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The Ante
Chapter XXI: Deuces Wild
(Part 2/2)
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“Don’t ya ever knock?” she snapped, feeling the cool air coming into the room from the hallway wrap around her legs, cooling her toes on the warm wood floors. How long had he been standing there?

He cocked an eyebrow, his gaze lingering a shade too long on the v of skin left exposed by her bathrobe. Rogue glared, yanking the soft terrycloth tighter to her chest, and Remy smirked. “Pardonnez moi,” he murmured, bemused, and stepped into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

Rogue waited, glaring at the now closed door and trying to swallow the fresh, anxious ripple of surprise at his grand entrance.

Three sharp raps resounded not more than a second later through the hard oak, and she forced her features into a scowl.

“Ah’m dreamin’,” she said, exasperated.

“Non, m’ as real as dey get, p’tit,” Remy yelled through the door. “But if y’ need a pinch t’ make sure y’ awake, y’ best wait f’ me otherwise m’ gonna feel mighty gypped. Can I come in now?” he asked, his voice muffled. The door creaked open a few inches, and Gambit stuck his head in, grinning. “I brought unp’tit souper pour nos deux.”

Rogue had just enough time to catch the quick flash of teeth, the dimpling of Remy’s left cheek, before he ducked around the corner and retrieved a tray of food. Dinner, or breakfast, really – considering their nocturnal lifestyle as of late.

“C’mon,” he tilted his head to the bed, giving her a bemused once-over when she continued to stand rooted to the spot, half-glaring and half... something else.

She’d never seen him wear anything other than his uniform.

Rogue cleared her throat, trying to restore her mettle to its original, disaffected state.

Remy peered at her from beneath his fringe, setting the tray down at the foot of the bed and smirking openly at her. “Quoi?” he asked innocently, fully aware that she was gaping at the soft, worn-in denims slung off his hips, and the tight white t-shirt that seemed like it had been painted on across his shoulders. He fixed her with a smile so sly it was vaguely obscene.

“Food’s over here, Roguey,” he hummed, his accent thickening slightly. “Course, y’ can take a bite outta Remy anytime y’ like.”

Busted.

Rogue cleared her throat, glancing at the shag of auburn hair falling over his ears and into his eyes. It was longer than she’d thought, not that she minded, but she hadn’t expected the sudden, brash compulsion to run her bare fingers through it to see if it was as soft as it looked.

He was enjoying her appraisal thoroughly.

“Ya stayed with me,” she said bluntly, keenly aware of the burn she felt in her face. She was blushing so hard she thought for a moment her cheeks might catch fire. Still, she met his gaze levelly, trying to feign nonchalance as she padded around to the opposite side of the bed. It was a task that was made increasingly difficult with the long robe tangling around her ankles.

Breakfast in bed. Dear lord, she thought – did he ever stop?

Remy shrugged, flopping gracefully and kicking his legs up. His feet were bare, the t-shirt riding up just a little to expose a sliver of tanned, toned muscle. Rogue swallowed hard, tearing her gaze away and settling herself as far away from him as possible.

“Was cold in m’ room.” He grinned wolfishly, displaying a lazy, slow flash of perfect teeth. “Besides, I didn’t want y’ t’ wake up in de middle of de day alone. ‘Specially not if y’ had another dream.”

Rogue tried to scoff, the sound clipped. “Ah’m a big girl, Remy. Ah can take care of myself.”

“Sure, chére. Den y’ can just chuck me in de swamp again too when y’ pissed. Figure y’d appreciate de gesture.” He shrugged. Out of the corner of her eye, Rogue caught the movement. “Considerin’ how comfortable y’ were an’ all.”

“Damnit, Remy!” she snapped, turning to face him fully. “Why don’t ya just throw that back in my face?”

He smiled, a full-blow, megawatt beam of a grin that brought the heat back to her cheeks. Fluidly, he sat up, and motioned for her to come closer as he dragged the tray between them. “Ever heard de expression make love, not war?” he teased. “S’ fine, p’tit. I’m just messin’ with y’ t’ enjoy de expression on y’ face a lil’ longer.” In a conspiratorial whisper, he added, “It’s a rare treat t’ see such a belle femme de colour of a tomato.”

“Hush up, Cajun,” she muttered. “This tomato would sooner chuck ya out a window if ya don’t stop runnin’ that mouth of yours.”

He chuckled, motioning for her to come closer as he lifted the covers over the food. “C’mon, beb. Gotta get some energy. We got a long night ahead of us.”

The smell of pan-fried rice calas, andouille sausage, and sweet potato greeted her nose. Remy lifted another cover, displaying the thickest, brownest gumbo that she’d ever seen spooned over a bed of rice – chunks of carefully sliced okra and shrimp topping it off. Finally, he nudged a large, steaming cup towards her. Taking a sip, she nearly moaned. Café au lait laced with the barest hint of chicory.

“Damn, Cajun,” she breathed, her stomach rumbling appreciatively. “Who’s ya have ta bribe ta whip this up?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “What good’s a man if he don’t know what de inside of a kitchen looks like? Really, Rogue.” He tsked her, handing her a fork and silently enjoying her surprise. “Y’ come t’ m’ house, y’ gonna eat m’ cooking.”

