Okay, this chapter moves away from the Remy/Rogue point of view and introduces some other characters, but I haven't abandoned the Southerners.  Yes, this chapter is PG-13

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De Filles Wake Up

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Far away from New Orleans, a woman thrashed about, attempting to escape her nightmares.  Her face shone with sweat and tears in the dim light.  With a sigh that seemed more like a sob, she collapsed onto the strange bloated pillows that hotels used.  She opened her eyes slowly.  Beads of moisture clung to her lashes and shook from her body's near invisible tremors. 

Easing herself up, the young woman rested her back and head on the cool smooth wood of the head board.  The crisp sheets fell in stiff folds about her.  Her right hand took its comforting position.  The thumb cradled her right cheek bone and the middle finger dug into her eye socket just to the left of the bridge of her nose.  Her other fingers splayed out, covering her right eye and nose.  She stayed like that, watching the ceiling as she tried to calm down.

Minutes later, she gathered enough courage to look at the hotel room around her.  It was so much like the horrible place where her life had been destroyed years ago.  There were the same bulletproof windows that never opened, the same keypad lock behind the laminated list of rules, even the same damn picture on the wall.

The framed ink blot had plagued her ever since that terrible night.  She had seen everything in it, from bunnies to ants to bats.  But no matter what strange image she saw, after a time it always went back to what she had seen the first time.  The avenging black angel loomed in her vision.  Shaking her head, she got up and walked to the bathroom.  In the darkness, she saw the inkblot again.  In the mirror, the vengeful angel glared at her.  Its voice whispered at her, "You know what you must do."  She seized the light switch and pulled.  The fallen angel disappeared in the light and her frightened face looked back at her.

The young woman drew a bath of near boiling water, and then drained it away.  It probably did nothing, but the tub seemed cleaner when she did that.  She made another one with cooler water and sank in.  The memory of her screams and splashes came back to her as always, but she hardened her resolve.  It had happened nearly ten years ago and she would get over it.

His demonic eyes glowed in the dark at her.  He had never turned on a light, but kept her in darkness.  She screamed, willing the fear and the memory to exit her body with it.  They never did.  She threw on a robe and turned on every light, even the one in the closed closet.  Sinking onto the bed she screamed.  Safe in a locked, sound-proof room, she would get over it.  She cursed the monster who had hurt her all those years ago.  "Damn you, Darien."  It was a simple thing to say, but hate concentrated the words into a dark and deadly poison.  Again the angel whispered, "You know what you must do."  She just ignored the puny voice.  God punished those who deserved damnation far better than she.  She would put no more blood on her hands than there already was. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In a hospital bed in Mississippi, a girl lay deathly still.  She had been discovered deep under the ruins of a collapsed crypt.  The young teenager, identified as Katherine Anna Pryde of Illinois, was something of a miracle.  An emergency rescue team had been returning to base along the road next to the Fairfield cemetery when they saw the vault crash down.  Even though it was illogical that anyone could be inside at that late hour, the team started to dig.  After an hour of clearing out rubble, the girl's foot was uncovered.  Pulled from the broken granite and marble slabs, she was rushed to the hospital.

There were chunks taken out of her flesh and deep abrasions on her lungs.  It was like she had inhaled pieces of rubble, but –strangely– her lungs were clear of debris.  Even more perplexing than that, she had broken no bones.  Katherine was in a severe coma, but she dreamed.

Over and over again, the girl relived the horrible turn of events that brought her to the hospital.

She heard a muffled scream and ran through the wall to investigate.  She was in a courtyard.  There was a swing hanging from a tree, rose vines growing on the walls, even a dog house.  In the center of it was Kurt.  He lay prone on the ground in his furry form, his image inducer somehow turned off.  She rushed to him.  Someone hit her solidly from behind and she sailed over the blue boy's body.  She crashed into the ground, gaining bruises she would feel for weeks.  Kitty turned her head and saw herself kneel to pick up the Nightcrawler. 

The word Mystique came to her lips, but she didn't waste time to say it as she scrambled towards her teammate.  Kitty managed to grip Kurt's hand before the copy touched him.  Her evil twin's hands went through Kurt's body.  The unconscious boy's tail and feet sank underneath the ground, showing exactly what Kitty had done.  The fake Kitty's skin twisted and then there was a midnight blue redhead snarling at the girl.  The adult mutant drew the most horrible thing from behind her back that Kitty had ever seen: a gun. 

