Remy stayed in bed a long time afterwards, taking up his routine of sleeping from 10am to 6pm, going back to his normal working hours. Some small measure of normalcy. Unfortunately, in his dreams, he saw babies floating in apothecary jars. He was having a hard time processing what he'd read.

I don't know how he knows what he knows. How he knew me, how he found me, or how he got inta my head when no one else could.

Remy had some intuition that he'd find something out about Sinister. If the man was so preoccupied with mutant research, why not try looking for him in the footnotes of a mutant research project? But why was Sinister fixated on him? Why was Sinister following him around like a bad rumor? Remy stared at the names on the obscure research paper for some time, Xavier, Mueller, Milbury, hoping it might trigger some memory, ping something in his internal catalog, but there was nothing. There was a fourth name mentioned in the study, the cataloger who had assisted in the classification and recording of the mutant children, Irene Adler. That name meant nothing to him either. Remy thought he could ask someone here at the School, even ask McCoy how he'd found this study in the first place. But the thought of someone else possibly knowing more about Remy than he knew about himself put him off that avenue of inquiry immediately. Maybe there was something on the Internets?

Or. He could ask Jean-Luc, his father.

Remy Ricardo: "Jean-Lucy...I think ju have some 'splaining to do!"

Jean-Lucy: "Aaugh, Remyyy! Waaaanh!"

It was almost amusing to picture Jean-Luc in a red curly wig and 1950s era housecoat. Unfortunately, Remy seemed to be of two minds; one who was happy to amuse himself with nonsensical diversions, and one who was very, very pissed off, not entertained in the least. Remy had to admit that the last couple of days might have pushed him over the edge; he might be losing his pea-pickin' mind.

Let me tell you a little something about Jean-Luc, Remy, Candra had said, and as it turned out, she had a lot to tell him. Do you think he gives a damn about you, for anything other than what you represent to the Guilds? Do you think he's motivated by anything other than his ponderous sense of honor and dedication to the Guild members? Who all hate you, by the way. Do you imagine he might care about you?

Oh, you do?

Then why would he abduct you as an infant and hand-deliver you to the Antiquary? Leave you in the Collection, not even to be treated as a child, but a possession, like some mystical relic to be preserved until the end of time? You know he watched you struggle, the entire time, and did nothing. He knew where you were when he left you to roam the streets...for five years. He orchestrated your meeting with BellaDonna. Arranged for you to steal his own wallet. Set you up, like the stooge you are, so you'd willingly go along with his plans. Gladly, even! If it meant you'd earn his love! Which you sorry, stupid boy, neither have nor deserve.

Candra could be lying. If Remy thought something was black, she'd insist it was white, then tell him he was insane for ever thinking otherwise. She could lie, but she didn't need to. Not if she could destroy him with the truth. There'd be no asking Jean-Luc for answers, not even now that Remy seemed to have his powers under control. There was one last hurdle to going home; all the things he had said to Jean-Luc when they last saw each other, when Remy was absolutely fueled with hatred. And how Candra relished that exchange, was slightly disappointed when Remy didn't actually kill the man. These thoughts were all just more assets for his vault, stored away to collect interest.

It was 6:30pm, and the sun had set behind the trees. Downstairs the X-People were having dinner together, like a big happy family. His brain had nothing amusing, suggestive, or distracting to say. Remy closed his eyes.

He woke again to a tapping on the door. Remy thought to ignore it, turning over onto his side. By now, the sky was dark. He saw a small silver analog clock, old-fashioned in style, on the nightstand. The clock's silver hands pointed to 10:42. It was beyond time to get out of bed, but that seemed an insurmountable task. He hated when this black mood thing happened to him, the not wanting to get up and do. Like a giant weight resting on him. The knocking on the door continued. He thought about pulling a pillow over his head when Rogue's voice asked if he was hungry.

He wanted to say 'no' but his stomach replied otherwise. Remy forced himself into an upright position. Observing his face and hair in the mirror, he made sounds at the door that he'd be out in a minute. He washed his face and attempted to restrain his hair while in the attached bathroom. When he opened his door, Rogue was still standing there.

"Ah saved you a plate down in the kitchen," she told him. He couldn't read her expression. She turned and went down the hall and he followed.

"Late, ain't it?" he asked her. "Hope you aren't waitin' up. I keep odd hours."

"Ah couldn't sleep. I was readin' in the downstairs parlor."

"Anything good?"

"Mostly just smut," she said, and glanced over her shoulder at him as she descended the stairs. The faintest of smiles.

He managed to smile back. Rogue walked past the ruin of Xavier's office to go down the hall to the kitchen. Unfortunately, Magnus was there, looking at Remy through the wall, which now stripped of its wiring and nails, had been reduced to just broken studs and crumbled plaster.

