"Chere, it's ready."

I hit play on the remote control and then test the 3D glasses. Rogue carries in the popcorn and sits on the couch, crossing her long bare legs Indian style. She's wearing just a short boxy t-shirt over underwear. I don't know if it's just her getting used to marriage life or her recently evolved powers, but she's wearing less and less around the house these days. Not that I'm complaining.

I hand her the 3D glasses and she places them on her face.

It turns out the TV in our living room has some kind of 3-D screen feature, so we decide to spend an idle Saturday testing to see if it's worth keeping the glasses around.

The movie starts, and the Paramount stars sort of seem to zoom by from behind us to the front of the screen, but…

"Meh," she says.

I have to agree.

Suddenly, the screen turns black, and it warps in front of us. A fiery ring unfurls to cover the whole expanse of the front of the living room and the air seems to suction out and then back in, sending all of our hair flying into our face.

"Whoa," we both say.

A dark figure steps out from the middle of the ring, and I immediately recognize the crumpled suit and the aura of surliness. The ring swirls and shrinks behind him and with a pop, the room goes silent.

Pete Wisdom stands on our coffee table, slumped over with his hands in his pant pockets.

"Meh," Rogue finally says.

I smirk at her reaction and take off my glasses. "Nice of you t'drop by, Pete," I greet. "Would've been nice if y'called first."

"LeBeau, you barmy piece of…" He stops short when he suddenly notices Rogue staring back at him. She's still sitting there with the bowl of popcorn between her criss-crossed legs and her 3D glasses. The thought they might not really know each other dawn on me.

"Pete, dis is Rogue," I gesture to Rogue. "Chere, Agent Pete Wisdom of the MI-13."

"Charmed, Ah'm sure," Rogue says flatly. She sighs. "Excuse me while Ah go put on some pants."

She hands me the bowl of popcorn and walks out the room. Wisdom doesn't have the decency to look away.

"I thought the British were nothing wit'out deir manners, mon ami," I grin at him, leaning against the couch comfortably. "Would y'quit ogling m'wife?"

"Manners take on less meaning when your job entails teleporting in on people uninvited." He finally looks back at me with a brow raised. "You're married," he says dumbfounded. "You."

"Intelligence didn't include dat piece o'news, hein?"

"Oh no, they did. I actually even managed to be thrilled for a bare few seconds."

I have the feeling those bare few seconds of thrill were less about the news of my wedding and more about Kitty Pryde's non-wedding.

Rogue enters the room again, this time wearing a pair of form-fitting jeans, and he distractedly looks at her again.

"I just assumed that the bride would have processed the annulment papers by now," he says nodding at Rogue. "So you're the Rogue. I heard you had a ridiculous set of superpowers, but staying married to this git? That's ballsy."

She smiles sweetly. "Ballsy is comin' in here without so much a hello or how do ya do, sugah. Unless the next thing ya want, is me attemptin' to send ya back the way you came in by slammin' your face through our TV screen, Ah suggest ya fast forward to the part where you explain why you're here."

I smile. "She's great, non?"

"Yes, and as subtle as a freight train," he says humorlessly. "Then getting back to why I'm here… LeBeau, you barmy piece of shit!"

"Whoa," I pull back as he whips his hot knives forward, brandishing it in front of my face.

"I should have known that you would have died before you left bloody well enough alone, and now you've gone and pissed all over the faerie realm, and Oberon is rallying the support of the forces in Avalon to go to war with the British Isles if he doesn't have your head, as well as mine!"

"What's goin' on? I didn't do anything."

If at first you don't know what you're being accused of, deny, deny, deny.

"Ah'm sorry, did Ah just hear ya say Fairy realm?" Rogue asks, leaning forward against the back of the couch.

"Did you or did you not steal a magic jewel from King Oberon's treasury?" he hisses. "And before you think about bullshitting your way out of this one, I already have proof you did it. The little faeries that you led around like your personal band of groupies already sang to me that you were the one who took it."

I narrow my eyes, looking at the hot pokers he has for fingers. "Den I guess it's a 'he said, she all said' situation we have here, 'cause I never went near any faerie treasure."

"Oh Remy," Rogue groans. She buries her forehead in her hand. "Please don't tell me this is some kind of strange fetish Ah don't know about."

I glance at Rogue. "Chere, it ain't what y'think…"

"It went missing around the same time I sent you in there, and my pay grade does not permit me to believe in coincidences," Wisdom growls, a hot poker extends and I can actually kind of smell my facial hair singing from the heat.

"You got de wrong guy," I tell him, pulling my head back away from him as far as I can. Honestly, I'm not entirely sure if he did get the wrong guy or not. That whole trip to Avalon felt like an acid trip, and I don't recollect half the things I did in there. When everything you know about reality disappears, you easily lose your need to adhere to logic or common sense.

