Rogue had a strange relationship with secrets. She lived in a mansion where her own secrets were common knowledge, while her powers gathered other peoples' secrets like a dragon who could never be satisfied. Most of the time, those stolen secrets were half-remembered and fuzzy, like a handful of puzzle pieces which only hinted at the full picture. But every now and then, for one reason or another, Rogue had enough pieces to know the truth.

Gambit's mind was like quicksilver inside her own, more so than most of the personalities crammed in there. It was nearly impossible for Rogue to sort out what he thought of the big wide world, the places he'd been or the deeds he'd done, but his body was crystal clear. She knew his stride, how the slide of cards against his fingers would settle his nerves, and how it felt to roll down his sleeves. His hands on his staff; the chill of being up north; the crack in his left boot that needed repair; Rogue knew more about Gambit's body than she knew about the man himself. The boy himself? It was hard to be sure, but Gambit's body felt young in a way which seemed barely older than Scott.

And in his body, there was one secret Rogue knew for certain: Gambit had way more hair than he let on.

Rogue had never seen it, but she knew it was there, pressing against the neck under the uniform. But she didn't remember anything about Gambit and mirrors, so she didn't know what kind of hair he had. Did he have a mullet? Wolf cut? Was he just… pretending to have a bowl cut for the thrill of it? Why? Why would he grow long hair and then hide it under a uniform all day?

"This bend up here should be far enough," Gambit announced. "Saw more lights southways."

He walked in front, and she was content with that, because she could stare at the silhouette of his head and try to figure out his secret.

"Ain't seen any cars pass back on the road," Rogue said. "You think they got lost?"

"Nah," Gambit answered. "With how long we been walkin', I know they already doubled back. But if they huntin' someone at night, they prefer drivin' with their lights off. We good, chere, at least for a bit."

Chere. Not cherie. It had a bit more respect, and a lot more… something else. Rogue wasn't sure what.

"You think they'll spend awhile searching Bayville?" Rogue asked. "How long we got until they triple back and come up the road again?"

"Enough time to reach those lights and spend time figurin' out next steps, seein' as we got no ride back but our own two feet." Gambit sighed. "Crossin' my fingers there's some joint up there to eat at. Been starvin' all day."

Rogue came to walk beside him, glancing sidelong in hopes of spotting more shapes on the back of his head. "What, Magneto don't feed you lot?"

"Magneto barely remembers to get a fridge each time we move bases. He just pays us. We feed ourselves."

"But Magneto's the one payin' for this job, right? So if you're stealin' somethin' for him, why do you only get fifty percent of that? No way he's takin' fifty percent back for himself, that makes no sense."

Gambit laughed. "Thievin' gets complicated, but not that complicated. I got a bigger boss who splits my pay."

"Bigger boss?" Rogue repeated. "Can't imagine Magneto answerin' to anyone, not after Apocalypse."

"Not his boss. Mine. Magneto don't own me; he's just rentin' me off someone else for awhile."

Rogue frowned. Like scattered raindrops across a windshield, Gambit's memories tumbled behind her eyes. Assassins. His father's advice.

"The pale man with red eyes," Rogue murmured.

"Hmm?" Gambit looked over his shoulder, red eyes glowing in the dark. "You go diggin' through my head while you was tyin' me up?"

"No." Rogue shook her head. "I can't go looking for things. Just random bits and pieces, sometimes I make sense of 'em, most of the time I don't."

"Bits and pieces." Gambit hummed. "And what are all those bits of me you got in there, chere? How much you know about Gambit, exactly?"

He hid it well, but there was a keenness in his question that Rogue picked up on. A thief needed their secrets, and Rogue was a thief of secrets.

"I know you're too smug for your own good," Rogue answered. "And sometimes you go into grocery seafood sections to stare at the frozen crawfish for a while."

Gambit sucked in a breath. "Of all the things…"

"Do you ever buy any crawfish?" Rogue asked.

"How 'bout we talk about somethin' else. Like that red-eyed fella you seen in my head."

"Well, he's got red eyes. And he makes you think of something your father said once — 'a dog with two masters,' something something loyalty."

"That all?"

"That's all."

