BENEATH THE SURFACE

Part Two

Remy stared down at his bandaged hand; the elastic bandage Hank had decided to make him wear was supposed to help support the hand, but all it did was make his circulation slightly poor and his fingers look a little red. Hank McCoy had been pleasant and rather easy to talk with, but Remy hadn't been able to settle easily with him. He'd spent the entire time silently wondering how much gossip had already been spread about him between the instructors here. By now, he suspected all four had held lengthy discussions about his shameful experiences as a child. To avoid having to linger in the medical bay any longer than he'd had to, he'd withheld information about his injured shoulder, feeling that it was only going to be another complication, another delay to his being allowed to train.

Right now, other than his desire to be near Rogue – hard to look at right now as she was or not – the thought of training and working some of the nervous energy out of his system was all he had to look forward to.

Now, he was sat quietly on the couch in the Professor's private study. He'd been called in via the new communicator he'd been given, been told where to go and had arrived to a congenial but faintly almost cautious introduction by Professor himself.

Remy usually read people rather well, but found it difficult with this man; he was very hard to read. His expression was so stoic and stern, barely changing. Xavier's eyes were a rather cold and almost unfeeling blue but he spoke with a rather polite and congenial manner full of university snobbery and good upbringing. There was a gentleness in his voice that left Remy thinking perhaps the old man could insult people with the worst words imaginable and still sound cultured and polite about it. He wouldn't of course, he was far too restrained for that type of behaviour, Remy felt.

"How is your hand?" the Professor asked, he was sitting in his wheelchair, leaning forward and pouring tea into china cups. The tray had been there upon his arrival and Remy thought this was ridiculous. Being invited to have tea? It seemed rather bizarre...especially given once upon a time they'd been enemies.

Eighteen years on this Earth, no one had ever poured him tea from a teapot before. He'd always been handed it in a cup, never had there been a ceremony or polite ritual about it all. Tea wasn't his thing, he usually generally only opted for it if there was no coffee available or if it looked like the coffee may be the instant variety, his only experience of tea had been from teabags, never like this, not with expensive little silver strainers and fine china cups and saucers. It felt a little quaint...a little too English for his liking.

"It feels fine," Remy tried to focus on what had been asked, he gave a slight shrug to indicate how fine he felt and then chided himself inwardly for shrugging; his shoulder, which he'd hurt when being turfed out of the nightclub nights ago in St. Tropez, still hurt and he was sure he must have winced. He was glad the Professor was too focused on pouring the tea – he might not have noticed.

"I know it's an inconvenience to be injured, when I spoke to Hank earlier, he said you were rather eager to get yourself into training."

"Well...I've been on hiatus, y' know, vacation and all, and when y' on vacation y' kind o' take a rest," Remy pointed out, he accepted the cup and saucer the Professor handed him, he gazed down at it feeling strangely lost.

"Indeed. Everyone needs time to rest, and settle," the Professor agreed, "honey?" he asked, "or sugar."

"I..." Remy stared down at the silver tray, slightly distracted by all this ceremony and civility. "Sugar..."

"One lump or two?"

Remy laughed nervously at this, "Jus' one."

The Professor used a small pair of intricate silver tongs to drop the lump into the cup. Remy watched curiously, noting he could just detect the slightest trace of a hallmark on the tongs. They were definitely real silver.

"So...y' can afford antique silver tongs and hundred year old Limoge," Remy said, "so...I guess y' doin' well f' y' self," he jested.

The Professor raised an eyebrow, "you know antiques?"

"A lil'...it was drilled int' me. When y' a thief y' gotta know what's worth things...it ain' all about electronics and jewellery, y' know. Sometimes it's antiques...vases, plates. This tea set...I stole one like it about a year ago; it made a pretty penny."

"Yes, they do cost an awful lot," the Professor supposed, "this has been in my family for years. I believe my Grandfather purchased it in nineteen-twelve."