Warily, she accepted the utensil, careful not to brush his fingers. He wore gloves, the same pair with the oddly placed finger holes; his wrists cuffed off with two large leather bands.

“What do ya mean we’ve got a long night? What are we doin?” she asked.

Rogue took a bite of the sausage, and groaned contentedly. Remy merely smirked, satisfied. She could feel his gaze on her, but unwilling to acknowledge just how awkward it’d be if she played into it, Rogue didn’t look up, choosing instead to tend to her empty stomach. She’d deal with the emotional onslaught of sitting within two feet of him looking just as scrumptious as the dinner before her later.

“Dere’s a certain stone we need t’ be getting our hands on,” he replied. “But first we gotta find de t’ing.”

“Are ya suggestin’ that we’re gonna steal it?” she asked, a note of warning plain in her tone.

“T’ink of it like… acquiring stealthily. But we gotta find it first.” He nodded, skewering the bite of sausage Rogue had been aiming at. He grinned around the mouthful, lidding his eyes and peering at her.

She restrained the impulse to fidget, though it proved downright difficult to tear her attention from his throat. Remy’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, licking his lips and pulling her gaze to his mouth. It was pretty, she decided, measuring the slow trail of his tongue as he licked the sauce from the corner. Not pretty in the girlish sense, but it was a full mouth, with an impossibly soft lower lip. Idly, she wondered if after the spicy food, would his kiss burn with it. She repressed a nervous shudder, trying to force the thought from her mind, and failing just the same.

“Chérie?”

Shit. He’d been talking.

“Hmm?”

“I said,” he continued, amused and all too aware that her focus had drifted. “Lapin’s gonna do some research while I do a bit of recon. We’re gonna set everyt’ing up de way we normally do; run some scans on de records before we do anyt’ing in de field.”

“How do ya –” Rogue paused, clearing her throat and focusing on the food, anywhere but on his mouth, his jaw, his eyes. “How do ya normally set things up?”

“We got de equipment downstairs. Lapin’s a genius when it comes t’ computers, if he can’t find dis Maman Brigitte femme, den she’s a figment of of m’ imagination,” he answered.

She grinned a little at that. “Ah know yo’ imagination’s real vivid and all, but Ah sure don’t think ya hallucinated that entire thing.”

“Non, but dese voodoo-Mambo-gris gris types are slippery as anyt’ing.”

“Guess that’s why she liked ya so much,” she returned, a wry smirk firmly in place to wrestle off her nerves.

“Same reason y’ like me too, huh, chére?”

Rogue nearly choked on the forkful of gumbo she’d just bit down on. Coughing, she scowled at him, her eyes tearing as she reached for her cup of coffee to wash it down.

Remy grinned, dangling his fork negligently off his fingers and munching as if her reaction was exactly what he’d been angling for.

When she could breathe again properly, Rogue favoured him with her most vicious, patented glare. It lasted all of ten seconds before something sparked in Remy’s eyes; the pupils glowed, flecks of lighter scarlet mingling with the red, making his irises multi-tonal. They almost danced, a wavering, sure glow that brightened his entire face.

She found she couldn’t deny it.

“Don’t try that charm crap with me again,” she muttered, albeit a little unsteadily. She looked down at their shared plates and concentrated on filling her stomach instead of the slow, smouldering gleam of his eyes as he watched her.

The silence grew, punctuated only by the light clink of cutlery and the occasional interference of his hands as their utensils crossed when he reached over. Remy must have been perfectly at ease, but the knot in Rogue’s stomach was tightening, making her hesitant and awkward knowing that he was appreciating her quietly.

It was as if an unspoken agreement had passed between them, a sliver of shared knowledge that made the air between them thicker. For only two feet of space, it was much too far a distance, and still, not close enough. Was he asking for her reassurance? Would giving in to the truth of the statement mean giving in to him?

If they’d been playing a game of cards, she thought, she’d be holding on to the worst possible hand imaginable. If she folded now, if she cashed in, she’d leave the game with no less than she started with. If they kept going the way they were, admitting that she cared to him meant she actually gave a damn about the stakes.

The wager was her own damned heart as much as it was about her powers.

If that didn’t carry clout, Rogue didn’t know what did.

“So,” he said after a stretch, his voice steady, though a notch lower than before. She found she was unable to do more than glance at him without feeling horribly embarrassed for not countering his statement. “What are y’ gonna do, when we find it?”

Rogue set her fork down, pushing away from the small tray to lean against the headboard. Pushing away from him, more like, with just a shred of reluctance in doing so.

“Ah’m gonna squeeze the hell out of that stone,” she said under her breath. “Ah’m gonna hold on ta that damned thing until Ah know that it works.”

He nudged the tray into her knee, sliding down on the bed so that his shoulders were propped against the headboard, his legs stretched out in front of him. Remy turned enough to face her, so that Rogue could see his profile out of the corner of her eye.

“An’ den?” he pressed.

Rogue sucked in a breath. “Remy, how long did ya touch it for?” she asked, glancing at him uneasily.

