Author's Note:This chapter has one of the first scenes I ever conceptualized when I thought up the outline for this story. Things are going to start getting deep for both our heroes as the past begins sneaking up on them. And again, can't give enough thanks for the reviews, you are all awesome!
Chapter Twelve
Louis Armstrong International Airport, New Orleans
"I thought thieves liked ta blend in?" Rogue questioned as Gambit carefully folded his trademark trench into the small duffle bag.
"A good thief can hide anywhere," he shrugged, his hat coming off next, "a great thief doesn't have to."
She guessed that made sense, but ultimately, "Except when he goes home."
"Dey'll figure out I'm here soon enough, cheri," there was a small pause in his answer she almost didn't catch. "It'll give us lead time to get to da safe house."
"Yah have a safe house?" she asked, picking up his hat and twirling it around. "Thought yah hadn't been back ta New Orleans for, what, a decade?"
He turned his red eyes towards her, "Doesn't mean I wasn't planning to."
The man's voice was so mixed between indifference, hope, and sorrow that Rogue wasn't sure where to go with it. He was the most confusing man she had ever met. One second she has him figured, the next she's thrown. That's probably how the thief liked it, keeping people off balance was a handy skill for someone like him to have.
Glancing down at the trilby in her hands she realized she needed some way to cover her distinctive white streak.
"What yah think?" she tipped the hat onto her head and modeled it, beginning to understand why the man wore one, just having it on made her feel more stylish.
Gambit stared at her for a moment, a tug on his lips as if he was trying not to laugh, but he said with all seriousness, "Petite, is it your plan to slowly divest me of all my belonging till I stand as naked as da day I was born?"
"Hey," she grinned, shrugging nonchalantly, "only take what yah can steal, right."
She expected him to retort something like 'you wanted o'l Remy naked, you only need to ask' but instead he chuckled, shaking his head as if he'd gotten the better of, and went back to finish packing his bag.
It was probably best he did as Rogue became slightly mortified that she was full-on flirting with the thief. She hadn't really planned to but it just… happened and it was becoming a very annoying habit. Well, this was Remy LeBeau, the snake charmer, and apparently she was the snake.
Pyro was right, the Cajun would worm his way into her head if she let him… but a part of her didn't think that was so bad. It's not like anything could actually happen between them, it was all just a little fun. But she didn't dare let herself be romanced, it wasn't something she could afford to think about. And even if she did want to think about it, Gambit was the last person she should allow to charm her considering, well, it's Gambit.
Snake charming is the same as snake hunting… never be the one to hold the bag.
"Okay," Jacob came up through the cabin and she turned towards the courier who paused, looked at the hat on her head, glanced at Gambit, then back to the hat, blinked, opened his mouth and shut it again amusingly. Shaking it off he held up to large winter coats, black. "Sorry, not very stylish, but they do the job."
"One does as one does," the thief said poetically, taking an offered jacket, Rogue grabbing the other, her brown leather already stored in her duffle.
"Try these," Courier passed over a large pair of men's sunglasses, Ray-Ban of course.
"What you think, petite," he tried them on and considering that she only really ever saw the man with his hat it actually made a discernible difference in his appearance.
She nodded appreciatively, "Well, simple is best. And it works for Superman."
"That's a comic book," he frowned.
"And you've always looked quite comical ta me," she attempted not to grin but it was so hard not to and damn it, she was doing it again.
"Ahem," Jacob cleared his throat, "the car is waiting, hired out of Baton Rouge, no ties to the Guilds," the courier gestured to the steward to take the duffle bags and he did so quickly and efficiently, "but once you're in the city proper, you're on your own."
Gambit reached out to shake the man's hand. "Thank you, Jake."
Rogue watched the exchange between the men with interest. It didn't take a psychic to see that the two shared a bond as close as she did with Pyro though she doubted either would admit to it. Jacob took his friend's hand as if it might be the last time, the thief recognizing that it just might.
"Stay out of trouble, Remy," Jacob offered, his words hollow as everyone in the room knew that was the last thing the Cajun thief was going to do.
"We're ready, sir," the steward called, breaking up the moment.
"Den we best be off," Gambit moved past them towards the door.
Rogue was about to follow when Jacob caught her arm, saying, "You're right, there are few who call Remy LeBeau friend, even less he calls friend in return."
Unable to find the right words to note her understanding she nodded and pulled away, joining Gambit at the door. The thief offered his arm and she took it like a 'girlfriend starlet' should. Ducking their heads, they ran down the staircase and made it into the waiting car.
…
"Hey," Jimmy sat up, grabbing the binoculars, "dat Leer finally unloaded."
"Oh yeah?" Marion leaned over and peered out, Jimmy having taken the good set.
Jimmy watched as two people exited, covered up in heavy coats, the woman trying awfully hard to hide under a hat. "Guy and a girl. She trying really hard to hide her face. Wonder who she is."
