Wow, people seem torn about Wolverine. But I shed some light in this chapter.
Some basic insight:
Petite amie is only cultural slang (and really continental French, not a Cajun term – it really was a slip from Remy's subconscious). Even knowing some French from school probably wouldn't help you there. As to 'lovers', Rogue was basically asking him to label them that way – and he refused to. She was commenting how it would be weird for them to have lovers, with all the connotations. He couldn't face the ramifications.
French curses: he called her a bitch – and she responded with basically the Cajun equivalent of asshole. As to how she doesn't consider Remy's feelings, she's convinced herself that he doesn't care or at least not enough. Hope is too painful for her, so she ignores any possibility he might be more emotionally involved than she first realized.
To my lovely reviewers!!
Vinh – "Rogue is coming across as so damn calculating and cold as if during all the time she was using Remy she didn't develop any type of affection for him." Remember! This is all from Remy's point of view!
Mazdamiatta – The summary was: reckless enough, sensitive enough, casual enough. Bobby's mad at Remy - he's not exactly oblivious to the two's sparks. Rogue misjudged Remy - she really thought it was all casual for him. Remember, she thought her touch was meaningless to him? Also she's never seen in him in an actual relationship. (Though, sure, she had some ulterior reasons: the only way she thought she could have him...) Remy is just as surprised though - he's trying to convince himself it really wasn't a big deal. But his feelings when starting weren't neutral and getting closer to her, physically as well as emotionally, opened him up to something he really has never experienced before, or very few times - a real relationship with all the messy feelings involved. Remy's feeling the rejection - oh yeah. But he also is struggling with the fact he wanted to continue their unlabeled relationship, despite the exact specifications of their deal. And all the privileges to touch associated with their deal are now gone. /Rogue's not a player, sorry - she knows she's in love, she's not about to jump on another guy. At least not yet. And Jameson is the principal, see ch. 8.
Thanks y'all!! Mercuriancat, musariven (lol), Wiccamage (-sheepish grin-), BladeMaxwell-GoddessofDeath, L, nuriiko, gambits girl, Bloody Vyvyan, Valerie J (:)))))))! (I'm so glad you reviewed!), knoxvilleloversc, Ms.Sandiego (yay! And question will be answered), Conquistador Imp, xoxocandyliciousxoxo, thriller ("stunningly written" –beam!- and I'm glad you felt that way about the flashbacks. I worried they might be too much.), Johanna (oops…got a bit rusty over the summer), Cleio (thank you so much for your commentary on the flashbacks! And the song! "I think Rogue is not only upset with Remy for making her love him, but she definitely seems to be taking her own feelings out on herself." (Yes!! Yes!!) And Remy teaching - :)!), X-Storm ("So can Remy though" – good!), Wanda W (yay!), cream tea anyone (yup, yup! "he has been keeping his cards close to his chest, his feeling have been just as intense as rogue's but much better hidden." You were the only one to remark on the empathy kindof. The end as a power trip – huh.), flaming-mod (oh I loved that end! "It was a chapter where you described eloquently the progress from rejected to heartbroken."), Lovestoread, dreamschemer , Catra, thegambit23, Encuentrame, Ryan628 (more straightness yes!), ishandahalf ( :)), Wiccamage (lol! – I know what you mean about bosses…), Angel-In-Black, animefan135, ElizabethMarieBennett, Lucky, marajade963 (oh yeah he's addicted – but ouch, hadn't really thought of it that way!), Coldqueen (lol!), Mercy P. Jones (-blush- I'm one of those people too!)
Greatest review goes to: Doesn't Matter! "Wow. Remy has some issues. In fact, they're both pretty up f-up...I love it."
Second goes to: Captain Annie - "It really paints Rogue as a hard-core . Which is fine because goodness knows she is at times."
Best quote: Sassy 18! "Those two are their own soap opera!"
Now, I include some lyrics from: Storybook from Scarlet Pimpernel. Don't worry - just a few lines this time. Much more angst on the way! Also, remember! This is a half-half arrangement. I'm trying to keep the half Rogue, half Gambit sections separate, but, well, I had to give Rogue some chance to defend herself… So cheaters, keep reading at the end.
It Takes Two...to Practice
12) And the Ace is Wild –
Missions, for all the hype involved, were not always 'hop on the jet, you'll be briefed on the way.' (Well, to be honest, they hardly ever were since usually missions were either in response to an already known emergency or were low key.) Still, Remy enjoyed that type the most. Sitting through a briefing was much more endurable with an undercurrent of adrenaline versus, well, sitting around a big wooden table while the Professor made a speech of surprisingly little clarity to the whole X-Men crowd.
