Author's Note: Thank you for reading! To be honest, I pretty much wrote the fic around this chapter, which also explains why it's the longest. I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Chapter Sixteen

French Quarter

It was about seven-thirty, the sun already down and the city brightly lit as they sped by in a limo. Tomorrow was Mardi Gras Day, Fat Tuesday, the last day before lent, but already crowds were out and about, sharing in the Spirit of the Carnival.

"Okay," Claude called from the driver's seat, "we should time dis just right and pull in before Milton Fuller's limo."

"Who's Milton Fuller?" sometimes Rogue felt stupid having to ask so many questions but it was better than going in blind. To Gambit's credit, he never looked down on her for it.

"Big industry man," the thief told her, "mostly into ship building for da Navy, family's been around a long time."

"And what do we want with him?" she could think of a few ideas, most of which weren't exactly legal.

"We don't want him," Gambit grinned, "we want his invitations."

"Ah," that had been one of the options, "a man like Fuller won't be questioned if he 'forgot' his invites so no one will notice if we borrow them."

"Got it in one, cheri," he nodded approvingly.

"Yah know," she frowned, just a bit fed up with the thief for an entirely different reason than the usual, "I may not have grown up in a fancy Guild House, but I do know a thing or two."

The Cajun regarded her for a moment, his grin dropping into a soft smile before he said quietly, "Yeah, you do."

"Perfect," Claude sounded pleased with himself as he angled the limo against the curb, "he's pulling in behind us."

Rogue adjusted her shawl as Claude jumped out to come around to the door. Glancing over at the thief she decided on something. "Tell you what, Gambit, you sit this one out, I'll get us into tha party."

Gambit raised one eyebrow and smirked, "If da lady insists?"

"Oh," she borrowed his grin, "she insists."

The thief chuckled, slipping out the door as Claude opened it. Rogue scooted over, carefully swinging her legs out onto the curb. Gambit offered his hand and she took it like the polite, respectable, lady she was pretending to be. As she stood she paused to adjust her shawl again and check the contents of her bag, all while watching for Fuller in her peripheral.

Milton Fuller, older gentleman with a wife about two decades younger than him, maybe it was a girlfriend… no, wife, can tell by the possessive grip she had on his arm. This was Fuller's third wife, easy. One bodyguard, hired for the night, not a standing contract, the man just there to get a paycheck and hopefully not have to do anything. Would say a small Glock in his shoulder-holster, probably a subcompact 26, the man wasn't overcompensating for anything. The fourth in the party, a personal assistant, long time employed, happy where he was, no ambition but knows how to keep a tidy appointment book by the pager and PDA on his belt and the shine on his shoes.

She'd have one go at this to get the invitations… she needed to make it count.

As they got closer Rogue finished primping and started to walk with Gambit towards the entrance. She really hated heels but they did come in handy from time to time.

"Ouff," she stumbled, falling away from the thief who looked like he had to literally stop his quick reflexes from grabbing her to keep her from ending up on the ground.

"Ah!" the assistant shouted as she ploughed her back into him, making sure to keep her head forward and the shawl tightly wrapped.

"Oh, so sorry!" Rogue let out in a high pitched 'dumb blonde' voice, complete with Cajun dialect. Getting her feet under her she turned around to face the man. "Dese are new shoes," she lamented, not in the left side pockets, "I couldn't resist dem!" ah, right side, perfect. No way a man like Fuller would carry his own invites when he had perfectly good men hired to do such things for him.

There were four but she only needed two. Rogue slid the invites behind her back and Gambit was right behind her, expertly sliding them into his jacket as he took her by the arm, "Are you alright, mon cher?"

"Oui," she put on her best embarrassed face and let herself be drug away from the exasperated assistant.

The two headed toward the entrance, Fuller having ignored the whole situation and instead found an older gentleman to talk about some golf club or another. As they approached the doors, security checking invites, Gambit pulled the stolen ones from his jacket, "Not bad, cheri."

