Prodigal

Chapter 6

Rogue couldn't help but stare blankly at the menu in front of her—it was strange, but it was like she had no idea how she had gotten to this restaurant. She had been meaning to grab some lunch, hadn't she? But she hadn't eaten pizza since that awful job in high school working for her grouchy neighbor, so why was she in a pizzeria? And where were Vincent and Matt, her regular lunch buddies? The tall man with the odd eyes who kept talking to her like he knew her—was his name Remy?—had assured her they would be meeting them here, but they hadn't yet shown. She glanced at her dining companion again, finding his odd appearance suspicious.

Sure are a lot of weird looking people today, Rogue thought to herself. First there had been that sullen girl with the white stripes—

Ah am the girl with the white stripes, Rogue told herself firmly. Ah'm Rogue. Rogue, Rogue, Rogue. Not Charlie with the three kids and the minivan and the mortgage. Don't know nothing about that leaky faucet Marie wants fixed in the bathroom or Rose's dance recital next Thursday…

Something nudged her foot.

"Y' awake, chère?"

"Huh?" Rogue replied inarticulately.

"You ready, honey?" a voice asked gently.

Rogue looked up. From across the table Remy was watching her intently, some unknown emotion darkening his already piercing eyes. To the side of their table, a waitress waited, pencil poised. Her high pony tail was that golden orange that happened when dark hair was bleached too often and her lips were painted red to match her uniform. She looked to be in her mid-forties, pleasantly curvy with a motherly air. She watched Rogue patiently, a soft frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Uh," Rogue scrambled, "whatevah he's havin'." She pointed to Remy.

The waitress nodded as she wrote the order down. She then gathered up the menus and left. Rogue watched her go, repeating Rogue Rogue Rogue all the while in her head. When she finally turned her head back to the table in front of her, she realized Remy was still staring at her.

"Didn' know you liked anchovies, chère." His mouth was smirking, but the intensity stayed in his eyes.

"Anchovies?" she repeated dully.

"Ouais."

"Is that what we ordered?"

"Wit' the rest of th' pizza."

"Oh."

Rogue thought hard, trying to put everything together. She was in Chicago with the Brotherhood, catching a train to Seattle. There had been a man—Charlie—at the control tower. He had surprised her so she drained him. Not too much, but he wasn't a mutant. The last thing she remembered clearly was Gambit suggesting they get something to eat, though obviously things had happened between now and then. When Rogue focused, she found hazy memories of Remy hot wiring a car, of a short drive, of parking, of sitting down. She looked around and found that the red and white décor of the mom and pop pizzeria was vaguely familiar, like she had seen it once before through fogged glass.

Rogue closed her eyes and swallowed. She remembered—not very well, but enough that she wasn't going to worry about it, nor was she going to ask about it. If she had thought she was Charlie, she didn't want to know. She concentrated on pushing Charlie's personality behind the mental wall the Professor had helped her build a long time ago. She opened her eyes and in doing so realized that her head was pounding. She sighed inaudibly and blinked, only to find Gambit had yet to look away from her face. She resisted the urge to scrub at her eyes.

"Whatcha lookin' at, Cajun?"

"Not'in."

He chuckled, and Rogue began to feel uncomfortable under his unwavering gaze. She glanced around. They were the only diners in the restaurant. She fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers, casting about for a conversation topic. She needed a distraction; absorbing Charlie had made the other personalities she'd absorbed restless, and they threatened to break her wall.

"So… anchovies, huh?"

"Y' allergic or somethin'?"

"No." Rogue laughed shakily, unable to say more.

More awkward silence. This time, Rogue refused to try again. She still felt disoriented, and there was an edge of suppressed panic gnawing at the edge of her mind, along with a swell of unwanted voices. She refused to acknowledge it, though it pulsed at her mental shields. It grew and grew, but just when it was about to overwhelm her, Remy spoke again, distracting her.

"M' tante loves anchovies. Always reminds me a' her."

"Ya… 'tante'?" Rogue repeated, struggling to keep up. She shoved the panic away, hushed the voices, intent on focusing on Remy's words.

"Means aunt," Remy clarified. There was a small smile on his face, one that bespoke fond memories and old pain. It reminded Rogue of magnolia trees and sticky summer nights, and those thoughts—her own—overwhelmed the other voices so that they faded away.

"She live in New Orleans?" Slowly the panic also ebbed away as she kept pushing at it, talking to keep herself focused.

Remy nodded.

"Raised me an' m' frère, practically."

For the first time, Gambit dropped his gaze and Rogue felt her shoulders relax in response. Maybe it was because he was being so open or maybe it was because her mind was finally clearing, but her curiosity got the better of her and a question slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

"What happened to yo' momma?"

"She died," Remy told her easily, coolly, making Rogue aware of the inappropriateness of the question.

"Ah'm sorry," she apologized.

Gambit shrugged.

