Disclaimer: Not mine. Neither, for that matter, is Queen's song Bicycle Race. Which probably makes people wondering what I'm on about and skip my rambling author's note to read the chapter.
A/N: Yes, a long chapter. And it's taken me most of the day (I typically write straight, no breaks), but that's okay, I had nothing better to do. See, I write quickly, I just don't have any time- whatsoever, I'm gone like seventeen hours from morning to night on school days and my weekends are insane and our teachers give us insane amounts of homework. But, this was pretty quick. I'm pleased. And, an apology to those of whom whose very nice reviews I didn't finish addressing last author's note. That chapter was re-updated w/ a finished author's note, so that's there. I was in a rush, sorry, and I go from the first review on that chapter to the most recent, so some didn't get done. Very sorry. So, onward we press, and can I just say how much insane fun I had writing this chapter, and I rather hope you all like it, though I imagine you're all occupied yourselves for Valentine's Day. Sadly, I'm not, I'll just be at home, writing an essay for the devil herself. Anyway, if you're reading this, thanks for taking the time and please, pretty please w/ a cherry on top, review!
Anyway…. enchantedlight, thanks loads for reviewing, I really appreciate it when people continue to review each chapter 'cause then I know it's worth coming back for, and just a 'hi' means a lot
UncannyAsianGirl- I ran out of things to read during play practice and read your review like ten times (I print them all out, probably out of misguided vanity). But, wow, I was so flattered, particularly since you very obviously know what you're talking about, and you said such incredibly nice things about my writing, which mean a lot, since it's what I've wanted to do since first grade. I especially enjoyed hearing you found it unpredictable, since I really try for that- I hate predictability, especially in comic books, which are meant to grab you. It is SHIELD, not the Avengers, but most of them'll be around. And I laughed at your pun, anyhow. But you'll have to wait for Rogue to find out what Remy was looking for, and he's not going to be very big on sharing that. Bobby dropped two clues as to whose in attendance, if you find them, and Remy drops one in this chapter, plus then there's the clue of who could possibly hurl Remy several hundred feet away from the school, but you'll have to wait for further information, since they're going to try to leave Boston as soon as possible. And I was glad to see you caught everyone, 'cause yep, it was Steve Rogers being referenced, and, uh, there'd be a reason why Foster doesn't ring a bell. I was worried about that. See, I was planning on using Sue Storm but changed my mind last minute since I have a different plan for the FF, and then thought maybe the Wasp, but didn't want another Avenger, so I grabbed my twelve-year old brother, who I just had read the Ultimate Spider-Man graphic novels, and asked him if he could remember any of the names of some of the SHIELD agents Fury was bossing around in one of the issues. And he looks at me, and goes, 'Foster'. He wasn't sure, didn't know if guy or girl, but I ran with that, since she was basically unimportant anyways and was really more of a side character for Natasha to bounce things off of, and definitely back-up she didn't want. Pyro's not in this chapter, but I have plans for him involving Bobby, so you definitely called it on that. I've always thought Belle, as an assassin, should be somewhat scary, since it's kind of the job description, and a good villain ups stories in every way, and I'm really glad people besides me approve of that. And wow, I was blown back by your really flattering compliments about my characterization of Rogue. It's the way I've always seen her, and it makes me very happy that I seem to be getting her right! And was that a Monty Python reference, 'tis merely a flesh wound', from the Holy Grail? The black knight? If not, ignore that. Oh, and I had to put the bomber jacket in. I have a thing with bomber jackets, as I have one myself which I adore to pieces, particularly since it was my aunt's first. And wait'll you see whose it was. Thanks loads, also, for the sum-up of the comics. It's like in the days of yore I hear tell of when they could be gotten from a convenience story, I, unfortunately, rely solely on the library. Could you tell me, how'd she get her powers back after losing them in Xtreme X-Men Invasion? Did she get them back? And why is Remy blind! And I missed Ultimate 53, only reading 52, 54, though I don't follow the series as much as I'd liked to, so was sort of confused as to how she goes from stealing Remy's powers- after he kidnapped her, to threatening Wolverine on his behalf. Though it was made a lot easier for him than usual to win him over, clearly. You're so lucky to have a nearby comic book shop. Though people think I'm crazy if I mention that, and think I'm the last person on earth to read them, since most people assume I'm very literary, just cause I read constantly. Give me the Star Wars books and fantasy and comic books any day over Robinson Crusoe. So, yeah, am insanely jealous you can spend loads of time there. Thanks so much for your kind review, hope you continue to like it.
ishandahalf- yes! the bunny got its crack this time! I have, upon several occasions, fallen out of my chair while reading something, since I tend to tilt it back, bad, deadly habit I picked up from my cousins which is going to get my head split open one of these days. My parents worry I get too invested into things I read and write, since a couple years back I burst into tears when they killed Chewbacca and then Anakin Solo off in the Star Wars books, and then again when Rowling killed off Sirius Black because it was so damn predictable- but then, ignore my psycho-babblings. Buffalo's weather has been nuts in past years. It'll be three degrees one week and sixty something the next. Though we really want it to stay cold, since then we get snow days, or cold days, or even one like Thursday's water day, when a water main broke and did something to schools in Buffalo and I got to stay in my cozy small town and go back to bed. The weather's evil and likes to torment us, and if I were one of the X-Men, I'd spend my days giving gifts to Storm and begging her to get us off of school. Somehow, it doesn't surprise me that you have an arch-nemesis, not that I mean that in a bad way. It makes me laugh, particularly since I have a strong mental image of the sort of girl who would actually choose to wear such a blindingly pink coat and that certainly reminds me of some people I know and loathe, who I would very much like to hit, like Rogue would, but then it's an all-girl's school, and that wouldn't go over well, so I just kill them with kindness and try to be polite and they really don't know what to do with me, except try to make my life miserable. Let's just say they make it very un-difficult to write characters like Belle. The bomber jacket seems so essentially roguish to me- the name's got to have meaning, like in the movie- I mean, Anna Paquin's a good actress, she just screams a lot, and she isn't really much of a rogue, per se. Yep, SHIELD's not gonna be very fun to deal with- and I realize I made that scene a bit more vague than it really needed to be. I was slightly overly subtle. They were there to get somebody else, basically. And yeah, there's more to the coat- not a tracking device, but they definitely insure she'll be tracked- see the end of this chapter- well, read the whole thing first, since that should clear that up, though not for Rogue, of course. Um, and yeah, that line about bringing 'her' in- I reread that, I was unclear. It was said to Natasha in the sense of 'why'd you just do that? I mean, she's Mystique's kid, why not just bring her in, etc.' Rogue wasn't who they were there to bring in, but yeah, I phrased that awkwardly. And Natasha sent her after Remy just 'cause it amuses her to do so, since I've gotten the vibe from her on past occasions she's the sort to do something like that once in a while. I really liked the phrase, 'running for their lives… in a tag-team scenario' since that was exactly the image I had in mind when coming up with this idea, though romance is going to be kind of… uh, slow-blooming. They meet this chapter- I can't tell you how much fun I had writing that, so I hope you like it. Bar scenes rule! Yeah, lots of characters- Frost and Pyro are going to be huge pains in the neck, though Bobby'll kind of come and go, like most of the X-Men will, 'cepting Rogue and Remy. I have a very vague plan from which I'll probably deviate, since I know myself and that's what I do. Remy and Bobby don't clash as much as you'd expect in this chapter- gosh, not as much as I expected- but believe me, throwing those two together- which I really think is not done enough- was very amusing for me, so I hope it amuses you. And again, thanks so much for your compliments, and I hope I don't give you a heart attack, cause then I'd probably get sued by your insurance company post-mortem, not to mention losing your intensely amusing reviews.
fairy of hey, thanks for your review! And sent direct to me! Very nice of you. I'd have answered it directly, but I'm really iffy on the using e-mail thing, being very new to the Internet and afraid I'll blow something up, since I've done that before with electronic devices. A blender, a tape player, and my cousins exploded their TV and crashed the computer system at their father's work, so it kind of runs on that side of the family. But, thanks, encouragement is appreciated!
