Born For Bad Luck

by Peanutbutter1

Rogue has an encounter with someone she thought was dead. Good or bad meeting him will change the course of her life. There is some St. John, a little Rogue, and some Cajun Spice with Remy LeBeau. R&R Rated M for later stuff

19. Things Got To Get Better

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 19: Things Got To Get Better

"Well I thought I hit the big time, but I hit the bottom first

Well I thought I hit the big time, but I hit the bottom first

Well you know things has got to get better, it can't get no worse..."

(Things Got to Get Better by Neal & Greenlee)

0o0o0o0

He woke with her face swimming in front of him, like she had just touched him moments ago. His skin still tingled, and his head ached dully as he forced his eyes open. He almost spoke her name, involuntary, a question of what she felt, what she had seen, a hope that her eyes hadn't seen further than he wanted, but he realized, just short of her name forming on his tongue, that it was a dream fading just behind his eyes. She had left, a while ago, sending him into the heavy sleep her touch induced. There was an ache in his muscles that sung more of the energy she'd pulled from him than the bullet wound or scratches he'd received.

He had hoped her fingers would purge his mind of thought and allow him to sleep dream free. The morlock girl, his past, Rogue, they all swelled on him in the dead of the night, consuming, taking, and blaming him until he sat against the wall afraid to close his eyes. His skin would weep, pooling and cooling, sweat born of fear spinning through his body like a coil of terror that left his skin clammy. He hadn't expected her touch to change much, but, perhaps, to force him to endure the voices and the blame, and at the best leave him in blissful black silence. He didn't remember if he dreamed just her face and a voice, but the terror was absent, the guilt, for the moment, gone. The absence of feeling wouldn't last, but for the time being he could reveal in an achy peace of mind. Even if he never escaped the X-Men, or whatever else they had in store for him at least he had that, one dreamless empty night.

"You slept through breakfast."

Remy rolled to his side, still too spent to force himself to sit. His eyes blurred for a second as he tried focused on John. John's back was pressed into the mattress his feet propped on the head board. His fingers were closed over a small rubber ball. He tossed it up, caught it in his right hand, tossed it again, caught it in his left, tossed it lazily toward the wall. 'Thunk', it bounced off the wall and back into his left hand.

"I nearly grabbed your arm and rolled you out of bed." He spoke again, squeezing the ball like one of those pliable stress relievers.

"Afraid of de reflexes?" Remy joked and pulled himself up, his hand still pressed over the ache just over his eyes.

'Thunk'. The ball landed in his hand again. He paused squeezed the rubber and tossed it up. He caught it easily. "Just realized it was the first time I'd seen you sleep since we'd gotten here, thought you could use it."

Remy frowned, introspective John was as bad as silent John. Perhaps Rogue's touch had scrambled his brain. He ignored the concern. "You tryin' to make up for' de other day, or is dere somet'ing gross in dat bacon sandwich."

John snorted and looked at the half eaten breakfast tray and raised a brow, "Eat at your own risk." He barked a short laugh and cursed as the ball bounced off the wall and careened toward the door. John turned his head to watch its bouncing descent as it settled under Remy's bed. He made no move to pick it up.

"This is one of those times I wish I'd gotten telekinesis instead of the fire thing," He watched the ball roll further from him, disappearing into the gloom under Remy's bed. His eyes remained locked on the floor. "Wouldn't matter anyway. They turned on the dampeners." His voice was laced with non nonchalance, but his refusal to look any where else but the floor was give away enough. John was brimming somewhere between despair and boiling rage.

Remy reached for the tray. The food was cold and the juice room temperature, but he was starving. He dug in gobbling the sandwich in three bites barely tasting the mayonnaise smeared on each piece or the egg and cheese combined between the slices of bacon. He mulled the absence of his powers over in his head. That was another reason he felt like crap. Absently he tried to charge the fork on his tray and to his dismay found it impossible. It was another reason for his grogginess. He'd felt the same empty block when he was imprisoned at Essex's laboratory. His fingers itched for the familiar warmth and he forced his hands onto the glass to occupy them.

"Any chance dat we're goin' out today?" Remy couldn't see John's face, too busy chugging his juice after he spoke. Besides the comment was more sarcasm than actual question. He didn't really expect an answer.

"Not unless you've been digging a secret passage."

Remy finished the juice and laid the empty tray on the bedside table. " Dey left us spoons, get a rock pick and we'll make like shawshank."

