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The Ante
Chapter XIX: Hooks
(Part 2/2)
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“So what y’ gonna do?” he asked lightly. “Throw dat card?” He nodded at the Queen in her hand, which she rolled lazily over her knuckles with careless effort. The motion was buttery smooth, and Rogue replied in a tone that was equally laden.

“Ah’m not sure. Ya see, mon ami, Ah wouldn’t want ta mess up that lovely face o’ yours – but since ya wouldn’t let a girl have her privacy? Now that’s just plain rude.”

“I was concerned,” he answered honestly.

“More for yo’self, Ah’d wager.” Slowly, her hips rolling in time with each step she took towards him, making her body sway with the hypnotic, slow curl that set the blood speeding through his veins, she approached.

“Worried about what Ah took from ya, Cajun?” she murmured. “Or is that morbid curiosity of yours actin’ up again, and ya decided ya just had ta find out for yo’self what it feels like ta be on the receiving end?”

“Can’t say m’ not appreciatin’ it, but I t’ink I prefer y’ with y’ own prickly attitude,” he returned cautiously. The muscles in his hands twitched involuntarily as her forward motion slowed.

Rogue had discarded her jacket, but she’d pocketed the cards he’d slipped into the coat. From his vantage point, a bare few feet away, he could see the slight, rectangular bulge in her pocket. The deck made the fabric stretch flatteringly, wrapping a little more tightly around her right thigh.

Against his better judgement, he wet his lower lip. Rogue noticed.

Quirking an eyebrow, she drew out her next comment slowly so that it would sear a little longer. “Ah thought ya preferred the woman ya married, Remy.”

“Rogue –” he began, struggling to find the words to explain to her what she’d seen.

“There’s other stuff in here, too.” She gestured lazily with her free hand. “Things Ah can’t understand exactly, memories that are only half-formed,” she continued, her voice pitched so low it was nearly inaudible below the drone of the bullfrogs lining the banks of the marshes that stretched beyond the immediate periphery of the trees. “There’s more, isn’t there? Others things ya buried because ya didn’t want ta be reminded, but ya do remind yo’self – all the time. Ya keep them close so ya won’t forget what ya done.”

“Rogue –” he said more insistently, his patience tapering.

“If ya think ya can make me understand by sweet talkin’ yo’ way out of this one, ya got another thing coming,” she said, a hint of reprimand evident in her tone.

“It was a long time ago,” he tried to explain.

“The memory is as fresh as ever,” she supplied, her eyes narrowing. “Which means that your concept of ‘a long time’ is a little off.”

“It’s not dat simple,” he tried again. “Dere are circumstances involved dat go beyond what I did back den –”

“It’s what ya felt and not what ya did,” she hissed, the Queen of Hearts in her hand sizzled into activity between her gloved fingers. “What ya did was try ta coax me into a false sense of security. Ya tried ta play me, Gambit – just like all the girls ya used to dampen that feelin’ ya had for Belladonna. How many were there? Ah lost count. There were too many faces, too many names – all of them swirling together in the end ta create one huge blur of senseless pain; all of them drowned out because ya did what ya always do. Ya left her. When she needed ya most, ya left her behind and went ta work for Magneto,” she spat.

The card fizzed, emitting a high-pitched whine that could make any dog cower with its tail between its legs. Remy was no street mutt, and he wouldn’t bow beneath Rogue’s intimidation.

“Dere’s a reason f’ everyt’ing. If y’ let m’ explain den mebbe y’ can try t’ understand,” he tried again, straining to keep his voice even.

“Ah know enough.”

“But y’ don’t know everyt’ing,” he countered, his gaze flicking to the charged Queen at her side with marked concern. “Throw de card, Rogue,” he cautioned her levelly, keeping one eye on her face, and one on the flare of fuchsia at her side. “Y’ can throw it at m’ if y’ have to, but y’ gotta let it go.”

“That’s yo’ motto, isn’t it? Just chuck it when it gets too hot for ya ta handle,” she snapped. “Ah keep things, Remy. It all gets filed away in my head for later, Ah don’t throw anything away.”

“We’re not talkin’ about what we’ve done or what we know – femme, dis ain’t some sort of elaborate metaphor. De card, Rogue – it’s just a damned piece of paper.”