Someone would be looking for someone – that was as much as Remy had gathered so far. It was only the hope he'd be able to get out of the mansion that had Remy even paying as much attention as he was. Hell, he'd even go to Tibet again…
"This mission happens to be of a sensitive nature, thus it needs to be treated delicately." Xavier eyed Wolverine with just a hint of hesitation. "I would ask that Storm and Gambit accompany you."
Wolverine's eyes flicked over to Storm's serene form fleetingly, but he snorted in Gambit's direction. "You mean I have to bring along Twitchy?"
Remy, caught mid-shuffle, looked up in indignation. "Twitchy?!" Wolverine looked down pointedly at the cards he'd been rearranging – and hadn't stopped since entering the room. In a smooth motion, they disappeared up one of his coat sleeves. Keeping his fingers still was not so easy a maneuver. Within a moment, he was tapping out a rhythm on the conference table.
He couldn't help that he was twitchy. Excess energy - that was his d- mutation. He tightened his hands. And the fact Rogue, Rogue wasn't siphoning off any - probably screwing with his bio-rhythms or something.
He wished he hadn't used the word screwing.
His eyes flicked to her. He wouldn't know though - he still hadn't been back to McCoy, couldn't stand admitting-
"Jus' ain't use to so little action," he excused himself smoothly. "Bein' in one place f' too long makes m'edgy."
"So sad we made you feel too settled." Rogue sniped from across the table with a nasty frown.
He gave an edged grin, splaying his hands out. "Wasn't complainin' 'bout your hospitality, now was I?"
He reveled in the anger in her flashing eyes, because then she was feeling something d-it!
"You-"
The Professor interrupted them. "Please, this is hardly the place for bickering."
Rogue subsided with a grudging apology, but she glared at Gambit for the rest of the meeting.
But he had a ticket out, for a while. He let that dictate his smug grin.
After the meeting, the Professor cornered him. "Remy, I feel it would be best if you had a check-up before–" He didn't react, simply cut the Professor off.
"No need."
"You haven't had one in a while," Xavier noted with the beginnings of a frown.
"No need," he repeated, with even firmness. Calm, cool; he wouldn't give Xavier any additional reason to doubt his words.
"The explosion that knocked you into a wall was completely planned?" the telepath asked skeptically, arching an eyebrow. He regarded Gambit as the man's shoulders hunched for the briefest second. "The safety of my students is very important to me Remy-"
"I cin handle it." It was more insistent than the last statement and those cool, assessing eyes never looked away. Was Xavier finally questioning that ability? He gambled. "If anyt'ing gets outta hand durin' de mission, Henri's will be m' first stop back."
Xavier backed down reluctantly, but didn't leave without the final word. "I do trust you Remy." His face was inscrutable.
Remy refused to acknowledge the unwelcome bitter thought, Why?
It was a small group of students that came out to wish the mission good luck in the pre-dawn chill. Piotr gave him a reserved smile and 'return well,' as he always had. Cyclops gave him a nod, his stoic demeanor interrupted by a yawn. His girlfriend was softer, giving him a smile and a goodbye. He winked at her when he told her he didn't need any good luck, he was good with all the ladies – even Luck herself, as much to annoy Scott as – but she was saying goodbye to Wolverine and it wasn't like she'd even care anyway.
Kitty actually hugged him. "You be safe okay? Don't do anything stupid!" He blinked at what sounded like a pointed chastisement, but she immediately followed it with a smile. "If anything I'm proof that stupid things can result in broken bones!"
Before he could respond, there was a snort. "If there's one thang he know how to do, it's how ta keep that hide untouched." He couldn't help the reflexive look her way. Rogue's eyes were shadowed as her back faced the rising sun, but her voice was flat, not laced with the scathing he'd become accustomed to. "Ah'm suhre he'll be fahne."
The goodbye plagued him, even after he filed into the jet, settled into his seat, and the Blackbird went underway. His jittery hands thoughtlessly went to his cards.
Why did it feel like she'd meant more?
Wolverine groaned. "If yeh fan those cards one more time, I'm gonna take a chunk outta that hide. I ain't listenin' to that for eight hours!"
Gambit grinned at the distraction. "I'd like ta see y' try."
"Boys!" Storm said sharply before Wolverine's claws could pop out more than an inch. "We are not starting our team," she emphasized the term, "mission by sniping at each other." She glared at them both for a long minute before Wolverine finally retracted his claws and crossed his arms. She turned around with a shake of her head, muttering under her breath, "Honestly, I don't know what's gotten into you two lately!"
After that, he'd shuffled his cards for ten minutes just to hear Wolverine's teeth grind even though he'd closed his eyes to sleep. But Storm's pointed looks back got tiresome and Remy palmed the deck.
He tried to concentrate on a book, but it was a lost cause – he just ended up staring at the pages without remembering what he'd just read.
