. III .
It was funny, Remy thought.
Funny, in some sadistic, twisted sort of way.
It was easy to be young and foolish, to play with fire, to start them, to make
mistakes even though they had been made willingly. It was less easy to
accept the consequences, to learn from those faults, to move on. Less
easy, because learning was one thing, and atonement was another. And his
mistake had been too wicked, too corrupt for him to simply give it a passing
nod and walk away. Blood was on his hands and he couldn’t wash it
off. Whatever he tried to do – even going so far as to walk on the side
of the angels – he had still been left with a stain. But he had thought
he’d escaped his mistake, his sin. He had thought he’d managed to out run
the misdeeds of his wanton youth.
But the past, he found himself thinking now, always has a way of turning round
and biting you on the arse. That was the funny part, the ironic
part. Only three months away from the X-Men and here he was, in a dark
alley, having been rudely accosted while he was out minding his own (shady) business.
What was even more amusing was that he was surrounded by the very group of
people in whose crimes he had once lent his aid.
Sinister’s Marauders.
“I’m getting’ de feelin’ dat dis ain’t a friendly reunion,” he quipped,
attempting to make light of the matter. At least it gave him time enough
to weigh up the odds. Lucky for him only four of the nine strong band had
been sent after him; Harpoon, Riptide, Arclight and his old nemesis,
Sabretooth. Not so lucky that he was cornered in some dark alleyway with
no one this side of 3am in sight.
“Save it pretty boy,” Harpoon sneered at him, “You’re comin’ with us. So
be a good boy and don’t put up a fight.”
“An’ if I do?” Remy replied, casually removing the cigarette from his lips.
“Then we bring you in just barely intact,” Sabretooth snarled, inching
forwards, clawed hands twitching.
“Sounds like de boss wants me alive, Creed,” Remy grinned insolently at him.
“Dat bother you?”
With a roar of rage the feral man lunged at him, but Remy quickly charged his
cigarette, flicking it deftly into Creed’s face, stunning him as it exploded on
impact. It bought Remy just enough time to figure out an escape
route. He was caught in a dead end – but the rooftops were always an
option. If only he could get enough of these guys down to use that
dumpster as a booster…
“That was a bad call, LeBeau,” Harpoon bellowed, ripping a nearby railing out
of the ground. “An’ now you’re gonna pay!”
In a flash the larger man had energized the pole and had sent it skimming
through the air in Remy’s direction. With the easy grace of some
light-footed gazelle Remy dodged the attack, dealing several charged cards at
the rest of the gang before he landed. Most of his foes were left
reeling, stunned – but Sabretooth had recovered from the previous attack and
had come at Remy from behind, grasping him in a head lock that forced the
breath out of him.
“You’re luckier than you know, LeBeau,” the feral man hissed into his ear. “As
it happens, the boss does want you alive, otherwise I’d twist your neck
off right here and now.”
“I’m guessin’ your ‘boss’ never taught you to watch where a t’ief’s hands be
at,” he grimaced. “Especially dis t’ief’s!”
In a trice he had grasped the bo-staff at his belt, extending it and ramming
the end into Creed’s stomach. The move had been a gamble, but it had been
sufficient enough to temporarily take the wind out of Sabretooth. Gasping
for breath, Remy found himself out from the larger man’s clutches, and with
just enough leeway to get to the dumpster if he ran for it. Springing to
his feet he began the short sprint, but was halted mid-step by a sudden
localized earth tremor courtesy of Arclight. Losing his footing he fell,
landing just inches away from his target; but also at the mercy of Harpoon who
was just seconds behind him.
Remy swivelled in the dirt to see Harpoon bearing down upon him, energized
lance already in his massive hand. Shit, shit, shit, Remy thought.
Dis is bad…
“So long, LeBeau,” Harpoon grinned. For a crazy second all Remy could see
were those yellowed teeth.
That was when the gunshot sounded.
In that terrible instant Remy had no idea of where the shot
had come from, nor who the bullet was intended for. Then Harpoon keeled
over into Remy’s lap, spattering blood across his face from a gaping head
wound. Liquid warmth trickled down his cheek, thawing him; the next
second the world seemed to move again. Looking up from the huge twitching
body of the dead Marauder, Remy saw the face of his unlikely saviour.
There, in the light of a single street lamp, stood Rogue, a smoking gun pointed
deliberately in his direction. He gaped. Rogue with a gun, face as
grim as the Reaper’s, dressed in black bathing suit ensemble and thigh high
leather boots. Looking really damn good.
Their eyes locked. The stare she gave him was one of
recognition and something else he couldn’t read. Interest?
Wonder? Irony? The corner of her mouth twitched. It was
almost a smile, yet not quite.
