I don't know what's happening.

One second I'm at the end of my patience with Remy and have half a mind to clobber him over the head with the alien toaster thingy, and the next second, I feel that same wave of static electricity pass through my limbs, except it's stronger. The feeling washes over me, and I see my life flashing before my eyes. But it's actually not so much my life that flashes before my eyes as it's just a flashing light that flashes before my eyes.

The world seems to transform before me, and it kind of feels like being teleported with Kurt, minus the brimstone. Not when I'm teleporting myself with Kurt's absorbed powers, but when Kurt is teleporting me and I'm riding along as a passenger. It's disorienting with a hint of nausea.

I hear faraway sirens rather than music. And it feels like I'm outside. The plushness of the bed and the warmth of Remy's hands are gone, and a very familiar smell hits my nose. It's the smell of battle – fire, smoke, melting metal, burning rubber, that sort of thing.

I find myself on my back. I'm on some random rooftop in the middle of a city. My eyes focus, and I see a lit-up billboard with a decidedly retro-looking Pepsi ad. Thick, black smoke blankets the sky, making it hard for me to tell if it's day or night. I pick myself up, finding that I'm still carrying that toaster-looking thingy like a football.

I look down at the mysterious contraption. There is a blue bar of light running along one side of the flat face that I hadn't noticed before. This thing was a lot more dangerous than I thought. I can only conclude that this is what's responsible for why I'm here – wherever here is.

The building below me suddenly trembles as a loud boom resonates all around me. I lose my balance and brace myself against the rough floor. Suddenly, a searchlight sweeps in a wide arc and shines down on me, blinding me. I squint towards the light. I hear a loud, mechanical whirring sound that suddenly takes me back, like old-school, and my eyes widen as I confirm my source of nostalgia.

The head of a Sentinel rises above the edge of the building. It's big and purple, and much like the Pepsi billboard, the Sentinel is also retro-looking. It's the kind I summon in the DR for easy target practice. The large glassy eye locks onto me, and a flash of red scans me.

"Mutant Identified. Target Rogue. Acquired."

"Oh Lawd, not this again," I mutter as I shoot up to take into the air.

But I don't take into the air. I literally just get up and hop in place, and I almost twist my ankle when I land a little awkwardly on my heels.

"Oh shit."

A shadow overtakes me as the Sentinel's hand moves to grab me.

"Target Rogue. Not Resistant to Capture. Apprehending."

"Shitshitshitshitshit…." I scramble and launch myself from underneath its hand, tucking and rolling as far as my natural athleticism allows me. I feel the weight of gravity against my every movement and my legs scrape up against the concrete, and my skin feels raw in a way that I know my powers have been nullified.

It's from holding this damn toaster, but I have a feeling I need this to get back home from wherever this is.

I quickly leap up and run as fast as I can to the far end of the rooftop, all the time thinking if I should hurl the toaster somewhere to get some distance from it and try to come back for it later.

But what if it broke? Or what if even putting distance with this thing doesn't make my powers come back?

"Target Rogue. Fleeing," the Sentinel irritatingly narrates.

"Ah am not fleein'! Ah am weighin' my options!" I yell back. God, but this was killing my pride.

I reach the end of the building and I finally decide that surviving comes first. Retrieving the toaster will have to come later. I'm about to chuck it as far as I can, when suddenly, I hear a familiar noise reach my ear – the distinctive sound of cards screeching through the air.

The booming sound of explosions follows soon after. A rush of hot, fiery wind whips my hair into the air. I turn around but can only see a fresh bloom of fire and smoke as the Sentinel turns its sights away from me.

"Unit under Assault. Unidentified Target."

But I don't need the Sentinel to tell me who it is. I hear more cards being charged, and the sound is even closer. I decide to crawl behind the walled off entrance to the rooftop access stairs so that I can avoid getting hit with any exploding bits and pieces of Sentinel.

"Mutant Identified. Target Gambit."

I pop my head out to check out the target, and I still can't really see anything over the smoke from the initial explosions. Suddenly, the Sentinel's arm pulls back and thrusts forwards, the momentum of the movement causing the smoke to sweep away. Bursts of plasma beams come shooting out of its hand towards a random direction away from me, and then I finally see a dark figure with a long trench coat jump onto the scene.

Deep down, I know that I've been somehow transported back into time. I've seen enough people drop in from the future to make me realize I may not be exempt from the whole time travel experience. Still, I was holding out the hope that this thing could be just a teleportation device, and all I really needed to do was hail a taxi home. So, when I squint to see the target known as Gambit jumping to my rescue, I am not that surprised that he's younger – years younger.

He moves like a demon possessed, with the kind of crazed fearlessness that only the invincibility of youth can supply. Not that Remy has become slow and docile by any means, but he's less reckless now. He doesn't move like this guy anymore – like he has nothing left to lose.

His cards fly out in all direction, causing mayhem and destruction. The force of the explosions sends him flying across the air, but with all the grace of an acrobat, he lands nimbly on the rooftop I'm currently standing on.