Wisdom removes his hand from my general direction and pulls out his phone and shows me a photo of a colored sketch. It's a gem with two faces, emerald on one side and ruby on the other. "Jog any memories?"

I narrow my eyes. And I'm surprised to find that I have seen it before. "Non, because I didn't take it…"

Wisdom waits for me to continue unblinkingly.

"But I do recognize de item."

"This is a one-of-a-kind magical stone that has mystical powers, LeBeau. It's not something you recognize from a department store window… you don't recognize it ever, unless you bloody ransacked the King of the Faeries!" The hot pokers are back in my face and I grimace.

"Just… hold dat thought," I tell him, keeping absolutely still while my arm reaches for my phone on the side table. I look through my phone and browse through a few sites and finally find the page. I show it to him. "Dis de item y' looking for?"

The blades disappear as he takes the phone in his hand. "Blast."

"It's up on Sotheby's. All y'need t'do is go an' bid enough money on it, an' voila – crisis resolved."

Wisdom clenches his eyes shut. "This is bad."

I believe him because he looks about three times more stressed out now than when he first arrived.

"Time to call in that favor, LeBeau."

"Really? It's my turn?"

"I need you to get the jewel back. Quietly. No commotions that might bring this to the attention of any authorities. Even if it means you have to set up a private sale yourself to buy it fair and square."

"Hm, dat might be difficult. There's no auction house with a collection worth its salt dat don't have my picture on deir wall of people to look out for."

"Well, I'm a public servant with access to public funds, and the Queen-appointed emissary to Otherworld. I can't be seen anywhere near that auction!"

Wisdom and I give pause. We both turn to look at Rogue. She is placidly curled up in the armchair next to the other end of the sofa, browsing through her phone.

She glances up, then immediately tenses when she finds both of us looking at her.

"Ah ain't joinin' your stupid Dungeons an' Dragons thing."

Mayfair. London, United Kingdom

The Guildmaster of the London Thieves Guild is George Ainsley. Unlike the trending of digitalized white collar theft pervading most guilds nowadays, the London chapter holds onto a bit of tradition and still pulls physical heists. Ainsley and Jean-Luc go way back. They're not that fond of each other, but they respect each other nonetheless, which is as good as it gets among the Thieves society.

"As I live and breathe." A man in a trim herringbone wool suit takes a seat across from me in the back room of a tea and cigar shop. His hair is graying and all his fingernails look shot, but the old man still looks fit and spry enough to easily manage another decade of maneuvering through crawlspace. "Le Diable Blanc."

I smirk, shaking the hand he offers. "Haven't heard dat in a while."

Like I said, London shows an appreciation for tradition.

"I suppose a belated congratulation is in order."

"For?"

"Being made the King of Thieves," he says simply with a wry smile.

"Does dat title really hold much water?" I ask. I'm genuinely curious, because it doesn't seem like it's gelling much in NOLA.

He politely smiles at the server as his tea order arrives. "The worth of the title is measured by the worth of the man who holds it."

No pressure much.

"So what brings you to this side of the pond?" Ainsley asks, pouring a thin stream of cream into his black tea.

"I noticed an item at Sotheby's." I show him the picture of the jewel on the site. "It's exceptionally rare an' figured dat it had t'be laundered through de guild. I need t'know who smuggled it in."

He takes a look at the picture, and of course, the old guy has a damn good poker face.

"Is there a reason you suspect that it's a member of our guild?"

I stare at his eyes, and I'm willing to gamble Ainsley knows a lot more about the world than he lets on. "De item's from Otherworld."

His one eyebrow minutely twitches, and now I know my hunch is correct.

Ainsley stirs his tea and takes a sip. "Regardless of where it originates, the item was successfully stolen, laundered and is now being profited through legitimate means. If anything we should be applauding this thief, not getting him to give up his sources."

So the thief is a he, and he has a source in Otherworld.

"Except dat the stolen item is reason enough t'start a war between the good people of Britain and all the fairy tale folk of Avalon. I'm just trying t'see if securing dis means of profit is worth losing our reality over."

He mulls it over and finally puts down his cup. "His name is Giles Harper. He is a relatively new recruit, so I doubt it will cause too many ripples if you undermine him. But I would tread carefully. Thieves generally care little about the consequences their actions have on the political climate, and even if you curb war and protect our reality as you say, they will not know that. They will only know you undercut one of your own."

His words voice the dilemma of my very day-to-day existence.

I shrug. "Mais, I'm used t'being misunderstood. But I appreciate de advice."

