Chapter Ninety-Five:

One of these days, as the old saying went.

One of these days, Remy LeBeau decided, he was going to kill Scott Summers.

And what a shame that would be, since not only would the X-men be losing their fearless leader, but his wife was almost certain to kick him to the couch for it.

The "X-treme" team, as the X-men assigned to Rogue's squad had been dubbed, had just returned home from a thirty-six hour mission to help negotiate peace in Brazil between the mutant militia and the military, stumbling into the mansion at a quarter past three in the morning, and all they wanted to do was sleep.

But Scott Summers, who apparently really was a machine that didn't need sleep, had felt it was the perfect time for a debriefing.

Now forty minutes later, he'd finally given them their freedom.

"Sometimes I really hate that guy," Neal said with a yawn.

The others sleepily, and grumpily, muttered their agreement as they filed into the lift to take them to the main floor. The ride up was silent, and Sam looked ready to fall asleep against the wall.

"No trainin' in de mornin'," Remy told them as they split up in the hall. "If Cyclops don' like it, he can try t' wake me an' get his head blown off."

"Summers needs something blown off, all right," Regan declared darkly, half-stalking, half-staggering down the dimly lit hall. Sam and Neal mumbled "goodnights" and followed her, leaving Remy, Tessa and Lucas to continue to their wing alone.

"Good night, Remy," Tessa called softly as he reached the suite he shared with Rogue.

"Night, mes amis," he yawned, and let himself inside.

The lights were off, and he didn't want to turn them on and risk waking up his wife, but he was a skilled thief and more than capable of navigating his way across the living room of their suite to the bedroom.

Or so he thought, until his shin connected with something hard.

"Merde," he cursed, rubbing his shin, and glared at the arm chair that usually resided on the other side of the room. "How did y' get over here?" he demanded, inching over to turn on the floor lamp in case he was about to walk into a couch or something. As the soft glow fell over the living room, he was startled to find there actually was a couch in his path.

In fact, every piece of furniture in the room had been moved.

"What de hell?" Remy muttered, and contemplated peeking into the kitchen to make sure the refrigerator was still where it belonged.

In the end, though, exhaustion won out and he decided that could wait until morning.

Weaving around the furniture, and wondering absently what on earth his wife had been up to while he was gone, Remy made his way to their bedroom and turned the knob, wincing at the squeak as the door opened.

He stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind him, and then began to tiptoe across the room.

The floor creaked under his boots, and he bent down to remove them so he didn't wake Rogue, then slipped into the queen sized bed beside her with a groan, his body sinking into the mattress as the last thread of his energy gave way. The muscles in his neck and shoulders sagged with relief, and his eyelids ached for sleep.

With a sigh, Remy turned his head to press a kiss to his wife's hair, only to find the bed empty.

Blinking, he propped himself up on his elbows, belatedly realizing that there was light peeking out from under the bathroom door, and that the low noise he was hearing was the sound of running water.

"Marie, chere?" he called, yawning.

"Ah'm in the shower, sugah," her voice rang out from the bathroom.

"At four in de mornin'?" he demanded wryly.

"Ah couldn' sleep," came her muffled reply. "So Ah went down t' the Danger Room an' worked out some o' mah restlessness, an' Ah wasn' gettin' in the bed all sweaty."

"De Danger Room?" Remy echoed sharply, then paused, reminding himself from past experience to word things carefully. "Y' sure dat y' should be doin' dat kind o' t'ing so close t' yo' due date? What's M'sieu Beast got t' say 'bout dat?"

"Ah took things easy, swamp rat," Rogue assured him. "An' Hank says exercise is good fo' me right now."

"Well, if dat's what de man says," he conceded, flopping down on the bed and closing his eyes. "Den y' keep right on workin' out at whatever ungodly hour y' want, chere, jus' don' wake me up t' keep y' company, hahn?"

There was no response, although his sleep-deprieved mind thought he heard a chuckle from the bathroom.

After a few moments of silence, Remy was just beginning to drift towards sleep, so naturally that's when his wife decided that she wanted to talk.

"How did things go in Brazil?"

"Oh, de usual," he answered wearily, without opening his eyes. "We go down dere, stick our noses in dat mess, an' one side starts shootin' at us, den de ot'er, den we all joined hands an' sang kumbaya."

"So in other words ya'll laid the smack down an' they played nice?"

"Now, chere, y' know dat we don' lay de smack down wit'out y' dere. Remy be de looks, but y' be de muscle."

"An' Tess is the brains?"

"Exactly," he said. "So what'd y' do while I was gone, beb?"

"Kitty dragged me shoppin' yesterday," she told him, and he snorted at the idea that anyone had to drag her to the mall. "She practically bought the twins an entire store, Ah don't know where it's all gonna go."