He was frowning, his eyebrows furrowed. Even though the expression should have been comical, the focused glint in his eyes was nearly unnerving. “What are y’ getting’ at?”

“In yo’ memory, the one ya gave me, ya touched the gem for a few seconds. Ah was thinkin’ that maybe if ya held on longer, if ya hadn’t blacked out… when ya touched me, Ah wouldn’t have…”

“Y’ don’t t’ink it’s gonna last,” he finished for her. “If I hadn’t passed out when I did and let go of de stone, m’ shields wouldn’t have failed last night. Y’ t’ink I didn’t hold on long enough t’ make de changes permanent.”

Rogue shook her head, unable to stop the defeated plummet her heart took at his acknowledgement.

“Would it matter?” he asked. “Whether it was f’ a few days, or forever, chére – dere are somet’ings y’ can’t pass up when de opportunity comes a knockin’,” he said seriously. “Would y’ rather live y’ life not knowin’ what coulda been because y’ weren’t sure? Merde, fille. No one knows de way de cards are gonna be dealt. Y’ just gotta play de hand.”

“Or keep an ace up yo’ sleeve,” she murmured.

She felt his smile. It was a warmth that bathed her left side in a delicious afterglow. Unable to help herself, she turned to face him, taking in the full effect of that radiant gleam.

“Y’ know me better den y’ t’ink.” He nodded, both impressed and pleased at the same time. Rogue flushed, grinning a little to herself. Maybe there was some truth to that statement.

“The Professor said that there might be a chance that my powers are tied in psychically,” she continued quietly, feeling the shift of the bed beneath her as Remy moved the tray to their feet, edging closer to her so that his knees brushed hers, sitting up further. She peered down at him, only to see that he was studying her face, listening intently. “Telecognitive was the word he used. It ain’t the same thing as Jean’s telepathic abilities, but there’s a mental aspect there that he thinks Ah can use ta my advantage.”

“What do y’ mean?” Remy asked.

Rogue exhaled, wincing with a small, self-deprecating grin. “He said my head’s like a filing cabinet. Every time Ah absorb someone, that part of them Ah tuck away gets locked in there. If it’s a mutant, and Ah use their powers, it gets depleted after a while. There just ain’t anything left ta use after a stretch. Professor Xavier said that… when Ah get control, Ah might be able to tap inta those abilities again, calling up whoever Ah absorbed at will.”

“Pick and choose,” he supplied. “S’ like a buffet.”

“Thanks, Cajun,” she said wryly, though not unkindly.

“Y’ can go around and absorb whoever y’ like t’ test it out, but dat’s secondary, isn’t it?” Remy asked. A little more conspiratorially, he added, “Y’ gonna be able t’ smack me bare-handed.”

She peered down at him, surprised and a little taken aback. “Is that what ya want me ta do, first thing? Deck ya?” Rogue shook her head. “Remy, Ah…” What was she supposed to say to that? How could he even think it?

Rogue shut her mouth promptly, completely stumped. The realization hit her like a freight train. She wanted to touch him all right, but the impulse that came to mind first and foremost had nothing violent about it.

She shook her head, feeling the blush rise to her face again.

“Ya gonna be there with me?” she asked quietly, averting the brilliant flare of crimson in his eyes as she side-stepped his comment.

It took him less than a second to reply without any hesitation whatsoever. “Sans doute.”

“Even if Belladonna comes waltzing around the corner?” she asked coyly, masking her uncertainty with the thin cover of humour.

“Mignonne, if Belladonna came waltzin’ anywhere, it’d be safe t’ assume dere was probably some very bad shit about t’ go down,” he said in a deadpan. “I’d be runnin’, wit’ y’ thrown over m’ shoulder no less.”

“Gee, thanks, Tarzan.” She snickered. “Why don’t ya just drag me by the hair?”

“An’ miss de opportunity f’ heroics? Naw. Y’ still t’ink m’ a criminal, gotta convince y’ of de opposite somehow.” He winked cheekily.

“Ah think yo’ a deviant,” she corrected. “A little too insane for yo’ own good, maybe, but Ah think Ah can deal with that.”

Remy’s eyebrows shot up. When Rogue turned to look at him again, a slow, perfect grin had reached his eyes, making them glitter with mirth. “Mebbe m’ gonna have t’ stick around when dis is all over,” he said with forced mildness. “Lead y’ on over t’ de dark side and show dem X-Men o’ yours how t’ have a little fun, hein?” His expression betrayed him, however. He looked as if he was ready to start doing back flips.

Rogue flushed even harder and cleared her throat. “Ya would be welcome, Remy… at the Institute,” she added hastily, trying to make it sound offhanded, and failing. “If ya can’t stay here that is, because of everything.”

“Charles made m’ an offer once.” He shrugged indolently. “When we thought Magneto had died fighting Apocalypse.”

Rogue stiffened, sitting up a little straighter against the headboard. The Professor had tried to recruit him? Piotr had come back after some time spent in Russia, taking care of his mother and sister, but she hadn’t known about Remy.

Remy glanced at her askance, his expression unreadable. It was as if he knew exactly the thought pattern she was processing.