"Bah," the older man went back to the control board, "probably another tourist come for de Gras."
"Yeah," he lowered the binoculars. "You know, I hear dat Remy LeBeau might be coming back to town."
Marion let out a snort, "Not if he smart. Marius will have his head."
"I'm surprised Jean-Luc don't have his yet," Jimmy bartered back.
"Now why would he go do a silly ding like dat?" the man scoffed.
"Come on," Jimmy got up and grabbed himself a cup of coffee, "Marius had to been behind Henri's death."
"Hah," Marion laughed, "one of you die and immediately you call fowl," he wiggled his hands in the air, "must be da assassins."
"It was an assassin," he rolled his eyes, going back to his seat in the tower.
"Russian," his friend pointed out, "bought and paid for. Had we wanted Henri dead, we'd done it ourselves."
Jimmy had spent the better part of three years sharing a spotting gig with the assassin, he normally wasn't that open about his Guild's trade. "So, dere honor amongst assassins den?"
"Hah," he laughed again, "you know how much dem Ruskie's charge? Outrageous."
…
"Stop here," Gambit called to the driver after what seemed like a good two hour drive, the sun starting to set. Rogue hadn't visited New Orleans before, but she could spot a defensive driving posture, the thief having the car zig-zag through random streets, making sure they weren't being tailed.
The vehicle stopped and the Cajun was out before the driver had a chance to get his door open to do his proper chauffeur duties. Rogue followed, both still clad in their heavy coats, hat hiding her streak. The trunk was already popped open so Gambit handed her a duffle and took his own.
The poor driver stood at attention, a bit puzzled as he was likely used to his fares being, well, what they were supposed to be pretending to be. "Would that be all?" he asked, touch of uncertainty in his voice.
"Dat be all, merci," Gambit flipped a coin at the man and turned away, gesturing for her to follow him towards an alley.
A glance back at the driver and he was still standing there, staring at the coin he had clumsily caught. In the darkening light, she could see the golden glint.
"Dis way," he turned down the alley, keeping low. The houses on either side were nice, not mansion nice but no middle-class families here. If she was right, they were just off of St. Charles Avenue, one of New Orleans' most famous and historical streets, and where part of the Mardi Gras Day procession traveled.
Stopping at a gated wooden fence, Rogue had feelings of déjà vu as the man used his knife to pop the lever.
He watched as she slipped into the yard, the lawn green and trim despite it being the edge of winter. It was cared for, but there weren't any ornaments, furniture, not even a stray ball from the neighbor's kid. The house itself was two stories, the front a double gallery style popular in the area, white with a blue trim. At the back, the first floor jutted out into what was probably a kitchen or dining area, while columns held up a roof that over hanged the recessed second floor.
"Wait here," he whispered, dropping the duffle next to her as they approached the back door.
Before she had a chance to say anything, he used his kinetically charged spring step to climb up to the balcony. "I thought this was yah safe house?" she whispered as she watched him disappear.
About a minute passed and the back door opened, Gambit standing at the alarm, punching in a code, sunglasses tipped up on his head. "You think I carry da key around with me, petite?"
"I suppose yah wouldn't," she picked up both duffels easily, walking inside the home which was… empty to the point of sadness.
The room was a kitchen, though only held the basic large appliances and a small breakfast table. Walking through to the main hall she could see both the sitting room and living room, practically empty of any furnishing save a couple covered chairs and side tables.
"This is yours?" she asked, trying to understand why a man like LeBeau would have such a nice, expensive, home as his safe house.
"Well, after a fashion," he took his duffel from her, "it belongs to Robert Lord."
"And yah Robert Lord?" she ran the alias over in her head, not a bad one, quite close to Remy LeBeau but not terribly so.
He grinned, "When I need to be."
She smiled back, appreciative of the fact he could keep an alias running and unknown for so long, "The place is so clean, no dust anywhere."
"Got a caretaker, hardworking man comes once a month," he let out a bit of a chuckle, "doesn't know about da Guilds," his accent suddenly changed to something much more posh, "thinks I'm a European with more money than sense."
"Well, he's half right," she couldn't help it, he left himself open on that one.
He chuckled, before gesturing to the stairs, "Gonna check on da utilities, you pick a room, should be linens in da closets, might want to air dem first."
"Right," she nodded and the two went their separate ways, Rogue heading up the semi-grand staircase, empty white walls marred by photos that once hung for visitors to see, probably from the previous owners.
There were three bedrooms, the first one with a King size bed, large bathroom, walk in closet, facing the street, obviously the master suite. For some reason it didn't feel right to take it, not exactly in the Goldilocks kind of way, but enough that she moved on to the other two, basic double sized beds, adequate facilities. She took the one that faced the back yard, it had a gas fireplace installed which would be great for the colder nights.