Between dat fille an' yo' mere, our kids are gon' be de most spoiled brats in all N'awlins, Remy thought with weary amusement. Like we needed anyt'ing else, anyways, after dat shower dat Jeannie an' de girls threw last month. Never seen so much pink stuff, de entire state must be out o' it by now.

"That's why Ah spent t'day cleanin' and reorganizin' the suite, so the floor wouldn't be covered in bags."

"Hence de chair dat miraculously appeared in front of my feet," Remy declared wryly.

"Désolée," his wife said, sounding unapologetic.

"Pas de problème," he muttered.

If a bruised shin was the price he had to pay for Rogue to be content, then so be it. He doubted that she actually created much extra space, but if it kept her busy that was all he cared about. It was no secret that she was restless lately, and that being stuck in the mansion all day was getting on her nerves, especially when her team went off to save the world without her. As thrilled as she'd been to discover she was pregnant, Remy suspected that she hadn't quite anticipated how much it would restrict her daily life.

It'll be over soon, chere, he thought groggily. Jus' a few more weeks.

And then they'd be dealing with two squawking, helpless, little infants that needed constant care around the clock.

Then he could kiss sleep goodbye.

Better savor it while y' can den, homme, he told himself, stretching out on the bed.

"Remy?" came Rogue's startled voice.

"Y' slip on de soap again, chere?" he asked, hoping he wouldn't have to help her up. Right now his body felt like it couldn't move if he had to. He was dead tired, and wanted to sleep for a week.

"Ah think mah water just broke," she said shakily.

"Jus' jiggle de handle a bit, de hot water's been on de fritz," Remy replied with a yawn. "Tol' de Prof 'bout it, he said dat he'd have somebody take a look at it dis week."

"No, Remy, Ah mean mah water broke." His foggy brain couldn't process what she was saying, and she seemed to figure that out because her tone shifted from hesitant to snappish. "Ah'm in labor, dumbass, an' the twins are comin'."

"Sapriste!" Remy cried, bolting up in bed. "But yo' not due fo' anot'er trois weeks!"

He was supposed to have more time, time to adjust to fatherhood, to getting three hours of sleep a night and dirty diapers and midnight feedings.

M'not ready, he thought in a panic. Not now, not yet.

It was too soon. What did he know about babies? He was good at entertaining his nephew, but he knew nothing about actually raising a child!

He hadn't even flipped through any of those parenting books on the shelf yet!

"Yes, well, apparently yo' children didn' get the memo," Rogue snapped in response to his protest. "Or mebbe they jus' couldn' wait t' make their appearance! Either way, they're comin' now, so deal with it!"

Deal with it. Right. He could do deal with this.

He could do this.

Right?

"Je vous salue, Marie, pleine de grace," he mumbled under his breath, just in case.

Sliding off the bed, he took a deep, shaky breath, and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to think.

"Okay," he muttered. "Okay. M'gonna call down t' wake up M'sieu Bête so he can get de med-bay ready, an' m'gonnna call mon pere t' tell dem dat it's time, an' we gon' need t' send one o' de X-jets t' collect dem…"

Just how fast did a Blackbird travel anyway?

Could someone get down to New Orleans and back in time, before Rogue gave birth?

M'gonna be a pere in a few hours, Remy thought with dread.

"Aren't ya forgettin' somethin', swamp rat?"

At the sound of her soft voice, Remy turned to find his wife standing in the doorway of the bathroom, naked and soaking wet, water dripping onto the tile at her feet. Her face was pale and her eyes were shimmering as she held onto the wall for balance.

Her hands, he noticed, were trembling.

She's scared, too, he realized, and loved her for it.

And suddenly he knew what he had to do, put aside his own anxiety to take care of her.

"Could never fo'get de love o' my life, chere," he told her, crossing to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. "C'mon, let's get y' all dried off an' in'na a robe an' den we'll get y' down t' de med-bay b'fo' li'l Lola an' her frere decide t' make deir appearance."

"Remy-," she said as he steered her into the bathroom. "Ah'm gonna break ya hand if ya call her that one more time."

Despite himself, Remy smiled.

He grabbed her towel and dried her skin off, then held open the green robe hanging on the back of the door so she could slide her arms in one at a time, and pulled it snug around her before tying the belt carefully at her waist. Then he looked up into her pale face, at her trembling lips, and he reached up to brush wet strands of hair from her eyes, cupping her cheeks in his hands and favoring her with a tender smile.

"Yo' gonna do great, Marie," he told her.

"Ya think so?" she asked with a sniffle, blinking at the tears trying to fall from her lashes.

"Non," he replied, kissing her forehead. "I know so."

She gave him a watery smile, even as a tear slid down her cheek. "Thanks, Remy."

