Disclaimer: The only compensation I am making from this fic is the warm and fuzzy feeling in my heart whenever I open my email and see that someone took the time off to review it. Obviously, none of the characters are mine. It's Marvel's. And Warner Brothers'. I think.


A/N: I thought long and hard as to where I'm going to post this—comics section or evo section. Comic section because the characters are older than they were in XME. Evo because I'm more familiar with the cartoons than the comics. Comic because I think that the readers there are older compared to the readers in Evo and I plan to write some hard and heavy stuff in. Evo because I can't write the accents and I think that readers in Evo are less conservative/more tolerant about that kind of thing. Comics because I wanted to "expand" the fandom in which I write. Evo because it's where I'm more familiar. In the end, I simply flipped a coin. Guess what, Evo won. I apologize in advance for all my shortcomings. This is my first attempt at a fic directed at a more mature audience. Bear with me, please.

Yes, this is the story I posted in my blog at triple w dot xanga dot com slash khayee.

Totally AU. No powers. Main characters in their early twenties.




The Immunity Challenge: Chapter 1: Heartbreaker




Scott Summers shoved his trademark red glasses up his nose. He glanced at his hot date, Jean Grey and seethed.

Scott had pursued the girl for two weeks and now that she finally agreed to go out on a date with him, she's flirting with someone else. All this before their date officially began.

For one thing, they haven't arrived at their destination yet. They were still in the middle of the road, stuck in traffic.

For the first time in his life, Scott cursed his shiny new red convertible.

"Remy'll be at Wolverine's tomorrow night, chere," a smooth Cajun voice broke into Scott's reverie.

Scott's grip on the steering wheel tightened. He mentally commanded the stoplight to turn green. For a moment, he contemplated to put up the roof to shield his date from the outside world. Particularly from him.

Yes. They were at the intersection. Scott and Jean were on their way to this ridiculously expensive restaurant that Jean liked, or so he was told. He had stopped at the intersection when the light turned red. Two seconds later, a motorcycle had stopped beside them. On it was the hell spawn of Bayville himself, the cocky Cajun, Remy LeBeau.

And Scott had to hand it to LeBeau. The rumors were true. That parasite wastes no opportunity. The nerve of that guy to flirt with a girl on a date, said date being right beside them.

Jean giggled. "Yeah. I know. Me and my friends will be there."

"Make sure to save a dance for Remy." Remy told her.

Scott glared at the biker. He wasn't wearing a helmet, as usual. Scott can't help but wish that the Cajun would slip and fall and break his head. But it's the pavement that would probably crack. Remy's hardhead was a legend in their sleepy town too.

"Later, homme." Remy saluted Scott right before he pumped the handlebar and roared off.

The light had turned green.

Something in Scott snapped. Flooring the accelerator, he tore off after Remy.

"SCOTT!" Jean screamed.




She caught his attention the moment she walked into the bar. Not because she was extraordinarily beautiful, not because she was dressed-oh-so-provocatively, not because she was clamoring for his attention.

She caught his attention because she was out of place.

A smirk crossed his lips as he watched her, a smirk that caused most of the women in the dance floor to squeal louder and jostle for a position closer to the stage.

Look at me. He mentally projected to the woman who caught his attention. Look at me.

But the woman barely even flickered a glance at the dance floor. Instead, she made a beeline to the bar and sat down on the farthest corner. The bartender gave her a smile.

Most women in there had their hair down and wore dark, glittery, revealing outfits, anything really to get attention, particularly the attention of the man who was currently in his element in the middle of the dance floor.  On the other hand, she looked like she was on her way to the office. Scratch that, Remy thought. She looked like she was on her way to the church, wearing a modest tan blouse over her knee length black skirt. On top of that, she had her hair up on her head, secured by what seemed to be pencils.

Remy smirked as the trailed his lips down his dance partner's cheek and neck. "Thanks for the dance, chere."

The brunette dancing with him pouted prettily. "Aw, babe, just one more dance?" She pleaded. But her world was crushed when she saw the object of her affection was already across the dance floor, steadily making his way over to the general direction of the bar. She had no other recourse but to watch him walk away. But at least she was able to dance with Remy LeBEau. The  Remy LeBeau.