John shrugged, "Felt like crap this morning and the damn dampeners just keep reminding me of what I'm in for." His voice hardened for a moment, his jaw clenching, his fists balling at his sides. Remy usually revealed in his ability to predict the actions of those around him. He'd spent year perfecting his ability to read his enemies, and even more accurately his friends but realizing John was a few sentences from cracking wasn't nearly as comforting to know.

John rolled to his side sliding off the bed and landing on his feet. He went in search of the ball. He dropped to his knees and crawled under Remy's bed as far as the low bottom would allow and stretched his fingers, grasping, smacking absently in a blind, angry search.

"Dere still a chance dat dey change dere minds." Remy offered and wondered whether or not he should tell him about Rogue's visit.

"And Bobby Drake will get the icicle out of his ass," John snorted and backed out of from under the bed ball in hand.

"Dat somet'ing I guess isn't goin' ta happen," Remy watched the mutant bounce the newly retrieved ball.

"Unfortunately that's a permanent condition." John added as if he were really hurt by the fact. It would have been believable if it hadn't been for the smirk stretching across his face. John trekked back to the bed and flopped across the mattress. The bed squeaked in protest while he turned onto his back feet against the headboard again. "Drake never did understand fun."

Remy watched John toss the ball his face turned in a permanent sneer. "You were amies, friends, once."

John turned toward Remy. The ball stopped it's 'thunk, thunk' against the wall. "Yeah, and people make stupid mistakes all the time."

"Like joining a murdering league of mutant elitist." Remy answered, smiling inwardly at the look on John's face.

"Or taking a job from a psychopath." John shot back.

Remy smiled, this time it reached his mouth and just a bit of humor in his eyes. "We both guilty of dat."

The ball bounced off the wall and landed with a smack into John's hand. " Or like that giant lugee I spit in your bacon sandwich."

"Dat you gonna pay for." Remy launched himself off the bed. He was sore but still able to move silently. His body barely protested at his silent ascent. His bare feet hit the floor during the rubber balls 'thunk' against the wall, but it wouldn't have mattered. He didn't make a sound.

John continued to look at the wall grinning, his hand wrapped around the ball. He tossed it toward the wall, "Yeah, what are you going to do..."

The 'do' was cut short when Remy landed on John's chest pushing all the air out of his lungs. The ball, already heading back for what had been John's steady waiting hand, somehow bypassed the Cajun attacker and hit John in the forehead. John cursed. Remy wrapped an arm around John's head forcing him into a half nelson.

It was hard to make his arms hold. His leg protested as he braced himself against John's rolling struggle to get free. He felt a grin come across his face. His free hand reached toward the cursing mutants forehead. He tapped it lightly before flicking the center using his thumb and index finger.

"Dis a little bothersome?" He asked, tapping again, harder. "I t'ink I'll stop if you apologize for de spit."

"Let go, Cajun." The flailing stopped, his body quivered, his voice was an alarming level of disgust. "I'll kill you."

So he was back to boiling rage. Remy ignored the threat and went back to the incessant tap, tap. John bucked like a wild cat, cursing, finger nails digging, he even tried to roll away, nearly twisting his own neck off.

Remy grinned despite the screaming ache in his arm, and the breath stealing stab of his lungs punching his side. "Dat a sorry?" He tapped harder.

"I'm gonna killya," he slurred his words running together.

"Nope, I t'ink dat the wrong answer." Remy released his hold grinning at the stunned surprise it left John in. For a split second the fire mutant didn't move a muscle, like he didn't believe he was actually free. Remy shoved. John let out a grunt as he rolled off the bed and hit the floor with a loud thud, legs and arms still too surprised to brace his fall.

Remy tried to keep the grin off his face, after all he was in no shape for a fight. John wasn't any better with the cut bisecting his face, the loss of blood, his two equally dangerous emotions boiling over. Remy was still musing when John leaped across the bed with a battle cry. Remy barely had time to roll away. John's fingers grabbed the tail of his shirt in the pass. He started to turn and pull away, but John yanked. Remy gasped his leg buckling. His friends balled fist hit his side in a glancing, but painful blow.

