Possibly the weirdest chapter I've written. It didn't make much sense, so I tried to fix it. Threw in an Avenger for no reason, 'cause I've been reading the Ultimates. Sigh.

Chapter Three

(5)

"I like your shirt," Gambit said, sliding into the seat beside Rogue. "It's not like the boring dark clothes you usually wear. What's this thing called? A dashiki?"

Rogue looked at him in surprise, lifting the arm of her shirt to showcase the bright colors. "How'd you know, Remy?"

"My autobiography, From Stealing to Spandex, should answer that question, cherie."

Rogue rolled her eyes and snorted back her laughter. "Right. Anyway, aren't you going to ask why I'm dressed like this today?"

Gambit shrugged. "Too many reruns of That 70's Show?"

"Nope." She let a chuckle escape. "But a lot of people did call me a flower child this morning."

"Nice."

Terry sidled up to them cheerfully, regarding Gambit the way a peasant might behold a king. "Hello, Gambit. Hello, Rogue."

Gambit did not give Terry the option to call him Remy, which made Rogue smile. "Allo, Terry."

"Do you wanna hear a joke?" He said eagerly. Without waiting for a response, he began, "Two mutants walk into a bar…"

"Heard that one already," Gambit and Rogue stated promptly, in unison. They looked at each other and grinned.

Terry shrank down, disappointed. "Oh." He glanced at Rogue's outfit. "Hey, what's with the hippie shirt?"

Rogue shrugged. "Peace, brother."

There conversation was abruptly halted as Terry and Rogue jumped at the sound of somebody retching. Gambit smiled a Mona Lisa smile. "Someone's celebrating their twenty-first," he commented. "Looks like her stomach couldn't handle it."

Rogue studied his face. "What's with the snarky smile? Did you spike her drink with urine or something?"

Gambit recoiled in mock horror. "Non!" He gasped. "I've only done that to Wolf-homme. And he didn't even barf."

Rogue gagged, and Terry sped off, busying himself with cleaning up the girl's vomit (ew). "I'm sure he'll be happy when I tell him that."

"Narc."

"Jerk."

His grin was lopsided. "Stop flattering me, cherie. My heart can't take your kindness."

As Rogue pondered over her comeback, the drunk and newly legal girl who'd vomited earlier staggered past the two X-Men, escorted by a couple of friends who were having trouble holding her up. Gambit winked at her, and even in the state she was in, she managed a wavering smile in return.

"I can practically read your mind," Rogue told Gambit, once the trio was out of earshot. "You're thinking, 'She'll be in my bed by tomorrow morning.'"

"You give me more credit than I'm responsible for."

Rogue hid her smile. "Really?"

"Oui. Getting a barely-conscious girl across town and into the apartment is never easy."

"You act like you've done it before."

"Tried to. Didn't accomplish anything."

She chuckled and rested her head on his shoulder. "We talk like a sitcom, don't we?"

Gambit arched his brows. "Do you mean the corny-ness of our retorts, or the way we talk at a rapid-fire speed like we're reciting from scripts?"

Choosing not to answer his question, Rogue cleared her throat dramatically and recited boldly, as if she were on Broadway, "'He's more of myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.'"

"Is that from Pride and Prejudice?"

"Wuthering Heights, actually."

"Gah. I hated that."

"You read the book?"

He snorted. "Non. Do I look like an avid reader to you? I watched the 80's French movie."

"Did you watch the movie adaption of Pride and Prejudice, too?"

"Oui. The English one, though. I have the hots for Keira Knightly."

"Well, what's the last book you've read?"

Gambit smiled sheepishly. "Green Eggs and Ham."

The look she cast him could only be described as incredulous. "And that's only because it didn't have a movie version, right?"

"Wow, you must be telepathic!"

Rogue pulled away and crossed her arms over her chest. "You're so… strange, Remy."

"I'm not the one wearing the dashiki."

She appeared genuinely hurt. "I thought you liked it."

"I do. Doesn't mean it's not strange, chere. Why are you wearing it in the first place?"