Remy gazed down into his cup as the Professor stirred the tea with a silver spoon. There was something a little mesmerising about the whirlpool it caused in the cup, the deep amber liquid swirling. He wondered how many times this cup itself had been drank from. How many cups of tea had been consumed over the years?

"Do you like milk?"

"I'll have as is," Remy replied.

"My father," began the Professor, "he drank tea habitually. With every meal, with his morning paper...last thing at night. If there was a crisis, his first response was to have someone make tea," he raised his own cup to his lips neither taking sugar, honey nor milk. "A nasty shock in the family...make the tea. Someone has fainted? Go make tea...it was his favourite cure-all. And he was so particular about tea. We would sometimes argue for an hour over the way it was poured."

"There's another way?" Remy raised an eyebrow, "figured it was all one."

"Yes, I used to pour the milk in first. He would get rather...petty and snobbish, accuse me of being a MIF."

Remy glanced curiously at the man, "a MIF?"

"Milk In First," the Professor explained, he gave the tiniest roll of his eyes which made him suddenly seem far more human than Remy had thought initially. "He thought it something that was rather unrefined. Not unhappy enough with just the milk in first, but he would constantly complain that I put far too much milk in the cup and weakened the tea, ruined the flavour and quality of what he would class an exquisitely fine brew. Eventually, for the sake of preventing arguments, I simply stopped taking milk altogether."

There was something in that revelation, Remy realised. There was a tact to this...he wished he'd seen it before. It wasn't just Xavier was trying to put him out of his comfort zone, but he was using this as a trampoline to get onto a subject that Remy didn't even want to remotely touch with a bargepole.

"Years later, I tried tea with milk...and somehow just couldn't find the same pleasure in it. It simply wasn't the same any more."

Remy sighed quietly, and took a sip from the tea, the temperature was just right, the tea was slightly too sweet even with one sugar. It was too strong, not his taste, but he wouldn't complain, wouldn't give the Professor the satisfaction.

"I hadn't thought of it in years until now," the Professor stared down into his own cup for a moment, "sometimes it doesn't occur to one just how a father can shape the way you live your life until much later, until it gets much harder to change it."

Shifting in his seat, trying not to seem too uncomfortable about it, Remy responded rather casually as he could, "I'm not sure what y' gettin' at, Professor."

Professor Xavier tilted his head, his eyes met Remy's, "odd, because from the moment I started speaking, I sensed you understood perfectly."

"Are y' readin' my mind, Professor?" Remy dared to ask, feeling slightly defensive.

"Of course not, from the second you stepped into this building I knew you would be impossible to read; you're very guarded, aren't you?"

Remy paused, he wasn't sure how to answer that. Like his charm, his resistance to most telepathics tended to be rather natural, never forced nor thought of. He wasn't sure he wanted the Professor knowing that. Knowing that particular gift happened naturally without thought probably meant it was just as likely to fail under the same circumstances. He wasn't about to let the Professor see any weaknesses – he already knew enough as it was.

"Nevertheless, regardless of how carefully guarded we can be, feelings do sometimes get projected, understandings, ideas. Those under heightened emotional stress-"

Remy put his cup down on the table, his hand was shaking a little and he didn't want it clattering against the saucer so he'd rather put it down. "I don't know what y' mean. Ain' no one under any heightened emotional stress here."

"I'd assume anyone who had to bury their father a week ago would be under some emotional stress," Professor Xavier admitted.

He had too much nervous energy to sit here, he stood up slowly, moving to the nearest window – far behind the Professor's desk – to gaze out at the gardens. The view was beautiful, summer roses in full bloom, large pink hydrangeas exploding from thick bushes, fuschias dancing in the breeze.

"Only stress I'm under is how much I paid t' bury him. That tombstone cost more than he probably earned in the last five years o' his life," Remy quietly remarked. "Should have stuck a weight on him and tossed him in the Bayou Corne sinkhole...would have been quicker," he muttered. "Probably what he'd have done for me...although he'd have grudged havin' t' pay for the weight."

