Aaaaaaahhh! Summer sunshine...

It does feel good.

Anyways, the next chapter!

Oh, and I'm not sure whether to end this story on an epilogue or leave it open for a sequel. Any thoughts?

Chapter 48

Noelle felt good. She had spent the whole morning flying alongside the ship and then several hours soaking in the hot tub with the other girls.

Her dress fit perfectly and she looked damn good in it. She had managed to tame the Annie wig monstrosity Julie and Kelsey had given poor Sarah and had successfully stolen Sofy's ridiculous black heels (Kelsey was going to find blue hair dye in her shampoo for convincing the girl to buy those deathtraps).

And now she was on the arm of Vincent Boudreaux, something that was making her warm and… yeah… best not to think on that.

Their entrance to the dance could have been in some cheesy fairytale movie: the boys holding hands or linking their arms with their girlfriends – most of whom were beaming sappily up at their dates. There was the classic dead silence as they entered – the normal human girls staring longingly at the young X-men boys, and the normal human boys gaping at the legs and cleavages of the X-men girls – and took their seats with Iceman and Jubilee.

Bobby whistled. "Look at you guys, you're making me feel underdressed!"

His wife swatted him playfully. "You look sexy and you know it!"

The two kissed and their charges made a great show of gagging and rolling their eyes even as they took their seats.

Vincent and Lucien caused quite a stir and earned a healthy amount of deep sighs from the watching girls as they pulled out Sofy and Noelle's chairs before taking their own seats. Seeing this caused the other boys to scramble to help their dates get seated.

"Well, well, well…" hissed a tall, bloated man dressed in an ill-fitting, cheap suit. "If it isn't the mutants."

"It is," Jubilee said coldly, rising from her chair.

Somehow, the idiot with his ugly brown suit and sweaty armpits didn't impress nearly as much as much as the teacher with her gorgeous kimono and graceful updo, even with the four inch difference.

Obviously, the man realized that he was going to be unable to intimidate them, so he smirked and added a strong condescendence to his voice.

"Are you sure you all should be here? Aren't you worried for your students' safety?"

Noelle spoke up. "Beggin' y' pardon, Monsieur, but Ah t'ink we proved we kin take care o' ourselves."

The squinty, pig-like eyes narrowed and she could see his hand twitch up towards his slowly healing, broken nose. God, did she do beautiful work.

"Well, sweetie," he said as though speaking to a brain dead three year old. "Don't you think that was a tad excessive? Wouldn't want lawyers involved, would we?"

"Non, fo' y' sake we wouldn' wan' dat. Sweetie."

"What did you say, you frea-"

"D' y' really wan' t' finish dat sentence?" Noelle asked, her elbows on the table, fingers laced together and her chin perched on her hands. Beside her she could feel Vincent stiffening, anger rising dangerously, Lucien had let go of Sofy's hand and was getting his legs under him, Alexei was settling his hands onto his chair, readying himself to throw it, and James was eyeing the rude idiot like a dragon debating whether to set a troublesome knight on fire or not.

"Are you threatening to set your boys on me, girl?"

She smiled, and she knew it was the smile her father got right before he snapped your head off, but her eyes were the Death Glare she had inherited from her mother. Lucien had told her that those two mixed together made her look scarier than Tante Mattie, scarier than Wolverine, scarier than Talon. Scarier than their mother.

"D'y' really t'ink Ah need dem t' knock y' an' yo' boys on y' asses?"

The man backed off fast. Noelle followed his movements – a tiger watching an overly arrogant chicken hustle back to its henhouse – as he retreated to his table.

"Y' scary as hell when y' get dat way," Vincent said conversationally. "Did y' know dat? Scarier den ma mère – an' y' know how pleasant she kin be."

She laughed. Her date smiled.

"You really shouldn't have done that, Noelle," Jubilee said unenthusiastically even as she moved to sit down.

"D'y' realleh b'lieve dat?"

"No."

"Good evening everyone!" the Captain – what was his name again? – said. He was decked out in full white captain regalia, gold braids, and medals. "I ask that you all now take your seats so we may begin the final night of the cruise. Tonight the chefs have prepared a special meal before the dancing begins."

The guests hurried to take their seats, fine suits shining, jewelry sparkling on the ears, wrists and necks of women, dresses sparkling… It was like being caught in a multicolored disco ball. Though with a bit more fashion sense and lot less disco.

