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The Ante
Chapter VIII: The Cold Call
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“Remy!”

To Rogue, her breathing was loud to her own ears — and she was nearly gasping. In the distance, a whippoorwill warbled a tinny falsetto, and beyond that, the open stretch of the interstate hummed with the rush of wind and clatter of truck tires.

True to his word, Gambit had parked his motorcycle in the small parking lot just outside the motel. It was one floor down and three spots over, just as he said. Perched on the bike, his hands in his lap and his head bowed, Remy fiddled with the keys to the Harley.

Fiddling, she thought, nearly breathing a sigh of relief. Was he waiting for her? Just as sharply, a quick twinge of ire at the fact he expected her to stagger after him met with her initial relief. Conflicted, Rogue raked her hands through her hair as she made her way across the second floor balcony.

The clang of her boot heels racketing down the aluminum staircase was unnaturally loud. Despite the fact that her steps were sure, everything else in the surrounding area, including the small thicket of undergrowth and the feeble forestation blocking off the motel from the highway, seemed slightly duller, a little more detached.

It was the polished machine beneath him, the gleaming chrome and brilliant red paint, the dewy black of the wheels, and the scuffed brown of his upturned collar that were the most real to her at that moment.

When Gambit turned his head, it was the glint of his eyes and the tired smudges beneath that seemed to rouse her into full wakefulness. Like emerging from a dream, Remy’s lukewarm reception was the faceful of cold water Rogue needed to realize the seriousness of what he’d been trying to tell her.

Steadying herself against the railing, Rogue found that the metal was cold even beneath her gloved palm.

“Remy?” she said again as she stepped onto the hard concrete.

The sun arched over the treetops in the east. Where the shadows receded, its fingers slowly crept across the parking lot and the light lit his features for the second time that morning.

There was a faint trace of stubble lining Gambit’s jaw, and the little auburn pinch beneath his lower lip was a brighter shade of russet with the sun behind him. He scrubbed at his chin, running his fingertips through his trimmed goatee. For a moment, Rogue wondered what it would feel like to press her naked fingers against the roughened planes of his face — to cup his strong jaw, feeling the muscles flex as he smiled…

She shook herself abruptly.

She shouldn’t be having thoughts like these when she’d obviously hurt him. The realization that she’d been the one to bruise him, not physically, but with her snappish rejoinders, made her stomach constrict. Somehow, she thought, it might’ve been easier for the guy to take a punch.

He… she swallowed, suddenly nervous… he had come back for her. He’d never promised to, never in words; they weren’t friends, and he had no reason to do anything he didn’t have to. She was the self-reliant one. She was the one who’d made the decision to go back to the X-Men — it was just unfortunate that he had reminded her of it. She had done a fair job of convincing herself otherwise.

But he had, as promised, opened the door for her once before.

At least this time it didn’t seem like he’d forcibly shoved her out of it.

Somehow Rogue had hoped that despite everything, he’d left her the Queen of Hearts as a reminder that he would return someday; this was Remy’s version of an I.O.U.

She rubbed the new card between her fingers, feeling its stiff backing bend beneath her gloves.

She sighed quietly, unsure how to begin — if she could begin at all.

Rogue nearly missed the small upturn at the corner of his mouth.

“Bonjour.”

It was just that simple.

And just like that, the spell was broken. Gambit turned back to the keys in his fingers, slinging them around absently. They jangled together, metal clacking into metal against the soft barrier of his palm.

Somehow, she could recall that particular feeling with absurd clarity now that she’d dislodged his memories from her skull. He had calluses, and his fingers would be warm despite the chill — but not quite as warm as his mouth. She rubbed her knuckles absently where he’d left his kiss the night before.

Stop it, she berated herself.

Rogue shut her eyes and took a deep breath. “How far is it to Louisiana?”

He didn’t glance at her as he answered, “’Bout a day’s ride.”

Silence. Nothing sounded save the intermittent drone of cars on the freeway, the irritating call of birds on the far side of the property, and the steady clink of keys.

“And…”

He looked over his shoulder, holding her gaze for a second, and looked away again, squinting into the approaching daylight.

Rogue blew out a breath and shifted her weight, crunching the card a little in her fist. She forced her hand to slacken around it and smoothed it against her hip forcibly.

“And if ya meant what you said up there…”

“I always mean what I say, chère,” he said levelly.

“But ya don’t always say what you mean,” she returned plaintively. “How can Ah believe ya?”