So, thanks everyone for reading, and yeah, I'm rambling, but it's Sunday, and it's late, and the sooner I stop the sooner I'm a step closer to school tomorrow, so, bye, all, and remember, review! Even if you're really busy and only have time for one word! Pretty please! Whether you love it, despise me, or think it's okey-dokey, lemme know!
And since I wrote this straight, going back to add any change of language, here's hoping there's no spot where I meant to add French and didn't or accidently drop one of their accents cause I forget whose line I'm typing. If so, please forgive me and ignore it. Use your imaginations.
'""""""""""""""""""'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
There was no such thing as love at first sight. Infatuation, perhaps, but not love. Remy LeBeau was very familiar with infatuation, and this wasn't it, not by a long shot, nor even the beginning of it. But still, when he saw her, he stopped hoping he was dreaming. He didn't even really know why.
The door had no annoying bell, so when the boy named Bobby practically dragged him inside the nearest public building, a restaurant and bar, in order to call an ambulance, despite his protests, they drew minimal attention from those seated at tables and stools. At least, as minimal attention as a very clearly underage boy supporting a staggering young man could gather when walking into the place in the early hours of the morning.
Bobby started to call out, cupping hand over his mouth to holler to the bartender, but Remy, very unsubtly, clipped his chin with an elbow quickly to the jaw.
"Ow! Hey, is there a more thankless person on the face of the plan-" Bobby complained loudly, then cut off.
There was a very clear reason why their entrance had gone unnoticed.
Slowly, his vision no longer foggy, although the weeping wound in his head was certainly still open, Remy turned to follow the looks of most of the establishment, and the familiar inflections of the deep South.
There was a girl in a bomber jacket, with a bright pink beret pulled low over her hair and eyes, facing down a burly, tall man, right near the jukebox, and she seemed to be sorely trying his limited patience. Or rather, he had tried hers.
"Over mah dead body are yah playin' that song again," she said tightly, hands on hips. "Ah've had to hear it for one hour too many, and believe meh, it's already scarred meh for life by imprintin' itself on mah mind. Ah don't care what else yah play. It can be about bunnies and lollipops for all ah give a damn, yah are not playin' the bicycle song again."
The two looked at each other, shrugged, and sat down. Bobby handed Gambit napkins, which he promptly placed against his head, tilting back in his chair with a careless look over at the argument taking place, only vaguely curious at the prospect of another Southerner drifting about.
"So, why can't I just call you an ambulance and fulfill my good deed for the day?" Bobby asked.
Gambit went for the simple answer and gestured absently at his eyes.
The boy crinkled his forehead. "Tell them they're contacts."
"An' when dey ask me t' take 'em out ta examine de vision fo' signs of concussion?" he demanded, gesturing to a waitress even as he pressed a few more napkins against his forehead, as the warm liquid was already seeping through.
"Yeah. That is of the bad."
"Bourbon, chere," he said to the waitress as she walked up to him, eyeing his injury. "Make it quick."
She pursed her lips at him and clucked. "Sorry, handsome, no can do. You've run up a bit too high a tab. When you show you can pay it off…."
He glared at her, even as his companion fought off chuckles. "Water, den," he said woozily. "Fo' de head, non?"
There was a sudden clash as the girl grabbed a tray of drinks from a passing waitress and smashed it into the face of the man speaking to her belligerently, who was now holding and twirling her pink beret.
Everyone froze, except Remy, who didn't bother to look over again, so adamantly was he insisting on the water being free, and Bobby, who began to clap enthusiastically.
"I've never seen a bar fight," he happily told the young man across from him, handing him yet more napkins to replace the sopping one. "How much pleasanter there's a girl involved."
"Dey'll have some kind of security here in a couple minutes," Gambit said dismissively, eyeing the wound in his reflection on the silver napkin dispenser and wondering if it would leave a scar. "Not dat it matters," he added gloomily to himself. "I be dead before it heals."
"What's that, now?" Bobby asked absently, wincing as the girl got back-handed across the face. "You say something about the cops being called?"
He looked up, red eyes burning. "The police? Merde. I'm not t'inkin straight."
Bobby's drew his gaze slowly away, from where one of the man's friends was now attempting to pull the girl away. "You saying we have to book?"
"Non. I'm sayin' I have t' book, an' dat yo're advised to go elsewhere b'fore y' parents find out y' spending a school day in a bar after gettin' arrested fo' bein' on de scene," he said flatly, dropping the napkins as he tried to stand straight, succeeding only in shoving the chair away. Something, a bottle, whistled toward him, and he very narrowly dropped, then watched it hit the wall behind him. Venemously, he exclaimed, "What kind of an empty headed femme goes startin' a fight wit'-"
"Gambit?" Bobby questioned, afraid he was drifting off or becoming unresponsive, whatever happens to people when concussed.
He'd stopped, and was staring over at the fight.
The girl was backed into the corner by the large, bald man, who seemed to have forgotten all his lessons in chivalry when pieces of glass were embedded in his face. Whatever he'd said to her to anger her, it clearly hadn't gone over well. She didn't look overly worried or nervous, but merely eyed them nonchalantly, despite the fact that she looked somewhat worse for the wear. "Watch yah mouth, ugly," she said sharply, but in light tones. "An' don't forget a bitch's bark's got nothin' on her bite. 'Course, yah'd know all about that, yah mamma bein' what she was-" She ducked, hair swishing as his fist painfully cracked into the wall behind her. He yowled and staggered back. She grinned, pulling her glove off and shoving it into the pocket of her bomber jacket. "That's mah cue, sugah," she told him and dived for his throat.
She looked like she was having fun, and that interested him. Her eyes, their color indecipherable from the distance but certainly dark rather than light, were blazing, presumably with fury, but that seemed contrary to the casual words spouting from her mouth. Her lips, in turn, seemed to have been split, making them stand out brilliantly red against her pale face, flushed now with remarkably bright color in the cheeks. Her hair was swinging about her face, somewhat choppy and terribly mussed, the longest strands falling down her neck, the shortest stopping shy of her mouth, and they all curled in ever so slightly towards her face. Her face was slightly too round to be truly called heart-shaped, too angular at the sides and stubborn at the jaw to be called round. What was most interesting was the shade of her hair, which was mainly a light auburn, tinted considerably more light brown than red, yet strikingly, in the very front, the shorter hair proved to be a brilliant white.
Bobby followed his gaze, just as she knocked the man back against a table as she rammed into his chest with all her weight, and grinned. "Wow, right?"