It was about that time he decided to imitate Wolverine and try to catch some sleep. He hadn't been sleeping well lately anyway. The jet didn't change that, but finally, after a good deal of tossing, adjusting the seat and turning, sleep claimed him.
She darted in the door and his breath caught. She was wrapped in a towel, the modest white cloth doing little to hide her dripping curves.
It wasn't until she took two steps into the room that she realized she wasn't alone. He watched the awareness flush flare across her face and he couldn't resist. He prowled closer as she clutched her towel.
"Remy," the act of licking her lips sent a thrill of pleasure through him. Soon enough he'd be licking more than that… "yah early."
"Afta tahday's little show, got a li'l impatient." He didn't need empathy to read her nervousness, so he toyed with her hair, drying far curlier than she'd ever allowed. The fact he was seeing her in a state no one else was privileged enough to see tingled, all wet and vulnerable and – naked. "Knew I'd love de curls."
The bare touch to hair wasn't enough and he began to skim down her body, his empathy weaving past her defenses. She was scared, but -
"Ah can dress in a minute if yah just-"
- there was that greedy little insistent tug, anticipation, and it teased his senses. That's m' girl.
He locked eyes, drawing her defenses out. "Know dat y' ain't ready for all de way, but dere be more ta sex den the in an' out."
She let him arrange her by the bed and he could barely contain himself. The weight of his patience and self-control was cast aside and his fingers itched with the desire to unveil the secrets so long kept from him. It was as if he was thirteen all over again.
But his own excitement was not enough to overwhelm his awareness of her still sharp anxiety. Perhaps he was pushing too hard, but – He nudged her chin and abruptly she re-focused on him. "Trust m'?" She met his eyes and nodded; he suddenly swallowed, realizing what he'd just asked – and she'd answered. When was the last time someone could, did trust him?
So precious.
He undressed her with a care he didn't even remember having, feeling her pulse beat against his fingertips, the acidic tang of her unease tempered by expectancy.
Until, at last, she was naked before him.
She was beautiful, muscled torso curving into plush hips and thighs, underlined by the athletic fitness required of an X-Man. Her chest was plump he noted with satisfaction, but her ribs still stood out too sharp, even after the Apocalypse fiasco had been completely cleared up she still wasn't eating enough. He felt himself wish yet again he could've been there. She was still so pale – but not for long if the day's little sun-bathing exercise was a sign of things to come.
She was beautiful, every swell and dip begging to be caressed with a lover's touch. By him. He swallowed again.
He arranged her on the bed before extracting the gloves he'd specifically picked out for this very occasion. He'd found them in the novelty sex shop that he'd visited with her in mind. The best gloves to use would technically be latex, but that was far too clinical – he didn't want her to feel like a scientific experiment. Perusing the shop, he'd found satin gloves, guaranteed by the maker to only be minimally absorbent, maximizing pleasure. The shop keeper had vouched for them and so he slipped them on. Advertizing better be true.
"Ce soir, c'est tout pour moi." He brushed her body with the care of an artisan. The night was all for him, all for him to taste and touch and stroke and play and find out exactly what drove her mad. In the very best way, of course.
"Want y' ta try to start out keepin' yah mutation off, but I want y' t' let go ta waht yah feel." It was wicked really to say it that way. He had every intention of driving her past her control limit as fast as possible.
"Bu-"
"Need y' ta know waht dis is all 'bout Rogue. Den weh can work on y' gettin' used to it." Oh he fully intended on that. "D'accord
"Oui." Hearing the word of his mother tongue, layered in her sweet Southern voice, brushed something deep within him.
He stared at her for a long second, then leaning, pressed a kiss against her forehead.
"Bien."
And he lost himself in her; the sharp angles of her face, the line of collarbone, the fullness of her breasts, the cleft of her hip, the bend of her inner knee. He pressed and pulled, smoothed and caressed, memorizing every beauty mark and breathy intake of delight.
All too soon she was gasping and clutching his shirt. He tisked in her ear, feeling the greedy pull of her mutation hunger after him just as her body did.
"Ahaha, don' be greedy," his gloved fingers stroked her hips, the breath of his mouth brushing over her shoulder. He couldn't resist his own greediness though. Wasn't that always the problem? "Dite-moi un secret(Tell me a secret)
She swallowed. "Ah had a dream las' night. It was stupid, bu' it was tu et moi," it took all he had not to freeze. She'd dreamed of him? Really dreamed of him? Not a sex dream or- "weh were walkin' ta school an' then the road turned into a boxca an' we were goin' South ta Mardi Gras."
"To la Belle Orléans?"
His home. He tried to imagine her there, dancing for him in some out-of-the-way club, beads jangling around her neck, smoky eyes drawing him in.
His hands began to wander impatiently.
"Yeah," she said shakily.
"An' how was it?"
"Good," she swallowed again. "Mais we end'd up in de bayou somehow. That's all ah rememba."
