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 11: Boom Boom, Out Go the Lights

'No kiddin' I'm ready to fight...

Boom boom! out go the lights.

(Boom Boom, Out Go the Lights by Little Walter)

Note: I know a little late again, but I'm trying to get it out on time. I'm not going to change the release day. The new chapter will be planned for Mondays. Also I'd like to thank you for all the reviews. The constructive reviews help me to edit harder, and try to make the chapters the best I can. Also I have to thank you guys for all the praise. I wouldn't be writing this without it. I got an extremely long review from Ice this last time and I've never had a review like that before. I admit, I loved it and I just wanted to thank you for giving you time to write it. Everybody who takes a little time to drop a few words I just want to say, thank you, thank you, thank you, and thank you about a hundred more times!

"Remy?"

Remy tilted his head backward, eyes closing at her words. He whispered back to her, speaking in French because sometimes the tones, the flowing words, and accent seemed to sooth her, smoothing the wrinkles of her damaged psyche into something more coherent.

"Ah know why you did it."

His fingers slipped through his hair, lost on productive action, longing for a cigarette to hold, he let them rest on his bent knees. His tips twitched, partly loss of nicotine, partly loss of situation control. Was it Rogue, or Carol, or John, or any of the other people swimming in her head that he couldn't name, couldn't calm, couldn't begin to understand, talking this time?

"Did what Cherie?"

What had they done to her? It was a question he could only partially answer and in the same instance blame himself for. She was struggling, lost, seemingly on the brink of insanity, because of him. The thought made his fists clench, his nails dig into his palms, and a ball of frustration and anger to build in his stomach.

"Ah would do anythang..."

She trailed off, voice on the verge of a sob, she had cried, a couple of times it didn't seem she was even aware of it. Sometimes it wasn't Rogue crying. Everyone was having their turn. Not to mention her accent had a tendency to thicken when she was upset, forcing her words into incoherency, slurred, and long.

"Anythang for what ya have."

Remy opened his eyes, tried to focus on getting out, on what he was going to do to Essex when he escaped.

"Ah, Ah've wanted it ever since Ah found out Ah was a mutant. It's why Ah got the cure. Why Ah ran away. Without it Ah can't, Ah can't go home, Ah can't..."

She was slipping away. Her voice had that edge of hysteria that promised a shift in personality. He was desperate to keep her there, talking, keep her Rogue. He spoke to her slowly, trying to force his voice into a calm he didn't feel.

"W'at do I have dat you want, belle, whatever it is, tell me, Rogue." It was good to say her name force her to identify with it. Sometimes that was simple enough to draw her back.

"Control," she whispered it like a prayer, her voice no longer cracking with tears, but deadly calm and toneless. "Ah saw you, Ah saw you without control. Your poor hands," she paused for a moment, "deadly skin, deadly touch."

He wanted to tell her that getting control had only given him less of it. He'd tried the quick way out and ended up enslaved to a man he hated, all because of a loyalty that probably shouldn't have existed, a crazy attempt to hold onto his honor.

"Ah would have done the same thing."

"Non," he yelled it before he even knew why. He forced his voice lower, calmer, "Non, you, your better dan dat."

Silence met his answer. He wanted to tell her more, tell her how things had gone wrong, why he had screwed up so badly. He turned toward her, his hand flat on the wall, wondering if she was leaning in the same place back against his.

"Rogue?"

She didn't answer, but there was a breath, deep, a quiver, another breath, she began to whisper. He'd lost her.

Clenching his teeth he rolled to his feet, unable to sit still any longer. In the other room she screamed. Remy rushed toward to wall, worried, angry. He whispered to her, tried to calm her, but she couldn't listen. Somebody else was talking for her.

His fist met the wall, denting the metal, breaking the skin on his knuckles, calming his boiling blood. He punched it again, the pain flared, the calm rushed over him, but her screams continued. When he hit the wall a third time the lights flickered. He paused eyes focusing on the florescent bulb on the ceiling. It sizzled, flickered again before it went black.

Darkness enveloped him, deep, consuming, complete. There wasn't a light coming from under the door in front of him and everything was deathly silent. He didn't have time to think about what was going on, or why. His fingers were tingling, his body was roaring, welcoming an old friend.

