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Chapter Text

Julien Boudreaux picked his way down the damp side street in the French Quarter, being sure to avoid the more questionable puddles and loose cobblestones. Truth be told, he could have walked the path blindfolded.  He’d been here enough.

Pulling the collar of his red jacket up against the dampness of the late February night, Julien reached into his pocket. His fingers grazed along the edge of a familiar calling card that one of the Assassins’ messenger boys had delivered that afternoon.

There were few people Julien respected enough to head out into a miserable night like this, but Madame Faustine was one of them. She had guided him for years, helping to prepare him to lead the Assassins into a golden age. Where his father had shown weakness, Julien would show strength.

As he approached, twin gas lanterns flickered from the front of the shop, throwing a weak light over the sidewalk.  The shop had seen better days. The rough wood of the front façade had cracked and splintered from years of abuse from the heat and humidity of the city, while paint peeled from the siding. 

Overhead, some type of greenery had taken root in the gutters, and stringy vines now hung down, covering most of the sign.

Turning the brass doorknob, Julien opened the door as a small bell signaled his entrance. The interior was hardly warmer than the exterior, but at least it was dry. Patiently, he waited by the door, not wanting to cause a mess by dripping all over Madame’s shop.

Candles were the only source of light in the small space. The warm glow was doing its best to try and chase off the shadows in the corners.  Heavy wood apothecary cabinets filled one half of the room while tables crammed with old books and glass orbs filled the other half.  A taxidermy peacock sat on a high shelf, its tail sweeping down in an elegant display of color.  Ornate mirrors with the gold gilding flaking off covered the walls while moth-eaten velvet curtains hung, separating the front of the shop from the rest of the building.

Julien sighed.  It was unfortunate that Madame Faustine had fallen on hard times. She was one of the few true masters of her craft. 

When Julien took over the Assassins Guild, he would have to be sure to elevate Madame’s reputation back to its proper status.  It was the least he could do to repay his debt to her.

“Ah, Julien. I was beginning to wonder if you would be able to make it tonight,” Madame Faustine said, entering from the back room. 

“Like I wouldn’t make it a priority,” Julien smiled and bent over the older woman’s hand to kiss the back of it.  In return, Madame offered him a closed-lipped smile and patted his hand.

“Yes, yes, my Dear, but you have so many things you must keep up with these days. It’s good of you to call on an old woman.”

Julien snorted softly.  A little over sixty, Madame Faustine was hardly the old crone she claimed to be, though her dark clothes gave her a severe look. 

“I always have time for you, Madame.” Julien offered his most charming smile.

“Thank you, my Dear,” the older woman murmured absently. Her eyes roamed the room as she reached up to play with a black onyx pendant she always wore.  Turning, she moved toward a desk set off to the side of the shop and opened a drawer, pulling out a thick envelope with a wax seal. “Something was delivered for you to my shop today.”

Julien took the letter from Madame Faustine and turned it over in his hands.  Running his fingers over the heavy parchment, he looked at the seal made from bright blood-orange wax. In the center, an Egyptian hieroglyph of an eye had been pressed into it. The hieroglyph seemed vaguely familiar. He studied it for a moment, sure he must have seen the symbol in passing before, but its meaning was lost on him.

Julien frowned.  He’d have to look into that.

Breaking the seal on the envelope, he pulled out a piece of stationary embossed with the same symbol.  The letter was written in an unfamiliar, elegant handwriting.

Mr. Boudreaux,

I feel I must warn you that your family’s enemies have stolen an item of great power.  The Thieves Guild is currently in possession of an artifact, a Treasure passed down through the Pharaohs and guarded by their High Priest until it eventually came to rest in King Tut’s tomb.  This Treasure could tip the power scales between your families, leaving you at the mercy of the Thieves.

The potential for harm to your family if this artifact is in the wrong hands cannot be overstated.

Please consider this warning with the seriousness it demands. I urge you, Mr. Boudreaux, to act with both caution and decisiveness. The safety of your Guild and the balance of power that has been maintained, albeit precariously, are at stake.

Be on your guard.

-Mme Eros

Scanning over the letter a second time, he flipped the paper over, hoping for more details, but found nothing.  Julien swore violently. He had warned his father to never trust the Thieves. That making peace with them would only come back to bite the Assassins in the ass.

But when did Marius Boudreaux ever listen to his son? He always assumed that Julien was too hot-headed to understand the game. Now look where they were.

“Do you know who Madame Eros is?” Julien asked, turning back to Madame Faustine, who had moved away, giving him space to read his letter in private. Madame Faustine‘s gaze jerked up at the sudden question before shaking her head and looking around the room.

“No. I’m afraid I don’t. Eros is the Greek god of lust.  Perhaps it is someone from the Whore’s Association?” she offered.

That didn’t make sense. Why would the writer use a Greek name with an Egyptian seal?

Julien’s mind spun rapidly.  He would need to look into both the hieroglyph and Eros.  Perhaps he could send Gris Gris to meet with the Whore’s Association to see what he could dig up.

“And you didn’t see who delivered the letter?” Julien demanded. Madame Faustine flinched at his tone, and Julien softened.  It wasn’t her fault somebody was toying with the Assassins Guild. “Pardon, Madame. That was uncalled for. Do you know if the letter was delivered by the sender or by a courier?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything else.” The older woman shook her head.

There was an odd note in Madame’s voice, but Julien didn’t worry about it. It didn’t matter. In fact, nothing mattered but getting that treasure away from the Thieves Guild.

Julien turned and headed for the door, feeling like he was moving underwater.  His surroundings seemed to blur at the edges, the world softening into a hazy watercolor. Absently, he heard himself bid Madame Faustine adieu as the shop door slammed shut behind him.

Madame Faustine exhaled a breath as Julien left the shop.  She turned to look over her shoulder at the figure still standing in the shadows.

“Is it done?” she asked.

“It is.”

“And I trust you will keep your end of the bargain,” Madame Faustine raised her chin, narrowing her eyes at the figure. “I’ve risked a great deal to help you.”

The figure rasped out a laugh that crawled up Madame Faustine’s spine like a spider.

“You didn’t do it to help anyone but yourself.  How much longer were you going to be able to keep feeding young Mr. Boudreaux those false premonitions about him having a prophetic future ahead of him? 

“He was bound to figure it out sooner or later.  Somehow, I don’t think he would take well to being lied to.”

“That’s none of your business,” Madame Faustine snapped. Shaking off her unease, the woman lifted her head and squared her shoulders.  She had played one of the world’s most dangerous Assassins just to scratch out a living in a back alley of the Cresent City.  She hadn’t come this far just to be intimidated by this Outsider. 

“Will you keep your word or not? How are you planning to protect me from the Assassins Guild?” she demanded.

“As I said, we are in an accord.” The figure replied solemnly, moving from the shadows into the room. “I swear to you that the Assassins will never lay a hand on you.”

Before she could press further, a knife glinted in the candlelight and a cold breeze brushed against her throat.

A dull thud reverberated around the shop as Madame Faustine’s body fell to the floor.

Chapter Text

Rogue stepped gingerly along the banks of the swamp, trying to ignore the wetness soaking her sneakers. Even with her shoes on, she could feel mud squishing up between her toes.

Delightful, Rogue sneered.

Around her, the darkness was inky black and almost as thick as the mud on the banks. If it wasn’t for the moon above and the occasional shimmer of the water, Rogue wasn’t sure she would have gotten this far. With the mist settling in, it would only be more difficult from here on, but at least it provided her with some cover.

Pausing, Rogue glanced around, peering through the mist. The dank smell of decaying vegetation and stagnant water pressed in around her. Ahead of her lay the swamp.

While she didn’t need Julien or Gambit’s memories to know the risks of trying to make her way across such terrain at night, she did have the benefit of Julien’s memories. There was a footpath through the bayou that was safe to use. Assuming she didn’t meet any trained killers along the way.

Turning back around, Rogue could still make out the yellow rectangles of light coming from the windows of Blood Moon Bayou. For a moment, she wondered if Gambit had found his father yet.  Rogue clenched her jaw at the wayward thought. Wrapping her arms around herself, Rogue turned back towards the swamp, forcing away any worry for the card-charging mutant. 

Gambit had used her. 

She shouldn’t give a damn what happened to him at this point. 

Sure, Rogue could understand that maybe Gambit didn’t believe that he could ask for her help at first. Truth be told, he wasn’t wholly wrong in his reluctance to do so. Rogue wasn’t sure what Scott or Logan would have done if Gambit had come knocking on their door looking for help to save his father from a bunch of trained killers. 

But after she had told him she wanted to help, that she understood what it was like to have a complicated relationship with the person who raised you…he could have come clean then. And Gambit sure didn’t have to tell her how he thought they could write a book on it, acting like he understood her in a way that no one else at Xavier’s had even bothered to try to.

He had so many half-lies mixed up with half-truths he wouldn’t know honesty if it bit him in the ass. Rogue’s jaw ticked. She should just leave him to his own devices.

Gambit and his father would be fine. Probably.

Rogue gritted her teeth and took a few steps in the direction of the swamp. Before pausing again, indecision stopping her feet.

Except, she kinda-sorta-maybe-did-just-a-smidgen liked the idiot.

He made her laugh and showed her a good time even if he had been using her in the process.  And for whatever reason, the fool wasn’t scared of her powers, constantly pulling her around and grabbing ahold of her. 

There had been a moment back on Bourbon Street when he had wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her out of the way of some frat boys who had vomited all over the sidewalk right as she walked past.  Maybe she imagined it, but Rogue thought Gambit had held onto her for an extra moment.  Almost like he hadn’t wanted to let her go.

Guilt gnawed at her.

She should go back. It was the right thing to do. It’s what any of the others would do. X-Men didn’t abandon the mission.  X-Men didn’t leave people behind.

Of course, X-Men didn’t kill their mothers by throwing them off a cliff either, so…ya know. 

Rogue sighed and looked back and forth between the swamp and the house.  Go or stay.  Help Gambit and his father or leave them to their fate. The relative safety of the swamp or the distinct lack of safety of a house full of people who wouldn’t hesitate to kill her to get to the man who had dragged her into this mess in the first place.

Rogue groaned. She was going back, wasn’t she?

Behind her, a twig cracked. It was the only warning she got before something heavy slammed her into the trunk of a cypress tree.

Rogue dropped and rolled to the side.

Surging back to her feet, she barely managed to get her arm up to block as a blade swung from the right, glinting in the moonlight.  Throwing a left hook, Rogue caught the man in the ribs.  The man staggered against the blow, and Rogue shoved him backward, putting a little space between them. 

Yanking off her gloves, she eyed her opponent.  He was tall with locs and wore an orange jacket similar to Julien’s.

Gris Gris, Mystique’s psyche whispered. An image of a small tin of white powder flashed in Rogue’s mind.

The man took advantage of the distraction and slashed at Rogue again, slicing the back of her hand. Rogue dodged backward as the man advanced on her again. Suddenly, he reached into his coat and pulled out a silver tin. Yanking the lid off, he blew the fine white powder into the air.

Rogue! Don’t breathe! Mystique screamed.

Rogue didn’t stop to ask why. Holding her breath she dove through the cloud of powder, slamming into the man and driving her bare hand into the side of his face. They tumbled to the ground and down the bank into the water. Breaking free, Rogue pulled back as the man’s memories slammed into her mind.

Watching Gambit enter Blood Moon Bayou. Marius whispering orders for her to go find the missing girl. Slipping through the woods as quiet as death itself.

Rogue swore. Diving into the water, she scrubbed at her face, rinsing the man’s—Gris Gris?—poison from her skin. As she scrubbed, her mind spun. 

Marius and Julien knew they were there to rescue Jean-Luc. They had expected that Gambit would use a decoy boat and set up an ambush for when she and Gambit were inside the house. When she didn’t join Gambit, Marius dispatched Gris Gris to kill her.

Rogue swore again and stood up, climbing back up the bank towards the path. She paused long enough to drag the unconscious Assassin halfway out of the water so he wouldn’t drown. Letting go, his head dropped onto the muddy bank, his legs still in the water.

She wasn’t nice enough to drag him all the way out of the water, though. If he wanted that type of courtesy, he should have attacked Jean Grey.

Using Gris Gris’ memories, Rogue found the secondary path back toward Blood Moon Bayou through the woods. Her lungs burned, and blood rushed in her ears as she focused on making a plan.

Get to Blood Moon Bayou.

Knock out a bunch of angry Assassins.

Save Gambit and his Daddy.

Get the hell out of here.

Kick Gambit’s skinny ass once they got to safety.

Rogue dodged another branch and tried to ignore the dull ache in her back from the previous fight.

“If that idiot dies before I save him, I’m gonna kill him,” Rogue grumbled, pumping her arms faster.

It was surprisingly easy to slip into Blood Moon Bayou.  Between Julien, Gris Gris, and, apparently, Mystique’s memories, Rogue felt like she had grown up here.

Her eyes spotted carefully concealed wall panels containing all matter of weapons as easily as she could see the empty beer cans on the kitchen table and a hole punched in one of the kitchen walls. It was leftover from a fight that had happened years before, and nobody ever bothered to patch it up.

Moving through the first floor past faded paintings and curling wallpaper, Rogue moved slowly, carefully keeping her ears open for any indication of where Gambit might be.  Turning the corner, she spotted two unconscious men lying on the floor and scorch marks on the rug in front of them.  Clearly, somebody had caused an explosion, knocking the two men out.

I’ll take card-charging mutants with a poker habit for $200, Rogue rolled her eyes.

Rogue paused, hearing voices coming from the next room.  Creeping forward slowly, she peered around the corner into the next hallway.  Julien and Marius stood at the door to the next room.  She could hear Marius yelling for someone to get back in the room.  Next to Marius, Julien stood holding some sort of weapon.

Rogue weighed her options. Trying to take the men down one at a time would leave her vulnerable to whichever man was left standing.  But the idea of absorbing two people simultaneously…Rogue grimaced. 

Gambit was going to owe her double after this.

Pulling off her gloves and tucking them into her pocket. She hesitated for a split-second before darting forward, her heart in her throat. Neither of the two men even heard her come up from behind them, so focused on Gambit and his father.  Rogue pressed her hands to the back of each man’s neck, pulling sharply with her powers.

Dual memories and emotions slammed into her mind a frantic, scrambling mess, clawing at each other for dominance—snippets of conversation, flashes of scenes, faces of people she had never met. It was like she was strapped blindfolded to a rollercoaster careening out of control.  Every time she tried to anticipate what thought was coming next, her mind was jerked in a different direction. The noise was deafening. And the vertigo was damn near unbearable.

Breathe. Don’t forget to breathe. Rogue reminded herself as she fought for calm. But the buzzing in her head wouldn’t quiet, and the room was spun around her. Rogue inhaled sharply, swallowing back bile. She could throw up later. They needed to get out of here.

“Let’s go,” She ordered.  As she turned back down the hallway, her eyes caught Gambit’s.  He stared at her like she was some sort of angel. Shock, relief, and gratitude were all dancing in his eyes like he had never expected to see her again. That alone was enough to make Rogue glad that she had come back.

“Ya mean she can do all dat with just a touch of her finger,” Jean-Luc gaped behind her.  Rogue fought the urge to roll her eyes. She could practically hear the wheels turning in the older man’s head. 

Rogue grinned as she heard Gambit snap at his father to forget it. That won the card-charging mutant a few brownie points in her good books. 

Rogue tugged her glove back on and peered around the corner, trying to ignore another wave of nausea as the two psyches roared in her mind simultaneously. Behind her, she felt more than heard Gambit and his father come up from behind.

A soft click of a safety coming off was the only warning she got.  Rogue threw an arm back, knocking Gambit backward and out of the line of fire.  From the corner of her eye, Rogue saw Jean-Luc dodge with a grace that belied the man’s age, as he took up a defensive position behind a hallway credenza.

Finding nothing in the hallway that could be used as a makeshift weapon, Rogue ducked as shots rang out from behind her.  Turning inward, Rogue desperately scanned Julien’s memories, hoping for something she could use. 

A series of memories flashed before her eyes. A side exit. A boat dock.  Keys in the cup holder next to the boat wheel.

“This way! Follow me!” Rogue yelled over the gunfire.  Not waiting to see if the two men followed, she took off down a dark hallway. Over her breathing, Rogue heard Jean-Luc ask Gambit how she knew.

Up ahead, the side door loomed, signaling freedom.  Rogue pumped her arms faster in desperation when two men stepped into her line of sight.  Not hesitating, Rogue slid, slamming into the first man, knocking him to the floor.  Rolling to her feet, Rogue ripped the gun from the man’s grasp and planted a hard kick to his temple. The man in question fell limp. A second thump indicated Gambit had dispatched the other man.

“Come on,” Rogue called, “The boats are this way.”

Tumbling out onto the porch into the cool night air, Rogue spotted the dock straight ahead.  They were almost there. Dashing forward, Rogue was almost off the porch when she heard Gambit’s voice cut through the chaos.

“Rogue!”

Arms wrapped around her waist, dragging her back into someone’s chest. At the same moment, a gunshot rang out overhead. Rogue blinked. There was a divot in the sidewalk exactly where she had been standing a moment earlier. As the reality of what nearly happened sank in, a cold sweat broke out across her forehead. She swallowed hard. Her knees felt like jello.

“Easy dere, Petite. I got ya.” Jean-Luc murmured. Turning, Jean-Luc cut his eyes back towards his son and snapped, “Remy, blow these couillons t’ hell.”

The Cajun mutant needed no further encouragement. Gambit’s eyes burned the color of hellfire as he reached over, taking hold of one of the porch pillars.  His powers shot upward, causing a large portion of the two-story porch and roofline to glow an eerie pink. Snatching ahold of her, Gambit pulled Rogue out of his father’s arms.

“Time to go.”

Above them, men dove for safety, yelling and cursing as Gambit pulled Rogue across the lawn toward the boat dock. Seconds later, an earth-shattering ‘boom’ rang out. Rogue stumbled as the shockwave hit her, the force of it nearly driving her to her knees before she managed to regain her footing.

Spying the boat dock just ahead, they put on some speed. Rogue’s footsteps thudded against the old wooden planks. As Gambit and his father began undoing the rigging, Rogue jumped into the boat.  Relief washed through her as she spotted the keys in the cup holder exactly where Julien’s memories told her they would be.

Snatching up the keys, she jammed them into the ignition.  The boat rocked as the two men climbed in after her.  Gambit moved to take the wheel and throttled up the engine, pulling the boat away from the dock, desperate to put some distance between them and his family’s enemies.

As the boat tore off into the night, the sound of other engines starting up caught Rogue’s attention.  Moving back towards the stern, Rogue peered into the darkness.  Suddenly, she spotted three boats silhouetted against the light of Blood Moon Bayou coming up fast.

“Umm, ya’ll we got company,” Rogue called over the scream of the boat engine.  For the second time that night, an earth-shattering ‘boom’ rattled the quiet.  A few feet away, a geyser of water shot into the air.

Oh, they have rocket launchers. Lovely. Rogue snarked. Behind her, she heard the two men swear.

Turning back towards the front of the boat, Rogue tried to figure out where they were going.  Only to regret it immediately. The bayous were nearly pitch black as the boat careened at high speed across the water, banking and turning under her feet with no warning.  The only silver lining was that she could clearly see the red lights on the water mines in the darkness.

Someone fired off a second shot, and Rogue spotted a tree burst into flames on the bank just ahead of them.  Splinters of bark and dirt showered her face, blinding her momentarily as they flew past.  Rogue blinked, trying to clear her sight.

She opened her eyes again to see Remy toss a handful of charged cards out of the boat. Seconds later, the cards went off, flipping one of the boats.

“Not bad, Gambit,” Rogue grinned.

“Merci, but those were my last cards.”

“Are you serious? How can you be out?”

“Mais, it’s not like they grow on trees.”

“They are paper.  They are literally made from trees,” Rogue shouted back before ducking down, opening hatches and compartments, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon.

Popping open a storage hatch at the bottom of the boat, Rogue found a short-barreled rifle and several mags.

That’ll work.

Rogue pulled out the gun.  Julien’s memories echoed in her mind. The safety had been disabled. Just point, pull the trigger, and kill the target. Rogue’s stomach rolled. A warm hand touched her shoulder.

“Petite, you ever used one of those before?” Jean-Luc asked. Rogue shook her head weakly, her arms feeling like they were made of lead. Gently, Jean-Luc took the gun from her grasp.

“I’ll handle this. You go see if you can find anything Remy can charge up.” The older man ordered.

“The safety’s been disabled,” Rogue warned.  Something flitted over Jean-Luc’s face at her words, but it was gone as quickly as it came. The man nodded once and took up position.

Wheeling back to continue her search, Rogue tried to ignore the sound of gunshots now coming from the back of their boat. As Jean-Luc fired off another round, one of the boats banked hard to the right in an attempt to dodge the oncoming gunfire, only to hit a water mine. Swamp water sprayed into the air, and for a brief moment, the bayou around them lit up like daytime.

The final boat blew past its now listless counterpart, closing the gap.  Rogue squinted and...goddamn, if it wasn’t Julien-fucking-Boudreaux at the helm. 

How many times did she have to put that boy down?

The world seemed to slow as Rogue watched Julien reach under the console and pull out a rocket launcher. In the back of her mind, Julien’s psyche laughed gruesomely. Rogue watched in horror as Julien lined up his shot with ease, and cold, inescapable truth crashed over her. This shot would be a direct hit.

Her heart pounded in her ears. It felt like she was moving underwater as Rogue reached past Gambit for the boat’s wheel and jerked it to the right. The boat banked hard to the side, tilting under her feet. An explosion just to their right sent a tidal wave through the water slamming into their boat, flipping it.

For a moment, Rogue was weightless, her body flying through the air. Then cold water closed over her.

Chapter Text

In the dark water, Rogue lost all sense of direction. Fear seized in her chest, slowing her thoughts. Desperately, she flailed underwater, trying to reorient herself. Rogue felt her left arm jerk to a stop, her sleeve snagging on something. 

Cypress roots, Rogue realized. She must be near the bottom.

Panic clawed at her as she tugged and twisted, but the fabric only wrapped tighter, stubbornly refusing to release its grip. Blindly, her fingers fumbled to untangle the fabric as her lungs began to burn. With a frantic surge, she yanked hard, feeling the root give way, the sound muffled and dull underwater.

Kicking away from the mess of roots, she spun under the water, losing what little sense of direction she had left.

Recalling one of her X-Men training exercises, Rogue stilled, fighting for calm. After a few moments, her body began to drift upward. 

Kicking her legs, she broke through the surface and sucked in air into her burning lungs. Rogue blinked her eyes and tried to clear her vision, her eyes stinging from the swamp water. For a moment, she simply floated there, heart pounding. Her shoulder throbbed dully where she had hit the water.

Peering around in the darkness, she could barely make out the shape of their boat, now capsized in the water.  A little distance away, Julien’s boat was run ashore on one of the banks.  But the three men were nowhere to be seen.

Somewhere in the inky blackness, a gator growled low. Fear crawled up Rogue’s spine as her heart began to race in her chest.  She needed to get out of the water. Now.

Paddling quietly towards the bank, Rogue tried to keep her feet from tangling in the thick vegetation and cypress roots. Slowly, she crept out of the water, mud squishing up to her ankles as she crawled up the bank.

Sweet Jesus, please don’t let me step on a gator. Rogue begged. Further ahead on the bank, she could hear the sounds of arguing. 

Getting her feet back onto solid ground, she moved towards the closest tree and plastered herself to the base of it.  The dark bark dug roughly against her shoulders. Using the Spanish moss hanging from its limbs for cover, Rogue snuck a glance around the trunk.

A few feet away, Julien stood squaring off with Gambit and Jean-Luc.  In his hands, Julien still held his rocket launcher. Rogue could also see the hilt of a knife tucked into the waistband of Julien’s pants at the small of his back.

Jean-Luc was doing his best to try to calm Julien, but the Master Assassin was having none of it. Even from a distance, Rogue could see the rage in the man’s eyes. Whatever his hangups with Gambit’s family were, Julien was beyond reason at this point.

Ducking back behind the tree, Rogue removed her gloves and silently tugged the sleeves on her shirt above her elbows, exposing as much of her skin as she could. Damnit, she was going to need every advantage she could muster. The night air slipped over her bare arms causing her to shiver.

Or was it nerves?

Rogue shook her head and eyed the three men still facing each other in a standoff. Blowing out a silent breath Rogue braced her feet against the roots using them like runners blocks.

One shot. She’d only get one shot.

Launching herself forward, she slammed into Julien’s back. Rogue’s legs wrapped around Julien’s waist as her arms wove around his neck, plastering herself to his back like a spider monkey. The Assassin cursed.

Somewhere below her, she heard the sound of the rocket launcher hitting the ground. Jean-Luc dove forward and dragged the weapon out of arm’s reach.

Julien’s fingers dug into her hair and scalp as he attempted to throw her over his shoulder.  Rogue tightened her legs in response. Her face pressed against Julien’s red leather jacket. Gripping the sides of Julien’s face, Rogue pulled hard with her powers even as the man continued to fight her.

Weakening, Julien stumbled once. Then he pitched backward, all 189 pounds of deadweight driving Rogue into the ground, pinning her there.

Rogue wheezed.

“Chere! Are ya alright?” Gambit yanked the unconscious Master Assassin off of her and dropped him unceremoniously face-first onto the muddy bank. Gently, Gambit patted her sides, checking for broken ribs as Rogue fought for breath. Rogue waved him off, wheezing again.  For the third time that night, Julien’s memories flooded her mind.

Years of gang wars and street fighting. Anger at her father for making peace with the Thieves. A dark alleyway on a misty night. A letter. A warning. Never trust the Thieves. King Tut’s treasure. The Thieves’ power. A dreamy, hazy feeling. The edges of her vision tinted green.

Rogue shook herself out of Julien’s memories, blinking up into Gambit’s worried face.  Behind him, Jean-Luc studied her carefully. 

Threading her fingers into her hair, Rogue tugged at her roots as she tried to shove Julien’s psyche back from the forefront of her mind. She had never absorbed one person so many times in a single night.  And damn if she wasn’t regretting attempting it for the first time on an unhinged Master Assassin.

Sensing the men’s gaze still on her, Rogue tried to swallow, only to find her mouth dry.  

“What in the Hatfields and McCoys: Bayou Edition have you dragged me into?” she asked, shooting the man an unimpressed look. Gambit’s shoulders relaxed, and he gave her a winsome smile.

“Just thought you needed a little excitement in your life, Chere.” Gambit offered her a little shrug. Like nearly getting killed by a pissed-off pack of Assassins was an everyday occurrence. 

Rogue rolled her eyes. Hell, it might be based on what she knew from Julien and Gambit’s psyches. Ignoring the two men in front of her, Rogue rolled to her feet, managing to almost hide the wince as her shoulder throbbed painfully. Of course, the eagle-eye Cajun picked up on it right away.

“Chere?”

“I’m fine.” Rogue snapped, waving off the man as he reached for her.  Instead, she turned and prodded Julien with her sneaker, “I got him good that time, but I wouldn’t count on ya boy being down long.  We need to get out of here.”

“We can take de boat,” Jean-Luc said, moving back towards the shore. “Remy, give me a hand getting dis thing in de water.”

Between the three of them, they managed to dislodge the boat from the muddy bank.  Jean-Luc took the helm, checking to ensure all the systems were functional, while Rogue hoisted herself in with Gambit’s help, who clamored in after her.

Sitting on the bench seat at the back of the boat, Rogue buried her face in her hands and tried to ignore the sudden burning behind her eyelids.  She was freezing. She was exhausted. And her shoulder was killing her.  To say nothing of the addition of the four new psyches taking up residence in her head. Vainly, she fought back a whimper.

“Chere, you okay?” Gambit asked.  Rogue lifted her face from her hands to find the man squatting before her.  She briefly thought about putting on a brave face but shook it off. She needed some aspirin and probably a first aid kit, too.

“My head’s killing me,” Rogue murmured and pressed a hand over her right eye as another sharp pain rocketed through her skull.

In her head, Julien swore and hurled himself at her mental barriers again, threatening death and dismemberment, not necessarily in that order.

Gambit nodded and stood.

Rogue settled back against the seat, letting the wind and hum of the boat engine wash over her.  In the distance, she could hear frogs singing in the darkness.  If she wasn’t riding in a boat stolen from an assassin in the company of two thieves, this would almost remind her of her childhood.

Raised voices from the front of the boat had her eyes popping open again.

“She needs Tante Mattie. We need t’ head for de Guild Hall,” Gambit argued. Jean-Luc’s eyes flick towards her in silent communication with his son. Rogue sighed. She didn’t need to hear the older man’s response to know he wasn’t a fan of Gambit’s plan.

“We need t’ head back t’ de City. Your brother and de others are there. We gotta regroup and find out why de Assassins attacked our family.” Jean-Luc countered.

Julien’s memories flashed before Rogue’s eyes, and the green-tinted vision and dreamy feeling returned.  It felt so damn familiar.  Teasing at the edge of her mind, but every time Rogue tried to place the feeling, it slipped away like smoke.

Raised voices pulled her from Julien’s memories.

“Goddamnit, Jean-Luc, would you listen—”

“Enough,” Jean-Luc snapped, “We’re headin’ for Hermes, and that’s final.”

It took probably close to an hour to get back into the city. Jean-Luc had run the engine wide open and only throttled back when they entered the city limits. Gambit had spent the trip alternating between sitting next to her and standing next to Jean-Luc at the helm, arguing in low tones.

Water lapped quietly against the boat as Jean-Luc cut the engine, allowing it to run aground on the sandy bank. Gambit jumped down from the boat’s bow to help his father pull the boat further onto the bank before tying it off.

Rogue looked around. This must have been a port at some point. Even in the darkness, Rogue could make out the silhouettes of decaying wood piers jutting out of the ground among the thick vegetation overtaking the bank.

A little further down the bank, the glow of newer, more modern ports lit the sky. Massive cranes twisted upwards into the night sky as cargo containers stacked as tall as buildings waited to be loaded onto boats.

“Rogue, come on. This way.” Remy whispered, waving at her from the ground. Jean-Luc was already standing next to him.  Rogue jumped down, her sneakers squishing into the muddy sand as she did so.  She stifled a grunt as her back and shoulder reminded her that she was going to be one big bruise tomorrow.  Both men reached to steady her, but Rogue waved them off.

“What is this place?” Rogue asked.

“The old Longshoremen ports.” Jean-Luc answered, moving down the bank towards a concrete pier that was still standing despite Mother Nature’s attempt to overtake everything else, “Come on, ya two. We still need to get to the Garden District.”

“The Garden District? Don’t ya’ll live in the French Quarter?” Rogue asked as Jean-Luc offered her a hand up onto the concrete pier.  Oddly enough, now that she was standing on top of the walkway, she could see that someone had cleared the vegetation away, leaving a clear path under a tunnel of branches and vines.  Gambit hopped up onto the walkway behind her with all the grace of a cat.

“The City is divided up into territories, Chere.  The Quarter is neutral, being the oldest part of the City.  The Thieves hold the Western part of the city, with the Garden District being our stronghold.  The Assassins hold the Eastern part of the city. The main roads in and out of the city are also neutral.” Gambit explained.

“Hush now, Remy. No need to bore the fille with the details.” Jean-Luc cut his son off.  Turning, the older man offered her a smile, “The short version is, if you ever need help, head t’ the Garden District. The Thieves will take care of ya.”

Rogue offered a weak smile and mumbled a thank you. She could read between the lines. Jean-Luc didn’t want Gambit to give too much away.

All her life, people had told her information was power. Rogue never doubted it for a minute. Behind Jean-Luc, she could see Gambit glaring at his father, but Jean-Luc didn’t pay his son any mind.