"Damn!" Remy grunted though he was sure the word didn't come out quite as clear as he would have liked, a mush of letters and sounds betraying his pain. He dropped to his knees, his aching ribs appreciating the curl and tight arms flung across the weak bones. He had only a moment of reprieve, a breath, before he rolled and the ache roared into a flame the rivaled the hit John had delivered. Somehow he got to his feet, black dancing in front of his eyes. He blinked. His breathe hitched, but John didn't disappoint he swam into view between blinking flashes of light and blackness. Luckily he only had to step to his side to avoid John's next attack. His opponent was running on pure rage, his movements though erratic were easier to avoid than a thought out attack.

"Hurt a bit?" John mocked his fingers working furiously at his side, mimicking the ignition of his zippo. Mocking despite the fact that his last attack had failed. Remy, still holding his side, forced his hand down and the grimace away.

John's fingers danced more fanatically against his leg. Remy glanced at the twitching fingers, they reminding him, all to well; of his shaking hands two nights ago and the images that brought those shakes on. He dragged his eyes back to John's face, wide eyed anger, a flush of red heat working it's way up his neck.

"Afraid you can' beat me wit out de fire," Remy taunted, his eyes trained on the twitching fingers

The dance stopped immediately. John curled his hand into a fist, holding back the tremors of habit as he tried to forcing his hands to stop. The red worked it's way to his cheeks, his mouth thinned even further. He looked ready to explode.

"Dat all you are, right," Remy paused as if he expected a nod, " boy wit a match."

"You cocky, son of a bitch," John roared and charged.

Maybe he'd pushed him too far, but Remy needed him angry. The charge wasn't hard to block, not when it was only his rage fueling the fight. Remy wasn't that invested, not yet and he parried every blow barely working a sweat and still managed to keep his ribs from being tapped.

John suddenly backed away eyes narrowing to slits, fists still clenched, he just stared. His breath was forced and the stitches on his face had been stretched, one had popped, blood pooling by his brow. John was getting more pissed and Remy...

"You give up?" Remy barked, unsure of his motivations when moments ago he had been convinced a fight was a great idea; that John needed to work his anger out. The fight was about John for John, but Remy continued to push. He laughed, short and humorless. John twitched, his fists tightened. Remy knew it was a bad idea but suddenly it was better than wondering what was going to happen next, better than John, silent and angry. The adrenaline was spiking making his tired body sing with anticipation. He was, he was...

"Dis the end Pyro?" Remy continued his fingers dancing, eerie imitations of the twitch John couldn't control. He wished for his cards or his powers, something to make them stop. Remy shifted his weight, hands sliding into his pockets, standard mutant high issue denim. "Dis how ya go down?" He pretended not to care. He was letting John make the next move. His mind told him it was stupid, but his body was begging for a fight.

John attacked. His hands were flying legs hitting marks when before he couldn't. He was focused. His goal was to get Remy on the ground and John with a reason was more dangerous than John with a gudge.

Something was roaring between Remy's ears, something more than the fact that John had just boxed him in the temple, his lip split under a well thrown punch and Remy stumbled backward. This time he was the one bleeding. He narrowed his eyes on John still tight mouthed, but there was something more burning behind his fire fueled eyes.

"That all you got, Cajun?" John taunted and shook his head, pushing loose hair out of his eyes and drops of blood flecked the collar of his blue t-shirt.

"Hell no," Remy spat and jumped back into the fray. He was, He was...starting to feel a whole lot better.

0o0o0o0

Fuck him, fuck him, John screamed and charged back in. Fuck his damn smiling face, his damn smug attitude, his fucking condescending guilt trips. Remy on a bad day was nearly impossible to beat, so it was a surprise when his punch landed dead on, and the spray of red was enough to turn up the corners of his mouth, giving his dark mood a momentary lift.

Remy backed away wiping his mouth, but the reprieve was only momentary before he jumped back in swinging his fists like sledge hammer, most landed, but John didn't have to worry about broken ribs. He shook them off anger handling most of the pain, until Remy's punched him in the nose.

"Shit, shit, shit," he cursed hands flying to his nose. He felt warmth rush over his knuckles and knew at once that it was bleeding. Just want he needed to go with the scratches, two damn black eyes.

He lashed out aiming where he knew he would get the maximum amount of damage. His fingers jabbed the joint between two of Remy's taped ribs. The cocky Cajun hissed and fell to his knees, cursing in French as John grinned over his twisted frame.

"Merde, Merde!" Remy had his eyes closed nursing the blow. John smiled. The bastard shouldn't have started the fight in the first place.