He gets up and before he leaves, he tips his imaginary hat to me and sardonically says, "Long live the King."

I watch him leave the shop and disappear around the corner.

I sigh heavily, leaning my head up over the back of the chair. I really need to start simplifying my life, stop picking up odd jobs and kick out all these extra people I'm in bed with.

A message arrives on my phone, and it's my favorite person I'm in bed with.

I've done what you asked. I'll meet you at the square.

Involving Rogue is never an option I entertain when I plan a heist. But I didn't really have a way around it considering Pete Wisdom just spilled everything out onto our living room floor and pretty much handpicked her for the job. For a man who works in some top-secret sector of a secret service agency, he is really eager to recruit other people to do his job for him.

I leave the tea and cigar shop and head to the square, which is a block down from Sotheby's. Even in that large open space filled with thousands of people milling about, I spot her instantly.

She's wearing a snug tailored top over a matching slim skirt with high heels and tiny black gloves. She is the picture of high society as she browses a catalogue she must have gotten from Sotheby's.

So many men gawk at her as she stands there looking disinterested and oblivious.

And it gives me an unordinary amount of pleasure knowing that I'm the one she's waiting for.

I place my hand on the small of her back and I can feel through my fingertips that I startled her. She turns around and her shoulder delicately bumps into my chest, and I see the regal arch of her brows, the earthy green of her eyes and her bright red lips fall open. She never feels the need to wear much make-up, so the way she looks now is different enough to feel a little new and unfamiliar.

"Jesus, Remy. Ah swear ya could sneak up on a ghost – "

I wordlessly press my mouth over hers, slowly turning her hips to align against mine. I feel her kiss back, her hand falling on my shoulder. I linger before I pull away and finally smile at her softly.

"What was that for?" she asks in a hush voice, her eyes half-closed.

Territorial pissing?

"You just looked too good not to, chere."

She humorlessly laughs and looks away from me self-consciously. And it's hard to imagine why, looking as stunning as she does all the time, but she still gets shy when I compliment her sincerely. She finally looks back at me and rubs her thumb across my lips.

"Ya got lipstick on ya."

I let her wipe it off as I look down at her fondly.

"So did you make de bid?" I ask her. I take her hand in mine as we casually walk through the square.

"Well, yes and no."

"What do y'mean?"

"Apparently, there's another bidder who's highly motivated to get their hands on it. And now they want me to attend a private event tomorrow night so we can just bid on it there. Ah mean, what the hell? What's up with the delayin'?"

I sigh audibly. "They meaning to publicize. Sotheby's now knows dey have a hot ticket item, and dey want t'make sure de bidding war happens in front of the press."

"That's bad, right?"

"Oui," I nod. "Pete ain't gon' be happy."

The Park Plaza Hotel. London, United Kingdom

Pete is not happy.

"If this other bidder is willing to spend this much money on the item, the bidder knows it's magic," he says, as he pinches the bridge of his nose in agitation. He looks like he's in his office, still in the same suit, drinking.

I don't say anything because I'm inclined to agree. I shuffle some playing cards absentmindedly as he finally snuffs out the cigarette that has been burning pretty close to the filter.

"I'll get some intelligence on the other bidder. Meanwhile, prepare the missus to attend the auction and ask her to try not to draw too much attention to herself."

I look over to the other side of the hotel suite we checked into, where Rogue is partially undressed but still in her heels. She sits on the edge of the bed, taking out her earrings and glaring at me, not amused by this conversation.

"Easier said than done, homme," I smirk.

Pete makes an unappealing noise that tells me he's going to lose it if I push it.

"I'll be sure to let her know," I amend and wink at her. "By de way, what's her spending limit?"

Pete lights up another cigarette. "How much do you think the bidding war could go up to?"

I shrug. "Depends on how badly de other guy wants it. Auctions only have starting bids, de sky's de limit."

Pete scratches his forehead with his thumbnail in agitation. "Can't you just steal it?"

My grin widens. "I thought y'd never ask."

Pete bares his teeth at me. "Since when have you needed my prior approval for anything?"

I narrow my eyes and hear Rogue run the sink in the bathroom. "Since y'involved my wife," I say in a low voice into the mic.

He raises his brow.

"Rogue ain't like you an' me. She's good – like morally. So I need you t'make dis seem like an official government thing and also, not mention de heist part t'her."

He shakes his head. "You are a bastard, LeBeau. You should've let her go if you loved her."

"No offense, Pete. But I would never take love advice from you."

He doesn't argue that point. "So what would you like me do? Print up a request on an official MI-13 letterhead?"

"Y'can do dat?"

"No. We don't have blasted letterheads. And the very fact that I involved you means this is off the books, you twit."

