. IV .

“Merde…”

Remy stood up slowly, releasing his grip on the woman beneath him, his mind reeling.  Depending on one’s point of view this was either going to go down as one of the luckiest or unluckiest days of his life.  Right now we wasn’t sure which.

Behind him Rogue/Carol Danvers – whoever she happened to be – sat up, glaring at him, rubbing her wrists.

“Does this mean you’re a friend?” she asked sullenly, after a moment of silence.

“Dis cajun don’t like to make enemies out of women,” he replied, turning and half-smiling at her, knowing the look did not reach his eyes. “Especially not one’s dat come an’ save his hide.  What concerns me more is whether you be a friend or not, chere.”

She stood, examining the burn on her hand before looking him up and down.

            “Friend,” she said at last. “At least until I figure what the hell my mission is down in this cesspit.” She paused, looking around with narrowed eyes before turning her gaze back to him.  This time her eyes were softer, but there was still no real recognition in them.

“Gambit, right?” she asked after a moment.

            “Remy LeBeau,” he nodded, holding out a hand. “An’ you’re Carol Danvers, unless I’m mistaken.”

            She took his hand suspiciously, shooting him a look. “Right.  How’d you know?”

            “I’m an ex-X-Man,” he grinned, “You’re pretty – uh – famous back at de mansion.”

            “Oh,” she actually smiled, and a little of the defensiveness was gone out of her. “That, I would be.”

            He shook her hand vigorously, inwardly his mind racing ahead of him.  An’ how de hell did you know my name, girl, he thought, even though you don’ even know I was once wit’ Xavier’s brood?

            “So…” he spoke up conversationally, “How’d you come by my name?  Or does my reputation precede me?”

            Again a darkness crossed her face, and she frowned.

            “It’s…a complicated story,” she paused, and they both froze at a sudden noise from over the fence.  “We’d better get moving, Mr. LeBeau,” she continued in a low voice. “Those bozos earlier on meant business.  I can explain things later.”

            “Right you are, chere,” he agreed. “Howzabout we mingle wit’ de crowd?”

            Wearing the clothes she was wearing he figured she’d only be more conspicuous on the streets, and he certainly didn’t want to be caught in an alleyway with the Marauders again.  Thinking for a moment, he noticed a back door a little way down the pathway.  From the other side came the loud beat of heavy techno music.  He grinned.

            “I t’ink I have jus’ de cover we need, p’tite,” he smirked, looking back at her.

            They sidled into the building through the back door, abruptly assailed by the pungent aroma of sweat and heat and perfume, mingled with the sour reek of alcohol, punctuated by the reverberating pound of the music.  It was a small club, but filled to the brim with dancing youngsters and gyrating couples, turned-on and underdressed.  This was the hedonistic life that Remy had tried to turn his back on – sometimes it had worked, sometimes not.  He wove in and out of the melee, Carol behind him, savouring the scent of damp skin and raging hormones.  There was something almost nostalgic about it, something heady that almost drowned Remy in its squalid acridity.  And then he saw him.  The man with the white hair at the club entrance, talking to one of the bouncers.  Riptide.

            Grabbing Carol he slid with her into a corner, disappearing inside a crowd of dancers, putting his arms round her, dropping his mouth close to her ears, moving in time to the music.  To most of the gathered dancers it appeared that they were simply necking; not that most of the room was paying attention anyway.

            “Lie low!” he shouted into her ear.

            “What’s up?” she asked loudly.

            “White haired guy at six O’clock!”

            She leaned into him, falling into the rhythm of the music with ease, expertly peering over his shoulder to see Riptide moving up and down the raised gangway, pausing only to scan the crowds.  Quickly she buried her face against Remy’s neck.

            “He’s looking,” she warned him.

            They danced breathlessly, Carol carefully observing their foe out of the corner of her eye, until he surveyed the room one last time before finally leaving.  Heaving a sigh of relief she backed up.

            “He’s gone,” she informed Remy, but he didn’t answer.  Looking up at him, she saw him gazing back at her with that peculiar look on his face.

            “What?” she asked, annoyed.

