Author's Note: So glad y'all liked the last chapter and my take on the mutant issue and of course the Romy action! :D It's a direct nod to the Erik/Raven bedroom scene in X:FC. Now we get some Gambit POV! Yeah, it pretty much goes downhill from here… hahaha, mine is an evil laugh! /Wash

Chapter Seventeen

The Presbytere

Remy made it to the bottom of the stairs, using a beautiful woman in a strapless red dress as a segway to make his approach natural looking… but as much as he pulled off the flirt, his heart just wasn't in it.

What was it about returning to New Orleans? Seeing the family again, the old haunts, everything had changed yet the scars were still there. Old memories surfaced and a pain he thought long dulled began to sharpen on the strings of his heart.

He missed her, his Bella, and he always would… coming back only reminded him of this fact.

He thought he had made peace with her death… maybe that wasn't in the cards.

And now his brother was gone, the last decent man on God's green Earth and one hell of a thief. He was doing this for Henri…

Getting to the top of the stairs Remy subtlety glanced back to the floor below, checking to see if he was being watched. It seemed he blended in as the only eyes that tracked him were Rogue's.

Rogue, now there was a conundrum in a half if he ever met one. In a way, she reminded him of his Bella, strong, resilient, smart, a bit mysterious, and could kick his ass. The thief chuckled, his father was right, he had a type.

However, the red headed mutant wasn't the only woman he'd met in the last ten years who fit that description but there was something about her that he couldn't quiet put his finger on. She was different. There was something in her eyes, a familiarity, both of them damaged goods, cracked down the middle of their hearts. If anyone could understand what he was going through, it would be Rogue.

He wouldn't mind sitting down with her and having a beer after this was all over. No tricks, no games, just two people having a beer… though he preferred bourbon himself but he could tell she was more of a beer girl, export stuff, not the watered-down domestic crap. Probably liked fried catfish too, battered an inch thick and seasoned with spices…

To Remy there are two types of women, the ones to forget with and the ones to never forget, the former vastly outnumbering the latter. Rogue definitely belonged in the second group, wasn't often he met a woman he wouldn't mind just spending time with, no strings or bed sheets attached.

Such as Mercy, the love of his brother's life, a sister to him through and through. Some men might have taken it as an insult or challenge when he realized the woman looked straight through him to his brother, but not Remy. He had to trick the shy Henri onto a date with Mercy, the two utterly conspiring against the older LeBeau brother. Worked out though and Remy couldn't have been happier for the man.

Mercy felt the pain of Henri's death possibly worse than all of them, and Remy was doing this for her too…

A great thief has to think with his head as well as his heart, balance what he needs against what he wants. Remy LeBeau was the greatest thief in the world… now was time to prove it.

Pretending to be looking at the museum displays, the Cajun casually walked down the balcony, first going past the hallway the bag man turned down in order to get a look at what he was walking into. Four possible doors, two on each side, widely spaced, the hall ending in a small fountain. After taking a moment to examine some display about New Orleans' oil and gas history, Gambit made sure no one was looking and slipped down the hall.

Four doors, where's the pea? He always loved a good shell game.

Movement, squeak of a door knob. Immediately he zeroed in on the noise, first door to the right, opens to the right. Quickly and silently he bounded forward, getting behind the door as it opened. Nine times out of ten, no one ever looks behind them if the door opens the way they are walking and if this was time ten, he'd deal with it.

The bag man let the door close behind him, walking down the hall towards the exit, never looking back. Gambit made sure not to look directly at him, not wanting to set off that 'I'm being watched' sense. Once the man turned the corner the thief removed himself from the wall he had flattened himself against and examined all his options.

One, he goes into the room right now, taking the 50/50 chance that the recipient of the briefcase was in there and this wasn't a 'drop and go' for the criminal party to pick up later.

Two, he takes the scenic route.

He always did love a leisurely scenic drive on his bike, which reminded him, he was going to have to get that back when this was all over.

Walking to the other door he easily popped the lock and slipped inside. It was a rather large space as hinted at by the length between the doors and it was set up as a library with racks of books lining the walls and tables covered in little green lamps. Being a corner room it had windows on both the left and far walls and seeing as a closed divider was between it and the next, the scenic route was going to get a bit windy.

The windows were actually doors that lead onto a faux balcony, a simple magnetic strip functioned as the alarm and that was easily worked around. The doors opened inwardly and he slipped out into the small space, a waist high wrought-iron gate acting as the balustrade. Climbing over it with the nimbleness of a cat he made his way across to the next set of windows.

Peering inside, the room was an exact copy of the one next door down to the lines of books and the tables with lamps. Two of the lamps were on, the thick briefcase sitting unattended. Double checking that every corner and every shadow were in their proper place, Gambit made his way into the room. Years of experience, and his iris mutation which gave him a keen sense of night-vision, told him that he was alone but he approached the center desks cautiously.

So, the recipient was to pick up the case at a later time? Could be any second now, he had to make this quick.

