Author's Note: This fic turned kinda dark on me. Please note the rating change. All characters are owned by Marvel.

A large box of Rogue's personal effects from the Avengers HQ is sent over to our place. I don't know if this is their passive-aggressive way of telling her good riddance, or someone's doing some spring cleaning over there and kindly decided not to throw her shit out.

When I say shit, I'm mostly borrowing Rogue's words because I'm currently digging through the stuff that she refuses to go through, and some of the things in here are entertaining as hell.

Becoming an Avenger is akin to going Hollywood among superheroes. The publicity is a part of the job. Deadpool, being the attention whore he is, wasted no time in stamping his name and face on everything from toys and T-shirts to waffle irons and toothbrushes. And apparently, even lingerie.

I find a pair of red thong panties with Deadpool's face on the crotch and a note for Rogue that reads:

Please wear this and think of me. – Wade

I charge Deadpool's face and the offending number is reduced to ashes. The idea of him and Rogue and their supposed little "make-out session" still dampens my general mood about Wade.

Of course, knowing Rogue, "making out" for her is still pretty much confined to first base.

Rogue has a fail-safe mechanism built into her personality that keeps her from making bad sexual decisions, honed by a lifetime of shunning touch. I know it all too well because I think I had a hand in building it with her. I was like that machine that tests fatigue and durability by repeatedly taking that hand to the face.

I laugh about it now but it was pretty taxing for me and tragic for her, and some people, including Rogue herself, have some interesting theories about me on how I managed to endure so many rejections.

But it wasn't always conscious thought that drove me to her over and over again. For the initial half of our relationship, I had gotten a little addicted to – not the rejecting part – but the moment right before it.

In the seconds and minutes before that fail-safe mechanism kicks in, she is literally brimming with untapped sexual energy and there is nothing but pure joy and thrill in her eyes. She looks at you like you're her god and you're her prey, and it's exciting as hell, seeing so much potential energy gone untapped. And just as you reach for her to think you may actually get her this time, that mechanism comes slamming down on your hand and it's back to square one, trying to get her to that point of brimming excitement again.

Of course, this isn't the reason why I marry her. At a certain point, I realize she's a person and not just a puzzle nature made up to torture me. And me and that person bond in a way that I didn't know would be possible.

I fish out a couple parcels of "Rogue memorabilia". There is a stack of her costume – a part of a fashion line that Wasp made for the Unity Squad at the time. Another note:

Not too many Rogue outfits were sold. Skimpy ones sell better. – Janet

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had actually joined the Avengers with her. Probably sell a lot of trenchcoats.

I continue to dig around when Rogue enters the room, wearing a sleeveless blush pink dress that falls a little past her knees. I smile at her as she looks at herself in the mirror, pulling her hair up into a ponytail. She quickly pulls it out and shakes it loose.

"How do Ah look?" she turns to me, a bit nervously.

"Like sugar and spice and everythin' nice," I croon.

She sighs, plopping down next to me, unlady-like in her pretty pink dress. "Ah can't believe Ah agreed to this."

Monique, our neighbor who lives in the building across from us, has asked Rogue to take her little girl, Aisha, to a pre-school event that she won't be able to attend because of an extra shift at work. Normally, Rogue would never be caught dead in a situation like this, but to my surprise, she said yes. Or maybe couldn't say no.

The event is pink-themed.

"Ya wanna go instead of me?" she asks suddenly.

I look at her like she's crazy.

"What? You're great with kids! An' Lord knows ya love to wear pink."

"As good as I look in pink, chere, I insist y'see dis through."

Her shoulders slump, and then she sniffs the air. "Did somethin' burn in here?"

"Hey, check dis out, action figures!" I pull out a janky-looking version of her likeness.

"Ugh," she says, making a face. She takes the action figure out of my hand. "Why are my shoulders so wide? And my neck's so thick. It's like they didn't even bother to make my own body. Just stuck a different head on like extra Captain America dolls they had layin' around."

"Well, den, maybe dis one be more t'your liking. Definitely played up the feminine bits." I pull out the anime version of her action figure. "Someone in Japan really loves you, chere."

"Oh my Gawd," she says, looking appalled. "Ah look like Ah'm bein' strangled by my own boobs!" She grabs the box it came in. "This thing is for kids 7 and up! Was addin' this much detail to the nipples necessary?"

"It's important t'teach correct anatomy at an early age," I grin. I stick the figure in front of her face. "Look how pretty y' eyes are."

"Yeah, right, Ah'm sure everyone's lookin' at my eyes."