            “Nothin’,” he suddenly grinned. “Jus’ enjoyin’ the dance, is all.”

            “I bet you are,” she frowned at him, but allowed him to carry on holding her anyway.  She didn’t know why.  Maybe it was his Cajun charm.  Or maybe it was something else.  He was a jerk, but there was no denying he was some looker… Whatever the reason, the whole thing suddenly perplexed her. “So,” she began again slyly over the music, pushing her bewilderment away. “Who was it that told you about me?  Logan, right?”

            “Logan, yeah.  An’ a girl – Rogue,” he answered, smiling a little too easily.  It was the kind of look she had learnt to read during her S.H.I.E.L.D. training.

            “Rogue?” That name again.  It sent shivers down her spine. “Don’t know her.”

            “Sure?” he asked. “She talked about you – quite a lot.”

            “Must be another Carol,” she replied casually.  For some reason she put her arms back round him. “Or maybe you’re just making this Rogue girl up.”

            “Heh. No.” He looked at her again, that strange look of perplexity and familiarity.

            “What is it?” she asked again, feeling slightly put out.

            “Jus’ t’inkin’ what a great mover y’ are, chere,” he replied smoothly.

            “Oh yeah?” No doubt about it, the guy was positively, damnably sexy.  He just simply wasn’t the kind of man she was usually attracted to.  It made it all the more puzzling to her that she should smile wickedly, and even more so that she should press her body seductively against his. “I get lots of practice.”

            He looked away, suddenly distant, his eyes full of sudden unease.  Why was he acting like this?  It was irritating her almost as much as the fact that her hormones were suddenly raging away like nobody’s business.

            “Am I missing something here?” she asked him directly, eyes narrowed.

            “Oh, no,” he turned to her, all smiles again. “Jus’, I had a girlfriend once, an’ she would never let me dance wit’ her like dis.  Well, she wouldn’ admit dat she wanted to anyways.”

            “Ex- girlfriend, I presume,” she raised an eyebrow at him.

            “Eh, wit’ me, who can tell?” he replied comically and she laughed. “So, howzabout you tell me why y’ come t’ save me?” he continued seriously, breaking her laugh.  She stared at him.

            “You’re gonna think I’m crazy,” she admitted, looking embarrassed.

            “Try me.”

            “Seriously, you will.  I just woke up one morning, and I had all these crazy images in my head, and they all involved you.”

“Hm, sounds like fun,” he grinned.  She grinned back.  Carol Danvers was never one for blushing.

“I’ve got a seventh sense, idiot,” she retorted playfully. “And what I saw wasn’t fun.  For some reason, the vision was unusually clear.  Normally they’re kinda vague, you know.  I just knew that you were in big trouble, and that I had to save you.”

            “As simple as dat, eh?” he smiled.

            “You call that simple?”

            “Stranger t’ings have happened.”

            “True.” She slid her arms up about his neck, looked quizzically into his eyes. “So sweetie, who’s Rogue?”

            “Wha - ?” The surprise was clear on his face.

            “Oh, come on.  You can't stop mentioning her.  And when you do, you get all tense.  She’s the ex-girlfriend, right?” She saw the look in his eyes. “Or maybe you’d rather she wasn’t?”

            “She made her decision,” he answered shortly. “Doesn’t mean I liked it.”

            She laughed.

            “Oh.  And here I was thinking we were having some fun.”

            “We could be,” he returned slowly.  She laughed again.

            “Y’know, you’re cute.  But it sounds like you’re still spoken for.” She kissed him playfully on the lips before letting him go. “Now what say we bust outta this joint?  Techno just isn’t my thing.”

            Remy and Carol slipped into the alleyways again, keeping to the shadows, glancing warily about, knowing that they were being sought.  When they had made sure that no one was tracking them nearby they moved on, Remy following Carol’s lead.  It was one of the more bizarre episodes of his life – being rescued by a woman who appeared to be the one he loved and who’d loved him; who was now hooked up with a man of (a more) dubious character than his own: except it wasn’t her, but a woman whose mind had apparently taken residence in her body.  Why was it, Remy wondered, that life never stopped dealing him these farcical twists and turns?  Why couldn’t his love life be anything but complicated?  Why couldn’t he just go out for one night without some sort of disruption?  Why couldn’t he just be left alone?