"Was a long time ago, chère."

Before Rogue could think of a response, the waitress arrived with the pizza. It was huge, toppings piled high. From the looks of it, Remy had ordered every last one on the menu.

"Honey," the waitress addressed Rogue, "you make sure your boyfriend doesn't eat this all, alright?" She winked in Remy's direction. Rogue blushed, flustered.

"He's not—"

"Don' I look like a gentleman?" Remy spoke over her, pretending offense.

Rogue scoffed to cover her blush, but it wasn't all show. She was angry that he seemed fine with pretending they were romantically involved, because they weren't, nor could they be. Besides that, she hardly knew him!

"Ya look like a swamp rat, swamp rat."

The waitress laughed.

"You don't like it, you tell me, ok?" she continued. I'll get you whatever you want. You want a cannoli, maybe?" Before Rogue could protest, the waitress turned around and yelled to the kitchen, "Hey! Frankie! We got any cannolis?"

There was no immediate response.

"Frankie," the waitress explained, "he's my brother. Makes the best cannolis in all of Chicago." She smiled widely. "But he likes to ignore me. I'll be right back." She headed for the kitchen, yelling at the top of her lungs. "Frankie! How many times I gotta tell you to answer when Carla talks to you!"

Remy chuckled in amusement, but Rogue was still too embarrassed to join in. She decided to cover it up with anger.

"Bon appétit," Remy murmured before he took a slice of pizza.

Rogue watched him, unsure if she should ask why he hadn't corrected Carla or not.

"You are seriously disturbed," Rogue finally tossed at him.

"C'mon, chère. Was jus' a lil' fun. 'Sides, you get a free cannoli, non?" He set puppy dog eyes on her, and Rogue huffed. Then she remembered what he had said about being friends and escaping and New Orleans. He meant well, didn't he? She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, to have something of a friend after all this time planning and spying and waiting and being alone.

"Yeah," she conceded slowly. Remy grinned, and Rogue took a slice of pizza for herself.

After Remy had found Rogue with the rail worker at her feet, she had been lucid for all of five minutes, just long enough to scold him. When she had suddenly and without warning believed herself to be a man named Charlie, Remy had played along. It had been difficult, because after that first few minutes, she slipped back into being Rogue and stayed there—mostly. He had had to convince her to ditch Pietro and the Brotherhood for an hour, but that had been easier than it should have been. He felt slightly guilty, taking advantage of her pale skin and wide eyes, but it was an opportunity he couldn't pass by, this chance to study her alone and while she was vulnerable. To make himself feel better, he rationalized that time away from the stress the Brotherhood caused her and a good meal were more than enough to make up for it. Besides that, Remy was concerned that she would start believing she was Charlie again. For some reason, he couldn't stand the thought of that happening in front of the others. He wasn't sure why—maybe it was simply the fact that like him, she was usually proud and stubborn, and she wouldn't want herself to be that vulnerable.

Rogue hadn't batted an eye when he was stealing the car, something Remy was sure she would have protested under normal circumstances, and when he had asked her what she liked to eat, she didn't answer, so he picked the nearest decent looking place, which turned out to be a small pizzeria called Rosati's. Though it was around the lunch hour, the place was devoid of any other customers—not the best way to blend in, but he intuitively knew the fewer people the better for Rogue in her current condition. Plus, it was about the closest place, and well, he was, after all, still on Pietro's payroll, and breaking the rules wasn't the same as bending them.

Remy had guided Rogue to a booth, something else she hadn't resisted, and sat himself across from her, watching her carefully. She had remained silent until he nudged her, not even noticing when the waitress approached to introduce herself and take orders. The strain of talking to Carla had shown on her face as had the ensuing internal battle even as she had tried to make small talk. For a moment, it seemed she had won because she had seemed more like herself when she irritably asked him what he was looking at. However, it was a relief short lived: after that comment, she reverted to being overly quiet, growing paler before his eyes.

Remy supposed that was why he had begun doling out personal information. Rogue seemed to have needed something external to concentrate on, and Remy knew from long experience of exploiting human behavior that sincerity caught another's attention like nothing else. What had surprised him was the mention of his mother, someone he hadn't talked to anyone about in years.

In any case, it had worked, and after she had eaten, Rogue had finally regained some of her color. Remy was sure Rogue left the restaurant—after some more good-natured ribbing from Carla and a free cannoli—feeling much better than when she had entered it. In fact, it didn't even seem to occur to her to be tense on the car ride back to the freight yard.

"Thanks," she said quietly from the passenger seat. She was watching the landscape go by, a finger tracing idle patterns on the window. Inwardly, he smiled and gave himself more points. He was slowly winning the battle to gain her trust, and he was certain today was a major inroad.

"F' what?"

In his peripheral vision, he saw Rogue give him a sidelong glance, her mouth curving slightly upwards.

"The pizza."

"Anytime, chérie."