“Well maybe it meant something ta me!” she shouted.

The Queen sung at a higher pitch, the card’s excited molecules racketing for release, sending sparks to the dark water below and bouncing off Rogue’s slacks. There was no foreseeable way she could control the charge, and if it exploded in her hand, she would be blown to smithereens.

Deeply, he felt the tug of unbridled dread as he tried to read Rogue’s expression. It was the look of someone whose hope had been stomped out. Where that shine of promise had been when he’d kissed her, that sanguine swell of expectancy was smothered under the sick desperation of someone who’d known more losses than victories.

Yes, they were exactly alike in that respect.

There was no time to think on it longer, and seizing the only weapon he had at his disposal, one that would probably cause more harm than good for them both, he shouted, “Well mebbe you mean somethin’ t’ me!”

The words were out of his mouth before he could register them, and the effect was instantaneous.

Rogue’s expression fell, her eyes welled up, and her mouth twisted in a grimace. She sucked it back in the same way that her defiant stance slumped, letting loose one loud, dry sob before the black ringing her pupils dimmed to grey. His powers began to seep out of her, and sure of what would happen next, Remy lunged as the card’s whining reached its crescendo.

He caught Rogue around the waist, hoisting her off her feet and knocking her wrist with his staff – the card detonated not three feet away, sending the pair of them soaring into the trees.

Remy skidded on wet wood, trying to cover Rogue’s head as she tried to fend him off at the same time. They twisted, and the log dipped precariously, preparing to roll them both off into the bayou as their weight shifted.

“Putain de merde!” Remy swore, leaping up to solid ground as Rogue slid from his grasp and a sting of pain erupted in his side.

She’d clipped him in the ribs even as he’d tried to protect her.

He swivelled, launching himself up and over a tangled dam of mosses and broken branches. At his heels, Rogue followed, spitting an expletive in French that did not fall on deaf ears. She cut him off, the sound of a bo staff extending meeting his ears a millisecond before she knocked him between the shoulder blades and dove ahead of him, coming up fast on another tree bridge and blocking his way.

“Rogue!” Remy hissed, wincing at the twinge in his back. “Dis isn’t going t’ resolve anyt’ing!”

She rattled down the log, feet moving quicker and steadier than he’d seen yet, and spun to face him. In her hands, a staff that matched his own crossed her chest. She spun it once, deftly, and snapped one end to the side of her boot. It made a hollow thock! sound that echoed amongst the quieted grove.

“Who says Ah want resolution?” she shot back. “Ah’m teachin’ ya a lesson, Cajun. Ah might be ta blame for bringing this on myself by touchin’ ya, but sugah, there’s stuff up in here that needs some serious explainin’ – and if ya can’t tell me like a normal human being, Ah’m gonna beat it outta ya!”

Remy grit his teeth, moving up to stand on the log. Five feet below, the swamp offered a mirror reflection in the water. He peered over, looking at the pair of them on the rippling surface – each of them mimicking the other’s stance.

“I t’ink y’ might need t’ cool off a bit, Roguey,” he hummed, extending his own staff. “Don’t wanna hurt y’, truth be told, but if y’ don’t want t’ be mature about dis –”

“Oh shut up about maturity. Ya got about as much aptitude for mature conversation as some of the kids Ah babysit at Xavier’s. Honestly, Ah think some of them already surpass ya, and they’re half yo’ age.”

“– Den m’gonna cool y’ off m’self,” he finished, grinning wickedly. “Now what’s dis about, exactly? De fact dat I’ve got a few secrets or de fact dat dere was someone before y’ who knew dem?”

Rogue’s eyes darkened, her grip tightening on the staff as she leapt at him, swinging it wide over her head. He blocked the blow easily, though he hadn’t anticipated the force of the hit. It left both their hands quivering with the shared vibration as his staff held hers off.

“This is about tellin’ me half-truths,” she hissed. “For misleadin’ me, and for making me feel like crap because it makes ya feel better about yo’self. Ya don’t care about anyone other than yo’self, Gambit. That’s how it goes, so don’t ya dare try and pull that garbage that ya care fo’ me, because of all things, that ain’t in my head with the rest of yo’ leftovers!”