He turned around on the seat, swung his leg over the side, and folded his arms across his chest in a fluid gesture that recalled experience, rather than practice. Scooting over enough so that the passenger seat was free, he patted the space, indicating that she should join him.

Rogue squashed the playing card again in her fist.

“C’mon,” he inclined his head.

She looked at him guardedly. “Said the spider to the fly,” she muttered, to which Gambit grinned and blew out a breath. Looking at her from beneath his lashes, a small smile tugging devilishly at the corner of his mouth, Gambit extracted a battered pack of cigarettes.

“Y’ already got this Cajun tangled up in y’ web, Roguey,” he hummed. “Not much worse you can do t’ me now.”

Rogue started and then pinched her lips shut, swallowing a retort.

“I’m not gonna bite.” Raising an eyebrow, he extracted a Marlboro and clamped it between his lips. The cigarette tilted upwards a little as he smirked. “Not unless y’ ask nicely, anyhow.”

Gingerly, Rogue took a step forwards, though she didn’t take the bait.

Gambit pressed his pinkie finger to the end of the smoke, igniting the tobacco into a slow burn. In his other hand, he began spinning the keys around his index finger.

Tink tink tink tink.

He inhaled, and Rogue watched the muscles across his chest stretch languidly.

The card was fast becoming a wad of matted paper in her palm.

“Can’t ya ever answer a question without skirting around it first?” she asked quietly, her eyes narrowed. Something was amiss here. Granted, Gambit didn’t strike her as the all-benevolent type, but he’d convinced her that somehow she’d slighted him upstairs. This was too nonchalant for forgiveness, and too tense for a good ol’ time between friends.

Which they weren’t, she reminded herself for the second time.

“I’m just thinking,” he replied with a lazy shrug. “If I say th’ wrong thing, you’re gonna bolt like a jack rabbit.” Seeing her incensed expression, he pointed. “Y’ see? Just like that. Or,” he paused, wetting his lip as if tasting the accusation, “You’re gonna try t’ hit me again.”

“Ah didn’t –” Rogue began to protest, but he cut her off with a silencing wave of his hand.

“Non, y’ kicked me in th’ back of the head. Your first punch was too slow. Je m’excuse.” He gestured idly with his smoke, leaving thin, bluish-grey rings to dissolve around his shoulders. “It’s a slight triviality, and I forget these things sometimes. S’ all about the details.” Gambit pursed his lips and took another drag, eyeing her intently.

The keys continued their rapid spin around his free finger. Tink tink tink tink…

“You’re forgetting that this is the second time this has happened,” she countered, ignoring the sound as best she could. “The second time Ah’ve woken up in a strange place, not a hundred percent convinced that you’re lookin’ out for my best interests.”

“Trust me, I remember the first time quite well,” he assured her. “This time, you’re not tied up, not drugged, not nothing. Like I said,” he gestured lazily to the dismal parking lot, “you wanted t’ come. Y’ just –” Gambit hesitated, surveying her expression as if calculating how irate his response would make her, “…didn’t know it yet.”

Rogue inhaled deeply, balling her hands into fists, and squashing the ruined Queen of Hearts against her right hip. She shut her eyes briefly. She was not going to yell at him again, she reassured herself. But he wasn’t making this any easier either.

“You’re singing a different tune now, aincha?” she bit out. When Gambit’s expression didn’t shift from bemused neutrality, she conceded, “Ah don’t remember it. Ah don’t remember making that decision.”

“Vraiment?” he asked, not at all innocently.

Tink tink tink tink tink… Rogue grit her teeth.

“Yeah, really.”

“Mebbe it was th’ shock to your system. It’s been a while since y’ absorbed anybody,” he said.

She looked up at him, surprised at first, before the invasiveness of the statement caught up with her and she glared outright through the hair falling over her face.

“How do ya figure that exactly?”

“Quoi?” Gambit looked around himself, feigning a graceful sort of stupidity that didn’t at all suit him. “That’s why you didn’t want t’ absorb Toad, non? Y’ got control problems, Rogue, and that’s just th’ beginning of the list. You haven’t willingly absorbed anyone since Apocalypse… Haven’t at all, in fact, and I’m willing t’ bet that’s why you’re so wound up at th’ fact that it had t’ be me who broke y’ track record.”

“No one knows that,” she hissed, stepping forwards. “No one except –”

“Th’ Professor and th’ good Doctor McCoy.” He nodded, narrowing his eyes as he met her glare. “It’s in your file — but that I knew six months back,” he added flippantly.