"Why don't you stay down there, Cajun," John taunted the effect slightly ruined by the sniff that followed the taunt, and he took his hand off his nose to speak.

Blood was still trickling, and John raised his hand to brush it away, pulling his shirt up to dab at the flow. Not expecting an attack he pressed the cloth against his nose, gingerly he bloated before pulling it away to examine the damage. The blue cotton was soaked. He barely had time to process the damage when he was pitched forward, his arms still too caught in his shirt to effectively break his fall. He hit chest first the air rushing out of his lungs. His chin stuck second clamping his tongue between his teeth. He gasped, trying to force air into his lungs. Remy's arms were still around John's knees. The bastard got in two solid hits before John was able to retaliate.

0o0o0o0

Heels in the air, hands supporting his weight, his eyes opened and he flipped to his feet. The motion usually so fluid, like water rushing over smooth rocks jerked, jagged edges appeared, the easy flow of movement was gone. His muscles protested every attempt to bend or stretch. He a groaned when his chest tightened and he couldn't make a sound when his air was cut off and he knew he was headed for disaster. The ball of his right foot struck first, a slap of skin on linoleum instead of a soft 'woof' of nearly inaudible landing filled his ears and he cringed. His side erupted in flames that raced down his leg and across his back. He still couldn't scream and for that he was grateful. All he needed was for John to know just how much the movement hurt. His left foot followed, surprisingly he was still straight but there was no use trying to save it, his right leg gave way spilling him onto the floor in a undignified heap of limbs. His leg screamed his arms burned with exertion and he was only granted a soft, 'ah' as he crumbled. Just days ago the movement had been like breathing.

"Trying to kiss your own ass?"

John appeared over him grinning in amusement, something that had been absent from his face since his confrontation with the Popsicle and the Professor. Remy turned away from the smug face, trying to keep his throat from voicing his pain. He wasn't surprised that he held no joy in seeing that stupid grin back, even if a little tension release had been his plan, then again he was a little jaded by the cause of John's amusement being his own misfortune. Grimace sufficiently repressed, Remy sprang to his feet ignoring the jar his leg gave him. He forced himself to breathe when his body, in a odd protest, told him it really wasn't a good idea. Black spots danced in front of his eyes as he stood, ready again, smiling back. He wasn't going to be the last to fall

0o0o0o0

The bed followed the night table crashing against the door. One of the wooden post on the foot board sprang loose and rolled across the floor. They were both looking at it from prone spots on their asses. John lunged, or tried, it was a half crawl, half shimmy across the slick floor. His leg was caught in the bed sheet, trapping him more effectively than Remy had the entire fight. He flailed for a bit trying to force the fabric loose. He barely moved an inch across the floor before he caught sight of Remy.

He was breathing like an asthmatic, crawling with one hand on his side and the other, nails dug dragging him toward the wood post. His fist closed over the weapon and John took his eyes off his enemy to try and free his legs. It took too long, the sheet wound tighter than it should have been. By time he looked up Remy on his feet spinning the post with a disturbing familiarity. John cursed , Remy lunged.

John rolled away, the first swing, surely a taunt hitting the floor with a loud 'clack'. John's only advantage was that Remy was slowed. His other arm still clutching his rib cage. John pushed himself to his feet, unaware that the scratches on his face were bleeding, nearly every stitched popped. His hand swept across his brow to brush away warm running sweat and came away red. He stared at it a moment, wondering whether he should be in pain, and for a second longer wondering why he wasn't. He leaned to the left avoiding a swing. It was oddly refreshing. Adrenaline dancing in his veins he felt strangely elated. He paused, eyes widening. Rogue had been right he was twisted.

Just as the epiphany rushed over him Remy found his mark, and John repressed the urge to grab his bruised shin. He bit his lip to keep the groan back, and forced himself to his feet.

He still had an advantage over the insane Cajun. He wasn't sporting cracked ribs. He faked a charge. Remy stepped back tensing for the hit when John ran toward the door. The tossed, broken, bed still had the bars of the foot board intact and within reach. Smiling, he brought his leg up and kicked. The crack was loud enough to make him wince but the shock that raced up his leg was worse. The damn bed must have been solid oak.

Remy was laughing, wheezing breaths forced through his blood reddened mouth. He was still spinning the make shift bo staff.

"Dis look bad for you, no?" He asked taunting, grinning.