“Why didn’t ya take it?” Rogue asked finally.

Remy frowned, not meeting her gaze. “Familial obligation had t’ come first.”

Rogue blinked away her surprise, pushing the breakfast tray past her feet and drawing her legs beneath her as she turned to peer down at him. “Ya coulda come back with us,” she said quietly. “Ya could have gotten away from all this.”

“I know,” he said, peering up at her through his fringe. From where Remy had slumped beside her, she towered over him, and not for the first time, Rogue was aware of the acute discomfort caused by sitting so near to him. Idly, he reached over, fingers brushing against her leg, causing her to jump, and tugged lightly on the belt of her robe. He drew the end to his stomach, flipping the terrycloth between his fingers. Remy didn’t drop his gaze, though Rogue was hyper aware of his fingers working over the belt, and the light tugging at her midsection that accompanied his idle hands.

“But at the time, I was trying t’ fix t’ings,” he said.

“Even though they kicked ya out?”

He nodded slowly. “Even though.”

“Why is it so important to ya?” she half-whispered.

Remy fixed her with the same level stare, his gaze unwavering and unselfconscious as he took her measure. Her gaze dropped to his hands, slowly working over the end of the robe’s belt, and then back to his face. His pupils shone in the same bright shade of crimson, smouldering lightly at the edges of the corneas. He gave no impression that he would answer, or even if he was thinking of a cagey response. He simply looked at her, and fighting not to turn away, Rogue waited.

She always seemed to be waiting for him.

“Ya walk away from everythin’, but not this…” she trailed off.

“Can’t walk away from de t’ings dat make y’ who y’ are,” he continued for her. “Try to, and sometimes y’ make it out with a scrape or two, but de getaway ain’t always so clean.” He paused. “I left a mess behind f’ Jean Luc t’ mop up. S’ m’ fault de war continues. I might not like Jean Luc too much, but he’s still m’ family. Dere’s honour in dat.”

“Ah thought there wasn’t honour among thieves.”

“It’s a unique sort o’ t’ing. Rare commodity.” Remy shifted, sitting up a little straighter so that if Rogue shrank down into the pillows, they would be at eye-level. She did.

“Are ya still tryin’ ta… you know… fix stuff?”

Slowly, he nodded.

“Don’t lie ta me, swamp rat,” she said warningly, watching his expression for anything that would belie what he was telling her.

“Merde, fille! What’s it gonna take? Do I have t’ kiss y’ again and let y’ see f’ y’self dat I’m tellin’ de truth?” he asked, only half-joking.

Rogue flushed, her stomach dropping at least two inches at the thought. It wasn’t a particularly bad sensation, but it did a number to the composure she’d been forcibly maintaining since he’d shown up in her doorway. “Ah didn’t mean –”

He smirked, an infuriating twist of his mouth that curved his lips upwards. “M’ kiddin’,” he murmured, leaning closer. Rogue pulled backwards in the same motion, her head hitting the headboard with a sharp thud that had her swearing. She glared at him, rubbing the back of her skull.

“Ah wouldn’t risk it,” she said warningly, balling her hands into her robe sleeves and using her knuckles to push at his shoulder. “Lordy, why do ya have ta be so damned persistent?”

“Why do y’ have t’ regress each time we take a step forwards?” he asked. “Let’s not go back t’ dat, chérie. I know dat it hurts t’ keep denyin’ it t’ y’self, so please… clear de air with me, just dis once.”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she merely gaped at him. The scent of his cologne was a rich swirl that filled her mouth. She shut it promptly, not liking where this was going. They didn’t have the stone yet, which meant she couldn’t touch him without running the risk of causing him some serious pain. It figured he’d be masochistic enough to try anyway.

“We’re friends, swamp rat. That’s it. Ah think that’s enough,” she returned testily, forcing the words out despite the bitter aftertaste.

“Friends? Are dere benefits included with the title?” he teased.

Rogue folded her arms across her chest and looked at him archly. Admittedly, it was getting increasingly difficult to stay pissed at him when he made her insides squirm pleasantly whenever he looked at her.

“Don’t lie t’ me, river rat,” he parroted, his voice husky despite the obvious effort to unsettle her.

“Don’t make me make that decision, Remy,” she replied. “Ya know Ah can’t.” Not yet, she added mentally.

“Didn’t stop y’ dis morning, so why now?” he returned.

“Why can’t ya tell me what ya need ta do so badly ta make up for what ya done?” she shot back.

He fell silent, scrutinizing her. After a moment, he looked down at his hands, at the belt of her robe pressed lightly between his thumb and index finger. He tugged on it a little more firmly.

“Why’s it such a concern t’ y’?” he asked.

“Ah don’t give my trust blindly, Cajun. Ya gotta give me a reason ta have faith in ya.” It was the truth.

Fine. She wanted him. She could admit that to herself. It didn’t mean she had to tell him that, though. If he was serious, he’d better be willing to run the gamut. There had to be something backing his advances, something solid so that she could understand what it was he was after.

“M’ not y’ mother,” he said quietly, almost coolly. It sent a shiver down her spine, understanding how quickly his demeanour could change. She shook it off, trying to be discreet and failing. He noticed.