“What file?” she demanded, forcefully swatting at the hovering cloud of smoke he blew upwards to avoid sending it straight into her face. It still stank.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’m impressed you held out this long without using your powers. I’m more impressed that no one else figured it out.” He paused, speculative. “Does Wolvie know?”

“No,” Rogue ground out.

Nodding as if he’d suspected as much, but found it amusing nonetheless, he chuckled. “Us two — y’ know th’ story, chère — we both got our share of secrets. Sometimes it’s better t’ keep a lil’ mystère about, non? Saves a lot of heartache.”

“Don’t change the subject,” she snapped, her patience wearing dangerously thin. “Ya keep avoiding the question, Cajun.”

“And you keep avoiding th’ problem,” he pointed out.

“Ah didn’t have a problem until ya showed up,” she retorted.

“And y’ still don’t. All you’ve got is a choice,” he said. “You can gimme the benefit of the doubt, get on this bike, and forgive my past transgressions, or you can tell me t’ stuff myself, and I’ll take you home.”

Gaping, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly, Rogue spluttered.

“Just think about it for a second.” Remy held up his hand, mimicking her threat from earlier by waggling his bare fingers, the keys dangling against his palm. It was the same warning gesture she’d used as leverage against Toad, one meant to inspire fear, to convey the danger that one touch was all it took to break a person.

One touch made her a liability.

“How long y’ wanna wait before you learn that you don’t have t’ live like that?” he asked, all traces of mirth wiped away with the illusion that morning in this ramshackle, nowhere part of Pennsylvania was pretty.

“Like what?” Rogue hugged herself, her mouth suddenly dry.

“Y’ think that mebbe you’d be a lil’ less obvious if y’ didn’t keep up this act?” He pointed at her with his cigarette, remembering finally to tap off the ash.

Up and down, and circling around her face, Gambit gave her a wry look. “Th’ makeup, th’ clothes. It’s very Seattle mid nineteen ninety. You keep everyone at a distance. Y’ done it so long I don’t think you even realize it anymore.” He shook his head. “You keep scaring everyone away who tries t’ get close.”

She snorted, struggling to keep her voice free of the sharp strain of anger. “Where do you get off?”

Gambit paused, a slow grin spreading across his face as sure as sloe gin leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Rogue winced a moment too late.

“Y’ wanna find out?” he asked, voice thick with suggestion.

“Ah set myself up for that, didn’t Ah?” she said flatly.

“No more then usual, chèrie.” Grinning, he flicked his cigarette into the gutter behind her.

Rogue watched the embers bounce into nothingness, blown away by a halting breeze that couldn’t decide which direction to blow the ashes in.

“You don’t know me,” she said after a moment.

“I know more than y’ think.”

“This ‘file’ of yours? Probably somethin’ pulled together by Magneto, right?” She shook her head, glowering. “If you wanted ta know anything about my life, he ain’t the person ta talk to.”

“I know.”

Surprised at his easy acquiescence, Rogue blinked at him for a long moment. Unspoken was the mutual understanding that if Magneto hadn’t spilled the beans about her life with or before the X-Men, her estranged mother had probably done her share of damage.

Damnit, she thought.

“So ya don’t know me, swamp rat.” She swallowed hard and dug her fingers into her arms, trying as best she could to mask the sudden swell of insecurity from being scrutinized so brazenly. The ragged corner of the Queen poked out between her fingers and elbow, and taking no notice of it, Rogue didn’t bother trying to hide the card. “You couldn’t possibly know what Ah want.”

Gambit’s gaze seemed to fall on the small triangle of paper; it was white and red against the black of Rogue’s uniform, a stark contrast to the reinforced material. He didn’t mention it. A moment later his attention was fixed on her expression squarely, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Not if y’ don’t gimme the chance.”

Startled by the abrupt attempt to lighten the mood, Rogue laughed humorlessly and turned away. Nothing good could possibly come of this. If Gambit was anything like he was a year back, there was nothing selfless about this entire interlude. She had every reason to be suspicious, she reminded herself. No one, no one at all offered up that sort of unconditional, incredible promise of control without wanting something in return. Never mind that the thought alone was too big to grasp at once. If anything, it was crap. Crap on toast, Rogue decided – so why, for the life of her, was she entertaining the idea of sticking around?

Tink tink tink tink tink tink tink tink…

Gambit began twirling the keys again.

