Disclaimer: I don't own a thing

Title: Born for Bad Luck

By: Peanutbutter

"Boys I'm most done travellin', Lord I'm at my journey's end

B'lieve I'm most done travellin', Lord at my journey's end

Well I been lookin' for me a good partner, bad luck is my best friend..."

(Born for Bad Luck song by Brownie McGhee)

Chapter 6: Down Hill Pull

" There's an undercurrent somewhere, and I can't put my foot on land

Undercurrent somewhere, can't put my foot on land

I don't seem to nowhere no matter how hard I plan..."

(Down Hill Pull song by Victoria Spivey)

He perched there for a second staring, eyes coasting over John, narrowing, widening at Rogue before they focused on Remy. Remy had been wondering how the guy knew he had Rogue, the controled look told him everything. Hair, claws, and snarl had followed his trail back to John's place, not hers. Happened to find the girl, but his goal, his real goal was to rip Remy limb from limb. Hairy leaped off the sill, claws glinting in the rising sunlight, catching the orange of the sky. He roared. Remy reached for the cards strewn across the table. He had a deck in his pocket but something told him that he was going to need a lot more ammo if he was getting out of this alive.

A tingle rushed up his arm and into the tips of his fingers, the card glowed magenta. Rogue jumped on Remy's arm. He pitched to the left the card flying wild. Remy watched it sail toward John. He grabbed Rogue's arm and squeezed. She was still as she watched the floating paper bomb. The card exploded between the clawed man and John. The blast threw John over the baseboard of his bed, ice flying, rope incinerated somewhere in the blast, and damn if the guy didn't keep coming. His claws were slashing, trying without effect to clear the smoke. John scrambled to his feet and back toward the door. His eyes were wide like he was looking on the ghost of his grandmother, or the voodoo queen of Louisiana. It wasn't all fear, but a mixture or appreciation and awe. Obviously John knew him. Maybe if he'd mentioned him before they would have avoided the situation, but it was too late for what ifs, there were too many to think about.

The girl started to struggle, pulling for the clawed man, calling out his name, twisting, trying to pull her gloves free. Remy had to hold her tighter, knowing he was bruising her, but he couldn't have her getting away, not just yet. They weren't quite done, even if Essex had the drive they needed to get out of town before the X-men found out about the files, about the red eyed man's involvement. He wasn't loosing this chance.

He threw another card. It exploded near the hairy man, but didn't stop him.

"Aim for his face," John called as he ran up beside him a ball of fire already forming on his palm. "It's the only way we're getting away."

"John!" Rogue yelled and Remy jerked her hard, halting her cries and pulled her close to his side, tucking her against him. His other hand pulled cards out of his pocket.

John only glanced at Rogue for a moment before turning back to Remy. "He regenerates. We have to hit him fast and quick before he had time to recover."

Remy pulled the cards three cards out charging them as the man approached. John threw fire balls. They lit on the man's clothes but fizzled after a few seconds. John got was getting hot the heat from his flames growing with each toss. He was building toward something big and Remy had to make sure he was there to help him. They had one chance to get out, and even then it wasn't guaranteed.

He took John's advice and threw the card; directing it toward the wild man's face. He knocked it away, avoiding the blast by millimeters. His hand took the brunt of the damage, flesh peeled back, blood running down his forearm, but it wasn't enough. Remy could see the flesh knitting together. Rogue was whimpering in his hold, still struggling. He tried again. The second hit it's mark. There was a spray of blood, and a howl. He couldn't see the damage through the blast of fire from John fingers. Rogue screamed, and the wild man fell to the floor, with a sickening, wet, slap.

They ran, like the devil himself was after them.

Rogue was hysterical, screaming, digging her feet into the floor, trying to stop their escape. Remy didn't have to look at her to know she was crying. Her voice was choked, raspy with wet coughs and gravely screams. He pulled hard, knocking her off balance. She pitched toward the floor and Remy caught her before she hit using her momentum to propel them forward. John was already down the stairs, jumping from the top of each six step interval to the flat concrete slab in between. Remy followed suit, Rogue slung over his shoulder.

