I just have to say that I am really happy about all the reviews I've been receiving. You guys are the reason I do this--many thanks.
Totally Obsessed47 (hope you had fun wherever you went), ishandahalf, Ms. Rogue LeBeau, Karakin, Gren44 (no worries, everything has been planned), Weapon X 61 (about time you came back!), anda (have a tissue and give me your email so I can tell you when I update), enchanted light--may your reviews never cease coming.
Freak87: Your review was one of the most fun to read, my friend. And you aren't lost--all that you said is exactly what's been revealed in the plot so far. See? I was right to trust you guys' intelligence. As for the six darts, it's powerful stuff, but that'll be mentioned later. At first I had it written "Logan and Ororo Munroe", which would have sounded even funnier because Storm and Wolverine would have seemed--married. Which would be interesting because I think they'd make a perfect couple and neither have real love interests. I'm so glad Logan isn't in love with Jean in Evolution (God, can you imagine how wrong that'd be?). Flowerperson: the character is minor in the X-Men universe but important here--you'll see, but sssh, no speculations--keep things more interesting. Zen Master White Dragon: Interesting deductions... And ah, yes, the frequent updates do please the public. God, I know about edanielrya and Seven Sunningdale (I am still waiting on "Love of my Life")! Glad you're not a fanatic groupie, I thoroughly appreciate your objective opinion. Shockgoddess: The description of the room was written at the kitchen table, with my brothers going crazy as my mother vaccumed and my father attempted to shift the positions off the living room furniture and cursing when his back hurt--ain't it funny? Kendokao: I want to reply to your speculations but am afraid it'll ruin the story. Lighthearted friendliness coming up with a few more scrolls of your window. Sweety8587: Your reviews are always a pleasure to read--so long, so thorough and contemplative, so fun! And as I said to kendakao, I wish I could reply to all your musings, but can't, lest the story be ruined. And none of us want that! What life in deed, it would be an incredibly sad way to live. Silky black: You know what, when I was reading your review, I was reminded of Kitty Pryde. That was a fun few seconds. I'm so flattered that you think this is like psych thriller! That never occurred to me but now that you say it, I have to agree. Dracula, hmm? Ya know what, I was actually picturing the guy from The Count of Monte Cristo, when he's all dolled up as a rich Count with the beard and robe and stuff--that was my Armand, but hey, your's works too. Love your energy. Allie: You see, more people have to be like you and read this at night, in the dark. Far more effective that way. That's when I write it, for the most part, and it works wonders. Darkness and storms, huh. I'm so glad you're getting a creepy feeling--that means the story is working! SickmindedSucker: interesting penname choice, definitely demands a second look. Yes, the situation does suck major ass. Hate to be with the Prof, Storm, and Logan--but then again, it does seem favorable to other situation. As for putting ol' Scottie in a coma--he had it coming. Love Kudos--great and different?--thank you. I try not to be mainstream. DumbBlondeBlue: But how does the Austrian accent look when typed out?
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Another break from tension to explore the advancement of Rogue and Gambit's relationship. We know they fall in love in just about every X-Men universe, but the romance received mere hints in Evolution. Here is my version and I pray it feels realistic.
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Hank spent much of his time in the Infirmary. His patients were constantly being monitored. Any changes in their conditions were recorded and examined, but none were drastic enough to invoke any hope. He paid close attention to Lance, who was the earliest victim and most susceptible to the next stage of the coma. As much as it might become a fact for them, nobody wished to think about the horrible possibilities.
Rogue visited the Infirmary once a day and every time found Jean sitting at Scott's beside. She felt uncomfortable around the redhead and often retreated when she was there. Other times she stayed, read a few pages of Interview With A Vampire to Amara or held the phone to Lance's ear so Kitty could say things to him.
Despite how the Institute was given a few days of peace, the outside world was denied that comfort. Mutant attacks were reported in the surrounding area--Westchester, Brooklyn, Staten Island. All the victims suffered the same fate, exhibited the same behavior before falling to coma. Some died within hours of their condition while others continued in sleep-like states.