“Do ya have ta have an answer ta everything?” she asked finally, ignoring the small lump gathering at the base of her throat.

“Do you have t’ be so stubborn?” he shot back, this time a little more good-naturedly.

“Ah don’t trust ya,” she said.

“That’s funny. Half th’ time I rarely trust myself.” He winked.

“Just tell me something,” she said quietly, ignoring his attempt to banter again.

“Shoot.”

She turned and looked at him hard.

“Why are you doing this?”

Gambit stood up, the motorcycle groaning as he lifted his weight. He took a step forwards so that he towered over her and then leaned down a little so that their gazes were somewhat level.

“I’m doin’ this for me,” he replied, an unshakable intentness changing his entire countenance.

Rogue blinked. Well, she had expected a whole lot of different things to come tumbling out of his mouth, but she hadn’t expected that. The leaden, heavy sensation in her stomach didn’t ease her tension, but she nodded slowly nonetheless. It was probably as close to the truth as he would get.

A pregnant pause settled between them, neither willing to step away. Rogue searched his expression. Veiled as it was, it didn’t betray him. Lord, he’d had practice with his poker face. What in hell was she getting herself into?

Finally, bitterly, Rogue accepted with a frown and a nod.

Gambit’s eyes widened slightly as if surprised that she wasn’t arguing with him, and when Rogue moved to turn away, he tucked two fingers beneath her chin and drew her gaze back to his.

“Don’t,” she cut him off firmly. She set her jaw, daring him to respond.

Gambit reserved himself to a slight inclination of his head.

“If Ah find out,” she said in a throaty purr, “that ya lied ta me, that this is just another scam ta use my powers for your own benefit?”

A small smirk quirked the corner of his mouth, but he repressed it and cleared his throat. Ducking his head, he squinted at her almost comically.

Rogue dropped her gaze, lingering pointedly on his mouth.

“Ah am gonna call up the organization that fitted Logan with his claws,” she murmured, finding she was able to taste the smoke when he breathed, “and Ah’m gonna have ‘em do the same thing ta me. And when that’s done? Ah’m gonna slice up your hide, find that Tante of yours, and have her make me some real gumbo.”

She smacked her lips, her eyes narrowed to slits.

Gambit ‘hmmed’ and lidded his eyes, apparently appreciating how close their little tête-à-tête put them in proximity to one another. “Y’ just can’t wait t’ get a piece of this homme for yourself, can you?”

She scrunched her nose. “Ah take it back. Ah think ya might be too wirey ta make a good soup.”

His gloved fingers moving beneath her chin made her snap her mouth shut in haste. Bare skin held away from her delicately, Gambit did not hesitate to slide his covered knuckles against her cheek as a reminder.

She stiffened, all too aware of the risk inherent in getting too close to him. What if his “shield” failed? What if her mutation was stronger than what he could handle? Oh shit, Rogue thought. Oh hell. He’d let go of his control last night, she realized. Absorption wasn’t impossible. Rogue wet her lips, readying to ease out of his grasp. The sudden awareness of how desperately stupid the entire situation was turning out to be made her shiver.

Gambit noticed, but he misunderstood the involuntary reaction as one of pleasure.

“Y’ wouldn’t accept an apology,” he murmured, seemingly satisfied that she was distracted. His thumb sliding against her jaw left a warm trail behind on her skin, the lightest brush of thin fabric the only thing keeping her rooted to the spot. “Not last year, not right now. This is how I’m gonna atone for it.”

It was like a rock dropping in the deep pond of self-awareness. The admission broke her unease, hauling her back to the shores of control like a lifeline.

Atone for what, she thought? Kidnapping her? Rogue wanted to scoff.

He leaned closer, invading her space. Holding firm, not pulling back, she decided. What utter crap, she thought. Who did he think he was fooling? Instead of drawing away, she leaned imperceptibly forwards.

“Cajun?” she murmured, peering down at the palm of his hand below her chin and dragging her gaze to his mouth — a bare few inches away from hers.

“Oui, chèrie?”

His breath came out in a moist tuft against her chin. Rogue sucked in a small breath through parted lips, smiling secretively.

“Just because you can touch me,” she whispered, her eyelids fluttering closed, her arm drawing back to find just the right amount of force, “doesn’t mean Ah’m gonna let ya.”

Gambit staggered backwards, cursing colorfully and caught off guard by the sharp pain in his stomach where Rogue had elbowed him.

