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The Ante
Chapter VI: A Scattering of Chips
(Part 1/2)
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“Oh my god! Piotr!”

The mansion rumbled, a tremor from outside creating ruptures over the once-smooth lawns, racketing through the sublevels and up the foundations. While the floorboards remained in tact, the reverberations rattled the Institute from its core like an earthquake. Colossus teetered on the top stairs, his armor coating his skin to blunt the pain from the impending tumble. Kitty, running at full tilt, crashed into him. In the same motion, she latched onto his arm. The pair phased through the last few stairs before they could fall over each other.

“It’s Lance,” Kitty breathed, stumbling through Colossus’ chest and staring fixedly out the front doors. “Oh my god, what is he doing?” she cried shrilly. Piotr propped her upright, managing to restrain a grimace at the mention of Kitty’s former beau, but not entirely content that the petite teenager had phased straight through his midsection.

Kurt teleported in beside them, a rank cloud of sulfur trailing him in whorls of wispy grey. “It’s the Brotherhood! They’re attacking!”

“Team!” Cyclops bellowed, jogging out of the kitchen, already suited up. “Where is everyone?”

Jean soared from the west wing of the mansion, tailed by a panting Ray.

“I’m not made for this sort of exertion!” Berserker gasped, clutching at his chest with an exaggerated wince, only to follow Jean outside a moment later at a dead run. As he leapt off the portico’s stone banister, those left inside heard him let loose a loud cackle and a “Whoop!” that was almost wholly drowned out by Sam as he zoomed by a moment later.

“Let’s go everyone! Two teams! I want to see ground defense to match an aerial sweep. Let’s flush them out!” Cyclops yelled. “Cannonball, follow Jean, but watch your aim! Nightcrawler, status report!”

Kurt ported out and then back in. “I don’t get it! They’ve knocked down the gate and tripped the mansion’s light security. But – but they’re not heading for the mansion. They’re just tearing up the grounds. Everything’s smoking!”

“It is Pyro.” Colossus hunched his shoulders and banged his way out the front door with a distinct grimace. “I vill settle the matter with him personally,” he said.

“Where’s Logan?” Rogue shouted from the top of the stairs, tugging on one of her boots as she hopped past the landing. Her wet hair slapped at her cheeks, leaving her skin clammy and uncomfortable. Already she was flushed from her shower and sweating into a clean change of uniform, and she was no more appreciative that her muscles were protesting the effort of trying to get out of the mansion as quickly as possible.

Scrunched into her gloved fist, acting as a catalyst for the surge of vitriol-fuelled adrenaline currently flooding her system and keeping her momentum steady, were two playing cards that went utterly unnoticed by everyone else.

To Rogue, however, they were a solid, physical reminder that either she or Logan would soon be tearing Gambit a new one for his efforts.

“Logan left this afternoon, Rogue. He has not returned as of yet,” was the Professor’s projected response. “I cannot get a clear psychic reading from the Brotherhood. It appears that they have either been deceived or the full intentions of their benefactor undeclared.”

Rogue grimaced. It appeared that she was left with the honor of dealing with the Cajun personally. No one else set off charges like that – but the number of them… How the heck had he managed it? Sure, he was a good shot with the cards he always carried with him, but there had been too many explosions in too quick of a succession across too large an area for Gambit to set off all at once.

Something didn’t sit right about it, Rogue decided, yanking hard on her laces and cramming the cards into her belt.

“Professor?” Cyclops asked aloud. “Is it Magneto?”

“Not at all, Scott. It is… difficult to tell, but I believe the reason for this attack is slightly more complicated than what is presented to us directly. I caution you all to stay together. Your strength as a team is formidable, and this may very well prove to be a valuable learning exercise.”

“If you say so,” Nightcrawler muttered, clearly dubious.

“Let’s go! Armatage formation!” Scott shouted, scanning the crowd of younger mutants filtering through the doors. Magma passed him, tailed by Boom Boom, who ducked under his arm, sniggering.

“Where’s Iceman?” Cyclops called after them.

