Disclaimer: I-I-I knoooow yoooooou, I walked with you once, upon a dreeeeeeeeam!

A/N: Oh my gosh, you guys, I am soooooooo sorry. Both of our computers went out on us, and I couldn't get to one all weekend once we did get one of them fixed, so this chapter is really really late, and I'm so sorry again. Whew. Glad to get that off of my chest.

Part four, and final part I believe.

For once, this author's note is short. Yay me.

Chapter 3: Mrs. LeBeau

Bolivar Trask rubbed his hands together briskly. Somehow, the action made him feel slightly ridiculous, but he ignored the feeling and continued walking down the hallways of his laboratory. The white walls had seemed clichéd when he'd arranged for them, but he really couldn't help himself. The mutants needed to be restrained, to be tested. If he, the savior of mankind, wished to indulge in some stereotypical lab settings, who were they to judge him?

He paused before a metal door and entered a pass code into a keypad. The door slid open, and he smiled cruelly as the mutant inside flung himself at the opening. Obviously, he'd already forgotten what happened last time he tried that, and he crashed into the force field and reeled back, electric shocks stinging his body.

Trask gave him a condescending look from where he stood just outside the cell.

"Really, I'd think you'd have learned by now."

Red eyes glared at him balefully, and despite the assurance of the power suppressor collar and the force field, Trask shivered a little. Those eyes were the mark of the devil, surely, and even if Trask himself wasn't terribly religious, he just barely stopped from crossing himself every time those furious, fire pits on a black background bored into him.

The mutant muttered something in a foreign language.

"Eh? What was that?"

The twenty-six year old man repeated himself, louder, and- if possible –with even more venom in his tone.

Trask gave an annoyed grunt. French had never been his strong suit.

"English please, Mr. LeBeau. Let's not be rude."

He said it in English.

Trask stepped away from the doorway to allow his… associates to pass through. He looked past them into the cell and chuckled smugly. The mutant was crumpled on the concrete floor, holding his head and trying with all the strength that he had left not to make a sound. He was bleeding from the ears, and his face was already beginning to show signs of the serious beating he'd just received.

"And that, Mr. LeBeau, is why you are in the cell, and I am not. I am in control here, not you. Your precious powers are useless in my domain, and my followers have you well in hand. You- what?"

The mutant was laughing. He said something in French, and Trask scowled.

"Are we really going to do this again?"

The red-eyed Cajun gasped for breath as his cracked rib protested his mirth.

"Gambit said, y' soun' like de villains out o' dose Disney films dat petites watch."

Trask shifted uncomfortably, suddenly understanding his earlier discomfort with the hands thing. He pressed his lips together.

"Because I need you in passably good condition tomorrow, I am going to let that remark slide. Enjoy it while it lasts; rest assured, it won't happen twice."

He stalked away, letting the metal door swoosh shut behind him.

"Mutant 17 (1) is highly volatile right now, sir. Are you sure-"

"Yes, yes. I told you, the more unstable the better. I'm trying to assess the reactions to pain under extreme mental duress."

"Alright sir," the reluctant aide replied. "Do you want him sedated?"

"No. Just restrained."

"Will do, sir."

Trask turned back to the viewing window that looked into the testing room. A woman in a white coat was busily cleaning the metal table and arranging the instruments.

"Monsieur LeBeau, I'll break you yet," he whispered.

The X-Jet was silent as Logan flew to the coordinates the Professor had gleaned from Rogue's mind. Kurt and Kitty were somewhat gleefully comparing ideas on how to make what little remained of Trask's life a living hell, and Wanda was attempting to keep John calm enough to ensure that he wasn't going to burn the whole cabin. Piotr was muttering to himself in Russian, and occasionally interjecting a thought or comment into Kitty and Kurt's conversation.

Rogue was ticked. Fuming actually. She'd been silent for most of the trip, but now, she was psyching herself up. Not that it was hard. She only had to think about "Trask" and "Remy" and "experiments" in the same thought pattern and her blood started boiling.

"Ah think Ah'm gonna kill him," she announced to the cabin. She glared at them fiercely, daring them to contradict her, to tell her that she couldn't kill him because it'd be wrong. Because X-Men don't kill.

Instead, she was faced with John's murmured, "Not if Oi kill 'im first," Wanda's approving glance, Logan's snort of agreement, Piotr's impassive face, Kurt's I-really-couldn't-care-less- shrug, and Kitty's always-ever-so-eloquent, "Well, DUH!"

Slightly shocked, she nevertheless fixed her face in a determined scowl and nodded shortly.

Trask was rubbing his hands together again. He wasn't in the lab this time, of course, but still, a little harmless indulgence never hurt anyone. Who cared what the mutant thought anyway? He was disposable. Or he would be as soon as those idiots down in Capture and Confine got on the ball and started actually putting their backs into their jobs.

