Disclaimer: Characters belong to Marvel, etc.

Rating: Rated for a bit of violence, a bit of strong language and a bit of sexy stuff. But probably nothing too strong.

Author notes: Just a little note about updates for this story since several people have asked. It probably won't be updated weekly, as I'm super busy right now and am concentrating on 52 Pickup, and not many chapters have been written for this story, so I'm trying to string it out for as long as I can. I'll try not to take too long to post updates though... I promise! ;)

Hardkandy: Thanks so much, I'm so glad you're happy! I hope the LeBeaus don't disappoint you - they are quite fun to write! :) Warrior-princess1980: So hope you enjoy this chapter! Thanks for reviewing as always! x RRL24: The LeBeaus will meet Rogue in this chapter - I hope it lives up to expectations! :D jpraner: Aw, you're too kind! Actually I'm not too bothered about how polished this is right now - I've kind of lost interest in it, sad to say. I hope that one day the urge to finish it will come again. In the meantime... your speculation on the Winnowing is not too far off... ;) Jehilew: As always, you get the headspace of Rogue and Rems so perfectly. I'd imagine they'd both be pretty scared about having a kid, especially when it's been totally unplanned. :) LEGNA: LOL! Thank you so much, I hope you continue to enjoy the story! Jaida: Yes - so far there are 6 chapters written, although I haven't really edited any of them much. I might just put them out anyway. I don't think I have the time to edit or rewrite them, even though I'm not entirely happy with them yet. :( Anyway, I definitely agree with you on Remy being an awesome father! I think his experiences with Essex and Jean-Luc have taught him both the best and worst of what it is to be a father. ;) Nikki199: Wow - that was a fantastic review, thank you so much! :) You have no idea how happy reading your words made me feel. Thanks for sharing your thoughts and feelings about my other HoC stories. It means so much to me. I don't know if this epilogue will live up to those ones... But I do hope it brings some closure to the HoC universe as a whole. :) x slightlyxjaded: I can confirm that the Assassins definitely don't want Remy to sort grain. ;) But yes, you are totally right about Remy struggling to come to terms with who he is right now. Both him and Rogue have they own issues to deal with, brought on by the pregnancy - they both have someone else to think about now, and both are dealing with it in different ways. Guest: Thank you! And I do hope you love this next chapter too!

And without further ado, let's begin...

Much love,

-Ludi x


CODA

Chapter 2

The road signs flashed past them, one by one by one, ticking off the miles between them and New Orleans.

Remy was quiet. Rogue could sense, and had sensed for a while now, that there was something else going on behind the silence, but she hadn't pushed it. She could guess at a couple of things that might be bothering him right now, but they were for him to divulge whenever he figured the time was right. She knew him enough to know that he would come clean when he was good and ready.

What mattered to her right now was that things were good between them for a change, and she had faith that they would remain that way.

Whilst all these thoughts were running through her mind, she noticed that Remy was slowing down, and that they were approaching the city limits.

In the distance, a small band of three were at the side of the road with their own motorbikes.

"Assassins!" Remy warned her over the wind from under his helmet. It was clear he'd been expecting this, but as they approached the group they made no move to let them pass and Remy was forced to come to a grinding halt.

As Remy stepped off the bike and slipped off his helmet, Rogue looked over the three assassins with interest. She'd heard a lot about them, even seen some of them in Remy's memories – memories which were now more like dreams that would slide between her hands like j-ello every time she tried to catch them. These were not people she recognised. Their leader appeared to be a tall, powerfully-built black man with dreadlocks; the other man was sallow-skinned, had long, black, greasy hair and a goatee. The woman was pale, aloof, with a thick mane of platinum white hair. Remy addressed each of them in turn, with a respect she was sure he felt necessary even though it wasn't particularly what he felt.

"Gris Gris, Fifolet, Questa. I've been granted safe passage into de city. Please. Let me pass."

There was silence, and Rogue held her breath, as each of the three, stony-faced, refused either to answer or make way.

"C'mon." Remy spread his hands as inoffensively as he could, even though Rogue could sense the tension in him rising. "You gon' go against de orders of your Grand Master? Marius Boudreaux hisself granted me safe passage into de city and—"

"He granted you safe passage," Gris Gris broke in a rich, commanding baritone. "But he did not grant safe passage to her."