Remy LeBeau was the latest Hollywood commodity, having just released his latest movie, Le Diablo Le Blanc. It was a runaway hit, especially with the women. It had stayed at number one in the box office for two weeks. He also has his weekly television series about a thief with red on black eyes, Gambit. Like his movie, Gambit had continued to stay at the top of the list consistently.

But perhaps what Remy LeBeau was famous for was for his bad boy bit. He loves to fight, and fights dirty. He made no secret of the fact that he drinks and smokes. He loves women, and even rumors cannot catch up with the list of women he dated.

He's the wildly dangerous man good little girls always fall for—and fall hard.

Some women bravely met him and smiled at him, only to be rebuffed by his continuing forward towards his quest. All were disappointed when he merely gave them a flirtatious smile and moved on..

"Thanks for seeing me tonight,"

Remy heard his new girl say with a sweet, southern twang. His grin widened. Just the kind of woman he needs to rid himself of his homesickness of the south. But he still had a way to go because of the amount of people, women especially, blocking his path, greeting him hello and slipping phone numbers in his jeans pocket.

"I don't see what the fuss is all about. I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself."

Remy recognized Logan, one of the owners of the bar, grumble. The stocky man had seated himself beside Remy's girl, something that Logan did very seldom. Often, Logan was behind the scenes, barking orders and watching people for any signs of trouble.

"We just wanna make sure that all the i's are dotted and the t's are crossed." The girl replied.

"He's a friend. I trust the man with my life." came the stubborn reply. "And what's with the we business?"

"I know. I trust your judgment and all, but we, I mean I, I want to positively sure." Remy saw her smiling at Logan as she reached out and took the manila envelope the man was holding. "And I wouldn't show it to her, if that's what you really want I'll take care of this myself."

Remy frowned. If this girl was Logan's new squeeze, then he'd be in trouble. Not that it wouldn't stop him. It's just that he liked Logan. And he liked hanging out in Logan's bar.

But all's fair in love and war, henh? Remy grinned to himself.


"I gotta go. I just came here for these." The girl motioned to the papers she held in her hands as she slid off her stool.

"I'll see you to your car, darlin'."

Logan and the girl made their way outside.

Merde! The girl had slipped off just as Remy was about to reach for her hand. He looked longingly after her. "Mon ami," he turned to the bartender. "Who's that fille?"

Lance, who was busy mixing gin and juice, paused and looked at the singer with a frown. Working at the bar for quite a while now, he knew these rocker types and the trail of broken hearts they leave behind. "She's not available." Came the curt reply. Lance turned away from Remy and served the drinks he was mixing.

Remy smirked. As if that comment didn't make him want her more.




"You are a genius, Madame Darkholme," Remy said dramatically as he clutched the hand of his lawyer and placed a kiss on her knuckles.

"Can it, LeBeau." Despite her harsh tone, Raven Darkholme couldn't help but smile at the antics of her client. "And maybe next time you could control that large ego of yours and keep yourself from drag racing and destroying public property."

"It was all Monsieur Summers' fault." He replied without missing a beat as he folded his wiry frame onto the seat in front of Raven's desk. "You said so yourself, and was agreed to by the judge," he waved a thick folder around.

"Let's just be thankful that the prosecutor's got his hands full these days and were willing to settle." Raven snatched the paperwork from her client's hand. "And don't think for even one second that I did it for you."

"Remy pities Summers." He grinned. "Remind Remy not to get to your bad side."

Raven smiled evilly. Litigation was not her area of expertise, not really. She had known Remy since he was just an unknown teen with big dreams of Hollywood and she was the one who drafted his first contract between him and his manager, Hank McCoy. Raven Darkholme makes a living drafting and interpreting contracts. But a week or two ago, Hank McCoy had called her and asked for a favor. Remy's in trouble, it seemed, for racing Scott Summers in the public streets, violating almost all the traffic rules, and destroying much property in the process. She had declined the case initially, recommending her colleague, Magnus Lensherr, instead. But the moment she heard that the other party was Scott Summers, she did a 180 and accepted, which led him to speculate as to what Summers had done to piss of the cool, calm, and collected Raven Darkholme.

Two swift knocks interrupted the two. The door opened after Raven's soft 'Come In.'

