August 11, 1992
Remy flipped his cards idly from hand to hand. He was getting bored, and he knew that didn't bode well. The last time he'd gotten bored he'd sent John flying. He supposed that there were better ways of being entertained than punching out the pyro, but none had come to mind at the moment.
It was frustrating. He hadn't been there when the X-men had needed him. They'd had to draft this Logan, wherever that moron was, to increase their numbers while he'd been in Boston watching the circus. It angered him beyond words that he'd not only been useless to his team, but he'd had to sit out on the action.
Someone had poisoned the Professor. Although the faculty were saying that he'd gotten sick, Jean had told him what she'd found. It was a serious, and highly sophisticated, form of sabotage. If Magneto had ordered Cerebro to be damaged, then it would be a clear encroachment on the unspoken treaty between him and the professor.
Remy hadn't been with the X-men long enough to know the entire history between Magneto and the Professor, but he'd been around long enough to know that there had been friendship there once. He had a vague idea that something had happened at Cuba, but no one had told him too much. Somehow what had happened had rattled the older members of the group.
There was so much he didn't know. He was still something of an outsider, despite having been at the Institute for four years. He'd fought the Brotherhood in the past, but he knew that he didn't really fit into the X-men mold.
At the same time, the X-men had been the only thing that had made any sense to him at the Institute. He'd never been particularly scholarly, and he had no plans of becoming so. It just wasn't something that he was interested in.
He didn't resent being there. Remy was grateful to David and Kurt for saving his life and taking him to a new life. He figured he would always be grateful, because the kind of debt he owed them wasn't the sort of thing that could be paid back.
Remy finished with his cards and got up. He headed out towards the common room, hoping that the TV would be open. He hadn't watched Cheers in a while, and he figured that he could do with some comedy at the moment.
He passed by the library as he did so, twirling one of his cards absently in his hand.
"Où say trow...trowve...le...mark?"
Remy stopped in mid-step. He winced, his hand tightening on the card he was carrying.
"Où say trow..trowvu le mark?"
He turned on his heel and walked into the library.
"Où se trouve le marché?" he said, "That's how ya say it. Where did ya get ta 'w' from? Where would-?"
He stopped in mid-sentence. A girl with brown hair with white streaks was reading from a text book. Her eyes, wide and surprised, met his. Remy flashed back to when he'd punched John out. There had been a girl there, one that he'd considered talking to later.
Scott's punishment of washing and waxing the Blackbird had gotten in the way of it, but he should have remembered.
"Ah don't speak French very well," the girl said.
Remy pocketed his card.
"No, ya don't," he said, "Lemme guess, first semester?"
"First quarter," the girl winced, "It was this or Spanish."
"Ya made a good choice," Remy said, "But dey ain't teachin it well if that's the best dey can do."
He put out his hand. The girl didn't take it and Remy put it back into his pocket, nonplussed.
"Might as well introduce myself," he said, "My name is-"
"Remy."
He grinned.
"Who told ya that?" he asked.
"Max," the girl said.
Remy nodded, remembering the few times he'd met Scott's nephew. Max wasn't terribly social. He figured it was because of that whole midas touch thing.
"An you are?" he asked.
The girl sat up straight.
"Rogue," she said.
She looked at him as though she expected him to comment. He didn't. He supposed that there were some people out there who thought that the name Gambit was a little strange too. He wasn't one to judge.
Remy sat down at the table next to her. Rogue scooted away slightly and Remy raised his eyebrows.
"Remy smell bad or sometin?" he asked.
"No, ah uh...ah need ta keep my distance from people," she said.
Remy kept his eyebrows raised, but didn't say anything.
"Okay chere," he said.
He looked at her textbook. He leaned his elbow on it. He didn't put a lot of stock in textbooks.
"Now, chere," he said, "Ya gotta learn ta say tings trough ya nose."
"What?" Rogue said.
"Not easy," Remy said, "Remy's detectin a Southern accent, innit he?"
"Yes," she said, "Mississippi."
"Woulda guessed Alabama," Remy said.
"Ya woulda guessed wrong," she said.
Remy grinned.
"Right," he said, "Now, ya gotta say it like it's flowin off ya tongue, but also comin trough your nose."
"That makes no sense," Rogue said.
"Try it," Remy said.
Rogue blew out a frustrated breath. She squinted slightly at her nose before she spoke.
"Où se...trouve le...le marché?" she said.
She blinked, looking surprised. Remy smiled at her.
"There ya go chere," he said.
He took his hand away from the textbook. As he did he almost brushed her shoulder. Rogue immediately shot backwards into the next chair, her eyes wild and scared. Remy moved back too, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.
"Remy wasn gonna touch ya chere," he said.
She took a deep breath and eased back.
"Bad things happen when people touch me," Rogue said.
Remy cocked his head.
"Like Max?" he asked.
"Not exactly," Rogue said.