He stepped briskly into the front lobby. It looked rather homey, he liked to think. It wasn't carpeted, true, but it was clean, and neat, and the floors were of a solid maple as opposed to while tile. The rugs were a nice touch. There was a nice desk and a few couches for visitors from the government to sit on while he kept them waiting- uh, while he finished his extremely important experiments.

Yes, he thought he'd done rather well with the place. And those wooden doors were quite lovely too-

His train of thought derailed as afore-mentioned doors were kicked open and a slight woman with auburn and white-streaked hair strode through them.

"Well, well, well, look at the décor. Not what Ah'd expect from a mad scientist, but hey, your place."

Finally, he found his voice.

"Who the devil are you?"

She seemed to have been waiting for this question.

"Aww, ya mean ya don't remember me? Wey-al, that's alraght, Ah don't lahke to remembah you either."

"Just who exactly are you?"

She shrugged, her shoulders moving up and down almost lazily.

"Well now, that depends on who you're askin'. Most people, mah friends, they call me Rogue. T' some, a very small some, Ah go bah Marie." Her emerald eyes suddenly went hard. "But you," she took a step towards him. "You, Mistah Trask." She stopped and cocked a hip. "You may address me as Mrs. LeBeau."

His mouth dropped open, and for a moment, all he could say was, "Oh."

"No. No, that's impossible."

"Oh, believe me, Trask, it's very possible."

He started sweating.

"Do you know, Mistah Trask, why Ah'm here?"


"Ah am here," she continued-obviously his response was not being awaited with bated breath. "To see someone about a little somethin' Ah lahke to call, payback."

He swallowed.

"You see Mistah Trask, when your thugs jumped Remy and snatched him from that house in Louisiana, you did something unforgivable." Her face held a snarl. "You. Kidnapped. Mah. Husband. On. Our. Wedding. Naght."

His eyes got big.

"An'" she purred. "Ah am, understandably, very, very, VERY upset about that!"

Abruptly remembering that he had minions, Trask attempted to re-gain the upper hand.

"You'll never get him out of here. I'll call my guards."

She raised an eyebrow. "Guards? What guards?"

A black-and-scarlet-haired head poked itself into the room and said, "Hey, hon, are you done with him yet? 'Cause the boys are all finished with those guys who thought they could take 'em and my baby's gettin' bored. Honestly, what did those guys think they were, guards or something?"

Trask blanched. The Southerner watched him in poorly concealed contempt and amusement and replied, "Yeah, Scarlet, Ah'm done. For now. Ah jus' need one teensy-weensy bit of information from Mistah Trask here and then he's all yours." She reached out and grabbed his shirt collar, yanking him close and smiling sweetly into his terrified face. "Where. Is. Mah. Cajun?"

He didn't answer fast enough. She turned slightly. "Hey, Scarlet? Go get Wolvie will ya? Tell him Ah want somethin' carved-"

"No! No! I'll tell you, just, oh man, don't, please," she listened to him babble for a very short amount of time before cutting him off.

"Alraght, alraght. Jus' tell me where he is."

"Down the hall, room 17. Pass code is 1-7-5-9."

She patted his cheek. Hard. "Thanks. Scar? You can let them in now." She dropped him unceremoniously and sprinted to the doors leading to the containment units.

Trask turned fearfully to face the woman dressed entirely in red, whose hands were glowing blue.

"Baby? Come on in here."

An orange-haired mutant came bounding in, followed by a stream of fire, and wearing a look of pure fury mixed with just enough insanity to make Trask's knees start literally knocking.

"A word of advoice? Don' pick on moy mates."

And then Trask found himself running around the lobby, screaming, trying to get away from fiery arrows and blazing dragons. When they finally stopped coming, he turned in triumph to gloat, patting himself frantically to get rid of the burning fragments of what had once been a nice jacket, only to find himself face to face with a very ticked off Wolverine. He actually remembered him.

"Guess what, bub? You messed with my family. That boy you got in there? That's my son-in-law. Bad move."

Trask's bruised body was flung into a wall ten minutes later and he prayed that it was finally over. He lifted his head to find himself alone. Shakily, he got to his feet, leaning on the wall for support, wondering if he could make it out before anybody got "bored" again.

And then she walked through the closed door and came to stand before him.

For the longest time, she simply stood there, not even looking at him. In fact, she was studying her fingernails, and seemed to be comparing their color to the color of her uniform.

He was startled when she called out. "Hey, Fuzzy? Do you think this color matches my eyes?"

A loud BAMF sounded behind him, and he turned to find himself face to face with a demon. He gulped. The mutant grinned at him, flashing razor-sharp fangs, and then looked past him to the girl.

"Vell, Katz, I'd actually say it matches me."

She nodded happily. "Oh, that's good. That way, I can wear it on our date tomorrow and we won't like, totally clash."

He rolled his eyes affectionately and threw a vice-like arm around Trask's shoulders. "Ah, mein beautiful, Katzchen. So much like her mozzer. Whom I haf never met."