The doorbell rings and she kind of jumps. "That must be them," she sighs, frowns at the Japanese action figure in my hand and quickly stuffs it under the sofa seat before getting the door.

"Hi!" Monique greets enthusiastically. "Thanks again for doin' this! Oh my Gawd! Look at you in that dress! But with that body, Ah guess Ah shouldn't even be surprised!"

"Thanks, come on in," Rogue finally says.

"Hi, Remy!"

"Hey Monique," I greet.

Aisha runs across the room to my side and grabs the man-Rogue action figure.

"Aisha, where your manners, girl?" Monique chastises.

"S' fine," I reassure her, picking her up and putting her on my knee.

"Sorry," she shakes her head. She holds up a large manila envelope. "Oh, this was on your doorstep by the way."

"Probably Rogue's fan mail," I tell her. "Just put it in the box wit' de rest."

She sets it inside the box next to me. "You get fan mail? Of course, you get fan mail!"

Rogue rolls her eyes. "Not just fan mail. Like a lot of hate mail, and mostly just mail from lonely perverts who are either too old or too paranoid to use email."

Monique hoots. "Oh, Ah'd love to read some. Seriously, a bottle of chardonnay and this box would make one helluva night."

"It's gonna have to be a pretty big bottle," Rogue says.

Monique chuckles then notices the stuff on the couch. "What's this?"

"'Rogue de Avenger' goods," I inform, smirking. "Here, you wan' a costume?"

"No kiddin'?" Monique beams. "Seriously, can Ah have one?"

"She don't care," I say.

"Ah don't care," Rogue repeats.

"Then, yes please!" Monique squeals. "Oh, but Ah'll pick it up after work. Speakin' of work, Ah better get goin'. Rogue, ya just have to get there by noon, and Ah already told all her teachers that you're her aunt."

"Okay, right," Rogue smiles and takes a deep breath.

"Call me if there are any problems," Monique hugs Rogue, then grabs Aisha by the face and kisses her. "Baby, be good."

Aisha nods.

"Bye Remy," she blows me a kiss and profusely thanks Rogue a few more times until she's out the door.

When Rogue comes back, Aisha stares up at us and says, "I need to go potty."

I look at Rogue.

"Oh! Well then, c'mon." She picks up Aisha from my lap and takes her to the bathroom. "You waited for your momma to leave on purpose, didn't ya, you rascal?"

Aisha grins at her, finger in her mouth.

It's strange how stereotypically domestic Rogue looks right now – long, soft hair, a pink dress and a baby balanced on her hip – and despite her insistence that she is not cut out for motherhood, it's not a bad look for her. I pick up man-Rogue, the action figure, off the floor and place it back in the box.

I pull out the manila folder that Monique brought in and wonder if it fell out earlier. I unclasp the top, slide open the seal and pull out a photo.

I freeze.

It's a black-and-white picture of a girl. Long, curly hair falls to her waist, unruly white locks framing her cherub-like, heart-shaped face. It's unmistakably Rogue but younger. Not young enough to be pre-adolescent, but still younger than I've ever known her.

I met her when she was 19, and this picture is quite some time before then.

She's barely covered on a bed with a naked man sleeping behind her.

But there's something else that's far more disturbing. It's the look in her ingénue eyes set in that babyface as she stares at the camera pointedly.

It's the look she gives me seconds before the fail-safe mechanism kicks in.

I don't know how long I spend staring at the photo because I don't hear her come out of the bathroom.

"What ya lookin' at?" she asks.

Unconsciously, I tip the photo towards my chest, covering it. I stare up at her wordlessly.

She raises her brow at me

"What is it?" she asks.

"It's a picture of you," I just say and can't go on further.

She tugs Aisha's arm and says, "Aisha, baby. Can ya go find all the kitties? See where they hidin'?"

Aisha nods and runs off, and Rogue turns to me. I give her the photo.

She takes a look at it, and then screws up her face. "Jesus, there are some sick perverts out there," she spits out. "Why would they make somethin' like this?"

"It ain't real?" I ask her, but her completely chill demeanor already tells me that it isn't.

"No! Have ya met me, Remy?" she exclaims. "Ya think Ah'm the type o' gal who likes to kick it with nude old men, barely coverin' myself?"

Now that she words it that way, it does sound ridiculous.

I sigh. "Dieu, really scared me dere for a sec."

She rips the photo in a huff and shakes her head. "Ah swear, Remy, Ah just keep findin' more reasons to not have children in this world."

