Sorry, Sorry about how long this took. Honestly, I had most of it written ages ago, but then I agreed to help my dad do a paper route, and it totally through off my whole system. I couldn't write at all the past week. Luckily, I've adjusted. Ha! Reviews make my day, and me write faster.
Chapter Four: The Devil's Gate
"Ugh. You're not answering your phone! Okay, look. We like, need to talk. I think I've just dumped Remy LeBeau. Wait, no. I know I have. I mean, he came to apologize, and I looked at him –I mean, really looked at him- and I didn't see someone that I want to be involved in with that way anymore. Am I stark raving, Rogue? Have you seen Remy? He's like –he reminds me of –well, of someone who's really, really hot. Should I change my mind? No, don't answer that. I'm not going to change my mind. What I really need is for you to call me up and tell me I'm doing the right thing. No one knows Remy and me like you. We don't belong together. Right?"
Luc entwined his arm with Remy's, and pulled him through the double doors. Above their heads, a neon sign cracked and flashed, the words 'Devil's Gate' illuminated and bright against the black streets of New York. Luc's hand against his sleeve wasn't so much cold as chilled, like champagne in an ice bucket. His face held no smile, but there was unguarded pleasure in his eyes when they entered. "I think you're going to love the Devil's Gate. It's your kind of place." The walls in the hallway were painted black, completely bare, and a thin girl stopped them to request their coats.
Remy shrugged out of his blazer, and handed it to the pretty girl. She flashed him a grin –a perfect grin, really, all straight white teeth and heart-shaped lips- before moving out of their path. "How d' you know what kind o' place I like?" Remy challenged his companion.
"That's irrelevant. I plan to make this club whatever you want it to be. I told you, this is my apology. I want to make it right, Remy." They came upon another door, and Luc rummaged in his black slacks for the key with his free hand. After a moment, he came up with a silver card. As he slid it through the lock, he sighed. "It's really too bad that your girlfriend couldn't make it tonight. She's not mad about the misunderstanding, is she?"
"She's angry some," Remy acknowledged.
"Too bad."
The Devil's Gate was beautiful, bathed as it was in the soft glow of dimmed lights, covered in black carpet, leather chairs, graced by a live band, and best yet, no crowds. It didn't feel like a regular New York nightclub, more like someone had thrown a private party in their exceptionally well decorated home and invited only a select number of friends. Someone handed him a drink, which he promptly swallowed. It was Vodka something. It'd been months since he'd had any proper drink, and he craved another immediately.
Luc took up a flute and sipped elegantly while he scanned the rooms. "What's your initial impression?"
"It's great. Y' own it?"
"Well, no, as a matter of fact. But the owners and I go way back. They let me have the run of the place. Where would you like to sit? Any room, any table, anyone," he added with a playful wink, "is yours."
"Hey, Kit-Kat. Sorry about not answerin'. Ah'm kind o' in the middle o' somethin'. But listen, ya don't need me. You've got great instincts, Kitty. Use them. Don't let Remy fool you. Ya know what ya want, and if he's not it, let him go. By the way, Ah think Steel Boy's got a crush on you. Possible? Hope it all turns out well. Talk to ya later!"
Remy swallowed his martini and glanced around. Urgent business had called Luc away for a few minutes, but Remy wasn't inclined to care too much. He knew how to take care of himself, and the tab wasn't his to pay. That in mind, he gestured for a cocktail waitress to bring him something new, a flavor he hadn't yet reacquainted himself with. As she sauntered over, overly showy, like an ugly-girl-turned-suddenly-pretty, he checked his cell phone for any calls. There were none, as expected. Rogue was being diligent in her anger. And damn stubborn, too.
The cocktail waitress ignored his outstretched hand, and leaned across him to place his glass on the countertop. He felt the crush of her breasts against his arm and sighed. Her lips were full and red, her hair a kinky curl, and once upon a time, he'd have had her in a closet and insanely pleased, but… "Sorry. I've got too much on my mind," he told her.
She shrugged. "If you change your mind…"
"First place I'll call," he lied. He had better options. Still, the drink she brought was good.