He was going too fast for her-
"Hmm, not 'xactly de wet I have in mind." And without warning, he slipped within her.
- but she'd dreamed of him.
Her eyes flew back. "Listen ta meh chérie. Don' tense, jus' rehlax. I got yah." His other hand came to stroke her side reassuringly. Distantly he thought – he always would.
His hand delved into her – she was tight and oh Dieu what it was going to be like when it wasn't just his fingers – he had to focus, had to find the spot that'd make her scream. His empathy, buzzing from the intensity of her – innocence and pleasure he could barely keep himself from going over himself. He was going on about something about Mardi Gras, still reeling from the image of her there, there with him -
They locked eyes. "Nex' time," he promised and his mouth was on hers and she was taking him in and he was there with her as she plunged. Was it greedy that in that moment he wanted to be so far into her that she'd never, never could-
He had to pull his empathy back, had to reel it in because the wash of her orgasm was like a supernova crashing through her for the very first time.
She was f-ing amazing.
He brought her down slowly and all she could do was pant like she'd run a marathon. His other hand was still stroking her side.
"Jus' breathe."
Finally, he withdrew his fingers. "Y' doin' okay, chere?"
So beautiful, all rose blush down to the tops of her breasts, flushed cheeks, glassy eyes.
But then Rogue changed. She suddenly lounged against the bed on her side, completely composed, a pure marble statue. She looked him in the eye.
"Yah know ah'm jus' usin' yah."
The words tore him in two. "Chérie-"
She shook her head, clucking her tongue, "It's Rogue, remember?" Her tone was as cold as the gem shine of her eyes. "You're just an ends to this means."
A hand extended onto her bare stomach, lean and masculine, and the nude Rogue leaned back against someone he couldn't see.
"Non," he murmured, wanting to rip her away – but he found himself cast against the room, frozen in place.
It hadn't ended like that – had it?
"No!"
He jerked awake, barely missing the swipe of Wolverine's hand. He stared at the other X-Man, eyes wide and still disoriented.
"You make more noise in your sleep than out," Wolverine grumbled, seeming a little disappointed he'd missed the opportunity to smack Gambit. Remy just kept staring.
Putting his head in his hands, it took a few minutes for him to compose himself, shaking off the last dredges of jealously and feelings he didn't want to identify. When he finally looked up, Wolverine had turned aside, eyes closed in cat-nap style.
Remy tried to muster some annoyance. He couldn't have tried to wake him up just a little earlier?
"Are you alright?" The soft question came from the front and he swiveled to look at the white-haired woman flying.
"Fine," it came out weak and he winced internally. That answer became less convincing with every repetition. She glanced back at him, concern lighting her dark eyes – and there something in the look, something that'd been niggling him for ages ever since he'd met her and she'd greeted him with such a welcoming smile… He glanced back at their other passenger before leaning forward.
"Stormy, we ever met 'fore?" He gave a strained, but lazy grin. "I'd ask if we'd ever slept together, but I'd remember dat wild ride." His charming fell flat, as it seemed now in a habit to, but even though she rolled her eyes, it still seemed warmly amused.
"I was wondering if you would ever ask," her eyes met his briefly, "but I can't fault you for not recognizing. I wasn't exactly the cleanest when we met," the shadow of her lips twitched into a faint smile. "Do you remember Cairo? It must've been over ten years ago…"
Remy'd only been with the LeBeaus a month when the call came. A major global Guild meeting was to take place in Cairo and all heads of country or important regions were expected to report. Jean Luc was technically the head of the New Orleans guild, but as the most profitable city in the Southeastern U.S., it was also the center of the American Guild in the South. He made plans to leave.
Remy was assured by both Jean Luc and Tante that his place was assured in the LeBeau manor. Jean Luc's absence would only be for two weeks and was no cause for alarm.
But Remy had been raised on the streets. He was no fool – and Jean Luc was the only reason for his recent change in status. But he'd just nodded.
It wasn't until the landing in Cairo that a rather grimy tired Remy was extracted from the storage bay, defiantly cursing the man hauling him. He'd immediately become contrite the moment he saw Jean Luc, getting the sinking feeling he'd just screwed up his luck. But Jean Luc, after using a few words that Remy actually hadn't heard before, just sighed.
"Can' do nothing now. Y' here wit' me, but I can't be cartin' yah 'round. Y' make suhre yah 'round for (dinner) an' sleep at mah place. Trust yah stay outta trouble meantime?" He fixed a shrewd eye on the ten-year-old boy in front of him. "Dis be Egypt mon fils, no' Belle Orleans dat y' know like de back o' your hand."
Remy nodded so hard it felt like he was going to jar his head off his neck, ecstatic for more than one reason.