Remy felt himself heave a great inward sigh when Magnus stood from the desk to walk towards the foyer.

"Do you find yourself comfortable?" Magnus asked, and not in the way that said 'make yourself at home.'

Remy suppressed the urge to fair Magnus with a withering look, a derisive eye roll, he didn't have the energy to argue. "Yes, thank you," he said instead, turning to face the man. He spoke with not an ounce of irony: "I am much obliged for your hospitality."

Magnus was momentarily given pause.

"I should have asked proper. This is how we do in my neck of de woods," Remy said. He folded himself at the waist in Mangus' direction. "This thief humbly requests sanctuary in your territory. This thief pledges his loyalty and service in return for de shelter and protection this sanctuary affords."

Magnus was staring at the top of Remy's head, likely believing Remy to be making fun of him. "Dis is de part where you say either: 'dis thief is protected here,' or 'dis thief can hit de bricks.' Actually, it's some other formal response, but I've never actually heard anyone say it."

"What kind of thief are you, exactly?" Magnus said, perhaps somewhat intrigued and not irritated.

Remy straightened to look at him. "I won't say I don't want to toot my own horn, but I do! I can steal most anything that isn't nailed down, but my speciality is de return of ill-gotten valuables and fine art to their rightful owners, in exchange for monetary compensation and bragging rights. My service to de world at large is the purveyance of all things magical and mystical to a place where they are safe from evil sorcerers, demons, and de like. I hold de standing record for fewest magical curses! Only four!" Here he held up four fingers. "Though de last one seems to be stickin' 'round...I can't stop thinkin' in Pig Latin, but at least I've stopped speakin' it alla time."

"What evidence can you provide that proves you're speaking the truth?" Magnus asked.

"Oday ouyay otnay elievebay emay?" Remy asked. When Magnus did not respond, he added: "You could speak to my uncle, as he did de un-cursing. Doc McCoy should know him."

"And your uncle would be...?"

"Not a family relation. Honorific title only, I was told not t'call adults solely by their first names growing up. Uncle Stephen. Stephen Strange."

"Doctor Strange is an ally of yours?" Magnus said with some incredulity.

"Honorary godfather, actually," Remy said. "He'll vouch for me, I think." Unless he'd had a tête-à-tête with Jean-Luc and maybe now I've royally screwed myself, he thought. Nick Fury might also be a character witness, (but, why, oh why, did Remy think stealing that jet was a good idea!?), but seeing as how Magnus was an escaped terrorist, probably not wise to bring Fury into the loop.

"We shall see," Magnus said. "Then we can decide if you're better suited here, or perhaps in some detention center."

"Kind of you to consider my options for me. I love when dat happens."

Sensing a storm brewing, Rogue stepped forward and lightly took Remy's arm to guide him to the kitchen. "'Night, Magnus," she told him.

Remy offered another brief bow in his holiness' direction and followed Rogue into the kitchen.

"Have a seat, sugah," she said and Remy assumed the same chair he had taken the night prior. Luckily, the kitchen was vacant this time save for himself and Rogue.

She put a plate into the microwave. "It won't be as good as it was before," she told him. "You should've come down for dinner."

"S'alright," he said. "Nobody wants to watch me eat. I don't know how many times my Tatie told me not to talk wit' my mouth full."

Rogue deposited the plate in front of him and gave him a fork and spoon. She returned to the microwave to make a plate for herself.

"What's dis?" he asked, though it was evident that it was a variation of étouffée. "You made me a real home-cooked meal?"

"They don't have crawfish up here," she responded as she sat beside him. "Ah had to make it with shrimp. Which doesn't reheat all that good."

"I think dis might be de nicest thing anyone's done for me," he said. "Especially when I've been nothing but a jerk dis whole day."

"Not the whole day," she said, teasing. "You were asleep for most of it."

He laughed a little at that. "Watchin' me sleep, are you?"

Rogue might have blushed, she looked down anyway. The kitchen was very dim, only the light over the stovetop cast some illumination into the room.

"You gonna eat, or not?" she asked.

"You got any hot sauce?" he asked.

"Sure, in the pantry," she responded and made to stand.

"I can get it," he told her. He stood and walked to the pantry, opened the doors and peered inside. "Well, turns out I can't find it."

Rogue joined him at the pantry doors. "It's right here, sugah. If it was a snake, it'd a bit cha."

Remy accepted the proffered bottle. "What's dis?" he asked dubiously.

"Hot sauce."

He shook his head. "I don't know what dis is."

"Says 'original hot sauce' on the bottle."

Remy turned the bottle over and looked at the back label. "This here says 'manufactured in Missoura,' by a company in New Jersey. I'm not about to pour New Jersey on my food. Where's de Tabasco?"

