, card-scattered floors and humming electrical equipment. Imperfect, Rogue thought, shutting her eyes briefly, taking in the heat of his body, wanting to curl around him and slide into his arms just as much as she wanted to break him open wide to know for sure... so she could let go. She couldn't without it. Remy wouldn't let her. Here, there was a tenuous attachment – an invisible coil of shared self-loathing and deceit that bound them together. Rogue, who lied to herself and denied what she was, and Remy, who lied to her for his own purposes because he believed she'd never accept him for what he was. A perfect pocket pair.

She smiled to herself, tipping her head upwards to feel his breath against her face. At the center of the storm, there was this sort of quiet tolerance that despite the likely probability of failure if left alone, they were well matched, and together, they had the potential to bring down the house.

If only Remy knew that… if only he could give himself over to it, for just a little while.

That stung more than Rogue was ready to admit.

"I believe in fate, an' I believe in chance," he said, his hands slack at his sides one instant and fighting them back into fists the next not to reach for her. "Dere one an' de same, but de only way t' beat de odds is t' cheat. I learned dat young."

They were completely deserving of one another in their mistrust; it was a shared understanding so dangerously delicate that it made the framework of gentle half-truths and blame fit them both snugly like a well-worn, comfortable pair of gloves.

She opened her eyes, tilting her head and imploring him once more. "Ah won't say please this time, Cajun," she whispered. She couldn't live like that, not when he'd finally convinced her to have faith in herself again.

"Don't do dis," he said earnestly, his expression opening to her, inviting Rogue to see the depths of despair that lingered there. He was fighting defeat, railing against a dying cause he couldn't even give voice to because entrusting her with that part of him would make Remy just as vulnerable as she was.

That was the problem.

The silence in her mind switched off suddenly, turning into a blaring, static white noise that rolled over her so completely that her senses blasted open like a floodgate, and Theoren's psyche came crashing through to claim his vengeance for them both.

"Ah haven't done nothin' yet," she hissed, and lunged for him; fingers outstretched, lips clamped together as she barreled into him – sending them both to the floor in a heap, Rogue's mouth locked over Remy's.

---

Like a wall, a solid barrier that he forced every ounce of his control into, Remy slammed his shields into place – a physical barrier of mental force that staggered him backwards, his arms wrapping around Rogue's slight frame, fingers mapping out her ribs as she knocked them to the ground.

Her mouth was warm and hard against his – teeth cutting into his lower lip without preamble. Remy reciprocated just as soon as his guard was fixed firmly into place, latching his fingers firmly against the back of her head and into her hair, tugging her flush against him and fighting for dominance of the kiss.

And more.

More than just a kiss, he thought vindictively. This was their shared burden, a matching set of his and hers problems that swirled together in a desperate tangle of limbs and tongues and teeth.

She bit his lip. It hurt, and it felt like life.

Rogue gasped as he pulled her backwards, her fingers digging into his shirt and the flesh beneath, and for a brief moment, her eyes flew open – dark brown orbs bleeding back to bright green. Startled, Remy looked up at her, relinquishing his hold only slightly as Rogue returned to herself.

He licked his lips, tasting her flavor on his tongue and groaning as she shifted on top of him. She'd tried to absorb him, he thought distantly. Point for Rogue.

"Remy," she breathed, her voice cracking. "Shit, Remy – Ah'm sor –"

Too little too late, he thought as he dove upwards, silencing her in one deft movement that fit his body better beneath her and settling his teeth around her lower lip, pulling that soft pillow of pink flesh into his mouth and suckling off the pain. She moaned into his mouth, a half-strangled sound of frustration rent with pleasure, and he bit down harder – marking her, making her his, feeding his own frustration back into her.

There was nothing hesitant in the way the tip of Rogue's tongue trailed over his upper lip, nothing soft about her as her knees settled on either side of his waist, and nothing gentle in the way she gasped into his mouth when his hand found the dip in her spine and she arched against him.

All this build-up, Remy thought distantly, all those harsh words – and they still managed to bind themselves even more firmly together.

Mine, Remy thought possessively, urging Rogue to submit herself to him, and still she fought him with every nip to his mouth, every low noise in the back of her throat that sent his blood thrumming eagerly.

