Home | Forum | Mailing List | Repository | Links | Gallery
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64


Written by Valerie Jones
Last updated: 05/10/2010 11:31:24 PM

Chapter 39

Rogue was seated with one foot tucked up under her in the high-backed leather chair behind the Guildmaster’s desk when Mystique walked in. After getting a crash course from Diedre, she’d spent much of the evening sorting through Remy’s email. The man maintained no less than eight email addresses, some of them attached to specific aliases and others divided up by the echelon of people to whom those addresses were given.

Rogue looked up at her mother’s entrance, and quickly locked the computer in front of her. She closed the lid. “Evenin’ Mama.”

“Good evening, my dear.” Mystique favored her with a smile as she collapsed gracefully into one of the chairs fronting the desk. “You look like you’re settling in.”

“Ah suppose,” Rogue agreed, unconsciously steeling herself. Her mother was never this nice unless she wanted something. “Did ya need somethin’?”

Mystique made an airy gesture. “Oh, I was looking for Remy, but I’ve heard he’s gone topside for some reason or other. Do you know where he is?”

Rogue bit the inside of her cheek. “No, ah don’t.” She shrugged, affecting unconcern. “He said he had some errands ta run.” That was actually a bald-faced lie. When Bobby had called with the news about Warren, Remy had immediately fetched Scott and Logan and the three of them had left for Worthington Industries. But though both Scott and Logan had both returned to the complex, at least briefly, since then, no one had seen Remy. Rogue hadn’t dared ask either X-Man about her husband’s whereabouts because of who might overhear. And now she had no idea what she was supposed to do, other than to act like nothing was wrong and that she wasn’t worried sick—not only for Remy but for Warren as well.

Needing something to occupy her hands, she reopened the laptop and attempted to return to her task. Minutes passed in silence.

Finally, Mystique leaned back in her seat and steepled her fingers in front of her lips. She watched Rogue with her eerie pupil-less eyes, her expression appraising.

“So, how was it?” she asked.

Rogue froze, unable to prevent the heat from building in her cheeks. “How was what?” she responded after a moment, deciding to play dumb.

Mystique clucked her tongue. “My dear girl… Just because the thieves have no idea what that little ‘night off’ was about, don’t think the rest of us are so ignorant.”

Rogue’s stomach did a giddy little twirl at the reminder of the previous night. She cleared her throat to cover the reaction. “Apparently ya ain’t too polite, either.”

“Tsk tsk. Grammar, child.”

Rogue rolled her eyes and went back to trying to decipher the email she’d pulled up. She could read the ones written in either English or French, but she had to rely on a translation program for the rest.

Mystique chuckled lightly. “It took you long enough to screw up your courage, so to speak.”

Mama.” The flush in her cheeks intensified until her entire face felt like it was tingling. “Ah’m so not having this conversation with you.” A band seemed to constrict around her chest, making it hard to breathe.

“But it would be such a delightful mother-daughter bonding moment.”

Rogue slammed the lid of the laptop shut as her temper flared. “We are not havin’ this conversation.” She glared at her mother. “An’ if ya even attempt ta make a bondage joke, so help me, ah’m gonna climb across this desk an’ slap ya.”

Mystique laughed merrily. “I was actually thinking ménage-a-trois rather than bondage.”

The heat left Rogue’s face so fast that she felt like someone had poured ice water over her head. “That’s not funny.”

Mystique cocked her head, her lips curling upward in a smile. “My dear, it’s hysterical.”

“Maybe ta you.” Rogue bit her lip, feeling sick inside. “Is that why ya wanted ta make sure ah knew? Just so ya’d have a knife ta twist whenever the mood strikes ya?”

Mystique’s expression sobered. She broke away to look around the confines of the office before returning her gaze to Rogue. “This would be a lot easier if you didn’t take everything so seriously.”

“What would?” Rogue eyed her mother. Her heart pounded in her chest like a war drum, fast and angry.

“Talking to you.” Mystique blew her breath out in a sigh. “Despite my somewhat abraisive manner, I really do care about your happiness.” She didn’t quite meet Rogue’s eyes.