Silence fell for a minute, and the train tracks bent away to reveal a dozen street lights illuminating a parking lot, a handful of cars and a building.

"Lady Luck be holdin' our hands," Gambit breathed. "That looks like somewhere to eat."

Ahead of them stood a restaurant, one of those shiny silver places built to look like a 50's diner. Or maybe it simply was a 50's diner that had managed to survive, judging from the cracked bricks and the grass pushing up through the sidewalk. BURT 'N JAKE'S BURGERS 'N SHAKES, declared the overhead sign, along with neon outlines of an ice cream cone and a hamburger. The music of an old jukebox drifted from inside, and Rogue could see people through the window.

"Let's hope they're mutant-friendly," she muttered.

They entered side by side, and were greeted by a shiny steel interior with glitter-plastic booths, what appeared to be a bar with more milkshake options than alcohol, and about a dozen men and women over sixty. The patrons were separated by gender on opposite sides of the restaurant; the women had several books on the table between them, while the men seemed to be fussing with a boxy radio. An old man handled the bar, and his eyes went wide when the two mutants closed the door behind them.

The conversations stopped and all eyes turned to Rogue and Gambit, in the way of regular customers who hadn't seen new faces for a very long time.

The man at the bar blinked. "... Hey, there. Welcome! Come for a bite to―"

Rogue saw the exact moment he noticed Gambit's eyes. His voice wavered, he squinted as if he couldn't tell whether they were real, and then he cleared his throat.

"Oh, I mean… well. Ahem."

"Bite to eat is all we been thinkin' about," Gambit declared, padding toward the bar with that easy stride of his. "So long as you got somethin' spicy an' somethin' sweet, I'll pay a king's ransom."

"Spicy. Sweet." The bartender frowned, but managed to keep his mask of of customer service. "Well, sit anywhere you like. We don't get many newcomers this far out of town." He handed over a menu so old that the lamination plastic was separating along every edge. "I'll be over in just a minute."

He wasn't hurling slurs at them, which was a good start.

Gambit picked a booth near the emergency exit, facing the front door. Rogue saw the way his eyes lingered on the darkness outside; he had picked the spot to watch the road, which meant it was only polite for Rogue to watch the emergency exit so all major avenues of attack were covered.

She would have done it without a second thought, except the only way for each of them to watch both doors was to sit on the same side of the booth. Had Gambit picked it on purpose? A quick scan around the room revealed that no, none of the booths were positioned for two people to watch two exits while also sitting opposite one another. They could sit together, or Gambit could be the only lookout.

And as much as Rogue hated it, Gambit was right about one thing: he had always been polite, in a wicked, frustrating way. Kidnapping was acceptable to him, but he had never made her pay or do the heavy lifting in Louisiana. He'd held doors open, manned the boat, walked between her and the crowd like any gentleman would, because he'd dragged her there and so it was the proper thing to do. Gambit was all sorts of things, but he had never been rude.

And Rogue would be damned if she ever let this swamp rat behave better than her. If he'd been a gentleman kidnapper, then she would also be a gentleman kidnapper. And leaving him to handle all the surveillance would be rude.

"Move," Rogue said, settling into the booth beside him.

Gambit raised an eyebrow, giving her space.

The old folks at the back of the restaurant weren't openly staring, but they did plenty of glancing and whispering. Rogue only wished she could hear what they were whispering about to know how soon she and Gambit had to disappear.

"For somewhere so close to the sea, they ain't got much seafood," Gambit sighed, frowning at the menu. "What you think, chere?"

He slid the menu in front of her, leaning a little too close into her space. Her anxiety gave way to annoyance.

"The sign says burgers, not seafood." Rogue wasn't in the mood to think about options, so she made sure they had an ordinary cheeseburger and slid the menu back. "And you gotta quit movin' your hands around, swamp rat. We'll have more than one problem if you knock yourself out on me; if you make me use my powers, the X-Men'll know exactly where we are."

"Ain't gonna happen," Gambit purred. "I'm too good with my hands for that."

"Happened before," Rogue countered.

"Louisiana don't count. You tackled me and rolled us both down a hill."