            First thing was first.  He was being hunted.  Not that it was the first time.  Six months ago it had been Destiny, and that experience had been unpleasant enough.  And now the Marauders.  It didn’t take a genius, much less a person like Remy, to figure out that Sinister was behind that little encounter.  Elementary, my dear Watson, he thought wryly.  So why was Sinister wanting him back?  Remy had long ago given up his tenuous links with the Marauders for the X-Men, making his contempt for the terrorist gang more than just clear.  And Sinister, though still evidently interested in Remy’s progress, had never had any desire to bring him back into the fold.  Which this particular recent event something of a mystery.

            And now there was Carol/Rogue to worry about.  Like why was Carol suddenly the dominant psyche in Rogue’s mind?  And why had she been having so-called premonitions of him?  The only person he thought might know was Rogue herself.  But how to tease her back out of…wherever she was – that was an entirely different matter.

            “You’re pretty good at dis stealth an’ sneaky-like stuff,” he complimented her when they’d travelled three blocks without being noticed by a single soul.

            “I was taught by the best,” she smiled at him. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

            “I’m a t’ief,” he explained.

            “Ah know.”

            He glared sharply at her, but she had already turned away from him.  He was positive it was Rogue’s voice he’d heard just then…

            “You got a place we can hide out?” she asked, turning back to him – looking at him through steely blue eyes.

            “Near here?  Only a couple o’ apartments – likely dose Marauders’ll be stakin’ dem out.”

            She grunted her agreement. “Can’t risk being seen anywhere obvious.  So that means we should lie low for a while, ‘til they break off the search.  So.  What do you suggest?”

            “Dere’s dis bar jus’ down de street.  Friends o’ mine, no questions asked.  We can hang out for an hour or so, den get back to my patch.”

            “Sounds good,” she grinned, stretching. “I could do with a drink.”

            “Den let’s go.”

            It was past closing hours, but Remy happened to be well known at Louis’ Place.  Located in a run-down section of town, its proprietors had always been affiliated with the Thieves’ Guild, and didn’t even bat an eyelid when Remy popped up out of nowhere uninvited, Carol in tow.  They took his presence as evidence of one of his run-of-the-mill escapades and said no more on it.  The bar itself was still occupied by faithful regulars and other late-nighters seeking refuge – so when the two of them planted themselves conspiratorially in one corner, no one paid much attention.

            “So, those guys,” Carol began, taking a long draught of her beer with relish. “The one’s that were bothering you?  Why exactly were they on your case?”

            “You’re lookin’ at de wrong guy,” Remy answered, lighting up out of habit. It was one of his more worrying penchants.  A drink was not the same to him without a cigarette.  He grinned at her, exhaling smoke. “ ‘Sides, I thought you were de one havin’ de premonitions.”

            “It was just a feeling,” she replied defensively. “I talked to Joseph about it.  He said it was down to the fact that I’d been feeling odd lately.”

            “Odd?” Remy asked, drinking his beer.  The truly odd thing was that she had mentioned Joseph, who had never met Carol before in his life – perhaps Rogue’s psyche was somehow still mixed up in there with Carol’s, and Carol was selectively remembering what she wanted to.

            “Yeah, you know, memories screwing up and stuff,” she leaned her head into her hand, suddenly sombre. “Charles wanted to do some tests on me – he and Hank said it was because I’d lost my powers.  I reckoned I just needed to get some rest.  Bad mistake,” she rolled her eyes. “Because the more I slept, the more these dreams came – about you.  They were driving me crazy.”

            “Dat, chere, is what every woman says,” he winked, raising his glass again.

            She laughed. “You really are a sweetie.  Why didn’t Logan ever mention you?”

            “Me?  I’m de bad penny ‘mongst de X-Men.  Keep on turnin’ up when dere’s trouble ahead.  Figured de best t’ing was to stay away.”