He smirked, a laugh bubbling out of his throat. He stumbled toward the door, letting the wall guide him. His fingers fell against the cool metal. He stopped, grinned when bright magenta filled the room, casting his skin a deep red.

"De Gambit, back."

He backed away unable to keep the grin off his face. The door exploded into the hall, flames dying on the metal, melted steel cooling back to a dull gray. He watched it for a moment before shifting his attention to Rogue's door. He wrapped his fingers around the locked knob and willed it to charge. It blew with a sharp pop, and he pushed it open.

"Who are you?"

Remy blinked in the darkness. There was no light for him to pick up on. He couldn't see her, even with his light sensitive eyes. Remy groped for his shirt sleeve, right where the shirt met the seam he pulled. The sleeve came off, crumpled in his palm, he immediately charged it. The pink light filtered through the darkness. Remy's eyes absorbed the light illuminating the room. He saw her. She was coiled against the wall, fists clenched, legs bent, ready to pounce.

"It's me, belle, it Remy."

Her response was immediate and painful. She jumped. He braced himself for the impact, feet planted, arms extended to catch her. She hit like a freight train her hands slamming into his chest, knocking him off balance. He hit the floor with a painful thud and slid backward.

He couldn't breath, stars burst in front of his eyes. He gasped, but his lungs were empty refusing to take in more air. She charged him, screaming.

"Ah don't know what ya did ta me, how Ah'm not myself, but Ah know it was you. Ah know it was you!" She charged him again, intent on bodily harm.

Remy didn't know where the strength came from, how she was able to knock his breath out and possibly break a few ribs with one shove. Her eyes were wild with rage. His fingers started to burn his arm tingling unpleasantly. He looked down, the cloth was still clutched in his hand, glowing, ready to explode. Remy concentrated on the cotton, drawing some of the charge away. When he looked up she was nearly on top of him. Remy tossed the cloth. It exploded, small, mostly a burst of light and very little boom, in front of her face. She stopped her eyes crossing almost comically before she fell backward.

Remy winched as he jumped to his feet, desperate to catch her before she hit the floor. His arms were barely able to make the catch, her back hitting his forearms. His ribs screamed, his breath was short, but she was safe, a little singed, but safe. She fell against him, yielding to his frame. Her breath came in deep, steady bursts, falling, not unpleasantly, on his neck where her head was cradled near his shoulder.

"You t'ink you're gonna get away, de t'ief turn hero?"

Remy spun around almost dropping the girl in his arms. A chill rushed up his spine and a stream of incoherent babble burst from his lips.

"Dat not a proper greetin' Remy, dere had t' be more you wan' t' say to your Pere."

"So that's it?" John asked unable to keep the amazement and skepticism out of his voice. Sure he wasn't good with computers, so he couldn't begin to understand just what her flying fingers had been doing when they danced across the keyboard, but it seemed a little too quick. Not to mention it was Kitty doing the hacking. He hadn't known her for long, but part of him had always considered her a little bit of a ditz, a Red Sox obsessed Bostonian, with a killer right hook if you insulted her team, but really, mostly, a ditz.

"I could explain it to you John, but I have a feeling you just wouldn't get it."

John leaned back into his seat, pulling his eyes away from the computer screen. It was like she had read his thoughts. Maybe ditz wasn't the right word, perhaps she was a little physic. She turned back to the screen snapping her gum and grinning.

"Well the power's out. We can go, no alarms, and complete darkness."

Wolverine took over, telling everyone their teams, relaying the plan he and the Professor had worked out. The Wolverine John remembered hadn't been big on the team building exercises, so it was hard to take him seriously. Especially when he advised everyone to stick to the plan, no improvising. John did snort at that, tried to cover it with a cough. Nobody seemed to think it was as funny as he did. Wolverine, the organized leader, the new Scott. That thought alone was enough to kill the smile.

"Any questions?" It was obviously rhetorical, especially with the glare he was sending to accompany the question. Wolverine was ready for action. More organized, team spirited, but not very patient, parts of the old were still mingled with the new. Besides it was all fairly simple, get in, get out, nothing fancy, there really shouldn't be questions. Then again that had been Remy and John's plan from the beginning. That hadn't worked out so well.

"I want John on my team." Bobby burst out, like he had been holding it back the entire time.