Rogue caught the blazing glances passed at her and knew then, without a doubt, where she stood. She was persona non grata – not for the first time, far from it – but she hadn't been expecting it to sting this much, somehow.

"She goes where I go," Remy retorted in a soft, flat tone, indicating clearly to her that he was trying to keep calm even though he was on the verge of losing it. "I ain't turnin' her back. I can't."

"You will," Gris Gris rejoined with that same cold command that would brook no disagreement; but Remy stood his ground.

"Your beef ain't wit' her," he answered, his tone low, controlled only through gritted teeth. "It's wit' me. What does it matter whether she passes or not? She ain't done not'ing to you. If you can let me pass, you can let her pass."

Again, silence; Rogue waited, tense, as the three Assassins glanced at one another.

"You don't seem to understand," Questa spoke after a moment. "It is not what she has done, but who she is. It is her connection to you."

"She cannot be allowed to pass," Gris Gris intoned again. "It is an insult to our clan to bring her here, LeBeau; it is an insult to Belladonna."

The sound Remy made in reply was pure disdain.

"I ain't been wit' Belladonna for years and you never even wanted me to be wit' her when I was!"

"Even so," Gris Gris retorted coolly. "It is an insult. We did not agree to allow you here to parade your woman before us. You are here only to atone. And atone you must. You do not'ing for your cause by insultin' de daughter of our master."

Remy let out a muttered oath quickly followed by, "In dat case, den Belladonna gon' haveta deal wit' it. If she don't like it, she can fuckin' come down herself and stop me."

He turned away, jumping back on the bike, the sting of his words hanging thick in the air.

"Remy," Rogue broke in in a low voice, "Ah should head back…"

"Over my dead fuckin' body," he hissed and she put a hand on his shoulder, said;

"Ah don't wanna cause no trouble…"

"They're makin' de problem, not you."

He revved up the bike. The three assassins made no attempt to make way for him.

"I'm gon' say dis one more time," Remy threw at them angrily. "I'm gon' pass, you can't stop me. You know what I'm capable of. Marius Boudreaux has given me de right to come into de City, and he didn't make no rules 'bout who came wit'. You attack me, you'll be breakin' de orders of your Grand Master."

Gris Gris glared up at him, not moving an inch, 250 pounds of hard muscle that looked as unyielding as a brick wall.

"His protection, his word, will no longer stand once he hears of your insult," he sneered.

"Den he can come down and tell me hisself," Remy snapped. "Or, better still, since you seem t' t'ink Belladonna's de biggest wronged party in dis, she can come tell me. But I ain't fuckin' changin' my mind."

And with that he roared the bike into motion, only narrowly avoiding them as they stepped, just in the nick of time, out of his way.

A couple of minutes later and they were both speeding into New Orleans.

-oOo-

"Remy," she said, once they'd reached the city.

"Not now, Rogue," he answered.

They were chugging along the streets of the French Quarter towards the LeBeau mansion, and Rogue was busy watching the people, hearing the sounds and smelling the smells of the Big Easy, fretfully replaying the encounter with the Assassins in the back of her mind.

"Ah should've gone back," she said quietly, so quietly she thought he hadn't heard – it was only when he spoke up in reply that she realised he had.

"You t'ink I'm gonna let you go back t' dat shitty motel? By yourself? In your condition? No fuckin' way. De Assassins can bec mon fuckin' chu."

He was still seething from their encounter – so much so that she knew that saying that the Assassins could do a whole lot worse to him because of it would be a mistake. So she pursed her lips and tried not to think about what that something might be.

She'd been here once, as a child, for Mardi Gras. She hadn't remembered much of it except for the whirl of colours, the shrieks of laughter, the wail of jazz and the scent of jambalaya. Her parents hadn't liked it much. Too loose, too noisy, too decadent, too goddamn Catholic for their Southern Baptist sensibilities. She'd been too young to appreciate it then, even though she'd kind of liked it, in a giddy, childish sort of way. She'd liked the spectacle, the irreverence. Her own family had been straight-laced and puritanical in comparison. God-fearing, in the worst kind of way.

Remy's upbringing had been completely different, and even though things hadn't turned out to be all roses for him, she found she envied him his childhood here in the heart of the French Quarter.

Again Remy slowed, turned off into a side street, and then again onto a small, leafy avenue. At the end of the track stood a huge, ornate, fancy gateway, on the other side of which – up a long, white, paved driveway – was a colonial mansion that rivalled the size of even the Xavier mansion itself.