Breaking through the vegetation into one of the shipping yards, Rogue followed the two men.  As they crept through rows of shipping containers, Rogue was surprised that no one seemed to be around. Most ports bustled day and night, but then she remembered that it was Marti Gras.  Most of the state of Louisiana would be shut down to celebrate, and New Orleans was definitely celebrating in full swing.

In the distance, she could hear the sound of jazz bands playing all over the city, along with the pop of an occasional firework.

Good Lord, what time is it anyway? Rogue wondered.

She thought about asking for a moment, but one glance at her two companions had the question dying on her lips. The tension between Gambit and his Father was palpable, and she had no desire to draw their attention to herself. Instead, the three trudged on in stony silence, with the two men ahead of her and Rogue bringing up the rear. 

Rogue wondered if Gambit and Jean-Luc were feeling as tired as she was. Neither man showed even a hint of the fatigue that was clinging to her shoulders.

Eventually, they crossed into a more residential area.  While the silence continued, both Gambit and his father seemed to relax the more distance they put between themselves and the river. 

Rogue inhaled a breath and blew it out through her nose. Roling her shoulder she tried to unclench the tension there. 

Now what?

Gambit had rescued his father, so technically, he didn’t need her anymore. Would he toss her out on the streets? Hand her over to the Assassins?  Rogue didn’t think so. For all that Gambit was a thief and a mercenary, her peek into his psyche didn’t make her think he was unnecessarily cruel.

Then there was Jean-Luc.

The man was not being the slightest bit subtle about his interests regarding her powers.  Would he let her leave?  Rogue was less sure about that.  Even if her powers didn’t prove interesting to him, something Rogue sincerely doubted, Jean-Luc probably wouldn’t just let her waltz out the door with what she now knew.

Because now she did know what she was dealing with…crime families. Gambit wasn’t just some thief trained by his father, who also happened to be a thief. According to Gambit and Julien’s psyches, these families stretched back decades, if not centuries.

Rogue had absorbed Mystique enough times to know you didn’t get and hold that type of power in the criminal underworld by not tying up loose ends.  As far as Rogue could see, she was definitely a loose end.

Sighing, Rogue tugged at the cuff of her glove like a lifeline.  Her hands felt clammy in a way that had nothing to do with the damp fabric. As she was led through the maze of neighborhoods, a low thrum of uncertainty began to build in her chest. 

Was she really safe with Gambit and his father? What if they thought she was a threat to their Guild?

Don’t worry, Chere. Remy will take care of you. Remy’s psyche whispered.

Wouldn’t count on it, Chienne. Loverboy is only out for himself. Julien scoffed. Again, the dreamy feeling washed over her. Never trust a Thief.

Rogue, listen to me. The Guilds are powerful and dangerous.  You must ally yourself with Jean-Luc if you wish to survive. He is the Guildmaster. Mystique’s voice broke through the noise caused by the two arguing Cajun men.

Keep your head down, Stripes. Saying nothing will rarely get you in trouble, Logan countered.

Rogue stumbled over a broken bit of sidewalk.  Bracing herself against a telephone pole, she pressed a hand against her temple.  With a monumental effort, Rogue managed to shove the psyches back behind the mental barrier the Professor had constructed for her.  Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to ignore the violent roll of her stomach.

“Rogue, you doing okay?” Remy’s voice—the real one—asked next to her as a hand rubbed up and down her back.  Opening her eyes, Gambit’s worried face filled her vision.

“I’m fine. My head’s just killing me.” Rogue answered, hoping Remy would catch on without further explanation. Jean-Luc stood a few steps away, watching the two of them with undisguised interest. Rogue looked back at Remy, glad for someone else to focus on. Remy nodded slowly, understanding in his eyes.

“We’re almost there. Tante Mattie will fix ya up,” Gambit shot his father a sharp look as if daring the older man to disagree. Jean-Luc merely raised an eyebrow at his son, and something passed between the two of them, that Rogue didn’t have the energy to dissect.

Feeling slightly more steady, Rogue straightened and waved her hand, indicating they should get moving.  As the two men nodded and began walking again, slower this time, Rogue noticed their feet barely made any sound despite the heavy-tread boots they were wearing.

See Chere? What did I tell ya? Remy’ll take care of you.  We’re almost to Hermes, Remy informed her, quieter this time.

I thought I shoved you behind the barrier, Rogue snapped at the psyche.  In her mind, she felt a shrug.

Mais, Remy’s not a fan of locked doors. Guess mental barriers are no different, the psyche offered and fell silent. 

Rogue blinked as her mind caught up with the fact that she couldn’t lock up Gambit’s psyche like the others.  Mentally, she swore at her new ride-along peanut gallery only to hear laughter echo back at her.

Rogue groaned. If I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.

XOXOXOXOX

What Have You Dragged Me Into?

Ya'll pray for Rogue. She's already down to her last nerve and it's only the second chapter.  Also, I am genuinely curious what Gambit's plan would have been if the X-Men hadn't shown up to take Rogue home at the end of 'Cajun Spice.'  

Chapter Text

As they turned the corner, Rogue spotted the sign for Hermes. Despite being a bar, the establishment looked oddly subdued for Marti Gras. Granted, there were still people milling about, but there were no gawking tourists, drunken revelers, or women flashing for beads like there had been on Bourbon Street. Small groups of people moved around, some sporting masks, but no one was making a fool of themselves.

Rogue stepped closer to Gambit, catching his attention, “What’s Hermes?”

“It’s a bar de family owns. It serves as a meeting place…of sorts.” Gambit raised his eyebrows, shooting her a look.   Rogue’s jaw ticked as she read between the lines.  The bar was a front. This was the Thieves Guild’s headquarters in the city. 

Rogue’s stomach clenched. She was following Gambit and his Daddy into a literal den of Thieves. For a moment, she looked around, wondering if she could run, but dismissed the idea as quickly as it came.  Where would she go?  With her luck, Julien and the Assassins would find her.

Do it, Chienne. I dare you, Julien whispered. Rogue shoved him back behind the barrier again and rubbed her temples.

Maybe she could convince Gambit to put her on a train back to New York. He clearly didn’t want Jean-Luc anywhere near her. Before she could come up with an excuse to get Gambit alone, a shout from down the block caught her attention.

“Oncle! Remy! Is that you?” A man in a long trench coat with red hair and a goatee ran towards them.  The man embraced Jean‑Luc first, clapping him on the back, “Are you alright? What happened?”

Not waiting for Jean‑Luc to answer, the man reached around the older man and embraced Gambit, clapping him on the back, too. Pulling away, the red-headed man threw a mock punch at Gambit’s shoulder. “Remy, ya couyon! Ya did it, didn’t ya? We got the news a few minutes ago. The whole city is talking about how ya blew Blood Moon Bayou halfway to hell.”

Suddenly the man spotted her. Breaking off his greeting, he turned his eyes toward Gambit and dropped back into French. “Qui est la fille?”

Rogue bristled at being called ‘the girl’ but kept her face blank, letting her eyes flick from the man back to Gambit in faux confusion. Irene had raised her to speak fluent French. Something told Rogue it might be better to not let the men in front of her know she spoke the language.

That’s my girl, Mystique whispered.  Rogue gritted her teeth at the praise and ignored the psyche in favor of listening to the conversation going on around her.

“Rogue, this here is Emil Lapin, my nephew, and Remy’s cousin.” Jean‑Luc clapped the red-headed man around the shoulders.  Emil grinned and caught her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of Rogue’s glove.

“Remy’s better-looking cousin that is, Bele,” The man shot her a wide, cheesy grin and winked. Rogue snorted a laugh through her nose.  This boy was a fool-and-a-half, to be sure, but he kind of reminded her of Bobby. 

“Emil, this is Rogue. She helped us escape from Blood Moon and took down Julien and Marius.” Jean‑Luc said. Emil’s eyes snapped back to her, and Rogue offered him a small smile and a shrug. Realizing Jean‑Luc was telling the truth, Emil started to chuckle.

“Oh, this I’ve got to hear.” Turning back towards the bar, he waved them along. “Come on. Henri and Mercy are inside with de others.”

Steeling herself, Rogue followed Gambit and his family inside. Pausing just inside the doorway, Rogue looked around.  Hermes was small, with two long bar tops running down either side of the room, separated by old wood plank floors.  Well-worn barstools lined the front of the two bars while behind sat dozens—if not hundreds—of bottles.  Rogue could smell the tang of lime, rum, and tobacco in the air.

The walls were painted dark green, and framed pictures and oil paintings filled them. Turn-of-the-century lights filled the space with warm light, while two fans turned lazily overhead.

Above the twin bars, Rogue could see a second-floor walkway trimmed with ornate banisters that opened up to the main floor below. Doors lined the upper gallery, which Rogue somehow knew led to private offices and meeting rooms.

Overseeing it all, a massive painting of Hermes hung on the back wall dominating the room.  The Greek God of Thieves watched stoically over the space, his staff in hand.  Rogue shivered.

Jean‑Luc’s triumphant return from the hands of his family’s enemies did not go unnoticed. Cheers and shouts went up from around the bar.  Suddenly, people were pressing in on all sides, trying to greet the Guildmaster and his son. 

Caught in the middle, Rogue pulled her shirt up to cover her shoulders more and crossed her arms to make herself as small as possible. As the jostling got worse, she tried to stay close to Gambit even as people wedged themselves between them.

When one man knocked her backward in an attempt to clap Gambit on the back, she found herself immediately swallowed by the crowd.  Panic seized her as Rogue lost sight of Gambit, her only lifeline in this place. Fighting her way back, several of the men took notice of her.  Around her, whistles and comments flew.

“What we got here?”

“Remy, couyon, did you stop and get yourself a date tonight?”

“Mais, how ’bout you come over here, Petite?” One hand got a bit too friendly for Rogue's taste, and she immediately stomped on the interloper’s insole.  A curse went up, followed by laughter from the crowd. 

“How about you keep your hands to yourself before I plant my foot up your ass?” Rogue retorted, wheeling around to spot a man holding his foot. Rogue leveled a glare at the man that should have turned his hair white, but instead, he leered at her.

“Well, lookie here. We got ourselves a little southern spitfire.”

Before Rogue could come up with a retort, Jean-Luc stepped up and placed a hand on her back, shooting the man a stern look. Behind his father, Gambit glared, a faint red glow in his eyes. “Dat’s enough. We don’t talk t’ ladies like that.”

The change was instantaneous.  The leer dropped from the man’s face like it had never been there, and the man bowed his head, “Oui, Guildmaster.  Pardon, Mademoiselle.”

“Pere! Remy!” A voice called from above.  Looking up, Rogue spotted a man who was nearly the spitting image of the older man standing beside her.  The stairs must have been too much of a trial because the man launched himself over the railing, landing with practiced ease. He immediately hugged Remy, who was closer, before greeting Jean‑Luc.

For the first time that evening, Rogue saw a real smile come over both Gambit’s and Jean-Luc’s faces.  Something warmed a little in her chest at the sight of the men hugging each other.  Whatever friction existed between Gambit and his father, the relief on the three men’s faces was genuine. 

A blonde woman raced down the stairs to join the men and smacked a kiss to the sides of both Gambit’s and Jean‑Luc’s faces, tutting at them in rapid French.

“Rogue, Petite, c’mere,” Jean-Luc waved her over.

Unwilling to be rude to the Guildmaster in front of his own men, Rogue dutifully stepped forward, painfully aware of the room’s gaze on her. Jean‑Luc reached over and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her up beside him. Rogue stiffened at the contact before forcing herself to relax.

“Rogue, this is Henri, mon fils, and Mercy, his wife. Henri, Mercy, this is Rogue, a friend of Remy’s.”  Jean-Luc introduced, and Rogue nodded politely to the pair. Apparently, Jean-Luc wasn’t done playing showman yet and added, “She helped Remy free me from Blood Moon and took down Julien and Marius.”

If the room had been quiet before, you could have heard a goddamn pin drop now.  Henri and Mercy eyed her with unabashed interest.

Looking down, Rogue tugged at her gloves and traced the seam on one of the fingers. Racking her brain, she tried to come up with something, but what do you say when someone sings your praises to their family for dropping their enemies into short-term comas?

Damnit, the criminal underground really needs an etiquette book. Rogue grumbled.

“Well, I’m sorry I missed that,” Mercy replied after a moment, breaking the silence. She grinned. “Do you think you could do it again, and this time we can record it?”

A sharp laugh tinged with hysteria burst from her mouth before Rogue could swallow it down. What the hell had the Gambit dragged her into? How do you even answer that?

Fortunately, she was saved from answering when Gambit stepped up beside her. 

“Désolé, Mercy, but ya snooze ya loose. Don’t think ma Cherie and I will be going back t’ de jazz club anyhow.” Remy explained, lassoing an arm around her waist. Rogue stiffened at the invasion of her personal space. Hadn’t this fool learned not to touch her by now?

Turning, Gambit offered her a winning smile, “I’ll make it up to ya, Chere. Maybe I can take you t’ dinner? Show you some proper Southern hospitality.”

“Pfft. I don’t think you would know Southern hospitality if it bit you in the ass,”  Rogue scoffed, rolling her eyes. Sending an elbow into the man’s ribs, Rogue winced as her elbow connected with the chest plate that Gambit wore. His body armor probably did more damage to her elbow, but at least the red-and-black-eyed mutant conceded to take a half step back.

“Oh, I like this one.” Mercy’s eyes danced in delight. “Let me guess, that’s how Remy got you down here? Promised ya a good time in New Orleans? Mais, he’s quite the charmer when he wants t’ be.”

Rogue felt her jaw drop open at the insinuation from the woman before her and whipped around to look at the man beside her. Gambit offered her a lazy smirk and shrugged.

Rogue scowled. She didn’t doubt that the Cajun mutant could probably charm birds out of trees if he wanted to, but Rogue would be damned if she’d ever admit it.

“Charming, huh? What? Do you leave it down here when you come North?” Rogue planted her hands on her hips and turned to face the man squarely.  Behind her, Henri snorted violently and Emil choked on his drink. Around the room, the other Thieves grinned. 

“Chere! I’ll have ya know Remy is very popular with de filles of Bourbon Street,” Gambit defended, his eyes popping wide.

If Rogue didn’t know any better, she would say there was a hint of mortification in his voice as Gambit attempted to defend his reputation as a lady’s man in front of his family.

Oh, she was not having that.

After everything he had put her through, the sneaky Cajun could afford to be taken down a peg or two in front of his family. Cocking a hip to the side, she popped an eyebrow at him.

“De filles of Bourbon Street, huh?” Rogue asked, mimicking Gambit’s yat. Lazily, she looked over her shoulder at Henri, “Is that code for something, or do I want to take that at face value?”

“He’s talking ‘bout de tourist, Petite,” Henri grinned, his eyes dancing in humor.

“Ah. A bunch of drunk sorority girls. Got it,” Rogue nodded knowingly and cut her eyes back to Gambit, “I guess that still counts.”

“Now…now wait a minute. Hold on.” Gambit tried again, but Rogue cut him off with an eye roll.

“I said it counts,” Rogue reiterated in mock exasperation while fighting back a smile. It felt good to see the usually suave man on the backstep for once. Chuckles went up from the men still watching. No doubt enjoying Gambit’s suffering.

Turning towards Mercy, she added, “I mean, it feels a bit like the lion that goes after the gazelle with a broken hoof, but I guess it still counts.”

With that, hoots and hollers broke out from the rest of the room at Gambit’s expense. Rogue snickered.

In all fairness, he was taking his comeuppance well. When Gambit’s red and black gaze fell back on her, Rogue offered him a saccharin-sweet smile and a little shrug.  Shaking his head, the man gave her a grin that promised retribution and…something else.

“Dieu, this entire exchange has been amazing.” Emil crowed from his spot perched on a bar stool. Gambit opened his mouth to deliver a quip of his own when Henri cut his brother off with a hand on his arm.

“We still need t’ figure out what was behind all this,” Henri pointed out, “Belize and Theo are handling things back at de Guild Hall, but we haven’t been able to figure out why the Assassins attacked out of de blue.”

The atmosphere plummeted at the reminder of the Assassin’s actions.  Rogue sighed as the tension that had melted away from her shoulders returned with a vengeance.

“Let’s go t’ my office,” Jean-Luc said, taking charge. He waved his family members towards a set of stairs.  Turning back, he addressed the room, “Be on ya guard and stick t’ our territory. I doubt we’ve heard de last of de Assassins tonight.”

“Come on, Rogue.  I’ll show ya where ya can get cleaned up.” Remy offered.  Rogue nodded wearily, rubbing a hand over her eyes. Her head was pulsing again.

“I’m gonna need aspirin in a Pez dispenser.”

“How about a shot o’ Bourbon instead?”

“That’ll work.”

Rogue scrubbed the non-existent dirt under her fingernails and turned off the sink. Remy had found her a first-aid kit from somewhere, and Rogue had excused herself to the bathroom attached to Jean-Luc’s office to try and clean herself up. But after bandaging every cut she could find and washing her face and hands until they felt raw, Rogue was running out of things to keep her in the bathroom.

Sitting on the toilet lid, Rogue opened a heating pack and applied it to her shoulder. At this point, she was dawdling. She needed to come up with a plan to get the hell out of here. Of course, that led to questions about where she would go.

Massaging the bridge of her nose, Rogue sighed. Truth be told, she had been excited to return to the South. Things were tough at the Mansion these days, and Rogue didn’t know where she fit in anymore. She definitely wasn’t Brotherhood material, but ever since she threw Mystique off that cliff, killing her, she didn’t really feel like she belonged with the X-Men either. 

Let’s be honest. None of the others would have killed someone. Not Scott, or Jean, or Kitty...definitely not Kurt.

The image of her brother’s devastated face when Mystique’s stone body hit the ground and shattered into a thousand pieces, flashed behind her eyelids. Rogue jerked her head to the side, trying to dislodge the thought, and swallowed thickly.

But Logan would understand. Maybe she could go back and talk to him. He might have an idea of where she could go. Rogue forced herself to ignore the despair that shot through her at the idea of saying goodbye to another home to try and start over again.

Slipping back into the office, Rogue glanced at the others who were stationed around a large desk. Not knowing what else to do, Rogue moved towards a tufted leather chair next to a large credenza. She almost moaned as she sunk into the buttery soft leather. For a moment, she wished she could just curl up and go to sleep.

Focus! Mystique snapped. You need to figure out your next steps.

Rogue jerked her drooping eyelids open and sat up a little straighter. She hated it, but Mystique was right. She still needed to come up with a plan to get out of here.

Not to mention, she didn’t trust for a second that she wouldn’t wake up on another boxcar headed Lord knows where if she fell asleep around Gambit and his family. 

If the Thieves decide to get rid of you, a boxcar will be the least of your worries. The Thieves may not be as creative as we are, but two bullets in your skull are still two bullets in your skull, Julien grinned.

Shut up, Julien. Rogue warned, but the words didn’t hold the fire that she’d hoped for. Realizing her hands were trembling slightly, Rogue gripped her fingers tightly and turned to watch the others in the room.

Henri was seated in a chair behind the desk, indicating something on the screen while Jean-Luc and Remy leaned over his shoulders, trying to get a good look. From what Rogue could tell, it looked like grainy video from a close-circuit feed.

A second smaller desk was pushed against a far wall. Emil had another laptop open, and Mercy stood beside him, cell phone pressed to her ear. She spoke in perfect French, no trace of her Cajun dialect to be found.

“Merci, Monsieur. Au revoir.” Mercy replied and hung up the phone. Dropping back into her native yat, she turned towards the others. “That was UBS, and according t’ our friend, nobody has deposited money into any of de Assassins’ Swiss accounts. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a contract.”

“Same goes for de Whores and Vice Associations.” Emil spun in his chair to face the room, “Did you want me t’ reach out t’ the Nefaria Family?”

“No. I don’t want news of this spreading any further than it already has. Whatever de reason, it would seem de Assassins were acting on their own accord,” Jean-Luc shook his head.

Rogue’s eyes flicked away to stare at the knick-knacks that lined the credenza next to her.  Swiss bank accounts? The Nefaria Family?  Rogue knew about the Nefaria Family. Mystique had mentioned them. They were one of New York’s most powerful crime families and part of The Maggia.

Shit, Dorothy. You sure ain’t in Kansas anymore. Rogue thought, sinking deeper in her seat, trying to tune out the conversation around her. Instead, she focused on Julien’s memories.

There had been something there earlier when she had fought with Julien in the Bayou. An argument between Julien and Marius. Focusing, Rogue began to shift through the clutter separating Julien’s memories from his personality. The memories came in flashes—gang wars, training to become an Assassin, a letter, arguing with her father.

There! Rogue latched onto the memory as the images played across her mind. 

She stormed out of Marius’ office. He never listened.  She had told her father to never trust the Thieves, but when did Marius ever listen to his hot-headed son?  Now they had proof—a letter. Marius still didn’t listen, and she didn’t have time to waste.  If Pere wouldn’t listen to her, it would fall to her as Heir to protect the Assassins Guild.

Rogue tried to follow the thread further, but it disappeared into a haze of green.  The harder Rogue pulled at the thread of Julien’s memory, the more the details seemed to blur until everything felt like a half-remembered dream. It was like trying to catch smoke.

Rogue blinked and sighed as frustration gnawed at her. Pressing her fingers against her eyes, she twisted her head side-to-side, letting her neck pop.

Logan always told her to focus on the facts. So what did she know?

She knew Julien and his Father were at odds over something to do with the Thieves.

She knew Julien was convinced he had proof that the Thieves were untrustworthy.

She knew Julien had been prepared to act without Marius.

She knew she needed to speak with Gambit.

Rogue’s mind whirled. Maybe she could ask Gambit for something that had been missing from the first aid kit. Her back was all cut up from her first fight in the swamps. She could ask for help applying a bandage.

Internally, Rogue groaned.  She could already picture the sly grin on the idiot’s face.

“You okay over there, Petite? You look lost in thought.” Henri asked, cutting off her train of thought.

“Umm,” she hummed stupidly as her mind went blank.  Around her, the others glanced towards her. Desperately, Rogue scrambled to come up with an answer that wouldn’t give her powers away.

“Is it something t’ do with tonight?” Henri asked gently. Standing, the tall man moved around the desk, watching her like she was a deer he was afraid to spook. By now, the others had paused what they were doing to watch the conversation, including Gambit, who was on the phone with someone.

“Umm, yeah. Maybe? I’m not sure,” Rogue hedged. Maybe if she played the dumb teenager, she wouldn’t have to explain too much. Her eyes darted towards Gambit, hoping for a sign. The man watched her closely but gave nothing away.  No help there.

“There was this guy that attacked me after Gambit went inside Blood Moon,” Rogue started slowly.

“Who was it, Petite?” Henri asked.

Stick as close to the truth as you can, Chere. Remy advised. The best lies are based on truth.

Rogue snorted, “We didn’t exactly get around to formal introductions before he tried to kill me. Tall. Dark skin. Locs. He was wearing an orange coat and had some sort of tin full of white powder.”

Somewhere in the room, someone’s breath sizzled through their teeth.

“Gris Gris,” Henri nodded knowingly, “He’s a Master Assassin. He usually goes around with Julien and de other younger Assassins.”

Rogue wanted to do a backflip.  Henri just handed her an opening on a silver platter.  She nodded like she was slowly beginning to understand.

“He followed me out into the woods and tried to kill me. He said something odd, though. About Julien being right that the Assassins shouldn’t trust the Thieves?  I don’t know, maybe he thought I was a Thief?” Rogue shrugged helplessly.  Looking up at Gambit, she locked eyes with him, hoping he understood the message, “It sounded like Julien must have said it before, but maybe no one would listen to him?”

Gambit’s head bobbed infinitesimally. Message received. Rogue almost sagged in relief.

“Did he say anything else?” Henri pressed.

Part of Rogue considered bringing up the letter but decided against it. It probably wasn’t important, and she couldn’t risk overplaying her hand with Gambit’s family until she knew where she stood. Instead, she shook her head.

“Not really. We were fighting, and I managed to knock him out pretty quick after that.”

“Been meaning t’ ask ya about that, Petite. What exactly did you do t’ Marius and Julien?” Jean-Luc cut in smoothly as he crossed the room to stand a few steps away from her chair. Remy’s head snapped around to watch his father, his hand tightening on the phone still glued to his ear.

“I’d have thought that was obvious, Jean-Luc. I knocked them out.”

“Yes, I saw that. But how did ya do it? It’s something ya do with your hands, isn’t it? That’s why you took your gloves off.”

“My powers are in my skin.” Rogue bit out, tugging her gloves further up her arms.

“What about de boats? You knew where de keys were. And you knew de safety was disabled on that rifle without even lookin’ at it.”

“That’s enough, Jean-Luc.” Remy snapped, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “Her powers don’t concern you. She’s not sticking around.”

“Where’s she gonna go?”

“I have family up North I need to get back to,” Rogue snapped. Standing up from the chair, her back protested the sudden move, but Rogue ignored it in favor of crossing her arms and facing the older man squarely. Jean-Luc shot her a pitying look.

“I don’t know how much mon fils has told ya, but those men you fought tonight were trained Assassins.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that part.” Rogue scoffed, not liking the patronizing tone of Jean‑Luc’s voice.  Jean‑Luc pursed his lips like he was dealing with a particularly difficult child.

“Petite, they are some of de best in de world. How are ya planning to get out of town without them noticing?” Jean‑Luc asked. Softening, he continued, “Do you really think they won’t track ya back to your home?  These are not de type of people to let something like this go. They can and will hunt ya down just for revenge.  Are you willing to put your family at risk like that?”

Visions of some of Julien’s more creative jobs flashed in her mind. Rogue froze. Indecision gnawed at her.

The X-Men could handle the Assassins, couldn’t they?

Except that Scott and the others wouldn’t plan on killing. They would pull their punches like they always do, and the Assassins would take advantage of that. 

Even if the X‑Men won, it would probably be a fight to the death. Could she do that to them? Could she put her friends in a position where they might have to become killers? Could she turn Kitty into a killer? Turn Kurt into a killer?

She already knew the answer. Looking at Gambit, he knew the answer, too.

Rogue deflated, blinking rapidly as her eyes burned in frustration. Fury and helplessness raged through her. Glaring down at the floor, Rogue bit her tongue until she tasted the metallic tang of blood.

Fine, she’d play nice for now. Then she’d find her way out of this God-forsaken city, with or without Gambit’s help.  And so help her if Gambit’s Daddy tried to stop her.

“Rogue can stay with me,” Gambit announced, crossing the room to stand beside her. Jean-Luc frowned.

“There’s no need for that.  There’s plenty of space at de Guild Hall—”

“She can stay at my apartment.” Gambit cut his father off with a fierce glare, “We’ll find out why de Assassins attacked, and once things are settled, she goes home.  There’s no reason to draw her further into de Guild’s business.”

Rogue relaxed slightly. At least Remy was on her side about this.

Jean-Luc opened his mouth ready to argue further, but a knock at the door cut him off.  Henri crossed the room and opened the door a few inches. Rogue could hear murmuring on the other side before Henri thanked the person and stepped back into the room.

“The Assassins have sent a message. Marius is calling for a face-to-face meeting tonight t’ keep things from spiraling any more out of control.” Henri announced with a grim look. As his eyes flicked towards her, Rogue’s stomach dropped to her feet. “He’s also demanding that we bring de femme with us.”

XOXOXOXOX

Hermes: The Thieves Guild Bar

This was my first time using AI but I have to say it really does match what I envisioned when writing this chapter.

Chapter Text

Rogue sat in the back of a car with Remy, Henri, and Mercy. After the message from the Assassins, she hadn’t been privy to the majority of the planning that had been going on. Not for lack of trying on her part.

Most of the LeBeau’s conversation had been in Cajun French. Whether it was because it was easier for them or they were trying to keep her in the dark, Rogue couldn’t be sure, but she had only caught about half of the conversation.

The meeting was being held in the French Quarter at a theater called Satin. Gambit offered to drive himself and Rogue there, but Jean-Luc demanded Henri travel with them, arguing that if the Assassins attacked again, the Guildmaster and the Heir shouldn’t be in the same car.

Rogue almost believed him.

If she had to guess, Jean-Luc was worried that Remy would try to sneak her out of the city. Sitting in the back seat with Mercy, the blonde woman tried to draw her into conversation, but Rogue could barely follow what Mercy was saying as exhaustion and fear mixed together in a potent cocktail eating at her like acid.

Rogues stared blankly at the dark streets beyond the window. Her limbs felt shaky, and there must have been a bucketful of sand lodged behind each of her eyelids.

Before they had left Hermes, Mercy managed to scrounge her up a protein bar, but nerves and the headache from the psyches made it almost impossible to keep anything down. 

It didn’t help that the psyches kept pushing through her mental barrier to interject their own comments—a sure sign she needed sleep. At least Gambit’s psyche was proving useful, shoving Julien’s psyche backward every time he tried to escape.

Rogue, listen to me. Mystique pressed. You must make the Guildmaster your ally.  Jean-Luc will protect his family first and foremost. He may be interested in your powers, but he will not risk his family’s safety for you.

Hate to say it Stripes, but Mystique is right. You’re both a key player and an Outsider. That’s a bad place to be.

Don’t worry, Chere. Remy’s by your side.

When the LeBeaus hand you over, Chienne, I’m going to take my time with you. Do you know what piano wire can be used for?

Remy and Logan’s psyches teamed up to shove Julien behind her mental barrier yet again, but not before she got a flood of memories of what piano wire could do in the hands of a Master Assassin. Rogue hunched forward and sucked in a breath, stomach rolling. A thin sheen of sweat broke out over her forehead and upper lip. A dull roaring filled her ears, muffling the other sounds in the car.

“Sha? Honey? Honey, can you hear me?” Mercy’s small hands grasped one of Rogue’s shoulders. It sounded like Mercy was miles away.

“Chere? Merde! Henri pull over.”

Rogue felt the car stop moving and the door next to her open. The cool air outside the car hit her face, grounding her slightly. At least the world stopped spinning. Gambit squatted down in front of her and rubbed his hands up and down her arms, watching her carefully while Mercy rubbed circles on her back.

“What’s wrong, Petite?” Henri asked, leaning over the front seat. Rogue tried to answer to say she was fine, but all that came out was a croak as she tried to pull air back into her lungs.

Did you know piano wire can sever fingers? Would you like me to start with your right hand or your left? Julien asked. Rogue jerked at the question. Terror sealed off her throat, choking her.

“She’s terrified,” Remy answered and yanked her to his chest. Rogue didn’t fight him and clutched at Remy’s coat, twisting the fabric between her fingers. Somewhere, part of Rogue’s mind realized she was shaking. Remy slowly rocked her back and forth, “Shh. Talk to me, Chere. What’s going on?”

“Psyche. Julien’s, shit…Julien. He’s still making noise.” Rogue gritted out brokenly.

“What is she talking ‘bout, Remy?” Henri demanded, but the rocking never stopped as the Cajun mutant ignored his brother and shushed her again. Rogue managed to suck in a ragged breath and tried again.

“It’s what I do. I take life force, but also psyches. Their thoughts. Their memories. Personalities, too.” Rogue leaned heavily against Gambit’s frame. The heat of him sinking through her clothes into her skin helped to settle down some of her nerves. Rogue latched onto it. Desperate for anything that would take her mind off of Julien’s words.

“Huh?”

“She steals people’s memories through skin-to-skin contact and knocks them out in de process. That’s why I brought her here. I needed information so I could get into Blood Moon.” Remy explained.

“But Julien’s psyche is still with her? Was he listening in at Hermes?” Henri demanded.

“No,” Hearing the alarm in Henri’s voice, Rogue forced her head from Gambit’s shoulder and turned to face his brother. “I’m not a telepath. There’s no open line of communication. I just absorb their psyche.” Rogue frowned, struggling to explain it.

“Like downloading a computer file?” Mercy guessed. Rogue shook her head.

“More like a mental clone. The psyches are independent of my own, so they can interact with me.”

“And Julien’s psyche is causing you trouble?” Mercy asked. Rogue barked out a humorless laugh.