Heat and debris come hurtling towards us. I duck, but he doesn't, and he's nicked by the shrapnel from his own exploding cards. A piece of flying metal whips by and cuts his cheek.

Blood trickles.

I get a glimpse of him licking it off with a wide, dangerous smile on his lips, and he flings himself back into the melee of his own creation.

The way he moves you can tell he's not thinking about right and wrong, good and bad, property damage. He has no moral compunctions and he doesn't plan on sticking around to clean up an ounce of this mess. It's just the pure joy he takes in his own superhuman abilities and the victory that is all but a given in his mind.

He is ego personified.

He slams his charged bo-staff into the side of the Sentinel's skull, and carves it up like a can opener to a can. He kicks himself off, flipping neatly in the air as he sends almost like a full deck of charged cards spitting out like a Gatling gun in a matter of seconds.

I take cover again, plugging my ears. This is going to be an excessively big explosion.

It is.

The cards erupt, sending the whole place blazing and going off in a furious chorus like the finale of a Fourth of July fireworks show. The Sentinel finally buckles under the overkill and collapses in a fiery heap of scrap metal.

He practically strikes a pose after finishing it off and whips his hair around to toss a cocky smirk at his handiwork. He smoothly twirls away his staff, simultaneously places a cigarette to his mouth and calmly sidesteps a blown-off Sentinel hand that comes flaming down, crashing next to him. He nonchalantly leans forward over the burning pile of rubble, gracefully draws the tail of his duster out of the way so it doesn't catch on fire as he lights the tip of the cigarette.

He takes a long drag and blows a stream of smoke as he pivots around. And it's only then he takes notice that he's not alone on this rooftop.

I quickly turn around, my back against the wall, wondering what the hell I'm hiding for.

I hear him approach. He slows to glance at me, a little absentmindedly at first, like a passing look, expecting a stranger.

But of course, I'm no stranger.

He does his second double take of the night with me in this dress. And the freshly lit cigarette drops from his mouth.

His expression turns from stunned stupor to sparkling intrigue in a matter of seconds and I remind myself that this is Remy – no, Gambit – whose only goals at this particular moment in his life were to laissez les bons temps rouler, look good doing it and get me naked if it kills him. This was him at his most manipulative, and I let him because he was too gorgeous and seductive for a prude like me to ever hope to gain an upper hand over.

He's already achieved two out of three tonight, and the way he swaggers over to me, I'm guessing he's onto attempting goal number three. His eyes are uncomprehending as to why I look this way, but he definitely looks amused and definitely looks interested.

"I thought I heard dat Sentinel announce y'name." He assesses me with narrowed eyes and a grin. "Dieu, chere, you leadin' some kind' double life nobody know 'bout?"

As he gets closer, his eyes take me apart like a school of piranhas, and even I don't quite know what to do with the intensity of his sexual energy. It was no wonder I was both so infatuated with him and terrified of him at the same time. Even now, he is making me hot and bothered, obliterating any desire to think about the rhyme or reason of any of this, or what the consequences of my actions could be to the time-space continuum.

Remy doesn't waste a second longer to pull me into his side with one long arm. The guy never had any concept of respecting people of their personal space anyway, especially mine. The fingers of his hand firmly grip me by the ribs, his thumb nestled behind my breast and pulls me up as he draws himself down.

His face lingers dangerously close to mine, as his hooded eyes study me with a fascination that makes me feel like I'm the sexiest creature walking this planet. My heart is actually racing, and it's crazy because I'm married to this guy!

"I really hope y'dressed up f'me," he says smoothly through his smirk. "Because you about t'see how sexy Remy can be if he's jealous an' possessive."

I finally half-scoff, half-smirk at him, and it causes his eyes to spark up. Seeing what a big, arrogant narcissist he indeed was does make me want to take him down a peg or two just on principle alone.

But really, even I'm sick of this tired script of me giving him the runaround. Not to mention, I deserve this.

I grab him by the lapel of his trench coat and yank him down towards me. With my powers gone, it's less of a pull and more of a push as I effectively throw myself into his chest. I tilt my face up, my lips capturing his, then press them wide open and give him a big voluptuous kiss on the mouth.

The effect is like dropping a lit match onto a surface soaked in gasoline.

His reaction is instantaneous and overwhelming. He picks me up by the thighs, wraps them snugly around himself and pushes me up roughly against the wall.

I gasp and moan and sigh as I let him do whatever he wants with me because this is what I had always wanted too. I wanted this version of him so fiercely, this untamed wildness that was just about heartbreak guaranteed.

But heartbreak or no, I would have taken it – every single goddamn time – if only I could.

He pulls away long enough to whisper, "I must've died and gone t' heaven." And he's back to trying to swallow me up whole.

"Welcome to the future, sugah," I chuckle languidly, losing myself in the entirely too familiar kisses and caresses. Yet the thought that this is a novel experience for him is enough to make this so much more exciting for me.