"Hey." Green eyes zeroed onto Remy. "Good afternoon." A lazy smile was directed to him.

And suddenly, all was right in Remy's world again. It was her. Now he wouldn't be wasting any more time obsessing about who she is and how he would get to know her. He had planned to hang out all nights at Wolverine's for the next month or so or until she shows up again. And now, he didn't have to. Instead, he could devote all his time and efforts into making her fall for him.

"Mags wanted to confirm your dinner date tonight,"

Raven consulted her calendar for a moment. She nodded. "Freddie's at eightish."

"Right. See you then." With a cheerful smile and wave, the girl disappeared.

Remy stared at the door for a moment before looking expectantly at Raven. He grinned at her. "She works here?"

"Mister LeBeau, remember our conversation about not being in my bad side?" She asked him. "She's a one-way ticket towards that place."

Remy opened his mouth to protest.

"Don't even think about it." Raven beat him to the punch.




Wolverine's was jam-packed. Possibly because of the rumors that it's where Gambit hangs out nightly.

And the rumors were true. Sure enough, Remy LeBeau was there, seated on a table surrounded by beautiful women. The table was located in the middle of the bar, in a spot where he could see whoever would be coming and entering the place. Unfortunately, he had no luck watching the comings and goings of people, him having no patience to sit still for too long. Of course, being distracted by the scantily clad women vying for his attention added to that just a bit. Like right now, he was being sandwiched by blue-eyed blond twins. His arms were wrapped possessively and familiarly around the twins.

"So what does a homme got to do to get a decent beer in this place?" Remy called out as another harried waiter walked past him without handing him his order.

"Just keep hollerin' the way you just did," a familiar voice with a Southern twang replied easily. "Sorry about the slow service. We're just swamped tonight. So can I get you anything?"

Remy's head swiveled up from where his eyes previously were, which were the ample cleavage of Lizzie, or was it Missy?

And he saw himself looking at two twin emeralds that he had been hunting for for days. "Chere," he drawled lazily. "How 'bout your name? And your number would be nice too." The speaker was his fille. But this time, she doesn't look so much out of place anymore. Her brown hair was tied back in a pony tail, and her blouse and slacks were covered by the apron that the waiters and waitresses of Wolverine's wore. The twins at his side too drunk to care, Remy gave her a flirtatious grin. At long last, his opportunity had come.

But instead of blushing and turning putty in his hands, an incredulous crossed the fille's face as she looked from Remy to one twin, back to Remy, then to the other twin. "Sugah," She drawled. "Like I never heard that one before." She rolled her eyes and tapped her notepad impatiently. "So can I get your order or should I tend to other customers first? We're a little short-staffed tonight."

"Just give Remy a name." He persisted. Remy felt as if he was being challenged. First, he had one heck of a time tracking her down. And when finally, their paths crossed, she would not give him her name. The urge to conquer the mysterious woman before him almost overwhelmed Remy. Ah. The challenge of the hunt.

"Look, sugah, I don't know any Remy but if you don't order in the next five seconds, I'm going to turn around and leave and you could just wait for another waiter to come." She frowned.

Remy was shocked. She doesn't know any Remy? How about a certain Remy LeBeau whose movie was recently released and almost broke the current record of movie ticket sales by Lord of the Rings? Remy LeBeau whose face graced the covers of magazines and newspapers? Remy LeBeau who had been interviewed a hundred times in the past months? Or Remy LeBeau in on TV every Saturday nights at nine? What does she mean she doesn't know any Remy?

"Sugar!" A man crudely called from across the bar. "Where's our tequila?"

"Hold your horses, Maximoff." The waitress in front of Remy called back out, oblivious to the fatal blow to his ego that she unwittingly dealt. "You just ordered ten seconds ago." She shook her head and turned back to Remy. "Sugah? Can I get the order now?"

Remy huffed and resisted the urge to throw a tantrum. "Tell the bartender to give me the strongest drink you've got." He grumbled. "Whatever it is."

The waitress looked amused. "Alrighty." She scribbled something in her notepad and walked away.

Remy feigned disinterest as he watched her. He decided right then and there that she was going to fall into his hands one way or the other. Then, he was going to break her heart into a million pieces.