Notes: FenellaG - Sorry this next installment was so late - things have been crazy over here, and I've had other things on my mind lately. But I hope this latest chapter doesn't disappoint. Guest - Hey! Yeah, I'm still alive, and just been taking some time out from a lot of things going on on my end, so sorry this is a bit late. Hope this chapter whets your appetite!

Enjoy, everyone! x

CITY OF LIGHTS

Chapter 7

Inspector Beaubier was young – surprisingly so for a man of his standing in the local police force. With his jet-black hair and his somewhat elvish features, there was something almost pretty, effeminate about him – but he was a clever man, astute, incisive, both his steely blue eyes and his movements quick, alert.

What interested him most about this scene was the small, circular hole in the window, with the strangely smooth edges; a blackened piece of chewing gum, under the skirting board; and the coral paperweight with its subtle, burn-like marks.

He turned away from the papers on the desk, back to the woman sitting in the corner, swathed in a large fur coat, the general standing, taut as a bowstring, beside her. His expression was hard, but there was obvious concern in his eyes.

Inspector Beaubier cleared his throat, said:

"Well, Fraulein Darkhölme. Tell me again. What happened tonight? From the beginning, if you please."

The woman straightened, composed herself. Where most pretty young ladies would have been excitable or nervous, she was calm; but her throat was taut as she replied:

"I was having trouble sleeping. I thought I heard a noise downstairs, so I got up to investigate."

"And when would this have been?"

Her eyelids flickered as she thought back.

"About one in the morning, I should think. I don't know. I wasn't paying attention to the time."

Inspector Beaubier nodded.

"Continue."

"Well," she spoke, taking in a breath and gathering her thoughts. "I thought the noise had come from down here, so I opened the door and took a quick look inside. It was dark, so I turned the light on. I couldn't see anything out of place at first. That was when the general called me." She flicked a brief look up at the older man, continued: "I told him it was nothing, that I would be up again a moment. I switched off the light. That was when the thief grabbed me."

"And where were you standing, when that happened?" the inspector interjected.

She indicated to the door.

"Just inside the door. I think he must've been hiding behind it. He grabbed me from behind."

"He, you say? Are you sure it was a man?"

"Oh, yes."

"Did you get a look at him?"

She blinked.

"Yes," she replied, after a moment.

"And could you describe him?"

She dropped her eyes, thinking a moment, then raised them again.

"He was short – not much taller than me, I should think. He was well-built – stocky, you might say. Very strong."

"Hair colour? Eye colour?"

"I…" She paused. "I… it's hard to say. I didn't get a good look at him… it was dark, and he was wearing all black. I didn't notice his eyes. But his hair… perhaps it was fair. Blond, or light brown."

She stopped, unable to say more.

"And is there anything else, anything else at all?" Inspector Beaubier probed further, watching her closely.

"Inspector," the general interposed heatedly. "Is this really necessary? Can this not wait till the morning? Fraulein Darkhölme has had a terrible shock tonight."

The inspector inclined his head respectfully, knowing when to defer to his elders and betters.

"Of course, General Wagner. But it is always best to have the facts laid out when they are still fresh in the mind, so to speak."

The general looked as if he would protest again, but Fraulein Darkhölme touched his wrist with a gentle hand, silencing him.

"There was something else, inspector," she spoke, quietly. "The thief was – is – he is a mutant."

A short silence followed. And the inspector nodded, finally hearing what he had wanted to hear almost since he had got here.

"And why do you say that?" he asked shrewdly.

"I tried to fight him off," she answered. "He got angry with me. When he touched the paperweight with his hand, it started to glow, as if it was burning. He… he threw it at me."

"Ah." Inspector Beaubier nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "You must be injured, Fraulein. Perhaps we should call a doctor…"

"No," she interrupted, for the first time forceful. "I'm quite all right. I was winded, at first – but I am quite all right now. And I do not want a doctor prodding and prying at me."

"That is quite enough now," the general said peremptorily. "She must rest. Let her sleep."

The Inspector relented, gesturing for her to leave. The woman rose, proud and graceful, and left the room with her head held high.

Once she was back in her room, Rogue changed out of her torn nightgown and into something clean. She was aware that she was shaking, and so she went into the little en-suite to wash her face, to calm her nerves. When she went back into the bedroom, the general was already there.