"I don't think we have any," she said.

Remy stared at her in shock. "I gotta get outta dis place!"

She smiled. "Ah'll add it to the grocery list for next time."

Remy put the bottle back onto the shelf and closed the doors. "Can't be tryin' to feed me that New Jersey spicy ketchup when there's a perfectly good hundred-some-year-old hot sauce company practically operation' in my backyard back home."

"Ah didn't think you'd be so picky," she said as they walked back to the table.

"Picky? I'm loyal!" he insisted. "If I didn't have a terrible fear of pokey things, I'd get de logo tattooed over my heart!"

"You'd better stop flapping your gums, and eat before this is stone cold," she gestured to his plate. "Hot sauce or not hot sauce."

"Okay, okay," he said, resumed his seat and picked up a spoon. He took up a mouthful, chewed and swallowed.

"It's alright?" she asked hopefully.

Remy considered. "I think you coulda let de roux go for another three-four minutes," he said and grinned.

Rogue threw up her hands in frustration and said: "Ugh!"

"Kiddin', chère. It's great. Tastes like home. Merci bien."

"It turned out okay," she said, and took up her own spoon.

"You could learn how t'take a compliment," he told her.

She glanced up at him. "You could learn how t'answer a question."

"Touché. All right, I say a compliment, you ask me a question."

"Fine then."

"You are de prettiest woman I have ever clapped eyes on," he said earnestly.

Rogue looked away, looking embarrassed. "Thanks, sugah."

"See, was dat so hard?"

"Okay, now it's mah turn. Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

"How about I give you de top three, Cliff's Notes version?"

"Top three things then."

"Number one: I am first and foremost de bestest thief in de world."

"Not too humble then, got it," Rogue said.

"Number two: I am Jean-Luc's and Matilde's favorite youngest adopted son."

"That's a good one. What's the third?"

"Huge Backstreet Boys fan."

Rogue coughed out a laugh. "You are not."

"Oh yeah? 'I don't care who you are, where you're from, what you did, as long as you love me...'"

"Ah don't think that tune is in your vocal range," she told him, putting her hands over her ears.

"No, not a tenor, me."

"Baritone, I'd say."

"So what'd you say you are?" Remy asked her.

"Oh, Ah don't know, can't hit those high notes without my voice crackin'."

"I mean, your top three things."

Rogue appeared to think. "One, X-Man. Two, a friend. A loyal friend."

"Three?"

"Huge Dolly fan."

"Parton, safe to assume?" Rogue nodded and he added: "De woman's a national treasure. Sends free books to little kids."

"Is that where you got your collection?"

"Tant pis. It's only for de five and under set, chère. If I had gobs of money like Dolly, I'd be doin' the same thing."

"Couldn't you always get gobs of money from a bank?" she teased.

"Not that kinda thief," Remy said and finished his plate.

"No, you said - you're an art thief. That doesn't...pay well?"

"Haven't been under contract in some time. I am significantly low on walkin' around money. What'd you do if you had de cash?"

"Hm. Well," Rogue began, thinking. "Ah guess Ah'd also do something for kids. Like maybe help kids from...bad homes."

"All right, we'll pool our pennies. Start a part-group home, part-library."

"That's a good plan, Remy. You still hungry?" She didn't wait for an answer before switching her still-full plate for his.

Remy smiled at her, gestured to the plate with his spoon. "Which part of dis has your cooties on it?"

Rogue propped her chin on her fist. "You got a problem with mah cooties?"

"I just want t'know which part came t'your mouth, so I can be close to your lips by way of vicarious experience."

Remy was pretty sure she blushed then. She gave him the stink eye and raised her hand smack his arm playfully. He might have recoiled and she might have noticed. "Ah'm just teasin', sugah," she said with chagrin.

To hide his overreaction, he snatched her hand by the fingers and said: "No, dis is my hand now. Where should I keep it? My pocket?"

Now Rogue wrenched her hand away. "Don't."

"Sorry. Usually I save testing de limits of physical boundaries for de third date."

"How gentlemanly."

Ignoring her change in tone he sang: "'Islands in the stream...that is what we are. No one in between-,' c'mon chere, I know you know dis one."

Rogue folded her arms across her chest, but let herself smile. She sang softly: "'How can we be wrong? Sail away with me...to another world.'"

Together: "And we rely on each other, ah ha. From one lover to another, ah haa."

"See, you do got a pretty voice," Remy told her.

"You're no slouch...but you're not Kenny either."

"What I lack in quality, I make up for with quantity and volume. Got near perfect recall for every song I ever heard. It is my blessing...it is my curse!"

Rogue laughed. "You play anything?" she asked.