He was going to have to compensate for Rogue's weight, her struggling. Clenching his teeth, he tried to figure out how to land without breaking something. His feet landed upright, but he couldn't stay on the balls of his feet. Rogue kicked him in the stomach and bit his shoulder. His feet slapped onto the ground flat. Pain shot through his legs to his back, making him gasp. He grabbed her feet clutching them to his chest. She was still biting him. He was sure she was seconds from tearing a hunk of flesh off his shoulder. He slapped at her before he made the next jump, but she was biting harder.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs he heard footsteps pounding down the hallway. He burst into the street, John had a car hot wired and revved to go. Remy started for it and stopped. There were sirens. John heard them too.

"Split up!" He yelled.

John frowned and shook his head, no.

The sirens were louder and the front door to the apartment complex shattered. Remy jumped for the car. He slammed the door and John took off. He was flung to the side Rogue smashed between him and the door. She was still. Remy rolled off her, ignoring her as he looked at John. He was hitting eighty weaving through New York, cutting off cars, running lights.

"Slow down."

John didn't look over his shoulder. "Dammit, do you know who that was?" He went faster. A car honked and swerved.

Remy was flung sideways but caught himself before he hit Rogue, "De cops already lookin' for us, stop tellin' dem where we are!"

He slowed a bit, "That was Wolverine, we're lucky to be alive."

"Kinda figured dat on my own." He put his hand on his shoulder, wincing he felt the bruise the girl's teeth had left on him. Clawed on one side bruised on the other. "You know where ta go, homme?"

John nodded, "Yeah," he paused, "we should have gone there last night."

"Shoulda done alotta t'ings." He answered and leaned against the cold leather seat content to let John drive. His brain was spinning in overdrive. Was all this worth it? He thought of the bottle, his life, his dept, his honor. He could see his father standing over him, face impassive, stern, he was shaking his head. Remy ducked resting his forehead against the cold glass and closed his eyes.

The girl sniffled. He rolled around his eyes falling on the girl, bathed in sunlight, half hidden by her hair. She was crying, silent, eyes closed, tears, fat, wet and large rolling down her already soaked cheeks. He didn't know why it bothered him so much. Just a girl, just a stupid girl who had screwed up his plans and nearly gotten him killed. He reached for her. He didn't know how his touch could comfort her, or even why he was trying. Millimeters from her shoulder, she flinched flattening herself against the door. Remy withdrew his arm.

The day passed with varying degrees of light and dark, oranges, pinks, blues, and dull grays. Through it all they drove in silence though John had tried to talk, saying something about uncomfortable silences and turning the radio on. Remy was almost sure he was trying to get a reaction out of them because he turned it up loud, nodding his head to the beat he didn't seem to care about anyone else in the car.

The girl, Remy looked at her every few minutes unable to keep himself from it, had stopped crying. Her cheeks where still red, her hair a tangled mess, but her mouth. It had been a frown, pouting, broken, trembling, now it was hard, straight, and flat. She was planning something. That tight mouth just proved her resolve. She was going to run first chance she got. They tied her hands half way there. She sat for it, stared him in the eyes while he did it, refused to give in to him, refused to speak. After that he got into the front seat.

She fell asleep when they were nearly there, mouth relaxed, face paled slightly. He watched the light play over her face, watched her chest rise and fall, thought about the way she played cards, the small unwilling smiles she had given him, the sound of her tears, it was then he decided he was thinking too much and turned his attention to the radio.

Water splashed against her heated skin, cascading down her cheeks and neck, wetting the collar of John's shirt. It felt good. She did it again scrubbing her face lightly with her palms, trying to rub the plastic feeling from her face. She stretched her mouth open and closed before splashing the water again.

"Hurry up!"