“Just a technicality,” he coughed, his hands braced against his knees where he stood doubled over. He grinned despite the attack.

Rogue snorted, advancing on light feet. Deftly, she plucked the keys from the ground before he could straighten up.

“Admit it, swamp rat, you ain’t used ta having someone set ya straight,” she said.

Hooking the small bundle of jangling keys into a belt loop behind her back, Rogue bit down on the middle finger of her left glove, peeling it off with her teeth.

“Non, mais, c’est quand-même amusant,” he returned, prodding his ribs gingerly.

“Only you would think it’s an enjoyable past time ta get knocked around by a girl,” she muttered wryly, tucking the glove beneath her arm and sliding out the Queen with her bare fingers. She hoped this would work. It would be the only way she’d know for sure if she could tolerate him.

“But what a fine fille she is,” he leered, jutting his chin as he stretched his side. “Y’ can smack this homme around as much as you like, p’tit. Punishment ain’t exactly my thing, but if you’ve offering t’ spank me…” He paused, his eyes flitting between her hand and the crook of her arm. “That was th’ best pull I’ve seen y’ do yet,” he admitted.

“Really? Why thank ya Mister LeBeau. Ah guess having a little bit of your filth in my head might be beneficial,” she quipped.

“Unless you aim t’ be playing dirty, I dunno how much good that’s gonna do ya.”

“Well, since we’re settling old scores this morning…” She sauntered up to him with a swagger that would have made Logan proud. Gambit cocked an eyebrow, amused by her boldness. Rogue’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s just say Ah owe ya this one.”

She held his gaze and presented the card to him, face up. Frowning, Gambit peered down at the Queen.

A slow grin broke out over his face, and he leaned forwards, grasping the card — ensuring that his fingers grazed hers. Her inhalation was audible, and Rogue’s attention snapped downwards at the feeling of warm, dry fingertips over her knuckles. His fingers were covered, she reminded herself. She had to pull this one off on her own, just like the Danger Room.

“This mean you forgive me?” He lidded his gaze and pulled her towards him a little. Rogue, responding in kind, leaned in, her eyes downcast. “I told you y’ were th’ sentimental type.”

When she looked up finally, she was smiling.

The shade of her eyes shifted from grey, to hazel, to green — and then, like smoke, from the corners tumbled deep obsidian. The black quickly overtook the white of her sclera, and her pupils slid into a burning red to match Remy’s own.

“This means Ah’ll give ya the benefit of the doubt,” she murmured. “For now.”

Between them, the Queen of Hearts flared to life — it crackled in Remy’s fingers as Rogue let go and made a break for the bike.

Gambit stared at her retreating figure a moment, considering. Awkwardly, she shook his wrist, sending sparks to the pavement below, before peering down at the charged card.

With a grin, he shouted after her, “I like th’ odds of that!”

A deft flick of his wrist, and the Queen sailed into the parking lot behind him. It exploded, sending a shower of gravel into the air just as Rogue jammed the key into the bike’s ignition, and revved the engine.

“You coming, Cajun?” The bike rumbled; a growling, thrumming thing between her legs that shuddered to life satisfyingly. She glanced over her shoulder, daring him to follow with a quirk of her mouth.

Cracking his neck, Remy tipped his head to the side, appreciative of the view she presented him with for just a moment. Without preamble, he broke into a sprint as Rogue swung the bike around. Trench coat flapping open, legs pumping, Gambit leapt and landed on the seat behind her before she could ride off without him. The force of the hit caused the bike to fishtail, spitting gravel and dirt in an arc behind them, and Rogue was forced to lean hard to level off.

“Didn’t say nothing about y’ driving,” he said into her ear a moment later as Rogue turned the motorcycle west and they peeled out of the parking lot.

She tensed, his hot breath against the back of her neck sending a shiver, a rather pleasant one this time, down her spine. Gambit slid both hands lightly into the juncture where her thighs met her hips, and Rogue blanched — the bike veering dangerously left, cutting off a beaten Buick as they reached the overpass.

He chuckled. She could practically feel him wetting his lips.

“And Ah didn’t say nothing about putting your damned hands all over me!” she snapped over her shoulder. “Hold on to the bike, swamp rat, or I’ll leave ya with stubs instead of arms!”

“And if Remy falls off? Y’ gonna come back for me?” he teased.

She snorted, twisting the throttle hard and accelerating as they took the turnoff onto the interstate. “Ah think you’d make a handsome stain on the road, cher,” she shot back.