As soon as the last well dressed behind hit a seat, the Captain waved a dramatic hand and doors sprang open to reveal a small battalion of white smocked servers, each pushing a cart or table of some kind. Some had buckets filled with ice and bottles of wine, juice, sparkling water, cider, vodka, even tiny, delicate white boxes of milk. Others had covered bowls and tureens from which escaped scents that made her mouth water, as well as baskets filled with soft, golden-brown bread that was still steaming, and basins filled with tossed salad.

"May I present your servers for the night? They are bringing in a choice of soups and salads for your choosing, as well as a wide variety of beverages. Please enjoy!"

Their specimen of a waiter was a very handsome creature with bronze skin, soulful black eyes, and a face worthy of movie star. She could feel her fellow females staring longingly and the boys glare dangerously as they were served their drinks, soups, salad, and bread. By the time he left their table, poor Christian looked fiercely uncomfortable.

"Jeez, you guys!" Julia said sourly, stabbing her arugula salad. "What is your problem?"

"You did not have to…" Alexei motioned harshly with his soup spoon.

Noelle traded smirks with Vincent and Lucien before taking another sip of her soup.

"Y' t'ink y'all'd know better den t' openly stare at da waiters when y' on a date. Dis ain' girls' nahght out, afteh all."

"Oh come on!" Kelsey scoffed, leaning back a bit in her chair to maintain her view of Christian's behind in tight black pants. "MMMMMM! Going and coming, it's still good."

"Why am I even here?" Eddie demanded, stabbing his salad with incredible venom.

"I've got a good shot," James growled, fingers twitching.

"Set him on fire and it's the last thing you'll ever do!" Monica hissed.

Christian did not return.

Their new server was an equally handsome man, pushing a cart filled with refills of their drinks.

"Hiya folks, Christian's been called away on another assignment so I'll be your server for the rest of the night! My name's Kyle!"

Kyle bent over and spoke into Noelle's ear. "I love your shoes… totally fabulous! And your date is positively luscious!"

"Merci, sugah. Good t' know Ah got such good taste."

There was a rather disappointed sigh around the table from the girls, and a rather uneasy shuffling from the boys as their waiter very cheerfully gave them their drinks and then rattled off a list of possible entrees.

Once 'luscious' Kyle was safely back in the kitchen until the entrees, the conversations began.

Noelle chatted with Sofy and Julia about the upcoming AP exams.

"I am so nervous," Sofy admitted, cutting up a bit of lettuce. "What is an exam like?"

Julia stabbed a bit of angel hair pasta in her soup. "Horrible."

"Hours o' torture," Noelle added grimly.

The Russian girl trembled.

"I's dat bad?" Vincent interrupted, looking alarmed. "James keeps tellin' moi dat I gon' die right afteh but I didn' b'lieve him."

"B'lieve it, Vince," she assured him. "How many y' takin'?"

He set down his utensil and paused for a moment. "Lessee… takin'… AP Chem –"

"Y' gon' die."

"AP Stats…"

"Slowly."

"An' AP US History."

"Wit' an axe in y' head."

"An' AP English."

Horror now fully coursing through her veins, the Thief delicately set down her spoon, pushed away her bowl of soup, and stared in shock at her date. "Correct moi if Ah'm wrong, cher."

"D'accord."

"Dis y' firs' year ever t' attend school."

"Oui."

"Dis yo' firs' tahme eveh havin' t' take classes o' any kahnd."

"Oui."

"An' y' takin' four AP classes y' firs' tahme?"

"Oui."

By this time Noelle was not the only person staring at him in utter shock, now Julia, Alexei, Sofy, Lucien, and James were gaping.

"How da hell y' keepin' up wit' all dat crap?" Luke demanded.

Vincent shrugged. "Jus' good at it – 'Cept fo' chem. Ain' got a clue what he's talkin' 'bout."

"Who have you got?" James asked.

"Curry."

A collective shudder went around the table. "Bad luck my friend," Alexei said sympathetically.

"Curry's gotta be da worse teacher in da whole school."

"Da's rahght, y' had him las' year, didn'cha mon frère." She could remember her brother frantically attempting to reason out chemical equations and how it was that two hydrogens plus one oxygen made something vital while one less hydrogen made that something poisonous.