“He’s as much of a pain in the ass as the real thing.”

“Merde.” Henri swore, “How long do you have t’ put up with that?” Rogue snorted softly and shook her head. Suddenly, she felt old.

“For the rest of my life.” 

Henri winced.

“What’s he doing? Other than being his normal self?” Mercy asked.

Rogue stiffened, and Remy’s arms wrapped tighter around her in response. She tried not to think about how long it had been since anyone had given her more than just a one-arm hug or high-five.

“Chere?”

“He…he says that the Assassins will probably demand me as compensation for Remy breaking into Blood Moon and that Jean-Luc will agree to keep things from getting worse, especially since I’m an Outsider,” Rogue replied before shuddering out a breath.

Raising her eyes to Remy, she tried for one of her sardonic smiles, but it felt too brittle to pass as real, “His psyche is also really enjoying telling me about all the things a Master Assassin can do with a piano wire.”

In her ear, Rogue heard Remy hiss in a breath, and his arms tightened around her almost to the point of being painful. To her mortification, a tear leaked from the corner of her eye and traced a hot trail down the side of her face. Rogue swiped at it roughly.

“Oh, fuck that noise and the horse it rode in on.” Henri scoffed angrily. “Those fools are only calling this meeting because they broke de peace treaty in de first place, and Marius knows he’s on de backstep. Hell. Jean-Luc could call for Julien’s head over this if he wanted to.”

“Really?” Rogue asked. 

“Let me guess,” Mercy shot her a look, “Julien’s psyche didn’t bother to bring up that little tidbit.”

“I mean, to be fair, I don’t get everything unless I were to leave them braindead in a coma,”

“Mais, that’s going to be hard to do, what with the boy being braindead to begin with,” Mercy waved an airy hand. Rogue snorted in spite of herself.

“Mon Amore,” Henri chided his wife, but Mercy just stared up at her husband with an unrepentant smile and raised her eyebrows, daring him to disagree. Henri rolled his eyes in an exaggerated, long-suffering look.

Turning back to her, Henri offered Rogue a smile, “I promise, Petite, as de Heir t’ the Thieves Guild, you will not be handed over t’ the Assassins.”

“But—”

“I promise.” Henri cut her off.  Next to her, Mercy beamed. For the first time since she entered Jean-Luc’s office, Rogue felt the knot in her chest loosen. Melting back into the warmth behind her, she inhaled a breath.  Maybe things would be okay. 

Suddenly, Rogue stiffened.

She was still wrapped in Remy’s arms. Heat crawled up her neck and flooded her face. Clearing her throat, she shifted, and Remy let go but didn’t move back.  Instead, the infuriating idiot smirked at her.

“Mais, don’t worry, Chere. Remy’ll be by your side.”

“Knock it off, Swamp Rat. You’re more irritating when you talk in third-person.” Rogue rolled her eyes. 

Mercy snickered beside her, and Remy shot his sister-in-law a glare. In the front seat, Henri covered his laugh with an ill-disguised cough. Turning back to Rogue, Remy pressed a quick kiss to the back of her hand and swiftly moved back to the safety of the passenger seat before Rogue could retaliate.

It took about ten more minutes before they pulled into the parking lot of a nondescript hotel.  Getting out of the car, Jean-Luc and the other men were already waiting.  Even from across the parking lot, Rogue could see the frown on the Guildmaster’s face at their late arrival.

“Wait here, Petite,” Henri ordered softly and trotted over to the other group of men. Rogue bit her lip.

“It’s going to be okay,” Mercy encouraged from beside her. Rogue eyed the men speaking in low tones.  On her other side, Remy watched his father and brother like a hawk. Jean-Luc’s eyes widened, and his head snapped around to stare at her.

“There’s no way he’s gonna let me leave after this,” Rogue muttered, fighting the urge to curl into herself.

“Don’t worry. Henri and I will make sure you get home.”  Gambit promised.

“Besides, if the boys can’t get it done. We’ll just tell Tante Mattie.  She’ll set Jean-Luc straight.” Mercy must have spotted the doubt on Rogue’s face and added, “Don’t worry, Pere might be the Guildmaster, but Tante rules the Guild Hall with an iron fist.”

“And a wooden spoon,” Remy muttered.

Rogue snorted. When she was growing up in Mississippi, she had known women like that.  Usually, the size of their hearts was only matched by their lack of tolerance for nonsense. Rogue slid her eyes towards the Swamp Rat. 

Something told Rogue that he and his brother caused a lot of nonsense growing up.

The group of men broke off their conversation and crossed the parking lot. Rogue planted her feet and raised her chin. She might have fallen apart earlier, but like hell, she was going to let the rest of Gambit’s family see her flinch.  She’d face off against Magneto and his Acolytes—granted, one was standing beside her, but still—there was no way she was going to let Jean-Luc intimidate her.

“Petite,” Jean-Luc placed a hand gently on her shoulder, “I give you my word as Guildmaster of the New Orleans Thieves Guild, you will not be handed over to the Assassins or any of our enemies. We will guard your back like you are one of our own.”

Rogue blinked. Feeling the slightest bit silly, she deflated.

“Oh, um, thank you?” Rogue grimaced as the last word came out more like a question. Beside her, Remy’s jaw dropped. Jean-Luc chuckled and patted her on the shoulder.

“Mais, we better get a move on.” Jean-Luc addressed his men.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want de Assassins getting cranky,” Emil snickered.

“I thought that was Julien’s default setting,” Rogue grumbled under her breath.  She winced as an unexpected lull in conversation carried her voice further than she intended.  Emil cackled and threw an arm around her shoulder.

“Oh, Bele, I think you and I are gonna be friends.”

The theater was only about three blocks from where they had parked, but the shift in the group’s demeanor during the short walk was noticeable. Conversations fell away, replaced by smooth faces and short answers in low voices. It was uncanny how such a large group of people could move so quietly.

Jean-Luc led the group, with Henri on his right and Remy on his left.  Mercy fell into place on Henri’s other side. The rest of the Thieves brought up the rear.

Rogue found herself walking in the center of the group, slightly behind Gambit, with Emil beside her. Before they left the parking lot, Gambit had caught Emil’s arm and muttered something under his breath to his cousin.  Rogue wasn’t sure what had passed between the two men, but Emil had been sticking to her like glue ever since.

By the time they entered through the side entrance of the old theater, the group had fallen completely silent. Pausing just inside the entrance, Jean-Luc nodded his head, and two of the Thieves from the back of the group moved forward down the hall as silent as shadows. A moment later, one of the men reappeared and nodded.

At the man’s signal, Jean-Luc waved a hand, and the group moved down the hall, entering into the main theater through one of the side entrances. Rogue fought not to gawk like some backwater hick as she took in the space.

Satin must have been exquisite in its heyday. Draped in blue and silver, the ceiling soared overhead. A colossal crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, though Rogue couldn’t guess if it still worked or not. Around the ceiling and columns, the crumbling remains of intricate silver-leafed plaster chipped away, forming piles on the floor. The deep blue satin curtains that draped the walls and stage shimmered dully but were damaged by rainwater and…other things.  What was once a thick blue carpet was bald and peeling underfoot.

There was something heart-wrenching about seeing such a beautiful old building tumbling into decay.

The whole space smelled musty and damp. A few old light fixtures flickered on the walls. Someone had brought in several work lights that threw a harsh glare over the old theater.

The main auditorium held several built-in banquettes against the wall. Theater chairs had been arranged in two quasi-half circles facing one another. An out-of-place meeting table sat near the stage. It was a heavy oak monstrosity lined with important-looking leather tufted chairs on either side.

Well, that’s subtle, Rogue scoffed.

Despite the pristine table sitting only a few feet away, Julien and Marius Boudreaux stood at the center of the room. Their own men were scattered behind them in chairs or leaning against the wall. Julien spotted her, and he shot her a look full of venom. Unease slid up Rogue’s spine at the sight, but she squared her shoulders.

For better or for worse, Rogue didn’t think that Jean-Luc would give his word as Guildmaster in front of his men only to take it back.

Jean-Luc and his sons stepped forward and greeted the pair of Assassins. It was unnerving to watch as the mask of civility slipped over Jean-Luc’s face. If she hadn’t been there, Rogue would have never known that Jean-Luc had been held captive by his family’s enemies only hours before.

“Thank you for agreeing to this last-minute meeting, Guildmaster. I know the hour is late, but I believe it would be in our Families’ best interest to keep things from becoming more unstable.” Marius greeted in a low, steady voice.

Rogue blinked in surprise.

Earlier tonight, she had watched this man stare down Jean-Luc and Gambit with eyes as cold as steel as he ordered the two thieves back into a room where Rogue expected he planned to kill them. Now, Marius stood facing Jean-Luc with a look of cool politeness that would have been more at home on the face of a shrewd businessman.

“Indeed, the Thieves share your worries,” Jean-Luc replied evenly. “However, I expect you would understand our concerns after what happened tonight. It was quite a bold departure from the previous peace we were all enjoying.”

“Yes. I’ve always admired the Thieves’ caution when it comes to maintaining the way of things.” Marius’ eyes flitted over the group standing in front of him.

“Never let it be said that the Thieves don’t understand the balance of risk and reward,” Jean-Luc gave Marius a thin smile before continuing, “though we do tend to stress the need to go through the proper channels to access it. Speaking of which, could you please explain who gave the orders that set tonight’s events in motion? I did not see you when Julien first brought me to your home as a…guest.”

Had Marius Boudreaux been a lesser man, Rogue would have expected him to look uncomfortable at the unspoken accusation. Instead, he returned Jean-Luc’s smile with a bland look of his own.

“Mon fils had received disturbing news that the Thieves had taken possession of the means to do harm to our Guild.”

“And was this threat a concern to you as well?”

“Julien is my son and the Heir to the Assassins Guild. I do not require him to run his every action by me.”

Rogue’s eyes flicked back and forth as the two men volleyed words like weapons cloaked in a paper-thin mantle of politeness. Good Lord, this might as well have been a fencing match. Neither man was giving his opponent an inch.

“Including kidnapping a Guildmaster?” Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow in mild disbelief, “Surely, you are aware that his actions could be punishable by death if they were taken before the High Court.”

“As I said, Julien was acting in defense of his Guild, which is permitted by the High Court.  Arguably, your own son brought an Outsider into our home without the Assassins’ consent. That can also carry a death sentence for both your son and the girl.” Marius’ dark eyes landed on her.

Screw you, buddy, I didn’t ask to be here anyway, Rogue glared. 

As the room’s attention was brought to her, Rogue fought the urge to cross her arms and settled for chewing the inside of her cheek instead. Jean-Luc—Lord bless the man’s soul—quickly brought Marius’ attention back to himself, offering the Master Assassin a grin that could be taken either as praise or mocking.

“Ah, Marius, your insights on what should be punishable by death are always…unique.  Since both of our Guilds are committed to maintaining a working rapport despite our differences, perhaps you can shed light on this threat?  I trust your son must have something more substantial than gossip to make such a bold move.”

“Indeed. Julien?”

Julien’s hand dove into his jacket towards where his shoulder holster would be. Rogue’s heart shot to her throat. Immediately the Thieves around her shifted, but before anyone could reach for their weapons Julien’s hand slowly retreated from his jacket holding a piece of paper. 

Rogue recognized it instantly. It was the letter from Julien’s memories. Kicking herself, Rogue could only hope that her staying quiet earlier wasn’t going to cost Gambit’s family now.

From across the room, Julien smirked, having gotten the reaction he undoubtedly was looking for. Taking the letter from his son, Marius gave Julien an unimpressed look. Turning back to Jean-Luc, Marius presented the letter to the Thieves’ Guildmaster for inspection. Smoothly taking the letter, Jean-Luc’s eyes flicked over the paper rapidly. Finally, Jean-Luc looked up at his opponent.

“And who is Madame Eros?” Jean-Luc asked, raising an eyebrow as he passed the letter to Henri. Henri’s eyes scanned the letter with the same rapid eye movements Jean-Luc had. When he had finished, Henri passed the letter to Gambit for him to read.

“An excellent question. We assumed it must be someone close to the Thieves Guild to have such knowledge of their inner workings.”

“Must be very close then. Since even I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do you deny that your Guild is seeking the end of the Assassins?” Marius demanded.

“I deny that we’re harboring some sort of unknown power for some unspoken plan dreamed up by some unknown writer.” Jean-Luc snapped. His patience with the Assassins reaching its end.

From there the conversation began to devolve. As shouts and arguments began to fill the air. Rogue stared, watching as decades of petty grievances were aired out like dirty laundry. Men on both sides of the room jumped to their feet. In the middle of it all, the LeBeaus and the Boudreauxs stood, a human fence line demarcating their territories.

Jean-Luc and Marius were locked in a staring contest, hate sparking between them. Henri oscillated between standing firm next to Jean-Luc and subtly trying to calm down the other Thieves. Beside Marius, Julien took a half-step forward towards Henri and Jean-Luc. Gambit immediately moved to mirror Julien, the letter dropping from his hand and fluttering to the floor.

Rogue stooped, picked up the letter, and glanced at it only to feel the breath freeze in her chest.

The handwriting.

Rogue knew that handwriting. She had seen it last spring. 

The paper crinkled under her fingertips as Rogue’s eye snapped shut, images flickering on the backs of her eyelids. Fighting in the Acolytes warehouse. The screams during Scott and Jean’s graduation. A dreamy feeling. A green tinge around the edges of her vision. Nothing around her mattering so much as her following the orders of a voice telling her what she had to do.

Staring at the signature at the bottom of the page, the letters seemed to swirl and rearrange themselves before her eyes.

Mme Eros.

Mesmero.

Moving forward, Rogue grabbed Gambit’s wrist, catching his attention from where he had been standing next to Jean-Luc in the growing argument.

“Wha—”

“Gambit, it’s Mesmero. I recognize his handwriting from last spring. Mesmero wrote the letter.” Rogue murmured urgently, keeping her voice low. Gambit’s eye snapped up from the paper to her own, searching her face. Rogue gave him a weak smile. The idea that the man who had used her—used both of them— like puppets was back made her stomach twist.

“What did you say, fille?” Julien’s voice cut like a knife through the noise.

The theater fell silent. All eyes pivoted towards her; curiosity and expectation mingled in their gaze. Rogue’s mind raced, words jumbling together under the scrutiny. Her fingers tightened around Gambit’s wrist before forcing herself to let go. Ignoring the angry Assassin, Rogue handed the letter back to Jean-Luc as an excuse to look at the older man instead.

“It’s not Madame Eros. It’s an anagram. Rearrange the letters, and you get Mesmero. He’s a mutant.” Rogue offered, relieved when her voice remained steady.

“Is this some friend of yours?” Julien demanded. Rogue glared at that, nerves melting away as irritation gripped her.

“No,” Rogue snapped. “If he died tomorrow, I’d send whoever did it a fruit basket.”

Julien smirked, somewhat impressed by her outburst.

“Be that as it may, how do we know the girl wasn’t involved with this,” Marius asked Jean-Luc. Rogue bristled at the older Assassin’s dismissal. Before she could open her mouth, Gambit cut her off.

“She had no intention of coming down here or knew anything about de Guilds. She’s only down here because I brought her.”

“Brought her?”

“Drugged her and tossed her on a boxcar. She woke up somewhere after Richmond.” Gambit shrugged at Marius like it was no big deal. To her left, Rogue heard Emil swear. On the other side of Henri, Mercy was glaring at Gambit like she was about to beat him with his own bo-staff.

“Oh, bullshit.” Julian scoffed, “Why did she get involved at the jazz club then?”

“You grabbed me in a bar,” Rogue said slowly.  She knew she was gawking at Julien but couldn’t help it. There was no way the boy could be this thick. Rogue pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose and prayed for patience before continuing.

“I don’t know how y’all do things here in Louisiana, but in the other forty-nine states, women don’t like to be grabbed by men they don’t know in bars.” Rogue rolled her eyes, “It’s just some of us can do something about it.”

Behind her, several chuckles broke out as Julien sneered. Rogue glared at him levelly, refusing to be cowed. Served him right anyhow. Any experienced fighter knew not to pick fights when you didn’t know your opponent’s abilities.

“What does Mesmero do, Petite?” Jean-Luc asked, bringing the conversation back to the topic at hand.

“He’s a hypnotist, probably one of the most powerful on Earth.  When he uses his powers, his victims don’t really remember it. The edges of your vision turn greenish, but otherwise, it feels like being underwater.”

Julien swore loudly and spoke to his father in rapid French while the rest of the room listened on.  Even without fully understanding, Rogue already knew what Julien was saying.  Mesmero had hypnotized him. Suddenly, Julien turned on her.

“It’s like being in a dream isn’t it?” Julien demanded but rolled on, not waiting for Rogue’s answer, “There are things happening around you that you know you should be questioning, but—”

“But they don’t seem important at the time.” Rogue finished slowly, nodding in understanding.

“How do you know this?”

“Mesmero put me under his thrall last Spring.” Rogue’s eyes flicked towards Gambit, but he didn’t seem inclined to share the details of last June’s events any more than she was. “Hence, the fruit basket for whoever kills him.”

“I like pears,” Julien grumbled.

“Noted,” Rogue muttered darkly. Julien raised an eyebrow again and shot her a bemused look.

“Why would he be interested in the Guilds?” Henri asked. Rogue shrugged. She had been wondering the same thing.

“I have no idea. Last I heard, he was in Tibet.”  For a moment, Rogue thought about telling them how Mesmero had been working with Apocalypse but kept her mouth shut.  It couldn’t be a coincidence that Mesmero was looking for a treasure from King Tut, and Apocalypse had been around during the time of ancient Egypt.

“It would seem this Mesmero is after one of your Guild’s treasures. One that he claims could tilt the power in your favor, Jean-Luc.  I don’t suppose you know what he is referring to.” Marius asked his fellow Guildmaster.

“I’m afraid I don’t.” Jean-Luc replied sourly, looking like he would have preferred to run nails into the bottom of his feet than admit he didn’t know something in front of the Assassins, “There’s always a market for antiquities, but with the change in public opinion about artifacts remaining in their country of origin it’s been more than ten years since the Guild’s last job dealing with anything out of Egypt.

“The letter only describes it as a treasure that was passed down by the Pharaohs eventually to the Boy King. It was supposed to protected by their High Priests.”

A shabti-box, a voice rasped. An image of a beautiful wooden box painted with gold and covered with hieroglyphs flashed in her mind. Rogue stilled as her heart began to hammer in her chest.

It was Apocalypse’s psyche.

When Apocalypse absorbed the psyches from her last spring, her own powers had absorbed some of the ancient mutant’s psyche in return.  She had never told anyone. Only the Professor knew, and that was only because her head had been a mess afterward, leading the Professor to enter her mind to help calm the psyches.

Rogue begged the Professor not to tell anyone, already ashamed of letting the monster out in the first place. The older man eventually agreed, but only if Rogue worked on letting go of her guilt over a situation he claimed wasn’t her fault.

The Professor didn’t understand that Rogue already knew it wasn’t her fault—that fell squarely on Mystique and Mesmero—but that didn’t mean she wasn’t the cause.

“You know anything about this, fille?” Julien’s voice yanked Rogue out of her thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Do you know anything about this treasure?” Julien asked slowly as if he thought she was slow in the head.  Rogue crossed her arms and popped an eyebrow.

Like hell, she was telling a bunch of assassins about an all-powerful mutant with a God complex who believed genocide and mass murder were great problem-solving solutions.

“No. Like I said, the only time I was ever in Mesmero’s presence was when I was under his thrall. It’s not like I got anything from him about an all-powerful treasure.” Rogue snapped. She was just about fed up with Julien’s accusations.

Julien paused, frowning at her. His eyes narrowed, and his brow furrowed in confusion like he was trying to puzzle something out. Suddenly, his face cleared, and his jaw dropped.

“It was you,” Julien pointed at her, “You did something when you knocked me out, didn’t you? That’s how LeBeau got into Blood Moon Bayou.”

“What are you—”

“Don’t lie to me. The Thieves have been trying to get into Blood Moon Bayou for more than eighty years and have never gotten close. Then LeBeau shows up after he’s been gone for more than a year with some girl and all but waltzes in? You’re the one that got past the security, aren’t ya?”

Julien stepped towards her. His hand darting towards his back for the knife Rogue knew was hidden there. Rogue’s eyes widened. Emil’s hand wrapped around her arm jerking her further back into the group as she reached for her glove.

Before she could get her glove off Gambit was already in front of her, bo-staff unfurled.  Three cards that were nearly blinding to look at, appeared in his free hand as the floor took on an eerie pink glow. Around her, the shouts and cursing started up again.

“Back off, Julien. She is under my protection as a LeBeau and as a Prince of de New Orleans Thieves Guild.” Gambit snarled. Biting off each word he added, “you will not touch her.”

Rogue wasn’t entirely certain what Remy’s declaration meant, but she could feel the shift around the room at his words.  Jean-Luc and Henri shared a look, having a whole conversation in a single glance. The other Thieves had fallen silent, but Rogue could feel a new sort of energy vibrating from the men behind her. For the first time tonight, several of the Assassins looked worried.

Whatever happened next would depend on Julien’s answer.

“What? Is she your femme or something?” Julien taunted, not ready to give up the fight. Rogue frowned. She knew femme meant woman, but it could also mean wife.  Did Julien think they were married?  She was still in high school for god’s sake.

“Julien, that is enough,” Marius ordered.  Regardless of whatever Remy and Julien’s hangups were, it was clear Marius was at his limits with his son’s display.  He turned back to Jean-Luc.

“Since it seems tonight’s events were put in motion by a third party, I suggest we table this conversation for the evening.  However, I believe it would be in the mutual interest of both Guilds to keep open lines of communication until the issue can be resolved.”

“Indeed, we can plan to speak in a few days,” Jean-Luc replied, the polite, elegant tone returning to his voice.

Rogue watched as Marius turned to leave, being sure to nod his farewell to each of the LeBeaus. Oddly, Marius paused at the last second, locking eyes with her, and nodded his head, “Mademoiselle.”

Rogue felt her jaw drop as the Master Assassin turned and walked out, followed by his son and men.

What the hell was that?

Chapter Text

After Marius' parting words, the Thieves didn't linger. As Rogue's brain struggled to keep up with the night's newest revelations, she barely noticed Gambit placing a hand on her back, guiding her out of the old theater.  It wasn't until the—comparatively—fresh air of New Orleans hit her face, washing away the damp, musty smell of the theater, that Rogue realized they were outside again.

Before Rogue regained her bearings, Mercy whirled around and whacked Remy on the arm. Rogue watched wide-eyed as the blonde woman unleashed a torrent of French down on the Swamp Rat, hitting him in the arm several more times to enunciate her point. 

Remy danced around with his hands held up, attempting to placate the woman in front of him.  Looking around, Rogue could see the other men grinning but making no move to interfere on Remy's behalf.

Must be a common occurrence then, Rogue mused.  Biting her lip to suppress a grin that threatened to break out over her face, Rogue turned back to watch in fascination. Before she could fully enjoy the Swamp Rat getting his comeuppance, Mercy whirled on her.

"Did he really kidnap you?" the blonde woman demanded. Rogue jumped at the sudden inquiry. Raising her own hands in defense, her gaze flicked towards the Cajun in question.

"Yeah, I guess so," Rogue shrugged.  Mercy began to turn around, ready to lay into her brother-in-law again, but Rogue cut her off. "If it makes you feel any better, I already got him back for it, though."

"How'd you do that?" Henri asked.

Rogue hesitated, huffing out a nervous laugh. Heat began to creep up her face and neck as she traced the seams of her gloves, not making eye contact.  From the corner of her eye, she could see the Swamp Rat cross his arms and lean against the brick wall, the smirk on his face clearly saying he had no intention of helping her out with this one.

The rat bastard.

"Ah, well, I um…I mean, after I woke up from being drugged," Rogue shot a glare over her shoulder.  Mercy twitched beside her, "he untied me, and I might have almost thrown him out of the boxcar…while it was moving."

As the last few words came out more of a question than a statement, Rogue cringed. Around her, the silence was deafening.

Right as Rogue was beginning to second-guess telling Remy's family she had tried to kill him, Henri's booming laugh echoed through the empty alleyway.  Bracing a hand on his thigh, the tall man leaned over, gasping for breath.

"You threw…mon frere…out of a boxcar?"

"I mean, I tried," Rogue crossed her arms and frowned at Remy, "He's very squirrely."

That got the others laughing.  Remy's smirk slipped into a barely-there grin as he watched her with hooded eyes from his spot against the brick wall. Rogue shivered and looked away, running her hands up and down her arms even though she wasn’t cold.

"I told you I like this one," Mercy said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and smiling a mile wide. Rogue stiffened from the contact as a sharp pain shot across her shoulder blades and down her arm.

"You okay, Sha?"

"Yeah. My back is still hurting, is all."

Jean-Luc cleared his throat, catching the group's attention, and waved them towards the alleyway entrance.

"Allons! Let's head back t’ de Guild Hall, or you can head for Hermes if ya still want t’ celebrate Marti Gras," Jean-Luc ordered. 

As the group walked back to where the cars were parked, Rogue watched.  The difference between the atmosphere of the group now versus before the meeting was almost enough to give Rogue whiplash.  No longer did the Thieves move in one silent group. Now, they broke up into smaller groups of twos and threes, laughing and joking with each other as they walked along. 

The worry for their Guild's future and the kidnapping of their leader and patriarch rolled off their backs almost like it never happened. Rogue could hear several men discussing where they were going next and what bars they wanted to hit. 

Laissez les bon temps rouler, indeed, Rogue mused. 

She wasn't sure if the Thieves technically won at the meeting, but they definitely hadn't lost.  Marius being forced to leave first after Julien and Remy had butted heads seem to leave Remy, and by extension, the Thieves, the winners. Of course, Rogue still had no idea what it meant that Remy had placed her under his protection. 

Mentally, Rogue groaned.  Just something else to add to the checklist of things she was going to need to discuss with the Swamp Rat. For now, though, she had bigger problems to worry about. She needed to find out if the Thieves had the shabti-box.

As they rounded into the parking lot, the group paused. The same men as earlier moved forward, pulling small compacts on expandable poles out of their pockets. Rogue watched in interest as the men quickly moved around the cars, checking under them.

"Are they looking for trackers?" Rogue frowned. It seemed like a bold move on the Assassins' part to put trackers on their enemies during a meeting they had called to try and smooth things over.

"Car bombs," Remy answered. 

"Oh, yeah, no. That's much worse." Rogue choked. A tiny giggle that bordered on hysteria bubbled out of her throat before she could stop it.  Remy raised an eyebrow at the sound.

"Chere?"

"I'm fine. Really. It's just been an interesting day." Rogue scrubbed a hand over her eyes.  At Remy's dubious look, she mentally ordered herself to pull it together, "Seriously, I'm fine. Just tired and my back still hurts, is all."

"Do you want t’ go t’ my apartment?" Remy asked. Across the parking lot, the two men had finished their inspection and gave the group the all-clear.

"Nonsense!" Jean-Luc cut in, "Ya said so yourself earlier that she needs t’ see Tante. Now that things are more settled, there's no reason not t’ head for de Guild Hall and get Tante t’ take a look at her."

Plus, now you know I have Assassin memories in my head, so that changes everything, doesn't it? Rogue thought uncharitably. 

Rogue sighed and bit her tongue, trying to keep her thoughts to herself. She knew she needed to talk to Jean-Luc about King Tut's treasure and it wasn't a conversation she was looking forward to.  As Remy opened his mouth to argue, she cut him off.  She didn't have the mental capacity to deal with these two fighting over her like two dogs with a bone.

"Actually, that would be great." Rogue offered the older man her best Southern Bell smile. "Is there a chance I might be able to use y'all's dryer and borrow some clothes in the meantime?"

"Of course," Jean-Luc offered her a charming smile. Then, he held out his arm for her to take before gesturing towards the waiting car. "It's the least we can do."

Rogue wanted to roll her eyes.  She wondered if Jean-Luc and Remy realized how similar they were.  Unwillingly, she wondered if people would have said the same thing about her and Mystique.

Pushing the thought away, she turned back to look over her shoulder as Jean-Luc half-escorted and half-marched her to the car. Remy followed behind them, his face devoid of all emotion. Rogue's gut clenched at the expression, guilt wiggling in her stomach like worms.

Jean-Luc's car was an SUV big enough to comfortably fit six people.  Henri and Mercy stood by one of the doors.

As they approached the car, Rogue panicked momentarily, thinking that Jean-Luc was planning to sit in the back with her instead of driving.  The fear passed as quickly as it came when Remy roughly shouldered his way past his father to claim the seat next to her.  Oddly, Jean-Luc only chuckled under his breath and moved to take the passenger seat.  Mercy and Henri took the back row while Emil drove.

As the car moved through the dark streets, Rogue slouched against the leather upholstery.  Her brain moved sluggishly as she tried to fit the pieces together. 

Come on, Girl, focus. You need a plan. Rogue snapped at herself.

I've taught you better than this, Rogue. Mystique criticized. Always evaluate the odds. What are you willing to give and what aren't you?

Rogue clenched her jaw.  It was one of the first lessons Mystique had taught her when she joined the Brotherhood. To always look at reality for what it was. Though looking back, Irene had been drilling those lessons into her from the very beginning.

Rogue sighed but did a mental tally.

Jean-Luc wanted her knowledge and maybe her powers. There was no way she was going to be able to outmaneuver him. She was on his turf, and the man was too much like Mystique. A point in his favor.

But Remy didn't want Jean-Luc anywhere near her. A point in her favor.

However, Rogue couldn't count on Remy if whatever this treasure was would put his family in danger. An unknown factor.

On the other hand, Jean-Luc wasn't quite as cold-hearted as Rogue expected.  He would probably help her if it helped his family. A point in her favor.

Apocalypse was planning to turn all humans into mutants, something Dr. McCoy thought could kill the majority of humans in the process.  Most of Remy's family was human.  Maybe Rogue could sell Jean-Luc on that.

That's my Girl, Mystique smirked. Now, you'll need to be smart in how you approach Jean-Luc. You need to get him to show you his hand so that you have leverage over him.

Confront him, Rogue. Scott argued, Ask him straight out if they have the box. You’ll catch him off guard. A thief won't be expecting a straightforward question.

Stupid boy, Mystique spat, The Thieves are far smarter than that.

Rogue shoved the psyches away and rubbed her temples.  It was never good when Mystique’s and Scott's psyches got into it.  Those two never saw eye to eye on anything, from mutant rights to fighting strategy. Scott hated Mystique with a burning passion that nearly put Rogue's own to shame.

Except Scott would never have killed her, no matter how much he hated her. X-Men don't do that, Rogue thought bitterly.  Guilt, shame, and half a dozen other emotions she was too tired to put a name to sprung up at the thought.  Twisting and wrapping around her heart, squeezing tight.

As the back of her eyes began to burn, Rogue blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision.  There was no way in hell she was breaking down again tonight.  Clenching her jaw, Rogue took several slow breaths.  After a few moments, the burning began to fade, and her sight turned less watery.

Maybe she couldn't change what she had done but she could still change what came next. 

If she could find out if the Guild had the box and if it was the treasure that Mesmero was looking for,  maybe she could take that information back to the X-Men to help undo some of what she had caused.  Rogue's heart started to race. Hell, maybe she could try to convince Jean-Luc that handing over the treasure was the only way to keep his family safe.

"So Petite, this Mesmero fellow? Is there anything else we should know ‘bout him?" Jean-Luc asked, conversationally, breaking off from whatever he had been discussing with Remy. The card-charging mutant sat back in his seat next to her, glaring at his father with a slight crease between his eyebrows.

If Rogue thought Emil looked relieved to no longer have Remy leaning over his shoulder arguing with Jean-Luc, she didn't say anything.

"Jean-Luc," Remy warned, ready to intervene on her behalf.  Rogue bristled. She didn't need anyone to fight her battles.