He'd had free roam of Cairo for those two weeks, scuttling through all the dark, foreign corners, always careful to keep one of his landmarks nearby. He'd learned them first, so he'd know how to get back to Jean Luc's every day. It would take too much time to memorize the city, but he still made a decent attempt.
Oddly enough, despite what Jean Luc had warned about the dry heat of the city, it was actually a rather wet few weeks.
Getting caught in a rain shower only a few days into his visit, he'd sought shelter in a deserted building. Or at least he thought it was deserted.
He'd heard a rustle in one of those corners and his juvenile mind had conjured all sorts of monsters.
"He-hello?" he asked, his voice thin in the large building. There was no response; the rustling was gone. "Anyone dere?"
A sudden sneeze resounded. Then silence again. But the unimposing sound made Remy feel much more secure and with the recklessness of a ten-year-old boy, he agilely climbed up a massive crate to survey the area. There was a crouched figure in the right corner. Remy had spent enough time on the streets to recognize the blob of rags and dirt: street person. His better judgment told him to leave the person alone – but then the head came up and she looked at him: tear-streaked face, red-rimmed eyes contrasting starkly with her dark face.
Many of Remy's habits engrained early – one of which was the inability to stand a damsel in distress.
He climbed down slowly, making sure to make enough noise that the girl knew he was there. "'S okay," he said soothingly, wondering if she could see his eyes. They usually had the opposite effect.
She watched him silently, hiccupping lightly, but not acting frightened after seeing he was just a kid.
He smiled at her, coming to sit a safe number of feet away from her. "No' really de mos' charmin' place ta sit out de rain, mais least it's dry, hein
She didn't answer, just rubbed her eyes, and he rubbed his arms for warmth, discreetly sizing her up. She was older than he'd first thought, probably teenaged. If she stood, she'd probably tower over him. Her clothing was dirty, but not as faded as he would've expected, even though her hair was completely mud-soaked. Still, it seemed to have a bright tint underlying the thick brown – he'd thought it meant she was blond. After a few days in dark-skinned, dark-eyed Cairo, he knew what that meant – and he intimately knew what it felt like to stick out.
"M' name's Remy. What's y'rs?" She stared at him and he gave a snort. "If yah don't tell meh, 'm just gonna have t' nickname yah." He eyed her obviously. "Muddy 'd fit."
It was only when her eyebrows began to crease that he realized another reason she wasn't responding other than natural reticence. "An' yah prob'ly got no idea what Remy be sayin', non?"
She watched him blankly, before masking another sniffle, and he sighed. "Muddy it is."
Remy had started to get used to the lively company of the LeBeau household and his naturally social personality was beginning to miss them. So, with his back against the rough wall, he fiddled with the edge of his shirt and started to talk about his exploring, how he'd sneaked onto the plane to come, the cushy mansion he slept nights, and even the weather. He even pulled out some cards and did a few tricks Henri had been showing him before he left, earning a giggle when he did one wrong and got confused. Her sniffles became fewer and fewer between as he luxuriated in having a captive, if uncomprehending, audience until he knew he was going to be late for dinner.
It had stopped raining by the time he left.
The same longing for company found him tracing his way back to that same warehouse under an overcast sky the next day, though he was actually surprised to find her there again. This time however, she was waiting outside and they took to the streets. It was she who had showed him the real ins and outs of Cairo, even as he showed off his thieving skills. Except after he proudly turned to show her his third picked wallet, she had been waiting with two of her own, a rather smug smile twisting her lips. He'd pouted and that had led to a whole day of competition. She knew the streets and people better – he stood out due to his skin, but he was far more nimble. She laughed for the first time at the end of that day and Remy realized that the day had finally turned sunny.
They'd gone on for just over a week in like manner, but the day he'd turned up to say goodbye, she was gone. He'd whispered goodbye to an abandoned building and let 'Muddy' fade into his memory.
"I should've known," Remy murmured, eyes distant. "It always rained when you cried. An' I mean it's Cairo." It was only then that he made the connection to the bio on her, given to him by Magneto, detailing her childhood.
Ororo smiled.
"You were a friend when I was in need. I have never forgotten."
"I'm glad," he muttered, feeling vaguely embarrassed. If he hadn't felt so off-kilter, he would've asked why'd she'd been alone and upset. Her peaceful face offered no clue.
"If you ever need a shoulder..." Her sympathetic eyes lingered on him and he felt a prickling at the back of his neck. Just how loud had he been in his sleep?
"M' first call," he assured, projecting as much earnestness as possible. And yet, it did feel good to know the offer was there…
It wasn't until the Blackbird was on the ground that Storm broke the news.
Wolverine, as typical, exploded.
"Magneto?! That's whose ass we're supposed to be hauling back?"
"Dought he was dead." Gambit reacted more practically.
Storm, radiating calm, shook her head. "Charles has been picking signals on Cerebro that would indicate that he is not only alive, but favorable to being found."