The new developments were worrisome and puzzling. Hank began compiling facts and figures on each and every victim. After spending a reasonable amount of time analyzing the information, he came to a conclusion: The more powerful the mutant, the longer he or she could sustain their body in the comatose state after their powers were drained. Unfortunately, some of the victims had barely begun to realize their gifts before they were taken away, and thus, perished quickly. The X-Men had some comfort. Their friends had practiced using their powers, trained with them through vigorous hours, used them to fight for their lives. Wouldn't they be considered strong, powerful? Wouldn't they have a greater chance of surviving?
"They'll be fine," Kurt was adamant to believe. He sat on the couch, flipping channels on the television. "The Professor, Logan, and Storm vill fix all of this."
Rogue was growing restless. She paced the rec room, clenching and unclenching her hands. "How can you just...sit there, Kurt? Aren't you getting sick of the waiting? Maybe we should try helping them instead of being so useless."
"And how vill ve do that?" Kurt asked rhetorically.
Wanda and Tabitha were playing pool, the sounds of knocking balls mingling with voices and noise from the TV. "I'd sure like to get some action," Tabitha said. She chalked the end of her cue stick and knocked another ball into a hole. "All this tension is going to make my head crack."
"This predator's gonna crack your head first," Wanda gritted bitterly. "We can't stop it. We don't even know what the hell it is. After it's done with the city it'll come back here. You all know it." Her cue stick began glowing with blue energy. "I can't stand just--" She let out an angry cry and tossed the hexed pole away. As she stomped out of the room, the stick bounced and whipped about dangerously before falling lifeless on the floor.
Rogue picked it up and set it on the pool table. She looked at Tabitha who did not meet her gaze. Kurt remained rigidly focused on a Chex Mix commericial. The uneventfulness of the past few days was getting to them all, the waiting a horrible torture. At the same time Rogue was relieved; her psyches had not been acting up lately, which meant Wraith was probably no where near. She could feel safe for the time being.
Kinda like my own spider sense, Rogue thought in amusement.
"Ah'm gonna have a run in the Danger Room," she said suddenly.
Kurt's yellow eyes frowned at her, "Villingly? All this has to be getting too you, sis."
"Would you rather Ah let out some steam on you?" Rogue shot back.
The three-fingered boy returned to watching TV and Rogue left the room.
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This was exactly what she needed. The adrenaline, the rush, the bodily exertion. Her lithe muscles tensed and relaxed for her movements. She leapt into a back flip, deftly dodging the rays of a laser cannon. When she landed on her feet she heard the zing! of razor discs being dispatched from crevices in the Danger Room wall. She ducked the one aimed at her head, twisted away from the second, and leapt over the third. She landed on her feet, knees bent, hands on the ground. "End Simulation!" she shouted, and the weapons ceased their active stances, retreating into the walls.
Rogue walked over to the doors and picked up her towel. As she patted it against her face she closed her eyes and breathed sensually. Her increased heart rate pounded in her ears, drowning out any troubling thoughts. As she stretched out her now-relaxed muscles, she felt much better.
"So dis is de famous Danger Room..." A low whistle echoed along the walls of the spacious chamber.
Rogue hadn't noticed the doors open. She turned and scowled at the Cajun as he entered unbidden, admiring the technology before him. "Don't ya ever knock?"
"Y'talkin' to a t'ief, chere," Remy said with a light chuckle. He ran the tip of his toe over the stainless steel floor. "Spared no expense, neh? How much clout does dis Professor have anyway?"
Rogue smirked, "Ah'm being asked by a thief?"
Remy favored her with an innocent smile, his crimson-ebony eyes twinkling subtly. "I see how t'is. Well, in dat case, why don' y'show me jus' how well de good Prof invested his money?"
"Ya wanna test the Danger Room?" Rogue asked. "It ain't a walk in the park."
"An' I ain't an amateur," Remy replied. He shrugged off his trench coat, tossing it beside her things against the wall. "Let's see how much fun y'an' I can have, eh, chere?" He walked out into the center of the chamber and grinned mischievously.
Rogue narrowed her eyes at him, wondering why he was doing this. He wasn't exactly dressed for combat in those loose jeans and maroon shirt, not to mention his wounds. "And what about those injuires?"
"I'll deal."
Rogue frowned at his apathy towards the subject. Whether he cared about his well-being or not, she didn't feel like hauling a bleeding Gambit back to the Infirmary. She sighed, "You should at least change. Hate ta see ya trip over those pants." She almost laughed at the thought of the smooth-talking Cajun falling flat on his face.