John knew he was screwed. Clenching his teeth and willing the unpleasant tingle out of his leg he kicked again, this time the wood splintered. Sensing his advantage slipping Remy charged. John kicked one last time the wood snapped free near the top of the head board. Bracing his leg on the bottom, he grabbed the free end and wrenched. There was a crack and with a roar the post was free. John didn't take the time to see where Remy was he spun post raised, blindly hoping to find an opening. Instead of the 'thwag' of wood on flesh there was another 'crack'. John pried his good eye open to see Remy's staff blocked by his own, inches from his head.

"Asshole," John complained and shoved. "That was nearly my head."

Remy shrugged and pushed, "Key word bein' nearly, mon amie."

John didn't expect the pressure to let off so when Remy stepped back he nearly fell on his face. Remy smacked him across the back, a short swift stinging, but not crippling blow. John tried to block, tried to counter, but with his weapon of choice in hand Remy was unstoppable. The blows were light, dulled by extreme control. The muted effort just pissed John off.

He swung, baseball style at the Cajun's head. Remy blocked, barely lifting his arm, not at all surprised. John tried to block the counter, missed, Remy jabbed the mutants midsection. John doubled over cursing viciously. Remy took that opportunity to knock the back of John's knees. Still cursing John fell gasping between curses.

"Give up?" Remy asked smug grin already claiming victory.

Despite the jarring fall John had managed to hold onto his stick. Without changing his face he whipped it upward catching Remy's bad leg with a short jab. John pulled the stick back when he felt the leg give. Remy slumped to the right, John forced his post behind Remy's bad leg and pulled. Remy fell. Unfortunately it wasn't away from John's suffering body.

The thief's heel hit John's stomach. John shoved the foot away, gasping for air. He hoped the Cajun was having just as much trouble. There was no sound but their mutual gasping.

"Not on your life," John mumbled answering Remy's earlier question. He was done for. Unable to move, his body aching, he hoped Remy didn't feel up for more.

"Yeah," Remy mumbled words rasping in his throat, "me either."

Neither moved. John breathed. Remy coughed. Each breath stung, his eyes hurt, his head was pounding, but strangely he felt good, alive.

"Asshole," John mumbled muted laughter passing his lips. He thought for a moment he was going insane.

"Idiot," Remy countered and John wasn't sure if the gurgling Remy was producing was laughing or choking.

It was then John heard the banging. He turned his head, and oh damn that hurt, toward the noise not able to move more than that. The bed propped against the door was shaking. He raised a brow, regretted it and smacked Remy's foot. "What the hell?" He gestured toward the door.

"Dey been banging on de door since de bed landed dere," Remy answered, short words forced from spent lungs. Even after stilling he didn't sound any better, if anything he sounded worse. He coughed again, like stuff was moving in the back of his throat.

"Guess dey t'ink we're killin' each other, non." His words were garbled, heavily accented.

John laughed. "Yeah, well I think we were trying."

Remy was silent, "I'm gonna need a little more dan dat to beat Gambit."

John was about to retaliate when the door was shoved open. The Beast was complaining, Wolverine threatening, but he didn't care strangely he felt better, and even though Remy sounded like he was dying, he guessed the Cajun did too.

"What the hell is going on here?"

It was Wolverine and John had the supreme pleasure of grinning at him, though the blood, and the ache. He enjoyed the look of confusion on the man's face. John shook his head unable to answer or even enjoy the dumbfounded look on their faces. If only Remy had had the decency to drop him so he was facing the door, instead of breaking his neck for a view. He touched his swollen lips and snorted when they came away red. Whether it was from his face or a split lip he wasn't sure. He watched the small drip of red flatten against his skin before running down his knuckle.

"Dat," Remy answered before John had a chance to. "Dat is de question, neh?

John snorted, a short laugh starting in the back of his throat. His nose protested sending a dribble of red rushing down his lip. He leaned his head back further, pushing his neck upward, still snorting despite the bruising pain and rushing blood. He pinched his nose and cursed.

"Lean forward."

Hank's hand was on his shoulder pushing him into a sitting position then on the crown of his head pushing him gently toward the floor, his head between his knees. He laughed again.

"I suggest you stop sniffing, you're just pulling the blood into your throat."

He snorted again, the red metallic liquid coated his mouth. He swallowed, forcing it down and accepted the rag Hank was holding and put it over his nose. Remy snorted, John couldn't hold it in. The laugh, that had been building in the back of his throat since the anti climatic end to their fight, rolled out and he lost the battle with his nose bleed.