"Anytime, petite," Remy promised, giving her shoulder a warm squeeze. "Now let's get down t' de med-bay b'fo' our li'l ones get too impatient, hahn?"

Rogue nodded and he led her out through the bedroom into the living room, swiping his comm.-link from his belt en route and flicking it to Cyclops' frequency.

"Y' still awake, mon capitaine?" he asked.

"Gambit?" Cyclops came on the line, sounding suspiciously groggy.

So the man did sleep, after all.

"This better be good."

"Dat depends, homme," Remy retorted. "On whether or not a femme in labor meets yo' definition o' important."

"Rogue's in labor?" Cyclops squeaked, and there was a rustling sound and then Jean was on the comm., having snatched it from her stunned husband.

"Remy," she said shortly. "How far apart are her contractions?"

"Uh, dunno," Remy replied awkwardly, bending down to grab his cell phone off the coffee table. "But her water jus' broke."

"Rogue, how long have you been having contractions?" Jean asked.

"On an' off for a couple o' days," Rogue said meekly.

"A couple o' days?" Remy echoed incredulously, staring at his wife in disbelief. "An' y' didn' think t' tell anyone dis?"

"That's normal," Jean said, ignoring him completely. "Braxton Hicks is very common, I had false alarms for days before Nathan was born. When did the last round of contractions start?"

"Earlier t'day."

"Okay," Jean said, before Remy could say anything. "I'll wake Dr. McCoy, and meet you at the lift. Do you need me to call anyone for you?"

"Remy's gonna take care o' that," Rogue told her.

"But y' could get us a jet, petite," Remy suggested hopefully. "An' mebbe a pilot t' take her down t' pick up mon famille?"

"Scott will leave in ten minutes," Jean promised, and in the background they heard Cyclops protest feebly. "Make that five," she corrected in a steely tone, and Remy could practically see her glaring her husband down. "Won't you, Scott?"

"Of course," Cyclops agreed sheepishly.

"That's settled then," Jean said in a lighter tone. "I'll meet you at the lift, Rogue."

As Remy disconnected the comm., Rogue shook her head. "Poor Scott," she sighed. "Losin' out on his sleep like that."

Remy snorted, but wisely chose not to say anything.

They made their way slowly down the hall and rounded the corner, heading toward the lift, and when they reached their destination Jean was waiting, as promised. Her red hair had been pulled into a ponytail and she was wearing a blue track suit, and Remy marveled at the fact that she was able to get dressed so quickly. Telekinesis, he decided, must make life so much easier.

"How are you feeling, sweetie?" Jean asked Rogue.

"Not so good," Rogue admitted, looking flushed and pale at the same time. "It's kinda hard t' breathe."

"It'll be easier once we get you situated on the bed," Jean assured her. "Don't worry, Dr. McCoy has the epidural waiting in case you want it, since we don't know how your powers will help with the pain."

"They ain't helpin' much right now, that's for sure," Rogue grunted, wincing.

"Dr. McCoy's already on the way to the med-bay, and Scott's headed for the hangar," Jean told her, opening the lift. "So I'll go ahead and take you down, Rogue, so Remy can make those phone calls and let his family know that there's a jet on the way to pick them up."

"Don' forget t' call mah parents, swamp rat," Rogue ordered. "Logan will kill ya if he misses this."

"Don' worry, chere, everyt'ing's under control," he vowed, squeezing her hand. "Y' jus' keep doin' y' breathin' an' Remy'll be down in a flash. Cross my heart."

"If yo' not, ya better hope t' die."

Remy thought she was joking, he was pretty sure anyway, but just in case he was going to make those phone calls extra quick. With that, he gave his wife a quick kiss, before pressing his lips to her forehead, and relinquished her to Jean.

"Remy?"

He paused, turning back to the lift. "Oui, chere?"

"We're gonna be parents in a few hours," she informed him, the corners of her mouth lifting.

"So we are, beb."

"God help New Orleans."

"Amen t' dat, chere."

Translations:

Je vous salue, Marie, pleine de grace- Hail Mary, full of grace (beginning of a Catholic prayer)

Désolée- Sorry

Pas de problème- No problem

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews, guys. I know I never respond to them, life is just too chaotic to find the time, but I read each and every one (usually in my e-mail while I'm at work and in a bad mood, so they always cheer me up) and I appreciate them so much! I want to apologize for the delay in this post, I actually had it all done and went to post it a month ago only to find the file was missing from my computer. I spent a week searching everywhere and no luck, so I had to start over from scratch. And finding spare quiet time in my house is a massive challenge, but I finally got it done. I promise the next chapter will be up much sooner, and the next chapter of Rogue Evolution will follow soon. Thanks again!  Black Queen