Jubilee bounded past, pirouetting with a shrug. “Last time I saw him, he was trying to convince Roberto that he was better than the fridge’s ice dispenser.”

At the top of the stairs, Rogue swiveled, searching out the rest of the students, though most of them had made it outside before she’d even passed the girl’s wing. If she could avoid the crowd, then maybe she’d have a clear shot at finding Gambit. If she had to scrap with him, she decided, it’d be on her terms and not his.

Jamie tripped as he ran down the stairs, scattering himself into seven identical replicas. “What formation?” three of them asked simultaneously.

“Damnit, Multiple!” Bobby bellowed, sliding by on a bridge of ice and leaving a chill in his wake that frosted the tips of Rogue’s still-wet hair. “The double cheeseburger one!”

Rogue shivered; the defensive tactics gave her an opening, at least. While the others winged the Brotherhood from opposite sides of the property, flushing them out through the front gates as the covered area narrowed, she could skirt the edges of the forest and keep a look out. An aerial sweep by Jean, Storm and Cannonball would beat them back, giving her a clear path to search for the swamp snake.

“Oh!” Jamie grinned sheepishly, sliding back into himself and taking Cyclops’ extended hand up.

“Iceman!” Cyclops directed. “Help Storm with the fires. Multiple, you’re with me, North forest. Rogue and Kitty, south side. Now! And you heard the Professor, stick together!”

Perfect, Rogue thought as she leapt onto the banister, skidding down its length and pelting at full tilt across the foyer, down the stone steps of the portico, and onto the front lawn behind Kitty.

“Something’s wrong,” Kitty shouted, making a break for the forest. “There isn’t anybody in the Brotherhood who can make explosions like that!”

“He’s mine, Shadowcat!” Rogue snarled.

“What?” she cried, her legs pumping hard to keep up. Jean and Storm were well overhead, taking the direct route towards the gates and Blob, who appeared to be tearing their topiaries to bits. “Who?”

“Gambit!” Rogue snapped, leaping over a flaming pile of twisted metal that had once been a recessed laser. “Who else would –”

FOOM!

“Evening shielas!” Pyro cackled. “Fine night wouldn’t you say?” he roared, clapping his hands together over his head. The flames between his palms exploded outwards, shaping into a wavering, roaring fireball that spread its wings wide.

“Get down!” Rogue shouted, tackling Kitty around the midsection as an enormous jet of flame shot towards them.

“Dragon!” Kitty gasped, and Rogue rolled over onto her back.

“Darn thing even has fangs,” Rogue noted dryly, watching the inferno lick upwards, illuminating the grounds in a blinding blaze of red and gold before it bore down on them. “Guess we’ll have to do milkshakes some other time, Kit,” she ground out.

Shadowcat managed a startled yelp of surprise in response. “That’s all you can think of right now?”

All things considered, Rogue was contemplating the life sentence she’d be sure to spend in prison if the Cajun had actually had the audacity to show up in person.

“She’s a beaut, isn’t she?” Pyro yelled, laughing as he directed the monster towards them again. It swooped, stuttered, and vanished mid-air just as Kitty reached for Rogue’s hand to phase them through the fire.

Rogue looked up in time to watch as Colossus hefted Pyro clean off his feet.

“I do not appreciate it vhen you attack my friends, tovarisch.”

Pyro emitted a strangled sound, followed quickly by two distinctive pops and a low hiss as the gas pipes were torn from the fuel tank on his back. They dropped to his sides limply, filling the air with the acrid scent of butane that hissed out of the chamber.

“Piotr!” he squeaked, scrabbling at the metal hand that fisted around the front of his uniform. “Long time no see. Yer looking in fine condition. Urk!”

“Colossus!” Kitty bellowed, getting to her feet. “Don’t hurt him!”

Piotr paused mid-stride with Pyro flailing at arm’s length. “I am merely taking out ze trash.” He gave her a small smile and turned his back. By the looks of it, he really was heading to the dumpsters on the outside of the property.

“Ok,” Rogue breathed, pushing herself off the ground. “Ah don’t see any point in letting them have all the fun.”