"What?" John hadn't meant to say that out loud, but really that wasn't what he had been expecting. Maybe, 'leave John on the plane', or 'lets, leave John here, teach him a lesson', definitely not 'let's be teammates'."

Bobby turned toward him, eyes narrowing. John shut his mouth.

"I don't trust you."

"Bobo," he mocked, "you really hurt my feelings."

"Shut it," Wolverine warned.

He turned to Bobby. "No, we already have the teams."

"Logan," he started to protest, but the doors were opening, spilling them onto the lawn. The fight was over, at least for the moment.

They moved like one, each team falling into a comfortable routine that only could have steamed from hours of practice. When one zigged, the other zigged, and sometimes there was zagging, chaotic at first glance and brilliant in its finality as everyone ended up where they were supposed to. That is expect for John.

He hung back watching, unable to go with their flow, too unaccustomed to team play. John had never been a team player. Even with Magneto it was about power, struggle, always fighting for your spot on the top, the thrill, the game.

"John!"

His ear piece crackled, telling him to get down. He was in the middle of the yard, in plain sight, he was ruining the plan. He stood rooted, ignoring them, telling himself that even if he did need their help he didn't need this, ridicule, orders, submission.

John turned to where Bobby was crouched. He flashed him a grin, before the fire jumped life in his palm. It was time to get down to it. He'd been fighting his nature for too long. He needed to cause a little destruction, do something his way. Besides, they were the good guys, didn't the good guys always win in the end.

"You, damn idiot!'

It was Bobby, figured him out, was charging him. John laughed and let the wall of flame fly toward the building. The wall was lit bright with flames. He pushed the fire hotter, further into the building, flash burning everything in it's wake. Something exploded. The night sky was lit, John grinned, just as Bobby tackled him, cutting the line of fire off.

The flames died slowly, the grass still burning. Guards spilled out of the building, Vertigo and Scalphunter soon followed. It didn't take long for a fight to break out. Everyone was involved, everyone expect for Bobby and John.

"What the fuck John!"

Bobby punched him. He felt his lip split his head knocked into the grass. John rolled to the side, bucking Bobby off of his torso and avoiding the next blow. He rolled to his feet and kicked Bobby in the stomach. Bobby was flung onto his back, panting, materialized puffs of air appearing in front of him. His eyes were going white.

John decided the fight was over, at least for the moment. "Come on iceboy this is our chance."

Bobby was still pissed, mist wafting off his uniform. "You did this on purpose. We never should have trusted you!" He charged again.

John dodged the stream of ice, pulling his body into a difficult back hand spring. His legs screamed, his arms protested. He hadn't practiced in too long. His muscles were tired. Bobby didn't let the fancy move deter him. He sent another blast of icy air.

John rolled his eyes. Maybe he should have done this another way. Perhaps, thought about things before he did them. "Damn, I did it to draw them out. The rest will be here soon, everyone's fighting, but you and me, you and me go after Rogue." He left out Remy's name in hope of keeping Bobby calm.

Bobby stopped for only a moment. His eyes were still white, boring into John's. There was still frost on his finger tips, covering the chest of his uniform.

"You put everyone in danger. They could get killed!" His gaze shifted to the X-men. There was enough sentiment on his face to force John to look away.

John smirked and crossed his arms over his chest, "You worry too much, besides, you guys are the best, right. Let 'em do their thing."

He didn't like it. John could tell, and yeah maybe it wasn't the best plan, but it was his. The ice melted, his eyes turned blue.

"I'm going to kill you after this."

John laughed, short, and humorless. "Promises, promises."

"Ya leave the Guild, dishonor de family an' get a job ya don' finish. Dat not de way of de Guild, dat no de LeBeau way."

Jean-Luc walked down the hall, sauntering like it was a warm summer day, hands in his pockets, head tilted to the side, casual, and observing. He was smirking the side of his mouth turned up, but there was anything but amusement in his eyes. Those dark brown orbs were swimming with disappointment.

"What are you doin' 'ere?" Remy asked his voice low with confusion.

"Went ta check up on mon son and find dat he's in a mess o' trouble." Jean-Luc stopped in front of Remy. "I didn' expect t' find you in dis sort o' mess. Wat you tryin' ta prove?"