“Let him go,” she ordered, her eyes still on his. Her voice was low and
firm. There was something strange about it that both perplexed and
surprised Remy. Removing her gaze, she calmly swung the gun towards
Creed, one long finger stroking the trigger with an almost loving relish.
There was a silent, nervous moment where no one was quite sure whether she was
serious or not. Under normal circumstances, Remy would have been
wondering the same thing, but his mind was working rabidly in other
directions. Now that Rogue was distracting them, he had an opening.
He just had to time it right.
“She’s bluffing,” Creed sneered after a moment, meeting Rogue’s gaze with
contempt. “The frail ain’t used a gun in her life. She’s wastin’ our
time. Philippa, take her out.”
Arclight stepped forwards to do his bidding, but Remy was quicker.
Leaping to his feet he caught the dark-haired woman from behind, grasping her
arms against her back and swinging her lithe torso in Rogue’s direction.
Rogue needed no second incentive. Two shots rang out and Arclight spasmed
as each bullet rammed into her, one in her throat, the other in her
heart. With a sputtering gurgle she went limp, and Remy tossed her aside
just as Riptide came for him. With little effort he dodged his foe with
easy deftness, before lunging out with his bo-staff and slamming it mercilessly
into Riptide’s skull. With a splintering crack the blow connected, and
the white-haired man crashed to the ground, unconscious. Roaring with
rage, Sabretooth charged forward to recoup his losses, swiping a clawed hand in
the direction of Remy’s head. Remy ducked, but not fast enough.
Creed’s fist smashed into his cheek with the force of a battering ram, and he
fell to the ground, dazed, tasting blood in his mouth. The next moment
Sabretooth had grasped him by the lapels and heaved him into a standing
position, dragging him into place as Creed’s shield.
“Back off!” he hissed at Rogue, who had instinctively taken a step forward. “I
got your punk boyfriend right where I want him, an’ you take so much as one
step closer, and I’ll rip his head off right where he stands.”
“Fine,” Rogue replied in such a cool, professional tone that Remy was
stunned. By now she should have been coming to his rescue in a blaze of
fists and quick-witted banter. “I’ll take you out from here.”
Calmly, collectedly, she lifted the gun again, aiming it without hesitation
right between Creed’s eyes. Again Remy stared at her. Fuck – what
kind of a game did she think she was playing at? He didn’t mind her
coming to the rescue, but this was just plain crazy.
Creed burst into laughter.
“Don’t make me laugh, you crazy broad! Since when did a girl like you
learn t’ use a gun?”
“Since I was thirteen, ‘punk’,” Rogue replied, and pulled the trigger. It
only took a second but it seemed like forever. For that one moment Remy
thought that it was he who had been hit. Then Sabretooth slumped
backward, crashing onto the floor, pulling Remy down with his massive
bulk. Remy gulped, tremulously extricating himself out of the larger
man’s grasp before looking down at him. A bullet had lodged itself in
Creed’s forehead, and blood was oozing deliberately out the wound. He
sucked in a trembling breath, wondering against better judgement just how close
he’d come certain death. With an indomitable calmness Rogue walked
up beside him, only giving a passing glance to her handiwork. Wordlessly
she held out a hand to him.
“We’d better leave,” she said, her eyes urgent as she looked down into his. “It
won’t take long before his healing factor kicks in.”
Shocked into speechlessness, Remy allowed her to help him to his feet,
following her dumbly as she turned to sprint out of the alleyway only to duck
into another, without even so much as asking how he was. Was the girl
angry with him or something? They had, after all, broken it off less than
amicably not a few months before. It was the reason he was here, miles
away from the mansion and leading a carefree life of leisure, taking care not
to become too involved in Guild politick. But still, it wasn’t like her
to be so cold. Rogue’s rages were hot, passionate. And what the
hell was she doing down in New Orleans?
Thoughtfully he swiped the blood from his face with the back of his sleeve,
staring after her in puzzlement as she scrambled over a fence and jumped back
into an adjoining back street. This was hardly the Rogue he
remembered. No smiles, no playful banter, not even a greeting or word of
acknowledgment. And dressed a whole lot skimpier than he
remembered. He’d never seen Rogue wear just a simple bathing suit before
– with all that flesh on show he figured her powers still must’ve been
disabled. Not that he was complaining at that particular moment. He
climbed the fence and leapt down to join her, eyeing her backside
appreciatively as he did so. Wow, he thought, that outfit does her some
favours. Unfortunately she happened to see the look and glowered back
heavily at him.
“What’re you lookin’ at?” she shot at
him sourly.
“Um…Nothin’,” he grinned, hoping to coax her out of her present bad mood. “Jus’
enjoyin’ the view.”