"Rogue, Rogue, Rogue," he chided in a sing-song voice, shaking his head. "Y't'ink we gon' have time t'change on de battlefield? Got t'improvise, non?" He waved his hand around the sterile, empty Room. "Rev it up."
"Hold on," Rogue said. She began digging through her bag until she found her gloves. After slipping them on she headed towards him, noticing his eyes on her hands. He had a thoughtful expression on his face but she pretended not to notice. She thought of the conversation they had a couple days ago. She tilted her head up at the ceiling and called out, "Start Simulation--Warehouse District, Level One."
Engines whirred as computers sprang to life. Remy watched with fascination as the steel floor beneath them morphed into hard, pebbly ground. The atmosphere darkened, clouds rolling above their heads as a perfect imitation of a night sky. The walls of the Danger Room disintegrated; rundown buildings and warehouses appeared near and far, along with miscellaneous obstacles of boxes, machinery, and rubble. To top off the effect, thunder rumbled in the distance.
"Nice," Remy said.
Rogue took a few steps around their immediate area, summing up the surroundings. Remy couldn't help but admire the way her dark uniform hugged her curves and showed off her lithe muscles. When she turned to face him his eyes snapped back up to her face. Remembering their honest conversation from days before, he felt a little guilty about checking her out. He surprised himself by the thought and would have laughed if she had not spoken.
"They'll be coming soon." Her green eyes scanned the area, scrutinizing the shadows. "Get ready, swamp rat."
Remy was about to ask who "they" was, when he saw a shadow lingering behind and above him. He leapt out of the way and a suited man pounced heavily on where he formerly stood. "Y've gotta be kiddin' me," he said, snatching his bo-staff from his back pocket. His assailant wore a black suit, complete with tie and dark sunglasses over the eyes. He looked exactly like an agent from that one movie...
Remy didn't have time to pin the title as the suited man launched an attack at him. He extended his metal staff and deflected the kicks and punches easily. He drew in a sharp breath when his wounds pained his side. He quickly squelched the feeling. With a leap and a spin he clocked the guy over the head. With a zap!, cackle, and hiss, the robot's skull was fractured and it fell to the ground. That was too easy. Before he knew it, too more suited men were on him. He dodged their initial attacks, leaping and spinning, before inflicting his own. He ducked a punch from one and twirled his staff, decking the other in the chest. With a speed that would have made Pietro Maximoff huff enviously, he flicked charged cards at the first man and watched the bot explode. He turned in time to block a blow from the other opponent, using his staff to trip him before blowing him up as well.
Remy was only a little out of breath. When he looked up he saw Rogue leaning against a pyramid of boxes and crates. "How come no one attacked you?"
She smiled, "Ya fight well, Gumbo."
Was that just a compliment? He looked at her suspiciously.
"And that was just the computer testing ya," Rogue said matter-of-factly. "Ah'm already in the database. But your warm-up is over so pay attention, pretty boy."
A smile tugged at the Cajun's lips, "Y't'ink I'm pretty now, chere?"
Rogue rolled her eyes but said nothing. She wouldn't have had time to react as three more suited men appeared. Each climbed out from behind the crates she leaned against and fell upon her at once. She punched the first one viciously, knocking him back with the force. Then she spun and kicked at the second across the midriff. When he grabbed her ankle she leapt and twirled her other leg around to knock his sunglasses off. She landed on her hands and flipped herself away as the third slammed a foot down where her head had been. The ground cracked with a large indent.
Remy enjoyed watching Rogue fight. Her movements were graceful, well-planned, but also hard and precise. He figured it was the result of vigorous training with the Wolverine fellow. He didn't have much time to speculate though, as hard hands grabbed him from behind.
Soon he was absorbed in the fight, using his powers from time to time to lessen physical demand on his injured body. As he took down his sixth and last opponent, he spared a glance at Rogue.
She was being thrown against a dirt-shoveling truck, agent hands around her throat. Remy moved towards her but stopped as she curled her legs up and kicked the man in the chest. With a vengeance she launched a series of punches and kicks that rendered him dazed. Then catching the man's arm, she swung him around. Helped with the momentum, she slammed him against the teeth of the truck's large shovel, impaling him instantly.