“Wasn’t m’ intention t’ mislead y’,” he replied, squatting as she parried backwards, the staffs coming together with a resounding clang, and then another, and another as she tried to knock his legs out from under him. “An’ dat’s not de truth. Y’said y’self, y’ got pieces up dere, Roguey – it’s a big jigsaw, in’t it? Buncha t’ings dat don’t mean much unless y’ have de picture t’ sort dem out an’ see what it’s supposed t’ look like.”

Remy leapt up, using the top of the bo to grind down to her knuckles as he tried to force her backwards along the fallen tree. Rogue held firm, though her feet skid a little as she tried to swing at him.

He blocked her, chuckling to himself. “Funny story,” he continued. “Y’ been blamin’ y’self, non? Dat’s why y’ takin’ it out on m’ – y’ t’ink y’ all alone in dis, but y’ forgettin’ y’ partner in crime.”

“Ah said Ah was sorry!” she bit back, her eyes narrowing.

“So did I as a matter o’ fact,” he returned, ducking as she swung wide again and leaning away as the bottom of her bo sung towards him. “But prolly not f’ what y’ t’inking,” he said as he popped up again.

“Ah’m sure ya got a lot ta apologize for – might as well start now before Ah knock yo’ head off,” she snapped.

“No famous last words just yet, chére,” he returned, blocking another stinging blow that clipped his fist. He winced but tapped her staff away again just as readily. “Y’ need dis, don’t y’? Dis is how y’blow off steam? Saw it when y’ were fightin’ de Assassins. Y’ love de energy, y’ love how it makes y’ feel afterwards – all soft an’ sore an’ drained. Helps y’ stop t’inking for a bit, hein?”

“Shut up,” she snapped. “This ain’t about me! It’s about you and what ya keep feedin’ me ta keep me around.” He blocked a blow with his heel, kicking her staff away and forcing her backwards. “What Ah couldn’t figure out is why ya even bother, especially now that Ah know about yo’ wife.”

“Ex-wife,” he interjected, flashing her a controlled, deliberate smirk.

“Ya loved her Remy,” she protested, her voice breaking. “Doesn’t that sorta thing count for somethin’ with ya? Or have ya forgotten what that does to a person when someone takes it away?”

“M’ a t’ief. Dat’s what I do; I steal t’ings,” he countered, leaping backwards as she jabbed at his stomach. A low chuckle escaped his lips, and smirking wryly, he took the offence. They parried backwards, staffs swinging in wide and controlled arcs, clapping together at measured intervals. Not once did Rogue hesitate, her footing on the narrow beam suspended over the swamps sure each time. “Hearts included,” he added with cagey candour.

“An’ that makes ya a threat,” she bit back, leaping as Remy tried to land a blow to her calves. She landed with a grunt and cracked him soundly in the side.

“One!” he hissed.

“Oh, are we keepin’ score?” She laughed mirthlessly.

“Best t’ ten wins.” Remy grimaced, driving his staff between her feet. He twisted the bo, catching Rogue’s leg and setting her off balance. She flailed uselessly a moment, and on instinct, Remy reached out and snatched her wrist, yanking her upright. “Winner take all if de other goes down.”

“Ah’ll take yo’ sorry hide with me, swamp rat!” she snapped, somersaulting backwards, her foot narrowly missing his chin, before landing a few feet down the bridge.

Remy grinned, his hands sliding down his staff, caressing the cold metal lightly.

“I’d follow y’ either way, chérie. All y’ gotta do is ask.”

“Would ya get lost if Ah asked ya ta do that too?” she snarled, her hair flopping listlessly into her face. She swatted at it roughly, smearing her cheek in the process with soot. Blinking, Rogue looked down at her partially scorched glove, her lip curling in distaste as she peered back at him.

“Not a chance. M’ sworn t’ protect any belle femme in distress,” he replied, giving her a once over and cocking an eyebrow.

Rogue huffed, compacting the staff and sticking it roughly into her belt.

“An’ y’ too, I suppose,” he added lightly. He couldn’t stop himself from laughing outright at her incensed expression.

Face flushed, her eyes narrowed, the spark of red renewed itself in the depths. Rogue’s posture loosened, though she still braced herself as she reached for the cards.