"Simple is best," she grinned at him, then smirked.

He returned the grin until he examined the invites, "Dey personalized."

"What?" she looked at them as he tilted them in her direction and sure thing, some random name, Dillon Leflore, was embossed on it, probably the assistant, and a William Johnston, the guard likely, on the other. "Well, guess I'll be improvising then. Yah my 'escort'."

Snatching the thick paper from his hand, she took the lead as they approached the man checking invites. As she drew closer she put on her best smile, getting a little too close to the man for comfort. He was young, not too shabby looking, probably a paid intern by the style and price of his suit.

"Getting a little cold out here," she said in a low voice, rubbing one hand down her arm just a tad bit suggestively, subtle always worked better, "don't dey have something better for you do to do inside where it's warm?"

"Uh," he was speechless, she could work with that.

"Tell you what," she slid the invites into the pile he had in his hands, taking the opportunity to get so close he could feel the heat of her body, it made her uncomfortable but her desire to show up Gambit won out, "I'm already bored of mine," she threw a glance at the thief but the door greeter never took his eyes off of her, "so why don't you find me later and see if you can entertain me, no?"

"Yeah, sure," he got a stupid grin on his face.

"Looking forward to it," she winked and slinked on by, the man never bothering to look at the invites.

"Um, sir," he stopped Gambit as he attempted to follow.

"I'm with her," she heard the thief say.

An evil grin fell on her face and Rogue called over her shoulder, "He's with me."

The doorman let the mutant through with only a slight pause then turned to the next person waiting. Gambit came up beside her and took her arm. "Well done, petite, didn't know you had it in you."

"But are you impressed?" she asked, accepting a dark green Mardi Gras mask which only covered from the nose up from a lady working a table just inside the door.

Gambit was given a similar black one, pulling it over his head before saying, "Maybe."

She took the opportunity of putting her own mask on to grimace, she was doing it again, flirting with the Cajun when she said she wouldn't. The man was so good at brining out some really bad habits in her…

Slipping his arm through hers again, the two mutants walked into the main foyer of the museum. The building was originally built to hold monks though it never did, and was instead used for a multitude of purposes including as a town hall in its long history. There was a large area on the first floor, perfect size to hold a gathering of ritzy individuals all decked out in their refinery, feathered Mardi Gras masks on their heads. The thieves blended in just fine.

Rogue scanned the room, looking for anything out of place, any signs of shady dealings either on the ground floor or the wrap around balcony on the second. Nothing immediately came to her attention but it was early yet.

A waiter came by with a tray and presented them a sampling, Gambit grabbing two, "Oh, shrimp," he offered her one of the crackers covered in some kind of pâté with a shrimp sticking out on top, "bet dey fresh from da Gulf."

She held her hand up politely refused, "No thank you, I'm allergic ta shell fish."

Even the mask couldn't cover his surprised look, "You are?"

"Yeah…" suddenly she wasn't sure, hadn't she had crab a few months back when her and Pyro were up in Maine on another mission for Magento? "Wait…" panic started to rise in her but she clamped it down, clearing the voices out of her head, she had absorbed many who were allergic and for some reason a stray thought wormed its way into her head that she was allergic too. "No, I…"

Feeling somewhere between embarrassed and terrified she walked away from the thief and straight to the woman with the wine flutes on her tray. Taking a glass she downed it in one gulp, she didn't like drinking heavily, it dulled the senses, but sometimes she needed things a little less sharp up there.

"You okay, Rogue?" Gambit came up beside her, a weird tint to his voice.

"Don't worry," she took a deep breath and turned towards him, "I got your back."

"Dat's not what I'm asking, petite," he said but in an effort not to look at the Cajun she found something more interesting.

"Take my arm," she said quickly and while he hesitated he did so, causing himself to turn around and face the same direction she was, "see what I see?"