Rogue blinked, taken aback. She had to take a couple of deep breaths before she felt safe to speak. “It’d be a lot easier ta listen to ya if ya’d sheathe ya claws once in a while, too.”

Her mother arched her brows. “Touche.”

Rogue leaned gingerly back in her seat and brushed her bangs out of her face. Beating around the bush never got her anywhere with her mother. “So am ah ta take it that ya actually came by out o’ concern for mah wellbeing?”

Mystique nodded. “Of course.”

“Well, ah’m fine.” Her fingers curled around the chair’s armrests of their own volition.

“Are you?”

Rogue met her mother’s strange eyes with determination. “Yes.”

Mystique’s expression lightened minutely. “That’s good. As you probably know, I think rather highly of Remy, but men are… selfish creatures by nature. I just wanted to make sure.”

Rogue shook her head. She’d always known her mother was cynical about men, but she’d never seen it quite so clearly. The idea that Remy might have taken advantage of her was ludicrous, really. Despite their rocky history, she was pretty sure he’d given more in the relationship than he’d gotten, and last night had been no different.

“Ah’m fine, Mama,” she reiterated, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth for the memories her thoughts conjured. “Better than fine, even.”

Mystique watched her for a moment longer then acquiesced with a nod. She rose to her feet, brushing her hands together as if ridding herself of the entire topic. “All right, then. I suppose I’ll go and leave you to your Guildmistress-ing.” She flashed a thin crescent of a smile and turned away.

She’d nearly reached the door before Rogue found her voice again. “Mama?”

Mystique paused with her hand on the doorknob and looked back over her shoulder. “Yes, my dear?”

“Thanks foh carin’.” There was no sarcasm in her words. As twisted and difficult as her mother was, she’d been the first person in Rogue’s life who truly had cared about her.

Mystique’s expression froze. She blinked once, looking distinctly uncomfortable, before breaking out in a bright, patently false smile.

“Isn’t that what mothers are for?” she asked, and breezed out the door before Rogue had a chance to reply.

Warren woke to a pale gray light and diffuse pain. Softly, a man’s voice murmured words in a language he didn’t understand. He blinked, and the ceiling came into focus. It was a plain, industrial white, illuminated by two dimmed fluorescent panels. He felt like he was floating-- spinning ever so slowly clockwise.

The voice continued, and Warren finally recognized it. He turned his head, startled to find Gambit seated next to the bed, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his long hair falling around his face. Warren couldn’t tell if he was praying or simply talking to himself. Neither one seemed very likely.


The other man’s head jerked up and his voice fell silent. He looked over at Warren, his dark eyes underlined with smudges of exhaustion. “Y’ awake.” Something like relief passed across his face.

Warren shifted his weight, wincing at a sharp pain in chest. “What happened?” Even as he asked the question, though, the details began to fill in. He remembered the man standing in the doorway of his living room, gun in hand, and the deafeningly loud reports as he opened fire. A horrible thought occurred to him. “Where’s Betsy?” He looked around, hoping to find her somewhere in the room. “Is she all right?”

Remy nodded. “She’s okay. I told her I’d stay wit’ y’ a while, so she could get somet’ing t’ eat.” He rolled his shoulders, grimacing, then drew a blocky hand gun from beneath his jacket. He turned it over in his hands, checked the action and returned it to its holster.

“You expecting trouble?” Warren glanced involuntarily toward the closed door. “Where are we, anyway?” Talking made his chest ache, but it was hard to care through the drugs.

“Mount Sinai,” Remy answered his second question first. He leaned back in his chair and raked his fingers through his hair. “As f’ the trouble…” He shrugged eloquently.

Warren stared at the ceiling as he sorted through his memories. “The man who shot me,” he finally said. The words sounded very strange. “Bobby said he was OZT.” He looked over at Remy, and was startled by the expression of real shame that flitted across his face.

Remy nodded. “Probably.” He wouldn’t meet Warren’s gaze but instead stared at a point on the far side of his hospital bed.

“How did he get in?”

The distant gaze didn’t change. “He had my card.”

Warren didn’t really have time to digest the meaning of his words as the door to the room opened. Faster than Warren could register in his drugged state, Remy was on his feet, gun drawn and pointed unerringly toward the doorway.