"I think the treasure Mesmero's letter refers to was a shabti-box owned by King Tut.  It would have been made from wood with painted images of Egyptian gods on it. Two of the sides were covered in gold etched with hieroglyphs. Have the Thieves come across anything like that?" Rogue asked bluntly.

Silence filled the vehicle.  Even the Swamp Rat stared at her, stunned.  Rogue fought to keep her face smooth and business-like to match her question, even as her lip wanted to curl up into a smirk.  Jean-Luc jerked around from the front seat to stare at her wide-eyed. 

"That's very specific, Petite," Jean-Luc answered slowly, finding his voice again. 

"And that's not a 'no', Jean-Luc," Rogue noted, losing the battle against the smirk trying to overtake her face. She suspected Jean-Luc was rarely ever caught off guard, especially by a teenage girl.

From the corner of her eye, Rogue spotted Remy now wearing a small smirk of his own at his father's shocked expression.  Suddenly, Jean-Luc laughed and slapped a hand against his thigh.

"We might make a thief out of you yet."

The smirk disappeared from Remy's face.

Rogue managed to avoid any other earth-shattering revelations for the rest of the drive.  Not that Jean-Luc had given up trying to pry more information out of her.

Everything from security measures around Blood Moon Bayou—she deferred those questions to Remy, claiming she didn't know the technical terms.

…To information on Mesmero's powers—no idea, she had been under his thrall at the time.

…To what the treasure was—how about we all find out together, Jean-Luc? Won't that be fun?

At least, Jean-Luc acknowledged that the Thieves Guild did have possession of the box and agreed to let her take a look at it.  Otherwise, Rogue would have been severely tempted to knock the man out.

Still, Rogue wanted to stay in the man's good books for now. Getting to see the box was only half the battle.  If this did turn out to be some great all-powerful treasure, she was going to have a hell of a time wrestling it away from the man. 

Rogue spent the rest of the trip trying to come up with arguments and counterpoints for her discussion with Jean-Luc.

Before she realized it, the car pulled off the paved road and onto a gravel drive.  Beyond the tinted windows, Rogue could barely make out the outlines of trees, as the SUV wound further back into the woods.  A minute or two later, the trees gave way to a beautiful house.  Like Blood Moon Bayou, this house was bordered by water on one side. 

Unlike Blood Moon Bayou, this house was in pristine condition. Massive oaks surrounded the property with Spanish moss hanging from their limbs swaying gently in the breeze.  Large border gardens filled the space around the house, defining the edges of the yard.  Even in the dim light, Rogue could make out dozens of camellias with pink and white flowers almost the size of her hand, set against the dark green foliage. 

The house itself was a magnificent thing.  A double porch with ornate columns wrapped the house on all all sides.  The white siding and black shudders gave it a stately look. The house was topped off with a slate roof and several brick chimneys. 

They live here. Rogue realized.  Blood Moon Bayou looked more like an old house that had been converted into a headquarters, but this? This was a home.  And, clearly, one that had a lot of love and care given to taking care of it.

Despite the late hour, nearly every light in the house burned brightly. 

Emil pulled the car up to the front of the house, and everyone piled out. Rogue looked around trying to find Remy when Jean-Luc caught her arm, tugging her up the stairs and across the wide front porch. Absently, Rogue noted that she could only hear one set of footsteps—hers—on the well-worn wood. Throwing open the front door in a grandiose manner, the man ushered her inside.

"Welcome to de Guild Hall," Jean-Luc waved her through the door ahead of him. 

Crossing the threshold, Rogue couldn't help but note that the interior was as inviting as the exterior.

Behind them, the others stepped in.

"Oncle Jean-Luc!" a cry came from the top of the stairs.  A boy no older than thirteen flew down the stairs, jumping the last several steps, to land with a soft thud at the bottom. The boy threw his arms around Jean-Luc's waist.

"Pere! They're back!" the boy hollered over his shoulder.  His eyes landed on the person next to her. "Remy!"

Rogue spun as she watched the boy break off from Jean-Luc and rush past her towards the grinning Swamp Rat. The two exchanged an intricate series of high-fives and fist bumps before the boy threw himself at Remy. Behind her, two men and a woman stepped into the foyer. The older man must have been the father of the boy with his matching blond hair. The younger man had dark hair and blue eyes. Rogue wondered if he was a brother.

"Jean-Luc!" the blond man stepped forward and clapped the Guildmaster on the back, "Glad to see ya home safe."

As the pair broke off, Jean-Luc turned to greet the woman as well.  When she was done, she moved passed Jean-Luc and swept Remy into a fierce hug.  Rogue smiled as Remy clung to the woman tightly, and looked away, trying to give the two some privacy.

"Belize, let me introduce ya t’ Rogue. Dis Belle helped Remy and I escape from Blood Moon tonight.  Rogue, this is Belize, mon belle-frere.  And these are my nephews, Theo and Etienne." 

Rogue opened her mouth to greet the men in question when a loud smack echoed through the foyer, followed by a flurry of French.  Spinning around, Rogue spotted Remy rubbing the back of his head while the older woman shot him a look that could have stripped paint.  Mercy stood beside Remy with a hand over her mouth that didn't quite cover her snickers.

The older woman's eyes landed on Rogue before snapping back towards Remy.  Then, to Rogue's utter delight, the woman reached up and twisted his ear, marching him over to her.  The Swamp Rat had to stoop considerably to accommodate the woman's much smaller stature or risk losing an ear. 

Stopping directly in front of Rogue, the woman let go of Remy's ear and switched back to English.

"Well go on, Honeychild. Introduce us.  Properly. Like I taught you," The woman gave the Cajun a hard look.  Remy raised his hands in mock surrender.

"Tante, I'd like ya t’ meet Rogue, a friend of mine.  Rogue, this is my Tante Mattie."  Remy said in an overly Southern genteel manner.  Tante Mattie shot her wayward nephew an unimpressed look but brushed past him anyway. Clasping Rogue by the arms, Tante Mattie pulled her in for a warm hug.

"I'm so glad to meet you, Honey. Thank you for taking care of these two scoundrels."

"Oh. It was nothing, Ma'am." Rogue tried to wave off the older woman, as if fighting assassins was an everyday occurrence. The others watched with interest. Rogue fought the urge to shift on her feet as she realized she was once again the center of attention. 

"Call me Tante, Honey, and I'm sure it wasn't nothing.  But don't worry, I'm sure Remy is planning to make it up to you for everything that's happened…including the boxcar." Tante Mattie bit out the last words.  Beside her, Remy made a show of studying the ceiling.

"I understand you got a little scraped up." Tante Mattie continued in a gentler tone, "I might have something to take care of that. Then we can get you some dry clothes. Have ya eaten?"

"Um, no. We were interrupted before the food got to the table."

"We'll take care of that too." Tante Mattie patted the back of Rogue's glove and turned towards the group, "Remy, go get my black bag. It's where it's always been.  Mercy-Honey, can you go grab something for Rogue to wear while her clothes are in the wash?  The rest of ya'll, there's food in the kitchen if you want any. Otherwise, get out from under my feet."

Rogue watched as the group jumped to follow Tante's orders.  Mercy hadn't been kidding when she said Tante Mattie ruled this home with an iron fist.

The older woman led her up the stairs to a spare bedroom as Jean-Luc followed along behind them, filling the woman in on the night's events. 

"And what about you, Jean-Luc? Do I need to take a look at you too?" Tante questioned, indicating that Rogue should sit on the bed. Jean-Luc waved the woman off.

"Non, Tante. Mais, I'll be fine. Nothing but some bruises and a few small cuts, and those will heal up in a few days on their own. You just worry about this Belle."

Tante didn't look like she entirely believed Jean-Luc, but she let the man be.  At that moment, Remy entered the room with a black bag, followed by Henri with a set of clothes. 

"Here ya go, Petite." Henri handed the clothes to Rogue. "Mercy says if ya want t’ give her your stuff once you're changed, she'll toss them in the wash for you."

"Thank you."

"Henri," Jean-Luc turned towards his oldest son. "Why don't you and Remy go down t’ de vault and see if you can find that shabti-box so Rogue can look at it after she's done here?"

Here we go again, Rogue rolled her eyes.

"Or, I can stay with Rogue, and you and Henri can go down t’ de vault since I haven't been here in over a year," Remy glared at his father. Henri glanced heavenward, praying for patience.

"Well, now, who's fault is dat?"

"You know wha—"

"Or, every man in this room can get out while I take my shirt off." Rogue snapped, cutting the pair off.  Turning to Tante Mattie, she offered the older woman her sweetest smile, "If that's all right with you, Tante."

"You heard the Child. Out." Tante ordered, pointing at the door. 

Rogue pressed her lips together as the three men immediately turned and headed for the hallway. As the door clicked shut, Rogue snickered. Tante Mattie shook her head and gave Rogue an exasperated look.

"I promise you I taught those boys better manners than that."

"I believe it, Ma'am, er, Tante."

Tante made a noise in the back of her throat as she pulled tins and bandages out of her bag. Rogue relaxed slightly when the older woman pulled a pair of latex gloves out. 

"So you wanna tell me, why you’re so banged up and Remy and Jean-Luc aren't?"

"I was outside when Remy went in to save Jean-Luc. There was another assassin, Gris Gris, I think, and he attacked me."

"You're very lucky. Gris Gris is a dangerous man." Tante pointed out. Pulling the gloves on, the older woman indicated that Rogue should remove her shirt.

"My mutation—"

"Don't worry about that. Remy filled me in while Jean-Luc was doing the introductions."

"It's really dangerous. I could hurt you," Rogue tugged at her gloves. Tante paused and tilted her head, raising one eyebrow. Rogue clasped her hands together, trying not to fidget under the weight of the woman's gaze.

"Rogue-Honey, I’m the healer for both the Thieves and the Assassins. Now I'm sure I don't need to tell you that the Assassins are plenty dangerous, hmm?"

"Well, no, but—"

"And Remy had plenty of trouble when he first got his powers, which made him dangerous by most folks' standards, but I took care of him too."

"He did?"

"Mm-hmm. So how about you trust me to take care of this, okay?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Rogue replied meekly. 

"Tante."  The older woman said firmly.

"Yes, Tante."

Without further protest, Rogue pulled her shirt over her head.  She was too tired to fight, and for once, she didn't want to. She just wanted someone else to take care of her, and Tante Mattie seemed determined to be the one to do it.

Behind her, Tante tutted in sympathy at the sight of her back. Rogue hadn't had a chance to see it yet, but she was sure the bruises had already begun to form. Warm hands worked quickly, cleaning her cuts and applying ointments and salves.

Rogue sat absolutely still, caught between the terror of her powers and the desire to melt under the soothing care of the woman behind her.  Quicker than she expected, Tante Mattie finished and began putting things back into her bag.

"Why don't you go ahead and get changed? Then we can go down to the kitchen for something to eat?"

"I should probably find Remy and take a look at that box." Rogue started, but Tante shook her head.

"It won't take you more than a few minutes for ya to get changed and get some food in ya. Besides, there's a good chance Remy will be down in the kitchen anyway.  He's probably waiting on ya."

Rogue wasn't sure what to make of that statement but agreed anyway.  She was starving.  It didn't help that halfway through Tante cleaning her back, the smell of spices had come wafting up to the second floor.  With that, Tante Mattie gathered her bag and left her to get changed. 

A few minutes later, now warm and dry, Rogue emerged from the room to find Tante waiting for her.  The older woman smiled and waved for her to follow.  Rogue trotted along behind the woman, heading back down the stairs and through a dining room into a large kitchen.  No one else was around, but a bowl of jambalaya sat on a plate with a large biscuit.  Next to the bowl was a note with her name at the top.

Chere –

I lied earlier when I said the jazz club had the best jambalaya.  Tante's is definitely the best in all of Louisiana.  Thought you might enjoy some.

-Swamp Rat

P.S. I didn't realize we were at the pet name stage already. 😉

Rogue's face burned red hot. Glaring she crumpled the letter into a ball in her fist. How dare that Swamp Rat imply that she liked him?  He ought to be glad she didn't skin him alive after what he put her through tonight. And just what had he been thinking, leaving that note out in the open for anyone to read?

He's just making a point, whispered Remy.

Shut up, Swamp Rat!

See, there you go again with the cute pet names for Remy, the psyche chuckled before going silent.

Rogue scrubbed her hands over her eyes.  She half-wished the stupid Cajun was standing in front of her so that she could take him to task for his psyche's behavior, but he'd probably smirk at her and make some jackass comment about her having him on her mind.

Pulling her hands away from her face. Rogue spotted Tante, who was watching her.  Humor danced in the woman's dark eyes as her lips twisted in a bemused expression.

"What has that boy done now to have you muttering under your breath like that?"

"It's nothing. He just made a dumb joke," Rogue said as she perched on a stool at the kitchen counter, pulling the plate towards her.  Tante Mattie finished fixing herself a cup of tea and took the other seat.

"Don't give me that. I've known that boy most of his life.  He's easy to love, but he nearly drove me up the wall when he was a youngin'."

Rogue snorted, biting into her jambalaya.  She groaned in appreciation as the tang of the tomatoes and spice hit her tongue.  Maybe it was because she was starving or maybe it was because she'd been North for the last few years, but hands down, this was the best jambalaya she'd ever had.  Swallowing the bite, Rogue reached for the biscuit breaking off a piece.

"Yeah, I don't know how he does it. Half the time, I want to hit him, and the other half of the time, he's so charming I can't remember why I wanted to in the first place." Rogue shook her head and speared a piece of sausage, popping it in her mouth.  Tante laughed hard at that, her whole face lighting up as she did so.

"He's always been that way. Always pushing boundaries. Seeing what he could get away with.  Jean-Luc had to speed up his training when he first joined the Family.  If he and Belize weren't keeping Remy busy, the boy would find something he could get into."

"Did Jean-Luc and Remy get along when he was younger?"  Rogue asked before she could stop herself, then flushed. It wasn't a polite thing to do, asking about other people's family issues.  Fortunately, Tante didn't seem too bothered though, and nodded her head.

"Yep, Remy barely left Jean-Luc's side, not that Jean-Luc minded. If Henri is just like Jean-Luc in terms of looks, then Remy has all of Jean-Luc's personality. I'm guessing you're asking 'cause those two have been getting into it tonight?"

Rogue nodded.

"Sounds about right.  Henri, Jean-Luc, and Remy all think the same way, but as Remy got older, he and Jean-Luc were too similar not to fight. Do you know what they've been arguing about?"

"Mostly me, I guess.  Jean-Luc is interested in my powers, and I don't think Remy likes that." Rogue shrugged, feeling slightly guilty.  Tante snorted and reached out to pat the back of her hand.

"Don't go being hard on yourself now.  Those two could start a fight about anything. If one said it was daytime, the other would say it was night.  Regardless, I doubt Remy intends to let Jean-Luc use your powers unless you offer first. He'll watch your back. You just got to let him."

Rogue opened her mouth to argue.  But Tante cut her off with a knowing look.

"Don't start with me.  You're one of those stubborn types. I can tell. I'm not saying you should let Remy off the hook for what happened tonight.  I'd be more than happy if you made him jump through some hoops. Too many things come too easy for him, and I think you have the backbone to handle his nonsense. But when things take a turn for the unexpected, he'll be there for ya."

"Now then," Tante stood from the kitchen island, "I have some things I need to get together. Why don't you go find Remy?  He and the others are in Jean-Luc's office.  Just go back up the stairs and make a left instead of a right. Jean-Luc's office is the last door at the end of the hall."

With that, Tante turned and headed out of the kitchen before Rogue could answer.  In her wake, Rogue stared at the kitchen door as it swung shut.  Blinking, she tried to force her thoughts into some semblance of order after the older woman's insight.

What the hell was that?

XOXOXOXOX

The Infamous Madame Mattie Baptiste

We never got to see in her in the Cajun Spice episode so I thought I would try my hand at drawing her in X-Men's Evo's style.

Chapter Text

Following Tante’s directions, Rogue climbed the stairs and headed toward Jean-Luc’s office. The door at the end of the hallway was slightly cracked, and she could see light coming from inside the room.  She could also hear tense voices. 

Remy and Jean-Luc must not have given up on their argument just because she was no longer present.

Reaching her destination, Rogue wasted no time rapping on the wooden door to announce her presence. She doubted being accused of skulking around the Guild Hall would be in her best interest, even if her gut told her it was common practice for the residents.

A sharp ‘come in’ came from the room, and Rogue opened the door.

Jean-Luc’s office at the Guild Hall wasn’t dissimilar to his office at Hermes. Dark wood and leather furniture filled the space, while antique rugs covered the floor. A large fireplace with a marble mantle dominated one side of the room, with logs burning away cheerfully. Judging by the embers, somebody must have gotten it started hours ago. Above the fireplace hung an antique map of New Orleans from the 1800s.

Unlike the office at Hermes, the walls of this room were filled with expensive-looking art that Rogue had no doubt were all originals. And, while the Hermes office had held its fair share of beautiful knickknacks, there was no question the curiosities in this room were older and far more expensive looking.

Wait, was that a Fabergé egg?

Rogue did a double-take as she spotted the ornate light-blue and white Fabergé egg perched on its pedestal surrounded by lions. The egg was currently being used as a paperweight on Jean-Luc’s desk. 

Rogue shook her head. Better not to ask.

Looking back at the room’s occupants, Rogue spotted Remy leaning against a bookshelf, shuffling cards. His movements were sharp. On another person, she might have even called them jerky, a far cry from the card tricks he had been doing to pass the time on their way down to New Orleans.

Henri and Mercy were also there, seated on a long sofa. Belize and his older son Theo had taken up residence in two leather club chairs while Emil perched on a nearby credenza. Etienne stood on the far side of the room near the windows. 

The younger boy didn’t seem to be paying much attention to the conversations going on around him—not that Rogue expected a twelve-year-old to do so. When they had a two-hour first-aid training exercise at the Mansion, Jamie barely made it through, and that was only because he was scared to death of Logan.

“Rogue! Désolé, Petite, didn’t realize it was you at de door. Did ya get something t’ eat?” Jean-Luc asked, his expression slipping from irritated to charming so quickly Rogue wondered if she had imagined it.  Standing from his seat, he waved her further into the room.

“Um yeah, jambalaya,” Rogue replied absently, still looking around.

On the far side of the room, a flash of gold caught her eye.

There on a small table by the fireplace sat the shabti-box. Rogue moved closer to get a better look.  Crouching down she peered at the box. She didn’t dare touch it, afraid she might damage it.

“Is that de one you were thinking of?” Jean-Luc asked, from over her shoulder. Rogue jumped and jerked around. She hadn’t heard the older man move.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“So what’s de treasure, then?”

“I’m not sure,” Rogue murmured, glancing back at the box. Jean-Luc frowned at her in confusion, looking less happy at her response.

“Not sure? So, how do ya powers work exactly? Henri said ya copy people’s memories.”

“Usually, what I get from people are flashes. People’s minds aren’t encyclopedias. I only get what I get. The more frequently I absorb someone or the longer I hold on, the more information I get,” Rogue answered, trying to explain things simply.

“So, what did ya get from Julien?”

“That’s enough,” Remy barked sharply as he pushed off the bookcase he had been leaning against to cross the room and stand on Rogue’s other side.

“I’m trying t’ understand her powers. That way, if de Assassins come back with questions, I can answer them instead of her. I’m trying t’ do de girl a favor. Or do you really want her goin’ back in front of de Boudreauxs?” Jean-Luc glared at his son. Remy glared right back.

“She’s had more than enough of our favors, Jean-Luc.”

From there, the conversation went downhill, with Jean-Luc and Remy snapping at each other in a garbled mix of English and French. 

From his place on the sofa, Henri leaned forward, massaging the bridge of his nose. Mercy ran a soothing hand up and down his back, giving her husband a worried look. Heaving a sigh, Henri stood and crossed the room to play referee for his brother and father.

Rogue shook her head. She wasn’t stupid. Jean-Luc wasn’t asking solely out of altruism, but right now, she had bigger concerns. And, if it would help keep the Assassins off her back, maybe she and Jean-Luc could have a more in-depth conversation about her powers later.

Maybe.

Tuning out the tension behind her, Rogue looked at the box again. The light from the fireplace threw hypnotic shadows over the box. Under the flickering light, the painted gods almost looked like they were moving. Rogue stared, unable to look away. Heat prickled over her skin.

Somewhere deep in her mind, she felt a tug.

Rogue jerked in realization. It was Apocalypse. Even as deeply as the Professor had locked the psyche away, seeing the box must have triggered another memory.

Rogue paused at the thought of her mentor.

After she lost control, the Professor started working with her to sort through the psyches as soon as she absorbed them to keep them from taking over her body again. It had been slow work, and Rogue still had trouble keeping the psyches in order when she was hurt or tired, but at least she could say she hadn’t completely lost control since then.

A little over a month ago, the Professor suggested that she start trying to recall memories from older psyches she hadn’t absorbed recently. She’d had less than zero success so far, but if she could do it—if she could access Apocolypse’s memories…

Rogue’s heart thundered in her chest at the thought. She’d never tried without the Professor there to guide her in case she got lost inside her own mind. Not to mention, the idea of coming face to face with Apocolypse’s psyche was terrifying. The closest thing in the world to her own personal boogeyman.

But if she succeeded…

Rogue hesitated. Jean-Luc’s words to Marius about the balance of risk and reward rang in her ears.

Taking a deep breath, Rogue tried to steady herself. She could do this. The Professor had told her that one day, she would be able to recall memories at will. Rogue trusted him, even if she didn’t trust herself.

Steeling herself, Rogue sucked in one last deep breath and pushed through her mental barrier. Sights and sounds from the real world faded away as murky memories of places she’d never been and half-remembered faces of people she’d never met filled the void left behind.

In her head, the psyches swarmed around her, demanding her attention. Rogue ignored them. Sinking deeper into her mind, Rogue headed towards where the Professor had locked away Apocalypse’s psyche behind a secondary barrier.

It was slow going, like trying to swim through molasses. Every once in a while, a psyche would claw at her, but Rogue kept moving. Stopping was not an option here. If she lost direction, she might never surface. Swimming downward, it felt like an eternity before Rogue brushed against the psychic wall Apocalypse was locked behind. 

Sagging against the barrier, Rogue paused, grateful for the firm presence of something created by her mentor. At least she had a sense of direction now. Not to mention, it was easier to ignore the psyches when she had something else to focus on. Mentally bracing herself for the next part, Rogue pushed back from the barrier and looked up at the looming wall, weighing her options.

No way in hell was she going to try and push past the wall. But if Apocalypse’s memories could filter through the barrier, maybe she didn’t need to. Flattening herself against the barrier fully, Rogue stilled, ignoring everything else in her mind except the wall and the trapped psyche behind it.  Focusing her senses beyond the barrier, she waited.

There!

A flash of gold shot out from the barrier before diving back behind it.  Rogue snatched at the memory before it could get away. Slowly, she pulled the memory through the barrier to herself. It twisted and spun just beyond her grasp, like a kite in a storm, but she reeled it towards her, careful not to snap the line tethering her to it.

Finally, the memory broke free, and Rogue held it firmly in her hands. A series of images passed before her eyes, not unlike when she absorbed someone. But these were clearer and more organized, like projections on a screen rather than half-remembered dreams.

Her father, Baal, sitting next to her by a fire telling her about the Pharaohs having a treasure that would guarantee they would be reborn as gods.  A man wearing a gold chest piece holding the shabti-box, but somehow it looked different. Discovering the Eye of Ages which would allow her to rebuild the world in her own image. Her servants’ betrayal. Red eyes staring down at her as she was forced into hibernation.

Rogue fought back against the onslaught of memories, slowing the flow of them until eventually, they came to a standstill.  Pushing back, she returned to the memory of the shabti-box.

A man with dark eyes stared at her stoically. His head was shaved, and he was wearing a white linen robe. Over his chest hung a brilliant gold chest piece inlaid with semi-precious stones depicting a circle with wings. In his hands, he held the shabti-box.

She frowned as something pricked at the back of her mind. Something wasn’t right.

Ignoring the man, Rogue’s eyes scanned over the box, taking in every detail, but it was only when she looked at the gold hieroglyphs on the side that she saw it. The rows of hieroglyphs weren’t in the same order.

How the hell had she missed it before?

Rogue jerked back from the memories, momentarily disoriented as the room reappeared around her. Noise from the room’s occupants rushed to fill her ears while the bright light of the fireplace blinded her.

Blinking away the spots from her eyes, pride ballooned in her chest. Rogue clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh. She’d done it. Good Lord, she’d actually done it. She’d accessed a memory from one of her psyches…and she’d stayed in control the whole time.

Her eyes swung around the room to see if anyone had noticed, but the others were still arguing, paying her no mind. Except for Etienne, the younger boy stared at her from the far side of the room. Catching her gaze, he jumped slightly, realizing he’d been caught staring.

Rogue offered Etienne a reassuring smile. Poor kid. He probably thought she was all types of crazy. Lord knows she had freaked most of the younger mutants out the first time they had seen her use her powers. 

Still riding a wave of euphoria, Rogue turned back to the box.  Now that she was looking at it again, the rows of hieroglyphs were actually gold slates held in place with delicate gold cleats. The craftsmanship was so fine that the joints were nearly invisible to the eye. A tiny hole had been drilled at the end of each row, just large enough to fit a pin into.

“Hey, ya’ll? Ya might want to see this,” Rogue tossed over her shoulder, not bothering to turn and see if the others would listen. 

“Whatcha got, Chere?

“It’s a lock.” Rogue grinned, “Like a combination lock.  Do ya have a paperclip or something small that would fit into these little holes on the end?”

The question had barely left her mouth when Rogue found half a dozen sets of lockpicks thrust at her from the room’s occupants. Rogue gave the room a dry look only to get unabashed grins in return.

“Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer,” Rogue muttered under her breath, plucking the picks from Remy’s hands. Beside her, Remy snorted. She must not have been quite as quiet as she thought.

Using a pick with a small hook on the end, Rogue tugged the gold bars from their position. Then, rearranging them in front of her, she placed them back in the order she had seen in Apocalypse’s memory. 

She could hear her heart hammering in her ears as she lined up the last bar. As the last row slid into place, the box gave a loud click.

“Chere, de base,” Remy nodded towards the bottom of the box. Sure enough, a small wood drawer had popped open just enough to reveal itself. The wood grain was so perfectly aligned that Rogue never would have spotted it otherwise.

Reaching around her, Remy tugged the drawer the rest of the way open.  With nimble fingers, he plucked out a carved beetle made from blue stone and a small piece of rolled-up paper.  Remy silently passed her the stone and set to work, trying to unfurl the paper without breaking it.

Rogue looked down at the beetle.  It was a little smaller than the palm of her hand, carved from a single stone that shined dully in the light of the fire.  The stone was a deep blue color with flecks of lighter blue and grey running across the back of the beetle, reminding Rogue of the Milky Way or some other far-off galaxy.

“That’s Lapis,” Mercy noted, peering over her shoulder.

“Is that a good thing?” Rogue asked. She didn’t know anything about stones. Mercy shrugged.

“Lapis was used a lot in Egypt, mostly by the wealthy, for makin’ jewelry and small statues.  It makes sense that the Boy King would have had access to it.”

“What about the paper?” Rogue asked, turning back towards Remy.

“Papyrus, actually,” Henri corrected, moving to look over Remy’s shoulder. Rogue and the others followed suit as Remy placed the now unfurled piece of papyrus in the center of the small table for everyone to see.

Rogue frowned.  The delicate fibers were stained and faded from age, but she could make out an image of a figure sitting on the ground.  There was a stick in his hands, and he wore some type of headdress—or were those horns?—on his head.

“That’s the symbol for Amun-Ra,” Jean-Luc frowned at the paper, then turned back towards his desk, clicking away at something on his laptop, “King Tut was credited with bringing back de cult of Amun-Ra after his father had tried t’ establish an early kind of monotheism in Egypt.”

“Amun-Ra was important, right?”  Rogue asked, racking her brain. She had definitely heard that name in history class.

Damnit, Mrs. Johnson had told them they would need that information in the future.  Rogue had just thought she would need it for Finals, not saving the world.

“He was de god of the sun, fertility, and creation. He was one of de main gods in de Egyptian pantheon and de most powerful. Some even considered him t’ be all-powerful,” Jean-Luc nodded, his eyes still scanning the screen.

Rogue’s mind spun as the pieces began to click into place. Wheeling around towards the fireplace, her feet paced back and forth. Pressing her hands against her temples, her mind skipped from thought to thought. Absently, she realized she probably looked crazy. Maybe she was.

“Chere,” Remy said slowly and took a step towards her. The others watched them silently, “You doing okay there?”

“No. It’s…Julien got it wrong.” Rogue pulled her hands away from her temples and scrubbed them over her face, trying to pull her thoughts together. With a burst of energy, she spun back towards the Cajun man, “Julien got it wrong. Mesmero too. The shabti-box isn’t the treasure. It’s a clue.”

Based on the looks going around the room, the others definitely thought she was crazy, but Rogue didn’t care. The pieces were starting to fit together now. Looking back at Remy she willed him to understand.

“Think about it. If you had some type of all-powerful treasure, you’re not going to be hauling that around with you. It might get broken or lost.”

“Or stolen.” Emil grinned, and Rogue huffed out a laugh.

“Right, or stolen.  So you’re not going to be traveling around with it. You’re going to hide it and then only tell the people you trust where it’s located.  Mesmero’s letter said the treasure had been passed down through the pharaohs and their high priests.  Apocalypse was known to the pharaohs.  Hell, Rama-Tut was afraid of him.

“When Apocalypse first tried to pull his new world order stunt, he wasn’t powerful enough to do it. That’s what allowed his servants to betray him and lock him into hibernation.  Fast forward a couple of millennia, and Mesmero used my powers to wake Apocalypse up, but—”

“But he’s not any stronger than he was before.” Remy realized, grabbing her shoulders. “So if he wants t’ pull this off—”

“He needs more power to do it, or else he could be forced back into hibernation again.” Rogue finished, nodding quickly.

“Can someone tell me what in blazes is going on?” Jean-Luc demanded.  “Who is Apocalypse?”

Rogue turned and took in the room’s various states of confused stares—poor Etienne looked wholly glazed over and lost—and traced the seams of her gloves.  She probably should have told Remy that in private.

Well, in for a penny in for a pound, Rogue grimaced.

“Apocalypse is the first known mutant. He’s millennia-old and lived in ancient Egypt. He wants t’ start a new world order and turn all humans into mutants, but most humans would die in the transformation. When he tried the first time, he failed, but he’s gearing up to try again”, Remy explained quickly.

“If he’s so powerful, why does he need this treasure?” Henri frowned.

“The first time he tried, the technology he used weakened him, and his servants trapped him. Now, he wants to try again. I think he’s trying to stack the odds in his favor,” Rogue answered and looked at Remy. “If Amun-Ra really was an all-powerful god, it makes sense that whatever we’re looking for would use his symbolism.”

“Technically, there are several hieroglyphs that could represent Amun-Ra,” Jean-Luc noted, crossing the room to stand next to Remy, looking down at the papyrus again. The fact that they used the ram-head symbol might mean something.”

“Well, there was only one statue of Amun-Ra in his ram form recovered from King Tut’s tomb,” Henri pointed out as he came over to his brother and father.

“The Ram of Amun-Ra.” Remy snapped his fingers, catching on to his brother’s line of thought.

“It fits.” Jean-Luc nodded in approval, “It was created t’ commemorate King Tut’s reestablishment of de cult of Amun-Ra. Is it still on display at Cambridge?”

“Non,” Remy snorted dryly, “The British Museum struck a deal for it two Springs ago.”

“Good t’ know some things never change.” Jean-Luc shook his head in mock woe, and the three men chuckled. 

“Huh?” Rogue frowned. She must have missed something.