Remy found himself almost kicking himself that he hadn't considered this a possibility at the time. It'd have been a rather good alternative to an overpriced funeral. No one would have needed to know...at least not until the damn sinkhole would have burped up the corpse later like it did with the junk that got thrown into it. By then he'd have been far gone, no one would have cared to hunt him down for the misdeed.

The Professor wheeled over, "perhaps you should speak to someone about this."

"I'm speakin' t' you, ain' I?" Remy pointed out, although he wasn't going to elaborate much more on anything. He'd talked about Jean-Luc far enough this year as it was. He'd rather forget the bastard ever existed...it'd be much easier if he'd stop popping up everywhere as of late...if people would stop mentioning him like they thought he actually needed reminding.

"Someone qualified."

"Qualified?" Remy scoffed.

"Perhaps it might help."

"I don't need help," Remy turned to stare at him, "I'm fine."

"It is easy to tell people you feel fine, but on the inside..."

"On the inside I'm as fine as the out," Remy folded his arms casually, his fist hurt a little as he did so and he tried not to wince. "All that's wrong wit' me right now is I ain' been workin' out, ain' been usin' my powers and I been out of action a good while 'cause of all the complications. It's been a nice lil' vacation and all but I need t' get back int' some kind of semblance of the only normal I ever knew."

"And you think being pushed immediately back into training is going to help."

"Yes, I do."

"With an injured hand, I don't see that being possible right now. A hairline fracture can easily become a break under the right kind of pressure and put you out of commission for far longer," Professor Xavier said politely.

"Yeah, Logan gave me that spiel," Remy said bitterly, feeling it was all just an excuse to keep him out of the team entirely. "But I can't jus' stand around doin' nothin' all day. I came here t' be one of y' all...why y' so reluctant t' let me be? Y' think I gon' be a liability?" Remy queried.

"Of course not. If anything you would be an asset to the team. For now, I would be more than happy to let you observe the team in training for the time being, until Hank is happy that hand is healed."

"That's it? Observe? My hand feels fine..."

"Hank told me otherwise, and I'm more inclined to trust his judgement."

"Observing...that...jus' ain' what I expected," Remy grumbled. He hated to complain, but this was frustrating. Coming here was nothing like how he had expected.

"You think training is all about the Danger Room? About being in the field?"

"I suppose," Remy shrugged.

"No...training goes much deeper. You'll train on the technology in the war room, you'll learn about strategy and planning, you'll learn how to assist with field missions from here, and from the Blackbird. You'll even be given flying lessons."

"Flying lessons?" Remy was almost intrigued.

"Eventually," the Professor nodded, "Now back to the original subject," he continued, "I think it would be helpful for you to perhaps see someone about your grief..."

"Y' think I'm grievin'?" Remy raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I'm grievin'? Y' see any tear stains on this face?"

"I think you're putting on a rather brave face."

"Y' might think that, but y' don' know me at all. This is the only face I wear, period."

"Like you pointed out, Gambit. I'm telepathic, and rather empathic...I can feel things you may even be suppressing, whether deliberately or not."

"I'd thank y' kindly t' stay out of my head," Remy warned, trying to keep his tone from being too sharp. The thought of the Professor flicking away at the things going on in his head left him feeling rather violated. "If I say I ain' sufferin' grief, then take it as my word."

The Professor was about to speak, but Remy quickly interjected.

"Would you feel grief? The bastard took me in under the guise of his son but used me as an employee, an asset. He used me t' fund his habits, t' take care of business he should have took care of. I'm not grievin' for him any more than I'd grieve f' the loss of a job I hated that I'd been fired from," Remy explained sternly.

Considering these words, the Professor tried again, "How about counselling for any other things that may be bothering you?"

Remy raised an eyebrow. He knew precisely what the Professor was touching upon. He supposed he should be thankful enough the man was sensitive enough not to put it into blatant words. To hear it for what it was would feel like someone had rubbed a lemon on a rather large deep paper cut.

