(This has been re-updated with a finished author's note)
A/N: Hey, I meant to update on the weekend, but never got to write, being incredibly busy with evil things and fun things and all sorts of other nonsense, but I have had no time to write- I haven't had an hour to myself in the past week. But play practice got canceled, and it being Mardi Gras (Remy is enjoying himself wherever fictional characters go when they're not being toyed with by authors), I had to write, even if I didn't get up to the point I intended. It may be confusing, and long, and exposition-ish, but it's leading up to good times, anyway, and writing the very end was much, much fun, even if you all don't think so. But I hope you do. And I've gotta do this quick, cause- oops, I'm up past my bedtime, whatdoyouknow.
abril14- You reviewed on Ch.2, and I deeply apologize for not being able to thank you, cause your review showed up just after I updated. I hope you didn't feel unloved, if you're reading this, so I'll send my cat to give you a hug. And on second thought, some people being allergic to cats, I'll send my cousin's dog to give you a hug- and no, wait, that's no good, so I'll send my brother's itty bitty lizard Krypto- and no, I have it! I can just send Gambit to give you a hug, which should definitely make up for my lack of response. So thanks for reviewing, and you're the first to express real sympathy for Cody. Poor Cody. He's such a useful plot device as well as a character, and causing him pain advances the plot. But poor thing. My cat can give him a hug.
ishandahalf- and I can no longer claim the title of Flash, being so very late in writing, and excuses won't make the boat go faster. I forgot to feed the bunny crack. I hang my head in shame. Love the Batman reference! I actually wrote the third chapter after being down the street in the studio of our neighbor Mr. Nolan, who draws for the Batman comics on all these ones, so it was very cool and he draws scarily well and it was inspiring so then I went home and wrote that. Yup, Lady Luck's playing games with Rogue, but she always does that with her favorites. Glad you liked it- I love writing fight scenes, they're fun. Rogue's gotta feel sorry for her- she's got her memories, and everybody, even the wickedest of foes, are the hero in the movie in their head, even sociopathic doll-stabbers. And I really appreciate your comments about how I'm writing Rogue, since that's the way I've always seen her, 'cause even though she is, in a way, fragile, she bends, she doesn't break, 'least from what I've always seen, and she seems to have a high threshold for pain- which I definitely pushed in the last chapter. And probably will again. Yeah, I doubt I'd have made it down the block in her shoes. Definitely would be into the waterworks. Anyway, love getting your reviews and glad you're enjoying it!
enchanted light- Thanks mucho for your reviews and for reading.
Jean Deux- I'm really glad you liked the scene at the end, I loved writing it, and I love wittiness. Loved your comment about tough women, though Rogue didn't really have much of a choice about getting bloody, but she's exactly the sort of character who handles it and who, really, we need to see more in fiction of all kinds. I loved pitting Belle against her own moves because it made me think of those mirror-image fight scenes you see sometimes on TV or movies- where each move is perfectly parried, etc., and it never gets anywhere, but usually they're not trying to kill each other then. Oh, I'm glad you liked the football bit, cause I really liked that. Um, haven't said Belle's age, but she's the same as Remy- give/take a year, my decision on that's not completely final- and Remy's age you're going to have to wait to find out. He's older than Rogue, I'll give you that, though that's kind of a given to begin with. And Boston's right below. Thanks ever so much for your encouraging review, can't tell you how much it's appreciated.
saphire1284- Hey, I really appreciate your compliments. It's really nice to hear someone thinks my writing's good, and I love trying to get characters down, so thanks for telling me I seem to be succeeding. And I'm thrilled it kept you on the edge of your seat. I thrive on the unpredictable parts of life, so I always try to make my writing unpredictable without going into the zone of 'they just did that so nobody would guess it', which can be worse than predictability. And that probably made no sense, but that's okay.Again, thanks.
EmeraldKatsEye- I have a mental image of a shiny green card with Belladonna's face heavily scribbled over in black ink and Rogue and Remy's initials carved into it, but that's just me. What I think would be scary would be for someone to actually like Belle. And I guarantee there's someone out there, with a very twisted mind, who does. Maybe I'll write a theme song for the Belladonna hate club. Hmmm… Well, thanks very much for reviewing, particularly in such a fun way
Thanks again to all, and I hope you continue to read and like this chapter, the next should be up as soon as I have time to actually write it, which, again, should be soon.