Rogue glared at the door and kicked it for good measure. The boom resounded through the small tile room, bouncing off the squared walls. She imagined it was louder to her than him. "Shut up!" She yelled through the door. She wasn't worried about him coming in, it was locked, but it had been hard to keep him out of the bathroom. He had told he was coming with her, winking lewdly, damn John. He had changed his mind when he found out it was a one room stall. He was reluctantly in the gas station hallway. Remy was pumping gas.

John started to whistle, some aimlessly, toneless song. He beat on the door with the music he whistled. The hits varied in volume and frequency, but he kept some sort of steady beat. He was bored, probably about to start yelling again. He was making so much damn noise the clerk was sure to come back in a moment. She started for the door her fingers closing around the cold knob. She paused, it hit her sweet and cool it rushed over her body cooling her instantly her face drying. Her eyes followed the path of air to a small window. She swallowed. John was still beating on the door. She had time.

She jumped onto the toilet and reached. The tips of her fingers closed under the sill and she pushed. The window hadn't been opened in a long time, layers of paint cemented it to the sill, but she pushed harder. Somewhere between John's pounding fists it cracked. The noise was loud and Rogue almost stopped fearing he had heard it, had figured it out, but he was still whistling. She pushed up again the window broke free from the paint and slid upward, the cool air hit her full force. The opening wasn't big, she'd have to squeeze but it was possible. She'd be gone before the idiot figured it out.

She laid her palms flat on the tiled sill and pushed up, her toes barely touched the toilet seat and it was then she noticed the pounding had stopped. Her heart raced. Was he coming in? She turned toward the door, but it was still shut.

"Are you on the rag! Hurry up!"

"Asshole," she yelled back. He didn't respond with words, but started whistling again.

She pushed her torso through the window. Her feet dangled heavily on the wall and she scrambled for purchase on the slick tile. Her shoulders scraped the edge of the window. She bit her lip and pushed. She was falling face first toward the ground, not the best decent but she hadn't thought about that when she started out. She pushed again her legs sliding though easily and held her arms out to brace herself. Her tips where a few inches from the ground. She wiggled side to side. Her feet slipped through, clipping the glass as she slid toward the ground. Her hands caught her and she forced herself into a roll.

Back against hard ground she winced when a piece of glass worked it's way into her palm. She was free. There was no yelling behind the door, so John was still there, oblivious. She peeked around the edge of the building. Remy was no where in sight. The car was sitting by the pump, alone. She raced for it. The air hit her face as she ran, her blood pumping, her fingers shaking. She opened the door and slipped into the driver's seat. The keys were still in the ignition, dangling, her salvation. She cranked the car. The gas gage was on full.

"Hey!"

Rogue looked over her shoulder. Remy was running toward the car. She hit the gas.

"Rogue, non, dis isn' de way!" His palms hit the door. Rogue panicked and pulled onto the road ignoring the oncoming traffic. Tires squealed as the other cars braked, horns blared, but she didn't care. A laugh burst from her lips shaking her body. She looked over her shoulder. Remy was throwing his arms up pacing in the lot and John was running out of the gas station. She lost sight of them around a curve and smiled.

The end of this chapter. The story is a little off to me, but I plan to fix most of that next chapter. There are some conversations I want to happen, that I think will be able to come to the page next time, or at least lay the ground work for them. So tell me what you think.

Preview for Chapter 7

She'd been in a car accident before, with Logan, stuck in her seat, afraid she would burn. It was then she'd seen him regenerate, been afraid and relieved all at the same time, but this was different. She was alone, the streets were dark and other than she had hit something Rogue had no idea what was going on. There was smoke and a face dancing in front of her. Hair, fangs, foul breath, she tried to pull away, but the figure reached for her. Claws dug into her side as she was lifted out of the car.

A voice, low and nonthreatening in volume, but the tone sent chills running throughout her body reached her ears. She struggled knowing that whoever it was she had to get away. The claws dug in into her stopping movement. She was forced to listen to his voice.

"So this is the little Rogue, the girl who messed up my plans and fooled with my puppets."

Rogue shook, it was him, the man who had invaded her dreams with bleeding eyes, Nathaniel Essex.