Mystique cocked it at the girl's head and waited.  Kitty already began to weaken.  Her eyes unfocused and she began to sweat.  She couldn't keep both of them intangible for long and it took all of her willpower to stay that way.  She didn't have time to think about calling for help.  After a few minutes of the standstill, an idea hit her.  The girl pulled Kurt up out of the ground and held him close, making sure that no part of his body was under the earth.  She would bluff intangibility and mentally shout for the professor.

The bullet went through her head and Kitty abandoned the plan.  "I'm not a fool, girl," Mystique said calmly, as if she were commenting on what she had eaten for lunch.  "Once, I made a career of killing.  That was a long time ago, but old habits die hard.  Give me the boy and you'll both live.  Disappear beneath the ground and surface far away from here.  I won't go after you; you are not who I am after.  Or we can wait for your energy to give out and you will die." 

Kitty made her decision, stood up with Kurt, and fled.  Another silent bullet passed through her body before she ran through the wall.  A moment later she heard Mystique scale that wall.  A slug passed through her head.  Each of the morphing woman's shots would have killed the girl if they had hit, but never once had Kurt been in danger.  'Why is Kurt so important to her?'  It didn't matter, she wouldn't let the monster get him and she definitely wasn't going to die.  In desperation, she looked around and saw she was in a graveyard.  Ahead there was a collection of crypts.  She dove into the ground towards one, but turned and swam desperately towards another.  She surfaced in the mausoleum gasping for breath.  Letting go of Kurt, she collapsed to the floor.  Kitty had never phased for so long alone, let alone with another person.  There was a strange yipping sound outside.  After a few seconds, a four legged shadow fell on her and she froze. 

'Is that a hyena?  Professor!'  She mentally shouted for Xavier just before a hyena knocked her senseless.  Kitty was up and in a ready stance before she could think.  She was too weak to defend against those teeth and claws.  The spotted animal growled and charged.  She panicked and ran, passing through the column behind her.  But she was too tired and couldn't concentrate.  When she pressed through the stone, some of the column became intangible with her.  Just as she felt the people she phased through objects with her, she felt the block of stone.  Her body slammed into it as if they both were real.  She and the large block fell away from the pillar.  The upper part of the column collapsed and the roof began to falter. 

Amid the rumbling, Kurt groaned.  He was waking up.  The hyena trotted over to him and bit his arm.  With a yelp of pain, the Nightcrawler ported away, taking Mystique with him.  Kitty lay in the dark crypt as it fell around her.  The stone had knocked the wind out of her and she was too exhausted to move.  She leaned against one of the tombs.  Maybe it would protect her from the falling debris.  She turned her head to the left and read the plaque.  ~Lilly LeBeau, Queen of New Orleans~.  Kitty briefly wondered what the dead girl was doing in Mississippi before the rocks fell on her.

It was a nightmare.  She tried to stay intangible, but it was too hard.  Rocks kept getting stuck in her lungs before falling completely through.  She couldn't breathe.  After a shudder, she took a deep breath and pulled herself into Lilly's coffin.  The corpse crawled underneath her.  There, the Shadowcat realized her mistake.  The air in the coffin had long gone bad and she would suffocate in the sealed casket.  'I'd rather die alone than with a corpse for company.  With a final effort, she tumbled out to the opposite side of the tomb.  She was lucky.  A thick sheet of rock had fallen and a small space was open.  It was just small enough for her head and lungs.  After readjusting her body, her mind fell into a stupor.  She concentrated on only two things: staying intangible and breathing.

As time went by, her ability to phase lessened and her body went from being like air to liquid.  The crashing had stopped and she managed to push bits of rubble aside with her semisolid body.  Finally, there was enough empty space to become real again.  As she did, there was terrible pain.  Some of the rocks hadn't been pushed entirely out of her way.  They tried to occupy the same space as her limbs.  The denser stone won out and destroyed chunks of the girl's legs and arms.  Out of immediate danger, she let herself fall asleep.

Kitty opened her eyes.  She was propped up by pillows in a hospital bed.  Her body felt so weak and she could barely feel her legs.

"So, you're awake."  She turned her head a little and a blonde teenager sat in bed across the room from her.  He played with a football, tossing it lightly from hand to hand.

"I'm Matt.  We came in tha same night in comas.  I was bettah off than you, though.  Docs didn' think you would make it.  No one knows how you survived tha tomb collapsin'."

Kitty narrowed her eyes and asked, "Well, you know how I came in.  Like, how did you get in a coma?"  Her voice sounded –the pun was inevitable– gravelly.