Without missing a beat she yelled out, "Level Two!"
It began to rain. More obstacles appeared, leaving less open ground. Remy stepped around piles of metal rubble and crates until he found Rogue patiently waiting. "Is de rain necessary, chere?"
Rogue smirked at his drenched clothes, "Told ya ta change." The water just rolled off her suit, leaving only her hair wet.
Remy shrugged, then asked, "What's with the Agents?" He tried not to notice how sexy she looked with wet tendrils of curling hair bobbing about her face. All teasing aside, she really was an attractive girl.
"Was Bobby's idea," Rogue said. "He loves the Matrix. He and Ah programmed this simulation." Reminded of her vacated friend, a forlorn expression fell across her face. "Ya know what...Ah think that's enough--" She cried out as Remy jerked her towards him.
A rotted crate toppled off the stack and exploded into splinters at her previous spot.
"Distraction ain't wise, eh, chere?" Remy said. He collapsed his bo-staff and stuck it in his pocket. He looked around warily as one by one, the familiar suits began appearing. Some carried guns, tasers, and whip cords. "Looks like de fun's jus' gettin' started."
The suits came at them all at once. Remy punched one that advanced with a taser. Extending his bo-staff, he twirled and swung it expertly, dealing blows left and right, up and down with lethal accuracy. The confined space made fighting slightly difficult, but he soon adapted. He leapt onto crates and pushed some over, charged pieces of rubble and watched them explode in satisfaction. He misjudged the move of his next opponent and received a blow to the temple. Seeing stars, he stumbled backwards and the staff, slicked from the rain, was easily kicked from his hand. He recovered quickly, jumping away from bullets that showered in his direction.
"Dese real, chere?" he called out, over the growing thunder. He hid behind a pile of crates, hearing the platter of ammunition against the wood. He wondered if anxiety was appropriate.
Rogue did not hear. With a leap, tuck, and roll, she skimmed the ground and snatched up his staff where it'd fallen, spinning around just in time to deflect the whip attempting to flog her. The cord whisked around the staff and caught. She smirked and tugged the pole back, bringing her assailant flying into her waiting fist. Then collapsing the pole she loosened the whip, cracking it vehemently at the opposition. "How ya doin', Cajun?" she yelled at him.
The crate had just been charged and a loud explosion replied to her shout. The force impaired several of their adversaries. Rogue ducked as fiery wooden stakes flew everywhere, some embedding into robotic chests.
Remy slid down a pile of rubble on a slab of metal. With the graceful balance of a skateboarder, he glided to a stop in front of Rogue and kicked the slab up into his hand. "Jus' fine, chere," he smiled.
"Show off," she huffed. "And ya could've at least warned me before ya blew it up. Ah coulda been staked with one of those things." She pointed at an unfortunate robot with a burning splinter in its head.
"Risks are necessary in battle, non?" Remy wiped the water from his eyes and looked around at the work they did.
"Not when ya could kill one of your teammates," Rogue snapped. She looked at him, noticed him cringe slightly. Pain from the wounds?
Remy was busy noting she still held the whip, "What y'gon' do, chere? Discipline me?"
Her gaze flicked to her hand and she rolled her eyes, "You wish."
"Chere, got t'say y'look mighty fine wit' dat whip."
She cracked it menacingly upon the ground, glaring.
"S'funny," Remy continued, unable to help himself. "Y'didn't strike me as de type t'use toys." His eyes widened in surprise when she thrashed the whip at him. He raised his arm, felt it wrap around his wrist. It stung a little but he ignored it and tugged her forward.
Rogue grunted and threw a punch, feeling him catch it. She released her hold on the whip and grabbed onto his damp shirt, moving to fling him to the ground. She hoped it would hurt a little more from his already-present wounds.
He reacted quickly and used the momentum to flip over her. As he landed on his feet, she was already moving to kick him in the face. He barely ducked out of the way in time. "Least give me a warning, chere." He favored her with a smirk. The girl sure had brass.
"Remy, Remy, Remy," she sang, in imitation of his earlier remark. "Are ya gonna get a warning on the battlefield?"
"Touché, chere."
They began circling each other. "Partner-Spar Sim Nine," Rogue requested.