“The British Museum is the Walmart of de thieving world, Chere. Everything ya need all in one place.” Remy explained.

Rogue snorted violently as an image of Gambit wandering around a museum with a shopping cart came to mind.

Rogue watched Remy and his family with interest.  The men took turns tossing out half-form thoughts, only for the other two to immediately catch on and complete the idea without missing a beat.  It was probably the most at ease Rogue had seen the three all night.  The other members of the family seemed inclined to sit back and let the men have their brainstorming session with small smiles on their faces.

The family that Thieves together stays together, Rogue mused. 

Reaching for the blue scarab, Rogue looked at the stone.  Turning it over in her hand, she wondered why it had also been in the box when a voice sliced through her thoughts.

“Well, this has been most informative,” Etienne spoke from his place by the window. 

Rogue whipped around, nearly dropping the scarab.  Despite it being the voice of a twelve-year-old, she knew that inflection anywhere. 

Mesmero.

Etienne turned towards Jean-Luc, and Rogue watched in horror as the boy’s face twisted into a mocking grin, complete with a formal bow. 

“Thank you, Guildmaster. Your family’s help has been most beneficial tonight.” Etienne smirked one last time, then crumpled to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut. 

Chapter Text

Horror gripped Remy’s heart as he watched Etienne’s body drop lifelessly to the floor.  Around him, the room erupted in chaos. Belize dove for Etienne, pulling the boy into his lap.  Everyone was speaking at once.  Remy didn’t wait to see how it played out. Turning on his heel, he flew through the French doors and out onto the porch.  Behind him, he heard Rogue curse.

Vaulting the porch railing, he landed in the yard, eyes scanning the darkness. Unfurling his bo-staff, he headed towards the woods, the best place to find cover.

Where the hell was the bastard?

“Remy,” Rogue hollered behind him. There was a thump as she landed in the yard moments later.

“Rogue, go back in the house,” Remy ordered. 

“And leave you out here alone?” Rogue scoffed, hot on his heels, “What are you going to do if he hypnotizes you again?”

“I’m going to blow him up before he gets the chance.”

“Goddamn it Cajun. Would you stop and think for a minute?”

“Go back to the house, Rogue.”

“Swamp Rat—”

“Rogue. Go.”

“I swear to Jesus, Remy, I will drop your ass right now if you don’t listen to me—” Rogue snarled, snatching at his coat. Remy whirled around.

“He attacked Etienne, Rogue.” He screamed, getting up in her face, “That couillon attacked my family in our own home.”

“I know. I was there.” She screamed right back, “But this isn’t going to help. Running around in the dark isn’t going to help Etienne.”

“What else am I supposed to do, then?”

“Think!” Rogue exploded and sucked in a breath before starting again slower, “Remy, think.  Mesmero never risks anything. If he can get someone else to do his dirty work, he will. Wherever he was hiding, he’s gonna be long gone by now. But we know where he’s going.”

“The treasure,” Remy nodded, his anger receding enough to let him think things through more clearly.  Rogue was right. Mesmero must have thought the shabti-box was the treasure, but now he knew exactly where to go. Merde.

“I got to get to that museum,” Rogue muttered, raking a hand through her hair as she stared off into the darkness, eyes unseeing. 

Remy tilted his head and studied the girl in front of him.  She couldn’t really think that he was going to let her do this on her own?  Could she?  Taking in the set of her shoulders and the clenching of her jaw, Remy already knew the answer.

Stubborn femme. Remy sighed. She had to be six types of crazy if she thought he was about to let that happen.

“We, Chere.”

“Huh?”

“We got to get to that museum.”

“But what about your family?” Rogue asked, even as a small, hopeful look crossed her face. 

Dieu, if it didn’t make him feel like he was ten-foot tall. A homme could start to think he was a hero with a femme looking at him like that.  Remy shook those thoughts away and settled for giving her one of his smirks.

“Mais, Henri can hold down the fort.  And Jean-Luc and I do better with half a continent between us anyway.” He offered her a shrug, “Maybe we’ll do even better with an ocean between us.”

“You’re serious?” Rogue was still staring at him like she had just woken up from a dream and wasn’t sure what was real yet.

“Absolument,” Remy promised without a second thought.  For half a second, he wanted to take it back. 

Promises never sat well with him. There were always too many unknowns for guarantees in his life. But he couldn’t deny the truth in it either. Rogue had risked her neck to come back to save his and Jean-Luc’s sorry hides. He may have lied through his teeth to her most of the night, but maybe he could make good on his statement in that boxcar about watching over her.

“I’ll watch your back as long as you let me, Chere.” He added.

Something like recognition flickered over Rogue’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“Okay, let’s go save the world, Cajun.”

As they entered back into the house—through the front door because Rogue made it clear she wasn’t clambering up the porch columns like a squirrel—Remy tried to formulate a plan.  He had been in earnest when he said that he’d go with her, but he knew it wouldn’t be that easy.  Now that he’d returned to Louisiana, Jean-Luc wouldn’t be so quick to see the back of him.

Entering Jean-Luc’s office, Remy felt the remaining fear ebb away as he spotted Etienne sitting upright on the sofa next to Theo. At least the boy didn’t look any worse for wear, having been under Mesmero’s thrall.

“Did you find him?” Jean-Luc demanded angrily. Remy shook his head, and a crease formed between Jean-Luc’s eyebrows. Remy could understand his worry. No one had ever gotten into the Thieves Guild Hall.

“It’s not Remy’s fault. Mesmero would have been hiding somewhere he knew he could get away if he had to,” Rogue defended, watching Jean-Luc closely, all but daring the man to say something. Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow but didn’t push the issue.

“Is Etienne going to be okay?” Belize asked, catching the room’s attention. Remy watched as Rogue moved over and crouched down in front of his cousin. 

“He should be. Mesmero’s powers don’t have lingering effects.” Rogue answered before offering Etienne a smile, “Do you remember anything, Sugah?”

“Non…I mean, kinda? It felt like a dream,” Etienne answered. Rogue shot Remy a grim look. Definitely Mesmero’s work.

“Why would he go after Etienne?” asked Theo from his brother’s other side. Rogue shrugged helplessly.  Remy looked at Etienne. He had been wondering the same thing, too. The boy wasn’t even an Apprentice yet—realization struck Remy like a blow to the head.

“Because no one would be paying attention to him.” Remy snapped his fingers and looked at Henri, “When did you find out that Julien had taken Jean-Luc?”

“Saturday night.”

“And you and Mercy have probably been in the city since then with Oncle Belize and Theo running things here.” Remy looked around as his family began to nod, catching on, “With everything going on, no one would notice Etienne moving around the Guild Hall.”

“I think the first dream was on Sunday,” Etienne offered, “I think I was supposed to find something.”

“The shabti-box.” Remy nodded.

“You mean to say this couillon has been brainwashing my boy for days now, and we never noticed,” Belize demanded before breaking off to curse a blue streak.

“Mesmero never does his own dirty work if he can get someone else to do it for him. He used Julien for a diversion and Etienne to try and find the box.” Rogue noted grimly, rising to her feet. “He’s heading for the treasure. Remy and I got to get there first.”

“Do what now?” Henri asked, turning to look at Remy like he had grown a second head.

“Mais, we were just attacked in our own home.  Don’t really feel like letting that slide.” Remy replied.  Henri stared at him and then flicked his eyes towards Rogue.  Remy didn’t acknowledge the small gesture, but Henri smirked anyway.

“You should stay here where it’s safe,” Jean-Luc looked at Rogue. Remy wanted to laugh at that. He’d pay money to watch Jean-Luc try and keep Rogue trapped in the Guild Hall.  He could already see the girl bristling. 

Leaning back against the bookshelf, Remy crossed his arms and waited. He and Rogue needed to get a plan together, but the idea of watching Rogue hand Jean-Luc his ass was just too tempting to pass up.

“Nowhere is going to be safe if Apocalypse gets ahold of that treasure,” Rogue pointed out. Remy smirked. It was a good, solid X-Men-type argument, but that type of thinking rarely worked with Jean-Luc.

“The Guild has been around for centuries, Petite,” Jean-Luc’s voice took on a patronizing tone that Remy was certain was sending Rogue’s blood pressure into orbit. “You’ll find we’re very good at surviving.”

“It has an eighty percent kill rate for anyone without an x-gene. Maybe as high as ninety percent.” Rogue’s eyes flicked around the room at the people standing in it, “By my count, there are seven people in this room without an x-gene. Are you ready to say goodbye to six of them?”

“We have allies in high places. Maybe even high enough to challenge your Apocolypse,” Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow. Remy watched as Rogue’s jaw clenched hard enough that he worried she might grind her teeth into dust. 

“And if not?” Rogue demanded, her hands clenching into fists at her sides

“Thieves deal in information. Any overlord that’s hoping to stay in power is going to need information to do it.” Jean-Luc shrugged. Remy squinted, almost certain his father was testing Rogue at this point. There was no way that Jean-Luc would risk Henri and the others. 

Rogue’s lip curled into a sneer as she looked away, staring out the French doors on the far side of the room, her eyes flickering unseeingly. Remy frowned. He doubted that Rogue was giving up, but she seemed to be racking her brain for another argument. Jean-Luc sat at his desk, waiting patiently for Rogue’s next argument. A small smile on his face like he was enjoying their repartee.

As the silence stretched on, Remy decided it was time to take pity on the girl and end the conversation.

Before he could open his mouth to let Jean-Luc know that he was already planning to go, Rogue’s eyes snapped back towards Jean-Luc before narrowing. There was a different light in them. Drawing herself upright, Rogue raised her chin and stared Jean-Luc down from across the desk with an almost haughty look on her face.

“Julien’s psyche says that according to Guild tradition, the Thieves Guild owes me two life debts for saving you and Remy from Blood Moon Bayou tonight.” Rogue declared, in a voice that painted her as every bit of Raven Darkhölme’s daughter, “You can consider this me calling one of them in.”

Remy’s jaw dropped.

Behind his desk, the grin slipped off of Jean-Luc’s face. Leaning forward on his desk, he bridged his hands in front of him, a move Remy had seen countless times whenever Jean-Luc was conducting meetings. It was the mask he wore that reminded everyone that Jean-Luc LeBeau was not one to be trifled with, all while giving nothing away.  

Remy had known the man long enough to recognize the hint of irritation in his father’s eyes and bit back a grin. Jean-Luc must be seething. He despised being caught off guard.

For her part, Rogue watched the older man with steady eyes, face schooled into a stoic mask. Like she was waiting for the older man to inform her what stock options were available to her. Remy eyed her.

Who was this woman?

This was hardly the Rogue he’d tailed the past few months. The girl who was so afraid of hurting someone that she kept the whole world at arm’s reach.

“Is dat so?” Jean-Luc said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“And if I decline?”

“Is that an option available to you?”

Every eye in the room flicked between the pair, tension crackling in the air. Technically, it wasn’t, and Jean-Luc knew it. Remy was almost certain Rogue did too, and wanted to laugh. She had Jean-Luc boxed in. If Jean-Luc lied and said it was, it would be a stain on the Guild’s honor. If he told her it wasn’t, he would lose.

Finally, Jean-Luc’s eyes turned to him. Remy kept his face blank, giving nothing away. He’d already decided he was going with Rogue, but now he was curious to see if Jean-Luc would actually fold or try to bluff.

“And if I send Remy with you, will you return him in one piece?” Jean-Luc asked, sidestepping Rogue’s question. Rogue raised an eyebrow at the tactic, recognizing it for what it was.

“I can’t make promises,” She answered smoothly, tilting her head to the side thoughtfully, “But I don’t anticipate any boxcars, so he’ll probably be safe enough.”

Henri snorted, and the tension broke. Jean-Luc leaned back in his chair with the slightest ghost of a smile on his lips. If Remy didn’t know any better, he’d say Jean-Luc was impressed. For the second time that night, Remy realized his mouth was hanging open.

“You’d make one hell of a thief, Petite.” Jean-Luc grinned outright and shook a finger at her. Rogue didn’t reply but did acquiesce a closed-mouth smile of her own. Shaking his head, Jean-Luc continued, “D’accord. Remy, I trust you take no issue with this?”

“Was already planning to go,” Remy replied with a grin.

“Of course, you were,” Jean-Luc muttered under his breath, “Emil, can you fly the two of them up to New York tonight? It’ll give them a chance to catch a few hours of sleep. We can arrange a connection to London from there.”

“You got it.” Emil gave a mock salute and hopped up, heading out of the office. Remy sagged in relief. All Master Thieves had their pilot license. He could have flown the route if necessary, but after today, he was in desperate need of a nap. 

He’d never admit it under pain of torture, but Rogue had been out for far longer than he had expected her to be on the train ride down, putting him into a state of near panic. The girl had lost some serious weight over the past few months—not surprising given what she had been dealing with—and as a result, he had overestimated the amount of gas he needed to knock her out. 

Originally, he had expected her to wake up around Philly, but by the time they had crossed into Richmond, she was still out, and Remy had found himself beginning to worry.  He’d never been so grateful when she had finally opened her eyes just after they passed through Atlanta.

To say the least, he hadn’t slept much on the train ride down.

Turning, he watched as Mercy spoke with Rogue about getting paperwork done that would allow her to get through customs in London. Rogue was trying to keep up with Mercy as best as she could, but it was obvious that she was out of her depth. Add to that, the exhaustion clinging to her and the stiff movements caused by her back, and Remy was impressed that she was still upright.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, a massive yawn twisted Rogue’s face.

Remy made a mental note to bring a pillow and a few blankets with them when they headed for the airport.

There was a brisk knock, and Tante Mattie entered the room carrying two canvas bags. Remy recognized one as his go-bag and was shocked at the sight of it. Master Thieves all had go-bags in case of last-minute jobs. While the Guild Apprentices were in charge of making sure every bag had basic travel necessities—burner phones, chargers, basic first aid kits, cash— the personal items in each bag were dependent on the Thief in question.

Before he headed North to join up with Magneto, Remy had kept two or three bags packed at any given time for various different weather conditions. He honestly hadn’t expected anyone to keep up with them while he was gone.

“Here, Honeychild. Make yourself useful and carry these for me. I need to talk to your petite ami,” Tante Mattie said, letting go of the handles, leaving Remy no choice but to catch the bags. “The second bag is for Rogue.”

Remy nodded his understanding, not the slightest bit surprised that Tante already had a bag for her. He’d learned a long time ago that Tante knew things. She knew when you were scheming. She knew when you stole a cookie out of the cookie jar. And she knew what you’d need before you needed it.

Tante Mattie called Rogue’s name, and the Southern Goth only looked too happy to have an excuse to escape Mercy’s unending questions. Mercy nodded and turned back to the laptop she was working on while Rogue trotted over.

“Rogue-Honey, your clothes are dry.” Tante handed over the now dry items before reaching into her pocket, “And you should take this with you.”

Tante pulled out a long necklace made from dark metal. From the delicate chain, a single obelisk hung, catching the light of the room. At first, Remy almost mistook it for a needle, as long and thin as it was, before noticing the stamped hieroglyph at the base of the pendant where the chain attached. Tante pressed the necklace into Rogue’s gloved hands.

“Been carrying that around for a while now. That’s the Eye of Ra, it is a powerful symbol of protection. Take it with you.”

“You don’t need to do that, Tante.” Rogue tried to argue, but Tante cut her off with a look.

“No backchat now,” Tante ordered firmly, pressing Rogue’s fingers until they closed around the charm, “Keep it with you.”

“Might as well give up now, Chere. Tante always gets her way,” Remy advised, slinging an arm around Rogue’s shoulders. Giving the older woman a boyish grin, he added, “Mais, you have any good luck charms for me, Tante?”

“I’ve been showering you with good sense for years, boy. Why don’t you start by putting some of it to use?” Tante pursed her lips, but Remy could see the laughter in the woman’s eyes.

Twenty minutes later, with Rogue wearing her own clothes again, they were standing at the front door, bags in hand.  Mercy stood next to Remy with her keys. Emil had gone ahead to the airfield to do the preflight so they could take off as soon as he and Rogue got there.

Jean-Luc stood with Rogue, going through a packet of paperwork. A small, fashionable backpack that Mercy had pulled from her closet dangled loosely in Rogue’s grasp.

“Here’s your passport and a driver’s license.  There are also a few credit cards that match the name on the driver’s license. Keep those with you at all times. The rest of the papers you shouldn’t need, but most tourists bring them along anyway.” Jean-Luc directed, indicating the various documents and cards. Putting a hand on her arm, Jean-Luc looked her in the eye, “This was fast work, Petite. Not nearly as deep as we usually do. It’ll get you through customs, but stay out of trouble. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

“Bien sur, now ya’ll better get going.”

Rogue thanked everyone again and followed Mercy towards the garage. Remy grabbed their bags and gave a nod to his family. Jean-Luc and Henri nodded back their own silent farewells in return. Remy sighed and followed after Rogue.

Well, at least this was an improvement from the last time he’d left home.

XOXOXOXOX

Every Inch Raven Darkhölme's Daughter

Chapter Text

Henri descended the main stairs clad in grey sweats and a fresh t-shirt. After a hot shower, he felt slightly more human, but the last three days had been a whirlwind. When Henri first realized that Julien had taken Jean-Luc to Blood Moon Bayou, it had been one of the worst moments of his life. 

In desperation, he had called Remy, hoping to convince his brother to come down and help with negotiations. Looking back, Henri should have known better.

Negotiations and peace talks had never held any appeal for his brother.  Remy was more of a seek forgiveness, not permission type.

Still, when Remy hung up the phone saying he’d be in New Orleans by Marti Gras, Henri never would have guessed that two days later, his brother would show up with a dark-haired femme or that the Assassin’s headquarters would be in ruins.

When the call came through at Hermes that Jean-Luc and Remy had made it out alive, Henri had never felt so relieved in his life. You could probably hear the cheers clear across the city.

Now, all Henri wanted to do was sleep for a week, and as soon as Mercy got home, that was exactly what he planned to do.

Okay, maybe he planned to do something else first, but then they would sleep.

A loud pounding on the door derailed that line of thought.

On silent feet, Henri moved towards the door. The pounding started again, and Henri was half-surprised the door didn’t rattle off the hinges. Pulling a sawed-off shotgun from the umbrella stand, Henri slipped into the dining room and eased open one of the French doors on the side of the house.

Ghosting across the porch, he kept his body hidden and peered around the corner. Two men, a white-haired woman, and a blue person—was that a demon?—stood on their doorstep.

“Put it away, Bub, and maybe I’ll let you live.” The short man growled.

Henri ignored the man’s order and leveled the shotgun at the group. Four-on-one odds weren’t ideal. Not to mention, Henri would bet every dollar he had that they were mutants to boot if the spandex was anything to go by. But his family had been attacked multiple times tonight, once in their own home, and Henri had no intention of going down without a fight.

“How about you get off my property and I’ll consider de same.”

“Where’s Rogue?”

“Who?”

“Don’t play coy with me. I can smell her all over this place. Now tell me where she is?”

Henri had less than zero intention of doing that. He didn’t know this asshole from Adam. Rogue had risked her life for Remy and Jean-Luc and was under his brother’s protection. As far as Henri was concerned, that made her family. 

“I don’t know who you are or what you want with that fille. But you need to get off this property,” Henri clicked the safety off. “Now.”

The man growled, and—shit— knives erupted from his knuckles. Before the man could make use of them, Jean-Luc stepped through the side door and turned the corner of the house, catching the group’s attention.

“Henri, mon fils, put it away. That’s no way to treat guests, especially the legendary Wolverine.” Jean-Luc chided mildly. Henri snapped his head towards his father in confusion but lowered the gun anyway.

“Jean-Luc.” Logan glared.

“Wait, you guys know each other?” The blue mutant asked.

“As I said, Wolverine is a legend. He’s been around almost as long as the Guilds.” Jean-Luc answered, then smirked, “It’s been too long, mon ami.”

“Not long enough by my watch. Where’s Gambit? What has he done with Rogue?” Wolverine took a step forward towards their end of the porch, but the white-haired woman stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Please excuse Wolverine. It has been a long night for us all.” The woman glided forward to greet Jean-Luc with an outstretched hand. “My name is Storm. We are looking for our friend Rogue. We believe that she is in the company of your son, Gambit.”

Henri kept his face blank even as shock rocketed through him. Remy had been careful to keep his tracks clean when he went North. Nobody should have been able to link him back to the Guild. Either these people had very deep resources, or his father knew the Wolverine better than he was letting on.

“Jean-Luc LeBeau, at your service, Madame. Dis is Henri, my oldest son.” Jean-Luc greeted, taking the woman’s hand and bending over it smoothly to press a kiss to the back of her white glove, pulling another growl out of the short man, “The fille with the white streaks in her hair? Oui, she was here, but I’m afraid you just missed her.”

“Where did she go?” The third man spoke. Herni slid his eyes towards him, taking the man’s measure. He wore some type of red goggles over his eyes and was more contained than the other two men. Probably the strategist of the group. Henri didn’t trust it. He’d seen Marius Boudreaux act the same way. Always having a plan. Always calculating the odds and moving people like chess pieces on the board.

“Mon fils took her to the airport.”

“In the middle of the night?” Wolverine asked, crossing his arms. “I don’t buy it

“Wolverine. Please.” Storm pleaded. Jean-Luc gave a short, derisive laugh.

“We have our own plane, mon ami. Remy and Rogue are heading for New York. My nephew, Emil, is flying them.”

“I don’t suppose you have the flight plan to prove it, do ya?”

“Oui, and you can even come in to look at it yourselves…if I can trust you won’t slice up the furniture.” Jean-Luc smirked, then gave the woman in front of him a charming smile, “Otherwise, the Lady can come in and have a look while you hommes sit out here.”

“I don’t think so, Bub.”

When Henri finally shut the door an hour later on their unexpected guests, he wondered if he would be bald by the time he was thirty. Between his own family’s drama and the number of people who seemed to have no issue invading their home lately, Henri desperately needed a vacation.

Maybe Mercy would like to spend a few days in Paris again.

“Can someone remind me if we decided to list the Guild Hall in the Yellow Pages?” Henri muttered. 

Beside Henri, Jean-Luc snorted, watching through the French doors as several Guild cars drove off. Jean-Luc had offered the group use of their cars to get them back to their own plane. It was a generous offer, but also one that allowed them to guarantee the X-Men would be gone from New Orleans.

As the taillights disappeared into the distance, Jean-Luc let the curtain drop back into place. Turning on his heel, his father climbed the stairs. 

“I need to call Sullivan.”

“What? Why?” Henri’s head snapped up at the Boston Guildmaster’s name.

“I need to get your brother’s flight switched. Boston has a plane. Sullivan owes us more than enough favors for keeping New York’s paws off his territory. One of his men can fly Remy and Rogue over. It’ll give them more time to sleep anyway.” Jean-Luc answered, strolling through the door into his office.

“Wait a minute. I thought you didn’t want Remy leaving again. Why are you trying to keep the X-Men off their tails now?” Henri tried to wrap his mind around his father’s change of heart.

“One, I don’t doubt for a second that Wolverine will cut your brother into ribbons if he gets within arm's reach of Remy. And, two, your brother placed Rogue under his protection as a LeBeau,” Jean-Luc smirked, “It only seems fair for mon fils and ma future belle-fille to have a little more time to get to know each other better.”

“What about Belladonna?” Henri crossed his arms. They hadn’t had a chance to discuss the situation yet, and nobody wanted to be the one to open that can of worms. Not when they had only just gotten Remy back. 

“I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let Boudreaux’s bitch of a daughter anywhere near Remy again.” Jean-Luc spat. Henri started to open his mouth but snapped it closed at the last second.

Belladonna hadn’t been any happier than Remy about the idea of an arranged marriage. According to Henri’s sources, while Remy had gone North, Belle had headed for South America, taking a training position to organize some government’s private police force.

It was a position that was significantly below her station as Princess and a move that caused Henri no limit of headaches. After Belle’s abrupt departure, Julien started telling anyone who would listen, that it was an insult to both Belladonna’s and the Assassin’s honor that she had been forced to leave to avoid such a match.

Or some such nonsense.

Either way, Julien managed to consolidate a fair amount of support from the younger Assassins who were keen on a fight.

To make matters worse, some Thieves decided that it was an insult to the Thieves’ honor that Belle saw such a low position as a better alternative to marrying a Prince of the Thieves Guild.

Henri glanced in a mirror and ran a hand through his hair. Mercy would still like him if he was bald, right?

Turning back towards Jean-Luc, Henri narrowed his eyes. If his father was now against the idea of marrying Remy off, Henri wouldn’t say anything to dissuade him from his thinking. That didn’t mean Henri bought the idea that his father had suddenly become some sort of bleeding heart. 

“So that’s it, hein? You’re only worried about Remy’s happiness?” Henri raised an eyebrow. Jean-Luc paused, his hand frozen over his cell phone.

“Would it surprise you if I was?”

“And Rogue’s powers don’t have anything to do with this?”

“I didn’t say that, but it wouldn’t be the first time I arranged things so that one of my sons could spend time with a girl that had caught his eye,” Jean-Luc replied.

“What are you talking about?”

“Henri, do you honestly mean to tell me that you really believe I arranged the drop-off location for the Senator’s job at the same diner for six weeks in a row because I couldn’t find alternate locations?” Jean-Luc gave him a look, “Or, do you think it had something to do with that pretty little blonde waitress that’s now your wife?”

“Wait…what?” Henri gaped. His eyebrows shot to his hairline as his mind short-circuited. 

Of course, it had been odd. Guild protocol was to never use the same drop-off location more than twice in a job and never use the same location two times in a row, but surely he would have noticed if Pere was…

Jean-Luc snorted and raised an eyebrow, giving Henri a bemused look. One look at the laughter dancing in his father’s eyes, and Henri knew his father was telling the truth. Henri groaned.

Merde, if Emil or Remy ever found out, he was never going to live this down. Henri closed his eyes in dread at the thought.

“I can’t say that I’m surprised. According to your Oncle Belize, you tripped over your own feet twice and were so busy staring at Mercy that you wouldn’t have noticed if the Senator’s men had robbed you both blind.” Jean-Luc shook his head in exasperation.

Waving a hand, he shooed Henri towards the door, “Now go on. I need to arrange your brother’s love life, and your wife will be home soon anyway.”

Remy’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Fishing it out, he checked the ID that had popped up on the screen. It was Jean-Luc. In the driver’s seat, Mercy glanced at the name but otherwise kept her eyes on the road. Remy sighed and answered the call.

“Allo”

“Remy, I wanted to let you know I got in touch with Sullivan. Emil’s gonna fly you into Boston, and then one of Sullivan’s men, Walsh—he did the gallery job with you and Theo a few years back—he’s gonna fly you over to London. Should give you two a little more time to sleep.”

“Boston. Got it. Anything else?”

“That’s all for now. If anything changes, Emil will let you know.”

“D’accord.”

Remy hung up the phone. Looking over his shoulder, he spotted Rogue curled up in the corner of the back seat, dead to the world. Remy sighed.

“Boston, huh?” Mercy asked.

“Ouias. He says it will give us more time to sleep. Walsh will fly us to London.”

“You buying that?”

“Non, but I don’t know what he’s planning, so I’ll keep quiet for now.”

Mercy pulled the car through the gates at the airfield, which was surprisingly busy. A lot of celebrities flew in for Marti Gras so that they could be seen attending the festivities. But most wouldn’t stick around longer than it took to be photographed and were flying back home tonight to return to their oh-so-important lives. 

Sometimes, Remy really hated rich people.

At least the airport was busy enough that no one would question another jet taking off in the middle of the night.

Pulling up to the jet, Mercy stopped the car. Remy got out and opened Rogue’s door while Mercy grabbed their bags out of the trunk. The girl didn’t move despite the light and noise coming from the hangar.

“Chere? It’s time to wake up. We’re here,” Remy shook the sleeping girl gently, careful of her bad shoulder. Rogue’s eyes opened, and she stared at him drowsily.

“Hmm? We’re here?”

“Ouais. Come on, you can sleep on the plane.”

Rogue stood from the car and stumbled towards the plane, a yawn stretching her face. As they got to the plane Emil was waiting for them. Mercy held out the bags and the blanket Remy had brought, but Emil moved forward taking them before Remy could.

“I got this. You just worry about getting Sleeping Beauty on board,” his cousin grinned.

Rogue glared half-heartedly at Emil, but the effect was lost when her face contorted into another yawn. Getting her face back under control, Rogue turned towards Mercy and offered her a smile.

“It was nice meeting you, Sug.”

“You too, Sha.”

Rogue smiled one last time before clomping loudly up the metal boarding stairs, much to Emil’s humor.  Remy eyes followed Rogue until she disappeared inside the aircraft. Suddenly, Mercy snatched him into a tight hug, dragging his attention away from the striped-haired woman.

“Don’t stay away so long this time, d’accord?” Mercy whispered fiercely, squeezing again for good measure.

“D’accord.” Remy agreed.

“And bring Rogue to visit with you. Maybe she can actually enjoy the city next time.” Mercy pulled back, giving Remy a hard look. Remy doubted Rogue was ever going to set foot in New Orleans again, but it didn’t cost him anything to agree.

“D’accord.”

“And no drugging her next time.”

“How much do I have to pay you not to bring that up again?” Remy rolled his eyes.

“Remy, you could give me the amount the U.S. owes in debt in cash, and I will still bring that up.” Mercy promised with a smirk. Patting him sharply on the cheek, she turned on her heel and headed back towards the car. Beside him, Emil watched her go while doing a poor job stifling his laughter. Remy rolled his eyes and turned to walk up the boarding stairs.

Chapter Text

Rogue couldn’t say she remembered getting on the plane, much less the flight. When Remy shook her awake, she was surprised to find they were in Boston, not New York. Remy quickly explained that Jean-Luc had contacted another Guild and asked one of their men to fly them over, which would give Remy more time to sleep on the second leg of the trip.

Rogue did vaguely remember prying herself off the sofa in the LeBeau jet and managing to wipe away the dried drool on her face before descending the metal stairs alongside Remy and Emil.

A young man about the same age as Remy with green eyes and curly blond hair waited for them on the tarmac. The man introduced himself as Colin Walsh and gave Rogue a heart-stopping smile. At least it would have been if Rogue had about five more hours of sleep and half a pot of coffee in her.

Either way, she managed to introduce herself with enough manners that Irene wouldn’t have been totally ashamed of her. After that, Colin directed them to another plane, where Rogue collapsed into a reclining armchair, buckled her seatbelt, and promptly fell asleep again.

When Rogue pried her eyes open hours later, it felt like someone had dropped her into a coma. Her eyes were gritty, and the bright light coming through the plane's windows stung. Sitting up, she realized that someone must have found her a blanket. Also, she realized she desperately needed a toothbrush.

“Mornin’ Chere,” Remy greeted, coming out of the cockpit. The Swamp Rat was far too cheery and put together, in her opinion.

“Mornin’,” Rogue answered automatically. “What time is it? What day is it?”

“Technically, it’s Wednesday afternoon, but it probably still feels like morning because of the time change,” Remy answered. Rogue groaned and fought the urge to pull the blanket over her head.

“Please tell me we’ll be landing soon, and I can get coffee.”

“I can do you one better than that. There’s a coffee pot on board. You want some?”

“Oh, Sweet Jesus, yes.”

“D’accord, I’ll get you a pot started. If you need the bathroom, there’s one at the back of the plane. Not sure if you remember, but Tante packed you a bag. There’s some clothes and toiletries in there if you want to have a look.” Remy pointed to a bag sitting on the floor behind her chair.

“Your Tante is a Saint, Cajun,” Rogue announced as she hauled herself out of the chair.

“I am aware,” Remy replied as he began fixing a coffee pot.

Rogue shut the bathroom door behind her. After taking care of the necessities, Rogue unzipped the bag and found several sets of clothes for both day and night, along with a leather pouch of women’s travel toiletries.