Her fist smacked into the floor on the side of his head, and triumphantly, Remy growled into the kiss. Good. She deserved to feel the way he felt; she deserved to know how deeply she could cut him.

He snatched at her wrist, fingers locking together, and yanked her forwards so that she sprawled against his chest.

Mine, he thought again.

Less than a millisecond before he could truly appreciate the soft swell of her breasts fitting against him, control began breaking down – succumbing to the rich, chthonic pull of Rogue's mutation as she worked him, her hips finding that delicious, unconscious rhythm that tread a fine line between pleasure and extreme pain.

Invisible fingers, sinuous and demanding, slivered through the layers of his kinetic shield, burrowing deeper into his mind and body – a shy grazing that pulsed and pulled at him, leaving him gasping as he struggled to push her off and cling to her at the same time.

Then things started getting scary.

Like an orange being peeled, the shell that kept him cocooned slid – faltering for a little more than a second, and Rogue's power siphoned it off him like smoke. He felt it drag away, leaving him barren and naked with nothing to protect him from her touch. Gasping she rocketed off him, her legs tangling with his and sending her sprawling to the floor at his side.

"Told y' dat y' couldn't keep y' hands offa me," he whispered, before darkness stole over his sight and dragged him under, all anger and desire buried beneath the cloak of memory that rose upwards, wrested out of his straining control.

---

Jean Luc sits at his desk, fingers steepled together and waiting with an expectant, polite expression.

He shifts his cards to one hand, cutting the deck languorously between four fingers, and sifting the cards back together as he reaches into his trench coat. Three pockets down, one flap lifted, a zipper slides to the left, and his fingers grasp a small, rectangular object lightly. Lifting it out with the utmost care, he places the USB key on the corner of Jean Luc's desk.

"We deal." Rogue hears the words coming out of her mouth, Remy's mouth, feels the tightness in his jaw and the jittery crackle of kinetic charge begging to slide into the deck of cards.

"What is dis, mon fils?" Jean Luc asks, fingering the USB Key idly like he was humoring a child with a trinket that he made at school.

"It's somet'ing I worked very hard t' obtain, pére." Something he's found he's come to cherish.

The key is unimportant; it is the data contained within the file that is of value to him. As it were, he no longer has need of it – nor has he examined the entire contents. He has taken what he needed and spent the better part of his time doing field research, adding to the work started by his former employers.

Remy doesn't need the file anymore when the real thing is fast asleep in the guestroom across the hall from his.

"De girl?" Jean Luc asks, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Y' say her powers rival yours – an' y', Remy – y' know y' no longer needed here. She might seem special t' y', but t' me?" He gives an errant shrug that makes Remy want to release the charge in his fingers more than ever. "She's no good t' de T'ieves unless she's family. Somet'ing tells m' y' not de marryin' type."

A wan smile passes across the old man's face. "Unless y' brought her here t' tell m' de pair of y' already eloped."

Remy grins, little more than a feral bearing of his teeth.

"I want information, Jean Luc. Equal favor f' us both."

"Ah," is his only reply as Jean Luc settles back into his high-backed chair, the wheels whispering against the thick Persian rug on the floor as he swivels to gesture to the high shelves behind him. "Thirteen books, only one of which concerns de Guilds. One of which we have, dat y' never seen, Remy. An' I suppose dat f' dis trifle coquette of a girl who can take de information we need is worth all dat?"

"It's m' life, Jean Luc," Remy counters.

"Y' destiny, m' boy. A prophecy t' unite de families dat falls on de shoulders of de man wit' red eyes," he hums. "Dere ain't any more y' need t' know den dat… other den de fact dat de book dat tells of it is in m' possession."

"I need t' know how," Remy argues.

"Not anymore," he replies evenly. "Y' gone, Remy. Banished. Dead t' us all. Y' of no use t' me if I can't even keep y' safely below m' roof, an' what's one more mouth t' feed who don't pay his keep?"

"Batard!" Remy growls.

"Mind y' mouth, boy," Jean Luc warns. "Wit'out me, y'll never know f' certain who y' are or where y' came from. Wit'out me, y'll never know de greater machinations of true power. Wit'out me…" Jean Luc pauses, turning to survey him. "Y'll never have safe passage out of New Orleans. Y' or de p'tit."

"Everyt'ing in m' life has been under y' control since de day I was born – de one t'ing dat could bring peace t' de families, de one shred of help y' could give m' – y' refuse," Remy says, his head bowed low into his chest.