Remy came to a halt outside the gates, took off his helmet and flipped out his phone.

"Fuck," was all Rogue could say by way of comment.

He grinned over his shoulder at her, lifted the phone to his ear and said: "Henri. We're here."

A few seconds later and the gates slowly began to creep open as Remy stowed away his phone again.

"You grew up here?" Rogue questioned him in disbelief.

"Why? You never believed me when I told you I grew up in a mansion?"

"Yeah, well… Not one like this." She paused as the gates slowly drew back to reveal the front gardens in all their glory. "Geez. No wonder you have such fancy tastes."

He said nothing. She understood then how shit it must've been for him to end up living on the streets.

He revved up the bike again and they advanced slowly up the tree-lined driveway as the gates slid shut behind them.

Old money had built this place – Rogue could sense that readily as they passed up the verdant slopes towards the cream-coloured house. The statuary was old but worn and moss-covered; the facade, whose main entrance was decorated by a portico supported by plain Doric pillars, was flanked by the cast-iron balconies that were a staple of French Quarter colonial architecture. It was winter, and there wasn't much flowering – but she could appreciate that in the summer the gardens would look and smell gorgeous.

At the top of the steps to the main entrance two men were standing, and when Remy finally stopped the bike they began to walk down to greet him. In a trice Remy was off the bike, moving up at a brisk, joyous pace, his arms spread wide in welcome.

"Henri! Jean-Luc!"

One by one the two men clasped him in a bear hug of an embrace, and there was much laughing, joking, and clapping of one another's backs as Rogue sat on the back of the bike, amused by this manly display of familial joviality. Excluded though she may have been from the moment, she found she had enough interest in Remy's relations to occupy her. The older of the two was evidently Jean-Luc – a staid, proud-looking man with two streaks of white hair at his temples and a still-handsome face. Henri was shorter, squarer, more powerfully built, and completely bald. Standing next to Remy, a full head shorter than his brother's tall, lean, rangy frame, it was obvious to see – they were not biological brothers. Their comfortable familiarity, however, showed her that they were about as close as two brothers could get.

She swung down from the bike, lifted off her helmet, placed it carefully aside. Now that she was here she couldn't deny that there was a nervousness tugging at her something vicious. Despite what she knew about the Thieves Guild, despite her connection with Remy, she was still an outsider here, and the unexpected grandeur of this place was daunting. So she stood there awkwardly and said nothing, waited for them to take notice of her again.

Jean-Luc did so first.

"Remy." He indicated rather formally towards Rogue, though there was a slight smile on his face; and Remy turned to her with a look she'd never seen before – a boyish glow, an irrepressible pride. It was the expression of the man he must've been before he'd ever been exiled, before she'd ever got close to meeting him. It made her even more embarrassed as she stepped forward to join them.

"Pere, dis is Anna. Anna, dis is Jean-Luc, and mon frere, Henri."

She shook their hands, interested to hear that Remy had chosen to introduce her as Anna. The idea of it wasn't as objectionable to her as she had first thought it might be.

"Anna." Jean-Luc nodded approvingly; his handshake was firm, warm and somehow sympathetic, whereas Henri's had merely been hearty. "It's an honour to meet you at last. You are very welcome here."

"An honour?" she couldn't help but echo quizzically, and Jean-Luc gave a small laugh.

"Don't get de wrong idea. Remy hasn't told us a goddamn t'ing about you. But it's an honour to meet any woman who manages to tame dis prodigal son of mine. Dere was a time dat such a t'ing was not thought possible."

His tone was dry, a sparkle of humour underlying it. Hearing it, it was impossible not to like the speaker. Rogue gave a half-smile.

"Remy'll only be tamed when he wants to be tamed, sir; and strictly speakin', that means he ain't tamed at all."

"Ha!" Jean-Luc gave a facsimile of the sarcastic bark of a laugh that Rouge had heard so often fall from Remy's own lips. "De femme knows you better den I do, boy," he commented slyly. "You'd best be scared."

"Who says I ain't," Remy commented; but beneath the cool veneer of his remark was a pride in her that he couldn't quite hide, and she allowed herself to bask in it.

"De two of you must be tired from de journey down here," Jean-Luc noted, half turning aside. "You should come in and freshen up. Dere are some people who are just dyin' t' see you as well."