He lowered his weapon as Betsy’s purple hair became visible. Something inside Warren loosened at the sight of the woman who had increasingly come to mean everything to him. Scott, Bobby and Logan filed in behind her. Bobby, he noted, held himself stiffly as if he’d been injured.

Betsy’s eyes lit as she realized he was awake. “Warren!” She rushed across the room and scooped up one of his hands in both of hers. Warren gave her a smile, but most of his attention was taken up by his friend and team leader.

Scott stood with his arms crossed over his chest, a sure sign he was angry. He’d obviously heard the last part of the conversation. “Speaking of which… what I don’t get is how Adrian managed to pick your pocket.” He glared at Remy.

Behind him, Logan growled softly. “Give it a rest already, would ya?”

Scott gave no sign of having heard him. “You’re supposed to be one of the best thieves on the planet.”

Remy’s lips thinned. “I’m well aware dis is my fault.”

“Is that your version of an apology?”

“Now wait a minute--” Bobby began heatedly, but Remy waved him down. Bobby bit back the rest of what he was going to say with an angry glare.

Warren was having a little trouble figuring out exactly what the argument was about, but he did successfully string together Bobby’s comment on the phone about the man who’d shot him having a free pass through security with the mention of Adrian and pickpocketing. And Warren was no stranger to the nasty pitfalls of internal politics.

“We knew the passcard system was fundamentally flawed,” he told Scott from his place in the wide hospital bed. His voice was scratchy and not nearly as strong as he’d like, but it effectively cut through the building tension. Scott looked over at him, his expression morphing from anger to guilt, and back.

Warren continued. “But it was off-the-shelf technology and could be put in place within a few weeks.” He had to pause for a couple of breaths. “The biometric ID system is going to take months—particularly to build the database with all of my employees’ information in it—and we needed something in the interim.”

Scott stared at him as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

Logan took two steps, placing himself between Scott and Remy. “Y’ ready ta let this go now, Fearless?” he asked in his gruff voice.

Scott transferred his attention to Wolverine. “An X-Man almost died, Logan. No, I am not ready to let it go.” A cold ball formed in Warren’s stomach at the confirmation of how close he’d come to dying.

Logan raised his bushy eyebrows. “And there were two X-Men watchin’ his back that made sure he didn’t,” he answered reasonably. “Don’t forget we’re in a war here. Crap’s gonna happen.”

Warren registered the stubborn anger written on Scott’s face, and he suddenly understood. Guilt was something the X-Men’s leader didn’t handle well, and he’d always taken his responsibility for the team a little too personally. Right now he was transferring that sense of guilt onto Gambit, who, though not totally blameless, didn’t really deserve to take the brunt of it, either. Warren found it strange how much he identified with Remy these days. He was the only one of the X-Men who really understood what it was like to try to steer a large organization, and to carry the weight of responsibility for that many people’s lives. Warren couldn’t honestly call him a friend—his business was too distasteful for that—but he was very good at what he did and, quite honestly, one of the most professional people Warren had ever met.

“Scott, drop it,” Warren found himself saying. He glanced over at Remy, only to find the other watching him with a strangely haunted expression in his dark eyes. “You really can’t blame Remy. It’s called betrayal for a reason.”

Remy winced at that, and though Scott’s stormy expression didn’t change, he shrugged as if acknowledging the point.

“So, what are you going to do about Adrian?” Bobby asked Remy as the silence began to stretch uncomfortably.

Remy uttered a caustic snort. “I don’ know. Why do y’ t’ink I’m still here?”

Bobby watched him for a moment, concern and anger warring on his face. “Can’t you just call him to the ring? He sold us out to OZT.”

Warren had met Adrian a few times while he and Betsy were still living in the thieves’ complex, and had pegged him for a dangerous man then. He had no idea what this ring was that Bobby referred to, but if it resulted in Adrian paying for his duplicity, he was all for it.

“I’d like not’ing better,” Remy answered. He shrugged, his gaze hard. “It ain’ dat simple, unfortunately.”

“Why not?” Bobby asked. “I can tie Adrian to Garbo and Garbo to the assassin.”

