Disclaimer: I don't own a thing

Title: Born for Bad Luck

By: Peanutbutter

-I'm not much for this chapter, but that's probably because everything I really wanted to get to is in the next chapter. Stupid chapter necessary for plot progression. As always thanks so much for all the reviews!

"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 8: Messed Up World

This is a crazy mixed up world

People it seems like one great big curse

This is a crazy mixed up world today

People it seems like one great big curse

Things gotta get better real soon

Cause they can't hardly get much worse

(Messed Up World song by E. Harrington)

They swarmed around the exit ramp like bees to their hive. Remy thought they were caught when they pulled off the interstate. John had launched into cussing, punching the door, kicking the dash. He even knocked the latch off the glove compartment. Remy thought he'd really had lost his touch when the police motioned him over and asked him to roll down his window. He cursed his give away eyes and tried to look innocent.

The cop scowled mustache covering his top lip as he hissed and took a step backward. "Oh," he snarled, "You're with them."

Remy quirked a brow unsure if it was safe to agree or not. He was sure it had something to be with him being a mutant, bastard, but he didn't know at the moment if mutants were the cause of the trouble.

"They're parked by the gas station, waiting. You can get to them over there." He pointed over his shoulder, flashlight swinging, casting an arch over the dark sky. "Tell them we still don't know anything."

"Sure t'ing," Remy winked and rolled his window up. He didn't now what the hell the guy was talking about, whatever it was it had helped them. They needed gas anyway. They car they'd swiped after stealing the gas station worker's had been near on empty.

Most of the police were surrounding a car, blue, long nosed Buick. His stomach rolled it's familiarity striking him instantly. Remy let his attention linger on the wreckage. The front was smashed against a tree. The doors were ripped off on the driver and passenger sides, twisted blue metal and cloth. One door was some twenty feet from the wreck. The grass on either side of tires was ruptured, huge divots dug into the dirt. He held his breath.

"Shit, Remy, stop." John cursed and put his arm on the dash to brace himself.

Remy turned back to the road, his foot slamming onto the brake lurching the car violently forward. His seat belt caught him flinging him back into the seat. They stopped just shy of the bumper in front of them.

"What the hell?"

Remy ignored John and looked toward the wreckage again. His eyes narrowed. They were taking things out of the car, putting them in bags. They pulled out a coat, long, dark, and leather, shit. That was their car, the car Rogue had been driving. Why was it slammed into a tree, and where was she?

"Uh, Remy, don't pull in there."

Remy forced himself back to John. "Que?"

"English, Remy, fucking English!"

Remy narrowed his eyes. John was a little touchy. "I said 'what'."

"It's the damn X-men. Turn the car around."

Remy looked into the lot where John pointed. Five people stood in a line watching the crime scene. None of them were familiar except for the short man with the wild hair and leather jacket. He was smoking a cigar, pacing in front of the group. So that was who the police were talking about. He yanked the wheel to the left ignoring the blinking gas light. The car squealed as he forced it into a u-turn and headed for the entrance ramp.

"De girl wit dem?"

"What are you..." John started.

"De, girl, Rogue, dat her car."

John looked at the wreckage and back to the line. "I don't see her, but she could be somewhere else, inside maybe."

"You t'ink she'd still be dere, dat dey'd 'till be dere. Somet'ing happened." His mind raced. Something was forming, something he didn't really want to think about. They'd spent too much time worrying about the X-men and not enough worrying about Essex.

"What are you talking about?"

They pulled onto the interstate. The cops were too busy to bother with them; the X-men too worried with something else, or maybe with the same thing. The difference was Remy knew what had happened to Rogue. It should have been a good thing. His boss had her, probably had the drive, so job well done. He swallowed for some reason he didn't think that was going to be the case.

"We need ta get in touch wit Essex."

"Yeah, like that's new." John looked over his shoulder. "What do you think happened to her?"

The question only required a one word answer. "Essex."

There was no exclamation of surprise, or cussing. John was surprisingly silent. He cleared his throat and pointed out another gas station exit. "We should make it another mile, right."

Remy nodded.

John was filling up the car while he stalked toward the pay phone to make the call. He really should have a cell phone, one of those cheep throw away minute bought plans. Besides he was sure there was some unsavory cell phone provider for people in his line a work. A cellphone would have prevented him from making this call. Then again, not screwing up would have done the same thing.

Remy pulled out a cigarette, lighting the end with the tip of his finger, watching John pump gas. They didn't have a lot of money, just fifty he'd swiped from the attendant. They would have to make it back on that. Half way though his cigarette he reached for the phone, plucking it from the cradle and dropping in the quarters. He dialed the numbers he'd memorized in case of an emergency. He'd never had to use it before.

"Hello."

It was a girl, her voice sickeningly sweat. He swallowed, "Bonjour, petite, I need ta talk wit de Nathaniel Essex."

He imagined her smiling on the other end of the line, pearly white teeth flashing, vapid, and empty eyes. "Ah, Mister LeBeau," her voice hardened, "he's been expecting your call." His image of her grew fangs, maybe she wasn't that sweet after all.