Luke shook his head. "Ah remember Ah had t' get all kinds o' tutorin' from Hank t' even get a t'ree on dat exam – hard as hell."

"Hank? Dr. McCoy?"

"Yeah, mate, didn't you know the good doctor used to be the chem teacher at Bayville High?"

"C'est faux!"

"I's true! He used to be a teacher at de high school 'fore he grew fur and became Beast."

"He a good teacher?"

Luke shrugged. "Hell o' lot betteh dan dat idiot Curry."

"A bloody monkey could teach better than Curry," James scoffed.

"What da hell're y' doin'?" Vincent suddenly said.

Noelle didn't even pause as she spooned some of his soup up and into her mouth. "Takin' some o' y' soup. MMMMM… dis is good!"

He scowled at her, then leaned forward and took a bit of her soup.

As soon as he put the spoon in his mouth, the look of anger was replaced with sheer delight. "C'est delicioux! Wha' is dis?"

"Ummm… dey called it wild mushroom an' parmesan risotto. Wha' 'bout yo's?"

"Mussels, bacon an' gorgonzola cream… t'ink I tasted some bourbon in dis too."

His eyebrow twitched in annoyance as she took another mouthful of his dish. "Hmmmm… Yeah, Ah kin taste dat too… Wonder what kind dey used."

"Anybody ever tell y' i's rude t' take ot'er people's food?"

"Da's only if dey ain' y' date –"

"Quoi?" interrupted Luke, abruptly leaning forward.

Ah, there it was, the infamous LeBeau over protectiveness – better nip this in the bud. Wouldn't want him scaring off another good looking guy… though she rather appreciated the sentiments after the whole Denzel disaster. But seriously, she was a fully trained Master Lady Thief and a full-fledged X-Men; she could damn well take care of herself.

With that thought in mind, the young woman leaned forward, caught her brother's eye and smiled dangerously. "Vincent is mah date fo' tonahght."

Her brother's dark brown eyes narrowed and he stared at her so fiercely that it would have made anyone else extremely uncomfortable, but she knew he was only trying to figure out what she was thinking.

To this she raised an eyebrow and Luke's own brows made a break for his hairline and his mouth fell open slightly.

"Got a problem wit' dat?"

He didn't answer, merely shook his head much in the same way that he always did, with the same look he always got, when she did something he fiercely opposed and disapproved of – especially when it was a stunt he hadn't seen coming.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Vincent felt the side of his head begin to smoke as Lucien directed a Glare of Doom (which differs oh-so-subtly from a Death Glare) at him. Instead, he focused on eating the last of his soup and stealing sips from Noelle's bowl.

Just because he was a highly trained Assassin didn't mean he wanted to tangle with a pissed off big brother. Wasn't one family feud that ended with someone dead enough for one century? How many could two families have?

Of course, they were Cajun so anything could happen.

But anyway…

"Wha're y' gettin' as y' entre?"

"Pourquoi?" he asked, only half joking. "Y' wan' get somet'in' differen' so y' c'n pick off mah plate?"

"Was dere any doubt in yo' mahnd?"

He smiled. "No' really."

Noelle laughed – the delicious sound made his stomach erupt into champagne bubbles (a very pleasant but extremely unmasculine feeling) – and looked at him expectantly.

So he really had no choice but to say, though he made sure he loaded each word he said with as much reluctance and sourness as he could fit into it. "Salmon stuffed wit' crab, red peppers –"

"Bell peppers?"

"Dere any doubt?"

"Obviously if Ah'm askin'."

"Touchy!"

"Nah, jus' impatien'. Wha' else?"

"Spinach an' rice pilaf."

She closed her eyes with an expression of bliss on her face.

"Tastin' it already?"

"Almost."

"Dat mean I don' gotta give y' a taste?"

She jabbed him with her elbow. "Ah said almost."

"What're y' gettin'? Jus' so I know wha' t' look fo'ward to."

"Da lamb, wit' rosti pommes de terre, an' ratatouille."

"Da's actually a real dish?"

The look he received made him grin.

"Yeah, hun, dat's a real dish."

The dinner platters came and as she took pieces of salmon off his plate as though she was entitled to them he found himself retaliating by stealing bits of her lamb.

Her food and his was all pretty damn good.

And that ratatouille… there were just no words… he wondered if anyone at the Institute knew how to make it.