“That’s not right,” he spluttered, indignant. “What have I done t’ deserve such cruel treatment?”

“Naw, sugah, that’s just my take on your lame pick up lines.”

“That Mississippi flavor, ein?”

“Damn right.”

“Bet it tastes like mud pie,” he goaded, obligingly removing his hands from her hips. He gripped the back of the seat and leaned forwards to blow into her ear.

“You ain’t never gonna find out either way,” she snapped, hunching her shoulders against the tickle of hot air. He smelled like smoke and spent spearmint. “Ah said –”

Remy grinned, peering at her in the rear-view mirror and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Y’ said ‘don’t touch meh!’” he parroted in a falsetto. “And I’m not!”

Rogue grumbled, scowling at him in their shared reflection, and then took a double take at her smeared eyeliner.

“Oh my gawd…”

Behind her, Remy chuckled at the horrified look on her face, partially relieved that her eyes had returned to their normal color. “You’re beautiful, chèrie,” he said huskily against the shell of her ear. Rogue flinched, her lips drawn down into a thin line, choosing to ignore him.

A few minutes passed in silence, the sound of the bike a steady purr beneath the pair of them while Rogue grew increasingly irritable.

“Cajun!” she barked after a moment, swerving the bike between two shuddering trucks warningly. “Stop smellin’ my hair!”

---

“I don’t like this one bit, Chuck.”

Charles Xavier steeped his fingers pensively before his face, his elbows resting on the arms of his motorized wheelchair. Surrounding him at the kitchen table, the X-Men scrubbed the sleep out of their eyes, sipping coffee or tea or juice. Absent were the younger students, who had lingered long enough to be debriefed in the early hours of the morning regarding the Brotherhood’s attack, and were now regaining their energy or tending to minor injuries.

“It is suspicious behavior, I must admit — but perhaps we are overestimating the gravity of the situation. Gambit would not attempt a second kidnapping.”

“How can you know that?” Wolverine growled, pausing in his pacing. The Professor was showing visible signs of fatigue, having stayed up the better part of the night attempting to determine a reasonable course of action that would not involve a nationwide bounty hunt.

“I am familiar with him, Logan,” he replied simply.

“Either you’re not telling us everything, Charles, or you really have no idea what to do. I say you let me take the jet, and we’ll have Rogue home by dinner. How does everyone feel about a little bit of mutant jambalaya at seven? I’ll bet there’s still enough meat on Gambit’s hide to carve out a nice chunk.”

“Ew, I’d rather not.” Kitty winced, rubbing at her face. She sagged against the kitchen counter, having returned to the deliberations table moments ago from a disturbingly sleepless night.

“If I may propose a theory?” Henry interjected, pushing his glasses up on his nose. He pulled several printouts towards him. “I am afraid I must agree with the Professor, Logan — granted, I do not share the same rapport with our estranged colleague — but the evidence regarding Gambit’s present evolutionary status would suggest that his verbal methods of coercion have improved considerably.”

“You’re saying he talked Rogue into going with him?” Logan snarled.

“It is a distinct possibility,” Henry replied thoughtfully. “I was under the impression that the pair shared a fledgling camaraderie upon Rogue’s return from Louisiana last year. Incidentally, Gambit does possess mild hypnotic powers. It wouldn’t be entirely unreasonable to suggest that he finessed the conversation to some degree. Regardless, Rogue’s self-imposed mental blocks would have blunted the effect — perhaps not entirely, but I would imagine that she would not lose her wits fully were that the case.”

“But there’s no guarantee?”

“No,” Henry said. “Nothing is assured at this point.”

“They were friends, you think?” Kurt piped up. “I thought Rogue hated him?”

Kitty shook her head. “She never mentioned him, you know? But then again, Rogue doesn’t exactly tell me all her secrets.” To emphasize her point, Kitty nudged at the pair of cards she’d placed on the table for everyone’s inspection the night before. The King and Queen of Hearts stared vacantly overhead at the florescent lights, the message across them dark and black across their faces.

Scott didn’t move from his seat other than to grimace at the cards. “I still can’t believe Gambit got into the mansion undetected.”

“Into Rogue’s room,” Logan growled. “Wonder how many times he’s managed to pull that off right under our noses? Chuck?” he added suspiciously. If anyone would know about a security breech like that, Charles would.

The Professor remained pensive, and after a long moment, he answered, “Never. This has been the first incident where Gambit has infiltrated the mansion’s walls.”