"The inspector is gone now," he informed her. "So have his officers. You may rest easy now."

She did, letting her breathing even out a little.

"What does he think?" she asked.

"Either the Resistance, or perhaps some mutant freedom fighter."

She nodded wearily. Suddenly she felt very tired.

"In either case," the general continued grimly, "this does not bode well. For anyone to know even the slightest detail of my plans here—"

"I know," she murmured. Her mind was still on him. On the taste of a kiss that he had so cruelly teased. This fine edifice she had created for herself, this identity, this mask… How did he strip it so easily away?

Why, she wondered in a furious rush? Why did he have to come back into her life again? Why did he have to always make everything spiral out of control like this?

The general was nodding silently to himself, pacing the room agitatedly before coming to an abrupt stop.

"Then I am afraid this is the way it must be," he murmured quietly to himself. "We must act before the enemy does."

He raised his eyes to hers; and Rogue steeled herself for the words she had been dreading, yet knew must come next.

"Operation X must begin. Today."

-oOo-

The back room of Le Chat Noir was uncharacteristically quiet.

The long, rustic wooden table had been removed of all refreshments. In their place were the papers Remy had stolen from the general's study; and in the centre – the map.

A pretty good haul in all, even if he did say so himself.

"So this is Operation X," Emile murmured.

"A part of it, anyway," Madame Collins said.

There was silence. Each person ringing the table was lost in their own thoughts.

There were documents that didn't make much sense. Lists of codes, short strings of number and letters, coupled with times and dates – "Shipping consignments," Theoren had suggested, "of parts, perhaps, for this secret weapon."

One of those dates was set for the following day.

"So do we think," Jeanne asked, "that these supposed consignments will be delivered by train?"

"Yes." Madame Collins pointed at the map, ran a well-manicured finger up the red line that ran through what was obviously the Verrière Forest. "The old train tracks have been functional again for a while now. We know it's how the old compound is being supplied."

"There's no guarantee those consignments contain weapons or anything to do with this Operation X," Emile pointed out.

"That says otherwise." Remy tapped the top of the list, marked clearly STRENG GEHEIM – top secret.

"It's still a gamble," Emile muttered. Remy shrugged in reply.

"Hm. I'm good at gambles. But seein' as nothin' good can be goin' up to that new lab, I'm inclined to think it can't hurt to cut our teeth on sabotaging the delivery of the next consignment."

"Tomorrow?" Jeanne was surprised.

"We just stole some of their top-secret documents," Remy reminded her. "They'll be expecting us to make a move. The sooner we strike the better."

"The Acadian has point," Benoit noted, after a short silence.

Everyone looked at one another.

"What's your opinion?" Remy asked Madame Collins, aware that his shrewd benefactor was probably thinking a lot, yet saying little.

"My opinion?" she mused. "If you must have it, I believe it is high time we struck. But I believe we should proceed with caution. They will be expecting us to make our move."

"That's true," Jeanne said doubtfully. "And in that case, the area will be bound to be guarded in some fashion…"

"Such operations are always well-guarded," Emile noted. "There are always ways around security however."

"There surely are," Remy nodded his wholehearted agreement. "Stealth happens to be my speciality."

"When you're not making things go boom," Jeanne joked. Remy shot her a half-grimace. He still didn't know what her powers were, and it bothered him when he had already told her his.

"Then how about we make this a mutant affair, Jeanne," he suggested casually. "I blow up the train right there on the tracks. You…"

She laughed.

"I'll take out any guards."

Well, if she still wanted to be coy about things…

"Sure, you take out the guards."

"So it's decided then!" She looked round the table, bright-eyed. "Remy and I take this mission!"

There were looks of doubt; but no one was willing to voice their objections. Remy, of course, knew that there were those who doubted Jeanne's competence, being a woman; and that perhaps, a little prejudice against mutants was on the mind of at least a couple of those present.

"Why not?" Millicent finally spoke up airily. "Remy's powers alone save us the not-inexpensive cost of a fresh batch of TNT. And Jeanne, with her extra speed and silence, would no doubt be a boon."

There were murmurings of assent around the table. Remy knew that they were only willing to give her this opportunity as this mission would only be the equivalent to dipping toes into cold water – merely the sabotage of a single consignment on what was probably a rather large production line. But this was Jeanne's first real chance to prove herself, and her triumph was not to be denied.