"Yeah, and then we both found out you're even better at lying than you are with your hands."

And there it was. The fire in her gut when she'd first attacked him in the alley. The knot in her throat when they danced around the 'Louisiana' conversation as if it had all been some vacation gone wrong. The skip of her heartbeat whenever she thought back on those memories, and how much it had felt like a vacation gone right, and how desperate she'd been to believe someone could actually enjoy her company. Even now, that gaping hole in her chest called 'friendship' was bleeding like an open wound, shaped like a Risty Wilde who had never existed, and a middle school Alexandra who none of the adults had seemed to know, and a primary school Callie who―

―No. If Rogue started wondering about how many of her past friends had actually been Mystique, she would panic, and she couldn't afford to panic right now.

Gambit was real. His friendship hadn't been, but she knew for a fact that he was himself and not a shapeshifter. As long as she was next to Gambit, there was one person in the world who couldn't be Mystique.

Gambit had gone quiet, attention now fully turned to the front door and the road outside. Rogue stared at the emergency exit, counting her breaths until her heart rate slowed. A part of her felt bad for snapping at him, and another part felt relieved. Gambit was the one who kept talking about Louisiana, after all, as if they actually had been just two friends on vacation, and every mention was one more painful reminder that people would make friends with Rogue's powers long before they ever made friends with her. With any luck, lashing out would get it through that swamp rat's head to stop bringing it up.

"Uh, you two have a chance to look over the food?"

Rogue had been so focused on the emergency exit, she didn't notice the old bartender approach until he was nearly at the table.

"Yeah. Um. Good," Rogue stuttered.

Gambit flashed the man a smile. "Don't suppose you got anythin' spicy to go on a burger?"

The old man tilted his head, examining Gambit for a few seconds. "You from Louisiana?"

Gambit shrugged. "I'm from lots'a places."

"He's from Louisiana," Rogue answered. "From a little town called Bein' Mysterious For No Reason."

"Who says it's for no reason, chere? A little mystery makes a man look good."

"Ya'll got any seafood?" Rogue asked. "I suppose crawfish might be too much to ask."

"We got fish and chips," the bartender answered. "And spicy tartar sauce."

Rogue looked at Gambit. Gambit looked back, eyes filled with something she couldn't identify, then answered, "That'll do me fine. Chere?"

"Just a cheeseburger," Rogue said. "And can I pay upfront? Maybe get to-go boxes when the food comes out? We waitin' for some friends to pick us up, might need to move in a hurry."

"Split check," Gambit cut in.

"No split check," Rogue countered, pulling out her wallet. "I'm the one who… brought us here. So."

The old man coughed, or perhaps hid a laugh, and took Rogue's credit card. "Will you two want drinks with that?"

"Water," Rogue said.

After a three seconds' pause, Gambit answered, "Water."

The old man raised an eyebrow. "We have sweet tea. The real stuff."

"Really?" Rogue and Gambit asked at the same time.

"I mean―" Rogue coughed.

"If you got it―" Gambit stammered.

"Two sweet teas," the bartender chuckled, striding toward the kitchen.

Rogue cleared her throat, waiting until the old man was out of earshot before remarking, "Man. All the way up in New York."

"I hardly see sweet tea anywhere north of Kansas," Gambit agreed. "Ain't had real the real stuff since―"

He cut himself off before he could say Louisiana. Rogue felt him lean away an inch, giving her more space. He certainly liked to piss her off, but even Gambit seemed to have finally taken the point that Louisiana was too sore of subject.

"Yeah," Rogue murmured, eyes dropping to the table. "I ain't had it since then, either."

He relaxed, just barely, and Rogue might not have noticed his tension at all if she wasn't so acutely aware of his body. There were six inches of space between them, but she could still feel his heat and the prickle of power under his skin. She could feel-remember the leather sleeves of his jacket riding up at the elbow, the cold draft in his broken boot, the way his body settled when he switched into surveillance mode.

