The Ante - REVIEW THIS STORY

Written by Lucia de’Medici
Last updated: 05/11/2007 10:19:38 PM

Chapter 15

"What’s this?" she asked wearily, fingering the Queen.

"A lil’ luck," he replied. Remy’s shoulder brushed against hers, and Rouge leaned away, effectively putting an inch between them. The small gap between their bodies did not lessen her discomfort. She was acutely aware of his nearness, though she bluntly refused to look at him and acknowledge it.

"Yo’ lucky lady," she sneered, tossing the card back at him, "doesn’t mean a damned thing."

Rogue pushed off the wall and turned to appraise him coolly. "An empty safe only means one thing ta me when yo’ around."

Remy cocked an eyebrow and proceeded to roll the card over his fingers so that it made a muted fwip fwip fwip sound as he passed it back and forth.

"A good omen?"

"Good business," she shot back, "for a thief anyway."

"If I had de stone, why would I keep it from y’?" he asked.

"Why would ya do anything, Gambit? Ah sure don’t know," she tossed over her shoulder, crossing to the nearest dilapidated crypt that appeared short enough to scale. She dug her fingers into the crumbling mortar fitting its exposed brickwork together and hauled herself to the top. Sliding over the small gable, Rogue dug her heels into the hard surface, and flopped backwards so that she faced away from him.

"Ya see," she explained lightly, as if she were talking to a four-year-old instead of a grown man, "ya got this slight problem when it comes ta being upfront with me. Ya haven’t been. The only thing Ah know about the reason ya brought me all the way out here is that ya got somethin’ nasty hanging over yo’ head that ya feel ya can’t deal with directly. What was it ya said back in Pennsylvania? Ya wanted ta ’atone’ for somethin’? What was that, Gambit?"

Silence.

Rogue laughed without humor. "Ya think Ah hadn’t figured that out yet? That’s why ya haven’t told me anything about yo’self, ain’t it? Ya said ya were doing this for ya. Talk about selfless," she added wryly.

"Yet y’ knew dat, and y’ still came," he murmured from behind her. She could feel the heat of his breath against her forehead. Idly, he leaned over, joining her atop the crypt and dangling his hands just over her shoulders, close enough to touch, but keeping his distance just the same.

Rogue waved it off. "Whatever," she said flatly, not turning around. "It’s not gonna happen, is it? That building was in pretty bad shape, Cajun. Ah have no idea how ya got outta there alive after blowing it ta hell, and frankly, Ah don’t care. Having an empty safe doesn’t mean anything."

"Let’s not talk about selflessness, Rogue," he murmured, "I’d hate t’ be de one t’ bring up dat y’ left with a known enemy who attacked y’ home because de only t’ing on y’ mind was what y’ wanted f’ y’self."

"Shut up," she said quietly.

"Toi pis moi, chére, dey cut us from de same cloth," he said evenly. "Y’ can point de finger as much as y’ like, but m’ not listening t’ any of it until y’ take a good look at y’self first."

"Shut up," she said again, squeezing her eyes shut. "Ya don’t know what it’s like, and don’t ya dare condescend ta think ya do."

The brush of his trench coat was a whisper against the mausoleum’s roof as he settled next to her.

"Don’t I?" he murmured. "Don’t I know what it’s like t’ be used because of m’ powers? T’ have m’ life orchestrated by de very people who claimed t’ care f’ me?"

"Y’ don’t know what it’s like t’ be alone," she hissed.

Gambit chuckled. She didn’t look at him.

"It’s de choice, Rogue. Y’ give in or y’ fight it. I t’ink y’ been fighting what y’ want f’ so long dat y’ almost manage t’ live wit’ it." He paused. "Almost."

"Well that just sums everything up, huh?" She laughed bitterly. "Ah guess ya have it all worked out. Good for you."

"Non," he said airily, "I can’t figure out why, when dere’s one person who’s doing his damnedest t’ get through t’ y, y’ keep pushing."

Gambit held out his hand, palm up, the Queen of Hearts pinched between the tips of two fingers. Rogue glanced askance at it, swallowing the frustration that accompanied the offer.

"Y’ see - dis is de really ridiculous t’ing - if dere’s one person on de entire earth who can touch y’, y’ still don’t want it. Dat makes m’ t’ink dere’s more to it den dat, hmm?"

"Yeah," she said, her mouth dry, "it’s real simple too - Ah ain’t that desperate."

"Non, y’ just lying t’ y’self," he returned, his tone maintaining that same, unconcerned air. He dropped his hand, and the card disappeared into his sleeve. "De security tape from Magneto’s base says otherwise."

With that, Gambit stood, leaping from the roof of the crypt and disappearing in the gathered darkness below. Turning to face her as he began stalking down the row, he grinned hugely, raising his eyebrows. "A year, Rogue? Dat’s a long time t’ wait f’ anyt’ing... or anyone."

Rogue gaped, sitting bolt upright. "Ah wasn’t -"

"But y’ did!" he cut her off, smirking.

Rogue’s eyes narrowed as she stood to full height, towering over him. "Ya think that’s funny do ya? That memory’s still in my head, swamp rat, and ya tell me - how many times did ya watch that tape?"