Cold filled her to the very marrow of her bones. At the moment, she'd welcome hell, the flames preferable to the alternative. This place was undoubtedly worse.
She watched with horror the soft, sparkly flakes which had seemed so soft and inviting from the warmth of the train, where she'd wanted terribly just to dive straight out the window into the enveloping, cushiony piles. That lasted only until she'd gotten close enough to the window to feel the seeping chill soaking through, leading to her darting back and staying huddled away in the middle of the train. The cold, at least, had kept her awake. She'd slept the first half of the trip and was determined never to sleep again.
She didn't like having other people's nightmares.
Now, her ride over, being forced out, she was tempted to buy another ticket just to be allowed to stay on the train, rather than walk out of the doorway of the station into the dreary, unbelievable cold. Rogue had thought she could bear any cold, weather any storm. She'd left with confidence in that, if nothing else.
Well, damn it, she'd been wrong. How had she conveniently forgotten it snows in Boston? She'd never actually seen snow. Just pictures with kids jumping in it, out of school, and she'd stared at the screen, full of envy, or laughed at the poor saps trundling through incredibly bad visibility, bundled up to the tips of their red noses. For a few seconds, she'd convinced herself that with her long-sleeved shirt, she'd be fine. That lasted only until she noticed the lump of snow easily twice, thrice her size height-wise and many, many times her width that had been pushed out of the parking lot of the station. She shuddered and headed directly back into the station. This being not too late in the evening, not to mention in a very large city, the crowd here was relatively good.
Shivering still and clutching her arms tightly about herself and the book, Rogue's eyes narrowed as she scanned the crowd. After a moment or too, her gaze landed on a woman about her height, in a perfectly sized, green parka, with a matching hat that covered her ears, and a scarf to boot.
Rogue smiled and reached for her cash. "Excuse me," she asked, lips quivering still from the cold, "how much to buy yah coat?"
The woman backed up almost at once, her face betraying alarm. Her eyes went to Rogue's hair, and then eyed her warily. "You want what?"
"Look, how much? Fifty? Couple hundred? Ah'll pay whatever yah want," Rogue said impatiently, waving green in the woman's face.
Shocked, the woman could only give her another startled look. She pulled her suitcase closer. "Young lady, I don't know why you're out in this weather without a coat, and I don't want to know why you have so much cash on you, but I have no intention of selling my coat of my back."
"That a definite no, or are yah beginning to haggle?" Rogue demanded, somewhat in a state of disbelief. She put her hands on her hips and glared. "Ah'm not payin' more than a hundred or two for a coat. Even in this weather."
The woman turned and headed away, very quickly.
"Five hundred?" Rogue shouted desperately, watching the snuggly looking, form fitting green coat disappear rapidly into the distance. She looked around, desperately. She considered getting up and shouting who'd sell her a coat, but that would attract attention, and that was an overall bad. She considered running after the woman, brushing her hand, and simply taking the coat, but she didn't like the encouragement from a certain corner of her mind on that matter, and really, that would be the sort of thing the assassin lady would do, not her.
But considering the temperature, there was no way she could leave this station without a proper coat. Quickly, tucking her money away, she began to ask around, quietly as she could.
Within an hour, she was slinking around behind the folk reading magazines in a warm waiting area, debating how best to take the coats they were either sitting on or had draped over chairs behind them.
Just as she was about to reach out and snag a blue coat from a teenage boy which was far too large for her, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She leaped several feet in the air, arm already reaching forward to trap a hand that dared grab her in a lock which allowed free reign to hit them with her other.
A very unhappy looking girl stood behind her, with hair stringy and damp from the snow and eyes as brown as a sad cow's. She appeared, at first glance, to be quite large, but from the slenderness of her face and legs, it seemed only to be the puffiness of the coat, which was clearly layered. She wore a beret on her head at a jaunty angle, not fully covering her ears, which were red. The horror of the matter was the color of both the coat and hat.
A fervent, vibrantly screaming hot pink.
"You're looking for someone to sell you a coat?" the girl in the coat said in a rush of words, looking around for, apparently, a parental figure.
Rogue's head began to shake a quick, trembling no, even as she began to back away. She glanced around desperately for the blue coat, but he was leaving, with only an old man, a tired mother, and some small children with coats lying about. She stopped in her tracks.
Eagerly, at a remarkably fast speed, the girl continued, "I'll give you it for fifty, if you have it, and it cost a good three, four times that, so it's a real bargain. And it's new, I just got it for Christmas, and believe me when I tell you I haven't worn it much. It's terribly warm, and-"
"Yah wouldn't happen to have it in another color?" Rogue said distastefully.
