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The Ante
Chapter X: Black Maria
(Part 1/2)
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Chances.

In a man’s life, an ordinary man’s life, he is offered a handful at best: mercy, forgiveness, empathy, unconditional trust, a willing ear, and a guiding hand on the shoulder. For an ordinary man, these things suffice.

Remy fingered the instructions card, shucked into his palm from a new deck he’d found stashed away in one of his many coat pockets.

He wasn’t an ordinary man; never had been, never would be. Remy ran through his chances like he did his cards – fifty-two per fight, per hour, per day, per week – when needed, when bored, when at rest. Fifty-two chances offered graciously by the Bicycle Card Company whenever he needed them. A dollar in your pocket could buy you a lifetime of better odds.

Better days, however… those come at a higher price.

Remy LeBeau would know.

Beside him, the phone sat cooling in its cradle, warmed briefly by his ear where he’d kept it tucked between his shoulder and chin for a quick conversation with someone two states away. Someone with the ability to carry off a bout of histrionics that would distract a roomful of people long enough to slip a bogus payoff from the coffee table and ditch the damned thing in a mailbox for collection and disposal. St. John Allerdyce was the next best thing to an Ace up the sleeve as far as Remy was concerned – though Remy himself kept the Jokers under his cuffs.

Fitting, really.

Rogue, out of earshot, was talking to Xavier or Cyclops or one of the more “responsible” adults of the Institute.

Remy knew this because if it had been Wolvie, he’d have wrested the phone from her grasp just to taunt the old man. Remy knew this because Rogue’s gaze had flicked in his direction only once since the long-distance arguing had tapered off. Remy knew this because, as imperceptible as it would be to anyone else, Rogue had drawn a little closer to herself in the most subtle of ways.

He saw it in the roll of her shoulders, the petulant thrust of a hip where she tipped against the aluminum siding of the phone booth, and the nervous habit of folding her arms across her chest – gripping one elbow with a gloved hand. With her head bowed, the only part of her visible through her thick shock of hair was the lower half of her face. She chewed on the inside of her lower lip, and for a moment, Remy wanted nothing more than to smooth his thumb against that tense curve of pink.

The instructions card flared to life between his fingers – a dull bit of charge to remind him that the odds were still in favor.

They would come. Sooner or later, all of them would converge on the French Quarter – the X-Men, the Brotherhood, and the others when they realized he’d defied them and returned home.

For now, the game was played between him and Rogue. Priorities first, as they say.

He doused the charge, reabsorbing the jittering energy that made the hair on the back of his arms stand at attention, and relished in the pleasant aftershock as his body neutralized the small effort. He ditched the instructions, rolling the card into a tight cylinder and slipped it into the payphone’s change dispenser.

“Ya shouldn’t litter,” Rogue called, hanging up the phone.

“I wasn’t,” he returned, not looking up.

“Ya shouldn’t lie either,” she retorted.

Remy smirked, enjoying the grosgrain rasp of Rogue’s voice as she got angry.

She was hard as nails, bit to the quick, and every primal instinct that Remy had ever possessed declared that it was a sound that didn’t need to be honeyed to get any sweeter. Dieu, what had he done to her to make her hate him so much?

Remy ran his thumb against the deck of cards in his hand, flicking at them absently as their hushed conference served to stoke the flame beneath Rogue’s ire.

Fifty-two chances for any other time and any other day; but for once in a long time, Remy only had one option available — and this was it.

The hell he wasn’t about to make it worth his while.

“What are ya smirking at, swamp rat?”

He peered at her from beneath his fringe, shifting his weight against the phone booth to better slide his gaze from her ankles to the top of her head in one slow sweep.

“What did dey tell y’ now?”

“What ya didn’t.”

Slow swing of hips, shoulders following the lazy curve of her spine, the drag of boot heels on broken concrete – there was no denying it; a year ago, Rogue had been awkward, hostile, and insecure. She masked it over with a thick coat of eye shadow and a heavy lipstick, sure, but beneath all that, there was this creature.

She folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow.

Remy couldn’t control it – the same shit-eating grin fixed firmly in place was answer enough most of the time for most ladies, but Rogue wouldn’t take that from him. She didn’t want that from him.

Then again, Rogue wasn’t exactly a lady.