"Sixty t’ree total," he replied, not missing a beat. Rogue wanted to smack the smile right off his smug face.

"That’s not funny," she warned, watching as he danced away beneath the cover of shadows offered by the tombs.

"I know it’s not. Y’ weren’t de one trying t’ remember what it felt like," he taunted from the darkness. The only thing visible as he withdrew was the gleam of his teeth, and the shining scarlet glow of his irises.

Rogue flushed, gaping at his retreating form. She didn’t have an answer for that.

"But it proves a point!" he called.

"That yo’ an obsessive stalker?" she yelled finally, launching from the tomb top to the next, and springing from there to jump to over to the next row as Gambit danced away below, darting between the crypts only to reappear beneath her as she tailed him from above.

"Dere are certain t’ings y’ can’t remember when y’ head gets messed with," he returned lightly. "An’ some of it’s a damn shame, n’est ce pas?"

"Swamp rat!" she shouted. "That was different!"

"Quoi? I black out because m’ powers have been supercharged wit’ a gem, can’t remember what de hell happened t’ me t’ get m’ out of dere...’Cept I woke up de next day in bed, perfectly fine. Den dere’s y’ - brainwashed by Mesmero t’ walk around like a zombie sucking up everyone’s powers so dey could use y’ t’ resurrect Apocalypse. Y’ woke up de next day not remembering a damn t’ing either - how’s dat different?" he said laughingly from somewhere below her. Rogue skirted around the top of the tomb, searching, but not finding him.

"Ah don’t believe ya, that’s how!" she bit back to the night.

"Y’ need t’ see de tape?" he returned, bemused.

"That’s not what Ah meant!" she barked.

"Chére," his voice echoed from below, a mockery of modesty, "would y’ like a refresher course?"

"Ah think a girl’s only entitled ta one first kiss, Gambit, and at this point, since it was with ya, Ah’m happy ta not remember!" she snarled, furious that he’d managed to wrangle yet another confession from her. This time, she felt the tips of her ears burn.

"S’ not like it was y’ virgi-"

"Ya won’t finish that sentence if ya know what’s good for ya!" she yelled into the gloom.

"Je m’excuse, chérie." Remy chuckled, and Rogue pivoted to her left, following the sound. "If it helps any, it was barely a peck, an’ dat hardly counts."

"Ta you maybe," she muttered, more to herself than to him, but he heard anyway.

He quipped, "Well it would if I could remember." His fingers found their way to the ledge between her boots, and he pulled himself up, his head peeking between her feet, to smirk openly at her. Rogue had to restrain herself from kicking him in the head. "Care t’ refresh m’ memory?" He shot her a winning grin, and Rogue drew back her boot with a snarl.

"I’ll take a rain check!" he assured her, dropping out of range. "One t’ing at a time, I suppose, hein? Gotta work on y’ memory first since y’ obviously got y’ facts messed up. Must be m’ disarming persona," he added smugly.

"What are ya talking about?" she snapped. "Ah saw it myself. That creepy lady handed ya the stone; she dropped it into yo’ hand, and then the entire place lit up. What’s more ta know?"

"First of all -" From directly below her, two gloved hands reached out, wrapped around her ankles, and yanked her off balance. Rogue dropped, gasping, only to be caught by a pair of strong arms and set upright against the marker of a recently sealed tomb. "I’d prefer t’ have dis conversation face t’ face." He nodded pointedly. When Rogue readied to shove past him, she found her way blocked by his bo on one side, while he leaned against the wall of the tomb on the other. Remy had discarded his trench coat, exposing one mostly bare, perfectly muscled arm.

Rogue narrowed her eyes, her gaze traveling from wrist to shoulder.

"Ya think a little skin is going ta stop me from leaving?" she hissed, raising her chin defiantly.

Remy pursed his lips. "Y’ de most stubborn person Remy’s ever met, y’ know dat? Y’ so determined not t’ listen..." He sighed. "Oui, Rogue," he nodded slowly, perhaps even a little sadly. "A little skin is going t’ stop y’ because dis," he paused, drawing his hand up slowly to settle a mere inch away from her face. She drew back, peering at the fingers that were exposed by the strange cut of his gloves. "Dis scares y’."

"Ah’m not afraid of ya," she hissed.

"Y’ afraid of y’self, and dat’s worse."

He drew back, his hand settling beside her head against the marble.

Rogue didn’t reply, not trusting herself to keep her voice level even if she did.

"When y’ left, I cleared off some of de debris from de Botanica. Took a few minutes, but dere was not’ing dere. I checked de back room. Dere were parts o’ de table, parts o’de chairs, and most of de flooring. It wasn’t like dere was a hole in de ground; most of de inside’s flattened, but it’s still in de debris. De stone wasn’t. Moreover, de safe was closed - locked up tight."

She glared. "What difference does that make?"

"De last time I saw de stone, it was on de table. I dropped it before I blacked out. It means someone picked it up and put it away because dat safe was left open after Maman Brigitte pulled it out f’ me." Remy pulled backwards, resting his staff against his shoulder and offering Rogue the invitation to step away if she needed to. She remained rooted to the spot. "Y’ t’ink, dat if I had charged up everyt’ing in de place, someone woulda had de presence of mind t’ go back and tidy up? Dere wouldn’t have been anyt’ing left."