Remy's fingers tightened on the unconscious girl. "I'm fixin' a mistake."

"You makin' a mess o' your reputation. You don't get your emotions involved." His voice rose with each word, his face tightening, his eyes flashing with a fire he had never seen in them before.

"Dis, dis is different, she wasn' supposed t' be involved."

"You remember Genevieve?"

Remy flinched, Rogue stirred, her head burrowing against his shirt, moaning whispering. She was waking up and there was no guarantee that she'd be herself when she did.

"Dis is different," he started sure he would see that this time it was different, his father's eyes told him other wise.

His father took a step closer, was moments from touching Remy, when the explosion hit. They both lurched, Remy forward, his father backward. Remy rolled in the air forcing his back to take the brunt of the impact, shielding Rogue's body. He could feel heat rushing across his face burning his feet, he curled into Rogue forcing her into the protection of his arms, hoping that her exposed flesh wouldn't touch his.

His right palm struck the ground first with the intention of vaulting him back onto his feet, a move he'd done a thousand times before, but usually not with the added weight of another person. His hand slipped on the steel floor, pitching him toward the wall. He pressed harder, hoping to right himself, but his wrist gave out cracking painfully before he spun out of control. He twisted trying to soften the landing he knew was coming. It was too late. He hit the floor on his side skidding to a stop, out of breath, his wrist pounding.

Remy closed his eyes trying to access the damage. It was a long moment before he remembered his father. He sat up leaving Rogue on the floor as he scouted for his dad. He didn't see his father in the burning walls, in the fallen debris, but someone else standing where the tall, lean shadow of his father should have been. Red eyes met his from the clouded darkness and Sinister stepped out of the rubble, brushing the dirt with his shoulder casually, a ripped hole in his shoulder knitting back together.

"Essex," Remy hissed feeling stupid for having been fooled. His father, a proud man, set in his ways, and always set in his decisions would have never come to see him. His father had banished him, disowned him, had saved the Guild by getting rid of his son, but who was he, but a cast off. Jean-Luc was only his adopted father, his real parents had abandoned him a long time ago. It was only fitting that his other family did the same.

"Remy?"

Remy didn't pull his eyes away from Sinister but cursed her waking, without acknowledging it with his own eyes he spoke to her.

"Rogue, dat you?"

"What's goin' on?"

She sounded so lost, but he couldn't talk to her right now. Essex's arm was back together. He was frowning as he walked toward Remy, his true silver and black form intimidating even from a distance.

"I'm not done with the girl yet," Essex announced. "There are still things to be tested, too many question that I don't have the answers to."

Rogue's head was killing her pounding from temple to temple, from back to front. The light hurt her eyes even if it was small low burning flames, when she opened them and her stomach was flipping. She didn't remember getting out of her room. She didn't remember Remy being with her. Everything was so jumbled.

A hand on her head, she forced her eyes open. Remy was standing in front of her, his focus in the distance. She forced herself to look there, ignoring the pain and nausea. Nathanial Essex was walking toward them. Panic washed over her, seizing her breath. He'd done something to her, something involving another girl.

As she tried to remember her mind flashed, taking her away and dumping her into something it felt would explain. There was a girl, no more than eight sitting in the grass. Her finger, small and round plunked at wild flowers. She turned toward Rogue her cherub face glowing with excitement. Her eyes were blue, enough to rival the depths of Bobby's. She held out her hand, full of flowers, and smiled.

"I picked them for you." She extended her arm, still grinning.

Rogue didn't know who she was, or why she was in her mind. She didn't remember ever absorbing anybody like her.

"My name is Carol Danvers." She supplied the answer to the question Rogue had yet to ask.

"Who are you?"

She frowned, eyes shining with unshed tears, her cheeks turning bright pink. "You don't want my flowers."

Rogue reached for them, hoping to stop the girls tears, and then maybe get some answers. As her fingers closed over the steams her body roared. The psyches swirled, banding together, dragging her with them, screaming wailing, fighting to get back up all the while pushing her further down. She was loosing sight of the field, the little girl, of what she was.

In the distance there was a whisper, soft, too child like to be sinister, even though the words were enough to push her into despair.

"Who am I,"Little Carol whispered, "I'm you."

Ohhh what's gonna happen next... Tell me what you think!