This creature standing before him, Remy thought, lazily dragging his thumb over the edges of the pack, this creature was something new. She was just as hostile as ever and still insecure, but the fluidity of her step betrayed her. She walked differently, and she held herself differently. From the smooth slope of her neck to the slight outturn of her ankle, those slim legs, and the slight musculature of her inner thighs – the format was the same, but the content had changed. The rules were different, but he didn’t need an instructions card to know that.

Sometime over the past year, probably when Remy had been doing a fair deal of arguing with Jean Luc or kicking the utter shit out of Julien because of inter-Guild politics, Rogue had slid into a new skin.

She wasn’t a predator yet, but her stripes were definitely beginning to show.

Remy wet his lips.

“What didn’t I say, chérie?”

More appealing still was the fact she didn’t know or just didn’t care that she had grown into something beautiful.

Remy figured it was the former. She would have gotten out of the whole goth thing if that were the case. Then again, not everyone used their assets to their advantage. If she had been inclined, Rogue would have made an exceptional Acolyte – had they been on the same side back then.

“First of all, ya touched me without telling me so two days ago.”

“Slip of de wrist. Wasn’t nothin’.”

“Really? Well apparently it ain’t since Beast has been running tests on us both.”

Remy cocked an eyebrow, slightly bemused. He’d expected as much – hoped for it, even. If there was one thing to be said about the X-Men, their doctor and resident scientist, Henry McCoy, was certainly efficient. The fact that he’d already run the scans proved that.

“An’ what did de good doctor tell y’?”

She raised her chin defiantly, eyes flaring beneath the smear of makeup that marred her complexion and at the same time, gave her the protection she craved.

Everything and everyone were held at arm’s length – not for their safety, but for her own. It was a strategy Remy knew well – he’d coined it. He had Bella to thank for that, at least partially, and he himself for the rest. Remy shoved the thought aside and focused on the girl in front of him.

Rogue just dolled it up a little.

“Ah didn’t speak ta him. The Professor told me. Ya don’t really know what’s happened to ya.”

“I know enough.”

“Yo’ not fully evolved.”

“C’est possible.” He shrugged, matching her stance by folding his own arms – the deck of cards slid easily out of sight for later. “Woulda held on longer if I could have.” He winked. “Y’ wanna know somethin’, Rogue? Y’ gotta ask. Y’ can’t draw out de bluff with me.”

She shook her head. “We’re not playing.”

“Gimme time.”

She blew out a breath, rolling her eyes heavenwards and cupping her hands around her face to look at the sky without being blinded by the newly risen sun. It was going to be a warm day. Clear blue stretched overhead without a cloud in sight. Good weather to ride.

“Not even if you were Trent Reznor, Cajun.”

Remy chuckled. Figures she’d listen to that sort of thing. He’d have to remember to find that CD.

“Look, they ain’t coming for me just yet. As it is, Ah figure we’re gonna have ta put up with each other until we meet with that friend of yours.”

He regarded her, expressionless. Rogue dropped her hands and fixed her gaze at a spot beyond his shoulder.

“Y’ sayin’ y’ barely tolerating me?”

She fought back a grimace, and Remy watched, intrigued, as her jaw twitched.

“Barely is a huge understatement,” she said firmly. “Ya said ya made this offer ta me ta help yo’self. Ah don’t know what that means, but Ah’m not gonna push it. Whatever ya meant by that, it doesn’t sound much better than any of the other garbage ya been spewin’ since ya showed up.”

“S’ de truth,” he replied evenly.

“How can Ah believe that? Ya couldn’t even tell me Ah was a test run ta see if yo’ powers had been boosted. Ya touched me without letting me know. Ya shouldn’t have. It wasn’t yo’ place ta make that decision for me.”

“Dat was a mistake,” he said quietly, taking a step forwards just as she took a step back. “I wasn’t expecting de damn branch t’ break on me.”

“Don’t ya come any closer,” she warned. “Ya might be able ta filter off the memories ya want ta let me see, ya might be able ta hold up that force field of yours for a little while, but ya don’t know for how long, and Ah’ll be damned if Ah’ll be the one ta help ya test yo’ limits.”

“M’ not afraid of y’ Rogue.”

She snorted, glaring at him. “Ya should be.”