“Dat’s not playin’ fair,” he muttered, snapping his staff into a more manageable size and discarding it.

“Ah guess ya know how it feels, now huh?” she returned. “Let’s see what happens when the odds are in my favour… cher.” She smiled at him in a way that made his stomach tighten, and for a moment, Remy contemplated the possibility of ten lifetimes spent sweating in hell, as opposed to ten minutes beneath the femme’s stare. Surely, heaven couldn’t be that great – not when she looked at him like that.

“De odds don’t belong t’ y’. Dere de playt’ings of fate,” he said levelly. “Y’ an I? We just goin’ along f’ de ride.”

“That’s yo’ problem, Remy – ya just lettin’ yo’self be led wherever. Ya don’t look, ya don’t think, ya just keep moving. That’s what happened with the stone, and that’s what happened with Belladonna, and that’s what yo’ doin’ with me too,” she returned, her tone unwavering as she stared him down.

“What would y’ like m’ t’ do? Take it back? I can’t. Tell y’ dat it’ll be ok? M’ tryin’. Tell y’ not t’ worry? Den I’d be lyin’ – dere’s plenty o’ stuff t’ be scared of out dere, an’ I bet I seen more of it den y’.”

“Ah’m not making any more wagers with ya.” Rogue shook her head, as if she was trying to clear her vision. “Ya haven’t been straight with me ta begin with, and now it’s just a little bit useless ta try and make things right. Ya can’t, Remy, but yo’ right about one thing – ya can’t take back what ya done. Ah know all about that.”

“I know y’ do,” he said, his tone dropping an octave in the effort to sound consoling. “Dat’s why it’s gotta be y’, Rogue.”

“What’s gotta be me?” she asked, her brow furrowing. With a little remorse, Remy noted the way her mouth curved downwards in a small frown.

Merde, he thought. When your toes hit the line that divides “Point of No Return” land from the rest of sanity, sometimes you have to lob yourself forwards. Other times, you stagger over that line and pray to whatever higher power you believe in that you’ll survive it. Remy found himself doing precisely that.

“S’ gotta be y’ here an’ now. S’ why we need each other,” he admitted dejectedly.

“We?”

Remy sucked in a breath, already running a number of mental curses at himself through his head. “Oui.”

“Ah’m sorry,” she snorted in disbelief, “what did ya just say ta me?”

“Don’t gloat or anyt’ing,” he muttered.

“No, no, Cajun – say that again.” Remy winced at the sharp, brittle bite to her words as she took a step towards him.

“I need y’.”

A pause. Remy held his breath, cringing inwardly at himself while trying to keep his expression neutral. Rogue’s eyebrows shot up. Unable to hide her surprise, she advanced on him, her eyes lit with the fire of the rising sun filtering through the canopy of trees. It was as if they glowed, the tongue of flame dancing in the brilliant flicker of red and gold set against blackened sclera.

She didn’t want to believe him; that much was evident. What he didn’t expect was the sting of the thought that accompanied it. Somehow, it was crucial that she did, almost as much as it was important that she took the risk to believe in him.

But when had that become so important to him?

Remy couldn’t find an answer to that, so instead, he shrugged, gritting his teeth as he looked down at the few feet between them and to the water below. It reflected their frames in shivering, distorted pictures. Funny, he thought, that was how he usually saw himself too.

“Ah believe that about as much as Ah can take yo’ word for what it is, Remy,” she whispered.

Remy pursed his lips, forcing his gaze upwards to settle on her. For a moment, he merely stared, trying to sort out what was going through her head at that instant. He scrutinized her, just as she did the same to him.

“Ya skimped on our bet!” she yelled finally, exasperated.

With a quick snap of the wrist, Rogue produced four cards, crackling to life between her fingers. Three she held in her left hand, and one, an Ace, she flung at him.

Remy snatched it out of the air and snuffed the charge before it could detonate.

“Y’ threw this one out, chérie! It doesn’t count anymore!” he shot back.

“Oh yeah? Well Ah recall ya kept a Joker up yo’ sleeve, swamp rat – see if this counts!”

She lobbed the next one at him, and that too he plucked out of the air, absorbing the charge effortlessly though the ripple of energy felt tweaked and foreign. His hands sung with it.