"Harmonica," he told her. "My daddy tried to have me start piano, for dexterity. But I can't hardly carry an upright around in my pocket, now can I?"

"Dexterity?" Rogue asked. "Your daddy's not a thief too?"

"It's a family-run operation," he admitted. "What's your family do?"

Rogue's expression turned inward, closed off a bit. She seemed sad. "Fervent mutant rights activists and freedom fighters."

"So, I see where you got it from," Remy told her.

"Well, there's a wrong way t'go about it," Rogue began, "and the way Ah've come to know how it should be done."

"There's a wrong way t'fight for your rights?" he asked. "I won't hold it against anyone for blowin' up a government building, so long as no one was in it."

Rogue shook her head. "Ah can't agree. That's not the answer, it just gives 'em more ammunition to throw back at us. Ah learned...the hard way." She seemed to consider something, then drew a deep breath: "Remy…"

Remy extended his hand to her, choosing not to try to take her hand, but instead make an offer. "Hey, I already told you, 'don't care who you are, where you're from, what you did…' You can thank me for not singing it dis time."

Rogue smiled to herself, unfolded her arms and took his hand. She tugged him forward gently, leaned forward in her chair. Remy's gaze fixed on hers, then moved to her mouth. He found himself leaning closer to her as well, but when he felt the softness of her breath on his cheek, she abruptly jerked away.

Remy straightened slowly. "Must be I need t'brush my teeth again," he said smiling, wondering if he'd understood the signals wrong.

Rogue nervously took her hand away, picked up the two empty plates and brought them to the sink. "Ah'm probably going to go to bed now," she said and rinsed the plates.

"I guess I'll go back t'my room. Seeing as how people don't like me poking around," Remy said. "You got anything good t'read in your library?"

"You get through your research?"

"It was...heavy lifting," Remy said, not wanting to think about it lest he end up with nightmares again.

"We can stop in the front parlor," she told him. "C'mon, Ah'll show you. No kids books though."

"I'll have to challenge myself," he said and followed her from the room.

In the sitting room, she showed him the shelves of popular fiction, memoirs, and magazines. He found a set of paperback science fiction books, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

Rogue said: "Ah think those were Bobby's."

"Who's Bobby?" Remy asked.

"The cute boy with the light brown hair, blue eyes," Rogue replied. "Also known as 'Iceman.'"

"'Cute boy'," he smirked. "You don't look like de 'cute boy' kinda girl."

Rogue put her hands on her hips. "And Ah suppose you think you know what kinda girl Ah am?"

Remy held up his hands, the book clasped in one of them. "The kinda girl who'd toss me inta a lake if I got too fresh?"

"Hm, so you do catch on quick," she shook her finger at him. "C'mon, let's get you t'bed." Rogue paused and realized her wording was a mistake. She put her hand over her eyes and braced herself.

"I think I'll be sitting up awhile," he told her. He could feel his grin, almost painfully wide, watching her discomfort. "Need t'get myself to calm down a bit before I turn in."

Rogue looked warily over her raised hand at him, trying to search out the innuendo in his sentence.

"Got to feeling a bit overstimulated," he added.

Rogue heaved out a breath. "Alright. To your room. And Ah'm lockin' you in." She approached and took his hand, guided him out of the sitting room and up the staircase. When they reached the door to Remy's quarters, she told him: "You stay put, and stay outta trouble."

He lightly pressed her fingers in his own. "You can pick me up tomorrow and we can start again where we left off. There's a couple more verses of Islands in de Stream to go through yet."

Rogue was looking up at him. She began to rise from the ground to meet him at eye level and Remy realized she was hovering a few inches above the carpet. She leaned towards him. Not to be lured again, he kept his back pressed to the doorframe. For what seemed to be an egregiously long amount of time, she moved slowly closer. The anticipation was both agonizing and incredibly exciting. He felt her lips press against his. Remy slowly inhaled and released his breath, gently returned her kiss. She drew away, and he instantly missed her touch.

Rogue drew a shaky breath, looked into his eyes, then away. "G'night," she said quietly and lowered herself to the carpet.

Remy replied: "Night. Sweet dreams. Will I see you in the mornin'?"

"Bright eyed and bushy tailed, sugah. Set your alarm clock. We'll have a busy day."

Remy's Random References:

Ricky Ricardo/Lucy - I Love Lucy sitcom

Is Remy really a Backstreet Boys fan or was that a joke?

Dolly's Imagination Library is a real thing, started in '95 - get your kids free books!

Islands in the Stream - Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton

I got to meet James Asmus, who wrote the 2nd Gambit ongoing, in person. I asked two questions, can Gambit sing, yes, the blues, obvi, and can be play anything, yes, harmonica.

Next time: Gambit gets the nickel-tour, courtesy of Rogue.