Slowly, Remy shook his head. “Fear hobbles a man. M’ not dat sort.”

“No, ya got a death wish.”

“Mebbe I don’ have anyt’ing t’ lose.”

She paused, peering up at him. Gingerly, he took a step closer so that he stepped within the circle of her personal space. She sucked in a breath but otherwise held her ground.

“Yo’ tempting fate,” she whispered, eyes wide. Dieu, how much did she hate this? Remy couldn’t imagine. Everything within’ reach, but all off limits – self-imposed restrictions that kept the thermometer hot enough to crack, but always just stopping short.

“And’ y’ just plain temptin’,” he whispered back, offering her a small smile to break the tension.

“If Ah didn’t know better, Ah’d say ya were putting on this act just ta get under my skin,” she breathed, scrutinizing him.

“Is it workin’?”

“Ya know it ain’t.”

“I t’ink y’ mouth moves quicker den y’ mind, chérie. Y’ ret’inking dat already,” he said softly, tilting his head a little and leaning forwards so that she’d feel the soft caress of his breath against her cheek.

“Ah think ya too self-assured for yo’ own good.” She shivered, turning her head to the side.

“I t’ink y’ like it.”

“Ah think ya better take a step back from the stove before ya get burnt.”

“I like playing with fire.”

“Then go find yo’ old buddy Pyro.”

They stared at each other hard, Remy enjoying the way her glare intensified. He was practically towering over her, their torsos nearly brushing. He didn’t dare drag his gaze away to admire the quick rise and fall of her chest – the scooped neck of her uniform offering a tantalizing display of creamy flesh, flushed a little pink around her collarbone and spreading to her neck prettily.

“Y’ got some brass, Rogue,” he acknowledged after a moment. She stepped back, finally thrown off guard.

Point, Remy thought.

As cliché as it was, perhaps honesty was the best policy. Pity she only believed him one time out of ten.

He’d have to work on that.

“I appreciate dat.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I said, I appreciate dat.”

“Ah heard what ya said. It’s the way ya said it that’s unnerving.”

He shrugged. “There’s a lot y’ dunno about m’. We carry on like dis and I prolly won’t live as far as Tennessee. You’ll end up dropping m’ bones in a bag on Jean Luc’s doorstep.”

“Is that what this is about? Ah knew it!” She poked him in the chest. Remy frowned at her gloved fist as she jabbed at him.

“How’s dat fair?” He looked at her hand pointedly. “Y’ can touch m’ but I can’t touch y’?”

She tore her arm away.

“What’s wrong with Jean Luc this time?”

“Everyt’ing,” he replied dryly. “But dat don’t have anyt’ing t’ do with y’.”

She narrowed her eyes and hissed, “Prove it.”

“Mon dieu que c’est fatiguant.” He rolled his eyes, and Rogue slapped at his arm. “Ow! Merde!” he shouted playfully, shrugging away from her with an exaggerated stagger. “Garde,” he said, grinning and holding his hands defensively before him, “Jean Luc kicked m’ out.”

“Like Ah believe that,” she scoffed.

“M’ serious! Y’ just gonna have t’ see where m’ living t’ believe it.”

“In the gutter?” she returned sardonically. “Ah could see that, Ah think. It’d suit ya. Gonna have ta change yo’ name now to sewer rat instead of –”

“Rogue!” he said loudly. “Jus’ stop f’ a second. Y’ can smack m’ around more later. Y’ wanna know? M’ tellin’ y’.” He dipped his head, crooking a finger beneath her chin and lifting her gaze to meet his. She slapped at his hand. Remy put it back beneath her chin. She slapped at him again.

“Look and see if m’ lying instead of beatin’ me down all de time,” he said firmly.

She relented grudgingly, squaring her shoulders. “Should Ah try ta take yo’ pulse at the same time?”

“If dat’s what it’ll take, be m’ guest.”

“Ah am not touching ya.”

“Y’ just did,” he retorted.

“Cause ya keep pushing me, swamp rat!” she snapped.

“And m’ gonna keep pushin’ until y’ realize dat dere’s more den one way dat I can get through t’ y’.”

She snorted. “Ta you, swamp rat? Ah’m like Fort Knox.”

“I can break into de Pentagon wit’ m’ hands tied an m’ eyes blindfolded. Y’ wanna test dat theory? Fort Knox? Shoulda picked a better analogy. I relish de challenge.” He smirked.