The girl looked down at it. "What, the pink? Uh, no, clearly not, I'm not a department store. It's the size that bothers me, I look so unbelievably fat. I feel like a sow. You know, one of those big, female pigs that-"
"Yah're not realleh sellin' meh on it here," Rogue snapped, pulling out her money. "Fifty, and yah better throw in the… thing yah call a hat," she said, shuddering, and not from the cold.
It was a bit later that she trundled out, coat zipped up as far as it would go, gloved hands stuffed deep into her pockets. The beret was pulled tightly down over her ears, and to her advantage, it covered up her white streak. To her disadvantage, the beret was most certainly not designed to be worn like that. Ever. At least her hiking boots were waterproof. In the coat, she felt, if not warm, at least mildly insulated from the streaming cold. Had she only known, this was truly only a very light snow, even though the wind chill placed the temperature firmly below zero. She already had a distinct feeling she wasn't going to like Boston. Or anywhere near Boston. At all.
She didn't really have a clear idea where to go. She had the name of a bar where Belladonna knew this Gambit character was. Or had been, two days back. She had to find some place called Mulligan's, but that could be anywhere. Rogue wondered, absently, if Boston had a taxi service. Having taken only a few more steps outside, she just as quickly headed back in.
It didn't take her long to discover that everywhere, even the middle of nowhere, had taxi services. She had to smile a lot, stretching her face and causing her pain, at the older gentleman behind the counter, but she eventually obtained permission to use the phone, once she'd started rattling off a sob story. It was a quick matter to send for a cab.
It was quite a different matter to wait outside in the snow, hopping from foot to foot, for it to arrive. She jumped like a startled fawn when a snowflake landed on the back of her neck. Rogue, shuddering, drew her shoulders up to her ears.
After what seemed an infernally long wait, and after images of Irene coming to pick up her stone-cold body covered in ice flashed repeatedly through her suddenly active, vividly imaginative mind, a white taxi cab, with a bar on top showing pictures advertising what looked like a strip club, pulled up slowly in front of her. Its window wipers flicked back and forth madly.
Quickly, she got in, her hands, which she assumed had frozen to the leather, fumblingly handing the man money. A grizzled looking, hoary-headed man, he held up his hands to stop her. "You pay me when I get you there, girly, to make sure we get the cost right." He glanced over at the railroad station. "Someone forget to pick you up?"
She tried not to glare, but cast him a look anyways. "Frankly, that's mah own damn business."
Looking bemused, he checked the mirrors as he began to pull out. "Where to?"
"Mulligan's," she said with slow hesitation, trying to pry into her own recollection of Belle's memories without having to try to draw out her actual… psyche.
The man stopped cold, hands halting in their turning of the wheel. "No can do," he said, shaking his head.
Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms. "If this is because ah'm just a kid, an' it's some kinda rough-and-tumble place, ah'll have yah know-"
"No, girly, you misunderstand me." He paused. "I'd never heard of it before in my life till the papers this morn-"
"What?" she demanded, jolting forward. "Whah was it in the papers? What happened?"
"It burned to the ground last night."
"Lousy timing," she muttered, adjusting the annoying beret so as to better cover her white strands of hair. "Anybody die?"
"Apparently not. But it's awful mysterious, the place going up just like that. Where you want me to take you now? I can recommend a few hotels, if you need one," he said, giving her a look of very little concern and an eagerness to get this over and done.
She drummed her fingers absently on the book, scenarios flashing through her head on why the place she was looking for would be razed to the ground. Couldn't be coincidence. "The crowd that frequents there, they the sort to be alarmed by a bit of fire or would they be right back out on the town?"
"You looking for someone specific?"
She flashed him a plastic smile, with the hint of a pout and downcast eyes. "Mah deadbeat dad's s'posed to be here abouts. Kinda crucial ah find him." Yeah, like she'd confide in a total stranger. Nobody would buy that.
Still, she must be improving at lying, since the cab driver scratched his stubbly salt-and-pepper beard and considered. "Boston's got more pubs than bars," he told her absently, letting the car run as they stayed put. "What I've heard, a tougher crowd ran about 'round there. There's a couple biker bars you could try, round the outskirts. It could take a long time, though. 'Course, I'm not advocating a young girl go walkin' in-"
"Ah've got the cash," Rogue told him flatly, holding up a bill of green.