Wolverine's rant was long, ranging from bringing up just about every single manipulative action of the magnetic mutant, even those regarding his children (Gambit couldn't help the little comment that he hadn't realized Wolvie'd had a soft spot for Speedy and the Witch), to how mentally warped he was (Mystique's name definitely cropped up there) to how there was no way in hell he was letting that metal-headed maniac within five hundred miles of the Institute.
Storm listened with admirable poise. At the end, she turned to Gambit. "Do you have anything to add?"
"Jus' dat buckethead was always more on de crazed-fanatic side den de deranged-maniac." Wolverine glared at him, his knuckles flexing warningly. Gambit's hands flew up. "Jus' saying; ot'erwise y' definitely covered everyt'ing."
"Thank you Gambit, for your honesty. Wolverine, you are blunt as always." There was an edge of exasperation. "However, Charles would at least like the opportunity to speak to him in person. There is no guarantee he will stay with the X-Men."
Wolverine's cry of shock was inarticulate, but Storm's steely eyes (and ominous thunder rumbling in the background) said the argument was closed.
Gambit turned away, with a deep, gnawing feeling. He thought he'd put this page of his life behind. Damn it.
"Oh, I don't know," the girl nibbled on her lip, unconsciously moving closer to him as he began to look disappointed. "But I just started lately, maybe Irena could help you," she quickly added, smiling in relief when the stranger gave a charming grin, putting a hand to his heart.
"That would be wonderful, not that I ever consider talking to a pretty girl a waste," he answered lavishly, before bringing up his fingers to kiss them and (wave them toward her). She turned red and turned down her eyes.
Static crackled in his ear. "Eyes on the mission Gambit!" He forced himself not to flinch at the sharp tone, just gently dismissed the girl, who disappeared promising to send Irena as soon as possible. She also apologized for the club being too bright for his sensitive eyes, thus necessitating the sunglasses. His jaw tightened.
"Told you he shun't 've been the one to go in," grumbled another voice in the earpiece. "Gets too distracted by a nice rack and long legs."
"I've seen your idea of subtlety," Storm said simply, ending the conversation.
Gambit's eyes wandered over the club and he muttered, "Ain't like de femmes want t' wake up t' Gambit an'way."
"What was that Gambit?"
"Not'ing."
Magneto was actually not that hard to find once they spent a few days narrowing down his exact location. A few discreet inquiries at a few different bars and nicer dining establishments and Gambit was escorted into a room still lined with aging opulence. It had an air of old power and money, oddly fitting for the white-haired mutant seated by the bed.
He didn't seem surprised to see Gambit and that gnawing feeling developed real teeth.
"Magneto."
"Actually," the older man interrupted. "I'd prefer Joseph."
"Joseph," Gambit repeated, frowning. Not even Erik? He ran a critical eye over his former boss. His air of lofty control, barely contained power and intelligence, had dissolved, leaving a man with tired eyes, lines around his face, an edge of fatigue tingeing his every motion as he eased himself up from the chair. He looked like he'd been to hell and back – not a completely unthinkable idea to Gambit. "Any reason for de change?" He eased back on his heels.
The man didn't seem to hear the question, merely mustering a small smile as he looked over his shoulder. "I knew Charles would send someone to find me."
Remy had the bad feeling this was the start of some sort of plan that was going to involve the X-Men quite intimately. Just not from the other side.
Wolverine had no patience beyond that and interrupted before Gambit could question the newly christened Joseph further. Apparently he thought the obvious lack of hostility could last so long and all too soon Magneto was being escorted onto the Blackbird. Storm went on to prep it for takeoff, while Wolverine checked the little metal-less cocoon he'd concocted to keep Magneto 'safe' one more time. (Remy was impressed; he hadn't realized Wolverine could channel his aggression into something as constructive as building a cage.)
Remy was left with alone with Magneto. They stood in silence for a moment; Remy itched for a cigarette, but he wouldn't in front of the other mutant. Magneto glanced at him curiously.
"You know, your contract is over," he said conversationally, watching for a tenseness in Remy that Gambit refused to betray. When he remained silent, "He will be expecting you back."
Gambit shrugged. "Dat's my problem."
Magneto waited a second longer, but didn't heed the warning. "If you wait too long, you might not like how he gets your attention. And now with you with the X-Men-"
Remy couldn't help his infuriated glare, but thankfully Wolverine's return cut him off before he said anything stupid in response. He turned his back on both, as Wolverine none-too-politely hustled Magneto aboard.
He lit up as soon as they disappeared from sight – and he stared into the sky, painted by the sun on its way to setting.
It was a silent flight home, as Wolverine watched 'Joseph' suspiciously and Remy trying his best to ignore him. He was too keyed up to sleep, which was probably for the best. They arrived at night, but Remy didn't even bother stopping at his room. He had to get out – be anywhere else than there.
