I'm alive! So I know this took FOR-EVER to get out, but spare me. I haven't had access to a computer in a while, and then my hard drive had to be wiped, so I lost this chapter and the ones I was working on.

But, I'm back in the loop! Yay! I know, it took awhile. But, I reread a buncha reviews, and I just couldn't keep from ya guys any more.

Well, anyway, Merry Christmas! Think of this as an X-Mas present.

Also, there's some strong language in the chapter, so if you have problems with that, I can't help you. It says "T", anyhow.

And one other note having nothing to do with the story: Should I (again) change my pen name to simply "Rossignol"? It's easier to remember, and to write. I dunno...

So then, as long as I don't have anything better to say, go on and enjoy the chapter.

Mannequins
Part Two: Watching
Chapter Five: Waking

If we are bound to forgive an enemy, we are not bound to trust him.

- Thomas Fuller

Rogue glared at the men across from her. Not that she was intimidating, chained down and all, but she still tried to at least convey her hate to them. She especially focused her hate-glare on the man in the center. The man who drugged, ambushed, and kidnapped her. And was smirking.

The father, -- as he introduced himself, Jean-Luc -- spoke up. "Sure y' can't be a little more agreeable? After all, y' gonna be here f'r awhile. Mine as well get along." Rogue just answered in a short Wolverine-esque growl and he sighed. "Den I'll leave y' wit' y' new roommate. I t'ink y've met. Son," -- the bastard walked into the limelight -- "keep good care o' her. We're gon' need her later. Bonsoir, mad'moiselle."

"Fuck. You." She ground out.

"She speaks!" The other man, Henri, laughed, goading Rogue's ears. "Remy, m' dear petit frere, y' gonna have y'self a handful. Hope y can keep y'self alive 'till we come back."

Completely ignoring her presence, the bastard answered back, "Don' worry. De day hell freezes over is de day I can't handle some lil' fille. See y' soon, Henri."

His brother clapped him on the shoulder and responded, with another infuriating smirk, "Best a' luck t' y', heh, I t'ink y' might need it," and left.

As the door shut like an anvil dropping on Rogue's freedom, he turned to her. "So, chérie... nice weat'er we're havin', he said -- as if there were any windows to tell by.

She remained silent.

Whatever mute hint Rogue was trying to drop, he didn't pick up, and continued, "So y' got a real name I can call y' by? 'Rogue' ain't too pretty f'r a girl like y'."

Silence.

"Well, if y' won't gimme a betta' name, 'm gonna have t' t'ink of one f'r y'." He waited, as if expecting her to give him a name, or reject the idea. A few more moments of blissful silence, he spoke up again, "Lessee... Mary? Nah, too simple f'r y'. Wait, y' a lil' river rat, right? Y' name's gotta be good ol' French den. Angelique?" He paused for a moment, cocking his head slightly to consider her, and then barked a laugh. "Right. Adrienne? Non, not de type. Mebbe y're a... Emmeline. Emmeline." Another pause. "Non, not dat. How 'bout Sidonie? Mireille? Coralie? Marie? Avice? Charlotte? Estelle? Monique? Karla? Chère, y' stop me if I get it."

Silence.

"Fine, y' wanna be like dat, huh? Well, y' know what, chère? I c'n play dat game too. Watch." He turned her back from her, leaning his side against the headboard of what -- Rogue hated to call it -- his bed.

A blissful drought of speaking followed for nearly a half-hour, until he sighed and turned back to her. "Well, if I have t' call y' Rogue, y' gonna have t' call me Gambit. Only fair, chérie." Did this guy crave attention or something? He wasn't going to get any from her.

Silence.

"Y' know, y' not helpin' y'self none by bein' so difficult. Y' have t' -- " He stopped, then snorted. "Y' have t' be de most stubborn girl I've ever met, dat's what y' are."

Continued silence, but she did turn very slightly to glare at him for an instant. He took it as an invitation for more talking.

"Y' know, I t'ink y' might be more irritated by m' talkin', den m' ignorin' y'." He seemed pleased by the idea, but Rogue only felt like screaming, "No, ya think!"

But she maintained silence.

Thankfully -- although Rogue couldn't believe that herself -- the brother and father came back, this time with a hoard of other men.

"Bonsoir, yet again, chère, y' miss us?" asked the father, Jean-Luc. It was obvious where Gambit picked up his "charm" from.

Rogue stared at the group, and blurted out, "Are ya guys some kinda cult?" Smooth.

Jean-Luc's response was instant. "No, chère, we ain't no cult. We-" He paused. "Well, we're a lil' bit of a cult. But in de good way."

"The kidnappin'-innocent-girls-ta-hold-'em-hostage kinda 'good way'?"

He opened his mouth and closed it. The question seemed to have him stuck, and Rogue reveled it. He didn't strike her as the type to be baffled about anything. At least she had one point over them. "Don' y' have a better question?" he finally asked sarcastically.

"Sure do. Why the hell hijack me?"

"Hijack, chère?" Gambit questioned."I didn't hijack y'. I stole y'," he clarified, with a hint of pride.

"Ooh, that makes it much better. Jus' answer the damn question, Cajun." She heard a muffled snort. Funny, was she?

"Y're not a very reasonable person, are y' -- "

She interrupted him angrily, "Ya call me 'chère' one more tahme, Ah'm gonna -- "

Another snort from somewhere near the father, and Gambit interrupted her again, "What, mignonne? Kill me? Don' y' t'ink y're a lil' tied down f'r dat?"He eyed her bonds and she cursed them mentally.