The Danger Room shifted at her command. The warehouse district melted away to reveal a plain room with a flat gray mat. Without precedent Rogue leapt at him with a swift kick.
He agilely bent backwards, feeling her booted toe graze his chest. He blocked her next punch and smiled, "Not bad fo' a woman."
Rogue seemed more irritated when he teased. She growled fiercely and leapt at him with punch, spin, kick, thrust. He blocked her moves and she saw that he liked to grab, fingers wrapping around her wrist or ankles to disorient or trip her. She evaded him until with a slight miscalculation of his feint, her arm was caught. She jerked the other one back to elbow him in the face but he dodged it and snatched her hand. He tugged her arms roughly against her until they were crossed over her chest and she could not move them.
"Give up?" he breathed against her ear.
Rogue raised her right leg and stomped down on his toes as hard as she could.
He yowled and released her, falling backwards. He landed with a minor bounce on the mat, holding his foot. A fierce scowl played across his chiseled features then he shrugged and let out a dry laugh. "Dat was low, chere."
"Would've been if Ah'd aimed higher," Rogue replied with a feminine bat of her lashes. She wiped sweat from her brow and smiled, "Ya know what?"
Remy stopped favoring his smashed foot and asked, "What?"
"That was fun," Rogue said with a genuine smile. "Next time Ah need to be cheered up, Ah'll just kick your ass and feel better."
Remy huffed and stood up. "Next time you'll be de one on de floor, chere. I went easy on y' here. And 'sides, I was already crippled t'start wit'."
"Uh-huh," Rogue rolled her eyes. "End Simulation."
The Danger Room became stainless steel once again. Remy began wringing water from his dripping clothes. "Guess some of it was real," he muttered.
Rogue vaguely smirked as she picked up her towel. Draping it around her neck she picked up her gym bag. "Well, Ah'm gonna take a long shower. Let 'em know Ah'll be a lil' late for dinner, will ya?" She headed for the door.
"Hold on, Rogue."
She stopped, turned around curiously.
"Why don' we skip dinner."
"But then Ah'll be hungry," she frowned.
Remy sighed tiredly and looked at the ceiling. "We'll go out, river rat. To a restaurant."
"What?" Rogue narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. What was he insinuating? "Ya mean like a d--"
"No," he was quick to say. A moment of awkward silence followed.
Rogue found it amusing and unsettling that Remy was, for once, at a loss for words.
He quickly recovered, "De food here, gets old after a while, non? Y'can't say y'don' miss some good ol' southern cooking. I know dis place..." He stopped talking at the disconcerted expression on Rogue's face. "If y'don' wan' come, dat's fine. Only askin' fo' some comp'ny." He shrugged nonchalantly and picked up his trench coat.
"Well if ya'd give a girl time to reply," Rogue snapped, coming out of her confusion. "Ah just need time to get ready. Can ya wait or do ya just obey your stomach?"
Remy could not hide his satisfied grin, "For you, chere, anyt'ing."
Rogue rolled her eyes. "Half an hour," she told him. She stood looking at him for a few seconds. Then with a shake of her auburn tresses, she left.
He watched her go before checking his bandages. They were loose and wet, sagging beyond usefulness. The wounds had reopened and bled freely. He quickly applied pressure and chided himself on being so careless. Still, it was worth it and seemed like it would buy him a little more time in the mansion. Whether or not he realized it, he was starting to enjoy that girl's company. She was unique among the other X-Men and the fact that she too was southern, gave him a sense of connection.
Dis is gon' be an interestin' night, he thought, and went to find McCoy.
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"Ah dare ya."
"You crazy? In front o' all dese people?"
"What, the oh-so-mighty-King-of-Hearts scared?"
"Psh."
"Then do it!"
"T'ain't a matter o' fear, chere. Dis'll wound my pride."
"'Cause ya know you'll be shot down. Ya aren't the king of all hearts."
"Jus' yours, right chere?"
"Please. You're just afraid of being rejected."
"Never go'n' happen. S'de concept dat disturbs me. Have not'ing 'gainst dem, don' get me wrong, but..."
"Can't test ya manlihood, huh? Oh, figures as much."
"Dere's nothin' dat needs t'be tested, chere."
"Prove it."