"I don't want dis life, Jean Luc. Never wanted it t' begin with."

"Y' can't change what y' are, mon fils. Once a t'ief…"

"…Always a t'ief," he finishes bitterly.

"Run away, Remy. Do like y' always do. Y'll be back when it's y' time," Jean Luc says lightly.

"I want out."

Jean Luc looks on imploringly.

"Safe passage f' both me an' Rogue," Remy finishes grimly.

"She dat important?" He lifts an elegant eyebrow, but Remy does not respond. The answer is written on the hard planes of his face, in the tension coiling through his shoulders, and metered by the steady beat of his heart. "Not another Paris, hein?" he chuckles without humor. Remy stiffens at the jibe.

"Den y' know m' price." Jean Luc nods, and Remy shoves Rogue's file across the desk. In a moment, Jean Luc has slipped the USB key into a drawer and locked it carefully. "T'ank y', son. It's been a pleasure."

Remy hunches his shoulders as he turns, stalking past both Emil and Henri who have lingered in the corners for this meeting. Neither of them can meet his gaze on the way out of Jean Luc's office, though they will smile and clap him on the back later. They will make jokes and forget this exchange ever happened.

That is their way. It's how the Thieves keep their sanity.

Remy shoves his fists deep into his pockets, reminding himself that Rogue will not know of the sacrifice he's made for her. She will never be grateful, and she will never thank him.

Remy tells himself he doesn't care, silently moving through the halls as the sky begins to lighten outside the large picture windows of the Guild mansion.

Jean Luc taught Remy many things as a child, but he never taught him how to lie to himself convincingly enough that he could believe it.

---

Languishing somewhere between entropy and utter agony, Remy blinked upwards into the startled faces of Mercy and Lapin.

"Rogue?" he croaked.

"Why is it dat whenever I leave y' two t'gether f' more den a few minutes, I come back t' find dat one of y' is on y' back and de other looks like dey been doin' t'ings not fit t' talk about in polite company?" Mercy groused, looking put out.

Lapin looked at her, aghast. "Can't y' see de man can barely focus, woman?"

"Where's Rogue?" Remy tried again.

From across the room, he heard her whisper hoarsely, "Ah'm here."

Remy turned his head just enough to see her crouched beside Theoren's supine form, her knees drawn up to her chest, and her hair obscuring her face.

He blinked, trying to clear off the cobwebs from his vision and struggle through the thin haze that made her fuzzy around the edges.

"How long was I out?" he asked.

Lapin glanced across the room, inviting Rogue to answer. When she didn't, he managed a strained, "She started screamin' 'bout five minutes ago. Figure about dat long, mebbe."

"S' m' fault," he said weakly.

Mercy shook her head, a little more than a blonde blur stooped over him. "Dat's our Remy."

"It wasn't," Rogue protested quietly. "Ah did this."

Remy sighed, shutting his eyes. "Lapin, Merc – do m' a favor – get Theoren t' one of de bedrooms. Two of on de floor like dis gonna put Tante into a conniption fit when she gets here."

"Tante Mattie's here," Rogue whispered, her head turning absently to the side, eyes unfocused. Even though Remy's vision was shot with the black spots dancing across his line of sight, he could tell Rogue's eyes had already bled to red and black, mirroring his own. "She's walkin' down the hall with Henri."

Remy strained, trying to see if his own spatial awareness was in sync. It stuttered, spreading outwards, and faded nearly as fast. She'd gone through his shields and taken a part of his powers in the process. Struggling, he tried to focus, tried to feel the wrap of latent energy that settled his limbs – it was there, but it was tired. Barely a glimmer.

Merde.

"Y' okay?" Lapin asked in little more than a hiss.

"De fille's a knock-out," he joked lamely, fear rippling outwards from his gut even as he cracked a smile. He'd felt her take down his shield, drained it before going for his reserves. As lightly as he could, he added, "Now if de fille in question could grace dis homme with her presence…"

Mercy and Lapin shared a look, but they backed off to tend to Theoren, leaving Remy blinking up at the neons tracked across the ceiling.