Remy’s expression soured. “Y’ can tie Adrian t’ this Garbo, sure enough. But unless someone can prove Garbo is connected t’ OZT, it don’ count. As far as Adrian’s supporters are concerned, you’d say anyt’ing I tell y’ to.”

Bobby huffed, obviously frustrated by Remy’s response. But he didn’t argue the point.

A sound at the doorway interrupted them. Everyone in the room spun toward the door, weapons drawn, and Logan unsheathed the claws on his off hand. Warren blinked in surprise at the man who stood on the threshold.

Colonel Nick Fury raised both hands in front of him in a placating gesture. “Take it easy, X-Men. We’re all friends here.” He was in full uniform, looking as grim and proper as always. His weapon remained holstered at his hip.

Logan narrowed his eyes. “Since when?”

“What business does SHIELD have here?” Scott asked sharply.

Fury ignored Logan. Despite the weapons still pointed at him, he nodded over his shoulder to a pair of armed men in fatigues and body armor and the two took up guard stations outside the door. Fury stepped fully into the room and let the door close behind him.

“My orders are to provide security for Mr. Worthington.” His gaze flickered from Scott to Warren then returned to the X-Men’s field leader.

Scott adjusted his grip on his gun. “I thought SHIELD’s imperative was to combat with mutant terrorists.” It was a label that had been applied to the X-Men on several occasions—the justification the government had used to send the original Sentinels, soldiers and SHIELD against them.

“As you’ve no doubt noticed, there are no mutants any more.” Fury smiled, a thin, sardonic expression. “Besides, at the moment we kind of like our mutant terrorists.”

Warren digested the statement with a sense of shock that he saw reflected on the other X-Men’s faces. After a moment, Scott lowered his weapon and the others followed suit.

Fury let his hands fall to his sides. “Mr. Worthington’s shooting has become news worldwide. The administration doesn’t take kindly to anyone making a blatant assassination attempt against an American citizen—mutant or not.”

Scott gave Fury a disbelieving stare that Warren echoed. “The administration? Since when has this president cared what OZT does?”

Colonel Fury scowled, making the flesh bunch beneath the edge of his eye patch. “You’d be surprised.”

Scott raised his eyebrows. “So why isn’t he shutting down OZT? Or are you going to try to tell me that Congress is still backing Bastion?”

Fury shook his head. “That’s well above my pay grade, Cyclops. All I can say is that it’s a lot more complicated than it appears.”

The two men glared at each other for a couple of seconds before Fury cocked his head, his expression appraising. “You know, you’re lucky OZT is rotten at anticipating targets. You’re taking a big risk, coming here.” He nodded toward the window on the far side of the room. “This building isn’t reinforced. A single RPG round could wipe out half the X-Men.”

Scott frowned, but went with the change in topic. “Don’t worry, we’re not staying.” He looked around at the others, as if gathering their opinions as to whether Fury could be trusted. Then he turned to Warren. “I was planning to get you out of here, too.” To take him back to the complex, to recuperate in the safety of the thieves’ med center under Hank’s very capable supervision, no doubt. But Colonel Fury’s presence opened up some intriguing possibilities.

“A couple a guards outside the door ain’t gonna be much help if a prime sentinel shows up.” Logan dabbed at the blood running down his knuckles from where he’d retracted his claws.

“No, we’d set up a full perimeter, including air support,” Fury assured him.

“The Helicarrier?” Scott asked.

Fury shook his head. “Sorry. That’s out of play for the moment.” Something in his voice made Warren very curious where the Helicarrier might be, and why SHIELD would be operating without the support of its primary asset.

“Warren?” Scott turned to face him. “This is your call.”

Warren looked from his team leader to Colonel Fury and finally to Betsy. There was potentially a lot to be gained by having an entity like SHIELD visibly aligned with the X-Men. It implied the government supported their efforts against OZT. It would help the resistance movement. And that might smooth a lot of legal ground once the lawsuit went forward.

“I think I’m going to take Colonel Fury up on his offer,” he told them.

Betsy gave him a worried frown. “Are you sure, luv?” She glanced toward the window. “Like he said, all it would take is an RPG round.”

