Disclaimer: I own nothing

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 13: Devil's Gonna Git You

"It's a long, long lane that has no turning

And it's a fire that always keeps on burning

Mister devil down below

Pitchfork in his hand

And that's where you are going to go

Do you understand?

Devil's gonna git you..."

(Devil's Gonna Git You song written by Porter Grainger)

Note: Thank you for all the reviews! That was the highest reviewed chapter I've had so far! Thank You, Thank You, Thank You!

Warm air brushed across his face warming his cheeks and forcing his lashes into a flutter. There was a weight on his chest, a not so unpleasant pressure pressed into his collar bone and across his shoulder. His ribs ached from it his wrist was twisted under it, but there was something familiar about it. Burned rubber filled his sense followed closely by the smell of burnt hair and he was sure he was dead.

"Remy?"

Like angel's rushing across his face warm air brushed against his skin. His lips pushed their way into his mouth. He licked the dry skin, trying to moisten it, trying to find the ability to speak, to answer the angel of death that had descended over him.

"Ya alive?"

His lids fluttered open, afraid of what he would see, of the smell of burning rubber and singed hair, of the angel of death. She was blurry, like a mosaic looked at close up, jumbled colors and dark shadows but absolutely no definition. He blinked again trying to force her into focus. He pushed his head against the wall in an attempt to move backward.

"Are ya okay?"

She rushed into focus the blurred pieces coming together in a picture he didn't quite expect. Rogue was laid across his chest, wild hair around her shoulders, the tips curled with burn, her eyes bright and green stared back at him. Her cheeks were blackened with the slightest smudge, but she should be dead. He should be dead. He started to shake his head, but he was still a little out of it and the motion pushed her into a blur.

"Ah take it you're alive."

"You're hurt," Remy whispered his hands reaching for her of their own violation.

She pushed his questing hands away, surprisingly strong when he was so weakened. She shook her head in answer to his question, but it didn't make sense. How could she be unharmed?

"You saved me?"

She nodded lip curling strangely, a smile he'd never seen before. "It doesn't mean Ah like ya."

"Comment?"

"Ah don't know Cody told meh, showed meh..." She trailed off rising off his chest. "Carol."

"De girl wit de magazine, de girl dat keeps talkin' for you." Remy tried to sit up with her, but his body was screaming with each move he made.

The pretty face, with the smudged cheeks, twisted into so much agony that Remy thought she had been wrong about no injuries. Her eyes widened, quivering even as her lip was worried between her teeth.

"Ah, Ah killed her." She whispered her cry barely reaching his ears and even as it did he was unsure of what he heard.

He tried to ask her about it, his hands closing around her shoulders but a shudder raced through her, her eyes closing. When she opened them again ice blue stared back at him. The recognition slipped from her face, the agony gone from her eyes.

"So she lives."

Before Remy could question her face or changing eyes Essex stepped out of the doused fire. He'd forgotten about him for the moment, but with the force of the explosion he'd just caused Essex shouldn't have been there. She turned away from him, angry blue eyes focusing on another target.

"Her skin...just as invincible as Carol's, perfect, and I am sure your skin is just as deadly as our dear Rogue's."

Rogue stiffened against him, jerking at the sound of her name, and slumped to the side. Remy caught her on reflex, injured arm taking the burnt of her weight.

"The girl is mine." Essex hissed.

"Oh sorry, but I just want you to know that I already laid claim on her."

The voice cut though the pain forcing a grin across Remy's face. He drew her closer and forced himself to his knees as Essex spun to face the voice. Remy didn't have to look to know who it was.

"Yeah, I won her in a poker game, bastard bets women when he runs out of money."

St. John Allerdyce never could pass up the chance for a good jab.

Remy took a breath. Essex was occupied, for the moment, and what Remy needed to do was get the girl out. Especially when it seemed she had been the one to save his life even though he was the reason her's was in so much danger. He tried to lift her. His breath refused to come as he lifted. His arm went numb the tips of his fingers a vague tingle.

He wasn't going to be able to do it. Dammit, he was failing. He tried again, eyes focusing on her face, her wild hair, her closed eyes. It was his fault all of it was his fault. This time she rose but it wasn't toward his chest and his awaiting arms. She moved weightless and impossibly to his left. His eyes trailed over her body to the extra hands around her waist, pulling her away, saving her when he couldn't.

"I've got her."

Remy barely registered the words. They came at his face with a eerie frosty breeze that rushed over his scorched skin. He didn't want to let her go. He didn't know the man, but the 'X' on his chest told Remy all he needed to know. So John hadn't come alone. Remy let her go, the missing weight of her body more painful than his strain to hold her close.

"I'm Iceman."

Remy eyed him for a moment. The name didn't really register, but John had never talked about his days at Xavier's, but then again he had never been forthright about his past either. They had an unspoken agreement that the past was the past.