0o0o0o0

"Rogue was here last night."

They were both slumped against the wall of Hank's exam room number three. The first room held a new recruit getting his physical and a evaluation of his powers. The second empty. Remy and John were waiting.

The laughter though ebbing was still hedging the surface, near bursting, even though bloodied faces and aching ribs. Despite the distraction, the pain, and the sudden wave of exhaustion that had washed over them both John jumped at his words.

Remy smiled, it hurt too much to laugh, his ribs pinching with each breath. He pressed his side relieving the pain for only an instant while he breathed in. He shifted his legs putting more weight on the good one and willing the ache in his calf to fade. He was having a hard time seeing out of his left eye. His lips matched John's in swollen red size, the blackening rings under John's eyes were pretty amusing, worth the busted lip.

He swallowed, and hissed the slight intake of breath due to his momentary amusement. He paused, longer than he would have wanted, sure John hadn't heard him. He tried again. "Rogue, de fille was in de room last night."

"What are you talking about?" John groused, though there wasn't any real ire in his voice. He was holding a rag to his nose and another to his busted stitches trying to staunch the bleeding somewhere. "Damn if I'm not going to bleed to death. Between my busted stitches and nose I should be handing out free meals to vampires." He paused pulling the rag away from his red rimmed nose. "How's it look."

Remy grinned, ignoring the pain, "crooked as hell."

"Figures you asshole, were always jealous of this face," He touched his chin the ghost of a mocking smile sliding into place before he replaced the rag sending his voice an octave higher. "Why would Rogue just stop by? I seriously doubt she came to thank us."

"Dat the exact question I asked her, homme." Remy shifted his weight, legs screaming and gave up the battle of staying on his feet and slumped to the floor. The slow slide was agony, but the rest was pay off enough and he nearly groaned in appreciation. "She was hidin' from de beast. Helped her wit dat before I could get 'er ta talk.

"Can't believe I slept through all that."

Remy cut his eyes across the room. "Well dat cause you had une p'tite help wit de deep sleep."

"What..."

"De Rogue, she touched you first." He was ready for the outburst, and maybe if they hadn't gotten their frustrations worked out earlier there would have been one. Instead John was calm, eerily so.

"You let her touch me?"

"It was just une tap, tu bebe," Remy finished, enjoying the way John's eyes narrowed at the French.

"Shut up," he finally spat giving up on the meaning, or getting it either way Remy was sure he'd have the same reaction.

"We had a little talk, de fille and me, she tol' me what de X-men have planned for us."

"Don't need her to know that," John mumbled. "The authorities and a healthy dose of the cure. Who cares if it wears off, they have a huge supply waiting for that." He clenched his free fist and bounced it against the wall. "Damn..." his voice tapered off as his hand bounced against the wall.

Remy frowned, it seemed the relaxation, or the bone deep too weary to be anything but relaxed, result of the fight was actually wearing off.

"We jus' born for dis kind o' luck."

"Born for bad luck, huh," John whispered, "great, just what I need to be, a divining rob for destruction."

Remy raised a brow, "Dat sound like somet'ing you'd enjoy."

John smiled, half his mouth turning up, "You got that wrong Cajun, I only like that if the destruction is pointed at anyone but me."

"Oui," Remy answered, "dat I can agree wit'."

"So she came to gloat?" John asked, "tell me the rest."

"She was gleamin' your t'oughts gettin' whatever it is we're going ta do after we leave. She was goin' ta try and get us out."

John was silent for a moment, before leaning against the wall eyes searching the bumpy stucco of the ceiling. "That's why I felt like hell this morning, and why you actually slept. How long did she touch you anyway, you were out half the day?"

He couldn't resist. "Remy, he irresistible, de Rogue had to touch a little longer dan required."

"Cajun that something I sure you're wrong about, Rogue goes for the hero types, too good for their own good. The only reason she would have touched you any longer than necessary was to knock you out a little longer."

"Dat jealousy I hear," he mocked, "dat an ugly act."

"Cajun, shut up, until the beast gets here. I'm tired and hungry and don't want to have to kick your ass again."

0o0o0

Ah, another chapter. This one, unlike the last, hated me, but oh well. Tell me what you think.

weebird: Thank you!