She shrugged and avoided meeting his devilish eyes. "I needed some color in my wardrobe, so I bought this at a flea market."

"And you decided to wear it today for no particular reason?"

"Correct."

Gambit smiled, stretching lazily. "Say, I heard Bobby complimenting Kitty on that colorful shirt she wore yesterday," he remarked casually.

Rogue was silent.

Gambit's grin widened.

Finally, she huffed her defeat, grumbling, "Who's the telepathic one now?"

He laughed, victorious. "I knew it! You seem like the type of girl who'd have ulterior motives behind buying such a… groovy shirt."

"How do you know what type of girl I am, hmm?"

"I just know," he said simply. "And don't worry, Bobby's not being unfaithful. I know that kid. He's watched my back a coupla times on rough missions. He's a good guy."

A hesitant smile flickered on Rogue's face. "You're right," she agreed softly. "He is."

"Of course. I'm always right, mon ami."

"Sometimes."

"I'm glad you feel the same way about my far superiority over everyone else."

"Let's not get carried away."

"Again, the woman with the African-print shirt thinks she has the right to be hypocritical."

Rogue ran her tongue over her front teeth. They were laced with the taste of alcohol. "I'm very fond of this shirt, merci beaucoup."

"Your François is sexy."

"Mmm hmm. Find someone else to hit on," she teased.

"'Fraid not," Gambit said, exaggeratedly bowing his head to his chest with mock sadness. "Terry's not my type."

Two could play that game. Rogue pretended to sympathize. "There, there," She said, patting his shoulder. "You'll find someone. Who knows? She might just be right under your nose."

(6)

"You look familiar," Gambit remarked, shuffling his playing cards as he spoke. "Have we met before?"

"I don't think so," the man replied. "But you can call me Barton."

"I'm Gambit," He introduced himself, "And this is Rogue."

Rogue waved, regarding Barton cautiously. He had short, messy blond hair and sharp eyes that came into view when he removed his dark shades. Stubble covered his jaw.

"Ah, a man who wears sunglasses when it's pitch-black outside. Join the club—membership is free!" Gambit waved around his own shades.

Rogue snorted. "You're ridiculous," she muttered, lips curving upward against her will.

"Where do I sign up?" Barton grinned.

Gambit patted the vacant seat of the barstool beside him. "Sit down, and we can discuss the details," he told the man, cracking a smile.

Barton ordered a drink and flopped down next to Rogue instead. "I'll be sitting next to the pretty lady, actually."

Gambit made puppy-dog eyes. "You don't think I'm pretty, cher?"

The blond man rolled his eyes at the Cajun's absurdity toward total strangers. "No, I think you're beautiful. But you're not a lady."

Gambit deflated, pretending to be dejected and hurt. Rogue laughed, and he straightened up, embarrassed.

"Hey, don't stop at my expense," she told him. "But that guy's married, so your misson'll end in vain."

Barton choked on a sip of his drink, stunned. "How'd you know?" he asked her, half astonished and half suspicious.

She smiled. "Well, that's not so hard to answer. Don't you remember me, Hawkeye?"

His jaw dropped and then snapped back with a resounding click of the muscles. "Marie?"

Rogue's smile widened and spread across her face. She nodded in confirmation.

"Marie?" Gambit repeated, genuinely confused. "Who are you talking about?"

She turned around as if she'd just noticed him. It stung, and Gambit flinched. He quickly shrugged it off. "Marie's my real name," she explained. "I used it before I became an X-Man and everything." She grinned at Barton. "This guy almost shot me when we met."

Terry, who'd been listening discreetly while cleaning the counter for the umpteenth time, hurried away fearfully.

"He tried to shoot you?" Gambit asked incredulously. "With a gun?"

"I stuck mostly to bow and arrows at the time." Barton eyed Gambit's drink. "And Marie's lucky I didn't let an arrow fly. I never miss. I'm Hawkeye."

"Never heard of you," Gambit said cheerfully. "What kind of name is Hawkeye? You can't fly, can you?"