"How can ya be so sure?" she asked warily.

Remy smirked, flicking the Queen out from beneath his wrist guard. "Because when I charge somet’ing, I know just how much energy it needs f’ not’ing t’ be left behind."

The card fizzled to life, singing in a high-pitched whine of excited molecules and igniting in a flare of bright fuchsia.

"Wait!" Rogue shouted, reaching for his wrist. She stopped short, her gloved fingers hovering near his hand. The card continued to crackle, though Remy did not release it. Instead, he lifted an eyebrow and brought it back between them, the charge waning as he did so. It glowed faint pink, illuminating the planes of his face and softening his expression.

"Ah thought ya said ya always saved her for last," Rogue said quietly.

Remy favored her with a lopsided smile and doused the charge.

"I got you for dat, chérie," he murmured smoothly, and Rogue felt her face heat up beneath his appreciative stare. "Only need one Queen of Hearts."

"Ah’d rather stick with Spades," she muttered.

"Y’ both," he conceded, bemused. "Even if y’ don’t believe it y’self. In de end, y’ still a Queen."

Rogue quickly changed the subject before he could comment on her blush. "So what’s this mean exactly? If ya didn’t blow up the place and destroy the stone -"

"Dat means someone came in and did one real ugly job of covering dere tracks."

"Thieves?" she asked.

Remy’s lip curled. "I’ll have y’ know," he said almost disdainfully, "dat de T’ieves Guild has much more class den dat." Remy sniffed, puffing his chest. "We got style. Dat was just messy."

Rogue snorted.

"So what now?" she asked, folding her arms and feigning nonchalance.

"Now, we come t’ an agreement," he said decisively, twirling his staff a little and digging one end into the dirt between the flags. She watched his fingers rolling against the cold metal, knowing that as he did so, he left behind a touch of heat. She shivered, her thoughts lingering on his words. He could touch her - it would be a risk, still, but his powers would negate hers, if only for a little while.

Rogue pushed the thought aside as Remy continued.

"We can either search f’ it, tear up dis city in de process, have a lil’ bit o’ dat t’ing kids like t’ call fun," he hummed. Then with a shrug, he added negligently, "Or y’ can call up y’ friends and tell ’em t’ pick y’ up. M’ sure dey won’t mind."

"Right," she said flatly, "Ah’m sure they’ll just love ta fly across the country and swing by for a Hurricane and some jambalaya."

Remy squinted, looking upwards to the clear night sky above. "I wonder if de in-flight movie’d be any good."

"No televisions on the X-Jet," she replied blandly, squinting at the sky as if it would offer some sort of guidance. When had it stopped raining?

"Y’ choice," he said, his tone low, his focus shifting back to her.

His gaze, much like his hands, was ever-present. It left a lingering trail that made the skin on her neck prickle presently.

Rogue wet her lips, reluctantly replying, "Yeah."

"M’ just de facilitator."

"One condition," she said, relishing the hot prickle of his stare though she wasn’t looking at him. "Ya gotta lay off me, swamp rat. Either ya give a little of yo’self in this exchange, or ya back off."

She felt his smirk before she saw it. "M’ willing t’ give."

"Oh, Ah know ya are, but not in the way ya hopin’."

He paused, studying her. "Non," he said after a moment, compacting his staff and tucking it into a pocket. "No deal."

He pulled away, smirking a little as he crossed the small walkway and flopped gracefully onto the stone bench. Propping his legs up to occupy the full length of the seat, Remy tipped his head back and peered at her upside down, linking his hands behind his head.

"F’ all dat trouble? Non, c’est pas juste. M’ not gonna back off because I told y’ I’m looking out f’ y’, an’ I can’t just leave y’ t’ y’ own devices because dey haven’t done anyt’ing f’ y’ up until now, hein? Y’ getting schooled, Roguey. Just call m’ Professor LeBeau."

Rogue snorted, stalking after him. She hovered over his supine form. "Ah beg yo’ pardon?"

"Y’ heard m’," he replied glibly.

"What the hell kinda answer is that?" she shouted, her patience dissolving. "This is stupid. Yo’ being stupid."

"M’ responsible."

"Ya ain’t my guardian, LeBeau!"

"M’ de closest t’ing t’ an angel y’ got, Roguey," he returned. Rogue was all too aware of the quirk to his mouth and the suggestive, lazy appreciation he favored her with.

"Oh my gawd." She drew back a step. "Ah knew it!" Shaking her head, Rogue continued pacing backwards until the back of her boots hit the low rise of a nearby vault. She wobbled a moment, teetering, and sat down heavily on the cracked granite surface. Rogue didn’t even look at the name on the tomb. "This is what ya meant when ya said ya’ll were doing this for you. What’s the ultimatum, Gambit? Or should Ah guess?"

He sat up, opening his mouth to retort, but Rogue cut him off - her thoughts whirling.

"Ah shoulda figured - what did you expect? That Ah’d be so grateful that the first thing Ah’d do once Ah got control was run straight into yo’ arms? That’s what the lingerie was about, wasn’t it? Gawd..."

"Quoi? Non!"