"Are you in love or gay?"
Remy looked at the bartender, questioningly. "Pardon?"
"The only reason people ever turn her down," he explained. He laughed. "Maybe both?"
"Neither. I'm just not in da market."
"Huh. Now that sounds familiar. Its not common or anything –there are no rules here, after all, and zero consequences, so people tend to follow their uh, feelings, but earlier a gorgeous girl came through and must've shot all the men here down flat. I could've told them they didn't stand a chance; she was with Luc. A Southern spitfire, though."
Remy raised an eyebrow. "Dis girl, she had two-toned hair an' a tongue dat could sear through metal?"
The bartender grinned. "The first part of that, for certain. She had a headache and went into one of the private rooms."
"Thanks, mon ami," Remy said.
He started at the first door and knocked lightly with his knuckles. There was no response. With a frown, he twisted the knob and found it unlocked. "Here goes," he told himself, and jerked the whole thing open. It was the wrong room. There was a woman on the bed, and a man, and another woman, and another man, and very few clothes.
One of the women raised her head –no easy feat, all things considered- and grinned at him. "Hey, you want join?"
"Maybe another time," he said, backing out the way he'd come. There was no one in the second and third rooms, a private drinking party in the fourth, and an innocent game of Parcheesi in the fifth. He thought he was relatively safe in that one, until one of the players asked if he wanted to join. "No," he answered politely.
"Oh. Too bad. How do you feel about naked Twister?"
The man slipped down to his knees, sunk his fingers into the windowsill, and cried. Tears formed wet sheen on his wrinkled face and dripped off onto the pink satin of his shirt, already stained with water and blood. The gun rested nearby.
"Well, you finally did it." He sobbed at the sound of Luc. His only friend left. Especially, since… "You killed your wife."
"She was having an affair," the man declared. "You were right. She wanted to leave me and go live with him on his yacht. They were going to sail to Europe and be happy without me. I didn't know what else to do. I didn't have anywhere to turn."
Luc knelt beside the dead woman, felt her face. "It must've been a difficult."
"Yeah… it… it was." There was no way he could let her go. Not his beautiful, perfect, forever love. "I couldn't let her…"
"Leave you? But now you've left her, you see. She's gone. And you're still here. So you aren't really together after all."
The man choked. His breathing grew heavier, raspier. "You're right." He fumbled, clumsily for the gun that was still loaded. It had only taken one bullet to stop his wife, one clean shot because she'd been stunned to paralysis by the sight of it in his shaking, desperate hands. He brought up his shirt and wiped his nose on it, nodding to himself and to his guest. "You're right. You're right. If I don't… this will all be for nothing. I don't want that. With my luck, the bastard will die first, and he'll get her anyway. She's my forever."
"Of course she is." Luc touched the deceased woman again, examining the softness of her evening gown. He continued to feel it, to finger it lightly, until the sound of thunder echoed in the large room, rattling the windows and the shelves. A precariously perched vase fell and shattered, like it's owner, into a million pieces on the floor. The dust fell onto the new blood and created a semi-paste. Luc smiled, and it was the only bright thing around.
Remy found her in the sixth room, curled up on a couch, her back to the door. "Chere?" He whispered low, to keep from disturbing her too much. When no response came, not even a biting insult, he went closer to the bed and examined her. She was asleep. Her face rested against a cushion. He laughed.
How odd.
The Devil's Gate was a fantastic place to be, he had to admit that, but Luc's promise of making anything he wanted had seemed to be lacking… until he found Rogue, sleeping and peaceful on a couch in a back room. Remy grinned. And her asleep, too.
Watching Rogue Sleep was his favorite secret pastime. She did slumber well. Eyes closed, face a clean slate, the steady rhythm of her breathing… Remy had never had a security blanket (the nuns favored prayer in times of fear, and his father had called the need an impossibly childish, degrading one), but he had always been a restless sleeper. Staying at Xavier's, he'd been surprised to find that watching Rogue put him at ease, and after observing her, he slept a hundred times sounder. She was like his…Teddy Bear (a fact he'd never share).