Gambit glanced down at him, quirking an eyebrow. "Not da prettiest fille I've seen," he said, shaking his head. "Not by a longshot."
"Then what's with the open mouth?"
He jabbed a finger in the direction of his cut.
"Lousy excuse, man. How often you see a girl fight like that?"
"Lot more often den you'd expect." He shook his head, his darkish brown hair shaking with it in waves. He turned, trenchcoat shifting with him, pleased that he didn't stagger. Too much.
"What, we're gonna leave her to get arrested?" Bobby asked, horrified.
Gambit stared at him, walked over and opened the door. Bobby sighed, but the young man only leaned out, listening with experienced ears to the hints of a siren, then stormed back in, face darkly annoyed. "I hate playin' de hero," he griped, then headed over to where a few of the man's friends, drunk already in the early hours of the morning- never a good sign of great character- were grabbing her arms and yanking her of the large man, where she'd been trying to strike him with her bare hand. She struggled, expression seriously aggravated.
Bobby, delighted, followed at his heels. "You're not going to fall over, are you?" he asked Gambit in a stage whisper as they approached the group quickly.
The young man glared at him, whipping a pair of sunglasses out of his trenchcoat pocket and placing them firmly on. In a quick swipe, he pushed some of his hair down to cover the gash. "Non," he said swiftly.
He tapped the large fellow, who looked apt to strike the kicking girl, on the shoulder, giving him a disarmingly friendly smile. He gestured to the bar. "Say, mon ami, how's about y' forget de fille an' I buy all y' hommes a round o' drinks, non?"
The girl, on seeing him, stopped kicking. Her expression wasn't one of gratitude, or even one impressed with his looks, but a mixture of abject disappointment, exasperation, horror, and fury. "Aw, no," she groaned. "Not you."
This got a reaction from all around. Gambit tilted his glasses down slightly on the bridge of his nose in startlement, getting a better look at her. The men, who had seemed for a moment on the verge of accepting the offer for a reason they couldn't discern, suddenly got very hostile expressions. Bobby, eagerly, glanced between them. "You know her?" he demanded. "Damn it, introduce me!"
"She's your broad?" the burliest of the lot inquired menacingly.
"No!" the girl and Gambit declared at the same time, and Bobby's fell only a second behind, though less certain.
"Look, I'm sure we can talk dis out," Gambit said smoothly, gesturing charmingly with his hands. "Don't t'ink anyone wants de law involved-"
"Yes, I do!" the large man intoned, gesturing to his cut up face. "I'm making insurance claims-"
"Dude, you're gonna go before a court and say some five foot four chick kicked your ass?" Bobby snickered.
"Five-six," the girl countered hostily, looping her foot around the leg of one of the men holding her arm and taking him down to the floor through a quick application of pressure. She attempted to wrench her arm free of the other.
Bobby scoffed, even as Gambit closed his eyes behind his sunglasses and shook his head slightly. "No way."
"Five-five and three-fourths, happy?"
"That counting how much the boots add?" Bobby wondered, blue eyes twinkling as he watched the girl kick the man hard in the family jewels, with her thick hiking boots, no less.
"No," she said tightly, trying not to roll her eyes, not noticing the man she had knocked down getting up until he'd grabbed her by the shoulders.
"Hey!" Bobby protested, looking up indignantly. "We were having a conversation."
"Look," said Gambit, "why don't we just work dis out wit' a little bet?"
The burly fellow stared at the lanky young man, beginning to laugh as he decided the fellow had to be completely out of his mind. Cackling, and keeping an eye on the struggling girl, he demanded, "What kind of bet?"
He grinned, ignoring Bobby hanging onto the man's arm in an attempt to make him let go of the girl. Unfortunately, no one but Bobby noticed the man's arm beginning to ice up. "T'ousand grand," he said readily, watching the man's eyebrows go up as he took in that in consideration with his damp clothing, relatively ragged to begin with, and his clearly not new trenchcoat. "Jus' guess whether I'm left-handed or right."
The man, bored now, turned away. "You're probably both. How'm I s'pposed to know a thing like that?"
Gambit's grin broadened. Dieu, was this fellow dense. That line never worked. "I'll give y' a clue," he offered politely, even as he smashed his fist into the man's jaw, knocking him back against the jukebox. He crashed into the buttons, hitting start on the song he had already paid for.
Almost immediately, no music being on at the moment, the song began.
"Great goin', Swamp Rat," said the girl witheringly, dropping back to the ground as the man realized what Bobby was doing and began to scream. The other was still staggering about, and no one else in the bar seemed inclined to do anything but watch. Well, except the bartenders and waitresses, who were wisely ducked behind the bar and shouting at the folk on the other end of 911 to get their faster, since some kid had just frozen a guy's arm. And excepting the ones who were sober and merely eating, who ran out screaming 'mutant' as loudly at the top of their lungs.
'I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike, I want to ride my bic-ycle, I want to ride it where I like…'
"That's a good song," Bobby said, frowning as he turned his head towards her. "That's Queen."
"Try it for three hours straight sometime," she said, annoyed, then alarmed as sirens came closer. "Swell," she said, blowing her hair out of her face and running her hand slowly down her face in dismay before stuffing it back into the glove she drew out of her pocket. "Happy day."
She cast a glare at them and seemed about to make for the door, but Gambit grabbed her shoulders and turned her towards him. Her eyes, which he could see now where a dark, forest shade of green, with hints of light brown mingled in, widened in anger, and she brushed his hands off quickly. "Don't touch meh," she ordered, glowering.
Rogue pushed him away from her, surprised at how easily he staggered back, hands up in a smirking surrender. Great. All of this had been completely useless. The Gambit person and Belle's former lover or whatever he'd been were one and the same, there could be no doubt. The only name she had, the person she'd kind of been banking on to get the assassin of her back, was this idiot, albeit a good-looking one. How could she persuade this Gambit to help her, over a woman he'd loved, even one who'd tried to kill him? It wasn't like she had a great deal of money, nor was he the sort of person she'd expected in the back of her mind, someone from whom Belladonna would back away from in fear. It was all only wishful thinking, and boy, had she been wasting her time. She should have known better. She couldn't rely on anyone but herself.
'-Jaws was never my scene and I don't like Star Wars-'
The fellow on the jukebox made a move to get up, and she glared at him warningly. "Yah really have got to get yourself checked out," Rogue said, shaking her head. "No one without some kinda mental deficiency or another could play a song that repeats itself that many times straight. It ain't natural. It ain't human."
"I'll tell that to my brother next time he does that," Bobby said brightly.
There was a screeching of cars outside, which halted Rogue in her steps as she stormed towards the door.
"An' dat'll be de cops," Gambit said cheerily. "Which means dat's our signal to go. Popsicle, freeze de wall behind us."
He looked alarmed, blue eyes going wide. "I've never frozen anything that- did you just call me Popsicle? That is not cool!"
"Hey, Iceboy, do what he says," Rogue snapped, straining mentally to keep the voices in her head shut up.
-look what you've gotten yourself int-
-these guys are mutants, too, huh? Intere-
- slit the bastard's throat-
-where am I? How'd some girl-
He frowned at them both. "Could use a please-"
The door burst open. Unfortunately, it was not the police.