"Do Ah look like Ah’m that desperate?" she shouted. She was shaking. Somehow, this was worse than all the possible scenarios she could have imagined. "Ya kept babbling about how Ah was a challenge and Ah’m... man, Ah’m an idiot." She laughed; a brittle, humorless sound that rang amongst the old tombs.

"Y’ not an idiot, Rogue, but y’ sure sounding like one right now," he returned, a note of warning evident in his tone.

"Shut up, Remy," she snapped.

"Make m’!" he bit back.

"Fine!"

She lunged at him, her anger getting the better of her. Remy braced himself as Rogue sprang from her seat, tackling him and knocking him over the bench. He landed with a muffled thud, his hands gripping her hips to prevent full collision, and in turn, he absorbed the impact of the fall himself.

"Is this what ya want?" she shouted, struggling to her knees so she straddled him, the tails of her trench coat tangling beneath her legs and setting her off balance. She dug her boot heels into his sides and, and though he was breathless, he laughed. To see him smiling only infuriated her further.

"Dat tickles!" he sniggered, grabbing at her wrists.

"Ah hate ya!" she screamed. "Ah hate ya, and Ah swear if Ah had ta do it again, Ah’d have drained ya straight when Mesmero had me under his spell!"

Remy froze, his jaw clenching as he yanked her forwards.

Rogue splayed on top of him, landing chest to chest, and she struggled.

"Y’ don’t mean dat," he said evenly, fingers encircling her wrists and snapping her hands as far from his face as possible.

"What do ya care what Ah mean?" she spat. "It’s no difference ta ya. This is just a damned game, and Ah was stupid enough ta believe it!"

He grit his teeth. "M’ gonna pretend like I didn’t hear dat."

"That’s all ya do, ain’t it?" she struggled in his grip. Though his touch was firm, he wasn’t hurting her. Instead of freeing herself, the only thing she managed was to wiggle one leg in between his. "When there’s somethin’ ya can’t bear ta hear, ya shut down or switch the subject or ya run away."

"An’ what about y’? Y’ keep everyone as far away as y’ can not because y’ afraid o’ hurting dem, y’ afraid of how dey’ll hurt y’. Dat’s why y’ can’t trust no one, and dat’s why y’ refuse t’ trust me."

"How the hell am Ah supposed ta trust ya when ya been lyin’ ta me this whole time?" she spat.

"When did I lie, Rogue?" he asked, pulling her wrists in between them. Rogue dug her elbows into his ribs, and though Remy winced, he didn’t let go. "Y’ making dese conclusions all on y’ own wit’out any proof."

"Ya don’t give me reason ta believe otherwise," she seethed.

"Den take it," he said. "Go on. Take off a glove an’ see f’ y’self. De last time I made dat offer, y’ didn’t."

"And the last time ya kidnapped me!"

"And I was wrong!" he yelled back. "An’ m’ sorry! What more d’ y’ want?"

"Ah want the truth, and Ah want ya ta know how damned hard it is ta give it. Ah’m not taking it from ya, don’t ya see why?"

"Non!"

"Because Ah don’t want ta reach into yo’ head and force it outta ya! Ya should be willing ta give it all on your own!"

"I can’t," he ground out. "Y’ t’ink y’ hate m’ now? Y’ don’t know what I’ve done."

"Ah’m not some sorta vampire, Cajun. Yo’ being selfish asking me ta rape and drain yo’ mind and just let ya fall while Ah have ta sort through all the shit in yo’ head!"

"I wouldn’t let y’ do that alone, Rogue," he said, his voice lowering. The gleam in his eyes flickered, dulling to muted ochre.

Rogue laughed mirthlessly. "Don’t ya get it? Ah’m always alone. Ya not in my head when Ah have ta face down yo’ psyche. Ya not in my head when Ah have ta relive yo’ memories. Ya don’t have ta deal with the guilt. Ya don’t have ta feel sorry. Ya don’t have ta feel like ya going crazy because once ya in there, ya don’t get out."

"They fade," he said quietly.

"After months, Gambit. Months! Do ya know what forever feels like?" she protested.

Frowning, he nodded. "Months are better den years."

"Gawd!" she cried, renewing her struggle. "Why do ya have ta keep turning everything back on me? Ah’m supposed ta feel sorry for ya?"

"I don’t want y’ pity," he returned firmly, tipping her to side slightly so she couldn’t avoid the intense expression on his face.

"And Ah don’t want ta deal with yo’ problems for ya."

"M’ not asking y’ t’ do dat."

"Yeah, ya are. Ah don’t do anything by half, and it’s not fair," she shook her arms, still pinioned between them so that Remy shook a little too, "that ya get ta take the easy way outta this."

"There is no ’out’, chére," he laughed bitterly, and Rogue felt the reverberation through her own body. "Y’ said months, right? Me? I live wit’ dese t’ings all m’ life. Dey don’t go away. Dey don’t fade. De memories are just as clear and crisp as dey were de day dey were made."

"And ya willing ta hand it all over freely." She sneered. "Shows how much ya care."

"Qu’est ce que tu veux?" he shouted. "Je suis completement en enfer, ici! Je ne sais pas quelle est la bonne reponse pour toi, ma belle. Mais presentement, tu me rends absolument fou."

