Disclaimer: That which disses claims.
A/N: Hey all! I'm back from vacation now, so I've written you all a present! To kick off the Week of Updates, here's a one-shot. Enjoy.
Rogue turned the corner of the warehouse, glove off and bare hand at the ready. She was gonna take this guy out, no questions, no take backs. She was going to...
Stand stock still while Gambit smirked and handed her a card pulsing with bio-kinetic energy...
Somewhere in another dimension...
The poor kindergarten teacher seems unsure of what to do with the little green-eyed Southern belle who calls her "Ma'am" and insists her imaginary friend, "Remy" do the same. Maybe it's because "Remy" actually does so, in an entirely different voice than little Anna.
Remy had never intended to get caught. After all, getting caught meant consequences. And Remy wasn't really all that fond of consequences as a general rule. Stealing was how he lived, and it had never occurred to him to voluntarily give that up.
But that was before he got a look at his potential arresting officer. Remy LeBeau knew the consequences. He just didn't particularly care.
After all, there are worse fates than having to share a backseat with a beautiful woman in uniform.
Well, not actually in uniform. She appeared to be a plainclothes cop. But beautiful? Heck yes. Big green eyes glared at him from across the seat, and reddish hair streaked with intriguing white threatened to explode from the ponytail she'd pulled it into.
"You're in a lot of trouble, Swamp Rat."
Bestill his increasingly rapidly beating heart, was that a Mississippi accent he heard? Heaven was a police car in New York, and Judgement wore a face an angel would kill for.
The wolves circle, and pace, and snarl at each other, pushing away and running, fleeing, but always, always coming back in a clash of red fur and white tips, and black and red eyes catching silver.
Trouble had a way of following Jean-Luc around.
He could hear them behind him, their childish whispers drifting forward on the miniscule breeze. He stifled a tolerantly exasperated chuckle. If they could only stop bickering, the little scamps might actually get to be good at this.
A muffled thump echoed as Rogue got fed up with whatever stunt his son was pulling and socked him. Jean-Luc winced in sympathy with the boy's yelp. That fille could hit.
Rogue rubbed her hands together briskly to get the blood moving and pulled her gloves back on. Using her powers to knock out the security guard felt like cheating, but at this point, she didn't really care. She had a job to do, and fair play wasn't really an option.
Entering the jewel museum was easier than she'd expected, considering. After all, when the guy with the stupid helmet asked her to break into the New York Museum of Historic Antiquities, he'd made it sound like something only one person in a thousand could do. A noise caught her ear and Rogue rolled her eyes. Obviously, that last part wasn't true.
Tugging her glove off slowly, she crouched, hunkering down behind the nearest jewel case and preparing to jump whoever was interrupting her job.
She wasn't expecting to be jumped herself.
"Yagh!" She struggled vainly to free herself.
"Well, well," drawled the smooth Cajun accent that haunted her dreams, instantly freezing her in his arms. "Look what Remy done caught."
Her breath caught and to her horror, tears filled her eyes. It wasn't fair. She'd tried so hard, come so far... It wasn't fair that all her work was about to be undone by the one man who had always been better than her at this one thing... He was looking, shake head...
Too late, he'd seen her tears. But instead of the derision she was expecting, he rubbed a gloved hand soothingly over her face, catching the moisture and wiping it away. "Aw, c'mon, chere, don' do dat," he crooned. "It'll be okay." He scooped her up into his arms easily and she buried her head in his shoulder. "De Guild ain't dat bad."
Gambit twirled his bo staff nonchalantly as his fellow X-Men took on Magneto's Acolytes. Personally, he didn't see what the big deal was. A few fires, some destroyed buildings, so what? Nobody got hurt right?
Cyclops yelled his name and Gambit sighed, pocketing the staff and producing a deck of cards from his trench coat pocket. Picking the first one from the top, he pressed it briefly to his lips and then charged it with glowing energy. Firs' we charge de card... Choosing his target carefully, he aimed, then threw. An' den we let go...
The explosion knocked the big metal man off his feet, out, but not hurt. Gambit smirked to himself in satisfaction. An' den de card go boom.
Glancing around for any more potential targets, he noticed one particular Acolyte he hadn't seen before. Her auburn hair held two white stripes framing her face, and her skin-tight suit seemed to be accentuating rather than concealing its wearer's form from lingering eyes.