"Sure," Remy replied good-naturedly. "But de bike…"

"I'll take care o' dat," Henri offered. "You guys settle in first, get some rest. Dere'll be plenty enough to occupy you durin' dis trip, I can promise you dat."

Whatever his brother had meant by the comment, Rogue was interested to see that it wiped the smile off Remy's face. He threw the bike keys to the shorter man, and together they hoisted their bags off the bike and followed Jean-Luc inside.

"We heard you had a run-in wit' de Assassins on de way in," Jean-Luc spoke up conversationally as he led them through the plush hallway decorated in burnished oak and gilt, upholstered in rich reds and burgundies.

"Word sure gets round fast in dese here parts," Remy noted dryly, whilst Rogue took in her surroundings with a barely concealed awe.

"You know it, son. Thieves always spy on Assassins and Assassins always spy on Thieves. And never de twain shall meet." He paused, looking back over his shoulder at Remy pointedly. "Seems you're hardly here five minutes and you're already causin' a ruckus."."

"Don't start," Remy muttered belligerently, and Rogue cut in with an anxiety she couldn't quite hide;

"Was what Remy did really that bad?"

"Oh, not'ing as bad as he used t' get up to," Jean-Luc threw back flippantly – a flippancy she'd heard often enough from Remy to let her know it probably wasn't a good idea to push the conversation any further.

"Don't worry," Henri reassured her softly, stepping in beside her. "Dis jes' de normal state of t'ings between Thieves and Assassins."

"Ah ain't here to cause trouble," she insisted quietly, and Henri passed her an incredulous look, replied: "Don't you get it, p'tit? You're causin' trouble just be bein' here." He threw her a lopsided smile. "Don't you worry now though. We like it."

Well, that was a relief. Kind of. She didn't like to put anyone out, especially not a gracious host – but since her encounter with the Assassins she had realised that there were definitely some people who were seriously going to be put out by her presence. And she really didn't like it.

They climbed the grand staircase up to the second and then the third floor. The corridor was light, airy, lined with old paintings and artefacts that had a distinctly feminine touch – something she couldn't help but wonder about. When they stopped, it was at a door near the end of the passageway.

"Back again," Jean-Luc commented wryly, and threw the door open with a flourish.

When she'd last come to New Orleans, as a child, she'd stayed with her parents in an old colonial house that'd been done up as a hotel. Her lasting impression had been of a gaudy, fussy room, a cacophony of colours and gilded luxury that her parents had found deeply suspicious. Remy's bedroom, however, was open, spacious, sparsely but expensively and tastefully furnished, large windows opened slightly onto a capacious balcony that looked out over the extensive gardens. It suddenly occurred to her that Remy had probably been more at home in the Xavier mansion than anyone else there.

"Wow," was all she could say. She bit back on her planned expletive because she didn't think it would be polite in the present company.

Jean-Luc was smiling.

"We'll leave you to freshen up and settle in." He moved back into the doorway, threw over his shoulder as an afterthought: "Oh yes. I almost forgot. We've arranged to a li'l get-together at eight tonight. Just t' say welcome back. Not joinin' us is not an option."

And with that he turned and left.

Henri was left by the door, swinging Remy's bike keys on a forefinger.

"Glad you like it," he addressed Rogue with a knowing smile.

"It's amazin'," she couldn't help but breathe.

"We aim t' please our guests."

"Ah can't imagine that's very hard. You sure have some set-up here."

"It's not'ing. It's been in de fam'ly for generations." He glanced at Remy. "I'll get your bike seen to now. Call me if'n you need anyt'ing."

"I will."

Henri nodded, turned, and had almost shut the door behind him when Rogue heard him throw back into the room: "It's nice t' see you again, mon frere."

-oOo-

Rogue stood out on the balcony and drew a brush through her unruly brown locks.

For winter it was temperate, mild and sunny, and there were birds singing in the nearby willow tree. It was like something out of heaven and there was a part of her expecting to wake up and find it all a dream.

She turned and walked back into the bedroom.

"Ah can't believe you grew up here," she muttered.

Remy looked up from his seat on the bed, where he'd ben surfing the net on his laptop.

"Huh?"

"You. Ah can't believe you were brought up here."

"Oh. Dat." He started to type. "Livin' in de lap of luxury sure is nice, but it ain't all dat."