They hurt his head, and Remy shut his eyes, his arms flung across his face to blot out the glare. He barely heard the whisper of her footfalls as Rogue kneeled next to him, a brush of wind alerting him to her presence that smelled of calla lilies and midnight air. Swallowing back a hysterical choke of laughter, he realized that she had his stealth too. Fleetness of foot, spatial recognition, and the clincher…

"Isn't this what ya wanted?" she breathed, her breath laced with a faint bourbon cologne, moist against his upper lip. It was the first thing he felt as his head cleared, disorientation drawn aside like so many mottled splotches of black and grey. Remy moved his arms and Rogue came into focus above him.

Dieu, she made his bones ache.

"Didn't ya want me ta not be afraid anymore, Remy?" she whispered. "Or do ya now know what it means ta be close ta me?"

Remy groaned, blinking up at her blearily as the first tear drop dribbled off Rogue's chin and hit him just below the eye. It was the only one to fall.

The only one he felt.

Everything seared; he felt her touch straight down to the marrow, insinuated into his cells and hard-coded into his very essence. The little thief had taken a piece of him. He wanted to laugh at the irony.

Rogue sniffed, swiping at her face. "Isn't this what ya wanted of me?" she asked again, voice breaking.

What did he want? Remy fought to raise himself to his elbows, his arms wary of supporting his weight as he propped himself up and his head rolled backwards on his shoulders. A moment later, he dropped back to the floor, more limpid than he'd have liked if he'd found Rogue nearly on top of him in any other circumstance.

"Chére –" he croaked.

Above him, Rogue stilled, bracing her hands on either side of his head where she leaned over him. She wasn't hesitating, he realized. She had crawled right up into his personal space just as soon as the others had occupied themselves with Theoren.

Despite what she'd done to him, there was no fear left in her as she brushed his hair off his forehead with a light caress of… satin. Black satin, hugging her all the way from fingertip to shoulder.

Remy swallowed hard, shoving his heart back into his chest.

Rogue had known that he'd bought them for her; known that they were in the dress box, and she wore them now, letting her fingers ghost against his face like the ephemeral beat of butterfly wings.

It made his heart hammer a little faster. What else had she taken from him?

Eyes flaring despite the wince-worthy brightness of the room: a dull, roiling glimmer set into sclera the colour of jet, Rogue watched him with her own soulful expression, but she behaved like he would himself. She knew where to touch him; knew what made him turn his face into her hand. Gently, she mapped out the bruise seeping out from beneath his hairline where she'd hit him with his own bo staff two days back at Lafayette.

What did he want?

"Ah know you, Remy LeBeau," she whispered, her voice like gossamer against his ears. He swallowed convulsively, willing himself to draw out of the stupor she'd set him in.

Not this. Merde, he didn't want this.

"Ah just can't seem ta get close enough ta understand ya."

Letting out a shuddering breath, he relaxed slightly though his heart continued to pound. Rogue hadn't taken everything. Dieu, there was still something sacred left in his life; still something that belonged to himself alone.

"A man's resolve is only as strong as his convictions," he replied, restraining the impulse to beat his head back against the hardwood and knock himself out again and wake up later, pretending it was all a very bad dream.

"And what are those, Remy?" she pressed quietly, her husky Southern drawl like velvet cake – a little piece was good, too much and you'd make yourself sick with it because you couldn't help yourself.

"Why don't y' tell m'?" he ground out, biting his anger back, cursing himself for dancing too near the edge. She'd warned him, and now, she'd proven him faulted and imperfect.

Playing with Rogue was more like Russian roulette, he decided. Putain de merde, his head felt like a hard-boiled egg. One more tap like that to the skull and he'd crack for sure.

At length, she replied in an undertone, "Ya don't need a savior, Cajun. Ya need a keeper."

So startled by the maudlin undercurrent weaved into her tone, Remy bore the throb in his head enough to hoist himself upwards to look at her directly.

"Y' volunteerin'?" he asked tentatively. The gentleness made him wince inwardly, coaxing out a ripple of self-hatred so strong that he swallowed it back like bile.

She didn't notice. His fortified expression held.

Rogue shook her head, frowning. "What am Ah gonna do with ya, Remy LeBeau?"

Tipping his head to the side, feeling as if it was a too ripe melon about to get smashed anyway, Remy smirked as best he could.

"I've got a list, but I left it in m' other pants," he replied.