Gambit winced as Sabretooth, having to stoop to pass the doorway, entered, snarling. His eyes went immediately to Gambit, and then, uncertainly, he paused as he snarled Rogue. He made an unpleasant noise sounding vaguely like a laugh, and headed towards them both.
Rogue stared at the hulking, blond man covered in furs. She'd thought he was Ms. Darkholme's bodyguard, or assistant or something, since he'd once interrupted one of the woman's visits to bring her news, after which he had left very abruptly. He was terrifyingly bestial, but at the moment she felt more shock, annoyance, and relief it wasn't Belladonna than fear.
"Whoa," said Bobby, staring at the very large man. "Which one of you does he want?"
"Please," both said rapidly, surprisingly in unison.
Bobby turned and placed both hands on the wall behind him, looking very worried as he tried to concentrate. He wasn't about to admit this to them, but he really wasn't quite sure how he made it work yet.
"Him, too!" Rogue exclaimed to herself, frowning. As if an assassin wasn't enough.
The Cajun, next to her, cast a glance at her. "'S me dat he's after, chere."
She blinked. "Oh, good," she said lightly, then frowned as police gathered behind him, guns trained on him.
Gambit was sliding a deck of cards out of one of his pockets, quite subtly pulling a thin stack into his hand. "Hope y' good fo' somet'in ot'er den scrappin'," he said, looking at her askance.
"Don't go expecting any fireworks," she said flatly.
Painfully, he winced, one hand going automatically to the back of his neck. "Don't mention fireworks," he ordered.
"I'll mention whatever the hell I please. Hey, looks like they're going to open fire," she commented, backing up. Glancing over her shoulder, Rogue realized with dismay Bobby had only succeeded in making a small circle of ice on the wall, and was looking somewhat panicked..
"Oh, no," mumbled Gambit, several of the cards in his right hand lighting up in a sudden, sparkling, reddish purple light. "Dat'll only make de pussy angry."
Rogue's head jerked around, cheeks still flushed. "Ah hope to God y' kiddin'."
"Chere, I ain't e'en exaggeratin'. How's it comin', Popsicle?"
"It isn't!"
Gambit frowned. "He needs motivation. Bobby, dis fille'll kiss y' if y' can turn de wall ta ice," he sang out, his hand entering a flickering position.
Rogue fought back a laugh. "Sugah, yah ain't gotta clue what yah're talkin' about. But ah wouldn't advise yah offer that unless yah want him dead."
"Is that a threat?" Bobby wondered nervously.
Gambit considered, tilting his head. Rogue caught the faintest flicker of red as his glasses slid slightly. "I don' mind 'im dead," he offered with a shrug.
'-I don't believe in Peter Pan, Frankenstein or Superman, all I want to do is bic-'
A card shot from his hand and landed on the jukebox, which promptly exploded. Everyone in the restaurant who wasn't already under their table immediately dropped beneath it. Bobby jumped, stumbling, and the wall, very slowly, began to freeze.
"Good homme," Gambit said pleasantly, tossing another card casually at the feet of Sabretooth. It exploded, forcing the large man back several feet. It was questionable, at the moment, whether those in the restaurant were more afraid of the advancing beast of a man or of him. He was wearing a distinctly unpleasant smile, despite his tone.
Rogue glanced at the smoking jukebox. "Thank yah," she said, in a much nicer tone of voice.
"Y' not welcome. Dis is all y' fault, y'know."
"It's not me the big fellow wants," she retorted.
"LeBeau!" Sabretooth roared, ignoring completely the cops behind him.
"Go an' announce mon name t' de cops, why don't y'," he muttered, staggering slightly. His head was hurting.
"Give it to me!" he ordered.
"Give it to him, give it to him," Bobby shouted, trying frantically to make the ice spread. It wasn't working, it didn't work well under pressure. He didn't work well under pressure.
"I di'nt get it!" he shouted. "An' dat means it can't be got! Can y' jus' leave me be now?"
His answer was to lunge forward. Gambit's card hit him in the chest even as he entered the air, sending him flying back into the crowd of cops outside the door.
"What's he want?" Rogue demanded, whacking his arm. Scowling, he rubbed it. It was sore enough there already without some crazy Mississippi river rat hitting him.
"How come y' recognized me?"
"None of your beeswax, Cajun."
The boy behind them listened in annoyance, and tried, "Guys?"
"It is too, it's about me!"
"Yeah? Well, whatever he wants involves me since ah'm standin' in his way?"
"No, y' standin' behind me!"
Bobby, loudly, called, "Hey, idiots!"
Neither paid him any heed.
"Y' could do someti'n to help," Gambit told her, gesturing in annoyance.
"Name something, wiseass. For all y'all know, maybe ah'm not even a mutant."
"I'm t'inkin y' are, what wit' de hair."
"Are yah insultin' mah hair!"
"Did I say anyt'in t' dat effect? I only-"
"Only two Southern dopes in the joint!" Bobby bellowed.
The two swiveled on him.
He gestured to the wall behind him, a large circle of which was frozen solid, as if he were Vanna White. "Ta-da?"
Gambit blinked. "Stand back," he ordered both of them, charging one of his cards with even more energy.
Rogue swiveled at the sound of a gunshot.
Sabretooth, tossing police aside, fell back. She felt a momentary burst of small relief, only to see him almost instantly steady himself and attempt to walk in again. Successive shots rang out, and with a groan, he toppled to the ground, motionless.
The wall of ice exploded as the card impacted against it, shards of wood and ice flying out and in the opposite direction from them.
"Ladies first," Bobby suggested, jerking his thumb at the hole in the wall. Without hesitation, Rogue flung herself through, landing quite miserably on blacktop covered in ice. Any part of her not already banged up was now hurting, and she was pretty sure her shoulder, which she'd spent time re-bandaging in the ladies' room inside a few hours back, was bleeding again. There were Dumpsters nearby, but they weren't in any alley, rather, there was a huge expanse of snowy, hilly land ahead of them. On it, dozens of children were running about, and one girl, very small, was staring at the hole in the wall and the girl who'd come flying out of it.
Bobby plummeted out, practically on top of her. "You didn't have to throw me through!" he hollered up unhappily, scraped a bit since he wasn't nearly as covered as she was. Rogue realized, with a start, that he was wearing shorts, but ignored it since he'd already proved himself King of the Cold. He scrambled up, easily, and offered her a hand up. Reluctantly, she gave him her gloved hand, finding it impossible to stand herself on the thin ice.
Gambit dove through a second later, rolling and coming up on his feet. After this graceful move, he proceeded to skid on the ice, narrowly catching himself. His hair blew in the wind, revealing a painful cut on his forehead, congealing with blood. "Fuir, fuir!" he hollered in French, before recognizing their blank looks and switching to, "Move, move!" as he ushered them forward at high speed.
"He got shot," Bobby protested, waving his hands. "And the cops aren't gonna shoot us… I think," he added hesitantly.
"He's getting better," Gambit said with a grim smile. "Trust me, 'e don't die. I've hit dis guy wit' a subway, an' he still ain't down fo' de count, so a couple pesky bullets not gonna do much. Dey didn't e'en get 'im in de head," he said, shaking his own.
"Hey!" said Bobby cheerfully, gesturing to some boys about the age of himself and Rogue, who were waving, somewhat shocked. "Those are my friends! Hey- um, we haven't been introduced, have we? I'm-"
"Bobby," Rogue supplied.