Wanda W: I mean Logan touched her willingly and so did Bobby, but it scared Bobby to death and Logan, well nothing bothers him. Her plan will be revealed in the next chapter.

lovestoread: Thanks I tried to get them all done so that there wouldn't be a huge delay. I just have to read them over a few times before I post. I loved the moment between Rogue and Logan it was probably one of my favorites. It is sad about John, Bobby, and Rogue. I keep wanting them to be friends again, or at least to be friends in another fic, but so far it's not working for this one.

tfobmy18: Sorry all those questions won't be answered until next time. ;)

Ratdogtwo: Thanks!

Pyrowhore: Thanks, I always thought the three made a good group. All those questions will be answered next chapter.

Ghostwriter: Thanks!

0o0o0o0

From Chapter 20

John was somewhere between awake the the creeping fog of a slowly receding dream. His eyes fluttered. His breathing was loud in his own ears, then soft. His body felt heavy. He wanted to stay awake, but he was tired from the fight, wiped, and his mind, still in overdrive, had settled despite his better judgment. That had always been one of his better traits. In the danger room, at least, he was usually able to stay level headed, when he wasn't planning some sort of prank, and even then he was more focused than usual. He jerked. His hand flew to the edge of the bed. He pushed himself to wake, forcing the issue for only a moment longer his eyes opened to slits before darkness slid around him and sleep descended once again.

Something banged. John jerked to an upright position his arms flying to cover his face. He was expecting a flash of light, an alarm, Magneto's voice. He blinked pushing the sleep out of his mind, trying to remember whether or not it was okay for him to be asleep. His arms settled into his lap. He blinked, a hazy dull light was leaking into the room, but other wise it remained dark. The dream faded, he slowly realized where he was. He wasn't sure which was worse, the reality or the dream.

"What dis?"

John blinked forcing himself to become aware when his body was still swimming on sleep. Remy swam into view back blacked against the light in the doorway. The person standing in the doorway was a complete silhouette. He moved to the edge of the bed thankful for the darkness, he could make all the faces he wanted. He winced, curled his lip, and squinted when that hurt worse than a neutral face.

"No time to explain."

John's feet touched the floor and he focused on the silhouette. He knew the voice, but how could it be her, in the middle of the night no less. Surely she wasn't there for another touch. John ignored the sting of cold against his bare feet. He squinted as he pulled up beside Remy.

"Here."

Something was hurdling toward his face. Quick reflexes saved him from re injuring the nose. Even with his quick, yet sleepy reaction, the bundle was only an inch from his nose when he caught it. All he needed was for it to start bleeding again. His hands clasped the heavy canvas, a tote. His fingers fumbled for the zipper. His fingers fumbled for the zipper.

"What the hell," he managed when his eyes finally adjusted and he could see Rogue properly. "What is this?" It was full his clothes, a few notebooks, shoes, socks, a lighter. His eyes focused on the lighter. Screw why. His fingers closed over the shiny metal and a calm washed over him. He hadn't realized that his powers were returning until that moment, hot and wild they rushed over him, as comforting as a warm bed and a good nights sleep. His fingers itched to try the lighter.

He shouldn't. They were obviously on some sort of time table, Rogue, whatever it was she was doing he was sure nobody else knew. Ignoring his common sense, a trait he all too often did, he flicked the lighter to life. The flame danced from the lighter to his finger tips, tip toeing across them. He grinned.

"Well hello there," he whispered more to himself than anyone. Unfortunately he wasn't alone. A hand, long slender with darkly painted nails pushed the lid of the lighter closed. The flames on his fingers died. "Bitch I was just..." he started, but she turned away, rolling her eyes like he was the one being stupid. Hell, he'd just woken up.

His eyes flicked to the Cajun he was flexing his hand but hadn't indulged. John was sure he felt it too. The hollow pit was gone. Once again he was whole. He grinned. No matter what the new day was shaping up to be better than the last few.

"What all dis stuff, petite," Remy asked, still rummaging through the bag. He half pulled a trench coat out of the duffel, a sappy look crossing his face, before he stuffed it back in. John smirked at least he was reacting being able to kick ass again, Remy was about to cry over a fashion accessory. He started to comment on it, but Rogue started to talk silencing his teasing line of thought.

"It's your stuff." Rogue answered.

Hurrah for the obvious John thought.

"...or what Ah could get. We don't have much time before..."

The light outside the room turned red, flashed, seconds later an alarm blared overhead.

Oh what's next...