He cradled her in his arms while he held her his entire body changed. The leather uniform disappeared into a slick shell of ice. The blond's face was last to change his eyes whitening. She stayed intact laying across his arms, warm alive, and unfrozen despite the mutant's current state. His hand shot out ice flying from his palm and across the expanse of the hall, busting through the loose rubble of the opposite wall. Essex and John both rolled to avoid the resulting avalanche of rubble, but continued to fight, John's useless fireballs bouncing off Essex's silver slick skin.

The ice formed a crude bridge to the outside. The Iceman turned toward Remy, hard white eyes giving little of his true feelings away.

"Grab my shoulder, and hold on."

Remy was glad he still had his gloves on as he tried to find purchase on the slick man's icy shoulders. There was no wetness under his hand as he gripped, and the man's shoulder didn't budge even as his grip tightened.

John backed into the wall watching with delight and slight disappointment as Bobby routed their escape. He wasn't stupid enough to believe he could take Essex alone, but he hated to turn tail and run. Running had never been his style, but he had been going against his nature a lot the last couple of days.

He had thought there would be nothing on the other side of the wall, nobody to save. Remy burned, Rogue gone, nothing but Essex grinning back at him. He already knew what they would look like, had seen it a million times before. Maybe it hadn't been Remy before but Rogue, Rogue had a tendency to frequent his nightmares while he lived at the mansion. Her charred face and green eyes had haunted him along with the sunken black skull that had once been Bobby.

He hadn't thought about the dreams in years, hadn't had them in years. Not since he'd learned to control the flames. Not since he'd left the institute, the possibility of feeling at home, the idea of friends. His stomach rolled heat rushing into him. He welcomed it stroking it hotter, a smile touching the corners of his mouth. He'd just found something.

The three sailed past and John let the fire burning in his stomach roll into his hands, building the heat like stacked bricks. He clenched his teeth as he unleashed the wave. The flames surrounded him completely, licking at his uniform, stroking his hair, but never burning. He pushed harder. Essex was lost in the flames, he pushed again, forcing himself to make it hotter, ignoring the inkling of fear that had wormed it's way into his stomach, snaking throughout his body making his hands shake, his knees weak. Just how hot could he make it, and just how much could his body take?

"Pyro!"

It was hard to hear, the fire was roaring, his blood boiling in his veins. It didn't hurt, not like he had always thought it would.

"Pyro!"

Someone was calling his name, forcing the roar of the flames out of his head, but he wanted the roar, the boil of blood in his veins, the empty whine as he pushed himself to the absolute limit. A grin crossed his face maybe he could beat Essex after all.

"Pyro, John, dammit, quit!"

The hand on his shoulder was cold. His first instinct was to brush it away, get hotter, melt it, but the cool rushed down his spine. He faultered for a moment. The blue flames rushing throughout the room softened to white.

"We've got to get out of here. The Morlocks!"

Orange rushed over the flames and slowly they died. The cavern that had once been the inside of Essex's facility was no more. The walls weren't only black, they were melted, glowing metal chunks collapsing into the blackened earth. Steam rushed into the air as he called the fire back, his breath coming in huge gulps. He had never gone that far before.

"John," the cool hand pulled and for the first time John looked over his shoulder.

Bobby was standing at his shoulder, ice encased fingers closed over his still burning skin. He shrugged out of the grip and turned back to the scene. "Do you see him?"

"No, we've got to go."

John scanned the wreckage oddly disturbed that there was nothing left. There should be something. The way the man was putting himself together, skin knitting far faster and different from Wolverine's healing ability. There was never any blood, at least not that John had seen. Had he really done it? For some reason he didn't think he had.

He turned following Bobby to the jet. Oddly disconnected, he tried to force the roaring out of his ears and his body back to it's normal temperature.

"Storm called."

John shook his head forcing himself to listen.

Bobby was silent for a moment. "The Morlocks are under attack."

This once, John hated being right.

"How are the ribs?"

Remy looked up from his taped chest and scowled at John.

"What's dat?"

Remy's eyes were glassy, probably from the pain, and there was a possibility he was seeing things. John raised a brow. "What are you talking about?"

"Dat tight leather number you're wearin'."

John narrowed his eyes and tried to keep himself from shifting uncomfortably under the Cajun's amused gaze. He had opted to leave the front unable to take the intensified glares of mistrust since his little break from the plan. Everyone was a little banged up and they seemed to blame that on John. He should have known Remy wasn't going to spare him.

"Didn't you used to wear pink?"

Remy stiffened for a moment and John thought he'd gotten him, but the smile that rushed across his face, and the bright flash of his eyes told him other wise.

"When ya dis good lookin' you can pull off anyt'ing," he pulled his shirt on over his taped ribs wincing as he forced the shirt down. "You, on de ot'er hand, should be more careful."

"And to think," John scoffed, "I came to see if you were all right."

Remy snorted. "You came back here ta get away from dem."

Perceptive, but Remy had always had an eerie way of knowing what he was thinking, he hated that.

"De fille gonna be alright?"

It wasn't what John had expected him to say, something else about the uniform, maybe how ridiculous he looked, how ironic that he was wearing the symbol of the very people had once stood against. The question about Rogue was a welcomed distraction.