"And we're off," the old fellow said readily, pulling out and heading in several directions.
She leaned back, fighting off a sigh, and instead slammed her fist into her open palm. Quietly, since they were gloved. This was going to be more difficult than she'd hoped, and who knew how long till that assassin was back on her trail.
Rogue really hoped this Gambit guy was still in Boston. She needed someone- and it killed her to admit that- capable of keeping an assassin off her back. And he was the only lead she had. If he was gone… well, then she'd face Belle again, and she doubted she'd have another opportunity to drain her, knowing firsthand what the woman was capable of.
Their first stop was a place called the Silversmith. It was dark, drab, even cloaked in pure white snow, and looked less than promising. The cab driver had a look in his eye which suggested he was out of their first sign of trouble, with or without the money, and he showed no real qualm at letting her walk in.
As she stepped out of the cab, she paused, for the first time remembering the pink coat. Shuddering, she decided she'd far rather be warm than dignified, and headed in anyways, head high. On second thought, she took off the beret and stuffed it in her pocket, impossibly large, into which she'd already half-crammed the book.
Rogue, shaking her head and hair, walked in with a warning glint in her eye and something of a swagger she didn't even realize she carried, visible even with the stupid pink coat. She drew more attention than she'd expected, the men playing pool pausing to snicker at her. The folk at the bar were too drunk to care, and those at tables were absorbed in their companions. She flickered her gaze across the faces, nothing triggering in her memory except the grungy folk from some movies Cody had seen once upon a time. Without pause, she headed towards the bartender.
He paid no mind to her, continuing to chat with a buxom blonde on the other side of the bar.
She slapped the bar, no expression of annoyance registering on her face, but it was enough to make him turn. He took one look at her and headed over immediately.
"ID?" he inquired.
"No thanks," Rogue said, the slightest hint of a menacing smile in the corner of her lip. "Ah'm lookin' for someone."
"You found someone," he told her, smirking at his cleverness.
"Ah don't think so," she said lightly, matching it with a cutting glance. "Someone named Gambit been through here?"
He shook his head. "Nope, don't-"
"Might've gone by LeBeau," Rogue said edgily, tapping her foot.
The guy's face suddenly dropped into a frown. "Haven't seen him. But people have been asking about him."
"Realleh. What kinda people we talkin' 'bout?"
He gave her a look. "Women. And their husbands."
She cast him a disgusted glance.
"And some folk he apparently owed money to," the guy added, fingering his lip. "Interesting, how my memory's slipping-"
She held up a twenty, annoyed at how quickly she was burning through money. "Give meh somethin' useful or ah'll lose interest awful quick, shortie."
Being not particularly tall, he immediately took offence, but the bored look she was wearing suggested his opportunity was slipping through his fingers. "He started a card game here about a week back with some of the regulars. Hung around for a few nights, left with a different girl each time. Won some cash, but not what he was looking for."
"Yeah?" she said, dangling the twenty casually in front of her eyes.
"Information. He's looking for someone." The guy waited, eyes following the bill.
"Who?"
"Beats me."
Reluctantly, she dragged out a ten. He eyed it contemptuously, but shrugged. "I really don't know. But this fellow left, stopped hanging around, after some complaints about missing wallets, and no one's seen him around here since."
Rogue tilted her head at the bartender. "'Bout those folks askin' for him…"
He eyed her pointedly. She shrugged, beginning to pocket the bill.
"Hey!"
She paused, dark green eyes fixed on his. Impatiently, he held out his hand, and slowly, she glanced down at the money and up again. "Ah'm still waitin' for somethin' useful, sugah. Yah've only told me a fat load of nothin' so far."
He looked at her evenly, then held out his palm. She gave him the ten, disdain dancing in her eyes.
"You'll have to do better than that," he said, scoffing.
"Fifty if yah can tell meh where he is," she said, voice mild, as she waited. "Twenty for whose after him."
He brushed back his drooping, straight blond hair. "Couple girls came in asking for him. A big guy wanted to know where he'd gone, looked pretty vicious- I'd say your friend messed around with the wrong fellow's wife."
"Not a tall woman with white blonde hair?" Rogue said hopefully, relatively sure it wasn't possible Belladonna had gotten here first but not perfectly sure.
"Blondes, sure, but I wouldn't know for certain –I'm not here every night. Don't think so," he said with a shrug. He eyed her. "So why you want this bloke so bad? He get you knocked up or something?"