He hit 'Enter'.

"Easy for you to say," she murmured, placing aside the brush. She stood and watched him for a moment, engrossed as he was in whatever he was doing. As usual there were so many things she wanted to ask him, but she didn't know where to start.

"What are you doin'?" she asked him instead.

"Hm? Oh, jes' checkin' de news."

There was already a little more 'spice' to his accent since he'd arrived here and she couldn't help but smile at it.

"Anythin' interestin' goin' on in the world?"

"Well, Logan's got dat meetin' wit' Trask tomorrow," he replied distractedly. "So dere's a lotta hoohah about dat goin' on. Here's hopin' de wolfman don't tear him t' shreds."

"Hmph." Rogue let out a doubtful grunt and joined him on the bed. "Logan will be fine as long as Forge is with him. Ah'd be worried if it was Mystique who was there for the ride."

"Heh." He scrolled down the rest of the article he was reading – it was mostly anti-mutant rhetoric anyway. "You got dat right." He flipped the laptop shut and she couldn't help saying; "You really pissed off those guys t'day."

He paused a moment before setting aside the laptop and muttering darkly, "They were disrespectin' you, chere. Y't'ink I'm jes' gon' sit by and let dem?"

"Ah dunno," she shrugged. "Maybe be a bit more diplomatic. You owe the fact that you're here to their good will."

"Pfft." His expression was one of disdain. "You don't understand, Rogue. Dis a game we play, us Thieves and Assassins. It's a game we've played for centuries. Throwin' down gauntlets, hopin' someone will rise t' de bait. They've made you a part of dat game, Rogue, a card t'be played wit'."

She shook her head in disagreement.

"Ah ain't so sure. They had a point, Remy."

He raised his eyes to hers in surprised disbelief.

"Bullshit. It's like I said. I ain't been wit' Belladonna in years. It never would've worked b'tween us, and even if it had, de Boudreaux's would never have let me have her. All dis talk about insultin' her by bringin' you here… It's just an excuse. An excuse t' make t'ings difficult for us."

He stood, his movements restless, telling her she'd hit a raw nerve despite his veneer of disdain.

"Maybe," she agreed slowly, watching as he paced the room agitatedly. "But you can understand it from their point of view. What you did to Julien was out of your love for Belladonna. Bringin' me here is like slappin' everythin' you did for her sake in the face."

He gave her an irked look, like she'd said something that was undeniably the truth but that he didn't like at all.

"What did dey expect me t' do?" he asked her in a sudden fit of exasperation. "Sit around and pine after Belle for de rest of my life?!"

"No. But Ah guess they expected you to make a show of it here, on their home turf at least."

He snorted disdainfully, but he knew she was right. The whole point of him being here was to pay a debt and seem contrite, and in bringing his lover with him he was seeming anything but.

"Then they're gon' haveta deal wit' it," he concluded mutinously. "I want you here wit' me, Rogue. Dey don't haveta like it."

"Sure. But whatever price they want you t' pay, they'll only just go and raise it if you piss them off."

He stopped, chewed on his lip. It was plain her suggestion disconcerted him, and she stood, walked up to him and slid her hands up his chest.

"Ah meant what Ah said, Remy. Ah don't want'a cause trouble."

"Rogue," he replied seriously. "Half of all dis was t' bring you here. I ain't gonna send you away. Not…"

"Not in mah 'condition'," she cut in sardonically. "Remy, Ah ain't dyin'. And seein' how you pissed off those assassins today, Ah'm probably safer in some motel on the state line than Ah am here right now."

His expression was dark.

"Don't joke about it."

"Ah ain't," she insisted earnestly, "At least – not much, anyway. Comin' here today, Remy… Ah've finally had the chance to touch a part of your life Ah've never been able to before. And Ah see why you want t' be a part of it again. What you have here is somethin' that must've hurt yah so much t' walk away from and you shouldn't jeopardise gettin' it back, Remy. Yah shouldn't just throw it away because of me."

She was almost surprised to see the sad smile touch his face, one that was so unusually full of feeling that it was unexpected.

"Rogue." He slid his hands round her waist, pulling her gently closer. "Don't you get it yet? If you weren't a part of what I have here, I would be throwin' it away. I need you t' be a part of dis, chere. No one knows it yet, but you are a part of dis now. You are fam'ly."