Remy settled her with a piercing stare, but Rogue only smiled prettily. This girl was going to be the end of him. With a resigned sigh he stood up from their table. He tossed a disapproving look back at her. She waved him off merrily. He cleared his throat and approached the waiter.
Rogue watched with curious interest. She noticed that as Remy walked by, many women sitting at tables turned their heads to admire him. Rogue frowned at their lustful stares, feeling slightly chafed. She turned her attention from the fantasizing females and observed as Remy tapped the waiter on the shoulder. The effeminate young man turned around. Remy said something, completing the effect with one of his bewitching smiles. The waiter grinned coyly and began jotting something down on a napkin. He slipped it delicately into one of the many trench coat pockets and murmured something back. When Remy nodded and turned to leave, the waiter gave a discreet pat to Remy's rear end and smirked in admiration.
Rogue mashed a napkin to her mouth to stifle the laughter. Her eyes sparkled with mirth as Remy casually sat back down in his seat. He took a drink of water, looking unperplexed and completely at ease. The lady's man, the smooth-talking charmer. Then he looked at Rogue and his resolve fell. "I feel so violated," he groaned.
Rogue allowed herself to laugh freely, the sounds rising from her chest and expelling from her throat in bubbly intervals.
He smiled at hearing her laughter. She rarely did it.
"Told ya so," she said between chuckles. "Ah can spot 'em like neon signs."
"Well, aren't you talented, chere," Remy drawled. "Now dat I've been felt up by a homme, y'happy?"
The reply was more laughter.
They were sitting in a restaurant tantamount to one found in New Orleans. Hidden away in the metropolis of New York, it remained humble and pleasant, though not without a heavy load of business every night. It served a variety of southern foods, ranging from typical fried chicken to spicy Cajun. Omnipresent jazz music drifted through the air, waiters and waitresses moving seemingly to the rhythm. Dim lighting created a quixotic atmosphere with the help of wispy landscape paintings and dark, pearlescent crepe paper twisted upon the walls.
They had been there for over an hour, but time passed without acknowledgment. Even after ninety minutes their plates were not empty. They had been too busy conversing and joking to pay that much attention to food.
"Careful, chere," Remy cautioned with an amused smirk. "Y'might choke on y'self."
Rogue sighed and forced herself to stop laughing. She downed some water to soothe her parched throat. "Ah'd pay ta see that again, Cajun. The look on your face..." She suppressed another round of laughter. "But hey, no shame. The guy was actually kinda cute."
"Don' you start gettin' ideas."
Rogue smiled ravishingly, "Why not? He might swing both ways."
"Ugh, chere! Don' need de images!" Her giggles made him smile again. She really should laugh more, he concluded. It was a pretty sound.
"Aren't ya gonna look at it?"
"What?"
"The napkin."
Remy had forgotten it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the scrawled phone number. He quickly tossed it into what was left of his jumbalaya sauce.
Rogue made a tsk, tsk sound. "Shouldn't play wit' his heart, mon ami," she imitated his accent. "Hell hath no fury like a man scorned."
"Y'never go'n' forget dis, huh."
"Couldn't if Ah wanted to," Rogue chuckled.
"Y'know I'm gon' get y'back, chere."
She raised her eyebrow challengingly, "And how do ya think to do that?"
Remy shrugged, a mysterious expression playing across his face. "I'll come up wit' somethin'. Don' worry."
She almost looked concerned, obviously thinking he wasn't afraid of attempting any deed. He continued to stare at her, expression teasing and cabalistic, trying to make her nervous. She held her dubious visage and he admired the way her soft lips pursed, the delicate arch of her eyebrow, the twinkle of those fathomless green orbs. He looked away quickly, averting his eyes to the napkin disintegrating in jumbalaya sauce. His relishing cognizance had not gone unnoticed by him. He ran a hand through his hair.
"You do that a lot."
He looked up, "Do what?"
"Run your fingers through ya hair," Rogue observed. "Is it some kind of nervous habit or somethin'?"
Remy favored her with a sly grin, "Now why would I be nervous, chere?"
"'Cause my presence is so imposing," Rogue drawled facetiously. "Ah make ya knees shake."
"No lie," he said, oblivious to the veracity of her statement. "Y'are de Queen o' Hearts, non? Y'kept dat card I gave y' chere?"