I nod, feigning like I'm disappointed. "Den get me as much information you can on Sotheby's and the Mayfair neighborhood – the building, the earliest blueprints, how many employees and guards dey have, as much as y'can manage."

"Are you actually tasking me – a British intelligence agent of the highest order of secrecy appointed by the Royal Majesty herself – to do your grunt work?"

"Heists take time, Pete. An' I didn't get much time t'plan dis considering you just transported us here this morning," I remind him. I glance at Rogue stepping out of the bathroom. '"Sides I can't afford to wing it dis time."

I look at him with as much sincerity as possible, and it's enough to make him uncomfortable.

"Well, you're in luck because I can't afford you to wing it, either. I'll get you the information, but it gets destroyed the second you see it."

"D'accord," I promise breezily. "By de way, you ever find dat woman y' slept wit? De one wit all de studs in her face? She was mighty interested in finding magic stones t'open up portals to de Otherworld, non?"

Pete goes silent, then sighs. "Not really, I was rather hoping she died there. Maybe got eaten by an ogre."

I smile. I actually like Pete better than most people because he owns up to screw-ups like this.

"I'm hurt, Pete," I sigh. "She and I were dere at de same time. An' you only suspected me."

"Right. Well, we wouldn't be having this conversation if you didn't muck it up the first time," he mutters. "I'll see if there is anyone in Avalon trying to smuggle items of magical power to our side."

I smile. "And I'll try t'get dat jewel back for you. See? I feel like we're finally workin' as a team, Pete. Maybe you make me an honorary MI-13 agent?"

"Piss off, LeBeau."

He signs off.

I get up from the chair and head to the bedroom. Rogue is lounging sideways on the bed, her back to me as she's flipping through that catalogue again.

"Y'all sound like you're on drugs when ya talk," she drawls, not looking up from the catalogue.

I smirk, climbing into bed behind her. "Puffin' de magic dragon?"

She adjusts herself so I can tuck myself into the curves of her body. I kiss her on her bare shoulder. Her comment gives me an idea, and I make a note to call Fence for a favor.

I look down at the catalogue she's looking at. "See anything y'like?"

"Just shocked at how high the bidding starts on some of these items," she says. "What's that mean?"

She points at a lot number and an 'S' symbol next to it.

"It means the item has been authenticated, or dere's no other piece like it in de world."

"Hm," she says.

It gives me another idea.

"Chere, is de jewel in de catalogue, too?"

"Yeah," she flips to the jewelry section. I look for the 'S' symbol, and it's there. "Why?"

"Nothin'," I tell her. "Jus' thinkin'."

I doubt that Sotheby's knows that their item is magical. The question is whether Giles Harper knows that it's magical. At some point tonight I need to go see what the deal with this Harper guy is.

I absentmindedly stroke the soft skin of Rogue's arm. I decide to slip out after she falls asleep.

"Chere, maybe after all this is over, we just stay a bit an' see the sights?" I suggest.

"What about the cats?" she asks.

"We'll call Monique, ask her to check in on them," I murmur.

"Sure," she sighs.

I get the feeling she's disappointed. I know I haven't been very forthcoming with her, but I don't want to burden her conscience with anything. The less she knows the more deniability she has.

I press my lips over her shoulder again.

Gibson Council Estate. London, United Kingdom

Giles Harper resides in his grandmother's government-assisted 2-bedroom apartment. Judging from the state of the apartment, his grandmother died and he never reported her death, or she's illegally subletting it to him.

Either way, nobody is home.

Correct that.

The sound of a window being pried opened reaches my ears and I press my back flat against the wall and peer around the corner. A figure in the dark climbs in and barely makes a sound as he lands in the middle of the bedroom.

He turns on a light. I step out of the shadows. His eyes go wide, flicks a dead plant at me, the pot shatters against the door frame and he's already out the window he came in.

I have to hand it to him. The guy has good reflexes.

I give chase. He sprints, jumps, somersaults his way around the buildings, pulling some pretty slick parkour moves. It probably helps that he knows the lay of the land, but it's actually a treat seeing him hustle. Maybe it's all those years teaching in the Academy, but I recognize talent when I see it.

Still, he's just human, and I'm not above using my mutant powers to make my life easier. I charge a card and send it flying so that it lands well in front of his path. The card explodes, and his body is thrown back. He lands with a thud against the asphalt and rolls, stopping at my feet.

"Giles Harper?" I ask.

He's about to take off gain, but I slam my bo-staff down, pinning the collar of his shirt to the concrete and looking down at him.

His eyes are wide and a bit fearful. He looks really young, like a teenager.

"Relax," I tell him. "I ain't here t'turn you in. I'm a friend of George Ainsley."