“But not the first time he’s been on the grounds?” Scott pressed.

“No,” he replied, his tone neutral.

“Great,” Logan snarled.

“Do not blame yourself, Wolverine. I have been aware of Gambit’s activities for some time, as has Jean. We have monitored his movements as best as we could. As it were, Gambit’s mutation creates a substantial psionic block.”

Several heads swiveled to look at Jean, seated next to Scott. She flushed a little, but met everyone’s accusing stares.

“If it helps any,” she managed, “he hasn’t been here in a year. The Professor and I only noted his return two days ago with the help of Cerebro.”

“At which point, he reacquainted himself with Rogue,” Henry supplied.

“He WHAT?” Logan and Kurt barked simultaneously.

Jean sighed. “They had a conversation,” she said.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Kurt blanched. “That’s my sister, you know. And Gambit’s… Gambit!”

“Quiet, Elf,” Logan snapped. “Why weren’t we informed of this ‘conversation’?”

“Talking isn’t a crime, is it?” Jean returned archly. “We thought it might be good for Rogue to socialize outside of her immediate circle.” Jean hesitated, seeming to realize that the popular opinion was the exact opposite.

“Everyone, please.” The Professor rubbed at his temples. “I must remind you that we are not in the same predicament as we were one year ago. Jean and I both feel that Gambit’s intentions are non-hostile, perhaps even benevolent.”

“But, Professor, how can you know that without being able to get into Gambit’s head?”

“Because Gambit likes her,” Kitty blurted, and almost as quickly, she clamped her hands over her mouth.

Kurt craned around, a horrified look on his face. “Katschen?”

Mutely, she pointed at the cards and the message scrawled across them. “It’s right out of Cosmo,” she said apologetically. For a moment, it looked as if Jean wanted to pat her reassuringly.

Professor Xavier chuckled. “Perhaps nothing so dramatic, Kitty. I am inclined to believe that Gambit may feel somewhat indebted to Rogue, however. Given the circumstances of their abrupt departure, he may have come to the forgone conclusion that our response may not have been favorable to a proposed vacation.”

Logan snorted and Scott muttered, “Is it any wonder? He sent the Brotherhood here as a decoy to distract us. He’s a bad seed, Professor.”

“That’s not ‘non-hostile’ to me,” Kurt agreed.

“Rogue doesn’t exactly do coffee dates, though,” Kitty countered. “Honestly!” she added when Kurt looked at her like she’d sprouted a second head.

“A-co-lyte,” Kurt supplied, enunciating clearly for her. “Lackey.”

“Without Magneto around, Gambit has no one to… lackey… to, though,” Kitty argued. “Who else would he be working for?”

Piotr, who has otherwise remained silent for the duration of the morning’s conversation, murmured, “I vos an Acolyte as well.”

Kurt gaped, realizing his blunder and trying unsuccessfully to backtrack. “Sorry, meinfreund,” he said finally. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What about Rogue?” Jean asked, standing. “Don’t you think we’re putting a bit too much responsibility on Gambit, here? She’s nineteen, and you all know just how stubborn she can be. Contrary to popular belief, she is capable of making her own decisions.”

Several glances were exchanged across the table.

“Nope.”

“Not possible, Red.”

“Nien.”

Henry cleared his throat. “Might I offer a hypothesis?” He pulled out a chart outlining Rogue’s bioelectrical scan from the previous day’s Danger Room session. Alongside it, he placed a similar linear scan, belonging to Gambit. “The scans denote the variation in molecular constitution at the height of physical exertion, at the exact moment when there is a release of bioelectrical charge. If you look here, here, and here, there are enormous augmentations of kinetic feedback in various places on both readouts,” he explained. Henry slid the two translucent acetates over one another. “They appear near-indistinguishable.”

“In English, Hank,” Logan muttered.

Henry blinked.

“It appears that Rogue absorbed Gambit, if partially,” he translated. “These assessments are his and her readouts, respectively.”

“Indeed, that is enormous personal progress,” the Professor murmured, a small smile apparent on his thin lips.

Kurt opened his mouth, closed it, looked to Kitty, who shook her head, and said, defeated, “I think I don’t get it.”

“Rogue hasn’t absorbed anyone since Apocalypse,” Logan ground out. “Not by accident, and not on her own. Think about it, Elf. When was the last time she used anyone else’s powers in a training session?”

“Oh my gosh,” Kitty murmured, her elbows phasing into the table a little before righting herself.