Rogue sipped her drink before looking at him, "What card?"
"Be honest now," he grinned. She had to have kept his card. He rarely gave one up without it eventually exploding. "De one from de Bayou. Y'know what I'm talkin' 'bout."
Rogue rolled her eyes and did not answer.
Remy saw the gateway into a whole new realm of teasing. "Aw, chere, y'jus' couldn't toss m'aside so quickly." Why wouldn't she just admit she kept the card?
"What's it to you anyway?" she asked testily.
A good question. Possible responses flashed through his mind and he picked the least honest of them all, "'Cause all de femmes dat get a card from ol' Gambit always keep 'em close t'heart."
"And Ah bet you just toss them around like ya do yourself," Rogue said.
Her response stung him more than he would like to admit. The fallacy of it wasn't even what irked him most. Dat what she t'ink o' me? he wondered. It bothered him that she said it so easily, how the words rolled off her tongue with surety and masked disdain.
Rogue noticed the night's blithe conversation had taken a bad turn. Was it something she said? Her words couldn't have made much difference to him. Then again, he had been acting strangely during the beginning of their...outing. Almost awkward, as if them going to dinner wasn't entirely platonic. He must have sensed her initial discomfort, she decided, and was only trying to figure his way around it. Yes, that had to be it--things became comfortable once they ordered their meals. Or maybe she was wrong. Maybe it was something else, something too delicate to hope for or even muse about. And why hadn't he been extravagantly flirtatious or teasing as usual? He had behaved himself on the most part throughout the evening, acting like a friendly escort and providing pleasant company. Rogue was beginning to get a headache.
The waitress came to their table, "Can I take your plates, now?" She looked irritated, having come four times previously and been turned away. When she saw how unchanged the plates were from her last two visits, she sighed in annoyance. "Ready for your check?" she asked with a tone of vexation.
"Qui," Remy said.
The waitress gave it to him and walked away, muttering about annoying French guys and couples that were so into each other they shouldn't bother going out to public places.
"I think she's mad at us," Rogue noted.
Remy turned and glanced at their retreating server. "Well, deduct one buck from her tip."
Rogue chuckled and reached for the bill.
Remy snatched it before her fingers even grazed the paper. "What y'doin', chere?"
"What's it look like, genius? How'm Ah supposed to know how much Ah owe if ya won't let me see the dang bill?"
Remy ignored her question, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a few dollars. In the dim lighting Rogue could not tell how much money it was. "De gentleman always pays."
"But not the friend," Rogue said.
"So we friends now, chere?" Remy asked.
Rogue realized her mistake. It was too soon to be classifying their "relationship" has anything. Were they friends now? It had sure seemed like it for the most part, though she could not deny that underlying tug... Only friends?
She shrugged, "Dunno. What do ya think?"
Remy scratched his chin thoughtfully, "Hmm...not sure how I feel 'bout dat. I mean, bein' friends warrants friendliness, non?"
"You saying Ah'm not friendly?" Rogue asked with feigned defensiveness. She was glad he had changed the subject so artfully.
"T'tell de truth, chere, you a pistol."
Rogue released a dry laugh, not sure whether to take that as a compliment or insult.
The waitress came and took the bill. "Have a great rest of the evening and come again," she drawled.
As they stood to leave Remy tossed a one dollar bill onto the tabletop. Rogue raised an eyebrow in amusement and he shrugged, "Unfriendly service."
Rogue shook her head in mock disapproval.
"Ya know..." she said as they walked outside. "Ah really needed that. Haven't had a taste of home for a while. Thanks, swamp rat."
"M'pleasure, chere," Remy said, striding alongside her.
It was sometime past eight o' clock; the sun was nearly set, splashes of warm hues barely detectable on the horizon. Long shadows from towering skyscrapers played across their path. As the grey, blue, and black tones of night settled upon the city, lights popped on in seemingly random areas. The hour was not late, but already the streets of Middle Manhattan were beginning to empty. People were more paranoid in the dark those days.
"Wish Ah'd ordered that Mississippi Mud Pie," Rogue sighed wistfully.
Remy shot her a sidelong glance, amused, "Why didn't you?"
Rogue snorted, "What, and get fat?"