Warren held her gaze as he nodded. “I’m sure. I can’t let OZT make me back down.” He turned to Scott. “I’m willing to trust SHIELD until I can get back to the Worthington building. The security there is still solid.”

Scott gave him a dirty look at the oblique reminder. Beyond him, Colonel Fury raised the eyebrow over his good eye in obvious curiosity.

“Given how far OZT managed to penetrate, I’m surprised you’d be willing to set foot inside Worthington Industries without a total revamp,” the colonel said.

Warren snorted, and immediately regretted it as a sharp pain stabbed through his chest. “That was a fluke,” he managed after a moment. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Remy’s expression flicker. But, he thought, Adrian had burned his one chance. Remy would not be caught unawares again. “The security system is still good enough to keep OZT out.”

Scott exhaled sharply. “All right.” He glanced at Fury then back to Warren. “We’ll be in touch.”

Without another word, the X-Men filed out of the room followed by Colonel Fury, leaving Warren alone with Betsy. Gratefully, Warren let his eyes sag shut. He couldn’t afford to spend very long in this hospital bed, but for the moment, at least, he would be happy for the chance to sleep.

Rogue woke to the unfamiliar sounds of someone moving around in her bedroom. She froze, heart pounding, ears straining to listen. But almost immediately she heard Remy mutter something under his breath and the tension drained out of her in a rush, to be replaced with anger. He’d been gone more than twenty-four hours, without a word to anyone. She’d finally given up and gone to bed some time around midnight, figuring it was better to sleep than to sit up worrying when there was absolutely nothing she could do.

She listened to the faint rustling of motion as Remy crossed the room, but instead of heading toward the closet he turned toward the sitting room. Rogue sat up in a sudden burst of panic.

“Remy, wait.” She fumbled for the switch on the bedside lamp, and the room filled with warm, orange light. “I rearranged all the furniture in there.” If he walked in expecting things to be where they’d been when he left, he could easily hurt himself.

Remy paused at the threshold to the sitting room and turned toward her. He looked awful, Rogue thought, shoving her anger aside for the moment. Exhaustion pulled at his long face, making it sag, and his eyes were dull. A bottle of scotch and a glass dangled from one hand.

Rogue slid out of bed and grabbed her robe from the bedpost where she habitually hung it. Belting it on, she crossed to where Remy stood, her fear increasing with every step. There was only one reason she could think of for him to look so defeated.

“Warren?” she asked when she reached him. Her lungs felt like they’d locked up, refusing to allow her to draw a breath.

A faint flicker of life came into his eyes. “He’s gon’ make it, chere.”

Rogue’s knees went a little weak with relief as the meaning of his words penetrated. “Oh, thank goodness.” Though she and Warren had never been especially close, she counted him as a friend.

“He was awake an’ talkin’ when I left.”

Rogue absorbed that, some of her anger resurfacing. He’d been at the hospital, then, at least part of the time.

Remy didn’t seem to have any trouble reading her thoughts. His lips thinned. “Y’ want t’ show me what y’ did wit’ de furniture?” The question was sharp.

Rogue bit back an angry retort, her eyes stinging. The brief, nearly perfect time they’d spent together the previous night seemed a hundred years away suddenly. “All right,” she managed in a nearly-normal voice. The last thing she wanted to do right now was fight with him.

“Here, let me take those.” She took the bottle and glass from him so his hands would be free. She turned toward the sitting room. Remy followed her. Just inside the threshold, he reached up to lay his hand on her shoulder and Rogue couldn’t help the little flutter in her stomach at that simple touch.

Trying to keep her voice even, she described the changes she’d made. She liked having the table in there—a quiet place where they could eat breakfast together or simply sit and talk—so she’d moved it off to one side and then arranged the couches into a conversational ‘L’ in the far corner of the room. The arrangement was a bit cramped but workable, she hoped.

Remy said nothing, the fingers of his free hand trailing lightly across the furniture as he cemented the location of each piece in his mind. When they’d finished, he collected the scotch from her and collapsed on the nearest couch. He opened the bottle and poured himself a generous glass, managing not to spill any of the amber liquid. As Rogue watched, he downed it and poured a second.