He looked down at the football, as if it explained everything.  Normally Kitty would have tapped her foot, but she wasn't standing and wasn't quite sure she still had feet.  Matt's voice grew quiet, "There was this party.  Fun little gatherin', no beer or anythin'.  All tha football players were there an' our school has this rule.  If a team is nearin' state, tha parties they go ta can' get them in trouble.  School's big on competition.  Don' know why I explained that.  Wanted ta rule out alcohol poisonin', I guess."

He shook his head and looked out the window.  The morning light shone through onto his face, which was lit up with some kind of affection.  "There was this girl.  Beautiful, but intimidatin'.  Not just ta me, the whole county was scared of her a bit.  Took me a long time to work up ta say I liked her, but it worked out.  We talked an' danced.  She liked me too.  Seemed too good ta be true, and it was.  We were out on a balcony an' we kissed.  I felt somethin' awful an' now I'm here."  He threw the football to tha floor.  "Everyone thinks she did something ta me!  They made her run away, an' I feel like its mah fault.  She didn' do anything, just kissed me at tha wrong time."

'She ran away?'  Kitty thought.  Something about that sounded deadly familiar.  Xavier had said the new mutant was a runaway.  'What happened to her?  Did we find her and take her to the Institute?'

She turned the conversation to safer waters like what was the first thing they would do when they could leave the hospital.  Matt was going to see some new movie.  Kitty lied and said shopping.  More likely, she would be filing a missing persons report.  She almost cried when she thought of Kurt.  He was in the grasp of the enemy and she was safe, surrounded by doctors.  She could hardly bear to think about what he was going through.  Mr. Logan walked through the open doorway, ending her anguished thoughts.  He smiled back at a harried nurse in the hall.  "Told yah she was awake."

Fifteen minutes later in the blackbird, she cried into Wolverine's chest.  He patted her head uncomfortably.  All her damaged throat could manage to say was, "I'm sorry."  To make up for the lack of variety, Kitty said it over and over again.

"Don' worry, half-pint.  We'll get 'im back."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Rogue awakened and found a surprise in her bed: Remy.  Technically, she was in his bed, but the other two mornings she had woken up to find him gone.  The second time had been on the road in another of those horrible little motels.  Of course the door was locked and it ticked her off to no end.  Remy had eventually come in with another change of clothes that she again had no say in.  At least the colors hadn't been as cheerful as the last set.

She grimaced and looked down.  Still wearing the shirt and pants from yesterday, she felt like a hobo.  The sleeping Remy had on a pair of dark cotton pants and a Tee.  He didn't look nearly so imposing as he did in a muscle shirt, black jeans, and a trench coat.  She placed a hand on his heart, feeling the scar tissue.  Had Knave really done this to him? 

A strong hand lifted hers away.  "What you thinkin', Chere?"

She looked at him quite seriously.  "Is it patricide if I kill him?" she whispered.  Remy pulled her into his arms.

"Martin's memories dat bad?"  She shuddered for an answer.

"Well, I'm just goin' to say this.  T'ink for a minute, Chere.  If Knave LeBeau dies, where does dat put me?  Gambit LeBeau would become King.  I doubt ma Petite would like dat over much."  He sighed, "If it makes you fell bettah, I avoid mon papa an' his business like de plague."

"Then why stay in New Orleans?"  There was nothing Rogue wanted more than to leave the city, to leave the South and go somewhere new. 

Remy placed her hand back on his heart.  "You remember de rules dat go wit' your necklace?"

"Can't leave New Orleans or you an' in return I get protection."

He nodded and continued, "My scar is basically de same t'ing, only dere's no protection.  Many people, dey too scared to try their hand at my death, but a few aren't.  Dere's nothin' holdin' me to N'Awlins, but I'm safer here.  I've been attacked twice before.  De first was here.  Papa's muscle handled it.  De second...dere was no one but me."

Remy closed his eyes.  "It was my first time, my only time.  But it felt so good.  Rogue, I'm scared if I kill again, I'll stop carin' an' just kill for fun.  Dat's why I stay in N'Awlins.  So I don' hafta kill, so I don' become Knave LeBeau's son."

"But you are his son."

He laughed in a way that made her want to cry for him.  "Non, I'm Jean-Luc LeBeau's son.  De world turned Jean-Luc into Knave.  His life, our life, is a hard'un.  Jean-Luc would have died in it, so he hid in Knave.  Now de mask is locked to his face and de key destroyed forever."