“Like that’s gonna win my trust –”

“Ah don’ need t’ win dat. M’ trying t’ earn it but y’ giving m’ de roundabout.” He jutted his chin, eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Ever heard of Escher?”

She paused, frowning suspiciously.

“De artist?” he continued. “Homme’s a personal favorite – y’ like one of his staircases – upside down, backwards and inside out.”

If the girl didn’t want to be touched, so be it. There were other more effective ways of getting around that particular defense mechanism – and the first was earnestness.

“Now listen t’ me.”

He widened his eyes comically, cleared his throat, and spoke very slowly.

“I’m not interested in Jean Luc’s business. Y’ know dis, y’ know why?”

“Been down the same roads,” she muttered blandly, turning away.

Remy chuckled; pleased she hadn’t forgotten their temporary truce from a year before.

“Copy cat.” He grinned, straightening up. “Y’ did me a solid dat time.”

“Ah helped ya free yo’ good-for-nothing adoptive father.”

“Despite y’ better judgment.” He nodded.

“That’s what we do, Gambit. We help people we care about.”

Remy’s eyebrow’s shot up.

“Did y’ just –”

“NO, Cajun!” she snapped, her cheeks flushing brightly as she struggled to backtrack. “That’s not what Ah meant.”

“S’ a general care f’ everyt’ing, oui?” he sniggered.

“Shut up,” she bit back petulantly. “Ah’m only here because if what ya said was true, then Ah’ve got a real chance…”

“F’ control.” He nodded slowly. “F’ freedom. De real sort.”

“Ya gonna give me some line about opening doors next?” she muttered.

He shook his head. “Chére, y’ already stepped through.” He offered her his arm. “C’mon, let’s get some breakfast. M’ starving.”

“Wait.” Rogue held up her hand; she was still a little flushed from her admission. Apparently hate was far too strong a word to describe her sentiments towards him. What was it then? Disdain? Discomfort?

Rogue swiped at her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Just give me a reason – a real one. If ya doing this for yo’self, then what is it? Ya think ya owe me something?”

He pursed his lips, considering just how much he could tell her. The answer, simply, was very little.

“Didn’t think so,” she muttered, turning on her heel. “Forget it,” she said over her shoulder as she began striding across the beaten parking lot. “Ah couldn’t begin ta understand how your head works anyway. And Ah know who Escher is – if either one of us can be compared ta one of his paintings, it’s you.”

“Don’t I get a say in dis?” he called after her, breaking into a light jog. He caught her by the elbow and turned her around to face him, fully prepared to launch into another round of verbal sparring laden with suggestion.

Rogue looked at him tiredly, a hint of unease apparent at the fact that he still held her lightly by the arm.

“Gambit,” she laughed mirthlessly, rolling her head back on her shoulders to ease the coiled muscles. “Please.” She looked at her arm, at his fingers pressed into the soft spot at the elbow joint. She didn’t tear away from him or try to wrest herself from his grasp.

He released her delicately, lifting his fingers lightly and not bothering to linger.

Was it ironic that now he could touch her physically, she didn’t want him to?

Perhaps it was just a matter of going deeper than that.

Remy nodded slowly.

“I get it,” he said after a moment, dimly aware that her request had landed heavily in his gut. She genuinely didn’t want him anywhere near her – the question was, why? It settled there, leaving a growing silence between them that made him uncomfortable. He was never at a loss for words, and if anything, Remy LeBeau always had an answer.

“No,” she said quietly, shaking her head. She smiled at him a little, sadly. “Ya really don’t.”

Rogue turned, stalking towards the small truck stop they’d decided to break at before heading south. They’d driven for two hours, exchanging snappish comments and flirtatious banter – well, he had provided the latter, at least.

Remy watched her retreating back, his confidence deflating a little. That hadn’t gone as planned.

“Y’ wrong!” he called after her. It sounded feeble even to his own ears, and inwardly, Remy winced. There was no room for him to get caught up in anything that could present itself as a liability in the days to come. He’d learned his lesson once already.

This hand was going sour fast – and that meant one thing and one thing only.

“I watched y’ for a long time, Rogue. I know y’ better den y’ know y’self.”

Pulling the Aces.

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