The briefcase had three-number combination locks on the clips, almost insulting for a man of his talents. Seconds later the clasps flipped up and he was in. Opening the lid he expected anything from money to files to CD's… not this…

Sat inside some form fitted padding, he picked up the metal item and held it in the light… it couldn't be…

It was…

The hilt was inlaid with sterling silver but with a hard stainless shield to protect the user's hand, it was both a decorative and lethal weapon. The rapier's blade broke about a foot from the hilt, jagged and rough.

This wasn't a hand-off, this was a message meant for him.

…

Rogue stood causally checking out one of the displays about the fundraiser, a concentrated effort was being put forth this year to clean up the many historical cemeteries, both of rubbish and 'undesirables'. That word brought a grin to her face, it really shouldn't have, but it did.

The stairwell in her peripheral, she occasionally scanned the room for anything suspicious. A few shady conversations were taking place, but nothing worse than what one would expect at a gathering of some of the richest and most influential people in the city. Overall, it was pretty dull, standing, waiting, avoiding the men who tried to pick her up.

Not to mention everything that Gambit gave her to think about was still rattling around in her brain. He kept trying to get inside her head and Rogue was afraid that maybe, this time, he succeeded. Her body ached, her heart was heavy, her stomach free falling, and her thoughts decidedly befuddled.

Rogue took deep, calming breaths, she couldn't afford to think about what if's and unattainable desires. The Cajun was going to be the death of her sanity if she didn't stop this nonsense right now.

A flash of movement and she saw the thief making his way down the stairs, a bit more quickly than she would expect if everything had gone well. Trying not to jog she made quick steps towards him, meeting up with him just off center of the room.

"What's wrong?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"It's a set up," was his not-to-pleased reply.

He didn't have to say it twice, when you're set up you get out of the situation, plans be damned. Cutting through the dance floor they made for the exit only to be stopped by a tall barrel of a man. The suit screamed wealthy but methodical, the shoes, practical, but the face was obscured by the same kind of mask they were wearing.

"Remy LeBeau," he spoke in a deep tenor, four other men backing him up, "once a swamp rat, always a swamp rat."

Gambit, who had flicked two cards between his fingers at the man's appearance, nearly dropped the laminated paper, this the first time she had ever seen the thief genuinely surprised. "Julien?"

The large man gave a pleased laugh, "Oui, thought I was dead did you?"

"You were dead…" the thief was troubled and if Gambit was unnerved then Rogue knew that the situation must be dire.

Slowly she slipped out of her shoes, ready to fight.

The man, Julien, had an entirely too pleased tenor to his voice, taking a step closer, "Do you really think I was stupid enough to try to take you on in a fair fight without a plan?"

Gambit tensed even more, his whole body trembling though she doubted anyone could tell but her since she was right next to him. There was a history between the men, that was clear, and by the tightness of the thief's jaw, it wasn't a good one. Could this be the devil he spoke of?

"You killed Henri," Gambit accused the interloper.

"Non," Julien grinned, "a Russian did," he splayed his hands, "but I may have provided da funding."

The cards in Gambit's hands glowed the brightest magenta she had ever seen and he lifted his arm across his chest, ready to throw the projectiles when the man next to Julien lifted his hand and clicked a button. Rogue could recognize a detonator when she saw one.

"Now, now," Julien held up his hand, "we don't have long, LeBeau, so listen closely."

Rogue eyed the detonator, putting her hand on Gambit's arm, "That's an activation only switch," which meant there was no grabbing it and turning it off.

"Your fille is right," Julien smiled, "da clock is ticking."

"What's dis about Julien," Gambit said harshly, the cards losing a little of their glow, "revenge?"

"Oh, LeBeau," he laughed, "nothing so crass. I simply want what I always wanted."

The thief tilted his head, "Da end of da Thieves Guild?"

"And more," Julien grinned and there was something sickly about the sight, "I want a return of da Old Ways, when men and countries feared us, not dese upstart excuses for organized crime."

"World's changed, Julien," Gambit said through clenched teeth, "it was a dream den, and a nightmare now."

"Non," the man didn't seem fussed, "I only needed patience, isn't dat what Thieves and Assassins share in common, no? Infinite patience. I've carefully put all my pawns into place, LeBeau, I only needed to bring you back to N'Orlean," his grin grew manic by the second, "da match to start da flames dat will bring down both Guilds and spread across the world."

Gambit's face fell in horror, "Dat's why you had Henri killed?"

"What can I say, LeBeau," Julien laughed, clapping his hands together, "took you longer to get here dan expected, but you are… so very… predictable."

The Cajun looked ready to launch at the man and Rogue was ready to fight but Julien held up his hand again. "Everything you touch explodes into ash, LeBeau, dat's why I decided to add some extra umph to tonight's festivities."

"What did you do, Julien?" Gambit was literally twitching to pounce.

Julien leaned forward a bit, his voice going into a whisper, "Why, planted a bomb of course, one which I'll be having blamed on you and your little… gift."

Rogue glanced around at all the wealthy and influential party-goers, if even a handful of them perished in an explosion then Guild relations be damned.

"I've made da city a tinder box," Julien was entirely too pleased with himself, "you have maybe fifteen minutes, just enough time to chase me down… or find da bomb," he started to turn to leave.

Gambit took one step forward but stopped, scanning around, the same thought in his head that had been running through hers since the moment she heard the word, where was the bomb?