The look she gave him should have been heartbreaking. It should have torn at the flayed remnants of his conscience, but it didn't. Instead, Remy felt the rising swell of white noise at the back of his mind – a stillness and calm so complete that his shoulders uncoiled, and the pain in his head dulled to a fine, flat line.

A white hum, a wall to brace himself against. He knew it's carrion comfort well, and he didn't fight it.

It kept him safe.

"Y' absorbed me, chére." Basic fact rolled off the tongue, tasting like razor-flavored candy. Only he could make an accusation sound so saccharine, make her draw backwards into herself.

Rogue at least had the decency to look partly ashamed, and yet, Remy found he couldn't sympathize as he sat up, slipping further into the sort of sociopathy that got him by most days.

"Ya wanted me to," she said quietly, her chin crumpling as if she knew he was rescinding the offer. How much had she taken from him? How much did she see of his whole ungodly, despicable existence?

"Y' do somethin' once, an' it's an impulse. Do it twice, an' it becomes a habit," he murmured, the words condemning though they were rich – given life by the voice that elicited that selfsame coquettish blush that ordinarily would have made his heart twist in his chest.

No more.

He'd given her nothing at all, and she'd taken more than her fair share.

Not again.

The door to the server room swung inwards. Remy, sitting up fully, offered Rogue a small, insincere smile. Lowering his gaze, he brought her hand to his mouth, rubbing the knuckles absently and placing a feather light kiss over her knuckles.

"It will be fine, chérie," he murmured, not lingering on slight dimpling of her cheeks as he turned to find Henri and Tante swinging into the room, and not noticing the slight downturn to her mouth as she studied him when he turned away.

He barely heard her whisper in hushed tones, little more than a sigh, "Yo' war is my war now."

Remy blinked against it, fighting back the sudden urge to turn back and shake that quiet acceptance out of her. He didn't, unable to look at her as he had once before, too sick with himself to even try.

"Mon dieu!" Henri cried. "What happened?"

Tante froze, staring not at the sprawled form of Theoren, but at Rogue, sitting at Remy's side with her fingers resting lightly on his wrist.

It must have been the eyes, Remy thought, sighing inwardly and risking a glance at his mirror. Rogue's face was blank, perfectly controlled, smiling in a way that was almost disconsolate.

Tante cleared her throat. "Been a rough night, chile?" she asked.

Rogue nodded, inclining her head politely to Theoren. "Ah don't know how much there is ya can do for him."

Tante held up a hand, sparing Remy a brief frown, but otherwise turning her attention to his cousin. "He be unconscious f' a while, den."

"C'est impossible," Henri breathed, placing his palm flat across Theoren's forehead. "I saw him… not an hour ago."

"Hein?" Lapin turned, his brow furrowed as he motioned for Mercy to help carry their cousin.

"Where'd y' see him, cher mari?" Mercy asked, squatting and digging her hands beneath Theoren's midsection, ready to lift when Lapin gave the word.

"Theoren been lyin' right dere like dead dog since –" Lapin clamped his mouth shut, casting a long look across the room.

Rogue pursed her lips, standing in one fluid motion and resting her hands on her hips.

"Since what?" she snapped.

Lapin's Adam's apple bobbed nervously, giving her a shifty grin and a light chuckle. "Since Rogue had her dirty way wit' him," he finished, taking a precautious step to the side, farther away from her in case she decided to lash out with a fist.

Rogue stared at him a moment, blinking, before snorting outright.

Lapin grinned sheepishly, and with an apologetic dip of his head, things returned to relative normalcy. The next moment, he was wiggling his butt and making a grand show of hefting Theoren's legs. "Homme's gotta lay off Tante's cookin'," he groused with exaggerated strain.

"Non!" Henri yelled, motioning for Emil to drop Theoren's limbs. "Y' don't understand, I saw him leave de Assassins property!" he insisted. "He can't have been here."

"He's been unconscious for three hours at least, Henri," Rogue said. "Trust me, Ah'd know."

"S' true," Remy supplied at last, his attention still fixed on Tante. Ordinarily, Tante Mattie would be bustling about at top speed, making preparations and readying a salve or poultice. Her medicines, even if they wouldn't rouse Theoren, would certainly make him more comfortable. She hadn't even asked about the blood on the floor. Instead, she continued to watch Rogue covertly.