However, the scene they happened on upon return to the rendezvous point was anything but tranquil. Quicksilver was pacing. Domino and Avalanche hung back, well out of his range.

"Where have you been!" Pietro exploded. To Remy, he seemed irrationally angry, frightened almost—like he had been convinced that Remy and Rogue weren't coming back. Did he think Rogue had run away? It was all the confirmation Remy needed to know that Rogue really was the end game in Seattle. Now all he needed to know was why, though seeing the aftereffects of her mutation had given him a pretty good idea: she'd become that man, if only for a little while. Remy could only imagine the possibilities for those in the intelligence-gathering community.

Remy saw Rogue's shoulders tense up, and the small upturn of her mouth disappeared. She started to say something, but Remy shifted slightly, blocking her from Pietro's view and cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"C'n we talk 'bout it on the way?" Remy facetiously quoted Quicksilver's earlier words. "We got a train t' catch."

Pietro's face darkened. Domino uncharacteristically stood stone-faced while Avalanche stepped forward.

"You got it? The schedule?" He looked impressed.

"Mais oui."

"I wasn't finished!" Pietro inserted angrily.

"He means yes," Avalanche translated. "Let's go."

Remy bowed his acquiescence. He turned to start off, discreetly grabbing Rogue's wrist to tug her along.

"Leggo," Rogue hissed under her breath, quiet so the others wouldn't hear. Remy pulled until Rogue was even with him before complying.

"Y' got to lead th' way, chère. You got the intel, not me."

Remy glanced backwards; Avalanche trailed behind them, Domino silently following while Pietro stubbornly stood his ground.

"Ah can take care o' mahself," Rogue insisted, her voice still low.

"Sure y' can," Remy agreed.

Rogue stopped walking and Remy felt her glare on his back. He continued walking, breath held, while she decided what to do.

"Y'all comin'?" he finally heard her call to the others. He heard a whoosh of air that meant Pietro had zoomed forward. Avalanche was chuckling slightly, his heavier footsteps indicating he was also following. Oddly, though, Remy didn't hear any sign of Domino. He looked over his shoulder discreetly—she was right there with the others, but he couldn't hear her foot falls. He made a mental note of that and filed it away.

"That was some stunt you pulled, Rogue," Pietro spat. Rogue bristled.

"We got it, didn't we?"

"She's right, Pietro," Domino agreed flatly. "Calm down." Remy frowned at Domino, who seemed a bit more reserved than she had before been when confronted with Quicksilver's tantrums. Where was the sarcasm?

Pietro didn't respond, but he still looked angry. Fortunately, though, without any further arguing from Quicksilver, the tension dissipated, and they found the train Rogue had seen in the rail employee's mind without further incident.

Once aboard the train, Rogue faded quickly; she was asleep within ten minutes. Remy wasn't altogether surprised—she'd had a roller coaster of a day, and since using her powers seemed to be especially taxing, he had expected as much.

What he hadn't expected was the feeling of relief it gave him.

Logan sniffed impatiently, attempting to distract himself by puzzling through the details again, hoping he had missed something.

After that initial flash, Emma hadn't gotten anything else about Rogue from Cerebro. Why was Rogue using her powers? And what was the Brotherhood doing in Chicago? None of it made sense to him.

In the train yard the Brotherhood had come through, each member's scent scattered in a different direction—except for Rogue's. She hadn't been alone; someone had followed her, someone whom he had smelled before: Gambit. Logan followed their trail to a control tower, Shadowcat trailing behind him. Gambit had gone inside the tower, but Rogue had stayed outside.

"Shadowcat, phase in and check it out."

She nodded once before slipping through the wall. A few minutes later, she returned, a frown on her face.

"Well?"

"It's so… normal. I didn't find anything." She paused and Logan growled in frustration. "I don't get it. What were they looking for?"

"I don't know," Logan admitted angrily. He turned away from Kitty, a hard knot of desperation starting to settle in his stomach. Warning from the professor or not, he was beginning to think that he wouldn't be able to stop whatever was happening.

"Logan," Beast's voice came through their communicator, "You'd better take a look at this."

"Hank," Wolverine warned.

"It's Domino. She's unconscious."

"It's me."

"Did you make the switch?"

"Easily. These poor children have no idea."

"You were young, once."

"But never so naïve."

"What did you do with the girl?"

"Don't concern yourself. By the time she wakes up, it'll be too late."

"As I expected, I suppose."

"It's for the best."

"I know. How… what about her?"

"Overworked, I would guess."

"It is worse than we thought?"

"These idiots have no idea what they're provoking."

"She… Is she alright? Should we—"

"This changes nothing. I'll see you in Seattle."

"I—of course."

Translations

chère dear, darling

ouais yeah

tante aunt

frère brother

Bon appétit literally "good appetite", it is commonly stated at the beginning of a meal

chérie dear, darling

Mais oui. Of course.