"What do y'mean?" he asks, trailing his tongue lightly on my collarbone.

"Ah'm from the future. Ah ain't your Rogue."

"Oh," he just says, nodding. Then delves back into my breasts.

His kisses are worshipful, his touches almost aggressive in their eagerness, trying to leave no inch of my body untouched.

Suddenly, he just drops his head, exhaling with a groan. His fingers splayed against my arched back slowly curl and ball into fists. He stops, almost painfully peeling himself away from me.

When I try kissing him again, he breathlessly turns his face away, straining as he explains in my ear, "You know, right? Why we can't do dis?"

"No, not really," I tell him breathily, my arms wrapped over his shoulders.

He reluctantly lets me go, my legs sliding down his sides as I'm back on my own two feet.

"I don't want our first time t'be dis way," he explains, the back of his finger stroking my cheek. "You ain't like de others."

Are you freaking kidding me?! I literally throw myself at him and this is when he decides to grow a conscience? If he only knew that his first time with me would not be much of an improvement from this.

"You ain't jus' a one night stand or a quickie in an alleyway. Gambit be a man true t'his word."

"Since when?!" I demand, a little irked. I don't think I've ever been rejected by Remy before – not sexually anyway.

He smiles at me playfully, his eyes are bright and alive, and his breath is shallow and excited. "Since it's you, Rogue. Only you. De rest of de world can burn f' all I care."

I look at him, and though I hadn't known it then, I recognize now that he's being sincere. I could never be sure if he had a sincere side back then. He was always such a smooth-talking flirt and a slippery shadow. The mystery added to the sex appeal of course, but still the take-home message was that his word had to be taken with a grain of salt.

But knowing him the way I do now, I realize that Remy had been actually kind of innocent in his own way. Although I had never believed him, he had always confessed how special I was to him. So he had been inexperienced when it came to his feelings for me. He had been just as confused as I had been; only he could never look it with all that excessive self-confidence. And compared to me, there was no way he could claim inexperience.

"You are just full of surprises, Remy LeBeau," I tell him, searching his eyes.

His eyes crinkle with quiet laughter, gazing at me unblinkingly, still slightly out of breath. "Dieu, you're beautiful. Do you not age?"

"No, not really." Well, I probably do, but I'm sure my powers and intermittent Wolverine absorptions work better than Botox.

He glances up at the sky, smiling. "Remy, you genius," he shakes his head. "A forever young… girlfriend?"

He looks at me, almost hopefully.

"Wife," I state and I show him my ring.

"Mon Dieu!" he exclaims. His eyes are round, seizing me by my upper arms and shaking me. "We get married?!"

"Ah know, pretty crazy, huh?" I respond, a little delighted by his reaction. He looks very terrified.

I had never realized how cute he actually was. If I hadn't been so regularly infuriated by his oozing sexuality, I may have noticed that beneath it all, he was actually a lovable dork.

"Crazy don't even…" he shakes his head in awe and disbelief. His hands spread wide over my back, but this time they hold me a little more gingerly. "Den… you know… 'bout?"

I see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard, his eyes falling, quickly wetting his lips.

"What? Bella Donna? Genevieve? You workin' for Sinister? Not really sure which time period Ah've fallen into."

His jaw just drops, and it appears as though I blew his mind.

As if on cue, there is another large boom that causes the earth to tremor a bit. Maybe more Sentinels are on their way.

He blinks. "We better get out of here," he says glancing over his shoulder.

"Right. Ah should mention Ah don't really have my powers right now."

"Believe me, chere. I noticed," he grins as he glances up and down my body again. "What happened?"

"It's this toaster-lookin' thing. It negates my powers. An' possibly yours, too."

He charges a card that wicks up instantly in his hand. "Don't look like it."

"Oh, weird," I raise my brow. I readjust my grip around the toaster and notice that the bar of blue light has now turned to green, and it has truncated in length. I wonder what that means.

"Is dis how we have sex in de future? You gotta hold dis toaster de whole time?"

I let out a short laugh. "No, this is just… it's a long story. We should probably get outta here first."

He smiles at me. "Hold tight, chere."

He whisks me up into his arms, and I'm about to tell him that not having my powers doesn't necessarily mean not being able to walk, but…

Whatever!

I decide to indulge the 19-year-old in me that had a major crush on him but was too proud to admit it, and just let him carry me off into the sunset after rescuing me from the big bad robot.


To Be Continued

Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to all the girls who had a crush on 90's Gambit. This chapter was also a trip to write because 90's Gambit looks so old compared to the current Gambit, and I'm supposed to lead everyone to believe this is like the younger, less experienced version of him. Please do me a favor, and use your imagination, and try to see what is not provided… which I now realize is something that is fundamentally required for anyone to actually enjoy the comics. By the way, it's actually not the 90's… it's whatever year it could be when Rogue and Gambit are in their early stages of their relationship… so please apply comic book time (aka more imagination).

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