Changing in the small space required some creative bathroom yoga on her part. Rogue’s back and shoulder were quick to remind her of the abuse she had taken the night before. In the small mirror over the tiny bathroom sink, Rogue winced as she caught a glimpse of her back.

A large purple and black bruise trailed from the back of her shoulder downward, covering most of her shoulder blade. A smaller smattering of brown and green bruises covered the small of her back, stretching toward her left hip.

Tugging a stretchy, green sweater overhead, Rogue finished up in front of the mirror. By the time she finished brushing her teeth and ran a brush through her hair, the smell of coffee was wafting throughout the cabin.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Rogue got her first good look around. The plane was small compared to the Blackbird, but what it lacked in size, it made up for in elegance. The white leather seats with plush cushions reminded Rogue more of armchairs than the economy seats she’d endured the one time she had flown from Mississippi to New York. The walls and carpet were dressed in an understated pallet of beige and white, while glossy wood cabinetry filled the space.

In the small galley, Rogue spotted a coffee pot and a small sink taking up residence on a counter, while a microwave and mini fridge were tucked into custom cabinetry.

So this is how the other half lives, huh? Rogue snickered.

Mercy’s comment about Swiss bank accounts at Hermes last night flashed across Rogue’s mind.

Moving back up the aisle towards the front of the cabin, Rogue noticed a small sofa opposite the armchair she had collapsed into last night. Remy was already sitting on the sofa with a tray of food and two steaming cups of coffee, along with sugar and creamer.  

On the tray were two yogurt parfaits complete with fresh berries and granola. Next to the two bowls sat a small selection of doughnuts. Rogue raised an eyebrow.

“Well, this is…fancy,” Rogue noted. Remy grinned and handed her a coffee mug. Rogue quickly added cream and just a dash of sugar.

“I figured I owed ya since we didn’t get a chance to really enjoy New Orleans.”

“You didn’t have to go to the trouble,” Rogue hesitated.

“Rogue, it’s fine. It’s just yogurt cups with crumbled-up granola bars on top. Besides, Colin is the one that picked up the donuts,” Remy waved off her protest smoothly. At the sound of his name, the blond man wandered into the cabin from the cockpit.

“They’re Dunkin’. I figured if LeBeau was going to drag my ass out of bed at an ungodly hour to fly him across the Atlantic, I should at least get a doughnut for my efforts,” Colin smiled, “Though I got to say that at least he has good tastes in traveling companions.”

“What can I say, mon ami,” Remy replied, stretching out his long legs and shooting her a wink. Rogue flushed under the combined attention of the two men.

“So how long have you two known each other?” Rogue asked, hoping to change the topic to something less uncomfortable.

“Couple of years now,” Colin answered, “We worked a heist together a few years back. Had to grab this painting for some rich bigshot in New York. We got the job done, but then the idiot didn’t want to pay up.” Colin rolled his eyes.  

Rogue snorted into her coffee cup. Not exactly the turn of conversation she was expecting, but with the company she was keeping, it shouldn’t have been a surprise.

“Customers are the worst,” Rogue nodded. Colin grinned wider and laughed.

“I like this one, LeBeau.”

“Moi, aussi.” Remy agreed, watching her over the rim of his coffee mug. Heat flooded Rogue’s face. No one looked at her that way. At least not after they knew what she could do. Before her mind could get too far down that depressing path, another thought struck her.

“So who’s flying the plane?”

“Autopilot,” Colin shrugged.

“What?” Rogue shot upright from where she had been lounging on the sofa. Autopilot didn’t mean you left the cockpit. Even she knew that. Was this idiot trying to get them killed?

“You better get back to the controls before ma Cherie has a conniption, Walsh,” Remy smirked, “Besides, we’ve got planning to do.”

“Right. Right. I’ll just take my doughnut and let you two get back to your planning.” Colin rolled his eyes and grabbed a doughnut before turning to leave. As the door to the cockpit shut again Remy nudged the plate of remaining doughnuts toward her. Rogue plucked a double chocolate doughnut from the plate.

“So, what’s the plan, Chere?”

“Umm,” Rogue’s mind spun uselessly. Honestly, she hadn’t thought much beyond getting to London and finding the treasure before Mesmero. Focusing, Rogue tried to recall the conversation from Jean-Luc’s office. “Okay, well, we know that the treasure is The Ram of Amun-Ra, and it’s in the British Museum, so we should probably go and check out the museum while it’s open and get an idea where it’s located.”

Internally, Rogue winced as the last few words came out more like a question than the statement she hoped for. Remy nodded.

“Sounds good. It would also give us a chance to have a look at the security. When did you want to go in?”

“Probably sooner than later. How long does scouting normally take for something like this?” Rogue wasn’t sure what to call what they were doing. A job? A mission?

Remy thought for a moment. “Normally, I would do a few days to a few weeks of preliminary work before going in, but we don’t have that type of time. Fortunately, it’s not my first time in the British Museum.”

“I bet,” Rogue rolled her eyes and drained what was left of her coffee. Remy grinned before his face turned serious.

“Chere, what’s the plan if this doesn’t turn out to be the treasure? If it’s just another clue?”

Rogue hesitated. The possibility had crossed her mind, but she didn’t know the answer. Would Remy help her find the next clue if there was one after that? How long could she rely on him to help her? Would he abandon her to her own devices if he lost interest? Eyeing the man standing back at the coffee pot fixing them two more cups, something in Rogue’s stomach curdled at the idea of being on her own.

So much for being a Rogue, she thought bitterly.

Rogue was saved from being pulled down by those thoughts as Remy returned, presenting her with a fresh cup of coffee, this time perfectly made with the cream and sugar already added. Rogue took a sip and returned to the question at hand.

“I’m not sure. It’s something I was wondering, too. I guess we won’t know until we get there, and we’ll have to decide what to do then,” Rogue answered noncommittally. She wasn’t going to beg him to come with her. If he came, he came, and if he didn’t...then she’d figure something out. Remy stared at her for a beat, face unreadable, then leaned back against his corner of the sofa.

“D’accord. So we grab the mark and then figure things out from there.”

“Grab the mark?” Rogue echoed.

“You do realize we’re planning a heist, right?” Remy raised an eyebrow, “That usually involves stealing.”

“I know that,” Rogue snapped, setting her coffee cup on the tray before looking out the window. “It’s just...if we could not steal it, that would be great.”

“Pardon?”

“Obviously, if it is the treasure, we take it with us, but if it’s just another clue, we could, I don’t know, take pictures on our phones or something. It’s got to be easier than carting around some heavy stone statue.” Rogue defended. By now, Remy’s second eyebrow had risen to meet his first.

“Let me get this straight. You want to break into a museum and not steal something,”

“I mean, ideally,” Rogue muttered, tracing the seams on her gloves. Remy snorted.

“D’accord.”

“Wait, seriously?” Rogue’s head snapped up to spot Remy grinning at her.

“Ouais. Probably couldn’t get away with it if Jean-Luc or one of the other Guilds were with us, but since it’s only you and me, Chere,” Remy rubbed his chin, “Sounds like a challenge.”

Rogue felt her own face split into a smile. So, thievery was on the table but only as a last resort. She could live with that.

“That does bring up something else I wanted to discuss with you,” Remy shifted and reached into his coat. When he pulled his hand out, he held up a pair of handcuffs for her to see.

Rogue’s mind blanked.

“What am I supposed to do with those?” Rogue asked, her eyes darting between the metal cuffs dangling from his fingertips and the Cajun man’s face. Remy’s grin slipped into something more sinful as he moved forward. Rogue’s heart hammered in her chest.

“Put them on for me,” Remy murmured, leaning forward until Rogue was forced to move back to accommodate him.

“What?” her voice broke off shrilly. He was so close. Surely he wasn’t thinking…

“Mais, how else are you going to practice lock-picking?” Remy asked, then leered, “Why did you have other ideas, Chere?”

The Cajun quickly moved back to his end of the sofa and out of striking range, still grinning as Rogue’s mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to formulate an answer. Her face felt like it was on fire.

“No! Why would I have any ideas about a low-down, good-for-nothing sneak thief like ya?” She finally managed to force out, shooting him a look that would have made Kurt’s fur fall off.

“Whatever you say, Chere,” Remy shook his head, “But, no, you misunderstood me. I think you should absorb me and use my psyche to help you practice some thief skills. Even if we don’t end up stealing the Ram, we’ll still be breaking in, and the security is pretty tight.”

Rogue’s mind blanked a second time in as many minutes.

He wanted her to absorb him? Nobody willingly let her absorb them, except for Logan and Kitty. Rogue hesitated as indecision weighed on her.

“Remy, my powers…shoot, I absorbed you yesterday, Swamp Rat. You should know by now you could get hurt.” Rogue shook her head. What was the fool thinking?

“Rogue, I told you. I’m not afraid of you. I didn’t lie to you about that.” Remy frowned.

“Yeah, but—”

“Rogue. I want you to.” Remy reached out and snatched her wrist, tugging off her glove, just like he had done in the boxcar. Bringing her bare hand close to his face, Remy paused. Rogue could feel the heat of his skin as close as they were.

“I want you to absorb my skills and try to pick the lock on those cuffs.”

“I take more than skills, Remy. I’ll steal your secrets.”

“Mais, what are you going to find out? I’m part of a crime family or something?” The Cajun gave her a lopsided grin, and Rogue huffed out a laugh.

“Something like that. But—”

“Rogue,” Remy cut her off, “You can’t steal what’s given. I trust you.”

Something squeezed in Rogue’s chest and her throat closed up. No one ever said they trusted her when it came to her powers. The secrets she absorbed were just a necessary evil of using her powers. An unfortunate side effect. Even Logan, for as many times as he had lent her his healing power, didn’t enjoy that she knew things about him.

Rogue swallowed thickly and nodded.

“Okay, just try not to pass out on me this time, okay?”

“You can drain my energy anytime. Gambit’s got plenty.” The Cajun smirked.

“Promises, promises, but you dropped pretty quick on me last time. Not sure what that says about your endurance.” Rogue sassed back a smirk of her own and winked. Remy’s eyes flared at the gesture.

She was saved from whatever his smartass reply was going to be as her fingers traced over his impossibly high cheekbones to cup his jaw. Instead, the man’s eyes rolled up and he slumped against the sofa. Rogue plucked the coffee mug from his limp hold and set it back on the tray before reaching for the cuffs.

The first thing Remy became aware of was the plush leather seat under him. Somewhere beyond his eyelids, a quiet scratching sound filled the space. Taking a deep breath, Remy stretched languidly and opened his eyes. Unlike his first two absorptions by Rogue, this time, waking up felt like coming out of a deep nap, where you weren’t quite sure what year it was.  

Still, the expected headache that came with Rogue’s powers was nearly non-existent, and Remy couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with her calmly absorbing him rather than in a fight.

Looking around the plane, two things became apparent immediately. One, his plan of having Rogue absorb his thieving skills seemed to have worked. If the speed at which Rogue was picking the lock on the set of cuffs she was wearing was anything to go by.

And, two, Rogue wearing handcuffs was not a vision Remy realized he needed in his life until this exact moment.

Dieu, there was something supremely attractive about a woman picking a set of cuffs, but Rogue somehow made it better. Especially when she bit her lip in concentration. Remy tilted his head and watched, mesmerized.

As the cuffs dropped off Rogue’s wrists, she picked them up and smirked at him, twirling them on one finger, a wicked gleam in her eye.

“Not bad, Chere. How long were you working at it?”

“About a minute,”

“Wanna try something harder?” Remy pulled out another set of cuffs. These were hinged, meaning less movement on the wearer’s part and, therefore, harder to pick.

“You got a lot of handcuffs for a Thief.” Rogue eyed him, leaving the question unspoken. Remy just shrugged.

“Rather handcuff the guards than rely on something lying around to tie them up with.”

“Or kill them,” Rogue added off-handedly, then winced, “Sorry, Julien’s still pretty close to the surface.”

“He giving you trouble?” Remy asked, handing Rogue the new set of cuffs. Rogue took them and toyed with them for a minute.

“A little. He’s quieter now that I’ve gotten some sleep.” Rogue replied and moved her hands behind her back.

“Non, start with your hands in front of you. You’ll get a better idea of your range of motion if you can watch yourself the first couple of times.” Remy instructed, taking back the cuffs. Giving Rogue a moment, he waited for her to nod that she was ready before placing the cuffs on her, reasonably tight, but not as tight as he’d had to endure during his training.

Rogue tried to fit the pick into the lock and frowned at the lack of range of movement. As she tried to puzzle out the new cuffs, Remy watched her.

“Chere, can I ask you a question?”

“Only if I can ask one in return.”

“Last night, when you were talking to Jean-Luc, you said Julien told you about the life debts. You were different then.” Rogue stilled for a beat, and Remy knew he was onto something, “What happened?”

“Thought that would be easy, Swamp Rat. Your Daddy didn’t seem too interested in saving the world, so I found something that would be better leverage.” Rogue answered smoothly. Remy had to give her credit. If he hadn’t been trained in body language, he would have believed her. But there was a fine line of tension now running across her shoulders.

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Rogue stayed silent for a long while, fiddling with the cuffs. Just when he thought she wasn’t going to answer him. Rogue sighed.

“Sometimes the psyches aren’t completely useless. Sometimes, they help. I don’t know your world, Remy, but Mystique does.” Rogue twisted the pick between her fingers, no longer trying to get the cuffs off. “In a messed up way, her psyche was more helpful than some of the others last night.”

“You mean the X-Men?”

“I guess.”

“But it helped you, didn’t it? Dealing with Jean-Luc?”

“Yeah, it did, but,” Rogue frowned at the cuffs like they had personally offended her. Remy bit back a smile. He didn’t doubt if she could have Rogue would have been toying with her gloves right now. “The last few hours aside, I still don’t know if I should be at the Mansion with the others. Sometimes the things that the Professor and Scott talk about sound good on paper but don’t really shake out in the real world, ya know?”

“And sometimes the stuff I picked up from Mystique can make a lot of sense, especially like last night. It’s frustrating. I can’t bring it up with the others because they immediately think Mystique is a terrible person who can’t be trusted, which is true, but it doesn’t mean she’s always wrong.”

“And last night, when I used her psyche and the things she taught me when I was in the Brotherhood, well, it got results, didn’t it? I don’t want to be like her, but sometimes I think I am. Like she’s left too much of an imprint on me to change.”

Remy stayed quiet. What could he say? He worried about the same things, too. That the Guild had left too much of a stain on him for him to ever be truly free. Isn’t that what dragged him back down South this last time? Loyalty to the Guild?

Still, she didn’t need to hear all that, not now and probably not ever. Instead, Remy painted on a smirk and nudged her shoulder.

“Mais, weren’t you the one that said you didn’t like being pushed in any direction? I have a hard time believing the girl that nearly threw me out of that boxcar and whooped Julien Boudreaux into the ground is going to take too kindly to anyone trying to tell her what she can and can’t be.”

Rogue snorted but brightened.

“Speaking of you and Julien, can I ask my question now?” Rogue asked, as she returned to trying to get the cuffs off. Twice, she came close to getting the pick into the locking mechanism.

She’s good, he thought. Remy wondered if it was a natural talent, his borrowed skills, or some combination of the two.

“Sure. Whatcha wanna know?”

“What did you mean when you told Julien that you were putting me under your protection?”

Remy swore mentally. He knew she must have caught on to that, but he had been hoping to avoid the question for a bit longer. At least until he figured out how to explain it to her.

For a moment, he thought about telling her not to worry about it, but Remy disregarded the thought as quickly as it came. He’d followed Rogue back in Bayville for long enough to know she didn’t like being treated like some fragile doll. Remy sighed. Too late now. She was watching him, waiting for an answer.

“The Guilds can place people under their protection, kind of like an honorary membership. The higher-ups in the family can do it unilaterally, but lower-ranking Guild members can also petition to protect someone. Basically, as far as the Assassins are concerned, you’re off-limits. They can’t go after you for what happened at Blood Moon Bayou.”

“Does that happen a lot? Protecting someone.”

“Non. Bringing in an Outsider is always risky.”

“Are Henri and Jean-Luc mad about you doing it without talking to them first?”

“Technically, that’s more than one question, but no, they’re not. Well, maybe at first. Jean-Luc hates being caught off-guard, but that was just a bonus.”

Rogue looked like she wanted to ask more, but the first cuff popped off her wrist. A few seconds later, she got the second cuff off, too. Grinning, Rogue stood up and stretched her arms overhead. Remy eyed the small sliver of skin between her shirt and the waistband of her jeans. As quickly as it appeared, it disappeared when Rogue dropped her arms.

“I’m getting more coffee. Want some Cajun?”

There hadn’t been any more time to practice because Colin had announced they were arriving into London. And by announcing, Colin had stuck his head through the cockpit door and yelled for them to get their clothes back on and get in their seats.

Twenty minutes later, they were on the ground, and Rogue’s face was still the same shade as a tomato.

Remy stepped out of the plane, enjoying the fresh air against his face. The skies were grey overhead, and a cold drizzle fell. Remy shuddered and pulled his coat tighter around him. Not that New Orleans had been warm, but at least there wasn’t the constant threat of precipitation.

Moving just inside the hanger doors, Remy kept an eye out for the car service while waiting for Rogue. She had popped her head out of the plane only to return to her luggage looking for a coat of her own, swearing under her breath. Remy was still chuckling at the disdain on Rogue’s face when Colin stepped up beside him.

“Thanks for the ride, mon ami.” Remy turned to the man and clapped hands with him.

“No problem, Kid.” Colin replied, glancing in the direction of the plane door from which Rogue had yet to reemerge, “So you keeping that piece all to yourself, or is she single?”

Remy stilled for a beat. Marshaling his emotions, he slid his eyes toward the blonde man who was watching him carefully.

“Homme, I like you, but if you keep eyeing the fille like that, you’re going to get your ass handed to you,” Remy warned. Colin grinned and raised his hands in surrender.

“Sorry, is she yours then?”

“Rogue can defend her own honor,” Remy assured, carefully sidestepping the question. Pulling out a pack of cigarettes, he smirked, “I’d just rather not have to explain to Sullivan why one of his best men had to be scraped off the pavement with a spatula.”

“Yeah, rumor has it she did a number on your little buddies down south.”

“Come again?” Remy’s eyes snapped back towards Colin, cigarette still hanging unlit from his mouth.

“You got the gossip mill running wide open, Kid. First, the prodigal son of New Orleans returns, bringing a pretty little Outsider with him. Next thing anyone knows, the New Orleans Assassins Guild is in shambles, and you’re claiming her under your protection in front of both Guilds at a sit-down.”

“She ain’t for the Guild,” Remy muttered, irritation licking at him hotly. Suddenly, he wanted to hit something. Instead, he settled for lighting his cigarette and taking a drag off of it.

“Remy, all of the North American contingent knows by now. If the news isn’t overseas already, it will be in a few days. If you really think you can close this can of worms you’ve opened, you’re delusional. You two are the hottest topic for gossip right now.”

“And you’re telling me this, why?”

“Just a heads up. The boys will be all over me about your girl as soon as I get back to Boston.”

“Ya’ll gossip like a bunch of old women,” Remy grumbled. Colin shrugged but didn’t look the least bit repentant. Mentally, Remy sighed. At least Colin wasn’t too prone to over-exaggerating. It could have been Emil delivering the news. Remy shuddered at the thought.

“Does she know what it means that you put her under your protection?” Colin asked. Remy wasn’t going to answer, but one look at Colin’s face told Remy that he was asking in earnest, not just digging for dirt.

“We’ve talked.” Remy replied, keeping his tone neutral. Colin barked out a laugh.

“Which means she knows half of it…if that.” Colin shook his head, “Man, if I’ve learned anything it’s don’t lie to your girl. They always find out.”

Remy didn’t bother to correct Colin’s assumption that Rogue was his girl. She wasn’t. Remy knew that. The problem was that the more time he spent with the Southern Belle, the harder it was for him to remind himself of that. Regardless, there were things she didn’t need to know. Remy hadn’t lied when he told Rogue she already had too many problems. The last thing he needed to do was burden her with his.

XOXOXOXOX

Put them on for me

Chapter Text

The sun was already dipping below the skyline by the time they had made it to the mid-level hotel where they were staying. As she passed through the sliding glass doors of the lobby Rogue’s footsteps faltered as reality dawned on her.

She didn’t have any money.

Remy stepped up to the front desk and greeted the manager before asking about making arrangements for the night. When the manager asked who would be paying, the Cajun didn’t even glance in her direction before announcing he would be.

The manager behind the desk nodded and tapped away at his keyboard before asking if they wanted one bed or two singles. Rogue’s gut clenched. It didn’t feel right to ask for an upgrade to the larger room with two beds, especially when Remy was already footing the bill, but Rogue had no idea how they would make a single bed work.  

Maybe she could sleep on the floor?

In the seconds that Rogue spent panicking, Remy resolved the issue by asking if any adjoining rooms were available. There were. Before Rogue could open her mouth to offer to take the floor instead, Remy handed over a credit card with the name Robert Lord on it. The manager nodded and clicked a few more buttons before sliding the card along with two room keys back across the counter.

A few minutes later, room keys in hand, the elevator doors closed behind them. Rogue looked at the man beside her as the lift began to move upward.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, toying with the necklace Tante had given her.

“No problem,” the blasted Cajun shot her a wink, “Probably for de best anyway. I know you filles like your privacy, and we both know ya wouldn’t keep your hands t’ yourself if ya had to share a bed with this sexy Cajun.”

“Pfft,” Rogue scoffed but couldn’t stop the grin splitting her face, “Only cause I’d be putting you in a coma, Swamp Rat.”

“Mais, six of one, half-a-dozen of the other, Chere. Either way, I’m not complaining.” Remy leaned towards her. Rogue rolled her eyes for real this time and pushed him back towards his side of the elevator with a finger to the chest.

“You ain’t got the sense you were born with.”

“Ouais, Tante reminds me of that often.”

Despite the fact that she had slept a good part of the flight, by the time she and Remy found a small Indian take-out restaurant and returned to their rooms, they both decided to call it an early night. Rogue barely managed to pull on a long-sleeved shirt and some yoga pants before collapsing face-first into her pillow.

As a result, Rogue woke up at an ungodly hour. Beyond the thin curtains, pale grey light was just beginning to filter into her room. Looking around in confusion, it took a few moments for her brain to catch up with the fact she was in a hotel and not her room at Xavier’s.

Instead of rolling over to find her roommate softly snoring away Rogue was greeted with the site of generic hotel furniture. Homesickness landed like a stone in her chest.

Flinging the covers back Rogue sat up on the edge of the bed and scrubbed her hands over her face as she tried to shove the useless emotion away.  She didn’t have time for this. She needed to find that treasure. Then she could go back to the X-Men and…

And what? Prove yourself? A voice asked. Rogue stilled at the question before it dawned on her that the voice was her own thoughts and not one of the psyches.

Jerking to her feet, Rogue stuffed that question down, locking it away. Out of sight, out of mind. 

Satisfied that no other wayward introspective thoughts would be popping up—it was far too early for that nonsense—Rogue let her eyes scan over the darkened space.

On the other side of the room, a light from under the shared door between their rooms told Rogue that Remy must already be awake. Slipping on her gloves, Rogue didn’t bother to get dressed before knocking on the door. A moment later, it opened, revealing Remy still in a T-shirt and sweatpants, a pre-poured cup of coffee in his hands.

“Bonjour, Chere. Coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Rogue reached for the mug gratefully and took a swallow from it. Black with sugar. It was good, but it didn’t have any of the cream that she liked. She peered over the taller man’s shoulder eyeing the small coffee pot.

“No creamer in the rooms?”

“That’s mine.”

Rogue choked, the mug still pressed against her lips. After a few moments of pounding on her chest to try and clear her airways, Rogue meekly handed back the coffee mug to the smirking Cajun.

“Sorry,” she croaked, still coughing.

“C’est bon,” Remy waved off her apology. “There’s more in de pot if yaou want a fresh cup.”

Heat crawled up the back of Rogue’s neck as she made a beeline for the small coffee pot by the entry. Rogue studiously ignored the man whose gaze was burning into the side of her face. Instead she kept her eyes focused solely on fixing her cup precisely how she wanted it.

When she finished, she turned to find the Cajun still watching her from the desk where he had a small laptop set up, eyes hooded and a barely there grin on his face. Something in Rogue’s stomach fluttered at the heat in his eyes.

“Take a picture, why don’t ya?” Rogue glared, clutching her coffee to her chest. Dang it, couldn’t he look anywhere else?

The Swamp Rat must have found something amusing—though Rogue could only guess what it was— because the barely there grin slipped into a smirk. Turning back towards the computer, he waved a hand in the direction of the bed, indicating for her to have a seat.

Crossing the room, Rogue seated herself in a corner armchair—she was absolutely not sitting on the bed— and took a sip of her coffee. Trying to shake off the embarrassment still clinging to her, Rogue nodded her chin towards the laptop.

“Whatcha looking at?”

“Emil sent over de security specs for de museum sometime last night. I was just reviewing them. Fortunately, they haven’t had any major security upgrades since de last time I visited.” Remy’s eyes flicked over the specs on the screen.

“Mm-hmm,” Rogue hummed. It didn’t take a genius to guess what ‘visiting’ meant. Shifting in her seat to get a better view of the screen, she asked, “So what’s the plan?”

“The Museum opens at ten.” Remy replied, “I figured we could go down and get breakfast, then head over and play tourist t’ see if we can get eyes on de Ram.”

Rogue nodded in agreement and hopped up from the chair. She took her cup with her and headed for the door to her room. Hopefully, the hotel restaurant would have more coffee. One cup was not going to cut it today.

Stepping back into her room, Rogue pulled the door shut behind her and locked it, for whatever good it would do. Tossing on some clothes, she hurried into the bathroom to finish getting ready. She wanted to try to access Apocalypse’s memories again before they left. If she was lucky, maybe she had absorbed some information from him about the Ram.

Exiting the bathroom, Rogue crossed the room to sit cross-legged on the bed. Making herself comfortable Rogue tried to recall what the Professor had taught her during their meditation sessions. Taking a few deep breaths, Rogue focused on calming her mind.

The hotel room melted away around her as Rogue turned her attention inward, easing past the mental barrier. Immediately, the psyches rushed her. Rogue slowed at the sudden onslaught. Taking a steadying breath, she glided past them, drifting down toward the second barrier.

Around her, memories—hers and others—swayed in an unseen current.

Rogue felt her attention waver momentarily as several psyches chased after her, clamoring for her attention. Their chaos reverberating across her mind. They were still loud, but it was easier to rebuff them now that she had gotten some sleep.

Taking another deep breath, she recalled the Professor’s warning about not getting lost inside her own mind.  Keeping her focus steady, Rogue ignored the psyches and pressed forward, leaving them behind to squabble like toddlers.

Giddiness and something like hope welled up in Rogue’s chest. Ever since coming to the Xavier’s, she had watched her teammates' increasing control over their powers, even as hers remained elusive. A failure in the face of everything the Professor’s school stood for.

Yet, here she was. She was doing it. She was in control.

Sinking further into her mind, she moved in the direction of the second barrier, where Apocalypse was sectioned from the rest of her mind. Feeling a bit more confident, Rogue propelled herself forward towards the barrier rather than just letting herself drift towards it.

After a moment, her mind brushed against the barrier.

Chere! Look out!

Stripes!

A sharp pain exploded across Rogue’s mind, sending shockwaves through her. For a moment, she lost any sense of where the barrier was. Fighting to reorient herself, a dark figure loomed above her, the assailant moving with predatory grace, launching a flurry of strikes.

Julien! Rogue recognized as the psyche finally came close enough for her to make out his face.

Never cross the Assassins, Chienne, Julien snarled, slamming into her. Ghostly tendrils wrapped around her as they tumbled through her mind. Rogue flailed in an attempt to throw Julien off and regain control, but the psyche tightened his grip.

Her mind spun wildly around her, full of murky memories and half-formed thoughts. Rogue’s vision blurred as she fought to reach the surface, struggling to stay in control against Julien’s grip.

Hang on, Rogue, Remy yelled.

Rogue felt rather than saw Logan’s and Remy’s psyches charge past her. The tendrils wrapped around her released. Behind her, Julien grunted as the pair dragged him further down into the recesses of her mind.

Get out of here, Stripes, Logan ordered.

Rogue didn’t wait. Desperately, she headed in the direction she somehow knew was the surface. The murkiness of her mind grew brighter around her as she pushed upward. In the distance, she heard someone yelling her name.

With one final, powerful thrust, Rogue broke through the surface, her body jerking as she sucked air into her lungs. Around her, the hotel room snapped back into focus, along with Remy’s frantic face hovering over her. His fingers dug painfully into her shoulders. Belatedly, Rogue realized she was lying on the bed.

“Rogue! Merci Dieu. What happened?” Remy demanded. Rogue moved to sit upright. Remy released her arms but didn’t move back, hovering like he feared she would keel over any second.

Rogue groaned and rubbed gingerly at her throat, still feeling phantom pains. A bright shock of pain shot through her right eye, “Ugh. That was dumb.”

“Chere, you have five seconds t’ tell me what happened or so help me—”

“I’m fine, Swamp Rat,” Rogue tried to wave off his concern. Instead, the Cajun crossed his arms and gave her a look that Rogue had a feeling he’d learned from his Tante Mattie.

Rogue sighed and tried again, “The other night—when we were in Jean-Luc’s office—I accessed one of Apocalypse’s memories.”

“Apocalypse?” Remy echoed, arms dropping. “Ya mean ya got his psyche in your head, too?”

“Yeah,” Rogue scrubbed her hands over her face. “From when he absorbed the other psyches from me, I guess I absorbed some of him, too. Anyway, the Professor’s been working with me to be able to access any of the psyches’ memories regardless of whether I absorbed them recently or not.”

“I take it you’ve been successful.” Remy guessed as he sat on the bed beside her.

“Actually, yesterday in Jean-Luc’s office was the first time I’d ever been able to. That’s how I figured out the hieroglyphs on the side of the shabti-box were a lock.” Rogue admitted.

“Well, that’s…” Remy broke off, searching for the right words. After a moment, he gave up, “Rogue, I ain’t gonna lie. That was really stupid. What was your plan if Apocalypse’s psyche attacked you? Wait, did his psyche attack you? Just now?”

“No, Julien’s,” Rogue answered, carefully skipping over the question about her plan if Apocalypse’s psyche had attacked her. She hadn’t had one, simple as that, and she had no intention of apologizing for it.

It was a simple matter of risk versus reward.

Fortunately, she didn’t need to worry about answering. The second Julien’s name passed her lips, Remy shot off the bed, cursing a blue streak. Rogue watched half-amused, half-concerned as the Cajun paced the room. She’d never seen him so out of sorts.

Getting himself back under control again, Remy sat on the bed and snatched up her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. Rogue flushed at the gesture.

“I’m sorry, Rogue. Ya never should have had t’ deal with him,” Remy’s shoulders slumped under his coat. For a moment, Rogue thought about sassing him but paused. The guilt and self-loathing in his eyes were real, and for reasons she didn’t care to examine, it hurt Rogue to see them there.

She squeezed his hand. “It’s okay. Logan and your psyches seem to agree on Julien being an ass. They teamed up to keep him in check.”

Remy raised his head to meet her eyes, looking relieved. Rubbing a thumb over the back of her gloves, he squeezed her hand again, “Do me a favor, Chere, and don’t try t’ access any more of de psyche’s memories. When I came into de room, your eyes were glazed over, and you wouldn’t answer me. Ya ‘bout gave this ol’ boy a heart attack.”

“Okay, Swamp Rat. I won’t do it again unless it’s life or death.” Rogue rolled her eyes but promised anyway. Standing from the bed, she tilted her neck side to side but was pleased there didn’t seem to be any lingering side effects from Julien’s attack.  

From his spot on the bed, Remy’s eyes never left her. Ready to spring up any second to catch her if she dropped. Rogue crossed her arms.