Remy settled into a chair away from the couch and continued to watch. All the alcohol he'd consumed made him drowsy. With a yawn, Remy closed his eyes. Just for a minute.
Remy was running from someone. At first, he thought his pursuers were the police, and that thought made him giddy. His feet moved faster in response, while his eyes scanned the foggy backdrop for any place to hide. But all the walls were solid, not a window or small corner in sight. Never mind. Remy chewed on the corner of his lip and indulged himself with a sharp grin. He could outrun them. He was bursting with energy and adrenaline; this was the sensation he'd been missing.
But then, he passed them, and nearly tripped over their bodies. He had to jump to avoid the boys in blue, who lay scattered and far from consciousness. The giddy feeling left him, and a newfound sense of dread crept in to fill the empty space. If the police weren't after him, who was?
He dared a peek over his shoulder and saw only a deed lying on the floor. He fell out of his run and went to pick it up. The scribbling was small, red, and he didn't bother reading it because it seemed insignificant to the property being signed away: himself. The signature at the bottom was unfamiliar to him, but he memorized it anyway. John Black, it read. Whoever that was.
"Remy?" He turned, and saw Luc, all concern and worry. The older man walked up to him and tossed an arm over his shoulder. Luc gave him a brief, comforting squeeze. "You're not alone, you know. I'm here with you. I'll always be here. This," and he snatched the deed away, "isn't anything you should fear."
"I don't understand it," Remy said.
"You do," Luc assured him. "Trust me."
Mirrors suddenly surrounded them. If he squinted, Remy could make out the shape of a monster, and he coiled back in disgust and horror. A string of curses slipped out in a hushed, harsh whisper. The hand on his shoulder dug in harder, until he could feel nails pressing into his skin. "Resist the urge to flee, Remy."
Blinking hard, Remy said, "What is dat?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Luc shook his head, like he couldn't believe Remy hadn't caught on yet.
Remy looked back to the monster, all claws and teeth and bloody, matted fur. "Big foot?"
"Not quite."
"Its…"
"You? Is that what you hesitate in asking? There are a lot of mirrors here, Remy. That could so easily be a reflection of you. Your inner demon. Or, of mine, I suppose, but I feel fairly certain I don't have an inner demon." He laughed. "Anyway, there's only one way to find out if it's you or if it isn't."
Remy wanted to say that he didn't care. Him or not, it was freaky, and he would be perfectly fine to just leave it alone. Walk away. Was there an exit to the funhouse from hell? There had to be. How else would he have wound up inside? If he could just find it…
But Luc pulled him closer to the monster and all protests died on his tongue. Certainly, they didn't register in his feet, which moved exactly where they were instructed. Closer, until he could see it's sharp claws, curling tail, and bright eyes. Bright red eyes.
"It is me." He whispered.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't the creep." Rogue voice was low and sarcastic, but still enough to wake him. She was awake, and seated. "Gosh gee golly, Ah sure am luck for your company, Mister Cool. Except maybe have a good time, for once."
Remy wiped the sleep from his eyes and stifled a yawn. "Rogue. Yo' awake."
"No shit. An' honestly? Ah'm a little confused. There are many rooms in this club, Remy, leavin' absolutely no reason for you ta wind up in mine. Yet here you are, as always. By the way, ya smell like too much alcohol."
He scooted up. "Roguey."
"Actually, it's Miss Darkholme ta anyone Ah'd rather drown than talk with."
"Y' don't mean dat."
"Let's test the theory."
"Mmm. Later. Can't I explain?"
"There's nothin' to explain. You're a rebel, a crusader, a regular Indiana Jones. Can't regulate a free soul."
He moved to the couch, beside which a thin glass of something was resting. He lifted it up and drank some. "Its probably not what y' want t' hear right now, but technically Indiana Jones was regulated…an' he never kept anythin'…"
"You are such a bastard."
Remy reclined on the sofa and took a long sip from his glass. "So yo' not interested in hearin' what I have t' say at all? Not even a teensy, weensy lil' bit? 'Cause I can talk fast, if circumstances demand it. Might sound like one o' them squirrels on cartoons, y' know, wit' da squeaky voices…"
"Shut up," Rogue said.