"Chere, lemme let y'in on a lil' secret: you a long way from fat. Fact is, I t'ink you're so in shape your body'll burn all dose calories like hellfire."
Rogue gave him a playful shove and they continued walking. "Where we goin'?" she asked. "We left the bike." Then she said, "Ah still can't believe you stole Logan's bike."
"Borrowed, chere," Remy corrected her. "'Sides, he ain't here t'know. And we're just strollin'. Got t'digest that fine meal, non?" He patted his stomach.
"Fine meal?" Rogue huffed. "Ah only ate half of it. Had, like, two pieces of fried chicken left. It's all your fault, ya know."
"Moi?"
"Yes! You talk too much. Ah couldn't concentrate on my food."
Remy chuckled, "But you talked back, chere. Seems like y'should've been keepin' y'mouth focused on eatin' an' not on me." He smirked at his own play of words.
"Ya just can't stop with the dirty jokes," Rogue said, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
"Dey're too fun, chere, 'specially when dey make y'blush so."
Rogue's hands flew up to her face and she scowled fiercely. "Ah am not blushing!"
Dieu, Remy thought, how's dis much fun possible?
He reached over and brushed aside her loose strand of white hair, "No shame in it, chere. Y'cute when y'blush."
Her cheeks pinked more though her eyes glared. She swatted his hand away as if it was a fly. "Whatever," she muttered, in a very teenage way.
Remy began chuckling, though he was not sure why. Her juvenile tone seemed to trigger long-awaited gaiety. The chuckles grew into laughs and Rogue looked at him suspiciously before she caught whatever he had. They must have looked questionable, a young man and woman walking the New York night, laughing about nothing, about everything.
Rogue was the first to stop. She sighed and hugged herself. "It hardly seems fair," she breathed.
Remy noticed her shiver. He slid off his trench coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. "What does?"
She took the coat without question, continued to stare at the pavement. "We're out here, joking, laughing...while the others are at home worried sick over Scott, Amara, and Lance... Ah can't help feeling like we shouldn't be having a good time."
Remy allowed her words to sink in. She was having fun with him; she had admitted it. And yet she felt guilty. At that moment he did not know what was more amazing: Rogue or the fact that he thought she was amazing.
What was this girl? After living a life filled with such deceit and betrayal, most would have fallen into deep pits of blackness. Most would have emerged like those that had hurt them, grown cold-hearted and hopeless. Most would have renounced the world for wronging them so. But despite it all, Rogue retained enough humanity to care about others, to love the surrogate family she had joined. She had hope. She was selfless, worrying about her friends when her own life was such a mess. Underneath her hard exterior, she was still just an innocent girl, one forever bereft of a normal existence.
Remy realized how strong one had to be to overcome what Rogue had. She had a strength he was sure he never would. And she was still so young... He must have been staring because she looked at him strangely.
"What?" She grew defensive.
"Jus'...t'inkin' 'bout what y'said. Y'don' have t'feel guilty 'bout anyt'ing, Rogue. If dere's anyone who deserves some time off, s'you."
'Cause bein' de vessel dat brought Apocalypse into de world ain't easy knowledge t'digest, he thought.
Rogue looked at him as though to say "thanks", but remained silent and shifted her gaze to the ground.
They had circled the small block and stood before the restaurant again. Remy mounted the motorcycle and revved the engine. As Rogue climbed on behind, both were very aware of their closeness. He heard her swallow as she wrapped her arms around his waist. The moment was... He quickly kicked off the curb and accelerated onto the main road. He felt her rest her head on his back and suppressed the smile. Soon the roar of the wind drowned out all thoughts.
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Oh ho ho ho...sweet, bitter, stupid? Let me know.
I can't leave without telling you all the pains of writing this chapter. Ogh, the effort! Aside from how difficult it is to write in literate English with fluid sentences, coming up with amusing situations is hard. Remy was just going to flirt with a waitress at first but that would have been expected and as typical as....typical can be. So why not a gay dude (nothing against gays and I hope nobody takes offense!)--haven't seen that before. I especially enjoyed writing about the butt pat and Remy groaning, "I feel violated." Hahaha...omg, there's something wrong with me.
Anyway, before I make myself seem more like a whacko then already believed,
Next Chapter: Ghost (right? I think so...We return to the problem at hand)