He had to wait. John was leaning against the car. He threw his arms up in question. Remy shook his head. John disappeared into the store, probably after something to eat. Remy hadn't eaten anything since those flattened cheeseburgers.

"Mr. LeBeau."

Remy had to keep himself from flinching. The tone, though light had a way of scolding him. He could feel the man's eyes on him. Goose flesh rushed up his back bringing a cold chill with it. He gritted his teeth. "Essex, I t'ink we've had une petite problem."

He laughed, like nails on a chalkboard. "No, no I don't think there's a problem, not anymore. You keep some interesting company, LeBeau, very interesting."

"She's not'ing, de drive..."

"Was on her. She handed over with just a little coaxing. Sweet girl, interesting power."

Essex loved interesting. That was something Remy didn't want to think about. The girl had been annoying, self righteous, and fucking trouble, but it wasn't her fault. He had never meant for her to fall into Essex's hands. He squeezed the phone, knuckles whitening.

"De deal needs a little adjustment." Remy thought of the original plan. He wasn't going to get out of this with what he wanted, not this time.

"The deal stands, Mr. LeBeau, with just few adjustments. The girl stays and you do me one more favor. With the X-men threatening to come after you I think it might be a good deal to take. You compromised me."

The receiver cracked in his fist, plastic flaking off and falling around his feet. He wanted to his life back. He would be free, but he'd have to sacrifice her. A girl he barely new, had hardly talked to, a girl that he had no history with , would probably never have met if it hadn't been for John. She was nothing. One favor and the girl and he was free, his honor intact, his life his again. He swallowed and closed his eyes. There was only one choice.

"Where do we meet."

"At the lab Remy. You get what you want and I tell you the favor."

His feet felt heavy as he trudged back to the car. He was suddenly tired, like it had finally caught up to him. He hadn't slept in days, his shoulder was aching, his legs ached. He wanted to sleep, bury his face in his blanket and ignore the sunshine. He wanted to be back in New Orleans, greeting the bayou, baring the humidity, fighting with his brother, his father...

"So what's going on?" John asked as Remy slid into the driver's seat and shut the door.

The silence was thick, awkward, heavy. He cranked the car. "We're goin' in, t'night, he wants t' keep Rogue. We can' let dat happen." Essex could have the drive and he already had his team. They'd done there job, mostly, but Rogue wasn't part of the deal.

The alarm sounded, ringing loudly in his still tired ears. Remy smacked the clock and ran his hand over his face and shook his head. His hair slapped his face mercilessly, and for the first time in the two hours they had alloted for sleep he felt tired. He had been the one who insisted on the sleep, that they couldn't pull it off tired with slow reflexes. It had been too long since they'd eaten, slept, done anything but run. John had been out as soon as his head hit the hotel bed. Snoring, mouth agape, shoes still on his feet. Remy had pulled the sneakers off and seat the clock.

He had tried to to sleep. Laid down under the covers, over them when he was hot, under them again, but sleep refused to come. He closed his eyes and tried to force it, but all he could think about was Essex's lab, the blood stained floor, scrubbed to a dull brown, spots too dark to be old, his sharpened teeth and haunting eyes. In all of that he thought of Rogue, suffering, plagued because of him, someone else paying for his mistakes. His eyes flashed to Bella, Julian, Genevieve, his brother, his father, his Tante... The list was endless, he was useless.

So he sat up, running over strategy, again and again, memorizing blue prints, checking his equipment, cards. He took a shower, washing the dirt and sweat from two days away. After that he still had an hour left. He still wasn't tired. He smoked, one after the other, until his pack was empty, and he felt the after effects of too much smoke, no food, and no sleep settle on his stomach. It was about then the alarm sounded and he felt defeated.

John was still sleeping, sprawled on his back, arms flung out, chest rising and falling slowly. He had moved once the entire time he slept, to roll from his side to his back. Remy got to his feet and walked to his side. He pushed the sleeping man with his hand. John rolled away from his fingers, mumbling. Remy shoved harder.

"John," he called.

John waved him away. Remy picked his foot off the floor and pushed it into John's back and shoved. John rolled, his eyes flying open just as he rolled off the bed and hit the floor. It would have been funny if Remy wasn't so tense. He was on his feet in an instant, ready to launch himself across the bed and onto Remy.

"It's time to go."

John deflated, fists unballing ,face falling, dead pan. "Right."

The fact that John let the shove slide was evidence enough, he was nervous too.

It was two am when they reached the sparling warehouse that served as Essex's base of operations. Remy had only been there one time, weak and desperate, he had vowed to never go back.

"De goal is stealth," Remy reminded his partner. John was adjusting the straps on his makeshift fuel pack. The one he usually sported was locked somewhere in the remains of his apartment. John ignored him. "Dat doesn' mean blowing stuff up."