“Go back t’ bed, Rogue,” he said without looking at her. “I ain’t gon’ be any kind o’ company tonight.”

She pressed her tongue against the inside of her cheek then shook her head. “Only if ya comin’ with me.”

He shrugged. “Suit y’self.”

Feeling awkward, Rogue sat down beside him and drew her knees up to her chest. Remy didn’t react to her presence. Instead, he stared into the distance as he sipped his drink. She didn’t know what to make of his demeanor until it dawned on her that this was exactly how he was whenever he went to the mansion’s roof to brood. But it had been a long time since she’d seen him do that.

Sighing softly, she stood and went around the back of the couch. Slipping her hands beneath the collar of his duster, she began to massage the tense, knotted muscles of his back and neck. He closed his eyes. The minutes passed in silence, broken only by the muted rustle of cloth as she worked her way along his shoulders.

“I can’t do dis,” he said suddenly.

Rogue froze, terrified that he might be talking about them, their relationship. “Can’t do what?” she finally asked.

He gestured vaguely with his glass, setting the scotch in it to swirling. “Dis—any of it. Leading a guild, fightin’ OZT…” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I was t’inking. They asked an’ I said yes wit’out really considerin’ whether I was even qualified f’ de job.”

Rogue stared down at him, thoroughly shocked. Remy was always so confident—even to the point of arrogance sometimes. This kind of self-doubt wasn’t like him at all. She ran a hand through his hair, as much to comfort herself as him. Or maybe it was, and she’d just never seen it because she’d never been willing to look closely enough, or honestly enough. Maybe that was what she’d really envied Bobby for—the ability to look unflinchingly into the heart of this man and accept whatever he found there.

But, no more. She was done with running away.

She dropped a kiss on the top of Remy’s head. “Sugah, from where ah’m standin’ it seems like ya’ve done an amazin’ job. Most of us would be dead right now if it wasn’t foh you—the Guild an’ the X-Men both. An’ there wouldn’t even be a resistance.”

He tipped his head to the side, resting it against her arm. “Warren could’ve died yesterday,” he went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “Because o’ me. Because I got… distracted.” He ran his hand along the outside of her arm, his touch sending warm, tingling sensations all the way up to her shoulder. He caught her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing her fingers. But it was an apologetic gesture, and Rogue felt a weight of dismay coalesce in her stomach. She’d been trying not to think about the fact that Warren had been shot while they were making love. She didn’t want that memory to be tainted with guilt for having been so happy while such terrible things were happening.

“That ain’t ya fault either,” she told him.

His fingers tightened on hers. “But I could’ve stopped it. I should’ve—should’ve noticed what was goin’ on.”

The utterly self-pitying comment triggered Rogue’s sense of the absurd. “Well now ya sound exactly like Scott,” she said with a snort and felt him jerk in surprise.

He straightened. “Dat was unkind, chere.” But there was a note of dry humor in his voice.

Somewhat reassured, she disentangled herself from his grip and came back around the couch. She held out her hands. “Come ta bed, sugah.”

For a moment he didn’t move. Then, sighing tiredly, he set his glass aside and let her pull him to his feet. “D’accord.”

Silently, Rogue led him to the bed. Turning out the light, she shucked her robe and waited patiently in the darkness as he shed his clothes and slipped beneath the covers. Then she climbed in beside him and wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his chest. His arms closed around her after a minute and he sighed again, this time sounding nearly content.

Rogue listened to the slow, steady thumping of his heart, taking comfort in the sound. “Tomorrow’ll be better, sugah. Just wait an’ see.”

His response was an unintelligible murmur and a gentle squeeze. Rogue smiled in the darkness. Tomorrow would be better. They’d make it so. Together.

On that heartening thought, Rogue closed her eyes and let sleep take her.


GambitGuild is neither an official fansite of nor affiliated with Marvel Enterprises, Inc.
Nonetheless, we do acknowledge our debt to them for creating such a wonderful character and would not dream of making any profit from him other than the enrichment of our imaginations.
X-Men and associated characters and Marvel images are © Marvel Enterprises, Inc.
The GambitGuild site itself is © 2006 - 2007; other elements may have copyrights held by their respective owners.