Miles away, he toasted his first glass to cursing mutantkind in general.
Fuck 'em all.
Wolverine narrowly eyed the intruder. It was close to 4 A.M. when his senses had alerted him to the commotion coming from the garage.
"I'm gettin' tired of luggin' your ass in," he growled at the drunken figure trying to weave his way through the assortment of vehicles before him. He'd tipped over Wolverine's ride already and the scowl became more pronounced.
Remy blinked blearily, looking down at the bike then up at Wolverine. "Oh," he hiccupped. "Desolé," he said with an exaggerated accent, trying to pick the bike up. He made it half-way before it slipped out of his grip.
Wolverine winced as it rebounded off the concrete floor.
"Cajun…"
Remy promptly started to giggle and resumed singing his French drinking song. Or what Wolverine assumed was a French drinking song.
"Et sur mon manege, l'amour toujours est chantant
De mes reves, c'est le commencement
Et j'espere une fin heureuse
Mais la fin de l'histoire ne vient pas tres doucement"
Huffing in annoyance, Wolverine collared the taller man, hauling him out of the garage. He got a noseful of bourbon and woman's perfume, and unconsciously began to growl.
"Not again."
"Look Gumbo, the only reason I haven't carved you up into dice-sized pieces" claws popped out as if anticipation, "is 'cause she approached you and Chuck is determined to let her. Betta you here then someone else elsewhere apparently. It ain't because I think for one second-"
"She wasn't her."
"What?" Wolverine snapped, annoyed his threatening monologue seemed to not even have registered.
Remy blinked. "I tri'd t' imaginemais wasn't her. Cou'n't be, she felt-" he fluttered his fingers that at any other time Wolverine would've bluntly said was way too gay. Felt? "-cou'n't, cou'n't even touch her den. She just-"
There were no words to describe how it'd felt, when his empathy had reflexively reached for his partner, only to be assailed by the mind, the emotions of one he didn't recognize. It was like reaching for a pearl only to find the raw underbelly of an oyster and a speck of dirt.
"I called her de wrong name."
Wolverine couldn't help but snort. "And she could tell?"
"I said Rogue. Rogue! I never even call de chérie dat - See! Chere, chérie, petite, amoureux, river rat, Roguey," he kept rambling.
"How could she just – not even good 'nough for a second go. Not dat she got anyt'ing to compare it too. First," he stuck his thumb into his chest, "dat's me. Always be, no'," he hiccupped, "not dat it matters. Di'n't want me 'gain. Gettin' used t' yo-u, not the touch." The impression was atrocious, but it didn't take any imagination to guess the quote's origin."So?" Gambit's anger whip-lashed.
"And she kicked you out for that?"
Rogue was hardly more of a name than the other nicknames Gambit showered on the rest of female kind.
Gambit gave a guilty look, magnified by his drunken state, and mumbled on. "Mighta said she not Rogue an' dat's good. Dought Remy be some kinda cheater. Cheater McCheater," he launched into a high-pitched giggle that made Wolverine wince. "An' we didn' even date."
"So?"
The hilarity died a quick death. "Didn' even," he choked again, "mais she won't leave me 'lone. Jus' she's in my head – why won't she leave me 'lone?" It was almost a plea, but it disappeared just as quick as his other thoughts. Damn, if he thought Gambit was moody when not drunk… "If I could just touch'er, just-" He shook his head with such force he nearly wobbled out of Wolverine's grasp. "No, bad Gambit. Fille poison, she even said, but she's not, she's not, but I'm infected. Ugh."
"Fine, all dat jus' fine. I be Gambit, I be fine, jus', jus' need some time. An', an' she just a femme.
Wolverine stared at him. It was something like watching an operation, seeing the blood and guts and wounds be exposed to the world and then being sewn up out of sight. It was the morbid curiosity that made people crane their necks to see a car wreck.
He watched Gambit, Remy, continue babbling, saying all the words to convince himself that everything would be the same as it was before – and knowing them for the lies they were.
Damn, sympathy was a bitch.
"Still want her, not sup-, sup-; no long'r in m'system. If I could jus' fuc-," he cut himself off, thankfully for him or Wolverine would've done it for him with definitely more force. "Non, not work. Too deep. She – too close," he shook his head again, but this time only like a rag doll. And as if to defy Wolverine's conclusion that the man had completely lost touch with the fact he was even there, he finally latched his demon eyes onto the other man. Dimmed only so much by the alcohol, the anguish was still clear. "Can't stay 'way dough, she jus' too, too – les Sirenes."
"If I could just touch her…" It was a whimper, a plea, a demand.
And Wolverine had to wonder-
What would happen when he did?
But that wasn't his business – and so he just grunted and got Remy moving again, even if it was staggering, to his room.