There was an edge to her tone that hinted that, while she might not turn people to metal, there was something very bad about what she could do. Remy glanced over her again. He began to take inventory of the gloves, long sleeves, and scarves.
He should have noticed them earlier, especially given all of his training as a thief. Remy had to admit that he'd been a little too busy staring at her doe-like eyes and correcting her French though. Women would always be the undoing of him.
"Remy's sorry," he said, "Remy didn't mean ta intrude."
"Ah understand," Rogue said.
She watched him and Remy realized that she was waiting for him to leave. Remy turned back to her textbook. He wasn't sure if she wanted her space or if she just expected him to go, but he figured it couldn't hurt to test the waters a bit.
"Textbooks can't teach ya how ta get an accent," he said, "Dey just can't. Ya need ta hear it. Remy's advice is ta get some French films. Watch em even if ya can't understand em."
There was a long pause.
"Rogue?" he asked.
He turned his head and saw that she was looking at him strangely. He sighed.
"Rogue, for da past four years Remy's been best friends wid a man who looks like a blue demon an one dat can read his toughts," he said.
He made a face.
"An speaks perfect legal jargon," he said, "Den dere's Storm, an she can send a thunderbolt trough a man's head-"
"What are ya getting at?" Rogue said, her voice sharp.
Remy sighed again and pulled a card out of his pocket. He charged it with pink light and held it in front of his face. Rogue moved back a bit and Remy threaded the card through his fingers.
"What Remy's tryin ta say is dat we're not all tickin time bombs chere," he said.
He let the charge die from the card.
"Some of us are jus tryin ta make our way no matter how weird we be," Remy said, "An Remy's been around de Institute long enough ta recognize dos people when he sees dem."
Rogue stared at him for a moment. She looked like she wanted to say something, but he heard footsteps running into the library.
"Remy!"
Remy turned around. Max stood in the doorway, out of breath and panting.
"My uncle's looking for you," he said, "Something about drawing a target on the back of the Blackbird in wax?"
Remy laughed.
"Dat'll teach him ta make me wash it," he said.
He tipped his head to Rogue.
"Scuse me chere," he said.
Once Remy walked out of the room Max came in, shaking his head.
"He's insane," he said.
"Ah think he may be more than that," Rogue said.
"What do you mean?" Max said.
Rogue debated telling him what Remy had told her. She decided against it.
"Nothin," she said.
Max sat down next to her.
"Hey, before the whole thing with the Blackbird happened, my uncle was actually talking to me about something," he said.
"What?" Rogue asked.
Max grinned. Rogue had never seen him so excited.
"My mom's coming down in a few days," he said.
Max laughed, gripping the edge of the table. Rogue smiled at him but didn't say anything. She wasn't sure what she could or should say.
"My dad's going to follow in a few days with my sister and maybe my aunt," Max said.
He looked away. Rogue could see that his eyes were watering.
"It...it means they don't blame me," he said.
"Ah don't think they blamed you," Rogue said.
From what she'd heard, it didn't sound like his family would do something like that. Her throat tightened up as she thought about Max's family, nameless, understanding people she'd never met, people who hadn't existed in her world.
"I know," Max said, "But them visiting like this..."
He made eye contact with Rogue.
"It just means everything to me," he said.
Rogue felt the tears spill out of her eyes before she could stop them. Max frowned immediately and Rogue tried to hastily wipe her eyes.
"What's wrong?" Max asked.
"Nothin," Rogue said.
Max didn't say anything as Rogue dried her eyes.
"You don't have a family, do you?" he asked, his voice quiet.
"Not anymore," Rogue said.
There was another pause. Max reached out. Rogue instinctively flinched, but Max put his gloved hand on her shoulder anyway.
"You can have one again...if you want," he said.
His words were cautious. Rogue looked at him.
"What?" he asked.
"I can be family, if you want," Max said, "Like a cousin or something. I mean, we haven't known each other for very long, but I think we both have an idea of...well..."
He glared at his gloves for a moment before turning to her.
"You know," he said.
"Ah...ah don't understand," Rogue said.
Max rubbed the back of his neck with his spare hand.
"My aunt...she's not really my aunt," he said.
Rogue blinked.
"My mom...when she was in the Brotherhood and was real young, my aunt helped take care of her," Max said, "They were really close, almost like sisters. Years after my mom left, my aunt left too. And then she found my mom and...now she's my aunt."
He shrugged.
"What I'm trying to say is that you don't have to be related to be family," Max said, "I mean, just think about the X-men. Scott, Ororo, Jean, the Professor, they'd all die for each other. That's family, you know? And former members of the X-men, I know you don't know them, but Clarice, Calvin, Warren...they're family."
He gave her a helpless smile.
"And I mean...from what you've told me, Logan's kind of family to you too," Max said.
Rogue swallowed a lump in her throat.
"I'm just saying, we can be your family if you want," Max said.
Rogue bit her lip and nodded. She reached out and hugged Max, making sure that she didn't touch any of the exposed skin of his face. Rogue cried openly then.