“Was? Does that mean she’s had control this long and hasn’t told anyone?”

Scott shook his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it. Storm, did you know about this too?”

Ororo nodded silently. “It was evident. Rogue’s lack of faith in herself has been as much a hindrance as her inability to touch without harming another. She fears that someone may try to take advantage of her unique abilities again.”

“Was!” Kurt shouted for the second time, his head snapping back and forth between his team-mates.

“No, Kurt,” the Professor answered patiently. “Rogue has not developed any more control over her powers than she has had previously. She has been exceptionally careful not to use her own mutation against anyone, in turn so it may not be used against her as it was when Mesmero used her as a vessel to deliver Apocalypse. She has instead focused on other means of self-discipline and combat tactics to survive the Danger Room sessions. She has been quite successful thus far.”

“And pretty clever about hiding it, too,” Scott muttered. Jean patted his shoulder consolingly.

“Only from you, kid,” Logan muttered, resuming his pacing. “No one hides anything from me in this house, no matter what they might think.”

“Hey!” Kurt and Kitty echoed. Logan grunted in response.

“Consequently, there is a distinct possibility that with Gambit’s evolved mutation, he has presented to Rogue the opportunity to take matters into her own hands as well.”

“Doesn’t that guy know that if a thing ain’t broke you shouldn’t fix it?” Logan grumbled.

“Rogue may not see things in the same light,” Jean interjected. “Think about it. If you were her, what would you do if someone gave you the opportunity to obtain full control?”

“Stripes isn’t that desperate,” he growled. “This has everything to do with Gumbo. Whatever the hell he told her to get her to leave with him, I don’t like it.”

“Mr. Logan?”

“What, Half-Pint?”

Kitty fidgeted, folding her knees beneath her on the stool. “Maybe she is.” She shrugged, wincing a little. “I mean, you can kind of tell, can’t you? With Rogue, I mean? She doesn’t like her powers.”

“Like?” Kurt squeaked. “More like she hates them.”

“We must not confuse hate with fear, Kurt,” the Professor corrected. “Rogue has undergone many tribulations at the hands of her mutation — whether directly or by the influence of others. If it is Gambit who has managed to entice Rogue to trust herself in respect to her abilities, then I can say in full confidence that Rogue will be in contact shortly.”

“The dilemma,” supplied Henry, “is not necessarily the methods by which Gambit has proposed such a drastic physiological change, but how he intends to accomplish it.”

The Professor nodded. “I agree, Hank.”

“Mr. McCoy?” Kitty asked.

“Allow me to surmise my findings, again. Perhaps that way we may investigate the options more thoroughly by understanding Gambit’s modified mutation.”

“Great,” Logan rumbled. “With all do respect, Hank, Charles, but the more time we sit around trying to figure out what Gumbo’s got cooked up, the more time we spend idealizing the why and the how, the farther away Rogue’s getting.”

“I’m sorry Professor, but I have to agree,” Scott chimed in. “We could be using our time more effectively if we were to track Rogue.”

“Find the Cajun and ask questions later.” Logan nodded grimly.

“Do you not mean, ‘Slice first, ask questions later?’” Storm murmured.

“That’d work, too.” He flashed teeth at Ororo in the semblance of a grin. “That punk and I have a score to settle for the last time he did something this stupid. He’s just doubled the bounty on his head.”

Henry puffed himself up, clearing his throat, and folded his large blue hands on the tiled tabletop before him.

“Go ahead, Hank,” Logan muttered, giving in though he rubbed his knuckles impatiently.

As Henry opened his mouth to slip into lecture mode, he was cut off abruptly by the sharp ringing of the kitchen’s telephone.

“Kurt?” The Professor smiled, gesturing to his student. “You will want to answer that call, and please, hold the line for me. I will take it in my office.”

“Chuck?” Logan cocked an eyebrow accusingly, knowing something more was transpiring, and not liking it one bit.

Charles paused, his wheelchair humming silently as he turned before the door. The phone rang again, and he nodded for Kurt to pick up the line.

“It’s Rogue.”

---

Translations:
Attends, p’tit: Wait a second, little one
Bonjour: Hello/good morning
Certainement: Certainly
Fille: girl
Homme: man
Mam’selle: (Madamoiselle) Miss
Merde: Shit
Non: No
Non, mais, c’est quand-meme amusant: No, but it’s still funny
Oui: Yes
Quoi: what
Vraiment: Really