Eyes that were definitely lingering, Gambit noted, feeling slightly indignant on the girl's behalf as one of the little Brotherhood kids spared her a glance that was just a little too long for his liking, conveniently ignoring that he was doing exactly the same thing.
Unfortunately, this gorgeous creation of smooth pale skin and flashing green eyes appeared to be off-limits. Apart from the easily skirted fact of her questionable allegiences, her mutation seemed to consist of a skin condition that left anyone coming into contact with it in a state of unconsciousness that he found mildly disconcerting.
Which really was a shame, 'cause Remy really wanted to come into contact with it.
With that thought in mind, he strolled leisurely over to an area of the dock that was unoccupied and used a combination of training and natural ability to look as bored as he possibly could. It wasn't hard. Spotting the belle was the most exciting thing that had happened all day.
Sure enough, the fille read the challenge in the gesture for what it was and started towards him, pausing momentarily, then ducking behind a warehouse.
Gambit grinned. This was gonna be fun...
He draws in a breath sharply as he catches a glimpse of her face. She's here.
Carefully, so very carefully, he pulls away from the shadows of the Assassin's Guild Hall and fades away into the night. He has what he came here for.
Le Diable Blanc loves his ange.
She knows he was here. The smell of cigarettes and spices and something distinctly him just infiltrates her senses. She knows the scent anywhere.
The Guild Masters would be furious if they knew... She isn't sure how she feels about it herself.
Ange de la Mort loves her diable.
She huffed impatiently as Remy once again saved her life.
Honestly, this was getting ridiculous.
Marie was a fully trained Princess of Pimissipssi. She knew six forms of combat and thirteen ways to use a fan to kill someone. She was perfectly capable of protecting herself.
So why she continued to allow this strange young man who claimed to be a bad person keep saving her was completely beyond her. He'd showed up and tried to rob her coach only two days ago, and somewhere in between pocketing valuables and offering to accompany her to her destination, he seemed to have grown a rather irritating protective streak. Since then, they'd been attacked nearly a dozen more times. Marie was disgusted. Remy the Handsome One of Low Nereans was a thief, and couldn't be trusted. Thus, it was entirely ridiculous, and impossible, and wrong that she was beginning to develop any sort of attraction or, heaven help her, feelings for him.
Seriously, that crazy, hairy man with no personal hygiene was more dangerous to her sensitive olfactory senses than to her health.
Rubies on black velvet dance with emeralds nestled in white satin as their gazes meet across the crowded Hall. Slowly, he maneuvers his way through the throng, watching in obvious pleasure as she mirrors him, following his footwork exactly so it seems that they are dancing with each other from a distance.
They meet freely at these gatherings, as opposed to all other times when every moment spent together is scrutinized and studied by watchers eager to spot disloyalty and betrayal.
But a few times a year, the Guilds come together, and so do they, Assassin and Thief, in a dance as intricate and delicate as a snowflake, yet strong and enduring as the sun.
Remy don' baby-sit li'l brats who don' know better dan t' get outta de way fo' de huge guy wit' de funny helmet. Dis "Rogue" better not give Remy any trouble, 'cause he only be here outta de goodness of his heart-an' 'cause y' owe Stormy-an' he don' have de patience fo' no temper tantrums... Holy chipoltle.
Dat... dat ain' no snot-nosed li'l X-Man. Dat be a belle femme.
Rogue sighed. Getting kidnapped really sucked. This was what, the fifth time this year? Yeesh, it was like people were actually gunning for her personally, instead of targeting the X-Men as a group.
Well, at least she wasn't alone this time. Though if this guy slept much longer, she's probably die of boredom anyway.
"Hey," she nudged him. "Wake up."
He groaned and his eyes shot open. She scooted back a little as he sat up and looked around frantically. His eyes finally fell on her and she stifled a gasp. Red irises burned out of black eyeballs set in an angular, tanned face with just the hint of stubble beginning to appear. His auburn hair flopped over his forehead and curled around his ears. He was shirtless, and his shoulders tapered into a trim waist offset with an impressive set of washboard abs. Even disheveled from sleep and obviously unsettled, the effect was devastating.
He was incredibly, shockingly handsome.
When she'd caught her breath, Rogue held out her hand, praying he hadn't noticed her staring. "Ah'm Rogue."
He had noticed, and it showed as he smirked before bowing over her gloved hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. "Remy LeBeau. A pleasure." She blushed, and the smirk grew wider.