"Didn't y' miss my company?"
"Like Ah'd miss a bullet in my kneecap, Gumbo."
"Last time y' were ragin' mad, it was a stiletto in da belly."
"Ah hate you."
He nodded and took another drink. "I'm sensin' some serious hostility in you, Chere."
"Are ya sensin' this?" She held up a single finger.
"Kit-Kat took it poorly, too."
"No kiddin'. Ah'm glad she finally wizened up an' dumped you."
"Rogue…"
"Remy."
"Can't we move on?"
"An' like, grin an' smile an' laugh an' be best friends forever?"
"I'm bein' sincere, here."
"You're a regular George Bailey."
"Children, come now. Let's not bicker and fight." The both looked away from each other at the same time, and found Luc leaning on the doorframe; his black jacket slung over one shoulder, his head cocked to the side, a sly grin tugging at the ends of his lips. As he pushed away, his movements were almost feline in nature, graceful without fail. "Care to make it a ménage-a-toi?" He pulled out a chair and dropped his slender body into it.
"Ah don't know how ya spend time with Remy." Rogue stated, pulled her feet up and dragging her body to the far end of the couch, as far away from Remy as it could possibly be without falling off. "He's an idiot. A stupid, jerky, immature, inarticulate, inconsiderate, womanizin', manipulatin' idiot."
Remy slouched and downed the rest of his drink. "She's crazy about me," he assured Luc. "We've just hit a rough patch in dis wacky soap opera we call a friendship, dat's all. Give it a day or two, an' our problems will all be solved."
"Ah'll have killed him," Rogue clarified. "In the most horrifically painful way the internet has ta offer." She leaned across and grabbed a bottle of wine sitting innocently on the table. She took a gulp and then unconsciously handed the rest to Remy, who cradled it to his chest like he were a baby, and it his favorite bottle.
"Well," Luc said, in his sure, paced tone. "I think you're both the most amazingly wonderful, brilliant, achingly attractive people I've ever had the good fortune to meet and that is why I'd like to extend you an offer. This part of this club is, great, lovely, all of that, but I keep a few rooms upstairs that will shock and delight you. What do you say? Up for exploring?"
"Um," Remy said. "I don't know…"
"Come on. Please?"
If any sudden doubts popped up in Remy's mind about why a grown man would beg for the attention of two teenagers, if any suspicious arose as he realized Luc gave him and Rogue the same heavy-lidded stare: a stare that would be equally appropriate between a man and his dinner, or two lovers on a bed, if any hesitations filtered back into his body, well. They were all squashed like peas beneath the Jolly Green Giant's feet, when reached into a cabinet hidden on the corner of the desk and pulled out the most expensive, rare, delicious champagne Remy had ever tasted. How had Luc gotten his hands on a bottle? "Could I…?"
"You can have it, Remy. I don't mind sharing. Besides, I've got something even better upstairs."
"What's so great about that?" Rogue wondered, as the two males rose to their feet. She remained curled on the couch, her eyes bright with curiosity.
Luc extended her a hand. "I'll explain on the way up?"
"Ah guess." Remy, after all, already seemed to have made his choice. She accepted the older man's arm, and the three of them started walking towards a bare wall. "Wow, this is great," Rogue said, sarcastically, when they reached the end.
"Touch it," Luc whispered in her ear.
"Huh?"
"The wall," he went on, entwining their hands and pushing her palm against the cold plaster. Something creaked, and then the entire space was gone, revealing a clean, white elevator that only went up. The interior was filled with soft light, so that no shadows could be cast. He stepped in first, and took Rogue with him. Remy joined them seconds later.
"Nice ride," he teased.
"Someday soon, you'll get the delicious irony." The elevator doors snapped shut, and it carried them away.
No real notes here. Um. That's what happens when you drink too much? Now where's my Bailey's… (kidding…).
On a personal note:
Nettlez: If Kurt doesn't tell the professor, it might be because he feels it goes beyond the normal 'bad mutant, good mutant' scenario. We haven't seen who or what he's consulting in the matter, yet, but odds are it'll probably be someone with a bit of experience in theology. Luc is like an evil man…but what can do you? Thanks for the review!