“I know,” she said finally, and hesitantly, she placed a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. “And Ah’m not another person ya can use ta put yo’ past behind ya.”

There it was, thought Rogue, in a nutshell. Remy’s past was a huge problem for him, so much so that it would be a problem for them both if he couldn’t get beyond it.

The touch was feather light, uncertain, and just as quickly, Rogue thought better of it and attempted to pull her hand back. Remy was quicker, snagging the cuff of her robe and drawing her back to him gently. She didn’t fight it as he twined his fingers around her wrist, drawing the sleeve down to cover her hand as he placed in on his chest over his heart.

“I know,” he said decisively, but not harshly. Something burned behind his eyes, an inscrutable determination that Rogue couldn’t tear away from, though she tried. “An’ believe me, if I could tell y’…” He trailed off, sitting up though not breaking his gaze, and not releasing her hand as he slid his fingers between hers through the terrycloth. “If I could...”

“But ya won’t.”

“Chére, y’ got y’ own darkness t’ worry about. Let me have mine,” he countered.

Beneath her hand, the steady rhythm of his heart was strong, steady, and even. It didn’t falter, and his gaze stayed level. He was telling the truth in the simplest terms without really telling her anything. It hurt. As much as she didn’t understand his intentions, he didn’t trust her with his past.

“There’s more than what Ah saw than just that memory of Belladonna.” She didn’t phrase it as a question, knowing that with the slight increase of his pulse, it was true.

Remy didn’t respond, his face a perfectly controlled, neutral mask that gave no indication of just how bad it could be, just how many horrors lurked behind those red eyes. Many, she guessed, and some were undoubtedly fresher than others.

“Battle scars?” she asked.

Slowly, he nodded.

She pressed no further, though she shifted her weight a little, leaning fractionally closer to him so that she could sit without toppling into his lap. Remy offered no sign that he was ready to release her hand. Her shoulder brushed his, drawing his gaze away, to the arm she supported herself with, and to the slight dip of the robe at her neckline.

“T’ings y’ can’t see,” he said quietly, his gaze drawing a searing line over her exposed collarbone, the line of her throat, and coming to rest on her mouth for a second longer than he should have. “Not on de skin.” It was almost a whisper the sound was so hoarse. He cleared his throat, and slowly, his other arm snaked out, slipping to her waist in one fluid motion that Rogue only registered once she felt the heat of his hand on her hip.

“Ah keep mine hidden too,” she said weakly. It brought the heat to her face, or perhaps knowing that Remy’s hand was slowly sliding around to her back, drawing her forwards, her knees sliding over his as he turned beneath her. “But Ah don’t punish myself for it half as much as ya do.”

The robe, though it was long, was slowly slipping apart over her legs where it caught below Remy’s knee.

“Not bein’ able t’ be close t’ y’, chére – dat’s punishment enough,” he murmured.

She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes widening as she understood. “Oh no,” she whispered. “Remy, no.” That’s what he had meant when he’d said he was atoning. She was his penitence. Helping her gain control, finding the stone, was his way of repenting for the things he’d done.

“M’ sorry, Rogue.” His eyes shone, a brilliant shade of ruby that slivered her defences. He knew what he’d been doing all along. He’d told her, and Rogue had listened – but she hadn’t really heard him.

Mutely, she shook her head, her voice caught in her throat. Suddenly, it didn’t matter. His past, what it was exactly she’d been trying to force out of him all this time – those dark things that lurked just beyond the thin film of his freshest memories. Those burdens, whatever they were, no longer mattered.

Through her, he thought he could make it better.

“What do friends do if dey can’t show each other dere hurts, mignonne?” he asked, his voice pitched low.

Rogue swallowed, her chest constricting to the point where she thought she might cry out from the swell of frustration. She fisted her hand into his shirt through the robe sleeve and shook her head, not trusting her voice entirely to remain even. It was bittersweet, knowing what he meant to do, knowing that even though he was helping himself release the things that had caused him so much pain, he’d be helping her too.

“Ah don’t think they’re really friends ta begin with,” she said, her tone wavering as his breath caressed the shell of her ear. They were much more. This was co-dependency at its best. She sniffed, laughing nervously, and patting down the twisted fabric of his t-shirt. His hand slipped to her wrist, holding it loosely to him, no longer afraid that she would try to tear away from him.

He had her.

“But dey understand each other, non?” he asked, his head dipping low and his mouth nearly brushing her jaw. Rogue shut her eyes, the skin on her legs erupting in goosebumps. Damn.

He’d gotten her good.

“Sometimes.” It came out as little more than a puff of air, so quiet that it was nearly lost beneath the shift of the sheets below them as Remy turned her, tucking her legs between them, her feet catching uncomfortably in the linens. Gingerly, she moved them so that her heels rested on his opposite side, her calves brushing his lap, and the robe collecting below her, riding ever higher up her legs.

“De rest of de time?” he asked, his hair brushing her cheek as she felt him move to look at her face.

“It’s a gamble,” she managed.

Her eyes fluttered open. Remy released her hand, slowly dropping his palm to hover over the expanse of exposed knee in front of him.