"Tell me about it."

Rogue tosses it in the trash. "Ah'm gonna take off now."

"Still early, chere."

"Think Ah'd like to buy a hat… maybe cover my hair a bit."

I chuckle. "You afraid de other moms gon' notice who y'are?"

"Well, up until now, Ah never realized that the Avengers made and sold all this extra shi-iirts of me… Hey!" she says suddenly, smiling brightly down at Aisha, who has dragged Lucifer out of his hiding place. Her voice changes into pure honey. "Good job, sugah. Ya found Lucifer."

Rogue takes Lucifer out of Aisha's hands and hands him to me.

"Wish me luck," she says in a hush, as she quickly bends down and pecks me on the lips.

"Y'don't need it, chere."

Rogue and Aisha leave the apartment, and I turn back to the manila folder the photo came in. Turns out it isn't the only photo in there.

I take out all the contents and find three more photos similar to the one that Rogue ripped up. There is one that has the old man's hand on her bare thigh. If this is real, this could mean he's dead or comatose.

She sits there with smoldering eyes and slightly parted lips, in a face that is all too frighteningly young. That familiar expression of wild, brimming energy that had always got my pulse racing stares back at me. Except now, the context makes it look damn unsettling.

Rogue seemed convinced these photos were fakes, and it isn't like her to lie to me.

But there are details in the photo – on her face and body that are all too accurate. The guy in the back may have been photoshopped in, but it had to be Rogue. If not Rogue, then I could only think of one other person who could be responsible.

Fence's Black Market Warehouse (and Cupcake Shop). Brooklyn, New York

When Fence takes a look at the photos I hand him, he chooses to be stoic about it.

I have never really shared much about Rogue to him, other than what was necessary at the time, and he never made it his business to ask. His reaction to me marrying her was also just a dry statement congratulating me.

"The original prints are off film negatives," he says. "The good news is that these photos were never digitalized, never put up on the internet, but I'm pretty certain the photographs themselves are unaltered originals."

So one fear is somewhat confirmed – the photos aren't fakes.

"Is dere a way t'figure out who de man is?" I ask. "Dere's a picture where he's wearing a huge ass ring, looks like he may have some prominent affiliation."

His matrix of monitors and screens zoom, render, enhance and pixelate dizzying arrays of his hand on her thigh, the white curl around her cheek, the waifishness of her thin arm, the cupid's bow of her lips in a nightmarish blur, and I find myself looking down away from it.

"It looks like it's a ring for a lawyer's association. I can try narrowing the search based on the year this photograph was taken. How old do you think she is in this photo?"

Rogue told me she joined the X-men when she was 17, so this photo was taken before joining up with the X-men. It's probably from her Brotherhood days. I always knew she had a shady past she wasn't too proud of, and that's kind of a reason we may have hit it off so well, but I hadn't imagined anything like this.

"I'd say between 14 and 16," I tell him, trying to be objective and failing.

"Hmm. The moldings on the walls are unique. This is an executive suite in an exclusive hotel on Boardwalk, highly frequented by lobbyists and politicians. But I still have way too many search results to I.D. the fella and the quality is too low to run a face scan."

I swallow. "Try cross-referencing de results wit' Mystique or Raven Darkholme or any other known past aliases she took."

He does it without hesitation, without questions. I always found Fence's growing lack of emotions as he progressively gets replaced with more machine a little depressing, but right now I find it's a blessing.

"There are two hits with this parameter –one is serving a prison sentence and one is out on probation."

"What dey charged wit?"

"The one in prison is serving for extortion, running Ponzi schemes, but he may be a little too young to be the man in the photo. The man on probation is a former U.S. senator alleged with… statutory rape of a minor."

The photo of the U.S. senator comes up.

"It looks like he's the one," Fence says.

I feel sick.

"But the case never made it to trial."

"Why not?"

"Declined to prosecute."

"How's he related to Mystique?"

"He was one of the senators on the bill for the Mutant Registration Act and was later one of the politicians targeted by an alias of Mystique's."

This could mean that it may actually not be Rogue in the photo, and it's just Mystique in disguise. This would also explain why Rogue didn't recognize the photo. But why would Mystique disguise herself as a teenage Rogue to…?

And I already know it's useless to pull at this thread, because this is Mystique.

"Where's de former senator now?"

"He lives in Jersey. Kip Jones. This is his address."

"Dat was fast."

"He's a registered sex offender now. Old habits die hard.

I just nod. "Any footage available for who may have dropped off de envelope at our door?"

