Author's Note: Thanks again everyone! I am a firm believer that all relationships have to be earned, so that's how I treat Gambit and Rogue in this. We're not even half-way through the story so lots more yet to come! Things are definitely going to heat up in New Orleans, in more ways than one…

Chapter Eleven

Somewhere Over the Mediterranean

"Alright," Courier put down the plane's phone, "I've arranged for transport to meet us on the tarmac and to take you wherever you want inside the city."

"The Guild's have spotters," Gambit pointed out.

"Yes," the dapper man nodded, "which is why I've started a rumor of a famous pop-star and her boyfriend possibly spending a romantic holiday amongst Mardi Gras. This isn't the first time I've snuck celebrities around. No one would be the wiser."

"Wait," Rogue spoke up, "it's Mardi Gras already?"

The New Orleans native blinked, "It is, huh."

"Tha town will be crowded with tourists," she considered all the tactical implications. "Gonna make it easier ta hide but harder ta seek."

"Don't worry about dat part," Gambit assured her, "da Guild will help us."

"If they don't boot you out," Jacob shook his head. "It's a bad idea to go back, Remy. You risk breaking the treaty between the Thieves and Assassins Guilds."

"My risk to take," he said matter-of-fact.

"Thieves Guild, Assassins Guild," she mumbled, sinking into her seat, "all sounds like a flipping video game."

Both of the men stared at her, Jacob finally saying, "And us being mutants isn't perfect fodder for comic books?"

"Point taken," she conceded, after all, if they had one about a playboy millionaire who dresses up in a metal suit, a demi-god, a WW2 super solider, and a guy who turns green when he's angry, why not mutants? Shaking those thoughts aside, she asked, "What's up with these Guilds anyway? I've heard of them, but I thought they were made up stories."

"Many do, cheri, we like our secrets," the thief leaned forward just slightly, "but once, back in the Ancient days of the Old Ways, you couldn't go two villages without finding a Thieves Guild. Every major center had an Assassins Guild. When America was first colonized, even before there were thirteen colonies, da Guilds were everywhere."

"Thieving and killing is like any other trade," Courier elaborated on the details with more information and less flair, "and with a trade comes guilds, the precursor to the union. They have their rules, their resources, and their territory. They protect each member's interests, settle disputes, make sure everything runs smoothly."

"But they ain't around like that anymore, that I'd notice," she pointed out, "what happened?"

"Da world changed, petite," Gambit frowned, some genuine sadness there too. "It got smaller. Cops got smarter. Tech got trickier. Groups like da Mafias and Yakuza cut into da business. Like so many things, people forgot dat dere is… an art to what we do."

Rogue tried to cover up her empathy with a small laugh, "Yah almost make it sound romantic."

"Romantic, tragic," he shrugged, leaning back in his seat, "not much space between, cheri."

She wanted to say something but for the life of her she couldn't figure out what.

"Only the strongest Guilds survived," the other man cut into the awkward silence, "Tokyo because of its relationship with the Yakuza, the Moscow Guild because of the Soviet Union, and a dozen or more Assassin Guilds can be found across the world. You can still find a Thieves Guild in about every major European country, a few darted out among Asia, Africa. Not much in South America, Thieve or Assassin, the Cartels have pretty much taken over there. As for the States, about a handful of Thieves Guilds and only two Assassin."

"And one of those two is in New Orleans, along with a Thieves Guild," it wasn't so much a question but wrapping the details around her brain.

"Da N'Orlean assassins handle da entire Eastern half of North America," the thief said casually, "beat out da DC and Toronto Guilds for supremacy before dose eventually collapsed, years ago. Da Thieves, well, we've always been a bit… broader minded in our territorial endeavors."

There was something else that was mentioned, "Yah said there was a truce in New Orleans? Why were they fighting?"

"Resources," Gambit shrugged.