“Are y’ willing t’ try y’ luck?” he asked.

His fingers were steady, but so close to her skin that she could feel the heat radiating from his palm. Fear lanced through her at the sight, and hastily, she tried to cover herself to keep him from making contact. It was a futile attempt, because as she tried to pull away, he moved into her direct line of sight, his mouth at exactly the right level to kiss. She left her hand on his chest, fingers working their way out of the sleeve and pressing him backwards to a safer distance. It did nothing, other than to serve as territory for wandering fingers. It wasn’t possible to have pectorals that hard. She blushed again, her lips parting to suck in a sharp breath. She couldn’t seem to get enough air.

“I don’t know what’s happenin’ t’ me, Rogue. I don’t know how long de effects of de stone will last, but y’ gotta understand me when I say dat it wouldn’t matter either way.”

“Ah thought about it,” she said shakily, trying to lean further away but not wanting to in the slightest. He was so close. It was just like the cemetery, but there was no challenge to it this time. It was an open invitation.

Awe hell, she thought, pressing her knees together, flinching just the same at the ripple of warmth that flooded her limbs, making her mouth dry and her limbs heavy. “Maybe it’s not the stone at all, or how long ya held onto it. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered. It could be me,” she said shakily. “Ah touched ya more than Ah touched anyone in a year. Maybe it’s me,” she repeated, uncertain. “Maybe Ah’m takin’ the edge off yo’ powers.”

“So I go back to de way I was before. Does it matter? I don’t need t’ be able t’ blow up leaves if it meant I could touch y’ one more time.” He wet his lips. “One kiss. Just one, chére. If y’ hated it de first time, y’ wouldn’t be here with m’ now.”

“Ah didn’t hate it,” she said quietly, the sound catching. “Ah hate that Ah hurt ya. Ah made ya run, and there wasn’t anything Ah could do about it other than let ya go.”

“Don’t go takin’ de blame f’ me,” he said warningly.

It was difficult to breathe with him so close. Still, his hand hovered, caressing the air just over her thighs. She watched his fingers, both with caution and the plummeting sensation that if she moved so much as an ounce, the fingers exposed by his oddly cut gloves would graze skin. Would she absorb him? She didn’t know. The thought excited her as much as she feared it.

“Why aren’t ya afraid of me?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Why doesn’t being this close ta me scare ya?”

She was stalling, drawing it out in the same way that the tightening in her belly was turning into a pleasurable pain. Remy shifted, his gaze trained on hers once more; the red of his irises had darkened, the pupils widened with want. She wondered if hers looked the same to him. Rogue swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Remy’s lips were achingly close.

“It does, but m’ more afraid of what y’ do t’ me already den what y’ powers could,” he murmured. She felt it beneath her hand on his chest, a vibration so low it could be mistaken for the purr of a large cat. “Y’ no different den anyone, Rogue – other den de fact dat y’ make it extremely difficult t’ focus on anyt’ing else when y’ nearby. Y’ normal, an’ m’ not gonna treat y’ any different because y’ got somet’ing special in y’ bones. M’ just gonna treat y’, if y’ let me.”

“It’s in my head,” she said quietly, her voice strained. “That’s where the problem is.”

“I’ll take de whole package,” he replied, his mouth hovering desperately close to hers.

“Ah’ll hurt ya,” she argued. “Ah done it once, what’s ta say Ah won’t again?”

“S’ a grim thought, chére – but I can t’ink of a million different t’ings I’d rather live without den not knowing what coulda been because I passed on de chance. It’s de sorta pain dat don’t go away – not knowin’. I take m’ chances.”

“Is this worse?” she whispered, her supporting hand sliding backwards. She didn’t want to drop her shoulders to the bed; he’d be on top of her if her arm gave out, and then what? Give up? Give in? There was more to this than just them, than just powers and consolidating old debts. It meant she’d relinquish a part of herself that she kept locked up, barred away, and safe from possible injury.

What damages was he capable of if she let him have that part of herself?

Rogue tried to blink it away, shaking her head sadly. Hell, she wanted him. Rogue swallowed a hysterical bubble of laughter. She almost wanted to cry with the catharsis, but worse, gawd, she thought, it hurt to be this close and not be sure if he’d be harmed if she touched him.

“It’s a good sorta pain, Roguey.” He smiled gently, a bare tugging of his mouth on one side before it faded, and his expression became hungry once more.

She knew that kind of pain. It was sharper than any knife and more attractive than anything she’d ever known before. It was the sort of sadistic craving that could do nothing but sting. Rogue was certain now that it was the best sort of ache.

She swallowed, her elbow buckling. Remy caught her between the shoulder blades, easing her gently to the bed. Her heartbeat caught, faltering as she felt the press of his palm on her thigh. Rogue forced herself to bite down on her lower lip to stifle a gasp, as if by not breathing, she could force control over her mutation. She exhaled a moment later, shakily, as she realized she felt nothing more than the press of his gloves.

No fingers. No skin.

No control.