"Ya no more crazy from this than ya already are," she retorted. "Ah didn’t do nothing to ya on that front."

"Well den, I suppose dat makes us perfectly matched," he said blandly, his head dropping backwards to the hard packed earth.

Rogue stiffened. "Ah ain’t nothin’ like ya."

"Y’ everyt’ing like m’, chére," he said sternly, jerking forwards so quickly that Rogue nearly gasped. Remy’s breath was a hot rush against her mouth, and desperate to keep a safe distance, Rogue arched backwards. It did nothing more than press her chest into his, mapping out the rise and fall of his diaphragm, and the stack of flexed muscles supporting them both. "We’re so close t’ living de same life dat I know what y’ feelin’ right now is terrible. Y’ hate being powerless, and y’ hate being used - and dat’s why m’ not making de same mistake again," he insisted.

"What in blue blazes are ya talking about, swamp rat?" she asked, incredulous and more aware than ever of how warm he was beneath her.

"M’ not letting y’ go," he replied stubbornly, relaxing. "I can pick y’ up and carry y’ de rest o’ de way, but y’ not walking out on m’ again."

Rogue balked, her muscles uncoiling a fraction as she sunk into him. "Ah didn’t -"

"Don’t start dat again," he warned. "I left you. You left me. I come back. Y’ smack m’ in de face -"

"Ah did not -" she argued.

"S’ metaphorical an’ it doesn’t matter!" Gambit interrupted, squeezing her wrists a little. "What did I tell y’?"

She sneered. "In between all the flirting and the sly looks, ya done a good job of helping me forget."

Gambit cocked an eyebrow. "S’ good t’ know," he said offhandedly. "I told y’ I’d look after y’. I told y’ dat y’ could count on m’. I told y’ -"

"That ya’d always bet on me," she finished for him, quieting.

"And y’ said?" He gave her thigh a squeeze in between his knees, the motion alerting her to their closeness, the way their hips fit together, the snug press of sinewy muscles and harsh breathing that had fallen into a steady rhythm between them.

Rogue flushed. "Ah said that Ah didn’t want ya touchin’ me, swamp rat!" she snapped.

Gambit smirked. "Ein! Wrong! Y’ said?" he tried again, wiggling his hips a little beneath her. This time, however, Rogue gasped.

"Well, dat woulda been de preferable response t’ begin with..." he offered innocently.

"Stop it!" she bit out and froze. Shifting her legs a little against his, her breath caught as something hard pressed into her thigh. "Remy, Ah swear that better be yo’ bo staff in yo’ pocket..."

He smirked. "Wanna find out?"

Rogue blushed so hard she thought her cheeks might catch fire. "Ah... Ah... No!"

"Ein! Wrong again!" In one quick movement, he’d snapped her arms behind her and flipped their positions so that he was on top of her.

"Cajun, get up!"

"Must be paralyzed," he murmured into her hair, his weight settling across her comfortably.

"Convenient position," she returned wryly, her voice muffled by his neck. She flattened her hands beneath the small of her back in the attempt to loosen the tension in her arms. Rogue tried to control her breathing, a task growing increasingly difficult as, with each inhalation, her chest pressed comfortably into his. Remy’s breathing met her own as if they’d been matched; they fit together like two well-played-with puzzle pieces.

Maybe he hadn’t been entirely wrong about their similarities.

Rogue winced, turning her head away.

"Dere’s only one way t’ get outta dis," he hummed, not at all perturbed over their compromising position.

"Ah said Ah’d bet on ya too," she spat, not meeting Remy’s gaze.

"And dat would imply dat dere’s a wee itty bitty bit o’ trust dere, non?" he pressed. "Un peu?" he rolled over onto his side, leaving Rogue free to stand if she wanted to. She didn’t move. "Un p’tit peu?"

"Benefit of the doubt," she muttered, staring fixedly at a particularly stubborn clump of grass that had forced its way through the cement footpath.

"Or a chance, mebbe?" When she didn’t reply, he conceded with a small sigh. "Bien," he nodded, propping himself up on an elbow and peering down at her. "At dis point, s’ more den dis t’ief deserves. I’ll take what I can get."

Rogue remained motionless, staring past him, past the tops of the broken, beaten mausoleums that towered above them on all sides, and past the skeletal tree limbs that lanced across the lightly dotted sky. Stars, Rogue realized - you could see them out here better than in the city.

"Ah thought yo’ sort had higher standards than that." Rogue’s voice cracked, and she cleared her throat.

"De highest," he said without hesitation.

Rogue swallowed her surprise, though she could not help the quick glance to her right. Restraining herself from reacting outwardly, she forced her breathing to slow and her muscles to loosen. She relaxed into the ground - still as a stone.

He really had no intention of giving up, she realized suddenly. A part of her wanted to embrace it, latch onto that solid offer that he’d be there - but that kind of temptation, she’d long learned, was meant to achieve an ends and nothing more. Mystique, when she had disguised herself as Risty and pretended to be her friend, had done much the same thing.

She hadn’t been put off by Rogue’s cold shoulder, her outward disdain towards just about anything and everything that moved - but then again, Mystique had been using her to accomplish an ends. Worse, she had succeeded. It had been Rogue who had taken down Apocalypse for the final time, and she had stood alone.