When Rogue woke from her drug-induced sleep, her original foggy reaction was, Ah can't move. For a moment, she panicked and believed herself somehow paralyzed, but then someone laughed. The mist cleared from her head to find her shackled down to an actually comfortable bed. Rogue feared the worst. Then her next reaction was even more chaotic and stupid as she realized: Where's mah glasses! She squeezed her eyes shut and curled herself into a ball.

Someone laughed again, and Rogue opened her eyes to look at them, hoping maybe she would manifest the blasts. Three men were there, only one of which she recognized (still wearing the trench coat, shades, and smirk). "Y' don' have to t' worry. Y' won't be blastin' anyt'ing any time soon."

It was then Rogue realized an unnatural weight was on her neck. It was colder than her skin, and whirred softly. Her knee-jerk reaction made her clutch at it, and the same one who spoke, laughed, "Dat's it alright. I wouldn't worry too much about it, chère. B'sides, I heard y' never liked y're powers much anyway."

So now she was here, in a room full of cultist men, probably as some sacrifice. Her world was always looking up.

The continued to smirk and laugh, much to her chagrin, until finally Jean-Luc raised a hand to stop them. "Now, now, I t'ink we've been rude t' our guest here." He paused. "We haven't even introduced ourselves!" He bowed mockingly to Rogue. "Allow me t' intr'duce dese fine examples of men. Dey are de High Council of T'ieves. A sort of advisory board t' m' King of T'ieves."

"Thieves?" Rogue spat. "y'all have a cult based on thiev'ry? An' heah Ah go an' think that just maybe y'all were respectable sadists."

"We tol' y'. We ain't a cult," Jean-Luc reprimanded. Rogue thought she picked up a trace of annoyance.

She knew it was probably unwise, but she couldn't help but goad him further. "Oh, excuse me, Yo're Majesty," she toned sarcastically.

Gambit frowned. "Chère-- "

"Y're his son, right? So, what, yo're name's 'Highness'?" Rogue bit angrily.

He seemed ready to snap back, but one of the Council held up a warning hand, almost imperceptibly. Gambit breathed, then smirked. "Yeah, chère, I'm 'Highness', alrigh'. Prince Gambit is what dey call me. But y' can 'ave de explicit pleasure of callin' me plain ol' Gambit. Don't y' feel special, chère?"

Rogue bristled. "Jus' tell me why Ah'm heah!" she finally screamed.

Instantly, the perpetual slick smile on both Jean-Luc's and Gambit's faces vanished. The Council tensed. They knew dodging the subject was no long an option. But they tried anyway.

"Y'know, girl, y're life balances on our good will. Care t' remember that?" asked a stumpy, sallow man with a tone of menace that didn't fit his sunken face.

"No, Ah don't. Ya won't kill me," she said matter-of-factly.

"An' how d'ya come t' figure dat? Wit' y're Magic 8 Ball?" another man said, his rat-like voice condescending.

"B'cause ya haven't already. B'cause ya knew about mah powers. An' if ya knew about mah powers, ya know about what family Ah b'long ta. An' Ah know mah family pisses off a lot a' people. Ah can't imagine what thieves would want with me. But Ah can imagine there are some things that othah people want with the X-Men. Ah don't b'lieve Ah was kidnapped as a virgin sacrifice or somethin'. Ah think y'all were hired." Once Rogue finished her findings, she watched the thief's carefully.

To an unobservant or untrained eye, it appeared as if they either didn't care if she had guessed the truth, or she was flat-out wrong. But Rogue was observant, and she was trained. She saw their lips tighten, and their eyes crinkled with anger. Only Jean-Luc and Henri kept a firmly disinterested look.

The 'King of Thieves' smiled easily. "Well, chère, as y' seem t' have ev'ryt'in' figured out, we'll leave y' t' ponder furt'er y're t'oughts. Bon nuit, chil'. Sleep well." He saluted her as he left, the Council and the older son not far behind.

Which left her and Gambit. Even before that damned door shut, she steeled herself for the voice she had come to associate with nightmares.

But he was silent.

She turned to appraise him, and met his eyes. She gasped. "Yo're eyes... "

Every time she had seen Gambit, the first time in Sparked, at the airport, and when she woke, he had always worn sunglasses. Now she knew why.

Mutant, screamed his flickering red eyes, surrounded by absolute black. Instinctively, Rogue reached up, not paying attention to the clinking of the cuffs, touching the snowy strands that framed her face, symbol of her mutant heritage.

"Go 'head, chérie, be scared." He laughed bitterly. "Ev'ryone else is," Gambit whispered.

Rogue shook out of her shock. "Ah ain't scared," she snapped. "Jus' surprised. Mah brother's scarier than ya, an' he's the nicest guy y'll evah meet."

He opened his mouth, maybe to argue, maybe to ask about her brother, but she never found out. "T'anks," he gave a small, real smile, and turned off the lights.

Short, I know, but I wanted to get this out before you all completely forgot about me.

So, moot point of this chapter was to reveal just a teensy, tiny amount of things.

Now, before anyone goes chopping off my head about Gambit's OOC-ness, listen to this: my Remy is juvenile for a reason. Unlike comic book Remy, my Evo-Remy has seen much less in his days. That means no Sabretooth, no Sinister, and no Belladonna. His family hasn't betrayed him, he hasn't had a run-in with Magneto, and he's only nineteen. He's also a little spoiled. So don't yell at me because he acts a little like a baby. Also, he's very unaccustomed to people ignoring him. Especially women. So he feels a little dejected. Poor Remy.

Well, that's it, other than read and review! Oh, and check out my new fic, "The Garden". Because you all love me.

E.V.A.N.