No...worse than that, Remy decided. The thought alone of Charles Xavier knowing those things about him – things he'd never wanted anyone to know – left him feeling rather exposed. He was stripped bare and left somewhere in the North Pole being sliced up by icy winds of judgement and speculation. Each stung worse than the next, even if he didn't know what those judgements were, he could only imagine.

"Jus' t' get this straight," Remy drew a breath, trying to gain control of the situation, "I'm comin' here of my own free will, and because I'm eighteen, I ain't under any kind of legal guardianship, right? I mean, as far as the law is concerned, y' ain' got any real control of me, right?"

"Right," the Professor nodded, he seemed slightly disappointed by the turn the conversation had taken. He almost seemed rather disappointed that Remy understood exactly how little control the Professor really had over him.

Remy gazed at him, "then...I don't have t' do anythin' I don't want t' do...?"

"Technically, no."

"Then..." Remy paused, "I appreciate the offer of the help and all, don' get me wrong, but no thanks."

"I do suggest you reconsider."

"My mental health is pretty as a picture, jus' like me," Remy forced a dazzling smile, smiling hurt his cheek, he couldn't imagine why it hurt worse now than when he'd been caught in the face by that British guy days ago. He wondered if in his drunken stupor he may have fallen on his face and banged it.

The Professor seemed to rethink his strategy, he gave a soft sigh, "perhaps I am being hasty in this suggestion when you've not even had time to properly adjust and settle into your new home. I simply want you to be aware that all the options will be available to you should you need them."

"Thanks, but no thanks," Remy said, trying to make it sound as absolutely polite as possible.

"There is...one thing I will insist on," the Professor gestured back to the couch, his electric chair heading towards it.

Remy followed and took a seat, he'd thought this would be the end of discussion, not a jumping board for more. He expected to have it out now about the annulment. Remy already had been considering his replies to that subject for hours now.

"It's a delicate subject, but it must be addressed," Professor Xavier picked his teacup up and sipped, "the subject of your..."

"My...?"

"Alcoholism."

"Jesus H. Christ, I am not an alcoholic," Remy rolled his eyes, "I don' know what Rogue's been tellin' y'..."

"You need to understand, Gambit. This is a school, and I take the care of my students very seriously. And one slip – and I mean one single slip with alcohol is all it would take for you to be dismissed."

"I hardly ever drink," Remy folded his arms and leaned back against the couch, he tried to be as casual as possible, tried to hide how uncomfortable this all was.

"You spent a week getting drunk almost every night."

"Is that what Rogue tol' y'?" Remy asked suspiciously.

"Logan."

"And how would he know? Rogue tell him that?" Remy frowned.

"Believe it or not, Logan's senses are so acute he can smell it on you even days after, whether you have showered or not."

"So fine. I drank a bit," Remy admitted, he couldn't help feeling the irritation that these things had been discussed without him even present in the room to defend himself. He couldn't also help feel the irritation that Rogue probably had talked about it with the Professor and Logan. He wished he didn't feel so betrayed about it; there'd been a day he'd have shrugged it off, water off a duck's back. "It was a vacation, it's what guys my age do. Y' never cut loose when y' was my age?"

"How much do you drink?" the Professor asked, ignoring the question. Remy supposed he hadn't expected an answer anyway.

"Don' y' mean how much did I drink?" Remy frowned a little. "Y' ask that like y' think I'm still drinkin' right now."

"Then how much did you drink?" The Professor rephrased.

"I don't know, I never counted bottles or shots...glasses. I'm like most...I stop when I get my fill," Remy supposed. "But...I only drink when I'm out on the town, only when I'm away for a week. It doesn't happen when I'm focusin' on work. "

"And do you take drugs?"