John shot him the bird. "Don't be an asshole Remy. I might have to sacrifice your life to get myself out safely and I don't want that to be the last thing I say to you." He grinned unable to hold back his good humor. "I want that to be 'you're a prick LeBeau'."

"Dat before or after y' start cryin'?"

"Sometime after you stumble and blow off your own foot," he answer matter a factly. "Enough with this touchy feely shit. We've got a big, bad, bastard to piss off, he did steal our hostage."

They fell into silence, the radio's in their ears only for emergencies. They were going in by way of the air ducts. Entrance would be easy. The place was, after all, a medical research facility, sanctioned and covered, nobody was trying to break in. It have off the appearance of complete legitimacy. It was the inside that would give them problems. Getting out was going to be a bitch.

Her world was swirling, tumbling, refusing to come together. There were flashes of coherency, or what she thought was, but she couldn't be sure. She wasn't even sure who she was. There were too many people pushing, shoving, and demanding control. Her head was too full.

"She did quite a number on Scrambler, knocked him out of nearly five hours."

She turned her head toward the voice, he swirled and doubled before she closed her eyes, afraid she was going to be sick. That was right someone had touched her, had made the voices get confused. She remembered that. Scrambler was the reason everything was so hard to put together. What had he done to her?

"The effects are only supposed to last as long as he touches the object. He held onto her for only a few minutes, but the effects are still going."

The voice grabbed her head, prying her eye open. A light shone in her eye shrinking her pupil. She tried to pull away, but something surged through her, wild and primal. She snapped at the hand, teeth bared. She wanted to rip the voice apart, tear him up, kill him. She pulled, buckles straining, forcing her into the table.

"Her brain is going crazy, so many parts lighting up at once. I wonder how long it will go on."

The surge passed, she calmed confused, but scared. The wild man wanted control, demanded it, but he had to get in line, there were so many more competing for the same thing. Someone else surged, hot and angry. Her body heated, her fingers sweating. She felt like something should be happening, something more than her body burning.

"Her temperature..." The voice trailed off intrigued. "I wonder, I wonder who she has touched. We already now the extent of her powers. Skin on skin draws the powers and memories from the victim, but how long do they last? What happens when contact is extended past a few minutes?"

A laugh escaped her lips, unbidden and frightening as she tried to stop it. Another was taking charge, old, white haired, and crazy. He thought the voice was funny. She forced her mouth shut, stopped the laugh, and started to struggle. She needed to get out, get away.

"Hmm, perhaps this will be better when the effects of Scrambler's touch have worn off. Give her something to calm her, make her sleep. Put her away until she becomes coherent."

She tried to fight the prick of the needle, the rush of liquid, painful and thick, into her vein, but it was impossible. She whimpered when her eyes grew heavy. A loud buzzing rushed her ears before everything went black.

"Well, well, well, this is something I didn't expect."

She tried to hold onto the voice, figure out what the noise was, but it was too much, her body too heavy, too weak. Darkness engulfed her and the voices began to fight again dragging her down with them.

So there it is. It's a little short, but the rest is too long to put with this. Besides some good stuff is coming up. Remy and John decided to do a good thing. Yay them. We'll see how long that lasts.

Preview for Chapter 9

...Magneto sealed the deal, promised him something he never thought he'd have, control, power, status. He ignored the conflicting parts of his brain and focused on the anger. Somewhere in there he'd let his mind catch up with his actions and tried to go back, but it was too late by then. He had his lot in life. He was one of the bad guys. He'd never been cut from the mold of a hero. Not a Bobby, perfect from birth, or Scott, or even freaking Wolverine. He was hopeless.

"What are you doing here?"

John shoved his sweating palms into his pockets forcing himself to be calm. Bobby wasn't. There was frost forming on his fingers steam curling out of his mouth and nose as he breathed. Bobby had once been the only person he trusted, now Bobby was enemy, and all of it was his fault.

"Chill, iceboy, I came here to talk, not fight."

"Sonova bitch, you kidnapped Rogue, who knows what else you're up to." Ice was forming in his palm.

"Forget the act, nobody's here to see it," John spat, so much for being civil. "Besides I have something you want."

He paused eyes melding from solid to hazel. "Talk." He straightened his jaw throwing out his chest. "If you've hurt one hair on her head." The hero trip really was nauseating.

John rolled his eyes, "Why do you care anyway. She's not your girlfriend anymore."

Bobby narrowed his eyes. John nearly grinned.

"Something about you not being man enough downstairs."

"You sorry bastard!" The stream of ice was wholly unexpected but it was surprising how fast it could travel the fifty feet between them. John barely had time to pull out his lighter and melt the stream. He jumped out of the way before Bobby could send another blast. Bobby was strong, but John hadn't spent the last four years sitting on his ass. He had some new tricks to show the all-star.

"You forget I didn't come here to fight," Bobby pulled his hand back, frost melting. John pushed his luck and added, "Dumbass."

Finally here come the X-men. The quote comes somewhere in the middle of the next chapter. Just so you know a lot of stuff happens before we get to this part.