Yet, Rogue breathed, removing her hands from beneath her and rubbing her forehead, Remy wasn’t Mystique. Remy was... she paused, studying him quietly, and hopefully, in a none-too-obvious way. With the only light offered by the distant streetlights broken by the tall crypts, his face remained cast in shadow. Still, she could sense him. She could almost see the small downturn of his mouth.

There was a part of her, Rogue knew, that longed to reach over to him and draw him forwards into the narrow beam of light that spilled between the rows so that she could see his face. Just once, at such a short distance, did she recognize that the three inches he’d put between them could have been a mile. She’d added to it, she thought sadly. She’d felt she’d had to.

But he could touch her, the small voice of her conscience, burgeoning with that very same desperate hope she’d thought she’d killed off earlier piped up.

More fiercely, the voice demanded, she wanted him to.

Her mouth had gone dry, and beneath her gloves, the thin film of sweat that had nothing to do with the weather refreshed itself.

Remy remained quiet, and out of the corner of her eye, Rogue noted that he’d pulled the Queen again from his cuff.

Gawd, she wanted him to.

"Did y’ mean dat?" he began, almost reluctantly. "Y’ were waiting f’ me?"

The words hung there a moment. He was giving her the time to accept or reject the question. Not once had she heard him sound unsure, and frankly, it was disconcerting. He was unapologetically the most incorrigible flirt she had ever met. He deliberately went out of his way to unnerve her; invading her personal space, touching her lightly whenever he could, teasing her relentlessly - and with a sudden, plummeting realization, Rogue knew why.

It was an act; a defense mechanism like her own sharp attitude. Rogue was sarcastic, but Remy doled out the false affections. He didn’t know, she realized, he didn’t know how she felt, but still, he persisted in his pursuit regardless.

He’d been doing his best to find out, probably in the only way he knew how.

Her voice caught, eyes straining against the murky shade that kept him from her, Rogue struggled for an answer. When she remained silent, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat, Remy nodded.

"Ah."

"Remy, Ah -" she started, turning to him a moment too late.

"C’mon," he said, standing up and brushing himself off, deliberately avoiding her gaze.

"Remy?"

"S’ fine, chére."

He didn’t offer her a hand, and slowly, Rogue pulled herself up onto the bench. He’d already started around it, picking up his duster from where he’d draped it over a nearby statue.

"T’ink not’ing of it." He smiled, but it lacked the usual accompanying glimmer she’d grown used to. She cringed inwardly, her chest tightening. Why hadn’t she replied? He’d offered her the chance. All she needed to do was tell him that she’d kept the Queen he’d given her on the shore of Blood Moon Bayou a year ago, hiding it away after she couldn’t bear to look at it any longer. He’d seen the card. He’d seen the condition she’d left it in - worn and creased and cared for, only to be discarded when she couldn’t bear to think of him anymore and re-discovered months later.

She’d thought it would have been easier, keeping it at the bottom of her sock drawer in a place where she could have kept both it and the memory that clung to it buried.

He’d come back for her. It had meant something, and she’d never let herself believe it.

In truth, Rogue didn’t know what to say, so instead, she stood and followed, hyper aware of the silence that had seemingly thickened around them. It made the halting rhythm of her heart a condemnation, her breathing more pronounced, and the swish of her jacket against the backs of her legs sound like sandpaper.

"Dere’s somet’ing y’ oughta see while we’re here." That same unconcerned smile, flashed over his shoulder.

"Remy?" It was little more than a whisper.

He didn’t turn around, though he stopped before a large, hulking, carved piece of masonry and marble. Slowly, Rogue approached him, standing just a little behind and off to the left. He did not take his eyes from the tomb.

"Y’ wanted t’ know," he said simply, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat and bowed his head a little, nodding towards the ornately decorated slab that sealed the internal chamber from the elements. Names decorated the granite-speckled surface, the earliest dating to the founding of the city nearly two hundred years before. There were hundreds of them, entire families entombed in one place for centuries.

All had one thing in common.

"We call dem clans or Guilds, but dey mean one t’ing essentially," he murmured. "Family." He slid his arms into his trench and turned the collar up protectively. Rogue stepped alongside him, watching his expression turn stony.

"Ours and deres, T’ieves and Assassins," he continued. "F’ years, de war was waged between us quietly. Never exposed t’ de public. When Jean Luc adopted m’ when I was ten, he told me, ’Remy,’" he paused, drawing a breath, "’when y’ take de name LeBeau, y’ become one of us. De bond is thicker than words. It’s blood - de blood of de family. When y’ do y’self injury, y’ do it t’ us all. We bleed together.’ He asked m’ if I understood." Remy frowned. His red eyes traced the names listed before them. "I didn’t know back den, was just a pup - thought it all very romantic; all dat adventure, all de t’ings I never had offered t’ me so easy." He grimaced. "I couldn’t have..." His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat again.

This time, the pause was longer.

Rogue flexed her fingers experimentally, her heart jack hammering wildly in her chest, uncertain of what he was telling her, but understanding why just the same.

"I couldn’t have said no t’ dat," he finished, pinching his lips together. "Y’ can’t say no t’ de families," he said tightly.