His gaze locked onto hers meaningfully, and just as she was about to answer a knock sounded at the door.

"Room service!" a sultry female voice sailed in through the door, and just as Rogue had managed to step out of Remy's arms a statuesque blonde stepped into the room, crossing the plush carpet and enfolding Remy in a familiar embrace.

Rogue stared, a little taken aback at how unsettled she felt at this overt display of affection.

A name had popped involuntarily into her head, and she was stunned to find that it was Belle.

"I'm sorry, Rem," the woman gushed as she kissed him extravagantly on both cheeks – the fact that she practically matched his height made the image all the more comical. "I hope I didn't interrupt, but I just had to come up and see you both…"

She released a speechless Remy and turned to Rogue with a wide smile.

"I suppose dis is who Henri was talkin' about?"

Remy cleared his throat awkwardly, suddenly looking like he'd rather be anywhere else than where he was.

"Mercy, dis is Anna. Anna, dis Mercy." He paused, gave her another meaningful look. "Henri's wife," he added by way of explanation.

Oh.

Rogue stood and allowed herself to be given the same exuberant welcome as Remy had just received, after which Mercy took a step back and gave her the once over.

"Well," she proclaimed with a smile. "Remy always did have impeccable taste." She threw a sly look at him. "This is pretty much the first time we've got to find out first hand though."

Remy rolled his eyes whilst Rogue ran her eyes over his sister-in-law. She was a tall, handsome woman with heavy-lidded blue eyes and a full mouth in a square jaw. If Rogue had been asked to describe a Valkyrie, Mercy LeBeau was exactly the image she would have come up with. She was the last person she would've expected to hook up with Henri, but she supposed it had to be a case of opposites attract.

"Remy's style is fast and loose," she spoke up witheringly. "Ah don't guess he ever got to bringin' a gal home."

Mercy gave her a white-toothed smile.

"And yet you're here, ma chere."

"Are you femmes quite done makin' fun?" Remy cut in dryly, and Mercy threw over her shoulder like a mother hen: "Oh hush, you! What else d'you expect will happen when de baby of de fam'ly brings home a pretty girl!"

Rogue was amused to see Remy squirming in the background – it was something she'd rarely if ever got to see. She had got used to being the only one who could make him squirm – though for entirely different reasons.

She sensed Mercy LeBeau was actually one of a few small, select group of people who could get under his skin at all.

She decided that she liked it.

"I hope you brought some nice clothes to wear," Mercy had turned her attention back to her new friend. "Because we're having a welcome party tonight and since you're de guest of honour, you should definitely dress de part!"

"Oh!" Rogue felt embarrassed, nervous and self-conscious all at once at the news. "Ah… Ah thought Jean-Luc said it was a small get-together…"

This time it was her turn to squirm, and Remy spoke up sarcastically from the background:

"Here in Cajun country, 'small get-together' means champagne, cigars and eight-course meals…"

Rogue said nothing, but she must've looked horrified because Mercy suddenly laughed.

"He makes it sound far more indulgent den it is! No champagne, no cigars, and definitely no eight courses! Although Tante Mattie does whip up a mean jambalaya…"

"Ah don't really have anythin' to wear…" Rogue protested; but Mercy was having none of it.

"Of course you have! Let's take a look at what you have, see what we can fix up…"

Remy was already edging towards the door.

"I'll just leave you girls to it… Go and see de guys…"

He paused at the door, turned to Rogue and added:

"Will you be okay?"

"Of course she will!" Mercy huffed, looking offended, and Rogue gave a half-smile, said, "Just go see your friends, Remy. Ah'll be just fine here."

He nodded, grinned and left.

"I'm sorry," Mercy apologised sympathetically once he was gone. "Dis must be kind of overwhelming for you."

"A li'l," Rogue confessed. "But Ah've definitely been in scarier situations…"

Mercy gave a small laugh and turned away.

"I'm sure y'have. I mean – you look as if you have." She walked to the end of the bed where Rogue's bag sat and turned back to her. "Lemme guess – you're a mutant too."

"Yes."

"Hm. Then things can't have been easy for you. For every scared and downtrodden mutant out dere, dere has to be another angry and feisty one, ready to fight." She paused, cocked her head to one side, continued in a lower voice, "I was an outsider too once, y'know."

Rogue raised an eyebrow.

"Here?"