"Bag man," didn't take the thief long to spot the man standing at the bottom of the stairs.

A bag man was any person who was a go-between for two groups, usually a criminal outfit and a non-criminal group on the take, such as the mafia and police. The bag man was typically a neutral party, getting a cut in order to facilitate the hand-off without either groups having to meet face to face. Jacob was basically a high-dollar bag man but this guy was local and probably cheap judging by his shoes.

"Whatever he's waiting on," Rogue watched as the man checked his wrist and glanced to the top of the stairs, "he'll be taking it up ta tha second floor."

"Got to be at least two dozen places he could go," Gambit started to move in order not to look suspicious as they stared at the bag man, "need a better view."

Rogue glanced around, checking the angles, and only the center of the room would give them a three-sixty of the second floor. Of course, the middle of the room was reserved for the dance floor, already a few couples taking advantage of the soft music. "Care for a dance?" she asked as if she was ordering at a drive thru.

"Thought you'd never ask," he smiled broadly, slipping his arm down to take her hand, leading her like a proper gentleman to the dance floor.

"Watch your hands," she whispered, a double meaning of 'don't touch the exposed back' and 'don't touch anything else you shouldn't' heavy in the words.

He placed her right hand on his shoulder then dropped his to place both hands on her hips, under the exposed area of her back and a respectable distance from her rear. She placed her left hand on his other shoulder and started in on the slow jazzy beat that was playing. The song made it easy to simply spin in place and check all the rooms and hallways the bag man could possibly take.

The music changed, still slow so they didn't have to change up their dance, but a thought popped into her head, "They start up tha tango, yah do not get any bright ideas."

A mischievous grin formed on his lips and in one swift movement he took her hand and twirled her away from him. When he brought her back in, he did so in a way that her back was to him and she was flush up against his body, his breath on her neck. He was warm, solid, and so damn close she didn't know if she should be terrified or terribly excited. Before she could think much more on the subject of his powerful build and death wish he spun her out again and returned her to the original position of face to face.

Rogue scowled at him but the effect may have been ruined by the mask.

"We can't dance all night, as much as dat pains me to admit," he frowned and looked over at the bag man, "let's hope da trade off is soon."

She considered the possibilities, trying to ignore the sudden flip-flopping in her stomach, "I could touch him, just a brush, should only make him dizzy, find out who he's waiting for, where he's going?"

"Non, cheri," he said softly, "we'll wait, find where he goes, and then I'll do what I do best."

"Be incredibly annoying and exasperating?" she mumbled.

Gambit paused, then said, "Okay, what I do second best."

Rogue couldn't help herself, she started to laugh at the deadpan words. He chuckled and they swayed softly to the music, it was kinda nice actually. Doing what they did for a living meant having a certain level of patience, be it hiding in a vent or a stakeout in a car. This was better than both.

As they danced and she considered all the possibilities of who the bag man was, what kind of hand-off might be taking place, etc, she came to a startling realization.

"Gambit," she said quietly. "Why have yah never asked me to use my powers?"

"Of course I have," he said like she was being silly, "plenty of times."

"Flight and strength, yeah," she corrected him, "but not my absorption ability."

The thief made a 'huh'-like sound, as if he was really thinking it over, "Sure I did, in da alley."

"True," she ran the moment back through her mind, "but yah didn't really ask, just got me into a position where I'd use them and changed tha how."

"I needed you to understand, cheri," he said with a frown on his face, "and for dat, I am sorry."

"Yah sorry?" her brow knitted in confusion she doubted the man could see. Gambit didn't seem like the kind to apologize for anything… at least not so directly.

"I didn't realize how crowded it must be up dere," the thief said sadly, but without pity, she would have definitely hurt him if she ever heard such an emotion in his voice, she wouldn't have it, not from him, "or how much you hated using your powers."

Her jaw gapped just a bit before she got defensive, speaking in a harsh whisper, "I don't hate using my powers."