"One obviously suspicious one – black hoodie, black ball cap, face mask, sunglasses, the person's covered from head-to-toe. What's interesting is this person enters through your lobby and no one from security stops him. Doesn't your building have one of those fancy lobby attendants or like a guard?"

I massage the back of my head. "Stan? He's like seventy-something. Everything gets by him."

"Well, the masked man… or woman… goes in and comes out early this morning, and I can't track them on any surrounding CCTV or traffic cams after that."

I guess this is the bigger, less-disturbing problem. Someone planted this photo on our door with some kind of purpose in mind. I just can't seem to figure out what. If it was to threaten Rogue, she didn't seem very threatened.

"Text me de address of de senator."

"What are you planning on doing, Remy?"

"Don't really know jus' yet," I admit. I started looking into this in hopes of just confirming that Rogue was right and the photos were fakes, but it's quickly turning into a chase down a dark rabbit hole that I don't know if I should be going.

Fence just nods and cautiously ventures an opinion for the first time since I arrived. "I don't know much about married life, but diggin' up the wife's past may not be the best thing to keep peace in the family, don't you think? Especially if it's something she wants to keep buried?"

I collect the photos. "She doesn't hide stuff from me, Fence. She always gave me the whole ugly truth whether I liked it or not."

"Sounds refreshing."

I smirk. "It is. Maybe I'll bring her by next time. I'd hate to think dis is the one an' only impression y'get of her."

I turn to leave.

"Oh and Fence, I probably don't need t'mention dis, but…"

"I already erased everything."

"Thanks."

Newark, New Jersey

Former U.S. Senator Kip Jones lives alone in a dilapidated apartment building that looks even more depressing on the inside. He thought he had caught a lucky break when the charges for the statutory rape were dropped, but what was to follow was something completely worse.

His life falls apart in a thorough and phenomenal way. He loses his seat in the Senate, his lawyer's license, his trust fund, his wife, his children and his health. He gains a financial debt that gets worse with gambling, an electronic bracelet that records his every move, a drug habit he cannot afford and gets riddled with cancer. He lives only in the sense that he hasn't stopped breathing yet.

I'm on the rusty scaffolding outside his window that may have been a fire exit at one point, wondering if it's worth going in or not. I came here trying to establish whether he may have been the one who was behind sending the photos, but I can see now that this guy doesn't have the wits to do much of anything anymore.

I look at him – rape of a minor.

I wonder if that minor was Rogue.

Before I know it, I am inside his apartment, and I have his concave chest beneath my boot. I stare down at him, my eyes blazing, as he flounders on the floor.

His eyes are half-open, barely coherent, as he tries to feebly lift my boot off of his chest.

"Kip Jones?"

He meets my eyes lazily, like he's in a drug-induced haze.

I only have one question. I put the picture up to his face.

"You recognize dis girl?"

He recognizes the girl. But in a much more violent way than I had expected. His eyes pop open, all his veins stand on end and he strains forward with all his strength.

"I never touched her!" he shrieks. "That bitch! That little, lyin' whore! I never touched her!"

He is a raving maniac and his anger gives him the adrenaline rush to actually shove my boot off of him. He lashes out at the photo, all the time crying:

"I never touched her! I never touched her!"

I finally reach down and briefly pinch the blood supply to his brain. His movements slow, and his head makes a thump as it hits the floor. I look at his unconscious form and get up.

"Best news I've heard all day," I sigh to myself.

I leave the way I came in.

Greenwich Village. Manhattan, New York.

I believe in second chances and giving people the benefit of the doubt more than the average person. So it takes a special kind of sociopath for me to just write off as hopeless.

And one of them is Mystique, Rogue's shape-shifting foster mother, and I guess sort of my mother-in-law now.

Thankfully, Rogue is just as wary of her, if not more so, and generally tries to keep her away from me.

She never even bothered to say hello to me at the wedding, which I was damn grateful for. And I was okay with never crossing paths with her for the rest of our married lives, so it's an exceptionally shitty turn of events that I'm the one who ends up contacting her first.

Meeting Mystique before Fence and the disgraced senator would have probably saved a lot of time and grief to get to the bottom of these photos, but really, I just wanted to avoid her if I could.

I use my network of dark and shady folk to get word over to her network of dark and shady folk, and I'm given the coordinates to meet her… at a Starbuck's.

I sit in the outside seating area with my Frappuccino.

"Remy!"

I look up and Rogue walks over waving her hand, looking surprised to see me here. She's wearing the pink dress I saw her wearing earlier.