His chest rises and falls quickly, trying to control his breath. "Wh-what?" he stammers. "I don't know who that is. I didn't do anything."

Deny, deny, deny.

He has good instincts, too.

"Den why y'running?" I ask him. I concentrate my eyes on him, getting him to relax. "'Cause y'think I may be de devil?"

Giles finally stops squirming. "Wait, you…" He looks at the cards in my hand, the bo-staff next to his neck, up at my face again. He swallows. "I know you. You're… famous."

"Nice to be recognized," I smirk. I remove the staff off his shirt, and offer him a hand. "Could we talk?"

He takes my hand nervously and gets up to standing.

I show him the picture of the jewel, and with a few more reassuring words, he is an open book.

"See, this woman enters this bar and asks this bartender friend of mine..."

So Giles Harper was introduced to a woman who needed a thief to enter into a different world and smuggle out some priceless goods. She promised him that her sister on the other side would make sure that he would be disguised properly – probably in the likeness of me – so that no one would suspect him. Only, he had not expected that the different world would be some medieval time slip, and to this day, Giles Harper is not really certain if that heist actually happened or not.

I can relate to him better than anyone.

He's sharp though, and after he looks into the woman's finances, he realizes that she's penniless and will probably double-cross him. After laundering a fake history for the goods he managed to steal, he sold it through standard Thieves Guild avenues and got a handsome cut when the jewel was picked up on the black market. He did not know the item was now being auctioned on Sotheby's.

"But now, every little thing spooks me. As soon as something feels off, I'm running. It's like I'm constantly looking over my shoulder to see if she's following me or trying to put some kind of curse on me. It's keeping me up at nights... haven't slept a wink in days."

Now that I take a closer look at him, his eyes are bloodshot and the dark bags under his eyes speak volumes.

"Giles," I nod at him. "You did good."

He beams. I guess getting complimented by the King of Thieves isn't worthless after all.

"I like your style," I tell him candidly. "So I'm gon' offer you a way t'get out from under the threat of dis woman and also give you de opportunity t'steal some real-world shit. But y'gotta keep mum 'bout de fantasy world."

"Yes, of course."

"You give me your word."

"Yes. I give you my word."

It's the word of one thief to another, which is pretty much valued at nothing. But I've recently been inspired to make more allies than enemies. And the only way to do that is to first put your trust in others.

"The item that you smuggled over is being auctioned off later tonight. And I'm willing t'bet dat de woman who hired you will show up to bid on it. But if she didn't have de money to pay you then, she probably won't have de money to pay Sotheby's, either. And if dis woman is anything like her sister, den she'll likely show up t'take it by force.

"So here's what I need you to do…"

Sotheby's Auction House. London, United Kingdom

This isn't the first auction house I've looted. Some of the best upgrades that these security systems get happen after I successfully break through them. Of course, New York is the place I frequent, and I hear they have recently gotten an insane amount of cameras that detect everything from body temperature, voice recognition and even gait recognition. I assume that London follows similar protocols, but I'm surprised to find that it doesn't. I broke into this particular security system three upgrades ago.

I'm comfortably situated in the back storage space next to the loading dock, tapping into all the live security feeds on my phone.

I flip through, locating where the jewel is, where the guards are, and finally, where Rogue is.

The doorman pulls open the door for her and she enters wearing a slinky, red party dress, supermodel sunglasses with her hair swept to the side. Subtlety never suited her.

I follow her into the next screen, where she is assigned her paddle and takes a seat on the auction floor. The auctioneer, according to the attaché of files Pete sent over, is a man who spends most of his time clubbing with the barely legal crowd. He notices her from the other side of the room and makes a beeline for her.

As expected, there is an incoming call from an unknown number.

"'Lo," I answer.

"What part of 'do not draw attention to yourself' did she not understand?" Pete growls.

He must be watching the live internet coverage. "She does look good, non?"

"The average age in that room is 65. She bloody did not have to try that hard."

"Keep watchin', homme. Dat average is about t'go way down."

"What did you do? I told you no commotions!"

"Right. You did mention dat. But if y'wanted a quiet heist, you probably shouldn't have gotten a thief from N'awlins t'do it."

"What!?"

"Enjoy de show." I end the call.

Yesterday, before meeting with Giles Harper, I called in Fence to start getting the word out to any magic and occult aficionados that had some influence on the internet that a mystical jewel with otherworldly powers would be sold at an auction at Sotheby's. Coupled with the fact that Sotheby's auctions are open to the public, the floor starts flooding with all manner of freaks and weirdos that makes Rogue look downright conservative.

It's starting to look like Mardi Gras in there.