He laughed a little, taking a step forwards and pressing a finger to the most recent name, tracing the grooves left on the smooth surface where it was etched out of the marble.

"Y’ asked m’ t’ tell y’," he said, the sound strained as if he was still debating whether or not he could entrust her with the information. "I want y’ t’ meet one o’ my ghosts, Rogue," he said quietly. "Dis is what happens when y’ say ’no’ t’ either of de Guilds."

Slowly, Rogue slid beside him, looking at the name as Remy’s arm fell slack at his side.

It stared back at her, and she struggled a little, trying to place it.

Julien Boudreaux. 1985-2004.

Suddenly, it dawned on her.

"We fought him," she said quietly. "Last year? He was the one who attacked us at that Jazz Club down in the Quarter."

"Julien defied de families by challenging m’ and -" Remy stiffened, his shoulders going rigid. "I was obligated. It’s tradition." At his sides, Remy’s fingers flexed of their own nervous volition. "De clans, dey understood it was self-defense, but it broke de peace de Head o’ de Guilds negotiated."

Wordlessly, with only the barest hesitation, Rogue slid her fingers into his palm.

The effect was instantaneous. Beside her, Remy tensed, looking down at her small, gloved hand, her thumb pressed lightly against his knuckles, and then he met her gaze. Something in his expression morphed, changing rapidly between the hardened look he’d given the tomb a moment before, into something so furtive that it made her pull back just as quickly.

He had killed someone.

The reality of it sank heavily. Like a weight that pressed on her chest, making it difficult to breathe, Rogue realized that Remy had probably lived with the very same feeling for months. The guilty understand the inevitability of frailty; to think you are a killer, to know that you have the stain of someone’s life on you, Rogue knew, was not something easily washed off. After all, she had killed Mystique once - or at least, so she had thought.

Rogue afforded herself the luxury of a shaky breath.

"What are y’ t’inking about, Rogue?" Remy’s voice was pitched low, barely more than a rumble in the back of his throat as he turned to her, advancing leisurely. His expression had turned cold, calculating as he appraised her.

"How?" she asked, her voice equally as soft. Gingerly, she followed suit, matching his pace. For each of his slow, carefully placed steps, she took one of her own backwards. They moved together, Rogue strengthening her resolve and understanding for the first time what he had meant when he’d said they were alike, and Remy, misunderstanding her retreat. She saw it in his stance, the predatory set to his mouth, and the steady gait he took with her.

"A duel." He shrugged noncommittally, stopping and effectively breaking the moment. The gleam faded from his eyes, dying out to the low, hard colour of fading embers. "If y’ weren’t afraid of m’ before..." Bitterly, he laughed, gauging the distance between them and grimacing at the two feet of space.

"Ah’m not," she replied, her voice even. "This is why they kicked ya out, ain’t it? This is why they made ya leave."

Slowly, Remy nodded, his mouth pulling downwards into a scowl.

"Cajun," Rogue sighed, shaking her head. "Ya might be a gutter rat and a thief, but ya not a murderer." Heavily, she leaned against the Boudreaux tomb, the marble cooling her shoulders through her jacket. She meant to sound sympathetic, but the words sounded flat even to her own ears.

Moreover, it was evident that he wasn’t going to take it at face value.

"Y’ don’t know dat f’ sure, chére," he said in an undertone, stepping up to her and cocking his head. "Y’ don’t trust me," he whispered.

The challenge was made clear, she thought, nettled that even in the midst of this discussion he was intent on throwing her off balance. He was trying to intimidate her, and Rogue was determined not to let that happen, though she was grateful for the wall at her back. Without it, she was certain she would have slumped to the ground if he took another step forwards.

To spite her, he did.

"Are ya tryin’ ta make me doubt ya?" she asked, incredulous, though her voice faltered at his nearness.

Aware of the flutter in her chest, her breathing turning shallow as she took in the hard line of his jaw, the subtle arch of his cheekbones and the wry, fine lift of a curious eyebrow.

They stood so close that she could see the faint tinge of his five o’clock shadow.

"Non, mignonne, m’ tryin’ t’ be sure y’ not gonna bolt again," he returned, leaning over her so that his scent - that rich swirl of tobacco and body heat - filled her mouth, making her head swim as she breathed him in. A swell of warmth rose from the very pit of her belly, working its way up her spine and making her head swim as she held his gaze.

"Ah can handle ya," she replied, though she wasn’t entirely certain.

There was always one way to find out for sure, she thought, grinning hesitantly.

He smiled, a slow, bourbon-heavy grin that carried more weight and more suggestion than anything she’d ever experienced before. Before her, Remy’s chest was a wall of muscle, and Rogue pressed back a little - her palms flat against the surface of the tomb so that she wouldn’t reach out to trace those hard lines that molded his shirt to him.

He cocked his head to the side. "Y’ don’t sound so sure of y’self, p’tit."

"Ya could say Ah’m taking a gamble," she whispered, her gaze lingering a little too long on his mouth, on the small tuft of auburn gathered beneath his lower lip, wondering if it had tickled the first time... the first time that she didn’t remember.

Remy paused, weighing the words before he spoke them.

"Y’ know what happens when mercury breaks free of its thermometer?"

