Chapter 3: The Date

It was almost noon when Gambit returned, and a very annoyed Cyclops met him at the back kitchen door when he came in on the way back from stowing his motorcycle in the garage. "Where have you been?" Scott asked with a measure of annoyance.

"Out, mon ami," Gambit said as he brushed past Scott, angling his body so that the team's leader wouldn't see the heavy bandaging on his arm. Scott grabbed his arm to halt his progress, and Gambit sighed inwardly as Scott's eyes picked up the bandage on his arm.

"What have you been doing?" he demanded in annoyance, yanking at the bandage. "Did you get into another bar fight?" He got a look at the gash, and whistled. "What did you do, get into a fight with a lawnmower? Look at your shirt!"

Rogue came in at just that moment, followed by Logan, and her eyes widened as she saw the deep slice. Logan's eyes narrowed after he got a deep sniff, and he grinned wolfishly. Gambit gave him a wink. "Later, Logan," he said. "Gambit wan' go git dis t'ing looked at by Hank, den go an' git a shower an' sleep."

"Did you forget the Danger Room training session we had scheduled this afternoon, Gambit?" Scott said icily.

Gambit gritted his teeth. He had forgotten. "Um, don' t'ink I could pass because o' an injury?" he said. Scott snorted, and he rolled his eyes. "I didn' t'ink so. Okay, Gambit get dis arm looked at, den he be in de Danger Room for de session."

Rogue was already examining the gash. "Whoever patched this up did a good job o' it, Gambit," she drawled. "You were lucky, sugah. Any deeper, an' it mighta sliced some muscle there." She looked at him. "What happened?"

"I should like to know that, too," Xavier said, coming into the room. "Where have you been, Remy?"

Gambit sat down at the table. Clearly no one was going to leave him alone till they knew what happened. "I was leavin' Crossroads," he named the bar he'd been at when the whole thing began, "An' I stopped on de way out to finish my cigarette. Dere was a man down de alley gettin' t'reatened by somebody dressed in black. I didn' know she was a woman till later. Den de man copped to somet'ing he did dat de woman made him confess to; he killed his wife by cuttin' her t'roat." He let that sink in, then continued, "De woman recorded his confession, den cut his t'roat wit' her sword. Not deep, just enough to scar. Den she handcuff him to a street lamp and leave de cassette wit' him for de police to fin'. When she drive off on a motorcycle, I followed her. She made me chase her all over de damn city; I caught up to her using a shortcut and confronted her. She jus' tol' me to min' my own business an' drove away. I followed her back to her apartment and surprised her comin' out of de shower. She cut me wit' her sword, den she patch me up."

He grinned ruefully as he said, "Gambit have too much to drink las' night. I pass out on her floor. She got me int' her bed an' slept on her couch. When I wake up dis mornin' she was still asleep. I wasn' goin' to leave her wit'out sayin' goodbye, so I make her breakfast before I leave. I ask her if she wan' to go out tonight, but she say no. She didn' even give me her name; she jus' tol' me her name was Bloodcat. I listen to a conversation she had on de phone wit' somebody named Marsden; she getting paid for dis junk. She getting ten t'ousan' dollars to cut dis guy's t'roat. I t'ink she be a mercenary assassin."

Xavier stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I did hear something on the news about Samantha Marsden's murderer getting caught," he said. "Found this morning by a patrol car outside of Crossroads. People believe Daredevil did it." He shrugged. "I guess they were wrong."

Gambit got up. "I'm goin' to fin' a hot shower an' some asp'rin," he said.

Rogue caught up with him in the corridor. "Ya spent the night at her place?" she said. "What happened?"

Gambit rolled his eyes. "Look, chere, I tol' de trut' in dere," he said. "Not'ing happen between me an' her. An' anyway, you don' wan' me, so why feel jealous if I go fin' anot'er woman?" He stalked off down the hall, leaving Rogue staring at his retreating back with some very mixed feelings.

When he got into his room after the session, a shower and Hank had re-bandaged his arm, Logan was waiting for him. "What was she like, Gumbo?" the other man said.

Gambit sat down on the edge of his bed. "You would not believe dis woman, Logan," he said, his eyes glittering. "She got curves like dis…" his hands formed an hourglass shape in the air, "an' her ches' look like dis…and she got de mos' incredible eyes, like de sky on a gorgeous summer day. When I got in her apartment, an' was in de kitchen, when I look aroun' she was all wet, like I interrupt her in de shower or somethin'. She a beautiful girl. I can' believe she jus' say no to a date wit' me, jus' like dat." He snapped his fingers.