Rogue could not refrain from bursting into incredulous laughter, nearly doubling over in one quick outburst. Immediately, she regained her composure and straightened. "No," she replied, straight-faced. She handed him the twenty. "Thanks for serving as a complete waste of mah time, ah'll be sure to remember yah helpfulness."
"I've heard this LeBeau's been frequenting Hoagie's," he said smoothly, with a smile, as he pocketed the money quickly. "The past couple of nights. One of the regular-"
She smiled and leaned forward confidentially on the bar. "Nice try," Rogue said in a hushed tone, spilling a drink left onto the bar straight onto the bartender. "Some helpful advice- don't lie to people askin' yah questions. Not everybody's as nice as meh." She walked out, annoyed.
Cursing, he called after her.
She ignored him, stalking out.
Had she not, she might have learned of the Australian fellow with a penchant for flicking his lighter who'd stopped to ask about LeBeau just the night before.
'"""""""""""""""""
She had to deck a woman at her next stop, who seemed quite insistent on not telling her anything, and in fact, thought it might be fun to rough up the silly little girl in the pink coat who'd tried to walk in the door. It barely staggered the woman, which surprised her, since it had always been effective against her classmates.
The hulking woman rubbed her cheekbone, and, actually snarling, grabbed the front of Rogue's coat. To her alarm, she felt her feet lift ever so slightly off the ground, even as her own coat choked her. Quickly, before the woman could draw back her other hand, Rogue dropped her chin enough to just slightly brush against the woman's fingers. Lurching, the woman- her name was Ida and she'd been paid that very afternoon to get rid of anyone asking questions about a thief, though he hadn't meant pretty girls, Rogue suddenly knew- pulled back, allowing Rogue to tumble back into the light layering of snow in the parking lot.
Her shoulder, throbbing constantly, wrenched somewhat as she fell, but she jumped to her feet and delivered a quick roundhouse kick to the stunned woman, turning that into an opportunity to lunge forward and jab at her eyes. Yowling, Ida fell back.
"Where's Gambit?" Rogue demanded, not noticing the wide-eyed taxi cab driver leaning out his window to watch from where he was parked.
A thin, platinum blond woman, who, in reality, was not that much older than Rogue, held up her hands. She and the twenty-something, red-haired, green-eyed woman beside her, outside for a smoke, were watching the exchange with interest. Both were in short leather skirts, low-cut animal print shirts which seemed to be made out of spandex, and fishnet tights, though the redhead wore an envy-worthy aviator's jacket. Rogue eyed them with almost more wariness than she had given the large 'bouncer', Ida. "Easy, easy, kid, Gambit's not here."
Ignoring the howling woman by her feet, Rogue looked at the women nervously, uneasy. "Yeah, but d'yah know where he's gone?"
The redhead, green eyes sharp, adjusted her jacket, leather but appearing quite plush, of a worn sort of brown that seemed very classy. Rogue was somewhat dismayed by her own coat, horrendous in comparison. "What's a nice girl like you want with a fellow like him?"
She shifted uneasily, wondering how the women were standing the weather. And that last statement was definitely making her question her own judgment in looking for this Gambit. "That's mah own concern," Rogue said icily. "An' who says ah'm nice?"
It was, again, the redhead who spoke. "The pink speaks for yah, honey."
Rogue flushed. Irene had always told her she was more like vinegar than honey. "This is not mah coat an' yah're trying my patience!" The last emerged in a dangerous sort of tone, her eyes narrowing at them. Her gaze, purposely, flicked to Ida, still clutching her eyes. She felt somewhat guilty, but her shoulder felt like it might be bleeding again, so she didn't really care.
The blond snickered, taking another drag of her cigarette. "That sound like a threat to you, Nat?"
The woman, Nat, raised a red eyebrow. "The coat ruins the effect, lil' Southern belle. You need to work on your death glare a bit more."
Annoyed by the word 'belle' and, particularly, insulted by the comment about her death glare, which was quite good, Rogue stared at them furiously. But her curiosity was getting the better of her, and before she knew what was coming out of her mouth, she had blurted out, "Aren't y'all cold?"
Somewhat amused, the two turned to each other and let out tinkling bells of laughter. At last, the redhead replied, bemused, "Sure thing. But it's hot enough inside that a couple minutes out here can only do us good."
"Ahhh," said Rogue, somewhat unhappily, with a nervous glance at the neon side.