"Then we strike tomorrow!" she exclaimed gleefully, passing a smirk in Remy's direction. "I have a feeling this will be fun."

-oOo-

Verrière had once been the forest of monarchs, the great Sun King himself having once requisitioned it entirely for his pleasure – or so Jeanne told him, as they took their journey through the dense brush towards the train tracks. In more recent years, it had become a public site – that was, until the Nazis had commandeered the land for their own purposes. The encroaching city of Paris had made it a prime location for secret operations. Close enough to civilisation; shrouded and defensible enough, with its old nineteenth-century fortifications, to keep its secrets hidden from the public.

Better still to conduct secret affairs under cover of darkness. It kept prying eyes like theirs out. At least in principle.

"Nice trick you got there, Aurora," Remy praised Jeanne as they snuck through the woods, their way lit by the glowing ball of light she'd conjured up in her bare palm. It had a soothing quality to it, an oddly calming aura that made him more conscious of just how wired he got before missions.

"Yes, well," she replied flippantly, "this was all I was good for until now, Gambit. I do wish we didn't have to do things in darkness though. No matter how much light I make, this place still gives me shivers up my spine."

He half smiled at her using his codename. Of course, everyone had a codename when out in the field, but he'd had his a long time, and wasn't used to hearing it spoken in a foreign tongue. She'd chosen Aurora as hers. He thought it suited her.

"Well, we don't need anythin' brighter," Remy responded, dodging a low-lying branch. "This here level looks natural. Anyone lookin' at it would mistake it for a will-o'-the-wisp."

"A what?"

"Nothin'. Just some ghost light."

Jeanne shuddered.

"Now you're just making me feel even worse."

He grinned.

"Don't that calmin' influence that light emits work on you?"

"I'm immune to it."

"Well, damn." He pulled a face. "Just concentrate on the mission then. The tracks are just up ahead."

They climbed up a short escarpment to the railway tracks. They'd obviously been laid in haste, and with a minimum of effort made to clear the surrounding brush. Remy checked his watch. Ten forty-three, it read.

"The train should be passing through shortly," he murmured to her. "Madame Collins says you're fast. Think you can find out where the guards are stationed round here?"

"I can do better than that!" she smirked, and in an instant she had disappeared, and he was plunged into darkness. He had just about got his flashlight to work when she reappeared beside him, that soft, glowing ball of light flickering back to life in her hand. All in all, she'd barely been gone for thirty seconds.

"Done," she whispered proudly.

He stared a bit.

"How many are there?"

"There were four," she answered.

"Were?"

"Well, they aren't awake anymore," she announced bluntly. "The light I make with hands can also knock a person clean out."

Remy raised an eyebrow. Super speed and light manipulation. He wondered what else she could do.

"Hm. I'm impressed." He nodded up the embankment. "Wanna see how fast you can get us up over to those tracks?"

He glanced down at his watch again, but before he could even clock the time she'd grabbed him, and in what seemed like the next split second, they were up standing by the tracks. He was still glancing at his watch, and he was pretty sure the second hand hadn't moved. He did, however, feel decidedly queasy. For some reason he was reminded of the exhilarating night flight he'd once taken with Rogue, and how this was nothing like it.

"Are you all right?" she asked, as he bent over, trying not to be sick. He waved a hand at her.

"I'll be fine. Not sure I'd want to go through that again, though. Not without warnin'."

"Well, at least you're not dead," she observed, entirely serious. "That's the first time I've tried that – taking someone with me. I wasn't sure it would work."

He looked up at her, incredulous, and she laughed.

"What? It worked didn't it!"

He shook his head, amazed. There was a time he'd been so cavalier with his powers… and it made him realise just how young, how untested, she was.

"So what next?" she asked, as he slowly straightened himself upright.

"Next we set the charges."

He checked his watch again. If German efficiency was anything to go by, the train with its precious cargo would be arriving shortly. He knelt down between the two iron tracks and pressed just the tips of his fingers against the cool metal.

"What are you doing?" Jeanne asked, fascinated, as the bright pink light that was his energy signature began to bubble and glow beneath his skin.

"Settin' the charge," he explained, his voice strained with the concentration. "It's kinda like… excitin' the molecules inside the metal. Usually, I do it with small things I can turn into projectiles. Charge, release, boom. Big things like this though… they take some doin'. Especially when you don't want 'em to go boom right away."