Remy laughed weakly; it was the only response he could force that seemed to stop it from almost stinging. "Y' for real? Y' askin' me if I'm a junkie now? Not bad enough y' accuse me of bein' a drunk..."

"It's standard policy to make sure the students who come here understand the regulations regarding alcohol and drugs. I have to insist you take a drugs test."

"A drugs test. Really?" Remy scoffed, "Y' do this t' every one?"

"Yes," said the Professor; Remy hadn't expected that response. "In fact...periodically we do. Surprise drug testing is one of our policies. I told you that I take the care of my students very seriously."

"Who'd be crazy enough t' bring drugs int' a house with a human sniffer dog?" Remy asked, referring to Logan. "Guy could probably smell a dog fart in Afghanistan all the way from here. Y' would have t' be stupid t' even attempt t' bring a drug here."

"Common sense doesn't always apply when it comes to teenagers," sighed the Professor, "I'll have Hank drop the cup off in your room for you to fill at your convenience."

"It'll come up clean," Remy assured, "Other than maybe a little leftover Jack Daniels in there, y' probably not gon' come across much more than nicotine."

"And that is your word?"

"That's my word."

"Just so you know," the Professor spoke up, "we don't keep alcohol here in this mansion. You will not find any substances to abuse here, even the mouthwash is non-alcohol based. Contrary to what you might hear, I do not have a wine cellar anywhere in the basement, nor do I have a secret stash of Scotch hidden in this office despite what rumours you may hear. Even the instructors do not bring alcohol here, and we do not tolerate smoking either."

"Fine."

"Our policy with any student with a history of substance abuse, whether it be alcohol or otherwise is to closely monitor their behaviour. Don't take it personally if you find yourself being observed from time to time."

Remy groaned, "y' really over-reactin' t' this, aren't y'?"

"Not over-reacting. Over protecting, perhaps," the Professor supposed. "Lets go over the list of rules and then I'd like you to look over some forms."

"Forms?"

"In eventuality that anything happens to you, if medical care needs to be administered or...if hard decisions must be made, someone must be responsible for the decisions."

"Like if I get seriously hurt and life support needs t' be switched off?" Remy raised an eyebrow.

"If any kind of specific medical care should be administered in case of your incapacity or inability to make the decisions yourself..." the Professor explained kindly. "Such as a life-saving operation."

"T' be honest, Professor," Remy stated calmly, "I appreciate the offer t' take care of my welfare and all – it's more than Jean-Luc ever did. But I already decided long before now that Rogue is t' be the one t' have power over anythin' that happens t' me, whether it be some kinda life threatenin' thing, or who gets t' control my money if I kick the bucket. Soon as I'm settled here, gon' have meetin's with a lawyer or whoever else y' have put in control of that t' make sure she has complete control of it all. Besides...she's my wife, it should be her."

"Perhaps it would be wise to put these matters in the hands of someone more mature," the Professor suggested, Remy was surprised that the mention of Rogue being his wife didn't seem to even faze the man nor bring up the subject of annulment, "someone who has experience of dealing with these matters."

Remy wasn't sure he trusted the idea of this. "No. Y' insist on the drug test, fine, I'll take the damn drug test, but y' won' budge me on this one thing."

"You should take some time to think everything we've discussed over. I realise I have probably overwhelmed you with a lot of things. For now, finish your tea, we'll go over the rules. Then...I shall give you the tour of the sub-basement. Scott told me you're rather keen to see it."

Lifting his cup to his lips, Remy wryly thought it didn't matter how much time he was offered, no decision was ever likely to change regarding any of the things discussed.

Rogue stretched across her bed, clad in her bathrobe after her long shower following training with Logan. Her body ached from using muscles that she hadn't in weeks, her mind seemed heavy with exhaustion in a far different way than it usually did with worry.

It felt good to be stretched over her own bed again, the familiar blankets, the same pillows. She pulled a pillow to her face and breathed in the scent of the brand of laundry detergent that she'd grown so fond of since moving here. The fact the scent was so strong told her that Scott had been the last one to do the laundry, he never measured, just poured liberally and turned the thing on. There was something comforting about that, an almost sense of normalcy, that nothing had changed while she was away.