"Everything became more competitive," Jacob elaborated, since Gambit didn't seem so inclined. "Not only were Guilds fighting against outsiders, but their own brethren Guilds. They needed recruits, assets, room to breathe. New Orleans is the only city which still holds both a Thieves and Assassin Guild. Take Moscow, you want a guilded thief, you contract out of Minsk."

"That's in Belarus," she pointed out.

"Exactly," he replied before continuing the history lesson. "There was heavy battle in New Orleans during the time Remy's great-grand-father and grand-father were Patriarchs of the Thieves Guild, wouldn't be uncommon to find a thief with… two bolts in his back."

"Like a calling card," she whispered, remembering how Henri died.

"It wasn't specific to New Orleans, but yes," Courier was careful of his words, the Cajun withdrawing from the conversation as it turned towards darker times. "The fighting continued into Remy's father's reign as Patriarch but Jean-Luc and the Assassin Patriarch, Marius, saw fit to attempt some matter of peace."

As the courier mentioned Gambit's father, the mutant turned his face toward the plane's windows but she could see the tightness in his jaw line. Sore subject to say the least, but who was she to judge? Not like she had any happy relationship stories to tell of her own poppa.

"The truce?" she asked Jacob.

He glanced over at his friend but the Cajun seemed fit to keep staring out the window, so he sighed, "Don't know much about it, the full details have mostly been kept secret, except that a condition of the truce was that Remy be excommunicated from the Guild and told never to return to New Orleans… on pain of death."

Before she had a chance to check her brain, the words tumbled from her mouth towards the thief, "What did you do?"

He turned to her and for the first time she truly believed she was struck by the intensity of his gaze. Red eyes glowering, but tired, jaw tight, but resigned, his voice even but pained, "I let it go, that's what I did."

Stolen memories rushed forward, pain and suffering that went by so quickly she might as well been shot in the heart by a high-powered rifle. Doubling over she grabbed her head, trying to force it all back into the dark recesses of her mind where Danvers continued to scream at her.

"Rogue," she heard her name called and two hands caught inside the sleeves of their coat made her look up. "Look at me," her eyes flicked momentarily red before fading back to green. Gambit was on his knees before her, the same odd look in his eyes, only masked with worry this time. "You alright, cheri?"

"Yeah," she coughed, pulling back from his grip and taking several breaths, "something triggered a memory, a strong one," she rubbed her head, the pain subsiding, "happens," she lied.

The thief gestured to Jacob, who was half-out of his seat, to pass him a bottle of water. The courier quickly handed it over and Gambit gave it to her, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she said quietly, taking a few sips, leave it to a Southern boy to treat every malady with water, "it was just a flash, I don't even know what it was, mostly just… pain..."

Silently she finished that sentence with 'and you carry it around with you.'

"You should get some rest, petite" he stood up, putting back the mask of the Cajun, "we still have several hours till N'Orlean, don't know what'll be waiting for us."

Nodding slowly she agreed, she could use the sleep after the sudden assault. It wouldn't be the first time such an occurrence had happened, powerfully strong emotions left just as visible scars on her psyche as they did the original owner.

But why was it getting harder to control them? The pain in her temple sharper, more vivid? Why did it seem that every time she looked in a mirror Danvers was there literally staring back at her?

Not for the first time since her death, Rogue could really use her adopted mother. She'd be able to make sense of what was happening.

"You can have the bedroom," Jacob offered the built in suite at the rear of the plane.

"I couldn't," she tried to politely refuse but the bed sounded a lot better than a reclined chair.

"As a gentleman, I insist," he smiled softly, gesturing at the steward and stewardess who had come forward when they heard the commotion. "Leena, please take Miss… Rogue back to the suite, make sure she has everything she needs."

"Of course, sir," she quickly stated, a slight nod to her head, then turned to Rogue, "this way ma'am."

"Thank you," she said almost awkwardly to the courier, her brain still swimming in a mess of memories and emotions that weren't hers.

Following the tall blonde woman to the suite she found it was cramped but the bed was at least a double, taking up most of the room. Tossing her coat on the end of the mattress and kicking off her boots she collapsed.