Explaining it made him feel an odd sense of pride. He'd gained such mastery of his powers. Eight years ago, he certainly wouldn't have been able to do what he was doing now.

"I understand now," she murmured.

"What?"

"Why you wear those silly cut-off gloves. You have to. Your powers are activated through touch."

The observation gave him pause. For some reason, he was reminded of Rogue.

The thought unnerved him, and he slowly broke his physical link with the charge. That small surface area of track was now suffused in a faint, pink glow. He stood.

"Partially by touch, yes." He tapped his temple. "The rest is up here."

He began to walk over to the embankment again, determined not to ask for her assistance down again.

"What now?" she asked, following close behind.

"Now we get back under cover and wait for the target to come."

Even before they were back behind the ridge, Remy could hear the train beginning to rumble in over the distance. He observed its approach closely. It wouldn't be too much trouble to time this just right – its progress was set almost at a snail's pace.

"Why is it so slow?" Jeanne whispered beside him impatiently.

"It's a freight train. It has precious cargo. Relax."

The train lumbered forwards, its lights engulfing the forest in a brilliant glow. Where Jeanne couldn't stop fidgeting, Remy was calm, focused. Moments like this, lost in a job, he could forget himself and concentrate on something that wasn't him. For a long time it had been a solace to him. Take on the dirtiest, most iniquitous jobs, the ones no one would do, just to prove he no longer cared, no longer had a heart to be broken.

Until Iraq and the ruins of well-watered Mesopotamia had called to him again.

"Gambit!"

He felt Jeanne nudge him, breaking him out of his thoughts as the train began to thunder roll noisily over the charged segment of track. There would've been ways to impress her… he'd planned an unnecessary click of the fingers as he mentally released the charge, but in the end he didn't. He didn't have the time or the heart to play games anymore. All it took was a thought, a force of will, and the charges were detonated with a sharp report anyone would've mistaken for firecrackers.

The driver's car lurched, skipped off the track, and slowly toppled over onto its side. Like a stack of dominos, the next two cars followed, partially derailing and listing over to one side, before the entire train lost momentum.

"I was expecting more fireworks," Jeanne spoke wryly beside him.

"It was going too slow for fireworks," Remy replied matter-of-factly. "If you want fireworks, that'll come in a bit. We go in, get some samples first. Then we make the fireworks."

Jeanne pouted.

"All right. You want me to haul us up?"

"Non," he replied decidedly. "You go up first, check the driver's okay, scout for anymore guards. I'll follow."

She gave a brief nod, and in a flash had gone.

A split second later he saw her up by the driver's carriage, giving him the thumbs up sign. Then she was gone again, no doubt on another scan of the perimeter.

Remy clambered up the embankment and jogged over to the driver's car. The man was out for the count, and wouldn't be causing any trouble any time soon. He had just got to wondering what was taking Jeanne so long, when he paused. There were sounds coming from the derailed cars.

Human sounds.

Moaning, weeping, disconsolate murmurings.

The longer he remained frozen, the more self-evident the sounds became.

A kind of fear crept over him – these were sounds that were familiar to him, that haunted him sometimes. He hurried over to the first carriage, and there was no mistaking it.

He could barely breathe. He swallowed at the thickness in his throat and stepped up onto the tow bars, peering in between the wooden slat.

In the darkness on the other side a face greeted him, shrouded in shadows, staring right back at him with a hollowed out gaze.

People. There were people in there.

He staggered back down, dazed, confused and—

WHOMP!

From out of literal nowhere something slammed into him – no, someone – with all the force of a jackhammer, propelling them both clear across the tracks and towards the trees.

Flying. They were flying.

Remy flailed for purchase, his hands grappling with twigs, bushes, branches… finally something big enough to counter the propulsion of his aggressor. He held on as if his life depended on it, determined to curtail their forward momentum… but his attacker refused to let go, holding on to him with a strength that he'd only seen in one other…

And all in a split second he knew it was Rogue.

There was only one thing to do and he did it. He charged whatever his exposed fingers touched, and – BOOM!

The forest lit up.

The concussive force shot them off course and right into a tree.

Luckily, she took the brunt of it, because he wasn't sure he would've survived the impact without broken bones.