It wasn't Gambit's fault, or her fault, or even this booth's fault that his memories pressed so freshly at her consciousness. Rogue's mind was a brittle thing these days, having been broken apart and put back together so many times that she wasn't sure what 'healthy' was even supposed to feel like. It had all been disaster after disaster ever since discovering Risty Wilde's true identity; Rogue had lost control of all the personalities in her head, only to have them violently ripped out. Spent months in recovery, only to be mind controlled and then force-fed every personality she had just gotten rid of. Then she'd had every personality ripped out of her again by Apocalypse, and then she'd pushed Mystique's statue off a cliff, and then everyone at the mansion stopped talking to her except Logan and the Professor, and then she was so ready leave that she started packing her bags, and then she was kidnapped, and then Apocalypse was back, and then it was time to put her uniform back on because after all that―after all that―of course it was Rogue who was going to save the world. Because her powers were the perfect tool for everyone else to use. And now it was back to school. Back to figuring out what the hell 'normal' meant.

It was a short list of personalities rattling around Rogue's head these days, and Gambit's was the strongest; when he reached into his pocket, she knew exactly which deck of cards he was going for. Gambit pulled those cards out of their case, ran his fingers over them, and Rogue could feel their texture just from watching those movements.

She thought he was going to play solitaire. That's what her own fingers were twitching to do as she watched him count the first ten cards. Then he put the deck back in its case, set the whole thing aside, and pulled a second deck from his pocket.

"What are you doing?" Rogue asked.

"Cards," Gambit answered.

"Why ain't you playin' solitaire?"

Gambit looked over. "Who says I wanna play solitaire?"

"You always play solitaire when you're waitin' for food."

Gambit hummed. "I seem to remember askin' you what kind of secrets of mine you got in your head. An' I remember you sayin' all you had was crawfish an' red eyes."

Rogue tilted her head. "Sorry, is it some big secret that you, a mutant named 'Gambit' who carries a dozen decks of cards, likes to play solitaire?"

"I'm sure you would'a figured it out on your own," Gambit chuckled. "But you know what I do when I wait for food. That's different. I know you got more secrets up in there than you let on."

"Maybe. Probably." Rogue shrugged. "But my head's been a bit empty since Apocalypse. It's quiet in here, so all the personalities are loud. An' your memories like messin' with me as much as you do."

"You talkin' almost like I'm in there with you."

"You are," Rogue said. "The pieces of you, the pieces of everybody, it's… it's like I got y'all's ghosts in here, lookin' through my eyes, havin' opinions about things, rememberin' this or that based on what I see. You pulled out that deck for solitaire, didn't you? Why set it aside?"

"Hmm." Gambit unsheathed his second deck, checking the first ten cards. "How about we trade, chere? You tell me another secret of mine in your head, an' I'll answer your question."

"I don't know. Things get all jumbled."

"Then I guess I don't know what I'm doin' with these cards." He put the second deck back in its casing, set it aside, and pulled out a third deck.

Rogue huffed. "You got secret hair."

Gambit laughed. "I got what?"

"On your head, swamp rat. Under the uniform, just hidin' back there. Whatever you got, it's longer than your shoulders. You're fakin' that bowl cut for some reason."

"Secret hair," Gambit chuckled. "Fair deal. I'm pullin' my decks out to see which is which. I got my fightin' decks, my fightin' decks for special occasions, but they all missin' cards so I can't play games with 'em. I got my trick deck, the one I shuffle so I know where every card is, but that's no fun to play a game with. My playin' cards are somewhere in here; I keep 'em out of the way so I don't throw any on accident. But someone gave me all my decks in a big pile, so I gotta figure out which deck is which."

Rogue frowned. "You got fightin' decks, and then fightin' decks for special occasions? What in the world is a 'special occasion' for blowin' up cards?"

"Nuh-uh." Gambit smirked. "We tradin' one secret for one question. What else you got?"

Rogue's brow knit as she tried to dig through Gambit's memories. His mind was so liquid, slipping away from her every time she reached for it. "A dog… with two masters…" What was it his father had said? "Can't be loyal to either."

"That ain't a secret, chere, just a saying."

"But you got three masters," Rogue said. "That's what you think of when you hear that saying."

"Three, hmm." Gambit examined his fifth deck, then set it aside for a sixth. "And which three would those be?"

"One secret, one question," Rogue repeated. "Who's the man with the red eyes?"