In the closets were plastic bins, older in their style, as if they'd been there for ten years without moving. Simple white linens and pillows were in it as he said they would be. Thankfully there were no moth-balls, she couldn't stand the smell of them, it reminded her of home, correction, her first home.
Setting up her flashlight to illuminate the room she made the bed, even fluffed the pillows. Throwing the ugly winter coat into the closet she unpacked only a few items, always have to be ready to leave in a hurry in a situation like this. Checking out the bathroom she looked at her ghostly image in the mirror above the sink, still wearing Gambit's hat.
Reaching up to take it off, she instead ran her hand down the brim.
What was it about that annoying Cajun? He confused her, frustrated her, infuriated her, exasperated her, and… she let him. It wasn't like he was the first guy to ever flirt with her despite knowing of her condition, there were even a few she would have highly considered a relationship with had her abilities not gotten in the way.
What made Gambit different?
Was it because he treated her different? Or she thought he did? Or he made her think she thought he did?
Letting out a breath somewhere between a sigh and a growl she snatched the offending item, "Don't let him get into yah head, girl."
Figuring it was about time she returned the hat, she headed downstairs, plenty of illumination filtering in from the street lamps to light her way. He wasn't in the kitchen but she spotted his un-stylish coat thrown over one of the covered chairs in the living room so she wandered in. Wooden floors, brick fireplace, fancy tile work on the ceiling, all the wooden molding carved, the kind of stuff that isn't seen in homes anymore, well, not without paying more than the house was likely worth.
Pain, searing pain spiked through her mind and the world shifted.
Falling to her knees as she clutched her head, hundreds of voices screamed at her, flooding out from the pit she had thrown them into in order to silence their cries, their dreams and their fears. Danvers was at the forefront, her psyche stronger than anything else hidden away in her mind.
Mustering every inch of will she had left she pushed back the onslaught, dragging every bit of stolen conscious down into the abyss. This was her body, her mind, no one else's.
Time stood still as each escaping psyche eventually succumbed to her will. Sitting back, she caught her breath as the voices fell quiet, well, as close to silence as it was ever going to get.
"What tha?" she muttered as she saw that the covered chairs and tables in the room had moved. Not a lot, just pushed back from where she had fallen. Rogue had absorbed the powers of several mutants who had telekinesis abilities… and they had been among the offending voices…
Grabbing the hat where it had fallen she got to her feet, not wanting to think of the implications.
She went to leave when she saw one of the small side tables which had moved only a few inches had something underneath it, the white sheet caught on a box. Curiosity getting the better of her she sat the hat on top of the table and tugged the box out from under the cover. Inside were photo frames, only slightly dusty, having been mostly protected in their hidden spot.
The first one was of a young Gambit and Henri standing together, the younger brother's arm planted squarely on the older man's back. There was also a woman, blonde, pretty and the way she hung off of Henri told Rogue that this must be Mercy, the fallen thief's wife. There was nothing in the grab bag of Gambit's memories to put the moment in context, the broad smiles enough to tell the story.
Flipping through the frames she found another that caught her attention, the young Cajun, seventeen maybe, standing behind a woman, his arms wrapped around her, holding her against him. He smiled, but not like in the other photo, this was the kind reserved for when a man is truly happy, truly content… in love.
Golden hair in braids, the beautiful woman was grinning, like she had caught the biggest fish in the lake.
Memories tried to surface at the image, the same emotions attached to the card in her pocket.
"Got da water and electricity on," Gambit came into the room, pausing as he saw her standing with the photo in her hands.
"This isn't a safe house," she said quietly, turning the image to face him, finally something about the man making sense, "this a home, tha kind of place two people build a life together."
The Cajun was a master poker player and finally she understood why, his entire face going into a blank, unreadable, slate.
"Who is she?" Rogue asked softly, chiding herself that she was afraid of the answer while at the same time desperate to know who made this troubled man so happy, gave him a sense of peace.
Gambit walked forward slowly, the creaking of the wooden floors loud, echoing through the house. He took the frame from her hands and examined the image as if he had to remind himself what was there.
After a good minute he tossed the photo back into the box where it hit with a loud clank that almost startled her.
"You should get some sleep," he said without a hint of emotion, picking up his hat.
"I slept on tha plane," she said defensively, she knew more was going on here than the thief let on and this was good enough proof of it. Rogue didn't mind getting played, she only wanted to know what the game was.
"Den don't sleep," he shrugged, turning away from her, "we've got a busy day ahead of us and jet-lag can sneak up on you, I'm turning in."
Rogue wanted to scream at him, demand answers, but she knew she had absolutely no right to… plus it would make her even more of a hypocrite than she already was. Instead, she settled for asking, "What's tomorrow?"
He paused in the threshold of the living room, "We pay our respects."