He fell face first into the dirt and the mire, spitting out dead leaves and mud, momentarily dazed, but mercifully largely unscathed. Breathless, body protesting, he leapt back onto his feet, just in time to see Rogue bearing down upon him, hair half undone and wild, bomber jacket torn and boots scuffed, an angry angel lit by the tawny flames of his explosion.

Any other man would've fallen to their knees at the sight.

"Remy LeBeau!" she screamed at him, grabbing him by the lapels of his coat and shaking him. It was still an astonishing thing to witness her raw power, let alone be on the receiving end of it. She literally hauled him off the ground and slammed him up against the nearest tree, forcing the wind out of him explosively. "Why do you have to ruin everythin'!" she shrieked. "Why?!"

Rage was seething across her muddy, soot-streaked features like a thunderstorm brewing… rage and yet more. Frustration, despair… fear. Even so she was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Jes' havin' fun messin' wit' you Nazis precious plans, chere," he quipped; but she slammed him against the tree again, making him cough and splutter.

"Ya have no idea what y'all are doin'!" she growled at him, her Southern accent spilling out thick and fast. "Ya ain't gotta clue what you're messin' with!"

"Au contraire, chere," he panted with both pain and exhilaration, "I know exactly what it is I'm doin'."

He didn't think, didn't waste a moment computing the risk of fighting someone who was so much stronger than him. Damn him if he wasn't a force to be reckoned with himself. Damn him if he didn't know how to even scores like this one.

He charged the glove on his right fist and smashed it into the side of her face.

Invulnerable she may have been, but the hit still took her by surprise. The blow knocked her sideways, and her grip eased on him. He took that tiny split second of opportunity to drive his boot heel into her shin, and when she stumbled he kicked at her shoulder.

She fell; but he didn't have time to feel proud of taking her down, or satisfaction at unleashing this long-desired violence on her, because in another heartbeat she'd yanked his legs out from under him, and he was on the ground again; and then they were both struggling again for the upper hand.

"Don't'cha think it's kinda rich, Rogue," he grunted as he fought to keep out of the reach of her punches, "that you're blamin' me for ruinin' everythin'? Seem t' remember you were pretty good at doin' that yourself."

She finally caught him with a fist, a glancing blow that didn't hurt half as much as he'd suspected, but that had him reeling onto his back. The weight of her body pressed in on him, and then her face came into view, her eyes sparkling moistly in the flickering light of the dying flames about them.

"I never wanted to hurt ya," she said through grit teeth.

Bitterness flashed in him, cold and demanding even after all these years.

"Too late, Rogue," he grunted, winding his legs round hers and squeezing tight, enough to get the purchase to roll her back under him. "You already did!"

Adrenaline and hostility were coursing through him now, and he was ready to charge just about anything around him to keep her down, but… …

Whatever anger had brought her to this point had dissipated. All the fight had gone out of her. Her body had gone soft, and she was staring at his chest, her eyes wide, disbelieving.

Confused and breathless, he followed her gaze.

The chain had fallen out of the neckline of his sweater, the ring swinging only inches from her face. For a moment both of them were mesmerised by it, its eldritch blue streak shimmering faintly in the firelight. Even in the dimness he could see her face was drained of all colour, her mouth opened to speak.

"How—?"

"Gambit!"

Whatever she would have said was cut off by the sound of Jeanne's voice, her attention snapping away from him, as though awaken from a trance.

"Gambit!"

This time the voice was closer – much closer. Before he could gather his wits or make a response, she had pushed him aside and streaked off through the woods like a bat out of hell, out of sight.

Jeanne was with him only a few short seconds later.

"Gambit!" she breathed, as he staggered to his feet. "Gambit, what happened?"

He could've told her the truth. But for some reason, he didn't.

"I must've been out for a bit," he lied. His thoughts were still on her. On the look in her eyes when she'd seen the ring. On the tangle of their bodies. Traitorous sensations rippled through him. He refused to analyse them.

"We both were then," she frowned, touching the back of her head gingerly. "I was up in the treeline scouting, when – BAM! – the lights went out. I feel like someone hit me with the back end of a rifle."

Remy said nothing. He was looking back up the embankment, at the train car with its top-secret cargo.

"I suppose we should complete the mission," Jeanne was saying. "There's still time to destroy the consignment, and—"

"Non," Remy interjected firmly.

"Why not?"

"Because they're people, Jeanne," he murmured. "There are people in there."

-oOo-