“Keep it comin’, Roguey. Mebbe by de time y’ blow m’ up y’ realize de mistake in blamin’ y’self all de time.”

“Speak for yo’self!” she snarled, launching three cards this time in the general direction of his chest with a loud, “Ha!”

Two Gambit caught, somersaulting backwards, but one landed on the log. He shot out with his leg, kicking it into the swamp. It sent up a spray of reeking, putrid brown bayou muck that splashed his boots as the card exploded beneath the calm surface.

“Why can’t ya just be sorry and mean it for once?” she shouted, shucking out a few diamonds, two jacks and a club.

“Doesn’t matter what I say if y’ don’t believe me,” he bit back. “Y’ get past dat emotional blockade o’ yours an’ we’ll talk about f’giveness.”

“Ah already apologized for absorbin’ ya!” she snarled. “Those are my powers, Gambit – Ah don’t have the luxury of turnin’ them off!” she bellowed back, the cards gripped between her fingers singing in a furious harmony.

“An’ I’d like t’ help remedy dat, t’anks – wit’ y’ kickin’ an’ screamin’ de entire way no less. Dat’s gratitude!” he chortled. “Unfortunately, I can’t do not’ing about it when y’ start internalizing.”

“And what do ya do? Basic manners, Cajun!” she spat, sending the cards flying. Four hit the water, drenching them both, and two hit the log. That was enough, Remy decided as he pelted down the bridge at her. “Ah do somethin’ wrong, Ah say Ah’m sorry. You do somethin’ wrong, ya act like a jackass – psychologists call that ‘projectin.’”

“Keep blamin’ y’self, chére. Y’ do it for everyt’in else, so dis ain’t no different.” He laughed, goading her.

The cards primed behind him as Remy leapt, catching Rogue around the midsection and covering her to shield her bodily from the impending blast.

“What –?” she began, only to be cut off as the cards exploded and the bridge tipped to the left.

Even as they wobbled, Remy found himself smirking in triumph. “Because I kissed you an’ m’ not apologizin’.”

With that, Gambit dipped low, pulling backwards and catching her hand. He placed a lingering kiss on her gloved knuckles and pivoted before she could lash out at him. The fallen tree dipped precariously beneath the weight of them both. The wood had splintered, forcing them to balance on an uneven keel.

“What y’gotta say ‘bout dat, Roguey?” He laughed, a full, throaty chortle that echoed amongst the vigilant cypress.

Her response came in the form of an angry shove.

It happened so quickly that even as Remy was tipping backwards, his hand reached on instinct and latched onto her elbow, effectively pulling her down with him as he tumbled, the pair of them hitting the water with a noisy slap.

Below the surface, the murky calm of the bayou with its rank water stung his eyes. He felt Rogue pull away from him, breaking the surface a second before he did so himself.

Spluttering, she spun to face him, swiping at her eyes and blinking hard.

He was grateful to see the usual hue had returned to her pupils, the sclera white again, and ringed with red.

“Dis make us even?” he asked, treading water to stay afloat.

Rogue coughed, and blinking at him wearily, she asked, “What are ya referring to; yo’ little contest up there, or... what happened?”

“I concede t’ de duel,” he said with gentlemanly pomp, “but de stakes are still up in de other respect as far as m’ concerned.” He favoured her with a grin, before spitting out the rancid water in his mouth and grimacing. “Dieu, dis is disgustin’.”

Rogue shook her head. “That’s all it is in the end,” she said tiredly. “It shouldn’t be about who wins. I ain’t a prize at the end of a card game.”

“Non, y’ not,” he agreed simply, and continued garnishing the half-truth, “but y’ see… if I kissed y’, an’ y’ kissed me, an’ we were playin’, par exemple… dat would make us both winners, non? It’d be a draw.”

“Ah think yo’ forgettin’ something, Remy – one, Ah can’t touch ya, and two, that love ya had for Belladonna…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “Ah ain’t a substitute for somethin’ that ya claim ya left behind.”

“Never said y’ were,” he said shortly.

“But Ah felt it,” she argued vehemently, a touch of something cold lining her expression as she drew up the exact sensation in her mind.