As the guards start focusing on the number of circus folk coming in through this fine establishment, a conspicuously labeled truck from the labs that Sotheby's uses to authenticate their works of art backs up into the loading dock camera. Giles Harper hops down, wearing a hat and coveralls, flashes his badge and ID, courtesy of Pete Wisdom, to the guard and starts to unload the crates of forgeries from the truck.

I check inside the auction floor again, and the auctioneer is still talking up Rogue, this time giving her a closer look at the items on display. When she steps a little bit off camera, I tense a bit.

"C'mon, chere," I say to myself. "Stay on camera f'me."

I need her bright an' visible. It establishes a constant alibi.

She moves back in and I relax.

I look at the time. The auction starts. Everyone settles down somewhat, or as much as they can, when the whole place looks like it's Halloween. The first item up for bid is the jewel.

I smile. They moved it up to get the unwanted guests out.

I toggle to the live internet broadcast of the auction and adjust the volume.

"This rare item believed to be of Persian origin traveled its way around Europe from tsarist Russia to Constantinople. It finally ended up in the secret treasure of the Third Reich. It was purchased by…"

"Lies! It's a cover-up!" someone shouts from the crowd.

"This item is from Avalon!"

"No, it's from the Shi'ar Empire!"

"It has the power to call forth an army of dragons!"

I smirk. The best way to disguise a crazy secret is with crazy people – or how Rogue put it – people who look like they're on drugs.

"Please, I call for order!" The auction hammer is brought down furiously like a gavel in a courtroom. "Ladies and Gentleman, you will be forcibly removed if you do not restrain yourselves!"

"It's the Sorcerer's Stone!"

"I assure you, it is not the Sorcerer's Stone," the auctioneer argues. "Please restrain yourself madam."

"I'm no madam! I'm a witch!"

"Either way!" the auctioneer clears his throat. "I will now begin the auction with a starting price of 1 million pounds."

Before Rogue can even lift her paddle to bid, a woman flies out into the middle of the room and knocks over the pedestal the jewel is on. She grabs the jewel, holding it over her head, and brandishes an ancient magical-looking dagger at the auctioneer and waves it around threatening them all to stay back.

"You fools! This is not a mere jewel, it opens the portal to Otherworld!" she cackles.

Yeah, she definitely sounds high.

The guards are surrounding her, and I count all twelve of them. Giles and I are officially alone in the loading dock.

She suddenly uses the dagger to cut open her hand, holds the jewel and starts the incantation.

Pete is calling again.

"En Tradoris, Ambulate…"

"LeBeau! You &%$# !"

I don't understand half the cussing I'm getting because it's so flavorfully British.

"That's the actual incantation to open the damn portal!"

"…Fulminare Crepusculum Excelsior!"

Her last word echoes hollowly in the room. And then silence follows as the woman stands there in the room holding up the jewel dripping with her blood. Finally, a guard tackles her down. The jewel is knocked from her hand. And she's tased. The live internet feed stops with an 'unable to connect to server' message.

"See Pete? All under control."

"That… that was the actual incantation. What? The jewel! What about the jewel?"

"I'm a little busy right now. But I'll see you at the rendezvous point."

I hang up and lifting up a tarp behind me, I see all of Sotheby's recently sold auction items – authenticated and branded with a shiny 'S'.

"Let's load 'em up, Giles."

Rendezvous Point. River Thames, London, United Kingdom

I stand under a street lamp on a cobblestone footpath along the River Thames, with a picturesque view of the London Tower Bridge. A ring of fire opens up next to me and Pete Wisdom walks out and stands next to me.

"What the hell happened?" he asks. "Where's the jewel?"

"Did you enjoy de show?"

"No!"

"Really? Even when the auctioneer was telling dat witch t'calm down?"

"You seem to enjoy causing mayhem, LeBeau, but I swear on my mother's grave if you don't produce that jewel this instant, I'm going to – "

"BOO!" A black wraith-like creature flies out of nowhere and seizes Pete by his shoulders.

Pete jumps and whips around, his hot knives shoot out of his fingers to almost twice his height.

The black wraith lands and Rogue unfurls a long, dramatic Dracula cape from around her. She whistles seeing the length of the hot blades.

"Did Ah scare ya Petey or are ya just happy to see me?" she quips in that sultry manner that she does. She saunters past him, and as she does, she reaches into the side slit of her skirt and pulls out the jewel strapped to her thigh and tosses it at him.

Pete catches it in the air, the thermal fingers immediately gone. He looks at the jewel and then sighs heavily.

I look at her proudly. "You pull off that cape well, chere."

"Ah do," she sashays. "Ah got it offa this guy who wanted to know what my favorite spell was."