Rogue or Mystique?

"What ya doin' here, sugah?" she asks.

I smile at her. "Jus' getting some fresh air, cookie crumbs."

She leans over for a kiss.

And I grab her by the jaw. "Nice try, Mystique."

She looks shocked, still Rogue, but I hold my ground, and sure enough, a very Mystique-like expression twists onto Rogue's beautiful face, and her green eyes flash yellow.

"Interesting," she says quietly. "Have you two devised some kind of code to figure me out?"

I smile at her. "It was Anna's idea."

She gives a bristly sigh because she apparently doesn't like it when I call her daughter by her real name. She takes the seat across from me, crossing Rogue's long legs in front of me and coolly observing me through Rogue's face.

She isn't going to make this easy for me. But when has she ever?

It's also disconcerting that she knows exactly what Rogue is wearing today. I make a mental note to sweep our apartment for any cameras.

"So, have you cheated on my daughter yet?"

At least, she isn't using Rogue's voice.

"Good t'see you, too."

"If this is an attempt to make nice with the parents, Gambit, that ship has sailed a long time ago."

"Couldn't agree more, Raven," I smirk at her humorlessly. I toss the manila folder in the table between us. "Dis arrived at our door dis morning. An' I need you t' tell me everything y'know."

She raises a brow and takes the photos out of the envelope.

A wave of emotion actually passes through her face. It's surprise. It's recognition. It's… longing?

"You say these photos just showed up at your door?"

I don't say anything, and she looks at each one with freakish tenderness.

"What would you like to know?" she asks after a moment. "If they're fakes?"

I decide to keep the facts I know close to my chest and play this carefully. "Aren't dey?"

She narrows her eyes and smiles. "Why are you the one asking me about these photos and not Rogue? What does Rogue say?"

"She says dey're fakes."

"But you don't trust her."

"I don't trust who she was working for when dese photos were taken."

"Hmm," she nods. "What if they are real? Or what if they're fake? Does it really matter now? This is the past, and you have her as your lawfully wedded wife. Does it change the way you feel about her?"

There was a time when insecurity over our relationship made Mystique's mind games absolutely toxic for us. And I'm not proud of how I got played by her. But things are different now. More importantly, I've wizened up to how she plays the game, and she is getting easier to predict.

"Here is de worst case scenario, chere," I tell her plainly, taking a sip from my Frappuccino. "You pimped your daughter out to gain trade secrets from pedophiles. And if dis is the truth, I don't blame Anna for repressing dis or keeping it secret from me. My feelings gettin' hurt ain't de issue here. The issue lies in the fact dat dere is somebody who is sending dese photos to her after all dese years, and for what? To threaten her? Blackmail her? Den I think, as de only family she got, we should probably try gettin' ahead of dat."

For the first time, she is silent. And I'll be lying if I don't relish it a little bit.

She takes a deep breath and sets down the photos on the table.

"There was a brief period of time when Rogue actually embraced her powers, and it terrified even me," she says quietly.

That I wasn't expecting.

She looks at the pictures of Rogue in a forlorn way as she continues, "She was burgeoning into womanhood and figuring out that she was not an average-looking girl. You of all people should know that beauty and sexuality can be power, and she was discovering that she had a surplus.

"But the problem with Rogue was, and still is, that she cared too much about how others perceived her and tried too hard to understand those she absorbed. And absorbing so many older depraved men who only saw her as a sex toy was starting to twist her."

A part of me sinks. I wonder how much of her words I should trust, but they're captivating in the way that only truth can be. And I can't help but process everything she says with a heavy heart like watching bodies being carried out of a train wreck.

"She was angry, rebellious and had a malicious streak where she liked to add pain and humiliation to the marks she was assigned. And she would pull stunts like this." She gestures to the photos. "The man in this photo is a senator. I had tasked her to absorb him at the hotel lobby he was staying at. All she had to do really was to accidentally bump into him. I never asked her to do anything more than that. But she was the one who seduced him with her Lolita-like charms, and got him to his room, stripped him naked, posed him for a photo-op with her and sent it to his wife, kids, co-workers… He had a daughter the same age as Rogue at the time."

Mystique can't keep the smile off her face, like she's almost crushing on her.

"You look proud, Raven."

"Why wouldn't I be? It's exactly what I would have done," she smirks. "I tried my best to rein her in. Told her to stop 'going rogue' on these missions, and she just adopted it as her codename."

Mystique chuckles. She shakes her head, her smile fading from her lips.