"Da eyes," Gambit replied simply, not phased, "dey tell da whole story, Rogue, maybe even da one's you don't want to read yourself."

"I'm not a keypad," she bit back, "yah can't just read me like a book."

He tilted his head down so she could see his eyes through the slits in the mask, "Time leaves wear on all things, cheri. By my estimate, you decided a long time ago your mutation was a curse and have slipped into da old routine of using your powers simply because dats what everyone expects of you."

Rogue could have just strangled him, right there in the middle of the party, used her strength to snap his neck… because the snake thief hit it on the head without even trying, voicing emotions she thought she buried long ago. Her hands clenched, pulling at the fabric of his suit, and she trembled with anger. Gambit paused in the dance, holding her firm but not tight, letting the sudden spike in her blood run its course.

Eventually she gave in, not to the anger but to the pain, "I am cursed."

"Do you really believe dat, cheri?" his voice was quiet, serene even, the opposite of how she felt.

"Kinda hard not ta when even my own poppa thought I was some kind of monster," Rogue said without thinking, assaulted by memories stolen from her father after he hit her for the… well, she lost count, but that was the last time.

"Dat why you ran away, petite?" Gambit said softly and she glanced up at him quizzically, how could he know? "I was adopted and grew up in a house of thieves, I can spot a runaway soul when I see one."

Rogue bowed her head, not wanting to look at him when she admitted, "When I got my powers, an… accident happened. Poppa wasn't happy, he was never happy, and always drunk. The punch he threw at me left more than a bruise, I saw what he felt about me," she closed her eyes, willing away the pain, almost mortified she was telling him all this but the flood gates had long been opened. "Felt his anger that momma ran away when I was young leaving him ta have ta take care of his worthless child. Felt his fear that I was some kind of life-sucking monster given ta him as punishment by God. That's why I ran away," but there was a bright moment. "Mystique found me, adopted me, showed me I wasn't alone and how to accept what I am."

Unable to get past the lump in her throat, the whole day being an emotional rollercoaster, she sagged a bit, trying to quite the voices and focus on the mission…

"I know how you feel, Rogue," the thief said, his words only slightly less broken hearted than hers. "You don't think my momma looked into dese baby-reds and thought to herself dat she'd given birth to da devil's own?" she peered up at him, seeing just a shade of pain sneaking through. "I was abandoned at da hospital den and dere. John-Luc was da only one brave enough to take me in, treated me a like human being, gave me a family to be a part of."

He truly did know how she felt… "We're not monsters."

"No we are not, cheri," he agreed quietly.

"We're tha next step," the words came easily to her having heard them a thousand times plus, "we're better, tha future."

Gambit let out a tired laugh, "Sounds like Magneto's party line."

"I forget," she was emotionally exhausted, not really caring at this point, "yah one of Xavier's lackeys."

"Lackey?" he chuckled lightly, "Chuck isn't a bad guy, I'll give him a hand from time to time, but if you ask me, him and ol' metal head are six-of-one and half-dozen-of-da-other. Dey see a different side of da same coin, but you know what, petite, dey both got it wrong."

That threw her, "Got it wrong?"

Gambit started up the dance again, swaying off to the left, "Dey say I have da devil's eyes, dat's what earned me da nickname, Le Diable Blanc, da White Devil, but petite, I've met da devil, and his eyes are da same as da next man's."

"Now there's a conversation I'd liked to have heard," she tried to imagine the devil attempting to go one-on-one against Remy LeBeau, she couldn't imagine it went well for the devil.

A smirked tried to form in the corner of his mouth, "Point is cheri, he was just a man, a man who made a choice to be da villain. Mutant or no, everyone is given dat choice, dey have to decide if dey are going to be da hero… or da villain… da warrior… or da weapon… da angel… or da devil… or maybe something else entirely."