"So… predictable," Julien laughed, "save as many as you can, it only takes one death to start a war. Oh," the sickly grin was still plastered on his face, "for old time's sake, I'll tell you it's on da ground floor. Good luck."

As the man and his entourage walked away she traded a glance with the thief and even through the masks they knew exactly what the other was thinking. Rogue ran to the fire pull on the wall while Gambit threw his charged cards to the far end of the room. The resulting alarm and explosion had the effect of causing the party-goers to panic and make for the exits.

…

Ahead of the crowd with his limo at the ready, Julien Boudreaux was able to get away from the building before the streets became a mess of individuals trying to figure out what was going on.

Everything was going as well as expected. LeBeau had taken the bait to come home and Julien figured the thief was resourceful enough to find out about the hand-off at the Presbytere, otherwise his little surprise would have to go another day unused, his men were getting antsy having it set around. Guess this meant he wouldn't be destroying any floats tomorrow during the Mardi Gras Day parade. Well, maybe he would anyway.

"Do we know who da woman is?" Julien asked his second in command.

"Da same one dat helped him with da Worthington Heist and da incident in Toyko," the man answered, pulling some surveillance photos from a portfolio, "not sure what her function was at either event, Lebeau usually works alone." There was one of her standing outside Worthington's apartment complex, staring up at it with the Cajun, then another of her entering the Toyko hotel, though several minutes after LeBeau. "We know she's a mutant but details are sketchy, still waiting to hear back from contacts. She's part of what was once da Brotherhood of Mutants, no one really wants to talk about dem, dey are a fearsome bunch."

"Doesn't matter," Julien waved him off, "she'll soon learn dat LeBeau corrupts and destroys everything he touches."

As the limo sped away, Julien, brother of the late Belle Donna Boudreaux, son of the Assassins' Guild Patriarch Marius Boudreaux, a ghost, grinned, everything was going exactly as planned.

…

Rogue had thrown a table end over end when Claude ran in, fighting through the last of the crowd.

"What's going on?" the man asked, glancing between the mutants as they tore the place apart.

"Bomb," she threw another table to the side, nothing there either.

"Merde," the man cursed. "What you need me to do?"

"Help look," a table went flying, "or start running."

"Right," the thief swallowed and started to pull the cloths off the tables at the entrance.

"Rogue," she heard Gambit shout, "found it."

Jogging over to the end of the room in her bare stockings, Rogue threw her mask to the floor. She joined Gambit who had also tossed his away during his search. He was staring down at a turned over display.

Underneath was a metal rack, sitting inside were three missile warheads strapped together, attached to a timer.

This was more than just a bomb.

Five Minutes.

"They teach yah anything about incendiaries in tha Guild?" she asked to cover her sudden freight at the site.

"Only how to blast a safe," Claude's voice trembled.

"Rogue?" Gambit looked at her, his breathing quick and shallow. The man, Julien, knew that this would be something out of Gambit's wheel house and that he'd have no chance of disarming it.

"Ex-soviet," she answered, scavenging every memory, hers and stolen, for answers, getting up close to the weapons, "non nuclear but bunker busting," she glanced up at the shape and design of the Presbytere, "good news, tha building will take tha brunt of it, bad news, it won't exist once these go off, tha debris, concussion wave, could go for blocks."

The thief looked outside where police and the fire department started to pull up. "Only takes one death," his eyes went back to Rogue, apologetic in every way, "Can you disarm it? Can… someone?"

Not wasting time on the emotions she gingerly handled the ignition mechanism, all the wires black, each bomb on its own system, "No," she looked at the ever decreasing time they had left, "not enough time, I'd have ta do each separately."

"Den we contain it," he didn't question her assessment or push her to keep digging and looked around, "got to be a basement to dis place."

Two minutes.

"Make me a hole," she came to the decision, floating over the rack to be able to hold on to both sides.

"What are you doing?" Oh, now he questioned her.

"Improvising," she said with a grunt, lifting the warheads up, getting the best grip she could on them.

It only took him a second to understand and a whole suit of cards flew from his hand, striking the nearest window sending it shattering.

With all her will and might, Rogue sped off into the sky, lugging the three warheads with her. Without the building to contain the blast the concussion wave, arguably the deadliest part of the weapon, could travel unheeded until it dissipated. She needed to get it as far away as she could in the time allowed… without getting herself killed in the process. That's always the trick, isn't it.

Faster she flew, glancing down at the timer.

Forty Seconds.

Thirty.

Twenty.

Spinning in the air like a discus thrower, Rogue launched the device into the atmosphere.

Pausing to make sure her aim was true, that was her mistake. The bomb exploded, all three warheads going off in sync, the concussion blast moving faster than her ability to fly. As if she had been hit in the chest by an elephant going at mach two, Rogue went spinning…

and began to fall.

Author's Note: Okay, so I could not, for the life of me, pick someone to play Julien. Everyone I thought of who could do the job I said 'nope, like them too much to make them that scum-bag'. I will take suggestions if anyone has one.

Oh, and did I say downhill? I meant just straight down… bbwwaaahahahahahah!