            “That mansion’s a madhouse, isn’t it?” She suddenly paused, frowning, and rubbed her temple.

            “S’wrong?”

            “Headache,” she explained. “They keep on coming back – aspirins don’t do a thing.” She shook her head, pushing away the momentary pain. “I just don’t get it.  I get these premonitions telling me to come down here, get you out of trouble and get you back to the mansion, and I don’t even know why.”

            “You want me t’ go back t’ the X-Men?” he interjected. “No way, chere.  Not in dis lifetime.”

            “Gambit, it’s important.  I just have this feeling that –,” she stopped again, rubbing her temples again. “Damn!”

            “Sure you don’t want me t’ ask for some painkillers?”

            “If only they’d work,” she sighed, “You know, when I get out of this body the first thing I’m gonna do is go on vacation.”

            He stared at her, amazed at her words, and she returned the look irately.

            “What?”

            “Did you…hear what you just said?” he asked uncertainly.

            “Yeah.  Vacation.  Being a superhero means you don’t get enough of them,” she half-joked. “But then…Ow!  Shit, why’s mah head hurtin’ so damn much!” She suddenly doubled over onto the table, clutching her head, moaning.  Remy jumped up, reached out to her, his heart leaping at the sound of Rogue’s unmistakable voice again.

            “Carol?  Carol, you okay?”

            She raised her head; damp green eyes flashed into his own.

            “Remy, it hurts…ah’m scared…”

            Another spasm, and she was nearly on the floor, clutching onto the side of the table, her knuckles white.  Remy got out of his seat, helped her up, pushed the hair away from her face, lolled her head round to look into his.

            “Rogue…?  Carol…?”

            The eyes that opened to look into his were suddenly blue again.

            “I think…I need to lie down for a while…” The voice of Carol laughed weakly. He helped her up slowly and she wobbled, leaning heavily on him. “I didn’t drink that much.  Honest.”

            “I know, chere,” he replied soothingly. “Y’ just need t’ go out an’ get some fresh air, ‘kay?”

            “Okay,” she agreed.

            He helped her outside, looking with concern into her face.  Another complication, he thought wryly.  Wherever Rogue was inside there, she was fighting back.  And Carol was not having a good time of it.  Still, she seemed better as Remy took her outside the back door and propped her against the metal railing before looking into her eyes.  Please Rogue, I know you’re in there, he thought. I want you back.  Please come back…

            “Feelin’ better now?” he asked.

            “Yeah, just fi-.” She stopped again, grasping her head between both hands, letting out a scream that echoed over several blocks.  Panic rose up in Remy as he clutched onto her, stilling the sudden convulsion that went through her.  A part of him was concerned that the Marauders were still about and had heard her cry.  Still more of him was afraid at what was happening inside the woman that he still cared for.

            “Carol…Rogue…Shit, girl, you’ve gotta fight it!” He grabbed her shoulders, shook her violently, not knowing what to do to help her, nor whether it was a lover or a stranger he held in his arms. “C’mon, chere, work wit’ me here…Pace yourself…”

            She cried out again, falling to her knees, tears coursing down her cheeks, terror and pain in her gaze.

            “Remy…”

            “Shh, chere, I’m right here.” He held her face between his hands, seeing her pupils shift from blue to green and back again. “S’okay, take it easy, take it slow…Calm down, let it happen nat’rally… Dieu, why do I get de feelin’ I’m at a birthin’ or somethin’…”

            He joked because it was the only way to keep himself calm as he held her.  Suddenly she stopped, her body going limp in his arms, her eyeballs rolling back into her forehead.  Then she slumped into him, unconscious.  He held her, breath trembling, holding her head steady against him.  Yet another twist.  How was he supposed to go about unnoticed now, getting them to safety with her scantily-clad about his person, totally out for the count?

            Standing up, heaving the inert body of Rogue over his shoulder, Remy looked about him, considering his limited options.

            “Chere,” he muttered at last, “I hope you ‘preciate de t’ings ol’ Gambit does for you…”

            Without another word he turned, slinking off into the shadows of the night.

*

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