Logan chuckled. "So yer ego hurts 'cause a beautiful woman says no?"

"No," he said, giving Wolverine a nasty look, "I t'ink it be more den dat. I t'ink she about to say yes when she hear my name an' den she say no. I don' know why."

"So yer gonna try again."

Gambit grinned rakishly. "O' course."

"Well, guess yer gonna need this then." Logan tossed Gambit the keys to his pickup. "Just don't bring her back with an empty tank again, huh?"

The thought continued to haunt him as he fell asleep, then later when he woke. Scott gave him a funny look when he came down too late to join everyone for dinner, but Gambit ignored it and grabbed a cup of coffee, then headed upstairs to dress. He wasn't sure how she would receive him if he showed up at her door and asked her to go out to dinner with him, so he figured if she shot him down again he could always go hit the pool hall. He dressed deliberately casually, not as scruffily as he usually did, but in a decent pair of khakis and a dark green button down shirt. He palmed the keys to the pickup and left the mansion by the back door.

He walked into the garage, and flicked on the light. "Don't forget we have a practice session tomorrow too, Gambit," Scott said.

Gambit rolled his eyes. "Oui, homme," he said. "Not as if I'm goin' to be spendin' de whole night dere again."

Scott spoke. "You never know," he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Gambit's jaw dropped, and he watched in silence as Scott left the garage.

He stopped at the grocery store and picked up a dozen roses for her. He parked the pickup in the parking garage, took a deep breath, and went up to her apartment. He knocked twice, and waited.

When there was no answer, he knocked again. Again no answer. Wondering if she had gone out, he retraced his steps to the parking garage. Her motorcycle was still there. He went back up, knocked again.

Catryne rolled sluggishly out of bed, groaning as the pain in her back hit her. She leaned against the dresser for a moment, rubbed her eyes, then put on and buttoned her short-sleeved blouse and went to answer the door. "Who is it?" she called as she opened the door, and there stood the last person she wanted to see right now; Remy Le Beau. He broke into a wide grin and held out a lovely bouquet of flowers.

"Oh!" She said, taken aback by the gift. She wasn't expecting it. The scent of roses wafted up to her, and she smiled as she took them. "Thank you, they're lovely," she said. "Come in, let me put these in water," she said.

Gambit walked in and shut the door, looking closely at her as he tried to pin down what was wrong. After a moment, he saw that her clothes were wrinkled, as if she'd slept in them, and her face was flushed. He sat at the kitchen table as she clipped stems and arranged the roses in a lovely crystal vase. He followed her graceful hands as they tucked a rose into the vase when he saw something, and reached out to touch her wrist. "P'tite, what happened?"

She froze, and quickly tried to hide her other hand under the table, but he moved around the table to catch it. The same marks were around that wrist, too. He looked at her. He had seen marks like that often enough to recognize them for what they were; abrasions from handcuffs locked too tight. Two raw red lines wrapped around her slim wrists, and he stared at them in anger and puzzlement. "P'tite, who did dis to you?"

She wrenched her wrists out of his grip and got up, gathering the cellophane and dumping it into the trashcan, along with the stem clippings. "Nothing, Remy. It's not your concern. Don't worry about it."

"P'tite, if someone be hurtin' you, tell me an' I'll go straighten 'im out," he said.

She placed a hand on his chest, and now he could see the marks plainly around her wrists. "Remy, please," she said, her voice breaking on his name. "I don't want to talk about it." She set the vase in the middle of her kitchen table, admired them for a moment, and then turned to him, smiling. "Now, am I correct in thinking that you were going to ask me out to dinner?"

"Yep," he said, changing the subject for now but determined that he'd find out sooner or later what those marks meant.

She grinned, and said cheerfully, "All right, I'll come. Give me a chance to slip into something decent." She slipped into her bedroom and closed the door, taking off the clothes she'd slept in and opening her closet door. "Casual, Remy?"

"Where you want to go t'night, chere?" he said. "Anywhere you like."

Cat blinked. He was asking her? She hadn't been out to eat in a very long time. She had no idea what restaurants were good around here.

"I honestly don't know," she said, poking her head out the room door. "I haven't eaten out in a long time. What's good around here?"

Remy thought. "Well, dere's a restaurant called Marcello's were dey make a pretty mean Italian pasta," he said. "An dere's a good Chinese place called Szechuan Palace where dey have sushi an' stuff."