He looked at her, startled.
"Ah'm capable of listening," she told him flatly. "Rogue."
"Sorry?"
"Ah'm Rogue," she confirmed, as Gambit hustled them in the direction of the crowd of kids and parents, probably not the most heroic of things.
"Cool. Think you could wave at them for me?"
Her look was deadly and brokered no argument. "No."
Bobby nodded, then looked at Gambit. "If he's after you, can't we just ditch you now and we'll be fine? Not that I'm actually suggesting that, considering he'll kill you…."
"'E will not kill- ne'er mind, but he's probably got y' scent," he said rapidly, hustling them down the slight incline towards a hill where a bunch of kids were sledding. "'Least hers, since she was closer. What's wit dat, anyway? He recognized y', chere."
"It's Rogue," she said tightly. "An' he ate mah peanut butter an' jelly sandwich once."
"Dat's not funny."
"No, it wasn't, ah was about to eat it and he took it right out of mah hand and ah was too scared to tell and- oh mah Gawd, he's right behind us," she said with gritted teeth.
In fact, he wasn't, he'd just jumped out the hole, but he already was bounding through the snow with disgusting ease.
"Bobby, y' a local, where we go now?" Gambit demanded, dragging them both along, even as his trenchcoat dragged in the snow. Rogue wanted his hand off her arm, now, but she didn't have the time to get it off her.
"Uh…." His blue eyes went wide and looked around. He considered their surroundings. "The Iron Skillet!" he decreed at last, happily.
"Where?"
"Dat a bar?"
"'S a couple miles that way-"
"Down the hill and through the woods! Great, genius, that's realleh swell, let the beast kill us in the wilderness," Rogue suggested sardonically, eyes flashing.
"Trust me, it's perfect," Bobby insisted, gesturing. "And there's ice all the way there, that's my terrain-"
"And you're doin' such a swell job on it so far?"
Bobby, offended, slid his arm from Gambit's deadlock grip. "Fine, I'll slow him down, you two run-"
"What, are yah crazy?" Rogue wondered, Gambit still dragging her onward. "Cajun, tell him he's out of his mind!"
He looked back, bobbing sunglasses making his face unreadable. "If 'e wants to go all kamikaze, I'm not goin' t' be de homme who stops 'im. An' I don' t'ink de Sabretooth wants 'im dead, or 'as any interest in 'im at all, so worst 'e'll gets a bruise from bein' tossed aside, an' best we'll get is a second or two from whatever distraction he provides, an' no longer bein' bothered by de Boston Iceman, non?"
"Iceman!" Bobby cried triumphantly, that reaching his ears though he dismissed the gist of the conversation. He turned, waiting not-so-patiently for the Sabretooth to reach him.
Rogue gave him a disgusted look as he dragged her towards the hill. "Yah're a real piece of work, aren't yah?"
"I been told as much, by femmes a bit older an' prettier than you."
"Like Belle?"
He nearly came to a screeching halt, movement continuing only with effort, and his head whipped around. "Y' a spook?" he questioned angrily. "If so, get out o' mah head-"
"I don't read minds, but ah'd sure as hell like to know why yah leavin' yah friend there ta die-"
He did stop this time, his grip on her arm tightening as he yanked her closer. "Don' talk 'bout t'ings y' don' know, chere," he said grimly, lines tight about his face. "Fella chases y' a couple months, y' get to know what 'e's like. De boy'll be fine. Maybe better. I stop movin', I won't be. An' I know how 'e likes t' kill pretty filles. Wouldn't be an experience y'd enjoy, p'tite. So I recommend y' stick wit' me. Y' wanna go back, stand by de Icekid? Have fun. Don' 'spect me t' show at y' funeral." He didn't release her arm in the slightest, nor push her away, and he was unnervingly near.
Rogue, pulling back, glared at him, glanced back at Bobby, who stood patiently and somewhat cockily- flushed with his victory against the wall- waiting, and before she could even answer, Gambit was pulling her along again.
A group of three dark-haired kids, their mother nearby, were preparing their sleds to race down the hill, trying to find the exact right spot. Hair in his eyes, ignoring the dizziness from his head, he swooped his right arm out, the one not clutching Rogue's jacket-covered wrist, and with a grin and something of a bow, grabbed one of the sleds.
The kid let out a horrified wail. "Sorry!" Rogue shouted, trying to run better in the snow, her boots sinking far too much and feeling a need to keep up with the stupid swamp rat, so he couldn't show her up.
Even as she pulled even with him, he grabbed her around the waist. Before she could protest or instinctively slug him, he pulled her onto the sled, praying it was as simple as it looked, and waited. It couldn't even properly be called a sled, being really more a thin sheet of foam, decorated brightly and given handles and sold for a great deal of money.
The sled sat poised, not moving, and Rogue, her face turning even redder, shoved his hands off her and eased as far forward- and away from him- as she could- then pushed off against the snow, the sled slowly beginning to slide.
"Merde, dis isn't gonna work," he groaned from behind her, as the sled slowly edged forward, inch by inch, along the incline. "We're too hea-" He abruptly shut up as the sled, almost at once, picked up tremendous speed and began to rocket down the hill.
"Clutch the handles," she said grimly to him, her voice catching in her throat. The expanse of hill before them seemed tremendous, and they were suddenly jolted up and down, each bump of the hill felt. Not to mention the cold seeped through. It seemed so remarkably steep, and so blindingly white, as the snow reflected the glare of the sun. Her stomach fluttered. This wasn't like a roller coaster. They were jerking about, blindly, and any second now they could crash and her throat would snap. She couldn't remember being this scared of anything in her life. She did not want to die in the snow. She considered digging her feet in, to steer properly and slow them down, but slowing in any way was bad. Though crashing would probably be worse, since then they'd have to run the rest of the way down the hill and that's be slower.
The chill wind whipped her cheeks, stinging them, and felt like it sliced right through her jacket and slacks, seeming to grow colder with each passing second.
"Mon Dieu," a panicky voice came behind her, and she took a slim satisfaction in that she wasn't the only one bothered by this.
They were heading towards the bottom now, and their speed seemed ridiculous to Rogue. Nothing seemed this fast on a car, or a train, or- oh, God, they were going to die!
The sled began to turn, slightly, as they neared the bottom, and it seemed obvious it was going to spill them straight off the hill, just at the bottom.
"Keep it straight!" she hollered, feeling herself slide off as it turned. She was about to go skidding off. His hands pulled her back towards him at once, yanking her back on the sled. "Forget meh, steer!"
"I don' know how! Feel free to share if y' know, chere?"
She remained silent as the sled turned the rest of the way around, until she saw what was coming after them. "Aw, no," she said in disbelief.
Sabretooth, face infuriated, had one foot on a child's sledding saucer, and the other foot on the ground, propelling him forward in strokes. For a big fellow, he was moving really quickly and with remarkable balance.
A series of what she assumed were French curses came from behind her.
They hit a bump, and for a moment seemed to have left the ground, though Rogue's hands clutched the sled, keeping it beneath her, and they landed almost at once. It was a second before they realized they had hit the bottom and were skidding towards the woods. Rogue, not willing to watch Sabretooth nor see the impending white death, squeezed her eyes shut briefly, trying to gather her thoughts as to what to do next. The sled seemed to slow, and then jolted, as it hit something and sent both of them tumbling out.