“Regard,” he said, pulling himself closer and bobbing a little in the water before her. “When I say dere are a multitude of other t’ings involved… Rogue, not’ing is ever dat simple. What I might’ve given y’ in dat kiss by way of m’ memories, it isn’t anyt’ing other den de simple truth o’ what happened den. But it ain’t everyt’ing, and dat y’ gotta believe. We all need our secrets, chére – some are more difficult t’ dredge up den others.”

“How do Ah know yo’ not lying ta me?” she asked warily, swiping at the hair plastered to the side of her face and slopping more filthy water on herself. She grimaced, appearing utterly disgusted for only a moment. It was a look that Remy found oddly endearing.

There was so much she had seen and had experienced, and yet at the same time, she retained an innocence about her that couldn’t be covered up with her heavy makeup and cantankerous demeanour.

“I can’t offer y’ anyt’ing more den m’ word when I say m’ not de same person as I was back den. Dat part o’ m’ is dead, Rogue. It goes with de territory of bein’ exiled,” he replied, albeit a touch more dispassionately than he’d intended.

“What’s the difference?” she pressed, blinking the water out of her eyes.

“I couldn’t die for her,” he said guardedly, struck by the sudden honesty of the statement. “Dat’s de difference. I couldn’t stop de war. Dat’s de difference.”

“It would have kept on without ya,” Rogue argued, her tone gravely. She coughed, wincing at the taste of the river’s cast off in her mouth.

Wordlessly, Remy reached for her to pull her alongside him as he continued to tread water. She batted at his hand, splashing him with a face-full in the process. He glowered, his chin dipping back into the swamp as she tugged on his hand, holding him back.

“You dying instead of Julien would have made no difference,” she insisted. “For them – the families. That madman would still be on the loose, and then what?”

“Absolution,” he muttered, kicking away towards the log.

She let him, though from behind, he heard her murmur, “It broke your heart ta leave.”

Remy didn’t reply as he pushed towards the shore. When the fallen tree was closer to the waterline, he latched onto the side, hauling himself upwards. It took a considerable effort with the added weight of his soaked clothing dragging him down. Mostly, he felt heavy and leaden, though he doubted it had much to do with his dip in the swamp.

Rogue swam towards him and a card floated by on the water. He ignored the Jack of Hearts in favour of the girl who was looking at him so quizzically.

“S’ resilient,” he muttered after a few moments, offering her a hand up, which to his surprise, she accepted.

She crawled onto the log, dropping her legs over the side and swinging her feet distastefully for a moment, undoubtedly feeling the slop of water in her boots. Rogue glanced at him uneasily before taking a heavy breath.

“Not when it doesn’t heal properly,” she murmured.

Remy hummed, crouching next to her andlacing his hands together with his elbows propped onto his knees. “Dat’s m’ problem… not yours, Anna Marie.”

Her head whipped around to stare at him in stupefied recognition. Eyes widening, her lips parted in silent shock, she shook her head slowly, not wanting to understand, though she did fundamentally. That much Remy could see without her having to confirm it verbally.

“Like I said, we all have our secrets,” he murmured.

“How did ya know?” she whispered.

“De both of us, we run from de t’ings dat have caused us grief. We’re born t’ fight and die in a world dat loves us not at all, an’ cares for us even less. Me? My whole life’s been orchestrated f’ me. Don’t know m’ parents, don’t know how much Jean Luc had his hand in de way I lived before comin’ t’ de Guild, but I do know dat even before I was adopted, he was workin’ m’. He turned m’ into an asset t’ be exploited both f’ m’ powers, an’ as a link between de Guilds when he an’ Marius arranged m’ marriage t’ Belle.” He looked at her hard, trying to read her expression though she was closing herself off to him quickly. “I don’t even know how much Belle knew about it. Mebbe she never loved m’ at all, but what difference does it make? M’ here, m’ alive, an’ I got a purpose.”

“Arranged…?” she started.

Remy shut his eyes, holding up a finger that requested a little patience. “Mystique done de same t’ y’. She worked y’, she turned y’ – but even before den, before y’ started runnin’ f’ de first time, y’ buried who y’ were, an’ along with dat, y’ left somet’in’ behind. Dat was y’ name, Rogue. Y’ want m’ t’ face m’ past? I can’t do dat. Not alone, an’ I t’ink y’ know why because y’ don’t always want t’ face y’ own either.”