She closed her eyes, wanting to drift off into a comfortable nap before dinner, she maybe had an hour, an hour was all she needed to try and rest her mind a little before then. Before she'd have to try and keep herself together at a dinner table with Remy and the others...it would be more exhausting than being alone with him, it'd be a struggle to try and keep him from blabbing about their fake marriage.

Just as she had felt herself almost about to drop off, a sound coming from the vicinity of her dresser disturbed her and she sat bolt up right. The last person she'd have expected to see was Tabitha Smith standing there raking through her makeup drawer.

"Tab..." Rogue said groggily; she hadn't even been aware the girl had returned to the mansion. She had a history of coming and going, never staying for much longer than a few months before disappearing off for one reason or another.

"Crap...sorry, I thought you were out like a light...did I wake you?" Tabitha turned quickly, she gave a slightly nervous smile at having been caught.

"Ah'd have had to have been asleep first," Rogue supposed, rubbing her left eye tiredly. "What are you lookin' for?"

"I'm looking for some makeup..." Tabitha grunted, "Jamie said I wear too much makeup and I look like a drag queen, and I guess he thought it'd be oh so hilarious if him and his dupes just took all the makeup in my bag. I'm guessing he...they...whatever you'd call that jerk probably hid it all over the stupid mansion."

Rogue laughed vaguely. She'd forgotten about these silly trivial problems; she'd been the brunt of more than one of those childish pranks herself. "That's how they like to have fun," she commented, "Bobby once took every pair of shoes I had and completely encased them in huge blocks of ice the size of a car."

Tabitha smirked, "why?"

"'Cause Ah said he was immature," Rogue commented. "It took forever for those shoes to thaw. One pair got ruined...the ice caused the patent to crack and peel off. Ah was so pissed, those boots cost me a hundred bucks."

"Damn...I hope Bobby never finds out I use his deodorant."

"Why are you usin' a boys deodorant?"

"It's always out in the bathroom...it's not my fault he leaves it right there for anyone to use."

"But...isn't that the boys bathroom?"

"Yeah...but...it's way closer to my room than the girls one," Tabitha supposed.

"Why not get your own deodorant?"

"I like the one he uses."

"So buy some," Rogue suggested. She had always wondered what it was about Tabitha and her kleptomania, her persistent borrowing and using up of other peoples items, never returning them, taking without asking. It had been a problem ever since she'd met the girl.

"I don't know where to get that particular brand," Tabitha shrugged, still raking through the drawer.

Rogue got up and moved over to the dresser, she gently shoved Tabitha out of the way so she could find some makeup for the girl that she wouldn't mind parting with on a permanent basis. No way is she getting her hands on my Mac eyeshadows, Ah'd never see them again, and they cost an arm and a leg.

"Why not ask him where he got them?"

"And let him know I used it?" Tabitha blinked, "sorry...I don't want my sneakers to be in ice."

Rogue gazed down momentarily at Tabitha's feet, "aren't...those Kitty's?" she asked, recognising the rhinestone star that she'd watched Kitty glue onto the left heel one gloomy boring afternoon in February.

"Okay...so Kitty's sneakers," Tabitha shrugged nonchalantly. "We're the same size sort of..."

"Sort of?" Rogue raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, so she's a size smaller than me, but these fit okay, just a little tight at the toes...and anyway, she never wears them. Shoes this cute deserve to be worn..."

Hope she doesn't have athletes foot or anythin', Rogue thought, realising the girl was not wearing socks. Rogue found a couple of cheap eyeshadow palettes and a bottle of foundation that was far too 'tan' for her skintone (it had come as part of a makeup gift the previous Christmas). "Here...you can keep these, Ah never use them."

"Beiges..." Tabitha pouted, accepting the cosmetics all the same. "Totally not my shades..."