Some days, she hated to sleep, she didn't know whose hopes she would dream.

…

The steward served them drinks as Leena was busy seating Rogue. It had been a bit of an intense moment, the woman's eyes changing from green to red, the color of LeBeau's. She had an absorption power that was touch-only, he thought, but she had never touched the Cajun the entire time from when they burst into his hotel room to getting on the plane.

As the courier watched his friend flip aimlessly through a deck of cards, he had to ask, "Geesh, Remy, what did you do to her?"

"I might have taken something I couldn't steal," he said cryptically.

Jacob thought the man capable of stealing anything. "And that would be?"

He caught the last thrown card and paused, "A kiss."

"Well, that explains it," although it wasn't the answer he was expecting, "you've traumatized the poor woman for life."

Gambit gave him a wry look, "As powerfully charismatic of a personality I have, non, I didn't cause dis," there was a short pause, "Didn't help it neither."

The more he learned, the less he understood, "What's going on?"

"I tricked her," there was almost an apology in his voice, not something Courier heard often from his friend. "I needed her help with da Worthington heist and I knew she wouldn't go for it unless she understood da situation."

"Ah, she kisses you, she gets your memories, she understands," he easily followed the train of thought. "Isn't that a bit underhanded, even for you?"

He made no move to refute the statement, "Sounded like a good idea at da time."

"And now?"

"Something's wrong," his eyes flitted around like they did when he was hard at thinking, the man always in some kind of motion. "Never mind what she said, dat wasn't normal."

"And how could you know that?" he questioned, "You've known her all of what, a few days?"

"You can see it in her eyes, mon ami," LeBeau said the words with simple elegance, "she's afraid, afraid dat it's happening, afraid dat she can't control it."

"Control what?" he asked quietly.

"Still working dat out," the thief frowned, going back to flipping cards and Jacob began to wonder where the King of Hearts was, he hadn't seen it the whole time since Jordan.

Then it struck him, "You care about her."

Gambit flipped two more cards then stopped, looking up, "You're right, going back to N'Orlean is a bad idea. I don't know how da family or da Assassins will react, I'll be walking through a swamp of gators," he said the words casually but methodically, as he if was plotting to steal the Mona Lisa. "Thankfully, petite can fly. She can also handle herself and watch my back at da same time. You'll excuse if I show interest in an investment towards my continued well-being."

The courier crossed his arms, not entirely convinced, "You never worked with anyone before, what makes her special?"

"I work with you all the time," LeBeau both corrected and dodged.

"No," Jacob held up his hands, having none of that, "you go steal things, fight people, I stand as far away as I possibly can. In fact, I insist on it."

"You need to learn to live a little, mon ami," the thief laughed.

"And you a little less," he shook his head at the familiar trade-off, "but answer the question, why Rogue?"

"Take dat up with petite," he shrugged, easing back into his seat, "I didn't ask her to follow me to Tokyo… well…," he chuckled at a memory, "I did tease her something awful but she made dat choice on her own volition."

"No, no," the courier splayed his hands in frustration, "you only ever surround yourself with women like… Leena," he double checked she was out of ear shot then continued. "And you only ever work alone. This isn't like you."

"Mon ami," Gambit leaned forward, his voice going lower in a conspiratorial tone, "don't you realize I know what others assume of me, what dey… expect of me?"

"Well, I…" Jacob faltered.

A grin ran across the Cajun's face, the kind of smile that could only belong to the devil himself. "How do you think I'm always one step ahead?"

Jacob sat dumbfounded, "What game are you playing here, Gambit?"

The thief chuckled, reclining his seat and tipping the hat down over his eyes so he could sleep, "Wake me when we hit Florida."

A thousand questions ran though the Courier's mind, everything from how Rogue got involved to what the thief was planning. He knew he could ask them each questions and he'd not receive a single straight answer from either of the pair.

Jacob just hoped his friend knew what he was doing.