Rogue remained silent, her gaze turning to the trees that surrounded them, the soft sound of water moving around their roots, washing them clean over and over again.

“Dat’s how I know. Dese secrets, dey keep us safe, non? Dey may leave some scars behind, but we can look at ‘em later and remember where dey came from. Dere ain’t no one in de world who understands dat unless dey felt de pain of it demselves.”

She swallowed, looking upwards into the canopy of grey green leaves and virgin sunlight and blinked hard.

“M’ sorry I hurt y’,” he murmured. “But I meant it when I said it – y’ an I, chére, dey cut us from de same cloth. We just been runnin’ in different directions ever since, dere’s no reason f’ it. Not anymore.”

He held out his hand, patiently, and waited.

“Ya knew my name,” she hissed through grit teeth. It was an accusation, thick and laced with the sour taint of self-defeat. She refused to look at him, choosing instead to drop her chin to her chest, letting the fan of wet hair obscure her face from view.

He nodded slowly, knowing that he’d taken out her defences in one fell swoop. “It don’t mean nothin’ t’ me. Names don’t make us who we are inside. An’ I know what’s inside y’, Rogue, dat’s all dat matters.”

“But Ah don’t know anythin’ more than Ah’ve taken from ya.” She shook her head. “That ain’t right.”

“Den we fix it. I’ll fix it.”

“Ya can’t,” she said plaintively. “Ah can’t change what Ah am, and ya can’t change who ya are either. Ya don’t just go back ta zero every time somethin’ goes wrong. It doesn’t work like that.”

She paused, turning to look at him seriously, her eyes a shining, brilliant green. The random patterning of shades falling across her face from the cover of cypress looming over them broke her steady expression. Resolutely, Remy refused to back down.

“Ah have the potential to truly know ya, and Ah… Ah don’t think Ah want ta,” she whispered. “How can ya live with it inside all the time?”

“How can y’?” he countered gently, offering her a small, genuine smile.

She didn’t have an answer to that, though she sucked her lower lip between her teeth to keep it from trembling.

Remy shook his head, smiling sadly. “Sometimes, y’ don’t get de chance t’ t’ink beyond y’ own fear. When y’ ready, chére. Only when y’ ready.” He sighed, moving to sit next to her, and pausing in case it was too close for comfort just yet. He hovered, stooped at her side. “Y’ not protectin’ y’self anymore when y’ start hurtin’, especially not when y’ try t’ push everyone away t’ keep y’self from feelin’ it, an’ I know dat all too well. We all hurt somewhere, chére – but some of us, well, we learn how t’ live around it.”

“Ah get by.”

Remy bowed his head, nodding silently. “Y’ said dat t’ me before we even left Bayville, but y’ know it an’ so do I; skimmin’ de edge of happiness ain’t livin’. Not lettin’ y’self have what y’ want from time t’ time, dat’s self-flagellation.”

“My entire mutant power is about restraint,” she ground out. “Ah can't touch another livin' being without fear of swallowing that person whole. Their thoughts an' hopes an' dreams become mine. Ah got no control over my abilities. And you?” She shook her head, turning to face him, her eyes hard. “You got no control over yourself. Chargin' up an' object an' throwing it away - that's your 'special gift'. Ah ain't an object, Gambit,” she said warningly. “Ah'm a person. If ya can't - if ya won't - treat me like one, then please leave me alone.” She croaked, continuing, “If ya have any feelings for me, then just go. It’ll be easier in the long run.”

Slowly, Remy nodded, standing to full height and folding his arms across his chest. He peered down at the top of her head in an almost contemplative silence.

“Dat’s de bargain, huh?” he asked after a moment.

“No bargaining. Ya level up with me and ya show me that whatever yo’ saying is the truth without… without forcin’ me ta steal it from ya. Those are my terms.”

Rogue sniffed, pulling her knees below her chin and hugging them close. The swamp water left her hair a matted tangle that hung limply to her shoulders, sending little streams of dirt down the back of her equally soaked shirt.

The parts of her arms that were exposed were streaked with strips of murky brown, and peering down at himself, Remy noted that he appeared in no better condition.