"Oui." She nodded. "Dis mansion… it was always de big house on de hill, full of people you weren't never s'pposed t' mess wit'." She grinned.

"You were an assassin?" Rogue asked curiously.

"Mon Dieu, non!" Mercy looked shocked. "Dey was even worse! Non – I was just a regular town girl – whatever dat means." She pulled a face. "Got on de wrong side of de tracks – me and some friends got mixed up wit' de gangs. Took a run in wit' de Thieves to sort me out – and somewhere along de way, I managed to hook myself a man too. Well," she added dryly, "we can't help who we fall in-love wit'."

Rogue gave a knowing smile in return. "That's for sure."

"So," Mercy continued slyly, "let's just say I know how daunting dis all must be right now. Dere's one world – de outside world. And den dere's another – de world of de Guilds. It's a strange world, an old world, a violent world – but one dat has a lot of love t'give." She halted, her smile turning sympathetic. "You'll find it weird at first, but it'll grow on you, after a while."

Rogue smiled faintly.

"This is all assumin' that this thing b'tween Remy and Ah is even goin' ta last."

"Trust me." Mercy half-laughed. "De fact that you're here at all is a good sign." She looked down at the bag on the bed. "D'you mind?" she asked.

Rogue shrugged.

"Sure. But seriously – ya won't find anythin' in there that's fit for a party."

"We'll see." She unzipped the bag. "I'm really good at dis."

Within the next 45 minutes Mercy had managed to get together almost an entire outfit from the modest articles in Rogue's carryall – a vest, a sheer black blouse, and a pair of heeled boots. Whilst Rogue was busy making dubious objections to this ensemble, Mercy had scuttled off and returned with one of her pencil skirts – a pin-striped grey piece with an elaborate pleat at the back.

"It ties at the back," Mercy explained when Rogue protested that it was too big. She flashed the back of the skirt with its fancy corset-type lacing. "So we'll make it work."

It was a long time since Rogue had played dress up, and an even longer time since she'd played it with someone else.

As Mercy helped her into her new outfit, memories flooded her – memories of evenings spent with Ororo, with Kate, trying on their latest purchases: dresses and shoes and jewellery, laughter and giggles and voices upraised with delight.

It was a feeling of sisterly warmth that she had been without for years – so long, in fact, that she felt a lump rise involuntarily to her throat.

"Hm." Rogue lifted her eyes, saw Mercy looking at her expression through the mirror. "You don't like it?"

It was only with an effort that Rogue managed to shake herself free of the memories.

"Uh… No, it ain't that. It's just… It's a long time since Ah've done this," she explained apologetically. "When you've done the kinda things Ah've done… dressin' up fine and lookin' pretty tend t'be the last things on your mind."

This time it was Mercy's turn to look apologetic.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, casting her eyes down with something like shame. "From dis side of de bars it can sometimes be difficult not t' forget dat mutants are dyin' out dere." She raised her gaze to Rogue's reflection again. "Dis place here is an oasis. A kinda safe haven. Y'get used t' not bein' bothered. You get used to there not bein' an outside world."

Rogue raised an eyebrow at her.

"Didn't the Sentinels ever give you no trouble?"

And Mercy gave a humourless laugh.

"Now and then. But let's just say the Thieves Guild ain't easy pickin's t' nobody. The Sentinels and their kind usually found they had better things to do than make life difficult for us." She began to finish up lacing Rogue's skirt, continuing as she did so: "Truth is, it's easy enough to forget about mutants being 'different' when you grew up with someone like Remy. His powers were cool at first… But after a while you learned to not even bat an eyelid at it. So you guys can do some pretty cool, scary stuff… But you're just like us on de inside."

She'd finished with the lacings and Rogue had no time to comment before she'd begun again in a sunnier tone: "There – all done. So whaddya t'ink?"

She stepped back, letting Rogue take a look at her reflection.

It wasn't necessarily anything she would've chosen to wear, but she had to admit – she looked good. She even kind of liked it.

"You've obviously had a lot of practice at this," she commented wryly.

"Well," Mercy grinned without any pretence at modesty now. "I've always had fancy tastes. Only diff'rence is, I get to indulge them all I want to here."

"Sounds like fun," Rogue noted wryly, looking aside at her companion.

"Don't get me wrong," Mercy replied with a wink. "It ain't often dat we get any leisure time round here. Not runnin' wit' dis crowd."