Suddenly cool and collected, the girl nodded. "Oh yeah, and be glad you haven't. She's really controlling. Probably plan our honeymoon."

"Speaking of vhich," the young man spoke up. "You, Herr Trask, committed a very grave error somevhere around six months ago vhen you decided zat it vould be a good idea to kidnap mein schwester's husband on zere first night togezzer."

Trask's eyes bulged and for a second, he forgot himself. "Geez! Your sister? Not only do I not even want to know how that happened, but what the heck? Are you all related?"

The blue boy replied easily and cheerfully. "Nein, but Mystique and Magsy are acting awfully close lately, und ze firebug and ze vitch are getting married soon- she caught Rogue's bouquet, you know- and also, Katz is like a second daughter to Herr Claws, so it's really just a matter of time." He grinned at Trask in a knowing and rather frightening fashion. He shuddered. Those fangs… yeesh.

They didn't hurt him, not physically anyway. He was pretty sure spending just a few minutes in the same room as them had permanently scarred his mental facilities for life- or what remained of it anyway. The big guy who came through the door next looked really mad…


"Stupid pass code. Stupid fingers. Stupid Trask, aha!"

The door slid open and she stumbled into the room, glancing around frantically.

"Remy? Remy? Oh Lord, Remy!"

She raced to him, dropped to her knees beside him, the logical her in her head telling her that he couldn't be dead, she could feel him through their empathy link; but the crazed lover in her soul screaming in agony at the thought that she might have found him, only just to lose him again.

"Remy? Sugah say somethin', anythin'. C'mon, Swamp Rat, don't you dare dah on me now!"


The soft groan cut off her mental threats to what was left of Trask's worthless hide and brought her back to her man in a small scream of delight.

"Remy? Oh, glory, Rems, you're okay!"

She hugged him to her, tears streaming down her face. He sagged against her willingly, his own tears of relief mingling with hers.

"Y' came t' get moi, chere?"

She gave him an incredulous look. "Uh, yeah! The whole gang's here: Logan, Kurt, Kitty, Wanda. Johnny and Pete were so mad they just about tore down the doors to this place."

"Speakin' o' which…"

"Ah'm with ya there, Sugah. Le's get outta here"

She helped him to his feet, both pleased to discover that he was able to stand. Fast metabolism apparently equaled accelerated healing rate. They stumbled through the hallways together.

"Uh, chere? Trask?"

She rolled her eyes. "If he's still alahve, which Ah doubt, he'll be in the lobby thingy."

He was unconscious, courtesy of Wanda's most painful hex bolts, and blissfully unaware of what was being done to his precious lobby. Wanda had assured Piotr that he wouldn't be waking up anytime soon.

"Oh yeah, burn, baby!"

Pyro's normal good humor was restored in the aftermath of burning Trask's underwear- while he was wearing it- and he was now happily playing with his fires, burning the couches and desks, and creating little fire-people to dance around Piotr, who was enduring his younger friend's antics with a tolerant smile. Wanda's eyes glowed as she watched her Aussie play. Kurt and Kitty stood wrapped in each other's arms, calmly commenting on the fire, and Logan tried not to laugh at their innocent statements that weren't meant to be funny.

When Rogue helped Remy into the room, the fire abruptly went out, and everyone yelled his name at the same time and rushed them.

"Wow, I feel loved," he said with a smirk. "Miss me?"

"Rogue moped," Johnny told him irrepressibly as they flew in the X-Jet back to the Institute. "An' Logan was mad all tha toime. An' Oi didn' 'ave anybody ta pick on tha Brotherhood with."

"Roguey moped?"

"Ah did not!"

"Yes you did!" they all insisted together. She scrunched up her face.

"Well, Ah had a reason to."

"Y' certainly did, chere," he whispered in her ear. Through the link, she felt what he was feeling, and a blush began rising in her cheeks.

"Remy LeBeau! Ya jus' got outta that hell-hole you've been in for the past six months, an' that's what you're thinkin' about?"

He pouted. "Well, yeah! Remy waited five years fo' dat night, chere, an' den he didn' get t' enjoy it!"

She hugged him. "Ah know, sugah. Ah know. An' once you're all patched up, Ah promise, we're going to have our honeymoon. We'll go back to our house, an' we won't come out until we've thoroughly caught up on the last six months."

"I'll hold y' t' dat, chere," he said smirking.

"'Swhat you think. You'll have to catch me first of course."

"How 'bout I jus' not let y' go?" he replied, wrapping his arms around her.

She grinned and snuggled into him.

"Ah think Ah can handle that."

A/N: It's done. It's over. The end.

1. If you're a Buffy fan, you'll know the significance of this. If you aren't, you won't care anyway.

Indy, if you don't mind, I'll be needing the Aussie now.


She's sulking.

Indy is not!


Thanks, luv. 'Ppreciate ya not leavin' me in another doimension.

No problem. Now say y' piece an' le's go.

See ya in tha archoives, kids.