"She was beginning to compromise the missions though and getting reckless, so I stopped assigning her the men. But she found out that I was assigning them to another girl on our team, Blindspot. They were similar in age, had similar powers and that's when Rogue lost it. I lost her. Her rage nearly killed me.

"For her safety and sanity, I asked Blindspot, whose powers allowed her to selectively remove the memories of others, to erase Rogue's missions from her memory. But in doing so, Rogue lost that confidence, that edge. She didn't embrace her powers anymore. She started going back to fearing them, considering them a curse. Even considered her own physical beauty a curse. And she would go and cut off all her hair, dress like a man."

"Her behavior changed completely after absorbing Carol Danvers, became a derivative version of her – morally upright, narrow-minded about what justice is. And the X-men made her selfless, lose all ambition, muddied her original character. And her hang-ups about her powers only got worse after you entered her life."

She levels me a look of mild disgust.

"But this," Mystique strokes Rogue's cheek in the photo. "This is when I saw greatness in her – the pure, unadulterated version of her."

Figures Mystique would fall in love with Rogue when she was at her most sociopathic.

I massage the back of my head and sigh. "Fetishized her a bit too much, non?" I tell her. I look at her picture, a child with a woman's body. "Rogue's original character was never selfish or ambitious, chere."

Mystique glares at me. "Like you knew her then?"

"You admitted yourself that Rogue was willing t'let de buck stop at her. All de sick jobs you had lined up f'her, she was willing t'do dem as long as it meant nobody else had to. But when it didn't, when the same shit being done to her was being done to someone else, her anger be de proof of how she actually felt 'bout what she was being forced t'do. She wasn't enjoying it. She was tolerating it, because she probably loved you, chere. And that rage she had f'you wasn't just for Blindspot, it was for all de times she had t'go on de offensive – to own de situation to make her circumstances bearable. Face it, Raven. You weren't empowering her, you just victimized her."

Mystique observes me coolly. "I don't know who may have gotten access to these photos."

She changes the subject, and I smirk in victory, albeit a sad and pointless one.

"But if I were to venture a guess, I wouldn't be surprised if Blindspot is behind it. Though I wouldn't even begin to know how to find her. Perhaps you should ask Rogue." She leans in, looking at me seductively through Rogue's bedroom eyes. "She and Rogue had a rather special relationship, her being the only other person Rogue could physically touch at the time."

I chuckle dryly. "You a cool mother-in-law, chere. You givin' me something t'fantasize 'bout?"

"Ugh," she rolls her eyes. She gets up. "Excuse me."

I feel like this is my cue to exit. I grab the photos and make my way down the street.

"Daddy! Daddy! Wait for me!"

Oh, shit.

The teenage version of Rogue, the mirror image of the one in the photos, clings to my arm and presses her nubile body suggestively against me. I draw the scornful eyes of passersby because I do not look old enough to father a provocatively dressed schoolgirl.

"Seriously?" I pull my arm away.

"This is how you'd like her, wouldn't you?" she hisses into my ear. "Helpless. Impressionable. Needing to be saved? You want to be her knight in shining armor, LeBeau, but you men are all the same. Go ahead and admit it, those pictures turned you on."

I smile at her tensely. "You know what I think? I think dose pictures turn you on. And maybe y'just jealous dat I get t'sleep wit' her, an' you don't."

Her eyes menacingly flash gold. "You are a sick piece of shit, Gambit. And you do not deserve to be in her life."

"Feelin's mutual, chere."

I palm Rogue's baby face and shove it away.

"Now run along! Y'gon' miss y'school bus."

She stumbles back off the sidewalk, but adroitly rights herself. She twirls around to face me, sticks her tongue out and flips me the finger, as she backs away.

I briefly fantasize a truck just coming out of nowhere and hitting her.

But she safely disappears and I'm left with the dire need for some kind of palate cleanser. I take out my phone to call Rogue – my wife Rogue, reformed terrorist and morally sound X-man Rogue.

But I have an unread text from an unknown number.

And it has an attached video file.

I groan inwardly, getting a queasy feeling in my gut.

It's accompanied with a text message:

If you do not want the whole world to know the Avenger Rogue's dirty, secret past, bring 10 million dollars to the following location by 7:00 tonight. Come alone or this gets sent to the press.

My thumb hovers over the video file, wondering if I have it in me to be able to view this. Be able to see this, go back home and look at her the same way, knowing what she had to endure at such a vulnerable age with nobody to protect her.

I swallow. And press the play button.

To Be Continued