"This really isn't a place a little lady like you belongs," the blonde said easily, nodding at the beret. She winked. "'S meant for us tramps."
Again, Rogue's mouth, not used to prolonged conversations, got the better of her. "Ah've been told the only difference 'tween a lady and a tramp's 'bout three drinks, so there's no need ta be so condescending."
The redhead laughed. "Now where did that scoundrel pick up a girl like you?" she wondered.
"No one picks meh up," Rogue said tightly. "An' y' know what, never yah mind, 'cause ah'll just be-"
"Hold onto your horsefeathers," the redhead ordered, and Rogue gaped, the expression strange coming from her. "The young man you're after's been stopping by because he's searching for a bloke who I'm quite familiar with and who left some stuff behind he's bound to come back for in a bit. Needs his help for something. He'd been renting a room in the back of this bar called Mulligan's, but there was something of an incident there last night. All I can tell you is he's been hanging around the Frost Academy. Casing the place. There's a restaurant, the Anchor Tavern, where he's been eating breakfast every morning, right in sight of the hill it's on. There's almost no reason he shouldn't be there."
Rogue, who'd turned to leave, nearly fell over in shock. "Why tell me that?" she said challengingly, suspicious of anything coming so easy.
The woman shrugged. "I rather fancy your coat. How's a trade?"
Her friend, the blonde, somewhat jumped at this.
"That warm?" Rogue demanded of the coat, startled at the suggestion and not completely opposed to it.
Expertly, the woman shrugged out of it and tossed it to her. There were airplanes on the inside, which, while not fleece, seemed quite cozy. The leather was thick, and, although clearly old, it was in remarkably good condition, not at all the sort of thing one would pick up at the Salvation Army. There were metal buttons at the top and bottom, and a zipper running down the middle. A warmer material, cotton mixed with some other fabric to make it somewhat stretchy, lined the very end of the wrist and the bottom of the coat. Rogue looked at it suspiciously. She really wanted the coat, which seemed to imply to her she shouldn't take it. And she was dying to ditch the pink coat in favor of something else, though warmth was precious. Plus, and this argument she allowed to sell herself on, she could move far more easily in this lighter coat, while refraining from freezing her ass off. "Deal," she said, sounding far more begrudging than she was, "but ah'm keeping the damned beret."
Nat caught the coat Rogue tossed to her easily and watched as the girl, looking back nervously, got in the car. She waved, watching the car head off. Then, in a quick turn, she knocked Ida the rest of the way out with a quick kick.
"Why did you go and do that?" her companion demanded as Nat lifted the top of her watch, revealing a minute dial pad. "You told me He's extremely fond of that coat. That's half the reason we planned it this way."
"You never read the dossiers as thoroughly as you should," the redhead said, dropping the Boston accent entirely. "Fury won't be that pleased with-"
"You," the other interjected. "Gambit'll know you shouldn't have known his plans, Natasha. You've just blown our cover."
"I'm bored with it anyways," she said dismissively, her entire manner shifted. She cast an amused look at the coat. "Someone else can handle you-know-who. I want a new assignment."
"Don't listen to me, I'm just a highly trained government agent," the other said, rubbing her forehead. "You- you always insist on being on such a higher level than the rest of us. Why on earth would you actually tell that girl where Gambit is?"
"That was Mystique's brat," Natasha said with a sigh, dialing a number into her watch.
"Mystique has a- funny, doesn't look anything like her."
"Adopted, twit."
"I'm still not seeing why you'd send her after LeBeau. He's a nothing in this game. All we had to do was bring her in, get her on-"
"Why do I do anything, Foster? Because it interests me. This interests me. He no longer does. Neither, for that matter, does America," she added loudly on behalf of the man now listening in quietly on the other end of the watch.
"I'm sure Steve will appreciate that comment," said a low male voice, turning her words around to mean the man instead of the place.
"Give me something else to do, Nick," she ordered, speaking into the watch. "Or I'll find something better to occupy my time with."
"Feel like being the most dangerous woman in Europe again?" the voice emerged smoothly
"Lovely," she said.
"What is it you've gone and done, Widow?"
She smiled. "I fancy I've knocked over a domino."
'""""""""""""
It was with a sharp, sickening thud that the young man hit the snow-covered pavement a good many feet from where he had last been standing. His head felt as if it had been split wide open, and he got up with a groan, touching his hand to his bleeding head. His gaze was blurry, but he glared at the Victorian style white building for as long as he could manage, and swore at it venomously in French. His glare was actually directly intercepted by one of the many lovely statues that decorated the gardens around the large house.