And then the final wave of waiters brought out serving carts and trays with mounds of fruits, heaps of steaming bread, well sliced cheese.

Vincent ignored the healthy crap, demanding fattening, artery-clogging, chocolatey goodness. He debated endlessly over getting something that had the intriguing name of Chocolate Armageddon and Bonta Brownie Trio Sundae and didn't stop until Noelle choked him with an apple slice and ordered the sundae for herself and the Armageddon for him.

"Nevah met a boy so hung up on chocolate in all mah lahfe," she commented later as the lights began to dim for the dancing portion of the evening.

"Blame it on ma mere, she was always eatin' it," he said around a mouthful of chocolate syrup.

"Least she taught y' somet'in' rahght."

A haze of fury made his vision go unnaturally sharp and his body tense, his training demanding for him to strike down this Thief who had dared to insult his Guildmistress, before another, softer wave of annoyance and curiosity made his shoulders relax, reminding him who this was. This wasn't any Thief… this was Noelle – his friend… who he was kinda… sorta… a little… in love with. "An' wha' was dat?"

She didn't answer him, merely looked at him with abject confusion in every line of her face.

"Quoi?" He leaned a bit forwards, trying to get a better look at her expression. "Noelle? Ca va?"

It took a long moment for her to speak, at which point she cocked her head and smiled a bit. "We gotta teach y' how t' make empathic shields. All dose crazy emotions o' yo's give moi a hell o' a headache."

Ah shit… had she felt that… feeling – yeah, that's right, feeling – inside him?

"Y' c'n make shields 'gainst empathy?"

Noelle shrugged as she moved to stand up. "In t'eory yes."

"How's somebody do dat?"

He quickly got to his feet and offered her his arm to walk her out onto the dance floor. The floor was polished wood – faux wood, but still – and the sort used for ballroom dancing.

"If everyone will please make their way to the dance floor!" called a short, very neat looking man with a trim mustache and immaculately white dinner jacket. "For tonight's first waltz."

"Did he just say waltz?" Julia half whispered half shrieked. "We need to know how to waltz?"

"You learned how to waltz during Senor Antonio's lessons," Monica whispered from where she and James where turning to face each other. "Remember? That slow dance you said made you fall asleep because it was so boring?"

Julia blinked. "That's the waltz? Wow, that is easy!"

Noelle smirked even as she took his hand in hers and set her other hand onto his shoulder. "Classic Yankee. Y' know how t' dance, oui?"

"Course, you?"

"Mais oui."

Vincent tried to breathe around the sweet perfume of her hair and skin but it was fogging up his brain and he was having a very hard time concentrating. It took a ridiculous amount of thought to close his fingers around her slender ones, place his hand on her waist and pull her close.

The burning feeling on the back of his neck made him intensely aware of Lucien glaring at him. Damn it! I am a Prince o' Assassins! I should be able t' get t'rough a dance wit'out my date's frère hasslin' moi all night!

"Shall we?" he asked with all the suaveness he possessed.

Following his eyes, Noelle grinned that evil smile of hers and tightened her grip on his biceps, moving herself closer. "We makin' Luke mad?"

"Y' got a better idea?" he asked as the music started.

The song was long, slow and required moves he hadn't used in months. But at least he didn't have to worry about heels stepping on his toes; he was somehow unsurprised to find that Noelle was not only a great dancer in a club, but she was also one hell of a ballroom dancer.

"How d'y' know so much 'bout dancin'?"

"Y' mean ballroom dancin'?"

"Non, break dancin' – ow!"

She had just spiked him with her black and silver heels. "Don' be a smartass. Fo' yo' info'mation, every T'ief – 'specially da girls – learns how t' dance. I's a requirement."

He spun her gently and brought her back to his chest. "Why's dat?"

Noelle bit her lip, apparently considering her answer. "Well… da logic is dat filles have an easier tahme getting' inta da higher circles o' societies if dey pretty dan boys. Old men wantin' good lookin' dates dat look young enough t' be dey gran'children an' all dat."

Oh-kay, he didn't like where this was going.

"So da idea is dat a Lady T'ief c'n sneak inta dese big society parties, seduce da richest lookin' one dere, take him back t' his room an' make it out wit' his wallet an' anyt'in' else he got on 'im."

Vincent stopped so suddenly that she stumbled and two other couples blundered into them.