“But Scott said –”

“Ah’m gonna find that Cajun an’ Ah’m gonna leave him a vegetable for this!” she interrupted vehemently, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the lawns for a telltale flare of offensive pink.

“Rogue! Wait! How do you know?” Kitty protested.

“He left his calling card!” she snapped, tearing the welted playing cards from her pocket and brandishing them before Kitty’s face with a rough shake. Rogue grimaced, trying to ignore Kitty’s dumbfounded expression as she took in the King and Queen of Hearts that she had torn off her mirror in her haste to head off the attack. They were still taped together, stubbornly refusing to be pulled apart.

Kitty squinted, taking a cautious step closer to read the message written across the faces. It was almost comical the way her eyes widened in disbelief. “Oh no way!”

Beneath their feet, the ground rumbled again, and Rogue forcibly restrained herself from scowling.

“There ain’t time for this,” Rogue shouted over the shrill, creaking whine of the sprinklers being torn from the ground with the aftershocks. “Take Lance out, Kit!” Rogue spun, bracing herself into a crouch, her fingers clawing the grass so that the rippling ground wouldn’t knock her over. “Phase him down ta China if ya have ta. Ah ain’t rebuilding the mansion one more time.”

“But –” Kitty began in protest, only to be silenced by a wet, SPLAT! “Mmmph!”

“Girl talks too much,” Toad called, clinging to the side of a tree nearby.

Kitty phased out through the ground, struggling with the thick puce-colored mess coating her face. She was out of reach before Rogue could get to her.

“C’mon slimebag,” she goaded, turning to Toad and fisting her hands before her. The cards crunched beneath the leather of her gloves, but Rogue ignored the sound. Furious that she was still allowing herself to even touch them, she stuffed the pair into a pocket. “Y’all can get down here, or Ah’ll come up there myself.”

“Heh,” he chuckled, his uneven yellow teeth bared in something close to a grin. “Everyone wants a piece of the frog man!” He sprang off the side of the tree, twisting mid air, with both arms and both legs reaching to tackle her.

Rogue didn’t even flinch. Toad’s momentum was lacking, and without the force to propel him, Rogue stepped out of the way easily as he hit the ground and tumbled.

“Ow!” he moaned, doubling over on himself.

“Some challenge you are,” she muttered, striding over to where Toad had fallen. She peeled off her glove, locked a foot beneath him, and rolled him onto his back.

“I hate this part,” he whimpered, wincing.

“What’re ya doing here? Where is he?” she hissed, waggling her bare fingers over his face menacingly, stopping just short of the point of contact. Usually, it was enough to scare anyone who knew what she was capable of into talking.

When Toad tried to wriggle away, she planted her foot square on his chest. “Trust me, the last thing Ah want is ta have ya bouncing around in my head makin’ a mess of things. Talk.”

“Yo, home girl,” he laughed nervously, “you got it all wrong, see –” He looked nervously to either side of him, searching for a way out, and stopped. Grinning, he cheered, “Babycakes!”

Rogue turned her head a millisecond before she was slapped backwards off her feet by a jet of blue light. It crackled, wrapping around her torso like a fist of sizzling, static current that shot her upwards fifty feet into the darkened night sky before she’d even realized Wanda was stalking across the grounds towards her.

She hovered a moment, straining against the pulsating bubble of energy that clapped her arms to her sides. Once Wanda had decided that Rogue was sufficiently immobilized, the tension eased off just enough for her to squirm. Peering downwards and swallowing the rush of vertigo that came from dangling at a height high to kill if Wanda released her, Rogue’s eyes widened as she took in the level of destruction occurring on the property below.

A blue blur was knocking over her teammates at random; large parts of the grounds, the topiaries, and the gardens were aflame – though Iceman was making quick work of the larger blazes. Blob had successfully overturned the ornamental fountain, drenching the lawns nearest the street, turning the sod to a muddy mess, and with Nightcrawler porting in and out, visibility was steadily decreasing with the lingering clouds of smoke from his teleportation.

“Shit,” she muttered. There was no sign of Gambit.

Rogue could just make out Cyclops’ optic blasts through the haze. They were forcing them towards the street.