Laughing, slightly hysterically, Rogue climbed to her feet, and, hands numb from having dragged them in the snow earlier, yanked one of the leather gloves off with her teeth. She ignored the biting cold which seemed to eat at her hand, and the incredulous look she got from the Cajun, who was still trying to get himself off the ground.
Leaping off of his saucer, Sabretooth bounded towards them.
There was no time to make it to the woods, clearly, which was an immense shame, as it meant they'd have to fight. Rogue's only weapon happened to be her hand, which would never get near the fellow before his yellowish nailed hands which seemed like claws had clashed her throat. Well, and Cody's football skills, which were no help since he had no experience in the cold, and a few residual memories from a fortune teller, assassin, and bouncer named Ida which unfortunately were accompanied with no residual skills.
"How many cards yah got?" she asked Gambit, who was poised, cards charging.
"Never enough," he told her, looking at his cards miserably. Clearly, he too was debating the inadequateness of his weapons. "An' y'?"
"Ah need ta touch him."
"Merde."
They had no choice. They had to fight. And it was doubtful they could win.
"Hey," came a nonchalant, if slightly disappointed voice from behind them.
They turned around at once, finding Bobby behind them.
"Dat's not possible," Gambit said uneasily.
"Sure it is. I slicked the bottom of a sled and went after you. Beat you by a lot, too," he said with a wicked little grin. "Oops, here comes Johnny."
"Where?" Gambit said, looking around in sheer horror.
Bobby stared at him. "Joke, man, from the movie… never mind, just throw a card at the damned thing!"
He did, but Sabretooth was getting good at dodging. Gambit, ignoring the other two, leaped forward, and from out of completely nowhere- or rather, from the depths of his trenchcoat, came up with what seemed like a small but thick stick which suddenly extended to a staff easily his own size and more.
Spinning it expertly, he struck Sabretooth in the head with it, but seemingly to no avail.
The remaining two watched, wondering what to do now.
"Can yah freeze him?" Rogue asked of Bobby, an idea formulating in her mind.
"Ah, I tried. I kind of missed. And he kind of ignored me. It was rather embarrassing."
"Well, try, yah damnYankee!"
He paused, swallowed, and held his hands in front of him in some strange position, as if awaiting a ball.
"What're yah doin'?"
"Ah…. it worked on an anime show," he said sheepishly.
She took a deep breath. "Do yah even know how to make it work?"
"Ah…. kinda. Um, not really? Sometimes?"
She gave him a look, then looked at her freezing bare hand. "Bobby?"
"What?" he asked, his eyes nervously going to her hand.
She looked over to where Remy LeBeau was attempting to fight Sabretooth. He wasn't doing badly, and he rather looked like he was getting used to this. But Sabretooth was shockingly fast and terribly strong, and the moment he got his hands on Gambit, it was all over.
"Yah wanna try something personally hazardous to yah health or let him die?" she asked abruptly.
He swallowed, looking at her with mild fear. "Well, ah, that isn't really much of a choice, is it?"
"Nope. It's not. But ah think- and it's just a theory- that maybe if ah use mah powers on yah, we can figure somethin' out. "
He looked at her, and at the way she was looking at her hand. "What is it you do?"
She knew what he meant. "Ah touch someone, ah steal their memories an' if they're a mutant, powers. Can't help it. Ah hold on too long, maybe ah kill them."
"Whoa," he said, blue eyes going wide. "Harsh." He back-stepped his train of thought. "For you, I mean. So, let's get this done." He held out his bare hand, patiently.
She stared at him, in disbelief. "You serious?"
He looked at her, then looked at Gambit. Wincing and grimacing, he nodded quickly. He stepped closer, still holding out his hand. "I- I'll remember some things, won't I? How much I love my family… and, uh, all that? Even if my powers-"
"It's not gone," she said, surprised. "Not unless ah hold on too long, and even then ah'm not sure. Ah just- copy them. Though it's kind of painful. Ah mean, Ah take them, but they come back. Ah think."
He blinked in surprise, then looked over to where Gambit had just been sent flying by a punch to the head, and was now staggering to his feet. "Oh, that's nothing, then. What're you waiting for?"
It was Rogue's turn to blink, and she shook her head. Despite herself, she was touched. "Bobby-"
"Bobby Drake," he added, grinning.
"Well, you must be a hell of a guy." She took his hand, awkwardly. Had she been a different sort of girl, she would have liked to have kissed his cheek for the gesture, but she wasn't and she didn't know how to go about it at all, so she settled for a handshake.
"Eh," he said casually, "not so much." Firmly, he gripped her hand.
Immediately, she was flooded with memories, even as she instantly let go.
"And it's Drake with the puck, passes to Bradshaw, who passes back to Drake, who passes to Jackson, who scores on English! And it's an assist for Drake!"
"Enough with the commentary, Bobby!" the girl in goal snapped, glaring at him as he danced about the ice, stick above his head, zipping around with ease in the frozen rink set up in a friend's backyard.
"Well, you know one way to shut me up, Wendy," he said, winking.
She laughed in his face, and he tumbled to the ice, clutching his heart.
"I'm wounded! My heart, shattered! My-"
"Enough flirting with my girlfriend, Bobby," his friend said menacingly, flourishing his stick dramatically like a sword.
He stuck out his lip. "Everyone else let's me flirt with their girlfriends… you're such a spoilsport, Jackie." He leaped to his feet, stick out. "En garde!"
"Must you spend all your time in the summer in the water, Bobby?" Mrs. Drake complained, listening to him whine about the sunburn as she applied aloe vera to his back. "You never remember to put any lotion on-"
"I'm on fire, Mom," he moaned. "Every inch of me's on fire-"
"MOM! Bobby's embarrassing me by being such a baby in front of my friends!" a boy with equally sandy brown hair but darker eyes shouted, several years younger than his older brother. His friends elbowed each other and laughed at this, as did the boy himself.
"Then now you understand how I feel!" Bobby yelled back, before moaning, "but no one could understand how I feel now- the pain, the pain-"
"'Our children need to be protected from this growing menace. This great nation was created so that our descendants might live in freedom and the happiness we wish for them, but among such threats, how are they expected to be safe? When there are creatures capable of feats previously only imagined, when-'" Mr. Drake changed the channel, shaking his head.
"Where's a game of football when we need one?" he grumbled.
"Wait, I'd like to hear the end of Senator Kelly's speech," Mrs. Drake interjected, gesturing at her husband.
He glanced at the two boys, who sat slumped, bored, waiting for their father to change the channel to ESPN. Bobby sipped from his can of Pepsi, ignoring what his parents were saying. "It'll be on again during the eleven o'clock news," their father informed her. "Last thing we need is the boys getting scared by all that claptrap over a bunch of freaks."
"I'm not scared," Bobby protested indignantly. "They can do neat things, like kill people with looks, I bet." He glared at his brother. "Power I wish I had some days-"
"Bobby," his mother admonished warningly.