John shrugged, "I don't know, they rushed her to the very back, but they won't tell us what's going on. I just know she's unconscious."

There was only a beat before Remy spoke again his fingers clenching on the edge of the table."You got une cigarette?"

John raised a brow. "Just were on this pretty damn near skin tight uniform do you think I've got them stashed."

Remy raised a brow, "Never mind, dis Cajun passes."

"Dick," John spat but without any real anger.

They fell into silence, something they rarely did unless it was serious. John hated silence, loved to fill it with useless talk, music, anything but breathing and the absence of words that allowed unbidden thoughts to steal over him.

"She killed someone."

John couldn't keep his face straight, "What?"

Remy laid back his back smacking onto the table a loud hiss of breath leaving his mouth. "Rogue."

John snorted, "You sure they didn't give you something a little strong for the pain."

"Essex made her absorb someone, screwed up her brain, like when she touched moi..."

"Actually, you touched her, if you hadn't been trying to feel her up..."

"Arret, Tu ecoute!"

John had no idea what he was saying but it was loud enough, his tone serious enough, to force him into silence.

"Dis ot'er girl kept talkin' for de femme, somebody named Carol. De last t'ing she said before she passed out was dat she killed someone."

It was impossible to read him, he had purposefully hidden his face behind his raised knees and reclined body. John swallowed. It was crazy. Rogue didn't have it in her to kill. That was something he had always been pretty sure of.

"I t'ink Essex made her touch someone, made her hold on 'til dey died."

"That's crazy," John started.

"Vraiment?" Remy shot up hand on his bound chest.

The French was really getting on John's nerves.

"Den you explain how she saved me, and how dat blast didn't kill her? How gettin' knocked t'rough dat wall didn' kill her? How she broke my ribs wit one shove? Why de ot'er femme's personality never wore off."

The roughly thrown back curtain was enough to force Remy into silence though his red on black eyes were still smoldering. John turned to Wolverine.

"We're landin', get your ass up front and in a seatbelt."

The wolve's eyes roamed over Remy's. John had to admire Remy for not looking away. After all the slash marks on his back were from, non other than, the man currently trying to stare him down.

"That goes for you too, gumbo." He looked at John, "We're headin' out as soon as we land."

Remy just glared until Wolverine turned around, leaving the curtain open but officially closing their conversation.

"So dis is what we were gatherin' all dose mutants for?"

John felt the sickness well in his throat as he remembered the faces of the Morlocks and the ugly red stamp that was placed over their names. He nodded.

Remy got to his feet, only pausing for a moment before straightening. "I guess, next time, we look a little more into de t'ings our boss does wit de stuff we steal, heh?

John just nodded, forcing a smile across his face as he strapped himself in, Remy beside him. "Next time I pick the job."

Remy snorted, "Right, like dat has ever gone well."

Before John could answer the jet set down, a slight bump bouncing him in his chair. The dull of roar of the engines cut off plunging the cabin into yet another silence. John swallowed, again unable to fix the unnerving quiet.

It wasn't like he expected them to accept him, throw him a uniform, shake his hand, pat him on the back, he didn't expect anything but for them to leave him behind, but they'd believed John helped him and saved the original kidnapper in the process. It was all about common enemies, but Remy couldn't help but be a little awed. They even taped his ribs set his wrist in a brace, which he'd promptly taken off, but it was all in the thought. Enemy or not they didn't want to see him suffer. It was a mercy he hadn't seen much of.

Beside him John was oddly quiet plucking at the sleeve of his uniform, tempting Remy to comment on it again. Anything he'd say would set him on the defensive, but something about him wearing the uniform he'd sworn to fight against wasn't funny, so he left it alone. Not to mention his body was in too much pain for a lot of snark, and to top it off he was heading into another battle. Something that, once again, he was responsible for.

They filed out of the jet in a strange quiet. Wolverine was last eying John as he scrambled off and leaving his gaze to settle on Remy's. Remy tried to hold it, had done in the medical bay, but it was hard to keep looking at him as if he didn't feel ashamed, or guilty. He knew very well that this was all his fault, and that when he was done he'd answer for the things he'd done, and Wolverine would be the jury, judge, and executioner. Remy averted his eyes and started past. Before he was at the first stair a strong hand closed over his shoulder stopping him.

"This isn't a game, Gumbo, you're gonna answer to me when this is over. Don't think about running off, and taking the Pyro with you."

Remy shrugged out of his grip. "Dere bigger t'ings to worry 'bout," he gestured toward the sewer entrance.

"I'm stickin' close to you."

"Dere plenty 'o Remy to go 'round," he mocked and jumped down the ramp to catch up with the other, "no need ta be greedy."

It didn't matter if he was sticking close to Remy or not. He had a plan and it didn't involve being caught by the X-men.

What's this plan all about? What happened to Essex? How bad is the fight below? What's going on with Rogue? There are too many questions, but thankfully some will be answered in the next chapter.