Below her, Scarlet Witch grimaced. “How does it look from up there, princess?” she shouted.

“Looks like a party,” Rogue yelled back, wincing as Wanda’s hold on her tightened, drawing her back to the a height where conversation could be maintained without bellowing. “Ah’m sorry Ah’m missin’ it!”

“You’re more anti-social than I am, Rogue,” Wanda laughed. “I don’t believe for a second that you’d actually like to mingle with these plebes.”

“Your boyfriend and Ah were just havin’ a little heart ta heart, sugah,” she shot back, straining. “We were about ta go and get us some punch.”

“Spare me the feeble puns,” Wanda waved at her airily with her free hand, her other fingers twisting in a way that made Rogue’s bonds tighten uncomfortably. “We’re not here to chat.”

“Didn’t think ya’ll were much for social calls.”

“The Brotherhood?” Wanda sniffed, drawing Rogue level with her. At her side, Toad grinned broadly, clearly proud of the woman who bluntly refused to return his affections. “No, I can’t take these cretins anywhere.”

Toad frowned.

“That mean we’re still on for the Marilyn show next month?” Rogue asked, mockingly.

“For fifty bucks a ticket?” she smirked. “Standing room only? How will you cope, Rogue? I’d love to see what you’d do in a mosh pit.”

Rogue bristled. “Ya wanna tell me what’s goin’ on here, Wanda? Maintaining that tentative truce and all we had goin’ –”

Wanda shrugged, peering at her coyly while brushing her nails on the lapels of her trademark red coat. “I said I couldn’t take these halfwits anywhere. You, on the other hand, have an old friend in town who’s made us a very reasonable offer if we clear your schedule.”

“What?” Rogue snapped. Wanda ignored her.

“Bearing that in mind,” she continued lightly. “You need to get out of the way.”

With that, Wanda flung Rogue across the lawn, releasing her hex and letting her drop. She hit the ground hard and rolled, coming to rest at the opposite end of the property, winded, bruised, but otherwise still in fighting form.

Rogue coughed as the air rushed back into her lungs. She sat up, her chest heaving, and struggled to her knees, yanking on her glove as if it were her lifeline.

Behind her, a low chuckle and slow, sardonic applause broke through the relative silence of the north forest.

“Gambit!” she bellowed, her voice returning to her from the heavy silence beyond the trees. She stood, grateful that her legs supported her. She’d be a little bruised from the fall, but otherwise she was raring to go. Her fingers itched beneath her gloves.

“No need t’ yell. Though I must say, chère, hearing ya scream my name like that does somethin’ wonderful f’ my ego,” he murmured from her left.

Rogue pivoted, searching the thick veil of shadow before her, her heart rate climbing to the point where she could feel her pulse singing just below her skin. A flare of fuchsia blinded her momentarily from beneath the broken canopy of her oak tree, and grimacing, Rogue stood to full height.

He grinned, eyes flashing mischievously, and doused the charged card.

“Bonsoir.”

Gambit tipped an imaginary hat, giving her a dutiful half-bow from the waist. His eyes didn’t leave hers as he stepped out from the gloom. “Figured it was time we had that lil’ chat y’ promised me.” Resting his quarterstaff against a shoulder, he rolled it lazily between gloved fingers.

Rogue fisted her hands at her sides. “Ah didn’t promise you nothin’!” she spat, her sudden desire to smack the smirk off his face overriding the immediate concern of the battle.

“That may be true, but I’m not the sort t’ take no for an answer.” He raised his chin, letting his gaze slide over her, before returning to meet her hard stare. “It’s a shame – y’ didn’t get the chance t’ show me what you can do these days. Wanda, y’ know, she’s a little eager when it comes t’ these rendezvous type things. Woulda been a pleasure t’ watch, I’m sure.”

“That’s right,” she returned snidely. “You’re always watching and never doing,” she snapped, holding her ground as Gambit spun the staff over his knuckles. The space between them sung with the sound of cold metal cutting through it with practiced ease.

“Is that an invitation?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“For what exactly? You askin’ ta get dropped like your buddies over there?” she lied, deliberately bating him.