“Cajun, if you don’t stop lookin’ at me like I’m some sort of damsel in distress, I’m gonna kick your ass all the way back to Bayville. Got it?” Rogue threatened.

“D’accord,” Remy raised his hands and offered her a charming smile. “Just watching over ya. Can’t blame a homme for worrying about a belle femme’s well-being.”

“You’re gonna have to worry about your well-being if I don’t get some more coffee in me soon,” Rogue muttered darkly.

“Bien sûr. That’s why I knocked. I wanted t’ see if you were ready t’ go down for breakfast.” Remy stood as Rogue grabbed her small backpack. Together, they exited the room, heading for the elevators.

Halfway down the hallway, Rogue stopped short and glared, “Swamp Rat, if I recall, I locked that door when I was changing.”

Remy grinned over his shoulder but didn’t break stride. “Ouias.”

Rogue glared at the man’s retreating back for a beat before stomping after him, grumbling under her breath about Swamp Rats and their lack of boundaries.

After breakfast and two additional cups of coffee on Rogue’s part, they left the hotel early enough to walk around the streets near the museum. According to Remy, the city was constantly messing with the flow of traffic by changing where tourists could be dropped off by taxis or catch public transportation. He didn’t want to be caught unaware if they had to make a quick getaway.

Rogue tried to keep up with everything he said, but it was hard. This was the first time she had ever been in London, and half the time, she was too busy staring at the sights around her to catch what Remy said.

For his part, the Cajun just rolled his eyes good-naturedly and made a remark about getting her blinders.

At least I’m playing the role of tourist well, she thought.

Rogue’s head swiveled between gawking at the ornate brick buildings while trying to simultaneously dodge puddles on the stone sidewalks. After they had canvased the area around the museum and every alleyway twice, they finally headed into the museum.

If Rogue had been impressed by the surrounding buildings, it was nothing compared to seeing the museum itself. Walking under the black ironwork gates, Rogue’s jaw dropped as the building loomed before her.

It was massive.  

The main entrance stood across a large stone courtyard. Dozens of stately columns supported the front of the building and roofline. As they passed through the entryway, the ceilings soared above her with painted plasterwork and gold leafing. Finally, they entered a colossal room with a glass ceiling.

“This is de Great Court,” Remy whispered in her ear and wrapped an arm around her waist to tug her out of the way of a group of school-aged children. Rogue couldn't even be bothered to protest his hold, too busy staring at everything around her.

“Come on. This way.” Remy directed her down one side of the room and turned through a tall door at least twice her height into another Hall. As they crossed the threshold Rogue stopped in her tracks and blinked.

“That’s the Rosetta Stone,” she noted dumbly before wincing. Remy probably thought she was some sort of backwater hick, but she couldn’t help herself. It was odd seeing something she had read about in her history books sitting directly in front of her. Somehow, she’d always thought it was about the size of a laptop. In reality, the stone was at least half her height.

Rogue shook herself and ordered herself to pull it together. She had been trained better than this. Rogue squared her shoulders. Scanning the room with her eyes, she tried to note any important features that would come into play.

“Relax, Rogue,” Remy laughed in her ear, “We’re supposed t’ be tourists, not special forces. We’ll wander around a couple of times. Maybe we’ll even hit de gift shop too.”

Rogue smiled sheepishly and let herself relax a bit. Remy was right. They didn’t need to attract too much attention by acting like they were searching for something. Looking down the hall, a massive stone bust of a pharaoh caught her eye. Shaking off Remy’s arm, she moved towards it and stopped to read the plaque.

Remy stepped up beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leaning in like he was looking at the plaque too. Rogue froze at the contact before forcing herself to relax.

“Chere, what do ya see?” Remy asked in a low voice. Rogue frowned at the question and turned toward the man beside her. Remy darted his eyes around the room before tilting his head in askance.

Catching on, Rogue kept her head turned down in the direction of the plaque and let her eyes move around the room. After a moment, she tilted her head up towards the stone pharaoh, and her eyes scanned the ceilings beyond the sculpture.

“There are cameras on the ceilings and motion lights above the doors. There’s also something on the walls behind a few of the columns, but I can’t tell what they are.” Rogue answered softly.

Card scanners. For the guards, Remy’s psyche whispered in her mind. Rogue jumped. She’d forgotten he was still there with everything going on.

“Good,” Remy’s hand found the small of her back as he directed her towards a glass case, “They’re card scanners. The guards use them on their rounds t’ indicate what areas they’ve checked. What does that mean?”

Rogue thought for a moment, staring unseeingly at a relief etched with hieroglyphs. Remy waited patiently beside her as Rogue puzzled it out.

“The guards must follow rotations. So we’ll have a limited window of time to get in and out?” Rogue guessed.  

“Exactement,” Remy shot her a smile that had her grinning right back.

They continued to move around the Hall, with Remy pointing out different security features or occasionally pointing at a piece and informing her it was a fake.

At one point, Rogue stopped in front of a display of royal jewelry. Several of the pieces were inlaid with precious stones. One necklace featured a large blue stone that Rogue recognized as lapis. Remy stepped up beside her.

“Belle, non?”

“They’re gorgeous,”

“De blue one’s fake,” Remy informed her with a knowing smirk.

Rogue’s eyebrows shot up her face. Turning, she fisted a hand on her hip even as her lips threatened to curl up into a smile, “Oh, and just how do you know that?”

“Mais…can I plead de fifth?”

“Oh, Sweet Jesus.” Rogue clapped a hand over her mouth to smother a laugh. This was by far the most fun she had ever had on a reconnaissance mission. Scott always had them in and out so fast there wasn’t any time for joking around.

“Fortunately for you, Swamp Rat, blue’s not my color. I prefer green.” Rogue pointed at a gold collar necklace inlaid with hundreds of green malachite beads.

“You like it, Chere?” The Cajun turned to look at her, mischief dancing in his red and black eyes, “I get you one for Christmas.”

“Paws off, Cajun,” Rogue laughed, swatting at him, causing the man in question to dance away from the case, “It’s like I can’t take you anywhere.”

It took a while before they finally found the Ram, but Rogue couldn’t say she minded. Who knew when she would ever get back here? Remy seemed to be enjoying playing tour guide.

Eventually, they found the case they were looking for. There, barricated behind the thick glass, was the statue. Carved from a single black stone, it shined dully under the display lights. Rogue peered at it curiously. Perched on top of its stone pedestal the Ram was lying down with the relief of a pharaoh standing between its bent front legs. They only stayed for a few moments before Remy pulled her to the next case.

“What did ya see, Chere?”

“There was a camera inside the case.”

“What else?”

Rogue frowned, trying to think. She hadn’t seen an obvious way in, but that was probably covered by the decorative wood framing around the case.

“There was something on the back near the base, but I didn’t get a good look. A panel?” Rogue asked, resisting the urge to step back over and reexamine the case.

“Anything else?”

“Lights inside?”

“Bingo. The case has a power source, which means that it also has a pressure sensor in case anyone breaks in.” Remy explained, “The panel you saw will allow us t’ access de lock and turn off de pressure sensor. But t’ do that, we’ll need the security codes.”

Rogue nodded in understanding. If she could get the codes from one of the guards, it would be easy to turn off the sensors and unlock the case. Moving in a slow circle around the hall, pausing every so often, they eventually made their way past the statue again, and Rogue paused to read the sign on the wall beside it. Out of the corner of her eye, she studied the profile of the Ram before moving around to the sign on the other side of the case and repeating the process.  

Stepping away, she caught up with Remy, and he waved her through the door back into the main hall.

“I didn’t see anything that might be the treasure, but the pedestal the Ram was sitting on had carvings that looked like they extended under the base.”

“Bon, then we know what we’re lookin’ for.” Remy nodded.

“Remy, do you think the guards move in a specific rotation order?”

“Probably. Think Theo said the card scanners logged every twenty minutes or so.”

“Do you think there would be a way to find out if they move in a specific pattern?” Rogue stepped to the side to avoid a pair of old ladies. Remy wrapped an arm around her waist again. Rogue frowned but decided to allow it. But, only because it was so crowded in here and it would be better to risk knocking him out than someone else.

“Sure. I can call Theo and have him check de security records. Why?” Remy asked, and they moved in tandem towards the main entrance.

“If we can figure out what pattern the guards move in. I can knock out the next guard in rotation. That way, we get the codes and buy ourselves some extra time.” Stepping back into the courtyard, Rogue turned to see what Remy thought of her plan. The Cajun man looked stunned for a moment, but then his face split into a beaming smile.

“That’s brilliant, Chere.” He crowed, catching her by the shoulders. Rogue would never admit it, but she could feel her heart beat a little faster at the look of pride in Remy’s eyes. Before she could wave the Cajun off like her plan was no big deal, the smile dropped off Remy’s face.

“Merde. Head down, Rogue. This way,” he ordered, snatching her hand and dragging her through the crowd.  

Remy guided them through one of the smaller side gates. Crossing the street, he pulled her into one of the alleyways they had scouted earlier. Coming out on the other side, he immediately flagged a taxi, his eyes darting back towards the alley.

“What’s wrong?” Rogue looked over her shoulder but didn’t see anyone. As the taxi pulled up, Remy gave her a grim look.

“Pretty sure I saw Mesmero.”

Chapter Text

They managed to get back to the hotel by mid-afternoon. Remy had paid the taxi driver to drive around London for a while, not wanting to take a direct route back to their hotel in case Mesmero was tailing them.

At first, the cabbie had refused, but he quickly changed his tune about giving two lovebirds an impromptu tour of London when Remy thrust a large wad of cash at him.

As soon as Rogue closed the door to her hotel room and leaned against it, a knock sounded on the adjoining door. Opening the door between the rooms, Remy stood on the other side and waved her through the doorway.

“We’re going t’ have t’ move tonight,” he announced without preamble. Rogue agreed. She had been thinking the same thing since Remy told her he’d spotted Mesmero.

Starting his laptop, Remy keyed in a long series of numbers and letters from memory and waited for the computer to boot up. Rogue walked closer and leaned over his shoulder as Remy pulled up the Museum’s website, checking the hours.

“They close at five. We’ll plan t’ go in after it gets fully dark. That will give us some extra cover, but more importantly, it will give de guards time t’ get good and bored on their rounds.” Remy noted, eyes not leaving the screen.

Rogue swallowed thickly, and nodded her understanding.

Standing from his chair, Remy checked the clock on the screen one last time before shutting down his computer. “We can grab something quick t’ eat before we head out. We’ll leave at seven. In de meantime, we should both try to catch a nap.”

“Sounds good,” Rogue replied, proud that her voice sounded steadier than she felt.

Retreating to her room, Rogue laid on her bed, closing her eyes. She had no idea how long she tossed and turned. Eventually, she must have fallen into a light sleep because several hours later a knock on the adjoining door startled her awake. Not feeling particularly rested, she shuffled over to open the door.

In contrast, Remy, looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever. Taking one look at her haggard appearance, he barked out a laugh before making a smartass remark that newbies could never sleep before their first job.

Rogue glared.

Grabbing a few sandwiches from room service, they sat on Remy’s bed, reviewing the plan one last time between bites.

They weren’t staying in this hotel again, so they packed their stuff, careful not to leave any identifying traces behind. As Rogue tucked the last of her things into her bag, she shrugged on the brown leather bomber coat Tante had packed for her. It fit like a glove, and part of her hoped she might be able to keep it when all of this was over.

Taking one last look around she sat on the bed trying to ignore her heart thudding against her ribs. Mentally, she recited the plan, clinging to it like a lifeline as the weight of what she was doing crashed around her.

Ever since she had left the Brotherhood to join the X-Men, she’d tried to live up to the Professor’s expectation of unwavering integrity. Not that she didn’t end up failing more often than not.

Unlike Jean or Scott, Rogue thought bitterly.

Jean would have alerted the local authorities. Scott would have tried to take on Mesmero directly.

And her…well, she’d decided to team up with a Master Thief to break into one of the world’s most famous museums and steal cultural artifacts.

Just another way she wasn’t an X-Men.

Nothing new there. Rogue snorted humorlessly.

Rogue jerked her head to the side, trying to dash the thought from her mind, and glared angrily at the bedspread. Self-pity wasn’t going to help her now. Wasn’t the whole damn point of this little escapade about undoing some of what she had caused? Logan would kick her ass if he could see her sulking like this.

Damn skippy, Logan grunted.

Rogue smiled a bit at that. Shoving away the last of the self-pity still clinging to her, Rogue tried to focus on the facts.

She knew Mesmero was here and knew where the treasure was.

She knew the X-Men would never arrive in time, even if she called them.

She knew that once Apocalypse got ahold of the treasure, there would be no stopping him. He would destroy the world…and the X-Men.

Sitting up straight, Rogue stared blankly at the far wall for a moment, already knowing the answer. With a deep breath, she tried to steady the emotions swirling in her chest. She could do this. Maybe she wasn't doing the right thing, but it was for the right reason.

As she stood up, one more fact shot across her mind.

Irene had always talked about knowing something in your bones. Rogue knew Remy had said they wouldn’t steal unless they had to. And, Rogue knew —with a certainty that hummed in her damn soul—that she could trust Remy to keep his word.

Behind her, the man in question knocked on the door frame connecting their rooms.

“Ready t’ go, Chere?”

“Yep,” Rogue answered, but even to her ears, the word came out weak.

“You sure ya wanna do this?” Remy asked, raising an eyebrow. Rogue nodded firmly and shoved the rest of her nerves down.

“Yes. Mesmero can’t get ahold of the treasure,” Rogue answered, her voice closer to normal. Remy watched silently. Raising her chin, she added, “I’m fine, Swamp Rat. I kinda wish I had more time to practice, but luck’s never on my side when it comes to that.”

“Ya want a kiss for good luck?” Remy offered with a smirk, but Rogue knew he wasn’t joking. If she wanted a refresher course with his skills, he’d let her absorb him. A sweet gesture on the Cajun’s part but not a smart idea. Rogue shook her head.

“No. It’s better if you’re at the top of your game tonight. I’ll just tag along and knock out whoever we need to.”

“Let’s get to it then.” Remy clapped his hands and waved her through the door into the hallway.

They took a taxi to St. Pancras Train Station and dropped their bags at a luggage locker. They’d pick up their stuff after they finished the mission, as Rogue had mentally dubbed it. She refused to call it a heist. She was still hoping they wouldn’t have to steal anything.

From St. Pancras, they walked the short distance towards the British Museum. A cold drizzle had started to fall again, meaning most of the streets were empty. Regardless, they followed a circuitous route, keeping to the alleyways where they could.

As they approached, Rogue decided the black fence looked more ominous at night than it had during the day. Bypassing the main gate they moved down the sidewalk to a side entrance. Reaching into his pocket, Gambit pulled out his picks and set to work on the lock. A few seconds and a quiet metal click later, the gate swung open.

Stepping inside, Gambit closed the gate behind them, and they crossed the stone yard, sticking to the shadows. There was a small restaurant on the ground floor. That would be their point of entry.

Rogue followed behind Gambit, trying to match her steps to his exactly. Ducking into a small alcove that had been converted into a loading dock for food deliveries and garbage pickup, he waved her behind a dumpster where the shadows would keep them concealed.

Pressing her back against the stone wall, Gambit indicated that she should wait where she was. Nodding her understanding, Rogue peered around the dumpster as the Master Thief moved towards the backdoor of the restaurant.

Rogue’s eyes scanned the dark alcove area for any unwanted interlopers, but they seemed to be alone. Still, she couldn’t get her brain to stop telling her that any moment, Scotland Yard was going to burst in and catch them red-handed.

Looking back towards the door, Rogue saw Gambit had already finished picking the lock. He reached up, pressing a finger to a sensor at the top of the doorframe. Rogue frowned as she realized she hadn’t noticed it before. There was a flash of magenta and a soft pop, and the little red light on the sensor blinked off. Easing the door open, Gambit ducked into the restaurant.

Rogue resisted the urge to follow and waited for the signal. As the seconds ticked by, she curled her toes in her boots to keep her feet from moving.

After what felt like an eternity, Gambit ducked his head back out and signaled for her.

They moved through the dark kitchen into the restaurant, passing tables with chairs flipped up to allow the cleaning crew to do their job. Reaching the front of the restaurant, they paused inside the entrance.  

Through the glass doors, Rogue could see the dark hallway leading to the Museum stretching out before her. From the floorplans Remy had shown her, the hallway extended about a hundred feet before turning the corner leading to a short flight of stairs. The Guard Room was at the bottom of the stairwell.

“We gonna have t’ move fast. There’s no cover in de hallway. You ready?” Gambit whispered in her ear. Rogue eased her gloves off, tucking them into a pocket, and nodded.  

There were six guards. They moved in twenty-minute rounds, allowing only one guard to be in the guard room at a time.

Gambit caught her eye and grinned. Teeth flashing white even in the darkness.

“Time t’ go,” He whispered.

Then they were moving.  

Gambit flew down the hallway, his steps nearly silent. Rogue followed half a pace behind. Arms pumping. Heart racing in her ears. Down the hall. Turn the corner. Down the stairs. First door on the left.

Gambit reached the door first and pulled it open. Rogue didn’t break stride. Sprinting through the door, her hand caught the back of the security guard’s neck before the man even had a chance to turn around. Pulling hard with her powers, memories flooded her mind.

Fighting back against the onslaught, she vaguely heard Gambit close the door behind her. Rogue took a moment to slip her gloves back on as she filtered through the memories. Reaching down, she unclipped the security card and key ring from the man’s belt. Gambit pulled out a couple of zip ties from his coat and fastened the man’s hands behind his back.  

Working together, they quietly moved the unconscious man out of the guard room and stashed him in the men’s restroom down the hall. The cleaning crew had already finished for the night, so it was unlikely anyone would find him before he came to. Rogue scrubbed her head and pushed back against the man’s— Jonathan’s— psyche. He’d probably be out for at least an hour.

“Any luck?” Gambit asked.

“Yeah, but we got to move. John is supposed to go on rotation any minute now, which means the next guard is on his way back. Fortunately, Edward is a chain smoker and will stop for a cig first,” Rogue replied, her voice an odd mix of Mississippi and Brummie, as she waved Gambit towards the first display room.

Mycenaean statues filled the small space and spilled into the next room, where a large carved relief dominated one wall. Pressing the card to a sensor on the wall, Rogue waited until the device beeped softly, indicating the start of John’s rounds.

“This way,” Rogue whispered, grabbing Gambit’s hand and pulling him through the door into the next room. There were a few small items in cases, but the space served as more of a hallway than an exhibit. A set of stairs led to the upper level. Under the stairs was a door marked ‘maintenance.’ There were no cameras here. Hiding in the shadows under the stairwell between the door and a small display case, they waited.

There were two guards on the main floor and one on the level above them. Logically, Rogue knew they’d have to wait for the guard ahead of them to move on before they could get to the Egyptian display, but it felt wrong not to be moving. Chewing the inside of her cheek, Rogue wiggled her toes inside her boots.  

A sound on the floor above them brought her movements to a standstill. Her heart thudded in her ears.  Looking up, she peeked through the railing. At the top of the stairwell, the heavy tread of someone’s boots was visible.

Rogue’s fingers turned cold. She didn’t dare move, afraid to even breathe.

All the man had to do was take a step forward and look down between the railing and he would be able to see them.

Silently, Remy’s arm snaked around her waist, tugging her back against him, further into the shadows. She could feel the heat of his chest pressed against her back. Her hair moved gently with his breath from where his face pressed behind her ear.

On the floor above them, the man chatted away on his phone, promising the person on the other end of the line that he would stop at the store in the morning to pick up bread. He chuckled before telling the other person good night and hanging up.

Finally, the man’s footsteps footsteps moved away fading into the distance.

Rogue’s shoulders dropped in relief as the tension melted out of her. Leaning back, she pressed her hands to her face. That was too close. Gambit ran his hands up and down her arms in silent agreement.

Rogue’s head snapped up as she realized Gambit still had his arms wrapped around her. Popping upright, she quickly stepped away, putting some space between her and the Cajun. Turning back to look at the man behind her, she caught Gambit’s smirk as he popped an eyebrow. Rogue shot the Cajun a withering glare.

Gambit grinned wider but tapped his wrist. It was time to move again.

Entering the next room, her feet faltered for a second as she stared in awe at the Greek statues that filled the space. Even in the dim light, they were exquisite. The white marble looked almost luminescent against the darkness making it impossible to tear her eyes away. Remy gently tugged at her arm, pulling her towards the exit on the far side of the room.

Forcing her mind back to the task at hand, Rogue followed Gambit as they turned down a cross-hall. Spotting the next wall sensor, Rogue tapped the card, and the scanner gave another soft beep.

Up ahead, the Rosetta Stone shined like a beacon in its case. Lit even at night.

Entering the Egyptian Hall they made their way towards the mark. Stone gods and pharaohs, watching them silently from the darkness. Ahead of them, the Ram of Amun-Ra sat stoically in its case, staring out from behind thick glass. Rogue had the oddest feeling it was daring them to try and reach it.

“Do ya know which key we need?” Gambit asked, kneeling down next to the panel. Rogue pulled out the key ring from her pocket and indicated the right key from John’s memories.

“That’s the master. It won’t unlock the case, though. It just allows the guards to access the case’s security system,” Rogue warned. Gambit nodded and opened the panel door revealing a keypad to the case’s sensors.

“The code?”

“885967.” Rogue rattled off immediately.  

Gambit punched the code in, and the small red sensor on the panel turned green. Gambit smiled up at her. Rogue’s heart raced as anticipation coursed through her. Standing up, Gambit pulled out his picks and set to work on the locks. There were two. One at the top and one at the bottom.

As the second lock clicked free, Gambit carefully slid the glass panel out of its frame and placed it on the floor beside him. Delicately, far more delicately than Rogue would have expected from the explosive mutant, Gambit slowly tilted the statue, revealing an image of a winged sphinx and hieroglyphs carved on the bottom of the pedestal.

Rogue exhaled a breath. Elation and relief sang through her at the sight. Part of her felt vindicated, even if just from her own fears, that the carving was there and this hadn’t turned out to be a wild goose chase.

“What do you think it means?” Rogue whispered, eyes tracing over the symbols.

“Not sure,” Gambit murmured before pointing at the hieroglyphs, “but de ovals with hieroglyphs in them usually represent a name. A Royal one. Do you think it’s the treasure?”

“No,” Rogue shook her head. “I think it’s another clue.”

Gambit shot her a look, clearly hoping for more insight. Rogue shrugged helplessly, frustration itching up her spine. She couldn’t explain it herself. She just knew.

She considered trying to access Apocalypse’s memories again but disregarded the idea as quickly as it came. There was too much going on right now for her not to be aware of her surroundings.

“Here, hold this. I want t’ take a picture t’ send t’ Henri,” Gambit shifted over so that she could hold the statue stable.

Rogue delicately took hold of the Ram only to nearly drop it. The dang thing weighed a ton. Quickly, she adjusted her grip to hold on tighter. Gambit snickered.

Rogue glared, then her lips twisted up into a smirk.

“You mean we’re not stealing it,” Rogue asked and fluttered her eyes at him innocently. Gambit rolled his eyes heavenward and fished out his phone, snapping a few pictures of the bottom.

“Mais, not unless you want t’ haul a forty-pound stone statue around with us.” He muttered, taking one last photo before sliding the phone back into his pocket, “All done. Why do you think—”

The rest of Gambit’s question was cut off by the ear-piercing shriek of an alarm.

The screaming noise filled the hall, vibrating through the walls and off the stone floors. Rogue’s heart leapt to her throat, adrenaline flooding her veins as her head jerked up. Her brain studdered to a stop, her thoughts clouded by fear and confusion.

Gambit surged to his feet, yanking the statue from her hands and snatching hold of her wrist. Rogue’s shoulder protested as he dragged her behind him toward the far end of the hall where the West Stairs were. Throwing open a window, he shoved her through.

“Go.”

Rogue wasted no time and shot through the small opening to the stone yard on the other side. A dull thud behind her indicated Gambit’s escape. Grabbing her arm, they bolted for the side gate. In the distance, Rogue could hear police sirens wailing.

They darted through the gate and into a dark alleyway across the street. Rogue pumped her arms faster. Following Gambit through a maze of back alleys, twisting and turning until she was hopelessly lost.

“Come on, Rogue,” Gambit ordered and pulled her onward. Suddenly, the alley around her disappeared as they tumbled out onto a main street. Rogue turned to look over her shoulder as lights from police cars reflected off the fronts of the townhomes and stores from further up the street. Against the glare of the lights, a dark spot caught her attention.

For a split second, her eyes met Mesmero’s.

He stood at the opening of another dark alleyway, watching. Rogue’s eyes widened.

Her line of sight was cut off as Gambit plunged them into another maze of alleyways. Continuing their twisting path, they worked their way back across the city. Rogue fought to keep up with Gambit’s longer legs.

Only when they stepped out onto the street with St. Pancras steeples’ towering above them did Gambit slow to a brisk walk. Rogue kept pace beside him as they entered the train station, still busy despite the late hour. Gambit pulled her to the side and out of the way of the flow of people.

“Do you remember where de luggage storage is?” He asked quietly. Rogue nodded. “Good. Get the bags and meet me right here in five minutes. Don’t stop for anything.”

Rogue turned and made her way through the crowd.

Slow down, Chere. Don’t move too fast, or you’ll attract attention, Remy cautioned.

Rogue slowed her pace slightly. Reaching the storage area, she quickly gathered their bags and headed back to where Remy had said to meet.

Stopping back where they had parted ways, Rogue spotted Remy coming towards her, phone pressed against his ear. Reaching her, Remy put a hand on her lower back, silently directing her through the crowds, still listening to the person on the other end.

As they crossed under a large blue sign indicating International departures, Remy finished his call.

“D’accord. I’ll text you in a few hours when we’re there. Merci, Henri.” Remy hung up the phone and it disappeared back into the folds of his coat. As they stepped onto the train platform, the crowd began to spread out, and they moved a little ways away out of earshot.

“What’s the plan?” Rogue asked.

“Henri’s going to look into the symbol for us while we head somewhere safe.”

“Where are we going?” Rogue frowned, looking around for a clue. Damnit, she hadn’t paid attention to the departure signs. She’d been too busy trying to listen to Remy’s conversation without bumping into anyone.

The Cajun man grinned and snatched ahold of her hand, pressing a kiss on the back of it before she could stop him.

“Why, Chere, I’m taking you t’ Paris.”

The train hummed quietly as Rogue sat in her vinyl seat, staring out the dark window. There were only a few additional passengers in their train car—not surprising given the time—and Rogue was grateful for it. Once they had stowed their stuff, Remy had taken one look at her face and announced he was getting her food. Before heading off for the buffet car, he ordered Rogue to stay with the bags.

Rogue couldn’t find it in herself to bristle at the Cajun’s high-handedness and waved tiredly in understanding. The adrenaline crash had left her feeling both tired and jittery at the same time. Leaning forward, Rogue threaded her fingers into her hair and tugged at her scalp.

What the hell had gone wrong?

Rogue racked her brain. They’d tagged every wall scanner. Stayed on the path so that they didn’t run into any of the other guards. They hadn’t touched anything except for the mark. They had turned off the security panel so that the pressure sensor wouldn’t be an issue. Hell, they did that before Remy even unlocked the case…

A memory flashed in Rogue’s mind, and the train melted away.

She was standing by a display case—the same type that the Ram was in—having already turned off the panel. One of the statues was being shipped to a University for study.

The museum curator and the head of the research department stepped up to the case. She watched as the two men each inserted their keys, one at the top and one at the bottom, turning the keys in a synchronized move to unlock the case. It was a new security protocol the Museum had added after it was discovered a statue had been stolen and replaced with a forgery.

Rogue blinked as the memory ended, the train reappearing around her. Beneath her, the vinyl creaked as Rogue slumped back against her seat. Reality washed over her in painful clarity. The locks had to be unlocked together, or an alarm would be tripped…and she had missed it.

This was all her fault.

Chapter Text

Running a hand through his hair to shake off the excess wetness, Logan stepped into the Blackbird.  In the co-pilot’s seat, Storm sighed and leaned back against the leather seat, releasing her powers.  She had done her best to hold off the ever-present precipitation while he’d been stalking through London’s alleyways, trying to track Rogue’s scent.

“Any luck?” Storm asked softly.  Logan shook his head.

“I couldn’t get within two blocks of the British Museum.  The whole place is crawling with police,” Logan replied and shucked off his wet jacket, “I managed to track them as far as the train station, but I lost them there.  Any news on your end?”

“According to the police scanner, someone definitely broke into the Museum.  They found one of the guards unconscious in the men’s room, and the same guard’s code had been used to open the case,” Storm answered, a small crease forming between her eyebrows. “However, the artifact in question was still in the case.”

“Gambit,” Logan growled and ripped his gloves off, flinging them into the heap with his jacket. “What the hell has that Swamp Trash dragged her into?”

“Wolverine­—” Storm started, but he whirled around, his expression sharp.

“Don’t tell me it’s going to be okay, ‘Ro! Don’t you dare!” He snarled, the sound reverberating through the small space. Logan kicked a first aid kit out of his way, sending it clattering across the floor. He had half a mind to go back to New Orleans and skin Jean-Luc alive or send him back his son in pieces.

Storm watched the display with stoic eyes but didn’t back down. Inhaling a breath, she stepped closer. “I know you’re angry. I am too, but we can’t—”

“You don’t know!” he growled, cutting her off. Stomping over to the controls, Logan leaned heavily over the console, glaring down at the display. “You don’t know what it’s like to be out there, tracking her scent only for it to disappear again. Always being a day late and dollar short.”

Because he was always too late.  He’d been too late getting to her when her powers showed up, and Mystique got her all twisted up. He’d been too late finding her when Mystique had handed her over to Apocalypse on a silver platter. And he was too late now.

“Wolverine, listen to me,” a slim, gloved hand found his shoulder.  Logan jerked away and spun back towards her. He knew his eyes were wild with frustration, the need to lash out at something, anything, to release the unbearable pressure inside him.

Storm didn’t flinch from his gaze. Instead, she moved closer, trying again. “Logan, listen to me. I do know how it feels. I am just as worried as you are, but right now, we need to think straight. We don’t have the luxury of letting anger control us.”

Logan jerked his head away from the understanding in those blue eyes and clenched his jaw.  He wished he thought to bring one of his cigars. Running a hand through his hair, he pulled at it in frustration.

“I should’ve done more,” he muttered, sinking into the pilot’s seat, “I should’ve checked in with her more. Not left her on her own as much. Made her spend more time with the others.”

Ororo snorted quietly at that, “It would have been quite interesting to see you try. Neither of you is a social butterfly, and Rogue is not one to be forced into doing anything she doesn’t want to.”

Despite himself, Logan chuckled at that.  That girl had more spunk in her than most fighters did in their whole body. Getting on her bad side was like tossing a barn cat into a bathtub and expecting everything to turn up roses.

Logan should know. He’d trained it into her.  The corner of his mouth twisted up into a smirk. 

Maybe he should worry less about Stripes and more about Gambit.  Poor SOB would probably be a full-body cast before Rogue got through with him.

“We’ll find her. We’ll bring her home,” Ororo stepped in front of him again, grabbing his face with both hands, forcing him to look at her. “In the meantime, we can return to the Mansion and update the others. Kurt will be waiting for news.”

Logan clenched his jaw as guilt landed like a sucker punch. Kurt had been desperate for any scrap of news about his sister ever since they returned from New Orleans.

When Cerebro picked up on Rogue using her powers in London, it had been all Chuck could do to force the Elf to go to school this morning. Logan checked the Blackbird twice to ensure he hadn’t hitched a ride at the last second.

“If anything happened to her, it’s gonna kill the Elf,” He muttered.

“I don’t think we need to worry about that. We both know Jean-Luc would never tolerate his sons mistreating a lady.” Ororo reassured.