"Sorry," he tossed over his shoulder before turning to his less than happy partner. "Dey was pimpin' y' out?"

The young woman gaped at him. "Quoi? 'Course not! Now move y' ass – we blockin' da ot'er dancers!"

Moving quickly, he began to get back into the swing of the dance, turning them on the spot. "So wha' would y' call it if it ain' pimpin'?"

"Ain' y' eveh heard o' roofies?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, y' slip a time delayed roofie inta dey drink, get 'em alone, let 'em flirt, maybe kiss y' – some girls let 'em grope 'em, but dat wasn' f' moi – an' den buy tahme 'til dey pass out."

"So y' don' – y' never…"

The eye roll he received was truly a work of art. "Maybe y' ain' picked dis up, Vincent, but Ah'm a lady, not a whore."

Ah. Shit. Shit. Shit! "Dat wasn' what Ah meant – what Ah meant was –"

The music ended and he scrambled to bow deeply to her and remove his foot from his mouth. His babbles were utterly halted by delicate, slender fingers against his lips.

"Shush! Ah know wha' y' meant. No worries. Le's go sit down."

Vincent smirked. "Got a better idea."

They ended up standing at one of the bay windows. Noelle snagged a pair of wine glasses off a passing waiter's tray, tasted each carefully with the tip of a finger, nodded in satisfaction and gave one to him. "Here, da drinks ain' been spiked yet."

Not quite appeased, he eyed the vague, yellowish liquid suspiciously. "What is dis?"

"Iced tea, Prudence. Now drink."

"Oui, mam'selle."

There was a long moment of silence.

"Why did y' pull my ass outta dat canal?"

"Straight into it, huh?"

He shrugged.

She averted her gaze and stared out to ocean. "Y' looked scared. Y' needed help. So Ah did wha' Ah had t' do."

"Dat ain' a good reason."

"Seemed rahght at da tahme. Still does."

"Good t' know a T'ief values my life."

"Considerin' who dat T'ief is, y' should be."

He offered her a courtly bow.

She smiled at him and his stomach dissolved into bubbles that were very much incapable of adding this iced tea to the elegant gourmet meal he was already digesting.

"Care t' dance?"

The young woman looked up at him through her bangs with what (if he didn't know better) looked almost like shyness. "Sho'."

As the music increased in tempo in a Rihanna number and the older dancers retreated from the floor to make way for the younger and more vibrant and daring party guests, Vincent put his hands on his date's svelte hips and grinned.

The way she swayed, tossed her hair, and snapped her hips made him more than a little lightheaded and he was having alarming trouble swallowing.

Vincent found himself momentarily disappointed as the fast song came to an end, only to hear a much slower song come floating through the air. Noelle wrapped her arms around his neck.

"'Bout da ot'er nahght," she said.

"What about it?"

"Sorry, didn' mean t' loose mah head da way Ah did."

"Don' worry about it." Of course, she could have just admitted to tossing all his luggage overboard, but with her so close and smelling like she did, he couldn't get out much more. Get control of your hormones, Boudreaux! "Gotta say t'ough, wouldn' o' t'ought y'd get so worked up 'bout it."

"Mah powers're dangerous. Ah learned dat when Ah was eight."

"Wha' happened when y' turned eight?"

"Ah tell y' later."

"If y' say so."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Shing

Shing

Shing

"Mr. Wilson?"

Shing.

"Yeah?"

Shing

"What are you doing?"

Shing

"Sharpening up Stephanie and Courtney. Gotta have 'em looking their best."

Shing Shing

"I see. May I ask why a skilled mercenary such as yourself does not use something more… modern? Like a gun?"

Shing

"A what?"

Shing

"A gun, Mr. Wilson. The instruments you have at your belt."

Pause.

Shing

"My doorknobs?"

Shing

"I beg your pardon?"

"My doorknobs. These, see?"

Ch-chik

"I see them, Mr. Wilson. Now kindly put your… doorknob away. That could kill someone."

"Doorknobs don't kill people. I kill people."

"That's very reassuring."

Deadpool, how we love you and your insanities.

Well... next week they're back on dry land and back to reality.

REVIEW!

"C'est faux!" – "It's not true!" or more colloquially: "No way!"

Ca va? – "Are you okay?"

"Mais oui." – "Of course."

Filles – "Girls"