For a moment, he stood by watching, though Rogue didn’t say anything more, and she didn’t turn to look at him.

With a resigned nod, he turned, and walked away.

---

Rogue shut her eyes tightly, blinking out the grit and tiredness and the last trickles of water that undoubtedly teemed with microbial life.

The log bounced a little with every step Remy took, his boots squelching unpleasantly as he tracked off back the way they’d came.

It was a moment before she allowed herself to breathe in shakily.

Rogue sat there, listening to him slip away, too stunned to call him back, to say she’d been wrong. It confirmed one thing, though – at least there was some shared respect between them. That did little to soothe the ache, however.

It was another moment before she buried her head in her arms.

The swamp around her thrummed with morning life; the odd bullfrog croak, the throaty hum of dragonflies flying low near the water, and the liquid gurgle of water laving the tree roots lazily.

Every sound was disjointed, unconnected to her though life continued despite everything else that had broken the natural rhythm of the bayou for a few short minutes. It was another moment after that when she felt the log dip beneath the weight of a person, bouncing softly, the soles of his boots squishing.

Remy didn’t hesitate as he slipped his jacket around her shoulders, his hands a warm weight that drew her against his chest where he folded her against him.

Rogue didn’t protest, finding herself unable to do so around the lump in her throat. She did not uncoil herself from the foetal position she’d taken, though his touch was welcome through the coat he’d wrapped around her.

If she could have made a noise, it would have been a sigh of utmost relief.

“S' funny,” he murmured into her ear gently. “M’ feelings f’ y’ are the very same reason I'm stayin’.”

---

Translations:
Merde: Shit
Bon matin: Good morning
Femme: Woman
N’inquiet pas, cher: Don’t worry, dear.
p’tit: little one
mon ami: my friend
Putain de merde: Son off a bitch

Post Script:
- Hook: A Jack. So named because the "J" resembles a hook. (Ahem. “So the hooooook brings you baaaaaaaack. I ain’t tellin’ you no liiiiiiiieeeeee.” That’s my feeble attempt at singing. Damned song’s been stuck in my head all week while writing this.)
- Remy’s “Empathy”: Someone mentioned this in the reviews a long way back, and I suppose now is as good a time as any to address it. Remy’s not an empath. Not in the comics, not in Evo, not in the Animated Series, not ever. Accordingly, I’m not using it here – and I’ll tell you why: Remy’s empathic abilities that you come across in fanfiction so frequently are fanon canon. (Sounds funny, doesn’t it?) Lori McDonald started the trend something like a decade ago, and for some reason, it stuck. Incidentally, the stories that make up “The Gestalt Arc” where Remy’s empathy first shows up are a great read. You need to dig a little to find all of them, but if and when you do, enjoy it. It’s a great series.
- “We’re born to fight and die in a world that loves us not at all, and cares for us even less.” John Mason Skipp, Dark Destiny.
- “Names don’t make us who we are inside. An’ I know what’s inside y’, Rogue, dat’s all dat matters.” (X-Men #24)
- “My entire mutant power is about restraint,” she ground out. “Ah can't touch another livin' being without fear of swallowing that person whole. Their thoughts an' hopes an' dreams become mine. Ah got no control over my abilities. And you?” She shook her head, turning to face him, her eyes hard. “You got no control over yourself. Chargin' up an' object an' throwing it away - that's your 'special gift'. Ah ain't an object, Gambit,” she said warningly. “Ah'm a person. If ya can't - if ya won't - treat me like one, then please leave me alone.” (Uncanny X-Men #297)
-“M’feelings f’ y’ are the very same reason I'm stayin’.” (Uncanny X-Men #297)
- Everyone missed something huge last chapter about Remy’s motivations, or at least, everyone who reviewed. It was so strategically placed that from what I can tell, everyone read straight past it. (Who’s lying to whom and who taught who just how to do that?)
- Endnotes: Unforgivable Horror asked about this, so I’ll say it to all of you at once: I’m writing this on the fly. It’s not pre-written. Everything you’re getting is fresh fic. Thirty pages of insanity a week and I still have some semblance of a social life… and work… and eventually school but I’m trying very hard not to think about that. Feed the writer. She likes it. Leave a review. (Poccy says so.)