She rubbed her arms. "When did they get you?"
He shrugged. "Dunno. Was asleep." He sounded disgruntled about it. Rogue couldn't blame him. At least she'd been wearing a shirt when she was grabbed.
At that thought, she blushed again, and changed the subject.
Two hours later...
Remy LeBeau was a very interesting man. He was a thief, a fact he admitted to freely, giving rise to her latest suspicion that he was part of some sort of organized crime ring. He was a mutant, his eyes kind of gave that away, and he could charge inanimate objects with kinetic energy.
He was also cocky, arrogant, and extremely snarky about getting kidnapped out of his own hotel bed.
"Remy don' get caught. Nuh-uh. Don' happen. So Pere sends Remy t' run dis li'l errand, an' what happens? Remy gets kidnapped. Roches."
Rogue listened in some amusement for awhile, before he became bored with pouting and began to make the best of the situation.
A few minutes later, Rogue cursed to herself as she realized she'd just told this complete stranger more about herself than she'd ever told anyone.
And, to make things even more confusing, neither of them seemed to mind.
Twelve hours later...
The X-Men found them in the old storage locker twenty-four hours after Rogue went missing. In that time, Kitty had had a panic attack, Kurt had destroyed a car, Jean and Scott had gotten matching headaches, Logan had sliced up a building, and the two kidnappees had bonded.
Scott stared down at the scene in front of him, flanked by his girlfriend and Kitty. None of them quite knew what to say.
Except for Kitty apparently.
Rogue was asleep on the floor, curled into the side of an also sleeping young man with a face Adonis would envy. He was wearing a trench coat, which he had wrapped around the both of them. The collar of the coat was strategically pulled up around his face, which was buried in the crook of Rogue's neck. Her hands were grasping his arm, which was curled around her waist possessively. Both looked dead to the world, and entirely too comfortable with the situation.
Scott glanced behind him to make sure Logan wasn't there.
The year was 1880, and the place was a grand house in the middle of a swamp. The stage was a kitchen floor.
The players were a young boy about twelve years old and a girl around the same age.
The boy had long auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail. His eyes were a reddish brown color, and his soon-to-be handsome face was trying hard to look innocent.
The girl's hair was unusual. It too, was a reddish color, but it had the added distinction of two white stripes, right in the front. Her silver eyes were bright with mischief, and she looked on the young man with something akin to exasperated adoration.
The scene was a common one in this , and the audience not unusual. Tante Mattie was almost always present at these uncertain meetings, seeing as she was the appointed authority on the circumstances. She was also the only one who would never tell a soul anything she saw or heard.
The girl sighed. "What did you do this time?"
He laughed sheepishly. "Cut her hair off."
She gasped. "Remy! You cut Belle's hair? Why?"
Remy shrugged. "She kept talkin' 'bout how pretty it was, and how much everyone loved it, an' she said-" he stopped.
The girl raised her eyebrows. "Well? She said what?"
His voice lowered a little. "She said that your hair was ugly, and she didn't know why someone didn't just cut it all off for you."
The girl was silent. "Remy, Ah... Ah don'..."
He interrupted. "Ah do! Y're hair is de prettiest Remy ever saw, Marie, an' Belle ain' got no business sayin' anyt'in' 'bout it!"
She was smiling at him shyly. "Ya really think so?"
He grinned at her suddenly. "'Course Ah do. Y' belle, chere, an' y' hair is too. Mos' beautiful hair in all N'awlins, Ah think."
Tante Mattie smiled at the two as Remy coaxed Marie into a hug and surprised her with a kiss to the cheek. The young Prince was betrothed to the young Belladonna, but his chosen love was the little orphan girl he was currently charming blushes out of left and right. Tante's smile grew wider. There was gonna be a slight change in Jean-Luc's plans when those two grew up.
She stared at him.
"You're really here. You're really gonna join the X-Men."
He nodded. "Oui."
He stepped closer. "Y' know why, chere," he said softly.
She did know why.
"Ah can't imagine-"
He took another step, and then he was close enough to touch. "Den don't. Believe."
A/N: And that's all folks. None of theses scenes are in "canon-dimension" except the italics. And the last one isn't really in canon either. It's just in the canon-dimension.
Get ready for the week of updates, kids. One after the other. I'm getting caught up.