Gambit paused. "I thought you already had that answer."

"Bits an' pieces. He's one of the masters, ain't he? Your big boss, the one rentin' you out to Magneto. Who is he?"

Deck number seven. "Different question."

Rogue frowned. "Those ain't the rules."

"I'm makin' it the rules." Gambit's eyes chilled as he examined deck number eight. "You're an X-Man, chere. You know better than anyone that some secrets are best left buried."

Rogue went quiet, looking him over. The warmth was gone from Gambit's voice, from his posture, and his movements took on a robotic, impersonal rhythm as he examined neck number nine.

"The fightin' decks," Rogue murmured. "Why you got one for 'special occasions?'"

Gambit chuckled, warmth returning. "Cause some fights are special. My regular fightin' decks are just cards to throw, but sometimes I want a hit to mean somethin'."

"Like what?"

"Like… revenge, maybe. Or 'you got fooled.' Or 'good luck.' Or 'you're luck's run out.'"

"How do you make a hit mean 'you got fooled?'" Rogue asked.

"I use the eight of spades," Gambit answered. "Each card got a meanin', if you play 'em right. Journeys, mistakes, good fortune and bad."

Rogue laughed. "What, like tarot? Or more like flower language?"

Gambit looked over. "What's flower language?"

"Flowers meanin' different things, but we talkin' about cards right now."

"Nah, chere. We're tradin' questions right now, and I just gave you two. What you mean about flowers meanin' different things?"

Rogue huffed, but was too curious about his cards to put up a fight. "Oh, just one of those games Victorians liked to play. Say a bunch of carnations would mean you love someone, but a bunch of arborvitae flowers meant best friends. But if you sent someone columbine, you're callin' 'em stupid."

"Stupid?" Gambit laughed. "What about roses?"

"Depends on the color. Red is just love. Really dark red would be grievin' a dead love. White for innocence, yellow to call someone a cheater. How would you call someone a jerk in card language?"

"King of clubs. One more question, then my turn."

"What's your card for the specialest occasion?"

"How do you mean?"

"The big one. Someone you hate, someone you been tryin' to take down awhile, when you got one last perfect shot an' you're gonna send 'em to hell. The shot to end it all. The card for that."

Gambit tilted his head, examining Rogue for a moment. "The card you wanna throw at Mystique?"

Rogue's breath caught. Had she been thinking about her mother when she said that? Tryin' to take down, send 'em to hell―it was the 'language of hate,' the Professor would have called it, right before he would have helped her find different, less violent words for her feelings. Because hate controlled people, and Rogue couldn't afford to lose control with powers like hers, so hatred was a weakness to be identified and overcome.

Rogue wasn't supposed to say things like that about Mystique, because Kurt would always hear about it. She wasn't supposed to think things like that about Mystique, because the Professor would always find out.

But Gambit wasn't Kurt, and he sure as hell wasn't the Professor.

"Yeah," she whispered. "Yeah, tell me which card is for her."

Gambit opened deck number ten, sliding fingers along the edges. Silence stretched, and after what felt like a lifetime of wallowing in her own pain, Rogue heard him pull out a card and slide it to her.

"Ace of spades," Gambit said. "That's the end of the game. The winning card. You send that to someone to tell 'em it's all over."

It was a simple card, like all aces. There were no decorations like the royals, just that one icon in the center surrounded by white space. Black and sharp, shaped almost like an arrowhead, the spade was both a heart and a weapon.

Rogue picked up the card. She couldn't feel it through her gloves, but she remembered it, from Gambit's hands and from her own. Back at home on her bedside table, a novel was bookmarked with a queen of hearts playing card, just like the novel that had come before and the novel that would come after. The hour before bed was the only time Rogue could take her gloves and sleeves off and just exist like a normal person, and every night she ran her bare fingers over that queen of hearts card while she read about werewolves and vampires and the occasional space pirate. She knew what a card felt like. She knew it.

And still, Rogue found herself taking off a glove at this middle-of-nowhere diner just to slide her fingers over this ace of spades. Just to imagine it filling with kinetic energy, and the deft flick of a wrist that would send this ace of spades flying.