"So," Rogue rejoined quietly, her gaze moving back to her reflection. "Once you join the Thieves Guild you never leave the Thieves Guild? Kinda like Hotel California?"

And Mercy laughed.

"Oh no. Dis thief's always been a thief. Only diff'rence is de crowd you run wit', ma chere. Now I just run wit' Nawlins' finest." She gave Rogue an appraising stare and added: "Dere's somet'ing about de thief in you, chere."

Rogue passed her sardonic look, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly.

"Ah guess Ah am, in mah own way. Though definitely not in the way you're thinkin'." The older woman gave Rogue a quizzical look and she hastened to explain. "It's mah mutant powers. Ah can steal a person's mem'ries, their abilities, their life forces with a single touch. So yeah. In a way, it's people's lives Ah steal."

Mercy looked a bit taken aback at that, and Rogue guessed then that whilst she had grown up with Remy and had learned to take his powers for granted, she had never had much contact with any other mutants.

"Sounds kinda scary," Mercy murmured after a moment, and Rogue nodded.

"It ain't. Not for me… although Ah dunno about the person on the receivin' end. Ah try not t' use it too often. Only as a last resort in a scrap." She saw that Mercy was still looking a little nervous about the whole thing and she gave a slight smile. "Don't worry none, sugah. Ah ain't gonna use them on anyone here."

"I wasn't thinkin' that," Mercy rejoined seriously. "I was just tryin' to imagine what it would be like to have Henri rattlin' round my head."

Rogue chuckled.

"You're right. It's kinda weird havin' someone's thoughts – personality – buzzin' round your head. Honestly – it ain't all that."

The more she talked about it, the more she realised that she was glad that the Phoenix had wiped the psyches from her mind. There were, of course, some things she missed… Irene's warmth and protection, Remy's unconditional and unrepentant love… Cody, reminding her of the memory of a young boy's laughter, joy, exuberance. The personalities of dozens of fellow mutants, X-Men, friends, who were dead and gone. These were important parts of her life that had given her comfort. They were gone now, and she could never get them back. Like any normal human now, she would have accept what it was to lose someone. To have your memories of them fade slowly, gradually, slip relentlessly through the hourglass of time.

The only thing she had in the here and now that she hadn't lost was Remy. He was the final grain of sand that refused to slip through her fingers. The one last, precious thing she had left. And some days she felt so thankful and blessed to have had it that she didn't think she would mind if she lost it forever.

And it was as she was weighing up that last sentiment that Mercy said behind her: "Done."

She looked at herself in the mirror. What she saw made her smile with a displaced feeling of embarrassment.

"You should dress up more," Mercy commented, seeing her expression. "You clean up good."

"Ah guess Ah ain't ever had much reason to dress up till now…" she muttered.

"Shame," Mercy returned flippantly. "A femme should always look fabulous at least two days of every week. But I get it," she smiled at Rgue wryly, "mutants don't get much time to look fabulous, neh?"

Rogue laughed quietly. "No. Not much. Remy's managed to get me into what he calls 'something pretty' a couple of times, though. Ah figure he'd prefer it if Ah did a whole lot more."

Mercy pulled a face.

"No doubt. Boy has fancy tastes."

"Ah dunno," Rogue mused. "He's pretty good at slumming it."

"Curiouser and curiouser," Mercy raised an eyebrow. "I'm dyin' t' hear what dat boy's been up to de past 10 years. I bet he's made a few people's lives a livin' misery."

Her thought was curtailed by the sound of the door opening, and in a trice she'd crossed the room, barring Remy from entering, wrestling the door back into an almost-closed position and hissing through the slit; "Y'can't come in! You ain't allowed t' see her!"

"What de fuck—She ain't tryin' on her weddin' dress or somet'ing!" Remy's voice came sailing into the room, and the effect was so un-Remy-like and comical that Rogue has to cover her mouth to stop herself from laughing.

"I don't give a shit!" Mercy retorted. "You ain't seein' her till tonight! Why dontcha go play wit' Theoren and Emile and come back again in half an hour. We'll be ready for you den."

She slammed the door in his face and Rogue could clearly hear him spouting off expletives on the other side – but after a moment he was gone.

"Stupid coon ass," Mercy huffed, only to walk back in and see Rogue staring at her.

"What?" she asked, and the only answer Rogue could give was to laugh, long and loud.

-oOo-