“The things I’d do t’ be inside y’,” he murmured, leaning over her, his arm supporting his weight. Rogue flushed, her eyes widening with the admission. Had he always been so bold? Seeing her shocked expression, he chuckled, murmuring, “Inside y’ head.”

“Ya done a fine job of wormin’ yo’ way in there so far,” she breathed, unable to uncoil the thick knot of tension that drew tight at her core with his words.

“But I don’t know any more or any less than what y’ give m’, chére.” His hand moved, dragging up the expanse of exposed thigh, bunching the thick terrycloth at her hip. Gently, he pulled it back in place, covering her modesty without dropping his gaze from her face.

“You either, Cajun,” she breathed, swallowing as she felt the press of his fingers once more, sliding over her hip to her waist, her ribs, brushing over her arm and sliding down from her shoulder, across her chest and beneath the lapel of the robe. If she flinched, it was involuntary; accompanied by the low, ardent throb that made the muscles in her stomach tighten. There was an intimacy to the caress. Though he didn’t press his hands to her breast, he elicited a shudder from her just the same.

“What can I give y’?” Remy asked, his voice throaty. Slowly, his hand moved down her sternum, resting on her heart. “Tell me, Rogue.”

Her eyes half-shut, Remy hovered over her. She felt the weight of his leg slide between hers, the soft brush of worn denim against her bare shins, the warmth of his body as he slid over her, sinuous and demanding. He smiled, a slow rush of warmth accompanying the heated glow of his eyes as he settled against her, making her breath catch.

God, this was so dangerous, she thought.

Why in hell was it turning her on?

She didn’t have an answer. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t ask for it.

Rogue breathed deeply, finally realizing that her boneless arms were flopped out to either side of her head. Her fingers flexed, unconsciously yearning to spread over his broad shoulders, to feel the waves of muscle down his back, and to wrap into his hair. She wanted to feel the roughness of the stubble on his jaw, to rub her thumb against the small, rough patch of auburn below his lower lip. She wanted to run her fingers against his mouth, that soft, inviting cup tinted with the rush of blood below the surface. She wanted to drink from him, taste him again. Had she already forgotten his flavour?

Rogue wet her lips, shifting below him and deciding as she arched further into his hand that nothing that felt this good could be bad… and to hell with it if it was.

Did he feel the quickness of her pulse? Did he know that her breaths were getting shorter the closer he came?

“We have t’ know, chérie — if it’ll last.”

“Remy.” It was nearly a moan — not quite, but close. “If Ah could touch ya the way yo’ touchin’ me now, even if it was only for a few minutes – Ah swear Ah’d take that chance.”

“Y’ want it, p’tit?”

She nodded sluggishly. Remy’s eyes danced, burning so brightly that she almost wanted to turn away. Rogue didn’t. If he could watch her face through this, she’d watch his.

“Ah want control,” she whispered, feeling his hand slide lower, tracing a heated course over her stomach to rest over her bellybutton.

“What are y’ gonna do when y’ get it, Rogue?” he asked for the second time that night, his tone laden with the heaviness of suggestion, and the sweet, narcotic lull of rich chocolate. She could practically taste it on his breath as he leaned over her mouth, lips grazing hers and making her shudder. She drew backwards, her arms coming up to rest on his shoulders despite the heaviness in her limbs. She turned her head to the side and exposed her throat, avoiding his mouth while she still could.

Bad idea.

“Stop teasin’ me, Remy,” she whispered, hating herself and wanting him just the same.

She felt his lips; the hot, swirling press of his breath against her collarbone. It was light and moist, a kiss so quick that it was over and done even before she turned back to him.

The grin he favoured her with could have melted every ice flow in Antarctica.

Lazily, he cocked an eyebrow. “I haven’t even started teasin’ y’, mignonne.”

“Did you just…?”

In the same languid, sultry manner, Remy nodded. “Y’ feel dat?”

Rogue sucked in a shaky breath. He’d kissed her, and she hadn’t absorbed him. Nothing. She racked her brain, searching desperately for a whisper of something – a memory, a thought that was too cocky to be one of her own. There was nothing.

She nodded, her eyes wide. Remy’s fingers twined casually in her hair, the other hand moving beneath the lapel, using the robe as a cover to cup the side of her face. That was as close to being careful as he was willing to get.

“De way I see it, last night might’ve been a fluke. Mebbe it just takes a bit more concentration on m’ part t’ hold up de shields. Mebbe…” he breathed, brushing the corner of her mouth. “… Y’ bewitched me into losin’ m’self f’ just a little while, an’ I let go of de control I needed t’ keep it up. Only one way t’ really find out.”

Rogue wet her lips, her breath coming erratically. He was going to kiss her. Oh man, she though, oh man oh god oh…

“Oh, merde!” The lilting, feminine voice in the doorway yipped, startled.

Remy winced, pulling back a few inches as Mercy laughed outright. “Désole, vous deux. Y’ t’ink in a house full of t’ieves more people’d lock dere doors. I’ll just… ha… oh mon dieu…”

Remy smirked down at Rogue, not at all perturbed that they’d been caught in such a compromising position. Rogue was certain her face had turned at least three shades redder. Her heart was caught somewhere in her throat, her head still swimming despite her embarrassment.