He chuckled, strolling around her lazily. She tracked him, matching his steps, her muscles tensing with each soft pad of their footfalls. “Y’ mean you were saving yourself f’ me?” he leered. “You didn’t touch any of ‘em, Rogue.”

“All Ah need is one finger ta take ya out. One touch, Gambit,” she said bracingly, though she was none too thrilled at the prospect.

Gambit shrugged, it didn’t appear as if he was at all concerned by the threat, and given the circumstances of Rogue’s recent display in the Danger Room, there was probably a damned good reason if the idiot was still coherent.

“Prefer a kiss, myself,” he replied in that same, languid cadence that he’d always used when trying to soften her up. Deftly, he flipped the staff over his shoulder and let it rest against the back of the opposite leg. “Considerin’ the last one you gave me, I don’t remember.”

“What’re ya talkin’ about? Ah never –”

“Certainement, you did. Had t’ watch the security tape t’ be sure, but you did.” He smirked. “Guess Mesmero wiped that from y’ mind, too.”

Cold, hard history never stung quite as badly as that.

“You’re lying,” she argued. There was a security tape? The Professor hadn’t told her that. “Or maybe it just wasn’t worth keepin’ that memory tucked away in my head,” she spat as an afterthought.

It was a lie, she decided. When she’d been under the control of Mesmero, she’d done a lot of things she regretted even though memories were no longer there. Used like a puppet for two days, only to become Apocalypse’s vessel of deliverance, there were a handful of things from that time in Rogue’s life she was glad to have forgotten. She hadn’t had the control to stop herself from absorbing the Brotherhood, the X-Men and Magneto’s Acolytes – only to be told in the aftermath what she’d done.

Leave it to Gambit to bring that up now.

“Y’ wound me, chèrie.” He pouted, thrusting out his lower lip. His eyes betrayed the expression; they glittered in the darkness like beacons.

He was deliberately trying to unsettle her, throw her off guard; just like he’d done that morning. It steeled Rogue’s resolve.

“Ah’ll do more than just wound ya, ya filthy, manipulative –”

“Now, now, p’tit, it’s not polite for a nice young fille such as yourself to run off at the mouth like that.”

“What did ya do ta me this morning, Cajun?” she ground out. “Ah’ll give ya one chance ta explain yourself, and then Ah’m takin’ ya out just like Colossus did back there to your buddy, Pyro.”

“Quoi? No time t’ get reacquainted?” He chuckled, low in the back of his throat. “That’s a sorry situation indeed, chère. Back home, we take things a little slower, show some hospitality t’ old acquaintances –”

“Enemies, Cajun,” she shot back. “Adversaries.”

“Details,” he purred. “S’ not the past that matters, Roguey – it’s th’ present.”

She snorted, clenching her fists tighter. “Coming from someone who lives by the seat of his pants, Ah’m not surprised that ya say that.”

“Comin’ from someone who knows that y’ haven’t absorbed no one since last year because you’re too afraid of repeating history, I do,” he quipped.

Rogue froze, the skin on the back of her neck prickling in a way that was far too familiar for comfort. It was a sensation she hadn’t experienced in a long time, and now she knew why. It was the sort of second sense that made a person look over their shoulder when walking down a dark alley; the sort of uncomfortable prickling at the back of the neck that indicated the weight of someone else’s gaze. He’d been watching her. He knew.

As Gambit appraised her, that familiar self-satisfied, smug grin drawing his mouth up at the corner, a cold fury settled into Rogue’s limbs.

“This time, Ah’ll make an exception,” she hissed.

Rogue sprang at him, throwing the first punch. Gambit dipped out of the way, her fist whipping past his ear where his head had been only a moment before. He stepped around her nimbly, tapping the back of her thighs with his staff, and turned to face her again with a grin.

“Could learn a thing or two, chèrie. I’ve got plenty t’ teach a willing student,” he said. Somehow, he managed to make it sound perfectly dirty.

She pivoted, her leg whipping out to catch his side with her heel. Gambit blocked her, grabbing her leg.