Damn promises.
(The song from above was basically about dreams and wanting to believe in happy endings, but how reality doesn't line up)
Rogue:
She'd held it together for exactly two minutes and fourteen seconds after he'd left, before curling into a ball and letting the sobs ineffectually shake her body.
It was done and – he hadn't even fought it her on it.
The next time she'd seen him, it'd been as if nothing had happened. She was just one of the filles that went to the school, the same as the rest he flirted and schmoozed. It was harder than she'd expected,
even as she'd tried to imagine the scenario, of the time after their practice, to just stand idly by while he smirked and charmed.
And every moment by him, so achingly close but for the distance she had to maintain, with the thought that only days ago she could've just reached out and touched him – it was like being cursed with her mutation all over again.
But this was inevitable, the only way it could've ended.
And so she tried to do as he, to act normal, like everything was as it once had been – as if she hadn't fallen in love with him.
Remy.
Deny it, even as it beat in her blood.
It was hard though. Sometimes, she just couldn't take it, couldn't take the pretending and his shallow grin (not when she knew every shade of his eyes, seen the depth of his gentleness) and she had to leave the room. But she couldn't do that so often, not with Kitty's perceptive watch and Kurt's concerned surveillance – not with as many eyes and wagging tongues as the Manor was filled with.
So she had to keep their barbed banter flowing. A jab here, an eye roll there.
Except she couldn't tell the line anymore – she'd always been bitingly sarcastic with him, dismissive, but now, without the flirtatious undertone – nothing she said seemed right. His eyes got darker and darker and she was left flailing, knowing without knowledge somehow everything was getting worse.
It didn't help that he'd begun lashing out at her.
"Bonus time."
"Connasse."
He called her bitch, with only the smokescreen of the lesson to hide its pointedness. And it fucking hurt, even though she could figure out why he was mad.
It didn't take that long to figure out really.
She'd offended his pride, stopping before he'd been able to fulfill all his fantasies. That she'd so easily turned down his considerable talents.
Like hell she'd show him otherwise, so he could make that its very own notch on his belt.
"Well, a homme likes to enjoy de work of his hands."
All she was.
That day, when the card burst with a brilliance that gave a sun flare competition, she was terrified. She remembered nothing between seeing the card glow ominously and standing a foot away from his blinking body; she still wasn't sure how she'd gotten there so fast. Her heart pounded like a drum and it was all she could do not to touch him, reassure herself he was all right. His eyes were still blinking – oh dieu they were sensitive to light, what if they'd been damaged… Her hands were shaking. She wanted to shake him for being so careless.
"Swamp rat havin' some trouble?"
It took all her effort to sound casual, suddenly aware of the fact the rest of the X-Men were no doubt still watching in the control room. And then there was Scott, oh fuck – she'd totally forgotten about him.
"None at all, river rat. Sometimes de power revs a bit too high, leaves a bit too much damage. Wouldn't know 'bout dat I suppose."
It went in like a knife and she flushed in hurt, which quickly shifted to anger. Anger was always easier to deal with. How dare he – how dare he bring that up, here of all places? That had been private with –
"Least ah'm not losing out to 'visorboy,' Gambit."
She fell back to exactly what she knew would sting, just as he knew what could cut her to the quick. And even if it made her eyes sting, she was still pissed.
It hurt that that was all it was.
Cheaters' peak continued:
Remy's powers - this has to do with how his mutation adapted to hers; she stopped absorbing him, but - well this is kinda experimenting with the idea Rogue might be able to split her energy absorption from her psyche absorption - though at this point, it'd be completely unconscious, an almost 'natural' consequence of prolonged contact with her exposed skin. Remy's mutation can manifest in a minimal energy 'shielding', the excited molecules providing a barrier, thus this is what it's begun doing to protect Remy from draining, forcing him to produce more energy than usual when he's with Rogue. He's become used to this though and doesn't register it. This shielding is then being drawn into Rogue unconsciously and converted into like a natural energy high for her - so her control with him is actually completely different from others due to their mutations (which means she's being effected physically by the abrupt end of their arrangement as well). I know, it's kindof complicated.
Xavier does tend to let his students find out some things experientially. Not to mention, how exactly would he make either of them listen? Remy is technically living there as an adult and Rogue would just shut down if he tried to discuss it with her (granted he might've or could've still tried). Also, he didn't want to run the risk of Rogue turning elsewhere and possibly doing something where he couldn't monitor it even obliquely. Finally, he's an idealist. I can't picture him really considering Rogue would either try or could go through with just having casual sex with someone, especially someone he's reasonably sure she likes (Remy) – and whom he has suspicions likes her back. I can see Xavier as a matchmaker and cheerleader for Remy in this scenario. However, for now, I'm going to keep him in the background.