He looked away towards the window where morning's light shone inside.  "Dat why he try to make me Gambit.  He wants me to live.  Dat's why, because he loves me."

Rogue looked where Remy's scar -the one his father gave him- lay underneath his shirt.  Martin was no spring chicken and his memories of Knave went back to Remy's early childhood.  The bodyguard had been present for all of her husband's branding sessions.  Every year, on Remy's birthday, Knave had gone over the burns, even though only one time had been necessary according to LeBeau law.  Remy was always in too much pain to notice, but Martin had seen the glint of satisfaction in his King's eyes as he dragged the tiny red-hot wire over his son's skin.

'Because he loves me...oh Remy.  You're just foolin' yourself.  Everything Knave's done, the scar and Gambit...even tha assassins in Disney World and here, it was to control you.  When he can't stand strong anymore, he'll use you as a puppet, pull all tha strings.  An' you think he loves you.  You may look grown up, but you're still just that little innocent boy he tried ta destroy.  God, I just wish I had tha heart ta tell you that.'   

***

I feel so cruel to hurt Remy like this.  And I'm sorry I kidnapped Kurt and nearly killed Kitty and forced Rogue not to dress like a Goth or wear make-up for two days and put Logan in such an uncomfortable position and made Mystique evil enough to carry a gun and *sob* drowned Jean in a pool of her own yellow, rancid...wait, I never did that...and I like Jean!  Ok, I don't especially love the Evolution version of Jean, but she kicks ass in New X-Men, Xtreme X-Men, the X-Movies, and the original TV show.  I'm just waiting for Evo-Jean and Logan to FINALLY . . .   Well, that would be an interesting fic.  (I have dibs!)

Review Responses:

Gothic Cajun:           ...it explained AND entertained.  How do you do it?    Elementary, my dear Reviewer: you.  I try to look at as many reviews as I can before writing the next chapter.  They are brain food.  I would say about 3000 words in this story have been written because of reviews (not counting the Review Responses section).  They really add to the story by explaining stuff that confuses the reader.  Now be a dear and nitpick my writing.

Alliriyan:                  *how* [do] you write like that [?]            I think the Gothic Cajun response sort of explains it.  REVIEWERS!  Well, there's that, lots of practice, and a little trick of mine.  I use my subconscious.  I know that sounds weird, but it works.  Before I go to bed (or do some tedious thing like math class, biology, you get the idea), I run a few ideas about where I want the next chapter or two to go.  When I get a general idea, I go to sleep.  I don't dream about it, but I wake up and my brain won't stop telling me to do this or put in that.  It's really fun to take the backseat.  The cool thing is, this works for practically anyone who tries it.  Just be warned, you may come up with something totally off topic.  Don't worry; just write it down and save it for a later fic or original story.  It will normally turn out to be gold.

Red Dragon:             Rouge can't have kids due to her mutant power, can she?   Two things: [1.] Be careful, dear.  Writing Rogue as Rouge, even if it was an accident, can get you killed in these parts.  [2] Believe it or not, I've already got the kid thing covered.  Wait and see, wait and see...

sweet-chick3:          You're checking for an update every thirty minutes...wow.  What an honor.  And I'm going to try to post another chapter up by Sunday evening (pray for me).

Anime Addicted:       How'd you ever come up with this type of idea?          Oh, I'd love to answer that.  It will be tricky, but I'll try.  I normally lay most of the blame on my subconscious, but this idea actually was actually a conscious effort.  1: I wanted a fic with absolutely NO chance for a love triangle.  2: I wanted a Romy fic.  1 + 2 = kill Lance, Scott, Pietro, and Logan, (and throw Todd, Piotr, Evan, Jamie, and Magneto into the volcano too, just in case...and I'll shoot St. John in the head because I don't want him near a live volcano) or kick the story down to New Orleans.  I chose answer #2.  

          I also wanted to break Remy out of his playful player cage.  I could either make him a shy teenager (you couldn't pay me enough to do that) or make him crueler.  Thus, the darker Remy was born.  As to the prophecy I keep driving people crazy about by being vague, I believe my exact words were:

"And I want get rid of Remy's self-fulfilling prophecy of 'Remy de player an' he get de fille.'  Prophecy...hmm that's off topic but it could work.  But it would have to come from someone already dead...hey, didn't the first Rogue episode happen in a cemetery?"  My subconscious kicked in at that point, but you get the idea...I hope.