He rolled his eyes and sipped his Pepsi. Or tried to, since nothing came out. He paused and stared at it, then tapped the can. "Whoa," he muttered to himself. "Freaky." He studied the can. Frosted over. He blinked. No no no no no. This couldn't be happening. He'd tried to convince himself that incident with the snowing on the bus and freezing the feet of the goalie on the other hockey team were just freak accidents, but…
"Something wrong, man?" his brother asked him, elbowing him and trying to 'accidently' slosh his brother's drink.
"Nope," he lied, forcing a grin. "Not a thing…"
"Jeez," said Bobby, wide-eyed and stumbling. "Holy headache, that is some case of a shock you've got there! Whoa, I think I'm going to be sick…"
Man, I really look like an idiot from this point of view. Ugh, is this the piece of me stuck in your head? Hey! I'm in a girl's head! Can I read your thoughts and you'll tell me how to get-
No, she thought sharply.
Ah, okay then. Um, you should probably help Gambit now. Looks like our friend the Yellow Ranger's going to snap his stick.
"What?" she said aloud.
"I said," said Bobby, whose eyes were fluttering, "that I think I'm-"
Sabretooth tiger. On Power Rangers, it was… yeah, never mind that, just tell the other me to stop gagging, will you? It's enough to make me sick.
"Ah don't feel cold anymore," Rogue commented, staring at her hand. "Ah…" She looked up, and took a sharp breath as she watched Gambit fly across her line of vision smack into a tree. "Bobby!" she shouted.
"Yeah- Oh, right, Gambit!"
"Yah freezy-thing, how's it work?"
"What, like I know?"
Ach. All you have to do's breathe with the cold and concentrate.
Rogue, head reeling, yelled, "Yah have ta breathe with the cold and concentrate!"
"What! What! How you mean that? I'm not good at concentrating, Rogue!"
YES I AM! I'm very good at it! Why on earth would he tell a girl that? Um, try, ah- oh! It's like hockey! Think of the ice the way it looks when the Zamboni's just cleaned it off!
"What in the name of Gawd is a Zamboni?" she hollered at the sky.
Bobby, blinking in the light, stopped dead. "Oh," he said, with a shrug, which became a grin. He stared at his hand, and a shape began to crystallize in his hand, a very rough ice shape of, apparently, a truck. He paused and looked at it.
You want me to help you do that, too?
"That'd probably be good," Rogue said, looking at the shiny, beautiful snow all around her. A part of her mind knew she hated it, but right now she simply couldn't, because Bobby loved it and a piece of him was dominant in her mind. Gambit had about twenty cards charged and was hurling them all at Sabretooth, and no kids were coming down the hill anymore, so someone was probably calling the cops.
All you got to do is stop blocking my memories. The answer's in there.
"Yah'd better go back like a good jack-in-the-box when ah'm through," she ordered, then, like a word on the tip of her tongue, strained to reach the memory she needed, just as she had when she'd needed Cody's football skills.
Suddenly, she knew what it was like to ice skate, how to check, what penalties got you how much time in the box, the score of the hockey game Bobby had seen at six, and not much else, since she hadn't held on long. But she knew the sparkle and shine of ice, and she looked up at Bobby.
He grinned at her, and, with a hopeful look, held out his hand in the proper direction.
Gambit narrowly dodged a series of sharp icicles that shot at his head. "Have y' lost y' mind?" he shouted, red eyes flashing, sunglasses long gone.
"Whoops," said Bobby, biting his lip. This time aiming more carefully, he closed his eyes, turned away, and held out his hand. Rogue, more uncertainly and fighting not to say the word dude, held her hands out before her face, giving them wary glances.
A huge burst of thick white mist exploded from Bobby's direction, to a lesser degree from Rogue's, and Sabretooth snarled, expression somewhat confused, as it swirled about him, particularly around his feet. Gambit backed hurridly away, retrieved his staff, and leaned on it, looking quite dazed. After a moment, he began to clap bemusedly.
Sabretooth's feet were soon firmly locked in a thick block of ice, and he growled out curses with numbed lips, for the rest of him was frosted over in a thin layer of dotted ice, even his mangy hair.
The power cut out from Rogue quickly, leaving her drained, but Bobby stared at his hands, worried, as ice continued to swirl around them, more thickly. "I don't know how to make it stop."
"T'ink of ice cream meltin' on a hot day," Gambit suggested, leaning heavily against his staff and looking on the verge of laughing at Creed.
"That's a sad thought," Bobby said accusingly, as the ice evaporated at once from his hands. "Cooool," he said, blue eyes dancing.
"Not bad, Freeze Pop," he continued, red eyes flashing. "No' bad at all. Y' did what I couldn't, anyhow. So what's y' deal, chere? Y' copy powers?" His eyes flickered to her hand. "With touch?"
"That's the gist of it," she said tightly.
"Felt kind of like you'd completely taken 'em for a minute, but then I could still get at 'em- just to a lesser degree. Not that what I just did was lesser degree, but… man. Youch." Bobby shivered. "I mean, dude, I'm actually cold. I can't remember the last time I was cold."
"I don' believe y' jus' saved my skin," Gambit said, rubbing his head.
"Again," Bobby emphasized, then stopped to take in what the young man was saying and indignantly added, "Gee, thanks!"
Rogue was staring at Sabretooth. "What d'we do with him? He's gonna defrost."
Bobby didn't even consider. "Drain him dry!" he urged her.
"Ah don't want him in mah head!" she protested. "An' ah'm not a killer, either!" At least, not until Cody died. But she had every intention of fixing that, somehow.
"Freeze him de rest o' de way an' den I blow him up," Gambit suggested, grinning maliciously and shuffling his cards.
Sabretooth, shaking, spit in his direction. "Go ahead, LeBeau," he managed to sneer. "Woudn't be the first time, would it?"
The young man stiffened, then, for some reason, looked at Rogue, who, horrified, looked away. He nodded as if she'd confirmed something.
Gambit shook his head at Bobby, who looked apt to do it. "Non. Not in cold blood. An' I t'ink I've jus' demonstrated de difficulty of doin' it de other way." He rubbed his head again, cursing softly. "Wish de cold'd kill him," he said wistfully. Stumblingly, he headed over towards Bobby Drake. "How long till it melts or he busts loose?" he wondered.
Bobby held out his hands helplessly. "No clue. Awhile, man."
Gambit frowned, then, still leaning against his staff, held out his gloved hand, some of the fingers ungloved, to Bobby. "Never properly introduced myself. Mon pere'd be ashamed. I'm Remy LeBeau. Can't say it's nice t' meet y', cause, no offence, but I don' t'ink I like y' very much, but I owe y' a hell o' a lot, if one can say m' life's a lot, an' de least I can give y' is my name."
Bobby, laughing, clapped his hand, slightly too hard. "You're all right, dude. Bet we'd make a pretty swell team. You play hockey?"
Rogue coughed slightly, trying not to laugh. "The Dynamic Duo," she said sarcastically. "The Coated Crusader and the Boy Wonder. Ah'm thrilled ta make y' acquaintance."
To her surprise, Sabretooth let out a woof of laughter, even as Remy scowled at her and Bobby protested vehemently.
They began to edge subtly away from Sabretooth, towards the wood, and waited to speak again until they were sure they were out of his hearing range. Bobby, thrilled with himself and discussing loudly the finer points of winter (they let him, the returned cold was overwhelming Rogue and the other was too tired to interrupt him), led them through a brief patch of woods until, up a slight, muddy incline, there was visible a road, with what appeared to be a family diner.