“Do you mind?” she replied scathingly, hands on hips. “In case you hadn’t
noticed, those guys were out to kill you. And if you particularly want to
live then I suggest that we make a move before those Marauders come back for
more.” She brushed past him roughly, not even bothering to look back to see if
he was following her. Again her tone baffled him. There was
something so odd about it; he just couldn’t put his finger on it…
“Wait…chere…Why you come t’ save me? What exactly we runnin’ from?” he
called out.
She stopped, swivelling to look at him in surprise.
“I’m savin’ your life, mister!” she placed her hands on her hips, “So just
trust me and do what I say.”
Hmm, pushy, he thought. Now that’s Rogue talkin’ for sure.
“Fair enough, chere,” he spoke aloud, “But could you at least explain wha’s
goin’ on t’ your ol’ Gambit? Please?”
Despite his underlying seriousness there was that old cajoling tone to his
voice that had always so exasperated and delighted her. But now it seemed
it was the worse thing he could have done. With lightning speed reflexes
she pushed him back against the wall, digging her elbow sharply into his
throat, drawing the gun swiftly and jamming it against his temple.
“Look, pretty boy,” she hissed up at
him acidly. “I may have saved your life back there, but you’ve caught me in a real bad mood and I would really appreciate it if you’d just back off and stop laying on all this
shit you’re giving me. Are you hearing me?”
He nodded silently,
swallowing. It had suddenly dawned on Remy what was wrong with her
voice. What, was he dumb? Her accent was wrong. It was not
Rogue’s accent. Everything she said was not the way Rogue would say
it. The girl was definitely not joking around. Something was
wrong. Really wrong…
She saw the look on his face, and
suddenly her mouth twisted into a mirthless grimace, baring her white teeth at
him. No doubt – it was Rogue all right. But something just wasn’t
right about her face…
“Why’re you looking at me like
that?” she seethed, pressing the gun harder against his head.
“Gotta say, chere,” he muttered
impertinently, ignoring the pressure of her elbow against his throat. “For a
girl who was riskin’ an awful lot to save dis cajun’s hide back dere, I’m
t’inkin’ dat you don’t actually know what you be wantin’ me for.”
“And you’re pushing me an awful
lot for someone who has a gun to his head,” she growled.
“Dis ain’t de first time a fille’s put a gun t’ my head, chere,” he
joked breathlessly. “But I ain’t never had one as pretty as you doin’ de
honours.”
Her eyes darkened, and her hand
contracted; nevertheless the remark had knocked her off guard enough for him to
make his move. Lifting a leg he kneed her in the stomach, sending her
reeling backward and into a nearby trashcan. The gun went off – a bullet
ricocheted off a dumpster and into the wall. He didn’t waste time paying
heed to it. Already he had launched himself at her, but she was quicker,
raising the gun and aiming it at his shoulder. The action was pure
instinct, but even so something crossed over her face and she hesitated, eyes wide;
the next moment he was on her, grappling her to the ground. She
struggled, unable to shoot at close quarters but still holding onto the weapon
fast. It was a liability Remy knew he could best do without. With
one hand he gripped the barrel of the gun, charging it just enough to burn her
hand. With a squeal she dropped it, her body twisting in pain.
After that there was no contest. He held her down while she raged at him.
“You burnt my hand, you shit!” she shrieked.
“You were gonna shoot me,” he
replied calmly, keeping a firm grasp on her wrists.
“Yeah, right, like I’d waste
bullets on a fuck like you!” she screamed. She was squirming like a rat
in a trap but there was no way he was going to let her go.
“So I’m not worth de killin’ now,
am I, p’tite? So just what d’you want from me, eh? Somethin’ tells
me it ain’t just for a night on de proverbial town.”
She stopped struggling, meeting
his gaze with enraged candour.
“You wanna know the truth?” she
spat wildly. “I don’t have a clue why I’m here. I don’t have a
clue who you are. And I sure as
hell don’t even know whether you’re a friend or a foe. All I know is I
got sent here, and maybe the reason I got sent here isn’t a good one. Now
do you understand why I’m feeling just a little bit confused?”
He paused, suddenly leaning in to peruse her face intently, scanning for any
trace of the woman he loved. It was Rogue’s face that stared back into
his, her lips, her nose, her cheeks, her hair, but something was wrong.
The expression was not hers. There was no recollection in it, no
softness, none of the things that he knew and equated with Rogue. And her
eyes…he stopped, looking into them intently. It was then that the cold
realisation spread over him. What he saw was not the warm green of
Rogue’s eyes, but a piercing blue.
The eyes were Carol Danvers’.
*******