Snap Shot - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Alexis and Karen Bruce
Last updated: 01/02/2007 02:01:11 AM

Chapter 4

Feeling like the head cheerleader's ugly friend, who was kept around by way of contrast, Bobby trailed Remy as they headed back to the parlor where the woman was waiting for them. The Cajun did not look pleased about her presence - his hands were clenched in fists at his side and he was muttering darkly about femmes who did not know their place was in Louisiana. That explained who she was, of course. She was Gambit's New Orleans girlfriend in the way that Rogue was his New York girlfriend. Knowing him, he had a woman for every city, town and burg, including places like Deer Tick and Sheep Dip.

Bobby scowled at Remy's back. He hoped Rogue would find out about this indiscretion. Maybe then she would see him for the slimy creep he was and clean his clock for him. She loved him, she trusted him, she believed in him, and how did he repay her for that? He spat on all her feelings for him! He trod all over her heart! He cheated on her with the incarnation of the Playboy centrefold! Why, if she did not discover her boyfriend's indiscretion by herself, Robert Drake had a moral duty as her friend to tell her!

Telling himself that his eagerness to see the woman again had nothing to do with her minimicroskirt but rather with a righteous desire to help Rogue, Bobby strode into the room after the Cajun at which point his brain ceased thinking and started going "homina, homina, homina". She was draped over the sofa like a lazy cat, her arms folded behind her head, her long legs stretched in front of her, her chest rising and falling. Remy, however, seemed singularly unaffected by her posture.

"What de hell are ya doin' here?" he said without preamble.

"I thought ya'd be pleased t'see me," she replied with an exaggeratedly hurt expression on her face, as she slid gracefully into an upright position.

"Anything wrong?" he sounded worried. He was probably scared that she was pregnant and that he would have to get a proper job to pay the alimony, Bobby thought with grim satisfaction, rather than picking pockets and mooching off the professor. Or that she had told Rogue and the Southern Belle with the Left Cross from Hell was on her way to beat fidelity into him.

"Nope," she replied lightly.

"Den why are you here?"

"Tante Mattie has put together a picnic for next Saturday and ya should be dere. Ya do lead de United Guilds, after all," she said wryly, before adding with a chuckle, "Besides, who else is goin' t'cook an' wash all de dishes f'r us?"

So, Bobby thought, she was a member of the Thieves' Guild. He did not know much about Remy's organisation, other than the clear and undeniable fact that he did not want to know much about Remy's organisation. He liked his possessions too much to want to introduce them to the Guild. Still, he would be happy to make an exception for this woman . . .

"You couldn't call and let me know about dis?" Remy visibly seemed to relax.

"What? Call and miss out the look on my brother-in-law's face seeing me here?"she winked at Remy. If Bobby's body would have allowed it, his jaw would have dropped down to his knees and his eyes become larger than his head at that point. She was not Remy's piece on the side, but his sister-in-law? She was a part of his family? What sort of family could produce a rotten apple such as Gambit on one branch and a sweet peach like her on another? He felt the Bash Possum victory jingle launch into an encore in his head. He listened to the rest of their conversation with a goofy grin on his face.

"When are ya headin' back?"

"Not for a couple of days. Should I get a hotel?"

"Non, non, ya can stay here."

Bobby tried to clear his throat in such a way as to suggest that he would not mind if she stayed in his room or even in his bed. Unfortunately, as the means of communication was limited and limiting, he sounded as if he were trying to bring up a furball. Matching expressions of surprise on their faces, Remy and Mercy spun around to see Bobby still standing there.

"Mercy, this is Bobby Drake, m'teammate," the other man said, raising an eyebrow at his team-mates presence, "Bobby, Mercy LeBeau, m'sister-in-law."

Mercy smiled at him, "Enchante, M'sieu Drake."

He felt his tongue tie itself into a double sheepshank in his mouth. If French was the language of love, Mercy spoke it in a way that suggested lacy negligees, mirrored ceilings and satin sheets. Helplessly, desperately, he stared at her. He had to say something smooth. He had to be suave. He had to . . . .

"That's a weird name," he inwardly cringed as the words came out of his mouth. Even by his standards, that was the sort of lame comment that usually resulted in the jar of water on the restaurant's table being poured over his head. They had gotten off to such a good start too, he thought regretfully. He had even gotten to use his very best pick-up line on her without being beaten for it.

However, Mercy's smile had become a decided smirk, "Momma didn't know how right she named me, 'cause 'merci' is what all de boys say de morning after. If dey can still speak, dat is," she paused, suddenly changing tack, "Ya gonna show me around chez Daddy Warbucks, Bobby?"

"Sure," he chirped happily, holding out an arm for her.

"An', Bobby, get her a room in de women's wing," Gambit cautioned, earning himself a slight frown from his sister-in-law. She clearly had similar ideas for the sleeping arrangements as he had had. Then, smiling sweetly at Bobby and wrapping her arm around his one, they set off on a tour of the mansion.