"See? Cars," he said cheerfully. "And the best food in town. The Iron Skillet's great. But, more than that, from here you can head out of… what? What is it?"
Remy paused, trying to broach the topic delicately. "Y'd best be gettin' home, Iceman," he tried, glancing at the sky. "Y' want y' tracks t' be as faded as possible fo' when 'e gets out. Ain't got much interest in y', but now dat y've given him bother, if y' made it easy he might swing round t' give y' trouble. But y' can prob'ly handle him best o' us here, anyhow."
Bobby's eyes went wide, indignantly, and he glanced between them. "What, I save the day, booya, and now you're telling me to skedaddle?"
"Yah got a family?" Rogue asked him, knowing full well he had. "'Cause unless yah get gone, the sad thing is yah're gonna have ta leave them, or yah'll have ta kill that fellow back there. And ah don't thing yah're one for murder, Bobby."
He looked between them, frowning, his gaze settling on LeBeau. "Oh, this is so not fair. What about Rogue? Won't he come after her?"
Remy glanced at her sharply. "She's coming wit' me." That shocked Bobby into silence, while Rogue merely glowered at this presumption.
At last, Bobby stammered out a "W-w-why?"
"'Cause unless I'm dead wrong- an' I'm not- she's here t' find me. Ain't dat right, chere?"
"How the hell do you know that?" she insisted, glaring at him.
He handed Rogue her left glove. "Dis is Belle's. An' I'm no' dumb, 'spite de accent an' pretty face."
"Can someone fill me in here?" Bobby shouted, waving his hands in their faces.
Rogue, scowling, took the glove and shoved it on. "His girlfriend's an assassin and she's tryin' to kill meh. Got a few of her memories and they led me here 'cause ah thought somebody here could stop her. Ah wasn't expectin' ta find her boyfriend."
"She's no' mon girlfriend," he said sourly, but then laughed, rubbing his head. "Now, dis is what y' call irony. Seein' I'm here in Boston tryin' t' get our pretty friend back dere offa my back."
"Last thing ah need is more problems," Rogue said furiously, glaring at him. "Who says ah need yah help?"
Bobby glanced between them. "You need his help. Almost as bad as he needs yours."
"Hey!" they protested at the same time, looking apt to strangle him, or strangle each other.
He laughed, looking between them with a highly amused expression on his face. "Oh, I'd pay to see what's going to happen to you next," he muttered, scratching his head. "So… guess this is so long. For a bit, since you'd better swing back. And… um, good luck, y'all." Awkwardly, he shook Remy's hand again, and then, leaving her aghast, patted Rogue's head. Looking back and waving, he tripped off down the road, in the opposite direction of Sabretooth, singing to himself.
Rogue looked at Gambit. He looked at her.
"So…." he said slyly. "What's yo'r real name?"
She sighed. "We should've let yah die."
"Dat realleh hurts, chere."
"Stop callin' meh that!"
"Y' even know what it means?" he wondered, as his eyes drifted over the cars in the parking lot. He looked at her expression. "Ah, somebody should' a taken French lessons, non?"
She considered delving into Belle's memories, or what scraps were left of them, just to show him up, but quickly decided that would be a very bad move. She settled for glaring at him.
"Vous allez être une douleur dans l'âne," he told her, with a beatific smile. It faded quickly. "What'd y' see o' me in Belle's memories, anyhow? I need t' know dat, o' we go nowhere."
She crossed her arms. "Not much," she told him flatly. "Or ah wouldn't have come, would ah, since ah would have known it was you-"
"Nah, didn't use Gambit till recently." He paused, a sudden thought striking him. "Hmm. Wonder how long it'll take John t' realize I left town."
"Who's that?" she demanded, eyes flashing. "Yah've got someone else after yah?"
"Non. 'E's a friend." His eyes flashed. "Sometimes. Anyway, I'm de one askin' de questions," he told her, hitting a button on his staff that allowed him to fold it down back to its compact size. "So, Belle knows where I am. Dat's bad. She wants to kill y'. Dat ain't good, eit'er. Already know she wants t' kill me. Dat doesn' help eit'er o' us much. So, y'knew what I looked like, 'cause y' weren't surprised by dese, non?" he said somewhat bitterly, tapping the side of his eye. "And y' know I killed Julian, right? Her frere?"
She looked at him, remembering the pain in his face as Belle stabbed him and looked at the blank matter-of-factness he said it with now. "That, and that yah wouldn't betray yah family when she wanted yah to. And that's all."
Something unreadable flickered over his face. "Y' saw dat?"
"Yeah."
He nodded. "Okay, den. Look, I don' know if I can offer y' much protection. 'Ticularly if y' really ticked Belle off an' she comes back wit' her gun. An' I suspect I'm not what y' were hopin' fo'. 'Specially since I'm not 'bout t' kill Belle-"
"I didn-"
"-An' she's not 'bout t' be scared off by me, neit'er. Prob'ly de opposite. An' trust me, she can be somet'in of a headache when she wants t' be."
Rogue raised her eyebrows at him. "Ah've met her. That, ah know. What ah'm wonderin' is if yah know how to hotwire a motorcycle."
He stared at her, an expression shining over his face. He didn't dare to look behind him. "Y' can't possibly be tellin' me…." He trailed off as he followed her pointed finger to a bike parked in the very corner of the parking lot.
"Must've hit yah're head awful hard ta have missed that," she said merrily.
He looked at them, then at the motorcycle, and a laugh rang from his throat, which, despite her fighting it, brought color to her cheeks. He had to be so goddamnably good-looking, far more so in person than in a distant memory, with his unbelievable eyes and features. This could not be a good thing.
"Give me two minutes," he told her, and more severely, "an' don' e'en t'ink 'bout askin' t' drive. Don't e'en t'ink it."
"Who, me?"
It was less than two minutes later that the motorcycle revved up and away. "Hold on," Remy shouted to her when she showed no signs of doing so.
"Hey, ah'm not gonna fall off-"
"I'm sure. Grab on!"
Reluctantly, and very awkwardly, with as little contact as possible, she did, scowling. He'd already made her wear the lousy extra helmet, but at least it was black, not pink.
He smirked and the motorcycle, with a roar, headed off.
Inside the diner, a man shoving a large cheeseburger, with the works, into his mouth, stopped mid-bite. Pausing quickly to wipe his mouth, he rushed outside, blood pounding in fury.
The moment he looked at the tread marks and the absent spot, he knew. Someone had taken his precious bike.
Snikt.
Involuntarily, his admantium claws shot from out of his right hand as he sniffed the air. His brows crinkled as he tried to recognize the combination, dismissing the scents of gas and fried food. After a moment, the scent of spices and cigarettes became vaguely recognizable enough. "Cajun," he muttered to himself. What idiot from New Orleans would possibly be up here at this time of year?
He paused after a second, another, more familiar scent interjecting. He stood suddenly fully upright, claws shooting back in. First of all, that was Creed's scent. And more than that… Natasha's. Just a bit, but unmistakable, trailing… both of the culprits who'd taken his motorcycle.
He frowned severely, angered. Boston used to be such a quiet city. This was all Frost's fault.
Another thing nagged at him, almost as much as the motorcycle.
Who the hell was the dame who was wearing his jacket?