“What were ya thinkin’? Dance lessons?” she snapped, her fists raised before her, ready to crack him in the jaw. While Rogue tried to yank her foot back from his grasp, Gambit merely chuckled. He tugged on her ankle lightly, bemused by their stalemate.

Rogue forced herself to ignore the warm press of his fingers through her boots.

“Not a bad idea,” he conceded. “That mean we get t’ do this more often?”

He thrust her leg out so that Rogue spun blindly, her balance offset by the force of the throw. Gambit’s arm slipped around her waist and dipped her, her back arching against his knee; one arm was around her shoulders, one hand against her hip, and his bo staff cast to the ground.

“I think I could get used to this,” he hummed, his eyes half-lidded.

“Could ya?” she asked, breathing hard. Defiantly, she ignored the rich, rained-out scent of his trench coat and lifted herself onto her toes. She kicked upwards hard, catching the back of his head with her shin. Rogue tumbled over, using his knee against her back for leverage before he could drop her, and landed on all fours a few feet away, her fingers sinking into the soft, cold grass.

Tossing her hair out of her face, she bared her teeth at him.

“Dieu,” he grimaced, scrubbing at the back of his head. “Y’ kick like a mule.”

“And ya smell like one,” she murmured.

“Thought I was your ‘swamp rat’,” he grinned. “Wouldn’t let anybody else call me that after you.”

“Why’s that?” she asked, breathing hard. Her muscles tensed as she stood to full height. In the distance, nearer the road, someone yelled. Whether it was a shout of pain or victory, Rogue couldn’t discern.

“It’s got a special ring to it,” he smirked, peering at her from beneath the shag of hair that fell into his eyes. It had grown out some, she thought – and vehemently, she concluded her appraisal abruptly with an audible huff.

“And it makes y’ stop scowling long enough for me t’ appreciate you properly,” Gambit added.

Rogue grimaced. Unbelievable – even in the midst of a spat, he was still trying to flirt with her.

“What do ya want, Remy? Ya came here to fight, so let’s get on with it,” she said, unable to reign in the spike of irritation that turned her tone venomous.

Gambit toed his staff and kicked it into the air. He caught it easily and compacted it, slipping it beneath his trench coat with one fluid snap of the wrist.

“Say that again,” he said evenly, challenging her. In the darkness, backlit by the backup security lights that were now flicking on around the property, the shine of his eyes glimmered, intensifying steadily. Struck with a sudden sense of deja-vu, Rogue involuntarily recalled the first time they’d faced off. The sounds of the battle around them dulled, becoming the background soundtrack to the hush their conversation had fallen to. For a moment, the world around her dissolved, and all she could see were Remy’s eyes.

Warily, her gaze transfixed on his own as the colour shifted from carmine to the smoldering red of glowing embers, she asked, “Say what?”

“Y’ know what.” He took a step forwards and stopped, waiting to see if she’d comply. When his name failed to roll of her tongue again, he shook the hair out of his vision, breaking eye contact. Rogue blinked away her surprise, but her unease remained constant. “I’m not here t’ fight you. I told you already.” He opened his arms, displaying his hands, palms up, in a gesture of plaintive surrender.

Somehow, that rattled her more than his presence alone.

Across the grounds, a loud KRAKOOM! echoed. Rogue flinched, turning her head just in time to witness a large part of the forest bathed in growing firelight, and reality rushed back with the reliable slap of their partly demolished surroundings. It rolled across them both with the gust of a strong wind, the acrid taint of smoke on the air that burned the sinuses, and the pungent tang of water-drenched, peeled-back lawns. In the distance, the cracked fountain belched a half-hearted jet of water.

Gambit’s mouthed curved into a small frown, and he rubbed at the stubble on his chin.

“You can’t blame me f’ that,” he said. “They be a bit boisterous, being cooped up so long.”

Rogue hunched her shoulders, balling her fists at her sides she strode forwards.

“You set this up, didn’t ya?” she snarled, shoving Gambit in the chest. “You came here, planting your stupid cards to explode everywhere ta draw everyone outta the mansion. You just couldn’t leave well enough alone!” she shouted, pushing him again. Gambit walked backwards, matching her pace, and keeping his hands at his sides.