"I thought you said you didn't want to involve your wife in the heist." Pete looks at me in irritation.

I look at Rogue and she wraps her arm around my waist and smiles.

"Had a change of heart, mon ami." I put an arm around her shoulders and squeeze her affectionately.

Flashback to the Park Plaza Hotel. London, United Kingdom

"Chere, maybe after all this is over, we just stay a bit an' see the sights?" I suggest.

"What about the cats?" she asks.

"We'll call Monique, ask her to check in on them," I murmur.

"Sure," she sighs.

I get the feeling she's disappointed. I know I haven't been very forthcoming with her, but I don't want to burden her conscience with anything. The less she knows the more deniability she has.

I press my lips over her shoulder again.

"Remy."

"Oui, chere."

She slowly turns around, lying flat on her back and looks up at me. Her eyes just hold mine, calm and unwavering.

"What am Ah doin' here?"

I blink. "What do y'mean?"

Her expression remains calm and neutral, and I realize she's making an effort to stay that way.

"Remy, Ah can tell you're plannin' somethin'."

I don't say anything.

She brings her hand up and strokes back my hair and tucks a longer strand behind my ear. "You know who your best resource and ally is?" she says, still in that calm, neutral voice. "It ain't Pete Wisdom. It ain't the thieves. It's me."

I raise my brow, wondering if she somehow found out about my meeting with Ainsley.

"Ah'm on your side, sugah. Ah have your back. Ya know that, right?"

I smile at her reassuringly. "Of course, mon couer."

"But?"

"But what?"

She purses her lips a bit, slightly annoyed. She takes another breath and starts again. "Ya know what I learned from being with the Avengers? The Captain, because he's so rigid with what he considers right and wrong, ends up making his friends his enemies. But Deadpool, as amoral as he is, is an open, revolving door, where the guy who tries to off him in the morning saves him in the afternoon.

"Ah'm not sayin' Ah'm either of the two, but Ah guess what Ah am sayin' is… ya don't have to keep shieldin' me from a part of you. Ah knew what Ah was gettin' into when Ah said yes. Ah was sayin' yes to everything – you, the thieves, the assassin ex-wife, everything. And Ah ain't as innocent and morally upright as ya keep on tryin' ta make me out to be. Ah can be flexible, or at least, when it's concernin' you."

Aside from the fact that Deadpool is mentioned in this little speech of hers, I'm actually moved. I don't know what kind of expression is on my face, but her words feel like rain after a long drought. Something tightly knotted up in me is getting blood circulation for the first time.

She sits up a bit, propping herself up onto her elbows. She pulls her chin up, face close to mine and gives me a cool stare like she's challenging me.

"So stop benchin' your best player, LeBeau," she drawls.

I finally just chuckle at her. "Really, chere… you sayin' you wanna be a part of a heist."

She smiles at me roguishly. "Put me in, Coach. Ah wanna play," she says in a raspy voice, her knees knock against my leg coquettishly.

I shake my head softly. "An' dey wonder why I could never get over you."

I grab her by the back of her head and pull her against my mouth. I kiss her passionately, gratefully. It's less about wanting her and more about being thankful. I knew I loved her and would probably continue to love her until my dying day, but sometimes she says things like this that turn my life upside down and effectively tell me that I don't have to settle for less.

It gives me courage to keep going.

I pull away, and she narrows her eyes at me.

"Who wonders that?" she asks, then lowers her voice. "Ah want names."

I laugh. I love her so much.

So I confide in her. I tell her the plan. I tell her about Giles Harper and George Ainsley. I also tell her that even though we're essentially returning an item to the rightful owner, as far as Sotheby's is concerned, it's theft. And because the reason we're stealing it is to protect the veil over Otherworld, in the off chance we get caught, there will never be any public exoneration.

"As far as dis world is concerned, we're criminals and we'll probably stay criminals." I don't sugarcoat anything for her, and a part of me still feels like I should be protecting her from this.

She looks at the Sotheby's catalogue. "Ya know what's a crime? Askin' for 10 million dollars for this piece of shit." She points at a very minimalist painting.

I chuckle. "Dey say y'can't put a price on art and beauty, chere."

"Well, Ah for one find it offensive." She closes the catalogue and tosses it off the bed. "So let's go defile somethin' beautiful."

I'm delighted. I pull her in for another kiss, turn our bodies so I have her underneath me and pull my hand through her well-coiffed hair.

"Remy, shouldn't we be workin'?" she asks breathlessly between kisses.

"I thought I'd start wit' you," I breathe against her. "Defile somethin' beautiful."

She chuckles and bows her head to the side.

"Besides I don't think I've ever found you sexier, so I'm gon' botch dis up if we don't do this first."