"Viens, Henri," she said at last. "Help Emil carry y' cousin. Dere's not much I can do f' Theoren until he wakes, an' I have business t' discuss with Jean Luc in de meantime."

"Business, Tante?" Remy inquired lightly.

She glanced at him, pursing her lips. "Mind y'self, Remy."

"What would Theo be doin' over at de Assassins anyway, hein?" Lapin huffed. "Y' t'ink he'd be havin' some illicit tryst wit' Belladonna of all people?" Looking down at his cousin, Lapin cocked his head to the side. "Or mebbe Marius. Don't t'ink blonds are much Theo's type."

Mercy laughed outright, much to her husband's dismay.

"S' not funny," Henri muttered. "Y' makin' m' out t' look senile. Dere be no way Theoren coulda been in two places at de same time."

"Awe, cher – y' not dat old yet," Mercy consoled him. "C'mon. When we settle dis one in, we all gonna have a beer an' play a few rounds. S' gonna take y' mind right off y' greyin' moustache."

Remy remained silent, standing once he was sure his legs would support him, and gliding to Rogue's side. Lightly, he placed a hand on the small of her back, startling her.

She didn't glance up at him as she leaned back into his touch, settling against him like a missing puzzle piece. She didn't know any different, didn't see the cold glint to his eyes. Remy sighed inwardly, barely noticing how easily his fingers settled against her hip, ensuring that his hand rested against the cotton of her tank top and nowhere near her skin. He was too intent examining the look on Tante Mattie's face as it shifted quickly from anger into the calm, motherly charm he was used to.

Henri was right: There was no reasonable explanation for Theoren to be in two different places at exactly the same time.

But more important, Theoren wouldn't try to start a true war between the Guilds, where Mystique would.

As the group filtered out of the room, with Theoren in tow, Remy stepped back, rubbing the feel of her off his hand against the back of his jeans.

He needed a cigarette.

Rogue remained rooted to the spot, hugging her elbows to herself and staring at the open door.

"Remy," she said quietly after several long moments had passed. "Tell me about Paris."

---

Lights glittered like an obnoxious assortment of scattered Christmas ornaments across the airfield, dotting the tarmac with little blips of bright blue, yellow, white, red, and green. A jumble of lines organized the airfield in rough curlicues of confusion even to Wolverine's heightened vision.

Claws itching beneath his skin, his shoulders hunched, Logan stalked across the beaten asphalt, not towards the jet, but in the direction of the helipad nearly a kilometer away.

"Wolverine," Storm called from just behind him. Her feet, as they touched the ground, were a bare whisper that still managed to be irritating to his ears.

"Don't talk to me, Storm," he growled. "I might say somethin' I'll regret in the morning."

"Loathe as I am to do it, Logan, I will collect you in a gust and deposit you on the roof of the X-Jet if you do not stop this at once."

Logan stopped abruptly, bristling. "Not now, 'Ro," he snarled, sniffing heavily at the air. Motor oil, gasoline, grease, burned rubber from worn landing gears… there.

He pivoted, brushing past the stilled woman. He'd been heading the wrong way after all.

"Got company," he muttered. "This can wait for debriefing."

"Logan?"

"Come on," he groused, breaking into a light jog.

Black shapes converged out of the night, creating a neat perimeter around the jet and forming a welcome aisle of sorts that led directly to the descended ramp. Silhouetted against the tungsten glow pouring from the launch bay, Cyclops stood conversing with a man that Logan was all too familiar with.

He stalked purposefully past the guards, two of whom fell into step behind him and Storm, both devoid of marks that indicated their station. The only sign of their military affiliation was the word S.H.I.E.L.D. emblazoned across their shoulder blades; white on black, and reflective in the dark.

"And the cavalry arrives."

Fury smelled like recently unpacked plastic and cheap aftershave. Logan hoped the man's pension would be better spent someday, though it didn't look as if that'd be any time soon.

"Patch." He gave him a perfunctory nod, striding up the gangway and stopping just short of the man with Storm at his heels. "What're ya doing here?"

"Still straight to the point. Good man, Logan." He smirked at the nickname, but didn't reach for the black patch covering his left eye to remind himself where it came from.

"Matter of national security," he continued. "Was waiting for you to show up to brief you all collectively. Don't like having to repeat myself."

At his side, Cyclops' mouth thinned down into a fine white line. "Let's get on with it," he said stiffly.