"But…" she stared into his eyes, entrapped by his voice but his words counter to everything she was taught, but at the same time right on line, everyone had a choice, but had all the options been kept from her? "We are special, we have powers, it's our right… our duty… ta use them towards a better future."

"Do we?" he smiled sadly at her, "What about da beautiful singer who decides not to go into music? Or da mathematical genius who would rather be an artist, though he's not very good? Dey get da choice to make dere own future, same as us, to use their gifts, or not, to be da champion, or not," he moved in a little closer, voice going lower, "So what if our gifts are not da usual fare, we're still human beings like dem, we get da same choices. You say your mutation is a curse, what about da millions of deaf or blind who have learned to live with deir disability? Would you say dat you're worse off den dem? Is one sense so much more important dan another?"

"I can kill with my touch," she hissed back, getting defensive because his words made her feel foolish.

"You don't think a blind or deaf person couldn't kill if dey put dere mind to it?" he didn't rise to her anger, his voice soft and close as their masks brushed against each other, "You have limitations cheri, but dat doesn't have to limit what you can do."

There was a strange seduction to his words and it lulled her, her breathing becoming shallow. Was he seriously suggesting what she thought he was suggesting? Desperately she struggled against the unfamiliar tug in her gut, her eyes focusing on his lips, remembering how they had felt…

What was this man doing to her?

Forcing herself to look away she attempted some way to distance herself emotionally and anger was always good for that. "We are nature's evolution," she refused to acknowledge his last statement.

"Yeah," Gambit shrugged, pulling away a little, "maybe, I've heard stories of mutants going back a long time, met some dat's been around longer dan humanly possible, like Tante Mattie. I'd argue dat we've always been here, just now with da world getting smaller we're finally sitting up and taking notice, finding each other."

Again, he stumped her, having also heard stories… Was it possible the myths of the ages were nothing more than ancient people trying to understand those with special abilities like theirs?

"Chuck and Erik," the Cajun continued, "well, Chuck says we should live together in peace, Erik thinks we should take our place as da superior beings. Both of dem are looking at dis as 'us versus dem', but I don't see it dat way. It's just… us… we all be mutants of some form or another."

"But what if it comes down ta that," she asked quietly, trying to avoid his eyes so he couldn't see into hers and the effect his words were having on her, "us verus them?"

"Cross dat bridge," he smiled softly at her. "You called me a cliché before, I reckon I probably am, but it's because I want to be dis person. Not a hero, not a monster, just a thief, and a mighty stylish one at dat," he grinned before looking at her thoughtfully, "You keep dat accent though you could have done away with it because you want to be dat Southern, country girl… but everything else, is dis who you want to be, choose to be?"

"We all have a choice," she whispered quietly, bowing her head, trying to reconcile the man's words with what her mother taught her, "to be the hunted or the hunter… to be afraid or to be mutant and proud…"

"Non," using the back of his hand which was covered by his sleeve he tilted her head up to look at him, "just proud."

Staring deeply into the red eyes of the Cajun she finally saw what everyone was talking about, she could lose herself in them, drown without a care in the world. Her breath left her lungs and a weight hung heavy in her stomach, this man, this thief, blew open her world, turning it upside down and inside out… yet, her feet felt firmly planted on solid ground, ready for what may come next.

His head flicked to the side, just an inch but enough to break contact, "Dat's my cue."

Rogue managed to follow his eye line to see the bag man taking a thick briefcase from some guy, her brain too muddled to properly assess him but he screamed 'cop' to her. The bag man walked up the steps and about thirty feet down the left side he disappeared into another hallway.

Again, like a proper gentleman, Gambit led her from the dance floor, kissing her gloved hand, "When I need you, petite, you'll know."

She watched him leave, standing in a daze, trying to quell the emotions she thought she long locked away but her heart felt heavy with them now. Thankfully, the voices were strangely quiet, letting her process what just happened.

The answer was simple.

Gambit happened…