“Y’ didn’t want t’ listen to begin with. You left me no other choice,” he countered. “An’ what’s the best way of getting th’ lady’s attention, I asked myself?”

“Recruit the Brotherhood?” she snapped. “Are you insane or just stupid? We were under a mutual truce!”

“Pyro did mention that, yeah,” he conceded thoughtfully. “I thought he might’ve been suffering brain damage from all th’ smoke he usually breathes in. Oxygen deprivation, y’ know?” he chuckled, tapping his temple.

“They’re my family, Gambit, and when ya mess with my family, ya mess with me!” she snarled in return.

“I’m not messin’ with y’ family,” he said, stopping dead so that she walked straight into his chest. Swearing, Rogue shoved at him again, though he proved immovable. “That’s not somethin’ I take lightly, chère. One thing I know is loyalty t’ your kin.”

He wrapped his hands around her upper arms and dipped his head so he could meet her furious gaze evenly.

“I’m not messin’ with you either,” he said in an undertone, his eyes glowing a brighter shade of crimson.

“Ah don’t give ya that much credit!” she spat, her jaw clenching as she struggled against him. “You’re a liar and a thief, LeBeau.”

“Reformed thief,” he corrected with a wry grin, his fingers loose but unrelenting when she struggled to break free.

“But still a liar. Ah absorbed ya this morning, Cajun – Ah don’t know how you’re still standing, but Ah did and Ah blew the absolute shit outta the Danger Room when Ah realized –”

“Y’ did?” he interrupted, grinning broadly. When Rogue persisted in fuming at him, he relented, cocking his head to the side and pursing his lips. “Y’ did,” he acknowledged with a low whistle. “Impressive.”

Rogue scoffed, and continued her attempt to extricate herself from his grasp without tearing his arms out of their sockets.

“You expect me ta believe ya?” She struggled, opting for the less gory approach and trying to shake him off by squirming out from beneath his hands, but Gambit held firm. “Ya just popped back inta Bayville ta shoot the shit and catch up? Yeah right. You’re not that selfless – that much Ah remember from the last time Ah absorbed ya.”

“Why don’t y’ touch me, then? See f’ yourself if you don’t believe me,” he said lightly, deliberately goading her with the one thing she did not want to do.

He let go of her arms, and stood back, offering her his hand.

The look on his face was altogether too innocent. Nothing innocuous about him, Rogue reminded herself sternly. Nothing she could take at face value.

Gaze flitting between his face and his hand, Rogue pushed aside the thought that he’d gotten bolder over the last year. What in hell could have happened to him in New Orleans to prompt him into getting so nonchalant about the things that could possibly kill him?

He’d changed his gloves, she thought absently, rubbing at her arms with something close to consternation at the fact that he’d managed to hold on long enough without getting smacked once. The last time she’d seen him, he’d worn scrubby-looking things with the fingers cut off, frayed down to nothing over his knuckles. These were a new acquisition. Thin black fabric covered his palms and thumbs, his middle and ring fingers, but the other digits were exposed.

It was still too much skin, she thought, though she collected herself enough to smile at him derisively.

“Like Ah want you runnin’ around inside my head,” she bit out, turning away.

He laughed outright, the sound reverberating pleasantly in her chest. “How’s that any different from now?” he called after her.

Rogue bristled, wanting nothing more than to turn around and belt him, but instead, she hunched her shoulders and began stalking in the direction of the flames.

“Pompous, self-assured, conniving…” she recited below her breath.

“How bad is it, Rogue?” he called, his tone edged with a grim sort of conceit.

“Ah don’t know what you’re talking about!” she barked, quickening her pace and not turning around.

“How much does it take for you t’ hold back like that? You still can’t control it, can you?” he shouted. “That’s why you didn’t absorb Toady back there. You’re afraid of what might happen if y’ do, that someone else like Apocalypse might come along and try t’ take advantage of what you got again – but lord knows, it’s in your nature, chère. It’s what you are, and someday, you’re gonna get tired of always runnin’ from it!”