"Waiting long, Cyke?" Logan asked, cocking an eyebrow and brushing past him.

"Thought you and Nick here had enough common ground to keep you entertained."

Cyclops ignored the quip about their shared single-eyed syndrome, cutting to the fore of the group and leading the trio deeper into the jet where the other team members had set up camp.

"Tonight can't get much worse," he groused. "Looks like we've reached the plateau."

"Eyeballs, Logan," Fury supplied. "We're all up to our eyeballs."

Kitty blinked up at him, eyed wide, from where she sat curled in a chair before a monitor and several elaborate, extensive additions supplied by the S.H.I.E.L.D. team. A helmeted official sat nearby, her visor raised and tapping furiously at a terminal setup within reach of Shadowcat. Sharp blue eyes flit back and forth with a speed that was near dizzying, absorbed with the readouts on the monitor. Across the cabin, Nightcrawler watched her with mingled curiosity and apprehension.

Logan didn't fail to notice the two playing cards lodged into the space between monitor and keyboard of Half-Pint's laptop. She flushed, but didn't move the King and Queen of Hearts with their wobbly, infuriating message staring back at him mockingly.

"What has happened?" Storm asked warily, stepping alongside him. Logan bristled, still incensed that she'd let Gambit go, but he wasn't about to descend into a shouting match about Ororo's executive decisions in front of this many of Nick's flunkies.

With a flick of his finger, Fury summoned the two operatives to the front of the queue. One patched into the main satellite dispatch, the other taking Cyclops' chair at the helm of the plane, temporarily breaching the X-Jet's security bypasses and opening a line to the nearest news uplink.

Trained monkeys, Logan thought, shaking his head. Cyclops looked on at his side, eyebrows lifting a notch at the speed and efficacy the agents executed their assigned tasks. Damned kid was actually impressed. Logan could see the gears cranking already. Inwardly, he sighed, but gave Fury the universal motion to get on with the show.

"Permission to speak, sir." The woman beside Kitty stood up sharply.

Damn, Fury had trained, talking monkeys at that.

"Go ahead, Agent."

"Sir," she said, puffing at a lock of blond hair that slipped from beneath her helmet. "We've just received confirmation that the freight has been disposed of on the outskirts of Metairie. It appears the terrorists have commandeered a vehicle and are en route to the city by way of the 610. Shall we dispatch immediately?"

Fury answered, "Hold for now." He turned back to Logan and Cyclops. "We have a situation."

"Terrorists?" Logan cocked an eyebrow as the communications prompt flicked to life, displaying the last recorded report of a train that had been derailed – lifted from its tracks entirely with a newly set course a hundred feet in the air.

He snorted, looking at the red-garbed figure directing the freight's flight from atop the roof. "Maximoff."

"The Brotherhood?" Kurt asked, teleporting in closer to the screen and startling one of the men from his seat.

"Scarlet Witch, Quicksilver, Blob, Toad, Avalanche, and none other than Magneto's former recruit, Pyro. That's him tacked to the roof right there, though I know it's a little hard to see with all the chains belting his mouth down like that."

"St. John?" Colossus asked, standing. He finished with a string of unpronounceable expletives in his native tongue.

Fury gave the large man a once-over, showing little to no concern with the sheer size of the Russian other than a mild interest in his former affiliation.

"The government's been waiting for something like this to happen," Fury said stiffly. "It appears that not only has the Pentagon declared the Brotherhood's hijacking hijinks an orange alert, but they've assumed that it's a hostage situation to boot. We're two shakes away from shutting down the city."

"But they're just kids!" Kitty protested. "They wouldn't –"

"That's not what the senate sees, Shadowcat. They see a pack of mutants who've stolen a train, risked innocent lives and are bearing down on a city whose only defenses are the Mississippi river and the S.H.I.E.L.D. strike force. Believe me, it's out of my hands. I've sanctioned this mission knowing what these kids are capable of, and hopefully, if they're headed off early, the powers that be will be placated enough not to go through with what they're threatening."

"What are they threatening?" Jean asked, concern marking her features as she moved to stand alongside Cyclops.

Fury shook his head. "Motion six-one-six under the Civil Protection Act. Paragraph C, subsection twenty three."

"In English, Nick," Logan growled.