Unfortunately for the statue.
He didn't even really notice his stare had charged it until a piece of it exploded loudly.
"Dude!" said a voice behind him, somewhere between shock and bemusement. "Ouch! The lower torso is definitely out of the picture! God! You shattered his… fig leaf!"
"I don' t'ink I want to know who you are," he said with a groan, finding himself very suddenly sitting down. He flopped back and stared at the dark sky.
"I mean, you're kind of lucky in comparison. You fly a couple hundred yards, he gets turned into marble and…man!"
He sat up, suddenly, very straight. Or tried to, but really didn't quite manage it. But that was the overall effect of the expression, anyhow. "I blew up… I blew up de… de fig leaf of some real homme? De… de statues are – "
"Either you're awful gullible, or you hit your head mighty hard," said the voice of a boy, and suddenly a face to go with it swarmed into his vision. A boyish face, with an ever present smirk, and blue eyes accompanied by darkish blond hair formed a vague image. "You think they've got Medusa up i- Weeelll, that is a wicked cut. Man. Which girl were you so desperate to see that you ran past all the security systems? 'Cause, yeah, they're hot, but not worth dying for. 'Cept maybe the one who's Italian or something and carries a lot of luggage."
Touching his head, he found there was a great deal of blood there. He looked over, finding himself right next to the sign displaying the words Miss Emma Frost's Academy for Gifted Young Ladies. "Dose," he said furiously, reaching reluctantly and with extreme hesitation for a handful of snow, which he placed against the cut as quickly as he could, drawing his hand back with a shudder, "were no ladies by any definition."
"Uh, in the definition of being young females of a cert- Whoa. What's with your eyes?"
"Dey're red. I'm a mutant. Fear me," he said dryly, trying to stand up.
"Mutual," the boy said with a nod. "And if you haven't figured out by now that the girls are too, I pity you. Now, about the redhead, what can she do? 'Cause I've never heard her talk, and-"
Tilting his head with some realization, Gambit looked at the boy. "Dose children's toys y're carrying?"
He glanced at the brightly colored listening devices and kid's binoculars in his hands and shrugged.
"Yes. So?"
"No comment," he said, staggering. "Know anyplace t' die hereabouts?"
"There's the cemetery, and the morgue, and-"
"An' dat's why folk say our generation be too literal. Y' going ta go away now, non?"
"I'm kind of thinking you're going to go into shock and, y'know, die or something, so probably not the best idea to leave you alone. In, y'know, the snow. Are you French?" he said amiably.
"Y're wearing shorts?" Gambit said, horrified and somewhat fascinated as he noticed the boy was dressed as if for summer.
"Yeah. I like ice. I'm Bobby."
He nodded. "'Course y'are. Y'look like y'should be a Bobby."
"Thanks. I think. And you?"
"I'm tired."
"Actually, I think you're dying. Or concussed. Or whatever. What is your name?"
"Not dat it matters, if I'm dead, but it's Gambit."
"That's a code name. All the girls have code names, too," the boy complained, grabbing the staggering young man's arm and turning him in the direction back towards town, down the hill. "I should get one. 'Cept not the Fridge, cause that sounds dumb, and a football player already took it."
"Try Icecube," Gambit suggested, sagging. His head was spinning, and a song he wanted to forget was repeating itself in his head. He was relatively sure he was dreaming, but then again, he would never, ever have a dream in anyway associated with a young man named Bobby.
"That hurts, deeply. I am stung. Why am I helping you?"
"Don' ask me."
"'Cause I'm a good person?"
"Dat'd do it. Good die young, should warn you."
"Yeah, and the wicked die alone. I'm really alarmed. What's France like? Girls there bathe topless?"
"I'm from N'Awlins."
"What's that?"
"N'Awlins!"
"Oh, New Or-leans. Hey, why the hell aren't you there? It's Mardi Gras, you dope! Girls take their shirts off and dance in the street."
"Y'have a very one track mind, y'know."
"Yeah, well, you need medical assistance. Think the nurses'll figure I'm a hero?"
"Non. No hospitals. Just a drink."
"Yeah, alcohol cleanses wounds! We can pour some on your head!"
"Mon Dieu, y'd waste a drink on a little scratch like- " He tumbled downwards.
This was not the beginning of a beautiful friendship.