"You want them or not?" Rogue folded her arms and raised an eyebrow.

Tabitha sighed, "I suppose they'll do until I can find wherever Jamie hid my stuff..." she examined one palette thoughtfully.

Or until you can shoplift some at Walmart, Rogue supposed silently.

"Is it true you brought Gambit with you?" Tabitha asked casually.

Rogue wasn't sure why she felt her cheeks instantly flush. It was a perfectly normal question and yet, it still made her grow hot. Perhaps it was still too close to the things they had done together for his name to even be mentioned in casual conversation.

"Yeah," Rogue said quietly.

The blonde swept her hair behind her ear, "I heard rumours he was coming back with you...I didn't really believe it though. Thought it was just...you know...rumours. Then Rahne said to me that she thought she saw him in the hall with Scott..."

"Yeah...he's here."

"He's kind of hot," Tabitha remarked casually, "in a sort of, I don't know, douchebag kind of way."

"Ew," Rogue commented immediately; the instinct to form a lie to hide her true feelings for the boy was much stronger than her desire to agree about Remy's fortunate attractiveness.

"Except for the chin pubes. I mean, I like guys with facial hair, but...that thing makes him look like Shaggy from Scooby Doo."

Rogue almost laughed, "did Shaggy even have a beard? Ah thought he just had bad hair."

"He had a beard in the movie..." Tabitha frowned a little thoughtfully, "he's pretty bad ass, really."

"Shaggy from Scooby Doo is bad ass?" Rogue stifled a laugh against her fist.

"No...Gambit. I was there when he showed up one time to whip the Brotherhood boys into shape. Oh my god, he was so...mean. I saw the way he treated Blob and I was just like...yeah, no way was I staying so he could lay that kind of bullshit on me. He's kind of got a real mean streak. I mean...he's sort of a bully. Not a name-calling lunch money taking bully, but a real one. He and Lance got into fist fights more than once 'cause he'd kind of take things way too far, and Gambit always won. He was even pretty good at tackling down Pietro...and you know how fast he can be. I saw him pin down Pietro once and punch him in the stomach..."

"Why?" Rogue blinked.

"I don't know, Pietro made some comment about how Gambit was backwoods trash from inbred parents or something. I guess Gambit didn't like that."

Rogue winced. She might have not believed these stories before had she not seen how quickly Remy's temper could flare when he was provoked. Still, she didn't want to confirm or agree with anything that Tabitha was saying. She wasn't sure it was even right to be having the conversation.

"I used to sneak out while Gambit was busy beating on the others. No way was I sticking around to be whipped into shape...he freaked me out far too much," Tabitha continued, "you know...I'm surprised the Professor would even have him here...he must have heard what a wild card the guy can be. Come to think of it, why would Gambit even want to come here?"

"This is where the action is, Ah suppose," Rogue managed weakly, "besides, most of all the other groups out there have disbanded or gone in different directions. For all Ah know, maybe Gambit got sick of travellin' and wanted to settle somewhere for a while."

"For all you know?" Tabitha asked, "didn't he say?"

Rogue shook her head, "Ah never asked either. Ah mean, it ain't my business what his reasonin' is for bein' here. That's between him and the Professor, right?"

"I guess," Tabitha shrugged, "thanks for the makeup."

Rogue shut the door after Tabitha had left and leaned there for the moment; she felt guilty about having lied about Remy but at the same time, was strangely relieved that Tabitha hadn't even questioned why she'd been gone for so long or what her relationship was to Remy. Now if only the rest of the team were going to be as easy to talk with about it...

End of Part Two

Just a short update, hoping to have a couple more out before Christmas/New Year depending on if I can find time, etc. I hope everyone is having an awesome December and is enjoying the story (or what there is of it so far). Thanks to those who took the time to review so far, it's always nice hearing what people think.

Anyway, off to have a hot bath and an early night, hope you all have a great week, love you all :)