Fury paused, his expression blank in its polite neutrality. "Mutant Registration."

"You're joking," Iceman snorted incredulously. "Does that mean they're going to dog tag all of us to keep tabs?"

"It's been in discussion for the better part of six months, and with this –" he gestured towards the monitor, "the senate is putting it to vote within the next thirty days."

"That is completely preposterous!" Storm exclaimed.

"It's inhumane, is what it is."

"They'll be putting chips in our brains to keep us sedated next."

"They can't," Shadowcat piped up. "They can't catalogue and document every mutant in the United States; it's impossible. New mutants start exhibiting the advanced x-gene all the time…"

"They have ways, Half-Pint," Logan murmured, fingers rubbing across his knuckles absently. "If that bill passes, they will find a way."

Fury's expression remained impassive, but slowly, he nodded, agreeing with Logan. "As you can see, it's become imperative that the Brotherhood is stopped before they cause any real damage. It would be…"

"Catastrophic," Cyclops murmured.

"For all of us," Jean whispered, fingers wrapping around Scott's elbow.

"S.H.I.E.L.D.'s primary objective is the cessation of hostile mutant activity," Fury said. "Without government sanction, the Brotherhood can be offered asylum should they consent to negotiations – with certain conditions, of course."

"Like?" Logan rumbled.

The female agent cleared her throat. "Sir?"

Fury glanced at her, looking at the black-clad woman for a long moment. Tersely, he nodded. "Go. I want Omega, Theta and Gamma squadron on alert. Target all potential entry points into the city."

She stepped around the terminal, hands slapped firmly to her sides, at attention. "Yes, sir."

With that, she saluted, turning sharply on her heel, and marched off down the plank and into the night.

"Homo superior has a welcome place on the S.H.I.E.L.D. strike force," Fury explained, watching the woman's back. "I understand that you've come to Louisiana for personal matters, a rogue X-Man, as it were."

"Bad pun," Logan growled.

Fury shook his head, studying the agent rallying the troops out on the tarmac, shouting instructions and breaking them into teams.

"I remember that those kids helped us last year with Apocalypse, don't think I don't. I'll do whatever is in my power to get them out of this, but my troops can't do it alone – no matter what sort of skills they possess. Ms. Maximoff alone is enough to beat down my best agents. The property damage that both Mr. Dukes and Mr. Allerdyce can produce could result in billions of taxpayer's dollars. One well-placed earthquake on behalf of Mr. Alvers, and the city will sink. They are formidable, and reckless. That's a dangerous combination."

Cyclops stepped forwards, pointedly looking at the increasingly agitated expression on Kurt's face. Nightcrawler bowed his head, shaking it back and forth resignedly. When he next glanced up to Scott, his yellow eyes were narrowed as he nodded.

"You'll have our help," Cyclops said at last.

Fury straightened. "If I can be of service with your missing team mate, my agents will serve you as best they can once this is over."

"Sie würden verbessern," Kurt muttered below his breath.

"Danvers!" Fury bellowed suddenly.

The blond woman levitated, turning midair and hovering before the opened doors of the X-Jet where the X-Men all turned to watch her floating figure.

"Use force only if necessary!"

She gave him a brusque nod, and disappeared into the spangled sky.

---

Translations: French to English
Batard!: Bastard!
Bonjour: Hello
Cher mari: Dear husband
Dieu: God
Écoute moi: Listen to me
Mon dieu!: My god!
Oui: Yes
Putain demerde: Son of a bitch
Merde: Shit
Viens: Come

Translations: German to English
Sie würden verbessern: They'd better

Post Script:
- On the Outside: Not an employee of a card room, that is, a live player. "Doesn't Hector work here?" "Nah, he's on the outside."
- Lex Talionis (Latin): The law of equal and direct retribution. "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, an arm for an arm, a life for a life." Essentially, it's what the Assassins demanded of Jean Luc when Remy killed Julien. One son's life for the other.
- "What am Ah gonna do with ya, Remy LeBeau…I've got a list, but I left it in m' other pants." Astonishing X-Men #1 (For Bitchy Little Pixy, who asked nicely.)
- "…Wipe that face off yo' head." It's actually, "wipe that face off your head, bitch." Dazed and Confused reference.
- "Or Ah'll drop ya like second period." A slight variation on the Ocean's Eleven quote.