His breath was warm, and against her better judgment, Rogue wet her lips. He was too close, she thought, her fingers grazing the cracked exterior of the sepulcher at her back, hips bumping into it.

"It runs."

It was a bare murmur, his lips nearly brushing her own, but still not close enough.

Never close enough.

Rogue sucked in a breath, silently accepting the contest, and closed the gap between them.

---

Remy hadn’t meant to.

Hands sliding up Rogue’s back to pull her against him, knuckles grazing the small space between the arch of her spine and the rough exterior of the mausoleum, Remy pressed his mouth to hers, pulling her lower lip into his mouth and sucking it gently. Rogue tasted like honey; like sugared violets and lime. Sweet and cold, though her mouth was warm and wet and inviting beneath his.

He hadn’t meant to.

She moaned softly into his mouth, and it took every ounce of self-restraint to keep from pressing her against the Boudreaux tomb and lifting her up to rest on that cold slab, wrap her legs around his waist and pull her against him. Instead, gently, his hands moved over her body and up her sides, into the folds of her coat - feeling, imprinting the sensation of her shiver beneath his hands. He wanted to remember this.

She gasped, and admiring her through lidded eyes, Remy traced his tongue against the fine part of her lips, silently begging entry.

When she yielded, her mouth opening to him and offering that sweet, heated nectar, he gently coaxed his way in, teasing her tongue with his own, urging her to deepen the kiss.

He hadn’t meant to close that distance between them. But like anything coveted, temptation proved too great, too heated, too soft beneath his hands, too saccharine in his mouth, and too sinuous to hold onto for long.

It was then that he felt the pull.

With Rogue’s hands shyly wrapping into the lapels of his coat, drawing him into her, he mistook it for her own silent, supple plea to be nearer. Relishing the small victory, Remy fell into it, savoring the gentle press of her mouth and the hesitant, but delicious reactions he elicited from her. He blocked out the insistent lull, along with the part of his mind that threatened to cut off all conscious thought, and the stubborn voice of reason that had started caterwauling the instant she’d opened herself to him.

Dieu, she felt good.

Soft and pliant and hot beneath his hands, rigid when he dragged a thumb over her ribs, sighing into his mouth the next and leaning into him for support.

Possessively, he curled his fingers into her hair, tangling into the soft locks that had curled naturally with the humidity, and claimed her mouth anew.

The pull became stronger. Like a frayed ribbon being pulled taut, he felt the initial tug across his body and mind. It was a coaxing, slow drag that latched onto his nerve endings and drew him forwards.

Rogue kissed him harder, and it turned into pain.

"Dieu!" he breathed, leaping backwards and releasing Rogue so quickly that she staggered and slumped back against the tomb, dazed and hurt by the sudden rejection.

"Remy?" Her voice quavered.

Remy swiped at his brow, his hand coming away wet with sweat. Startled, he looked down at himself, his vision doubling for a moment, and then back to Rogue.

Backlit by the streetlights, he shouldn’t have seen the shine to her eyes. He shouldn’t have seen the crestfallen look, or the momentary confusion - she didn’t know she’d absorbed him.

Shuddering, Remy tried to stand to full height, only managing to stumble backwards, his feet uncertain of where to go to support his weight. His vision swam with black spots, threatening to overtake him.

"Remy, what’s wrong?"

He swallowed, blinking blearily, but still grasping at consciousness, straining against the knowledge that his body had suddenly betrayed him.

"M’ sorry," he choked out.

He ran.

---

Post Script:

- Post Mortem: (Poker) An exhaustive discussion after a hand is over about the play of the hand, with so-called experts giving their opinions (with the loser usually providing the most strident) on how the hand should have been played.

- "Convenient position, etc. etc." Uncanny #367.

- Julien Boudreaux: Showed up for the first and last time in "Cajun Spice." The actual story of his death, which we’ll see in one of the upcoming chapters, is from X-Men #8-9.

- "Guilds are a family, ad nauseum." X-Men #9, I think. Not a direct quote but close enough to warrant a footnote.

- The thermometer comment refers back to Remy’s allusion of Rogue’s particular disposition at the diner in Chapter Ten (Black Maria.) Specifically, "Dieu, how much did she hate this? Remy couldn’t imagine. Everything within’ reach, but all off limits - self-imposed restrictions that kept the thermometer hot enough to crack, but always just stopping short." I have been sitting on this follow-up line for weeks. I’m glad to have been able to use it. I hate throwing stuff like that in the discard pile. (The card analogies have finally taken over my brain, can you tell? The discard pile! Man, I had to look at that line for thirty seconds before I realized what I’d typed...)

- "Professor LeBeau": Tip of the hat to Anamarie Chambers and her awesome story set in X-Men movieverse, "Broken Road."

Translations:

Non, c’est pas juste: No, that’s not fair.

"Qu’est ce que tu veux?" he shouted. "Je suis completement en enfer, ici! Je ne sais pas quelle est la bonne reponse pour toi, ma belle. Mais presentement, tu me rends absolument fou.": "What do you want?" he shouted. "I’m in hell, here (Roughly.) I don’t know what is the right response for you, my dear. But right now, you’re making me absolutely crazy."

Quoi? Non!: What? No!

Un peu: A bit

Un p’tit peu: A little bit

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