“Take a rain cheque?” he asked in that same throaty purr. The look in Remy’s eyes sent a tremor straight down to Rogue’s toes, making her limbs tingle wickedly as he rolled off her. She had to force herself to breathe again, still lying in the same place, suddenly colder from the loss of contact, but just as enflamed as she was before.

“Eh… Remy? Henri’s waitin’ f’ ya downstairs. Said he’s gonna go with ya t’ de Quartier, pop by de Assassins t’ see if dey cookin’ up somet’in’ stupid,” Mercy continued.

Remy didn’t tear his glance away from her as he answered his sister-in-law.

“Attends, Merc. Je m’en vais.”

Rogue blinked, trying to stubbornly cover her legs and scoot away from him at the same time, as if putting an extra few inches of distance would stop the thready swell of wanting to be touched by him again. He would have kissed her. He would have risked getting absorbed all over again; sacrificing his memories and his secrets for just one more touch.

She barely registered Mercy as she took a tentative step into the room, a bundle of clothing held in her arms.

“Mmm… brought ya some clothes, girl. Even got some gloves. Dey might be a bit small, but y’ know, beggers can’t be choosers,” Mercy continued, looking between them. “Merde, talk about awkward,” she chuckled, more amused than anything else.

“I’ll be back by midnight,” Remy murmured, focusing solely on her. Rogue swallowed. What did he just say? Damnit, why did her head feel like it was stuffed full of cotton?

“What?” she croaked, finally looking between both thieves and sitting up. Mercy smirked knowingly, raising her eyebrows and setting the small pile of clothing down at the foot of the bed. She collected the tray, trying to busy herself while eavesdropping at the same time.

Remy grinned, sliding off the bed in one fluid, graceful sweep. “Got a couple of t’ings t’ take care of in de Quartier. Emil’ll be downstairs waitin’ for y’, he’ll be set up by now.”

Rogue couldn’t believe her ears. She shook herself, trying to understand what he was saying. “Yo’ going back into the French Quarter tonight? What about the Assassins? Shit, Remy –”

“It’ll be fine, chérie. Dey can’t touch me if dey can’t catch me.”

“Ah’m comin’ with ya,” she said stubbornly, flipping her legs over the side.

“Non, y’ not.”

She glared, opening her mouth to give him a verbal lashing, but he stopped her. “It’s more important dat y’ help Emil.”

He meant the stone. The look he gave her was so intense, so serious that Rogue nearly felt her knees give. Slowly, she let out a breath, and nodded.

“Cajun,” she said bracingly. “Ya do something stupid ta get yo’self hurt, and I’ll kill ya myself.”

He grinned, a cocksure half smile that pulled at her so easily that Rogue nearly hit him out of sheer frustration. Smoothly, he stepped beside her, his fingers grazing the small of her back as he dipped his head and whispered in her ear, “Toi pis moi, chére – we’ve got a score t’ settle.” She shivered against him, leaning into his touch just a little. “Wouldn’t miss dat f’ de world.”

And then he was gone, out the door behind Mercy without a backwards glance.

---

Translations: French to English
C’est impossible: It’s impossible.
Pére: father
Comprends: Understand?
Bonsoir, chére: Good evening, chére
Pardonnez moi: Pardon me
unp’tit souper pour nous deux: a little dinner for the two of us
Merde, fille: Shit, girl!
Quoi: What?
Sans doute: Without a doubt
Désole, vous deux: Sorry, you two
Mon dieu: my god
Toi pis moi: You and me

Translations: German to English
Was bedeutet das: What does that mean?
Es tut mir leid: I’m sorry

Post Script:
- Deuces Wild: A form of high poker in which the 2s are wild (that is, a 2 can represent any other card for the purpose of forming a better hand: a deuce can pair any other card, fill the "hole" in a straight, make the fifth of four cards to a flush, and so on); usually played as draw poker.
- Mattie Baptise: Born 1885, life extended by the Guilds’ elixirs. Long story, involving a really pleasant (note the sarcasm) immortal by the name of Candra to whom the Guilds pay a tithe every eight years, the thieves to maintain their long lives, the assassins for power.
- Ace of Spades: There are a couple of reasons for this choice – in the last chapter, while discussing his past with Belladonna, Remy claimed that the Ace was the one card Rogue threw out because she said the Joker described him better. If the Ace is recognizable by Bella as something that defines Remy, this should indicate that it’s how she used to know him. I didn’t know if that was obvious at all, since we don’t get Belle’s POV and her input (and we probably won’t over the course of the concluding chapters.) and that makes for limited explanation. (Have I also mentioned that it’s the death card? Yeah? Oh, that too.)
- Belle’s eyes: Ever notice that instead of blue, they’re often violet in the comics because of the colourist’s choice? “Indigo” is my happy medium, say thank ya.
- End Notes: OMG FINALLY! That was cathartic. The vote’s split at this point; half of you are being super optimistic, and the other half are convinced that Remy’s being duplicitous. Me? I hear no evil. See no evil. Speak no evil. I just listen to my muse, do what she tells me, and keep my nose clean of this whole sordid affair.