She froze.

In the distance, she could make out the floating form of Blob, levitated at least fifty feet of the ground by Jean’s telepathy. They needed her, her conscience reminded her sternly. This joker just wanted to waste her time.

“Ah get by,” she said evenly in the effort to squash the rising swell of humiliation that his words triggered. He knew she hadn’t absorbed anyone; he hadn’t been back in Bayville more than a few hours, and already he understood more about the past year of her life than the people she lived with. Gritting her teeth, Rogue tried to shake it off. The momentary hesitation gave Gambit the opportunity to close the gap between them.

“You can’t live y’ life like that. You keep runnin’ but y’ never get nowhere.” His voice was softer, closer. She heard the whisper of his boots through the manicured grass, smelled that familiar rich, earthen scent that clung to his clothes as he moved to stand behind her. “And the legs get tired after a while,” he said lightly, trying to take the edge off with blunted humor. “Trust me, you run around in my mind enough for me t’ know it.”

She could feel him smirking, and it stung.

“You were gone and you stayed gone,” she returned, accusing. Whipping around to face him again, finding she wasn’t entirely able to walk away without having the last word, she added with barely concealed bitterness, “How’s that for running away?”

He searched her expression a moment, and not for the first time, Rogue was struck by how well she knew his face. Each angle, each shadow, she had memorized, but now that he was standing in front of her – it betrayed his memory. This was too real.

This could not be happening.

“We’re all runnin’ from something,” he replied, his tone subdued. “Sometimes, it ain’t th’ best idea t’ face it down either, but eventually, it’ll find you, and y’ find that you’ve run out of options.” Something in his expression shifted, and for a moment, it seemed as if Gambit was having difficulty metering it all out. There was some truth to it, Rogue decided. That much she understood in the way his eyes clouded.

“One time,” he said slowly, returning to himself. “I told you that there was always gonna be someone watchin’ over you. If it couldn’t be me, it’d be them.”

He looked over her head at the waning battle across the grounds, and forcibly, Rogue had to draw her gaze away. She fixed her attention on a spot just beyond his shoulder so she wouldn’t focus on the way he’d aged. At least he didn’t deny it.

They were subtle changes; longer hair, the rugged stubble that peppered his cheeks, and a hardness to his eyes that she might’ve noticed once, a long time ago, and forgotten. Or maybe it was the look of someone who’d seen and done things she herself could understand from having been to those darker places. They threatened to lure her in with the promise that something surely dwelled inside, laying in wait.

That was Gambit, just a snake in the grass ready to lead her by the wrist to the nearest apple tree.

The flames over the forest had been staunched, and it appeared that the few remaining members of the Brotherhood were just about ready to stagger home, the poor fools.

“Besides,” he said after a moment of scrutinizing her expression and leaving her flushed under his stare. He cracked a small, but triumphant smile. “If y’ want t’ get technical about it, you left me, as I recall.”

Rogue opened her mouth to snarl out something objectionable, but Remy had pressed two covered fingers against her lips in a gesture that should have been romantic. Instead, Rogue flinched, trying to draw backwards on instinct, but finding herself incapable just the same.

“I’m not done,” he said warningly. “You had the choice, and y’ chose them.”

She wrenched his wrist away and jabbed him in the chest with her fingers.

“It doesn’t matter. You’ve done the wrong things for so long now that Ah can’t even begin to figure out which way your head’s screwed on.”

He grinned knowingly, trying with exaggerated vain to school his expression.

“What?” Rogue cried, hating the way her voice cracked.

“I suppose th’ cards I left on your mirror were one of them wrong things, ein?”

Rogue froze, pulling her hand back slowly. Her eyes widened. Remy stepped back, his expression veiled, and slipped his hands into his trench coat, hooking his thumbs into his belt. In the same motion, Rogue touched her fingers to the seam of her pockets, pressing down gingerly and feeling nothing but her own leg through the fabric. With a sinking feeling in her gut, she knew that the cards were no longer where she’d put them.

She’d lost the King and Queen in the scuffle.

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(Revised: August 27, 2007.)