"Anything Cajun?" she asked, her head poking out the door again, eyes twinkling.

"Chere, if it be Cajun ya want, I can cook it myself," he said. "Not'in in de city compare to what Remy can make." He said it with pride, and he heard that musical laughter again. "Let's got to Marcello's, then," she said. The bedroom door opened, and she came out in a simple but stunning turquoise dress that dipped low between her perfect breasts and came up over her shoulders in thin little spaghetti straps. A matching turquoise sweater covered her welted back and raw wrists. He tried to keep his jaw from dropping, and just barely succeeded. "Vous etes si beau, chere," he said. "You look beautiful."

She grinned. "Merci, Monsieur LeBeau. You don't look too bad yourself. Will this be okay? You didn't bring your bike, did you?"

"Non, p'tite. Remy borrow a friend's pickup truck."

She smiled. "I'll just be a moment more, then." And she disappeared in the bathroom.

She surveyed her back in the mirror. The welts were fading, but she had decided to wear the sweater anyway to hide the marks, though the evening was too warm for it. She applied her makeup with quick, deft touches, then gave a light dab of perfume under each ear. Seconds later, she exited the bathroom and saw him grin. "Ready, chere?"

She grinned as she took the proffered arm. Just for tonight, she was going to put all thoughts of her work and the forthcoming unpleasantness out of her mind and just enjoy herself. "Ready, Monsieur LeBeau." She giggled as she saw his expression. "I remember my French," she said as she swept past him.

She turned all heads in the restaurant as she walked in. They waited in the lobby for a hostess to seat them for a few minutes, then Remy decided they should sit in the piano bar. He wasn't a real fan of piano, but at least they wouldn't have to wait. And it was amateur night. Hopefully someone would be there who could play well.

They ordered, and she sat back, listening to the current player mangle a Chopin nocturne so badly she wondered if he was even reading the music. The waitress arrived with their champagne, and they sat there drinking and talking.

"So, p'tite," Gambit said finally, having gone and told her all about himself and the X-Men, "tell me 'bout you. Where you been all o' my life?"

She giggled. "I was living in California until about a year and a half ago," she said. "I sort of miss it. Sun, sand, open water…I miss my tan," she said mournfully, looking at her pale hand resting on the table. Gambit smiled.

"You look fine, p'tite," he said. "Do you have anyone else in your life right now?"

She looked down at the table. "No. My husband died about six years ago, with my baby son. Our house caught fire. I was the only one the firemen could rescue. I haven't really felt attracted to anyone since then. You're the only one I've felt comfortable enough with to go out to dinner with. I don't go out alone much."

Gambit placed a hand over hers. "I'm real sorry, chere," he said, and she looked into his eyes and could tell he meant it. "If dere anyt'ing Remy can do, jus' tell me. Whoever done dat--" he pushed her sleeve up just enough to see the raw welts on her wrist, "gon' haveta deal wit' me when I fin' out who did it. Will you tell me, p'tite?"

She got up, avoiding his eyes, and walked across the floor to the piano, sitting down. For a moment she just let her hands rest on the keys, soundlessly, and closed her eyes, picturing the music in her mind. Then she let her fingers whisper up and down the ivory keys, sending out a trill of music that played arpeggios on his spine. She played a few bars, then opened her mouth and began to sing. Her voice was rich, husky, and danced on the still air as the other patrons stopped what they were doing to listen to her sing and play. Wrapped in the spell of the music, it was a moment before he actually heard the words.

"While the words of ancient poets

Fall as dust upon my shoes

Grief has robbed me of my vision

Turned my heart from higher truths

So take my hand and lift me higher

Be my love and my desire

Hold me safe from all about

Take my heart to higher ground."

Her eyes caught his as she began another verse.

"I have walked too long in darkness

I have walked too long alone

Blindly clutching fists of diamonds

That I found were only stones.

I would trade the wealth of ages

For a warmer hand to hold

The path of light is narrow

But it leads to streets of gold.

So take my hand, lift me higher

Be my love and my desire.

Hold me safe from all about,

Take my heart to higher ground."

The last note hung in the air, dying out slowly. She raised her head, and saw in the corner a man dressed in a suit. Tall, silver-haired…the Master. Her heart skipped a beat. What was he doing here? She got up quickly from the piano, returning to her seat beside Remy, trying not too look flushed.