"No. But it's Hawkeye, dumbass. Hawks have very accurate eyesight."

"Oui, good point." He yawned. "And I bet Rogue over here knocked you out right after you nearly shot her."

"Yep. I tried to apologize, she introduced herself, and touched my face. I fell down and passed out. Fantastic experience, if you ask me." Barton turned to her and waggled his eyebrows. "So you're an X-Man, now, Marie?"

Rogue nodded. "Yes. Oh, and call me Rogue, will you? 'Marie' makes me uncomfortable."

"Sure," Barton said with a reassuring smile. He tapped his fingers against Gambit's glass, eyes flickering between the two X-Men. He glanced at his watch. "Look at the time—I've got to go. Sorry for such a short stay—and thanks for the drink, Gambit. I put it on your tab."

He was gone in a flurry of whiskery cheeks and tangled blond hair.

Gambit watched him leave, sipping his drink.

A minute passed, and a few more swallows. "That man was pretty interested in you," he commented with an unreadable expression. "I noticed that you didn't tell him about how you took the Cure."

Rogue looked at him warily. "What are you trying to say, Remy?"

"Nothing, cherie."

"Tell me."

"Non, it's nothing."

"Re-my." She divided his two-syllable name into two separate words, a habit she'd picked up from some of the girls at the mansion. Stretching out names annoyed people like crazy, and she was perfectly aware of that.

"Fine," he said bluntly. "I was just thinking that maybe all the guys chase you because you're untouchable. It's a challenge to them, so they flirt with you."

There was a tense beat of silence.

Rogue's mouth fell open but nothing came out. Speechlessly, she stood up and started walking toward the door. She kept all her fury bottled up inside, like a bomb ready to explode, like one of Gambit's kinetically-powered playing cards.

"Wait… wait, Rogue, I didn't mean that," he rushed to say, immediately regretting what he had said before. "Come back."

She whirled around. "Is that what I am to you?" She demanded, furious. "A challenge, though I have a boyfriend? Though I have no interest in you?"

The last part was partially a lie, but whatever.

Whatever.

Gambit's oddly-colored eyes pleaded with her. "C'mon, Roguey, I didn't mean it."

She usually forgave easily. Right? That's what people expected her to do.

With a wave of anger curling through her body, Rogue turned to Gambit to flip him off, to tell him just what she thought of him at the moment.

Then she saw his drink. It was fizzy, full of bubbles that were usually found in soda or champagne. Gambit had ordered his typical whiskey, not ginger ale.

Barton had spiked his drink.

Rogue snapped her head up. Looking more closely, she finally noticed how unfocused and bleary his eyes were, how bloodshot they were.

Gambit was a man who could take as many drinks as he wanted without appearing drunk. What had Barton added? Was it possible to make alcohol more alcoholic?

"Don't go," Gambit begged. The words were partially slurred. "Please, cherie?"

Still, a drunk man was someone who was so intoxicated that he openly spoke his mind. No matter which way you twisted it, Gambit must've meant exactly what he'd said about the admirers who were so attracted to Rogue.

At that point, Gambit had begun to chatter randomly in French. It was unsettling, but Rogue pressed her lips into a firm line and forced herself to move her stiff and robotic legs toward the exit.

"Wait!" He called out in English, grabbing her arms and pulling her close to him.

Suddenly, her heart hammered wildly, accelerating. She understood why. "What?"

"I'm sorry," Gambit mumbled. His pupils were huge, the red almost engulfed in black. "Désolé."

He was too close, too close, thisclose. She could count the tiny, almost unnoticeable freckles on his tan skin.

"Uh." Rogue froze. "Uh."

She wrestled away, blushing to the roots of her hair, and sprinted for the door.

Left in her wake, Gambit sat there with his drink, paralyzed and drunk and confused.

Heh. Terrible, terrible writing. If you have the urge to flame, go ahead.

Thanks to lilacgardens12, Rogueslove22, BasiaM82, EnglishRose28, Chellerbelle, and ithinkimaninja for reviewing!

CLICK THAT BUTTON!

:D