"Well, we can't have that," she says, biting her lip, and arches her back so I can unclasp her bra.

End of Flashback.

Back to the Rendezvous Point. River Thames, London, United Kingdom

"So how come the incantation didn't work?" Pete asks.

"The jewel she was holdin' was a fake," Rogue reveals. "Ah made the switch early on when Ah got the auctioneer to show me the items up front."

"You made the switch?" he says a bit incredulously.

"Well, with a little help," she smiles at me. "Ah borrowed some of Remy's expertise before goin' in. Hence, the need for the sunglasses." She points at the sunglasses perched on the top of her head. "Though with that many weirdos followin' in after me, Ah think the color of my eyes would've barely gone noticed."

"De camera never caught de switch, chere. You were très magnifique."

"Aw, thanks, sugah."

"Well, this is all a bit too cloying for my tastes." He brushes down the front of his shirt and tie, like he's trying to keep his dinner down. Finally, he buttons the top button of his jacket and straightens up a bit. "Nonetheless, thank you… for all the outrageously American help you offered."

"Anytime," Rogue says cheerfully.

"Anytime?" I ask her, my brows pinched.

"Yeah, well, we got to see London, attend an auction and see this great view." She gestures to the Tower Bridge, brightly lit up against the backdrop of the night sky and over the calm waters of the River Thames. "All in all, a pretty fun weekend."

I watch her smile at the bridge, and it makes me think back to all the times I used to plan these elaborate dates and outings, often dragging her out against her will, just so I can see this expression on her face. I should really take her out more often.

Pete clears his throat. "Yes, well, I'm glad you had fun." His eyebrows lift but it can't seem to lift the permanent scowl on his face. "So where to? New York? More London?"

"Chere?"

"No, Ah'm ready to go home," she says immediately.

"Oui, I agree." Probably better not to stick around the scene of the crime.

"Right then." Pete activates whatever that gets that teleportation gate to open, and we step through and arrive in our apartment.

"Can you get me one of dese?"

"No," he says curtly. He keeps the gate open. "By the way, the studface woman? She was on the other side in Avalon, waiting for her sister to open a portal. We have both of them in custody now."

"You don't seem dat thrilled," I tell him.

"Let's just say that her dying would have been preferable given the amount of paperwork that's going to result from this," he grunts.

Rogue can't hide the distaste on her face for him.

I smirk. "Still, you prevented war with the faerie realm."

He holds up the jewel. Then pauses. "This is the real one, correct?" he asks Rogue.

"Of course," she says, crossing her arms in front of her. "What you wanna test it?"

He cocks his head like he's considering her words.

His hand flares up with his thermal knife power again, and he speaks to the jewel: "Alis Volat Propriis."

The jewel suddenly glows and sucks up the energy in his hand. A beam shoots out, hits Rogue and a puff of gold sparkly dust mushrooms out. She sneezes.

"What the hell?" she exclaims.

I blink. She's been transformed into a faerie.

Pete finally smiles at Rogue for the first time, and it makes him look downright terrifying. "Now do you believe in faeries?"

Except she isn't faerie-sized. Her wings hum behind her as she elevates back first, and she twists around, trying to look at her newly formed wings. The cats paw at the faerie dust she's spreading every time she flutters her wings.

Pete raises a brow. "Hmm… that's peculiar. It should have turned you this small," he says pinching his finger and thumb to couple inches apart. "Perhaps the spell isn't strong enough to tackle all those gargantuan powers you have."

He shrugs, turning to exit through the gate.

"C'mon Pete, ain't you gon' change her back?"

"I don't know the spell for that."

"What?!" Rogue growls.

Pete waves her off. "Relax. It'll wear off in like 30 minutes or so."

Rogue makes a noise of exasperation, still examining her hands and down her body and her pointy shoes.

I don't know what happened to what she was wearing before, but the faerie outfit she is wearing now leaves almost nothing to the imagination. It's all glitter and gossamer stretched over her fair, perky flesh.

"30 minutes?" I ask Pete.

"Or less," he reassures me.

"Yeah, y'need t'go."

"Wha-?"

I shove him through the teleportation gate with the sole of my boot. The gate closes in after him, and I turn to my faerie wife.

"Rogue. Bedroom. Now."

She blinks at me, her eyes cartoonishly wide. Her face melts into a smirk. "Only 'cause Ah like how ya just kicked him out."

"Oui?" I grin at her. I reach out to hold her waist, and she suddenly flutters away from my reach.

She flips neatly in the air, and hovers so her face is flush with mine. "But ya gonna have ta catch me first," she teases.

"You gon' regret y'said dat, chere."

And I launch myself at her.

FIN