Rogue238: In fairness to Rogue, she doesn't know she's out with the Devil, or else I don't think she'd be so willing, otherwise. And consider, they're young and impressionable, still. Rogue and Remy strike me as being particularly vulnerable. Thanks!
Heartsyhawk: Is there no way to save him? Well, I'm inclined to say that 'Reviews' might save him but the truth is, I've already written out the ending chapter and now it's just a matter of getting there. And Rogue's naïve, yeah, but Luc is good-looking, and seemingly nice and attentive. Thanks!
Roguechere: Like I trust you and your cry for 'triangles' now, you R/L shipper! You'd probably be just fine, if Logan got her instead. Ha! But seriously, thanks for reviewing. Always glad ta hear from ya. I'm pleased that you find Luc a truly bad guy.
It would stink to try and write the devil, and have people be all, aww, what a nice guy.
Ishandafish: Thank God you're not a Buffy/Spike fan. It would be strange and unsettling to have you on the other side. I must also applaud your ability to spout random things, and then bring it all back to the Romy in the end. I live in awe of such talent. You wanted Kit's reaction, but I'm holding it off for… well, for another chapter. Er, sorry? I do find it oh, so amusing that Rogue can date the devil, but if Bella had stepped foot in this story, you'd be demanding her head on a silver platter, wouldn't you.
IvyZoe: The reason Remy doesn't recognize Satan is that…well, Satan's a sneaky bastard. He doesn't want Remy to know. Is this a Romy? You know, I've been avoiding that question because I want you all to wonder…but I'm afraid it's making people not want to read. Hmm. I'll think on actually answering that. :D
MusigMistress: Why your compliments are much appreciated! I'm so pleased that you thought it had a good plot! Now you just have to keep coming back to find out how it all turns out in the end. Bwahaha. Thanks, muchly.
Lady MR: Hmm. How did he feel about Bella's death? I'll try and work a mention of it in, somewhere. He did actually care about her in this one, I figure it was an untimely death that really broke his heart, perhaps drove him out of New Orleans and into Magneto's hands. But, he's recovered. Hopefully. Heh. Thanks, about Luc. There's actually a story (sort of) about him, but that won't come until later. Y'all come back now, ya hear?
Cat2fat900: Ya hate Scooter? Come on, he's not that bad. Luc is ruining everything, isn't he? Curse him! And review again! P.S. Did ya see the part where I mentioned the squirrels? Consider it their little cameo.
Spicy Sweet: Thank you, much! Come again, again, AGAIN! Er, if you want to, I mean.
Shira's Song: Scott, being the young adult he is, is actually starting to assume a greater role as leader of the X-Men. He's not acting like a guardian or a student to a younger person in his care, but rather as a general to one of his men. Not knowing stuff is driving you batty? I am pleased. And, reminded of Ferngully. "Are you sure? I'm positive. Only fools are positive. Are you sure? I'm positive –oh, I can't believe I fell for it!" This is where I dissolve into crazy laughter. Thanks for reviewing!
Kitsu LeBeau: I'll be upfront; the dream won't be explained until the end, when it will all be oh, so clear. Rogue's date won't be explained until…two chapters from now. Sorry, sorry. Thanks for reading, and I hope you continue to do so!
GothikStrawberry: Well, Remy confessed and Scooter wanted to give him a chance, the implication being if he messes up again, the punishment will be more severe. Come again, dear reviewer!
Lace123: Ah, I love that you feel that way about Luc. When I first started his character, that's kind of what I was going for. Someone tempting and refined and a bit like Remy, but with far darker intentions. The red, gargoyle-ly image of Satan can be frightening, but I don't think it would help pull Remy towards hell. Ha. Keep up the good reviews!
Betrayed Daughters: Hello, dear friend whom I haven't spoken to since, er, last night. Yes, Rogue and Remy's relationship isn't exactly lovely dovey, but there must be a reason for that, right? But we'll see. Yes, we shall. Bwahahaha.