"Excuse me." A soft, old voice cut through the silence.

One of the old women stood behind their booth, squinting to see Rogue and Gambit through her glasses.

Gambit turned halfway in his seat to face her, staying mindful of Rogue's ungloved hand. "Yes, ma'am?"

"I can't see terribly well, but your eyes, young man―are you two mutants?"

The old woman handled the word like it was from another language, not with hate so much as confusion.

Gambit grinned. "What gave it away?"

"So those are mutant eyes!" the woman exclaimed, looking over her shoulder. "Gertrude, I told you!"

One of the other old women, presumably Gertrude, crumpled up a napkin and threw it at the first woman's head. "You mind your mouth! Walking up on strangers like that." Then, to Gambit, "Ignore her, young man. Ruth threw her manners out the window the day she turned seventy."

"Oh, who cares about manners at our age? If no one gets insulted, there's no harm done." The first woman, Ruth, opened her mouth to continue and then hesitated. She looked at Gambit. "That wasn't insulting, was it, dear? Is that word offensive? It takes so long to get news in the retirement home; they keep the television volume so quiet."

From the table with the radio, one of the old men piped up, "It ain't quiet, Ruth, you're just deaf!"

"Oh, hush!" Ruth snapped. "But is that the right word, young man? 'Mutant' isn't offensive?"

"Offensive?" Gambit repeated, smirking. "Ma'am, you came all the way over here to talk about my eyes. I don't think you could offend me if you tried."

Ruth laughed. "Oh, you're a charmer. And you, young lady? Are you a mutant, too? That streak in your hair is gorgeous."

"I. Um. Well." Rogue cleared her throat, trying to deactivate the Friendly Stranger Equals Mystique instinct. "Yeah. Me too."

"I've seen that one on the television!" called out one of the old men. "That's the ghost girl, the one who walks through walls!"

"You're going blind!" Ruth shot back. "She's the one who can move things by pointing at them!"

Rogue traded a baffled look with Gambit, wondering if she should laugh or not. Ruth turned away, heading back toward her gaggle of women and their books. The timing was perfect; the kitchen door opened one second later, and the bartender emerged with a platter of food.

Gambit began clearing his cards, putting each deck in its specific pocket. Rogue held out the ace of spades he'd given her, but Gambit shook his head.

"Keep it," he said. "You never know when someone's gonna deserve it."

Rogue's tongue tied knots in her mouth. It took a second for her to say, "Thank you."

The bartender set down Rogue's cheeseburger, Gambit's basket of fish, two sweet teas and two to-go boxes. He set Rogue's credit card next to her burger, then winked at Gambit and said, "She who gives the sugar, gets the sugar, eh?" and slipped back toward the bar.

Gambit didn't seem to notice, having already dumped tartar sauce onto his fish and fries. Now that a burger was sitting in front of her, Rogue realized that she was also ravenous; it had been almost eight hours since lunch and she'd done two fights and an hour of walking since then.

"Car," Gambit said, taking half a fish filet in one bite.

Rogue inhaled two bites of burger without tasting them. "Road? Lights?"

"No lights. Comin' from Bayville's direction, about two minutes away."

"Of course we couldn't eat first." Rogue devoured her burger with one hand and dumped fries into her to-go box with the other, chasing it all down with three deep gulps of sweet tea. "Damn, this actually is the real stuff. Think all of 'em will be in the car?"

"No. Just two, if we're lucky." Gambit took one more filet and boxed the rest.

"If there's just two of them in the car," Rogue pointed out, "I think they might just give us a way back to town that ain't walkin'. Wish we'd had time for dessert, though; I saw a butter pecan milkshake on that menu."

"Lucky we're gettin' out of here," Gambit laughed. "If you took me on a date with kidnappin', robbery, dinner, a carjackin' and milkshakes, I don't think there's another date on Earth that could match up."

"Good thing it ain't a date, then." Rogue stacked their to-go boxes and stood. "It's business. You and I just happen to be very good at each other's business. Now, how about we go get ourselves a ride home?"

Gambit smirked, pulling out a deck of cards. "She who gives the sugar, gets the sugar."