Moving to the controls, Logan started the pre-flight check.  When they got Rogue back safely, he’d drag Gumbo’s ass to the DR, and Rogue beat on him for a while. And if there was anything left, the Elf could have his turn afterward.

And if Gumbo had somehow managed to worm his way into Stripe’s good graces and gotten her head all turned around, well…Logan knew lots of places to bury a body.

Chapter Text

By the time the train pulled into Gare du Nord in Paris, it was close to midnight. Rogue scrubbed at her eyes, wondering if she would ever have a normal sleep schedule again. She was beyond tired, and her shoulder was killing her after their impromptu race through London.

Her hand flew to her mouth as a yawn twisted her face. Getting her face back under control, Rogue looked at her traveling companion. She got the impression that odd hours and thieving went hand in hand, but even the Swamp Rat was looking worse for wear at this point.

As Rogue plodded along beside him, she kept her eyes on the Cajun man. Under his coat, there was a subtle tension running across Remy’s shoulders and his eyes scanned the room constantly. He still maneuvered through the crowd with an elegance she could never hope to achieve, but his movements were sharper and more on edge than before.

She hoped wherever Remy had in mind was close by. They both needed sleep at this point.

Exiting the train station, Rogue stared up at the impressive façade of Gare du Nord. Against the dark sky, the French flag waved in the breeze. Mentally, she tried to hold onto the moment. Maybe she could revisit it in her memories when she wasn’t so tired.

“Remy, par ici!” An older man waved at them, catching their attention. The man moved through the crowd like smoke. Two younger men, closer to her and Remy’s age, followed one step behind. All three wore trench coats.

The Paris Guild, Remy informed her.

“Amalric! Comment allez-vous?” Remy stepped forward and greeted the man. The two younger men stopped behind the older man and greeted Remy in turn, clapping him around the shoulders. At the show of familiarity, Rogue toyed with her gloves and scanned the crowd, waiting for the men to finish.

“Rogue, I’d like t’ introduce you t’ Amalric Dupont, Guildmaster of de Paris Guild, and his nephews, Lucas and Andre,” Remy introduced, switching back to English. “Guildmaster, this is Rogue, mon amie.”

“Your petite amie?” the man wearing the dark trench coat, Andre, asked. Remy glared.

Now that Remy had introduced the men, Rogue could see the family resemblance. All three men sported the same high-cheek bones and aquiline nose. It was impossible to tell what Amalric’s hair color must have been when he was younger. It was mostly white with just a few streaks of grey, but his nephews both had various shades of light brown. Rogue wondered if they were brothers or cousins.

“Welcome to Paris, Mademoiselle,” Amalric greeted elegantly, shaking her hand. Andre and Lucas also reached out to greet her but made a show of kissing the back of it.

“So nice to meet a lovely lady such as yourself. How did you come to be in the company of such a scoundrel?” Lucas flirted. From the corner of her eye, Rogue spotted a slight glow in the Cajun’s eyes.

“I seem to have a knack for acquiring them,” Rogue replied wryly, taking back her hand. The other men chuckled.

“I thought you were sending a car.” Remy turned to Amalric, “I’m sorry to have dragged you out so late.”

“Ne t’en fais pas,” Amalric graciously waved off the apology, “I am more than happy to meet you myself.”

“Did Jean-Luc mention we needed to use a safe house?” Remy asked, changing the subject.    

“Your father did. But I recommended the Guild Hall.” Amalric replied. Rogue could have sworn Remy twitched when the older man emphasized the word father. “It’s the least we could do for our frérot across the ocean.”

Rogue frowned at that.

She knew the LeBeaus were a family, but why was Amalric calling the New Orleans Guild little brother? Was he referring to Jean-Luc? Rogue swung her eyes between Amarlic and his nephews but didn’t see any remarkable resemblance to the New Orleans Guildmaster.

Tucking that tidbit away, she made a note to ask Remy about it when they were alone.

Amalric turned to Rogue, “I hope you don’t mind, Mademoiselle, but Jean-Luc explained the situation around your hunt for this treasure. Seeing that the outcome of this job will impact all of us, the Paris Guild would like to offer their assistance in your endeavors. We have acquired quite a few artifacts from Napoleon’s campaign in Egypt that may prove useful to you.”

“Oh…uh, thank you,” Rogue managed to reply politely, feeling off-balance at the fact that news of Apocalypse and her hunt to find an all-powerful treasure was being discussed globally by an international crime syndicate. Belatedly, she added, “I appreciate the offer.”

“Besides,” Andre smiled, “The Guild Hall has better beds.”

“Better company, too,” Lucas added, moving closer to her, causing Rogue to take a half-step toward Remy to avoid touching the Frenchman.

“Homme,” Remy’s voice had a sharp edge this time. Lucas stepped away just as quickly and raised his hands.

“I’m just saying the lady looks dead on her feet. She could probably use a good night of sleep.”

“Assez,” Amalric replied mildly, but the hard look in his eyes told Rogue Remy wasn’t the only one growing tired of Lucas’ showmanship, “Lucas, get the bags. Andre, go with him. We’ll reconvene at the Guild Hall.”

Amalric’s dark sedan slid through the streets of Paris. Remy and Amalric spoke quietly in French in the front seat, but Rogue couldn’t bring herself to listen in. She was too tired to care at this point.

Instead, she watched as the busy area around the train station slowly segued to quieter, more residential streets. Iron street lamps threw warm circles of orange light over the pavement and sidewalks.

As the car wove through a canyon of Haussmannian-style buildings that the city was famous for. Rogue’s eyes danced over the stone facades that stretched toward the sky. Their intricate stone moldings casting odd shadows in the lamplight. The glazed windows were framed with wrought-iron balconies and trimmed with wooden shudders.

Most of the windows were dark by now, but a few were still lit.

Ornated slate and metal roofs were barely visible against the darkness. Their chimneys twisting upwards like fingers towards the sky.

Amalric turned the car smoothly down an alleyway despite the limited space on either side of the car. At the end of the alleyway, two carriage doors loomed. Rogue never saw the man’s hands move from the steering wheel, but the doors opened regardless.

She wondered if they had somehow rigged the doors to have a motion sensor or if someone was watching from a security camera. Pulling into the underground garage, the car came to a stop and everyone got out. Lucas and Andre pulled into the spot next to them and got out of their car bringing the bags with them.

Absently, Rogue wondered if it was a good idea to have left their bags in the care of a couple of Thieves but shrugged off the thought. Remy didn’t seem worried.

They approached two sets of double doors. The first set opened immediately, but a guard seated in the lobby had to buzz them through the second set.

Bulletproof glass. Logan noted. I would bet anything that the guard can lock the first set automatically, allowing them to trap anyone who tries to get in.

“The Guild owns this building as well as the two on either side of it. There are five levels, not counting the roof. Once inside, you can move freely throughout all three buildings without having to exit and reenter at the street level.” Amalric explained to both of them. However, Rogue got the feeling it was only for her benefit.

“The training area, equipment rooms, and storage spaces are on the first two floors. There are also extra sleeping quarters on those floors for our men, but I am disinclined to let a Mademoiselle such as yourself stay down there,” Amalric smiled at her. Rogue blinked, not sure if she was being insulted or not. Seeing her confusion, Amalric took pity on her.

“I worry you might drive my men to distraction.” He explained, “Not to mention, I met Madam Mattie Baptiste once before. I am certain that she would not hesitate to fly to Paris and set my men straight if she found out their manners were lacking.”

Rogue laughed and relaxed slightly. Beside her, Remy chuckled.

“The third floor is the main living area for the family and our guests. You can access the first three floors via an elevator. The fourth and fifth floors contain the bedrooms. My personal office is also on the fifth floor.”

I would suggest you not enter the Guildmaster’s office without him present, Mystique whispered.

I would suggest she leaves altogether, Logan grumbled.

Rogue shoved the psyches away tiredly and tried to pay attention. The five of them moved through the foyer toward the elevator, and Rogue winced as she realized that, once again, her footsteps were the only ones you could hear squeaking on the marble floors.

As the doors to the elevator opened, all five of them squeezed inside. Despite the tight quarters, Remy positioned himself between her and the others, allowing Rogue to have the corner to herself. A warm feeling of gratitude washed over her. She had no idea if the Paris Guild was aware of her powers, but she was too tired to even try to get into them now.

As the elevator slowed and the doors slid open again, they stepped into the main living area on the third floor.

“Are you hungry? I can have our housekeeper prepare something for you,” Amalric asked, removing his coat and draping it over the back of an armchair. Remy turned towards her.

“Rogue?”

“I’m good,” Rogue replied immediately. “I got something to eat on the train.”

Truthfully, she had only picked at her sandwich, but at this point, all she wanted was a bed. She could eat in the morning. Amalric must have read her thoughts because he nodded in understanding.

“Perhaps I might show you both to your rooms then,” the older man offered. Rogue smiled gratefully. She would have kissed the man if it wouldn't have landed him in the hospital. Turning to take her bag from Lucas, the young man smiled at her.

“Would you like me to carry it to your room for you?” he offered gallently. Rogue shook her head. Lucas shrugged but handed her bag over without protest. Turning, Lucas tossed the second bag to Remy.

“Here you go, mon ami.”

“What? No offer to carry my bag?” Remy scoffed.

“I reserve my courtesies for the ladies,” Lucas smirked.

Rogue rolled her eyes hard enough to give herself a headache. If she didn’t get some sleep, she was going to kill these two idiots. Turning to Amalric, she offered the Guildmaster her sweetest Southern Belle smile.

“I’m sorry. Would it be possible to get settled in for the night before this...” she vaguely waved an airy hand in Remy’s and Lucas’ direction, “goes on any longer?”

Andre snickered from where he stood, leaning against a wall. Amalric’s dark eyes glinted in humor, and the Parisian man gallantly offered her his elbow, matching her show of genteel manners.

“Of course, Mademoiselle, if you please.” He waved his free hand in the direction of the stairwell. Rogue placed her hand lightly in the crook of the Guildmaster’s arm and followed his lead. Behind her, she could have sworn she heard Remy stumble up the stairs after them, but she refused to look back, so she couldn’t be sure.

Exhausted or not, Rogue refused to go another minute without a proper shower. She’d spent longer than she cared to admit under the hot water before forcing herself out. Stepping out of the shower, she dried off with a fluffy towel before slathering her arms and legs with lotion.

Only Kitty knew, but Rogue took her skincare seriously. What had started as a way of prolonging her me time in the bathroom, the one place she didn’t have to worry about her skin, had blossomed into a full-blown obsession.

Kitty always teased her about it but never hesitated to drag her into the beauty shop at the mall so they could sniff all the new scents and try all the testers.

A wave of homesickness for her roommate hit Rogue hard enough to snatch the breath from her chest.

Sinking down onto the clawfoot tub, Rogue gripped the edge so tightly she was half-surprised her fingers didn’t leave indents on the porcelain. Inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth, Rogue tried to put her thoughts in order.

She should call the Mansion. She knew that. It would only be...what, eight or nine o’clock in New York? She could just call and let them know that she was okay. They would probably be worried about her.

Unless they weren’t.

Rogue tried to push away the thought that had been lurking in the back of her mind since Marti Gras.  

Of course, they were. The X-Men were good people. If for no other reason, they would be worried that she had taken off so suddenly.

But they hadn’t come looking for her, had they? Rogue deflated.

She knew the Blackbird’s specs. At top speeds, it would only take them ninety minutes to reach New Orleans from Bayville.  

Then there was the rumor going around that she was thinking about leaving, and no one had said anything. Well, Kurt had asked her about it, but it wasn’t like he had been begging her to stay.

Not that she blamed him. Rogue sighed and scrubbed a hand through her damp hair.

No, better she wait for now.

Remy had said Henri was looking into the carving. She could wait until Henri called. In the meantime, Amalric said they had some books from Egypt she could look at. Once she had something solid, she could call the X-Men and give them a heads up.

I mean, that’s what Scott or Logan would do. Track down every lead until they knew what was going on. Then, make a plan. Rogue reasoned.

Pushing off from the tub, Rogue moved back into her room. It was an elegant space in muted tones of grey, beige, and off-white. A sumptuous bed dominated the room with a gold gilded headboard. Oil paintings hung from the walls while an antique rug covered the floor.

Reaching into her bag, Rogue’s fingers touched something soft. Pulling out a dark green silk nightgown, Rogue stared. She had seen it the other night at the hotel but rejected it for a pair of yoga pants and a long-sleeve shirt. Now, standing in this elegant room in the heart of Paris, she desperately wanted something that made her feel like she belonged.

Slipping the garment overhead, the cool silk skimmed over her body like a butterfly’s wing.

As gorgeous as the piece felt against her skin, Rogue’s reprieve was short-lived as her shoulder began to pulse dully with pain. Reaching into the bag again, her fingers touched metal, and she pulled out a tin of Tante Mattie’s bruise balm. Unscrewing the lid, the smell of lavender and rosemary filled the air.

Testing her limits, Rogue carefully lifted her good arm trying to reach her shoulder and back. The pulsing flared white-hot, and she let her arm drop. Rogue sighed. There was no way she could apply the balm to her back right now. Frowning at the tin in frustration, a thought shot across her mind.

No way. Not a chance. There was no way she’d ask that Swamp Rat for help. Besides, he was probably already sleeping. It’d be rude to wake him up.

A wave of pain pulsed across her back and shoulder, making her head pound. Rogue huffed. Crossing the room, Rogue bargained with her body as she went. She’d pop her head out to check and see if the Cajun was awake. If his light was off, her body would just have to deal with it until the morning.

Rogue cracked her door open and cursed.

The light was still on in his room.

Rogue snapped the door shut and spun around to press her back against it. She couldn’t. Plain and simple. She’d just try to sleep through it, and…her shoulder gave an angry throb.

Rogue groaned. Clearly, sleeping wasn’t going to be in the cards for her until she did something to appease her traitorous body.

Looking helplessly between the door and the bed, Rogue sucked in a breath through her teeth before blowing it back out. She needed sleep. The type that came without pain.

Okay, you can do this. Just go over there and ask for his help. He has gloves. He knows your powers. It’s just one mutant asking for help from another mutant. Rogue reasoned.

Sure it is, Chere.

Shut up, Swamp Rat, she snarled. She could practically feel the damn psyche smirking in the back of her head.

Before she could reconsider what she was doing, Rogue ripped open the door and stalked across the hallway, rapping sharply on his door. Tapping her foot, she waited. A moment later, the door opened, revealing Remy…sans shirt.

Sweet Jesus, Rogue’s eyes dropped to rake over his torso.

“Chere,” Remy gave her a lazy smirk, leaning one shoulder against the door frame, “Didja need something?”

Yep. Rogue stared.

“I…I was wondering if you could help me,” Rogue managed, trying to shake off her stupor. Remy crossed his arms, causing his muscles to ripple in a way that made Rogue’s thoughts shake like an Etch A Sketch.

“What can I do for you?”

“Um…”

Words, Girl. Use your words. She screamed at herself. Reluctantly, she dragged her gaze back up to the Cajun’s eyes, dancing in mirth. Heat flooded her face.

“My shoulder is killing me. Can you help me?” Rogue thrust the tin towards him. Proof that she did, in fact, have a valid reason to be at his door in the middle of the night. Remy’s eyes flicked down to the tin, and the smirk fell off his face as concern took over.

“Of course, Chere. Come on in.” He answered, moving back to wave her through the door.

Rogue stepped in and looked around, not making eye contact with the room’s occupant. Lacing her fingers together she desperately wished she had thought to put on some gloves or something. Her choice of nightwear suddenly felt much flimsier than it had when she was standing in her own room.

Good Lord, what had she been thinking?

“Why don’t ya have a seat, Chere?” Remy waved at the bed, paying her no mind in lieu of looking for some gloves. Rogue moved towards the bed and stiffly sat down on the soft surface.

Rogue traced a finger across the creases of the fabric. Remy’s room featured the same plush bedding in neutral tones that her room did. Only the art was different. Distracted by a painting hanging on the wall, Rogue didn’t hear the Cajun come up behind her. When a warm hand landed on her bare shoulder, she nearly levitated off the bed.

“Don’t do that!” she snapped. Remy held up his hands, now encased in thin leather gloves. No wonder it felt like he had been touching her with his bare hand.

“Désolé. Do ya still want me t’ help?” Remy asked. He was eyeing her like she was an animal about to spook about bolt for the door.

“Yeah, just…just don’t sneak up on me like that. I thought I was going to kill ya,” Rogue huffed.

“Can think of worse ways to go,” Remy shrugged and moved to sit on the bed behind her. Rogue’s heart thudded against her ribs. Without warning, the Cajun leaned in to breathe right by her ear. “I’m going to touch you now.”

As warm fingers pulled the thin silk strap of her nightgown down her shoulder, goosebumps rippled over Rogue’s skin. It felt like her body had suddenly become a live wire, leaving her hyper-aware of every movement behind her.

Warm hands swept gently down her neck and over her shoulder, as the smell of lavender and rosemary filled the air. Rogue sat ramrod straight. She didn’t dare move. Hell, she could barely breathe. Remy chuckled behind her, causing the bed to vibrate.

“Mais, relax, Rogue. Your muscles are so tense I could bounce a quarter off them.” Remy murmured, working his thumbs into the cords of her back.

Easy for you to say, Rogue thought, biting back a moan.

When Tante Mattie worked on her back, Rogue was nervous, but there was also something deeply nurturing about the woman that made you want to melt into her care.

This was nothing like that. The feel of Remy’s hands on her had Rogue’s heart racing in her chest and her brain struggling to put two thoughts together. She was keenly aware of exactly how close he was. Hell, the boy seemed to get closer just because he could. Rogue sucked in a breath.

Unlike Tante Mattie’s steady stream of conversation, Remy seemed happy to work on her back in silence. Rather than being awkward, the silence felt soothing and...intimate.

Casting her eyes around the bedroom, Rogue racked her brain for something to talk about. Remembering their encounter on the streets outside of Gare du Nord, Rogue turned slightly to look over her shoulder.

“Hey, Remy?”

“Ouias?”

“Why did Amalric call your Guild frérot? Are he and Jean-Luc related?”

Remy’s hands paused in their movement at the question. “You speak French, Chere?”

“Oui.” Rogue turned around to face the gaping Cajun and snickered. It felt good to catch the Swamp Rat off guard for once. “I learned as a kid when I lived in Mississippi.”

Remy’s mouth opened and shut a few times, making him look like a fish out of water. Finally, he asked, “If you’re fluent, why are ya still taking classes back in Bayville?”

“Easy A,” Rogue offered with a shrug. Her shoulder tingled in pain at the movement, causing Rogue to grimace. Remy chuckled at her answer and gestured for her to turn back around again.

“Non, Jean-Luc and Amalric ain’t related. Amalric was referring t’ de Paris and New Orleans Guilds. Back before New Orleans was a colony, de Paris Guild was already in existence. France brought a lot of money in during colonialism, which is good for any Guild because it means there are a lot of rich folks t’ hire de Guild for jobs. The Paris Guild was also able to claim a cut from any of de Guilds in the French colonies.

“As de world moved into Imperialism, wealth kept pouring into Europe. Paris was pretty much de top Guild in terms of wealth and reach. That all ended with WWI and WWII.”

Remy’s thumb pressed into a knot along her shoulder blade. Rogue’s eyes almost rolled up as Remy kneaded at it, getting the tension to release. She didn’t need to turn around to know that the Cajun would be smirking. If this thieving thing didn’t work out, he’d make one hell of a masseur.

“So what happened?” Rogue asked.

“As you know, most of de South was a mess after the Civil War, including New Orleans. However, New Orleans was still a port city and was able t’ take advantage of trade routes. The LeBeaus were in power at that point, but we focused on building alliances with de other Guilds in the United States rather than competing with them, something the European Guilds never learned.

“When Prohibition came around, de New Orleans Guild already had a reputation for being able t’ play nicely with others, so we were able t’ partner with de Marconi family, the only mafia family in New Orleans. Most of the other Guilds in the Northeast had poor ties with their Mafia families. Except for Boston, but that was the Irish mob, which Sullivan and his family already had blood ties to.”

Rogue listened in awe. While Mystique had taught her a bit about crime families, it was nothing like this.

When she called it Remy’s world earlier, she had been joking, but now Rogue could see she was spot on. There was a whole secondary shadow nation existing right alongside normal society, and most folks never even knew it existed.

“Still, New Orleans and Paris were pretty evenly matched in terms of power. When World War II came around, though, everything changed. France was hit hard during the occupation, and a lot of de money was siphoned off to Germany. In contrast, New Orleans became a major manufacturing port for de war effort.

“Jacques LeBeau, Jean-Luc’s father, was able t’ negotiate jobs for de government. No Guild had ever done it before. Some folks even thought we were trying t’ go straight.” Remy laughed, “Mais, it paid off, though. The connections we made and de money we got out of those deals made New Orleans de most successful Guild in de world.”

“Do you still do jobs for the government?”

“Sometimes.” Remy shrugged, “Part of what keeps de New Orleans Guild on top is the LeBeau family. I’m including Emil, Theo, and Belize in that too. Our Guild takes more jobs than anyone else, and Jean-Luc always believed that de lead family had t’ be out doing fieldwork, not just sitting behind a desk.”

Rogue nodded in understanding. “Makes it easier for people to believe in their leaders if they’re willing to do the work and not just give orders.”

“Makes it hard t’ say no, too,” Remy muttered darkly.

“Whatcha mean?” Rogue frowned.

“Nothing.”

Rogue twisted around again and shot him a raised eyebrow, not believing it for a second.

Remy sighed and looked away, reaching for the tin, “I’ve always been a bit better than Henri and de others. Comes from growing up on de streets for the first few years of my life. When I first got adopted, I was proud to carry on de name of my new family, but as I got older, de shine wore off. Jean-Luc always had me on tde go. Sometimes, pulling two or three heists in a row. It wears on you after a while.”

Rogue’s frown deepened, listening to the man sitting behind her. She wondered how hard it would be to finally find a family only to constantly be on the go, away from home. It would make anyone resentful.

Suddenly, the mask shifted back into place, and Remy was grinning at her, “Mais, long story short, Paris is no longer de top Guild. It’s like a parent still trying t’ control things after their kids are grown and out of de house. Almaric is probably thrilled that Jean-Luc needed him.”

Rogue rolled her eyes indulgently. Turning back around, she wondered if she’d ever understand the Thieves. Leaving that puzzle for another day, Rogue stretched her head from side to side. She was pleasantly surprised to find the throbbing in her shoulder had turned into a barely noticeable ache.

Leaning back in relief, she let her eyes drift shut, enjoying the warmth against her back. A half-second later, her eyes snapped back open. She was half-sprawled across Remy, who was grinning down at her, waiting for her to realize her predicament.

Rogue shot upright and scrambled off the bed.

“Thanks, Sugah,” Rogue cringed. Sweet Jesus, why had she gone and called him Sugah?

What was it about the Swamp Rat that made her forget all of her boundaries?

“My back feels better. I’m just going to go to bed.” Without waiting for his reply, Rogue snatched the tin off the bed and darted out the door.

Closing her bedroom door, she leaned against it. Mentally cursing at herself, she stalked across the room to the bed and flung back the covers. Slipping under the duvet, she snapped off the light. There was no way she was ever doing that again.

Even if her shoulder felt way better.

When Rogue’s eyes opened the next morning, she had no idea what day it was, never mind the time. Light tried to filter into the room, but the heavy velvet curtains were doing their office, keeping the room bathed in darkness.

Rolling over, Rogue fumbled for the light on the nightstand. As she turned the light on, Rogue blinked in the sudden brightness. Looking at the antique alarm clock, she did a double-take.

It was already late morning. She never slept this late. Even on the weekends at Xavier’s, sleeping in was difficult. Teenage mutants did not make for quiet housemates.

Rolling out of bed, Rogue reached for her bag and pulled some clothes on for the day. She might have been willing to wear a nightgown in front of Remy, but there was no way she was wearing it down to breakfast.

Grabbing her gloves off the nightstand, Rogue hoped Remy was up. She really hated making small talk first thing in the morning.

Moving down the hallway quietly, quietly for her anyway, Rogue headed down the stairs in the direction of the kitchen she had seen last night. As she descended the stairs, she could hear low voices in the next room. For a moment, Rogue considered listening in but disregarded the thought immediately.

She did not want to get caught eavesdropping on the Guild. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she turned into the room.

And came face-to-face with Jean-Luc.

Rogue blinked.  

Behind the man, Rogue saw Henri and Mercy sitting with Amalric in the parlor.

“Petite, there you are. We weren’t sure when you’d be up,” Jean-Luc grinned widely at her. Rogue spotted Remy through a door on the far side of the room. Catching her gaze, Remy grabbed a coffee cup before sauntering in. Crossing the room, he pressed the cup into her hands.

“Mornin’, Chere.”

“Mornin’, Swamp Rat.”

Across the room, Henri snorted into a tiny cup of coffee that looked far too small and delicate for his massive hands. Rogue seated herself on the sofa beside Mercy’s chair while the blonde woman grinned at her.

“I heard ya’ll had to take a train. Did he have to drug you this time?” she asked. Amalric startled from across the room and stared at Mercy in mild horror.  

“No, not this time.” Rogue shook her head, laughing lightly. Remy glowered at his sister-in-law before plopping himself next to her on the sofa. Mercy grinned back unrepentantly.

Glancing around, Rogue frowned in confusion, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what are ya’ll doing here?”

She might as well have thrown a wet blanket on the room. Henri and Mercy’s eyes darted towards Remy while Amalric and Jean-Luc held a silent conversation with only their eyes. Rogue’s stomach sank.

“I’m afraid there’s been a bit of trouble. Interpol has gotten involved with the break-in at de British Museum,” Jean-Luc answered. The sinking feeling in Rogue’s stomach turned to lead. “While they were not able t’ identify the man, they were able to get a partial image of a dark-haired woman with white stripes in her hair.”

Well done, Chienne, Julien laughed. The Thieves have never been caught before, and you managed to alert Interpol.

Rogue felt dread take hold in her chest, making her limbs heavy. Her coffee mug sat limply in her grasp.

Inwardly, she wanted to cry but pushed the useless emotion away. Now wasn’t the time. Right now, she needed a plan. She could break down over her own stupidity later.  

“Do you need me to leave?” Rogue heard herself ask. Absently, she placed her coffee cup on the table to avoid spilling it. Her mind spun desperately as she tried to pull together a plan. They hadn’t seen Remy, just her. If she could put some distance between them, maybe she could lead Interpol away from Remy. Keep him safe.

Distantly, someone called her name.

She could take the train again. Or, would a car be better? No, there must be some type of security at the borders. Better to stick to the train.

Rogue’s heart thudded against her ribs.

“I don’t have any cash on me, but if I can get a train ticket I can travel to Germany.” The words spilled from her lips—why did her mouth feel dry, “My brother has family there. I doubt they would hide me from the police, but they’d have the contact information for Xavier’s. I could—”

“Rogue-Petite, it’s okay.” Hands caught ahold of her shoulders. Rogue blinked.

Jean-Luc was crouched down in front of her eyeing her like he wasn’t sure if he needed to shake her or not. “Emil and Theo are already scrubbing Interpol’s files. The image didn’t get out into de news, so no harm done.”

You know, other than being the biggest SNAFU in Thieves Guild history. They should have just sent Remy, at least he knows his shit. Julien sneered.

Rogue plastered on a smile, eyes darting around the room, desperately looking for an out. The understanding looks on the faces around her felt too much like pity. Especially with Julien’s words still ringing in her ears. Her eyes landed on Amalric in the corner.

“Well, I’m sure there are still additional details you probably need to work out, so let me just get out of your way.” Rogue jerked to her feet, barely catching the coffee cup from tipping over and splashing tepid coffee onto the rug. “Amalric, you said you had a book on hieroglyphs, right? Maybe I can have a look at that.”

Amalric—Lord bless the man—read the situation for what it was and stood smoothly.

“Of course, it’s in my office. Would you like to make use of it there?”

“That’d be great.” Rogue nodded. Remy moved to stand beside her.

“I can come too—”

“No, it’s fine Sugah. I read better when it’s quiet, anyway. Plus, you said you were talking to Henri about the carving. It would probably be good if you two worked together.” Rogue waved him off and headed for the door at an almost normal pace. Remy’s dark eyes boring into the back of her head until she turned the corner.

Chapter Text

Rogue sat on a loveseat by the window in Amalric's office.  She wasn't sure what time it was, but the sunbeams moving slowly across the floor indicated she’d been locked away for at least a few hours.  The heavy book containing first-hand accounts of Napoleon's campaign in Egypt, including an entire section dedicated to hieroglyphs, lay on her lap.

It hadn't taken her long to figure out that the oval with hieroglyphs inscribed on the bottom of the Ram was a prenomen, a name used by pharaohs during their reigns.  Within the hour, she found a matching prenomen in the book, indicating it belonged to Amenhotep III, King Tut's grandfather.

She had passed the information off to Henri and Remy, who were still researching the winged sphinx carving.  Remy had tried to pull her into their research, but Rogue declined. Claiming she still wanted to see if she could find any information on the blue scarab.

Rogue doubted anyone bought the flimsy excuse, but at least Remy hadn't pressed her on it.

She'd been hiding out in Amalric's office ever since.

Rogue turned the page on the thick leather-bound book in her lap.  She was currently reading a chapter on translating hieroglyphs and their meaning.

Scanning down the page, Rogue stopped as one image caught her attention. Pulling out the necklace Tante Mattie had given her from under her shirt, Rogue turned the pendant over in her hand until the obelisk pointed upright. Looking at the symbol of an eye stamped into the base, she saw that it matched the one in the book.

The Eye of Ra.

Rogue's eyes fell on the description below the image

The Eye of Ra is a powerful symbol of protection in ancient Egypt and is associated with the sun god Ra. However, it also symbolized power, fury, and violence through the threat of which protection can be provided.

Turning her gaze to the next page, a second eye stared back at Rogue. This one was a mirror image of the Eye of Ra.

The Eye of Horus in ancient Egypt symbolizes protection, health, and restoration. It defends by deflecting malevolent forces.

Rogue frowned.  Why would Tante Mattie have a necklace with the Eye of Ra on it? Hadn't Tante said that she was the healer to both Guilds?  Shouldn't it have been the Eye of Horus instead?

Rogue closed the book in frustration and leaned forward, rubbing her temples. One mystery at a time.

"Knock knock," a low yat called from the doorway.  Rogue snapped her head up and spotted Jean-Luc standing there. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," Rogue scooted over, making room for him on the loveseat.

"How's the research going?  Find anything interesting about blue scarabs?"

Rogue snorted and shook her head, "Plenty on scarabs. They were symbols of good luck and rebirth. Not so much on blue ones, though."

"So if you're not up here researching scarabs, then…can I assume you're hiding?" Jean-Luc gave her a knowing look. Rogue jerked a shoulder up in a half-shrug. They both knew it was true.  No point in denying it.

"There's no need for that, ya know. Mistakes happen. We're not going to toss ya out on your ear," Jean-Luc sat down, angling himself towards her. "Besides, if there's anyone that should be taking the blame, it's Remy.  He was the lead on that heist after all—"

"It wasn't his fault," Rogue cut the older man off with a dark scowl. "Remy's been teaching me all types of things. And, when we were at the Museum, he had me try to pick out all the security measures.  Anything I missed, Remy made sure to explain it."

Rogue stopped short of telling Jean-Luc about Remy lending her his thieving skills.  She wasn't sure how the Guildmaster would feel about that. She didn't want to get Remy in trouble for trusting her.  Especially since the man seemed inclined to blame his son regardless of whether it was Remy's fault or not.

Biting her tongue, Rogue fought the urge to tear Jean-Luc a new one on Remy's behalf.

On the other side of the loveseat, Jean-Luc raised his hands in surrender.  An odd smile curled the corner of his mouth despite the tongue-lashing he had just received. Between them, the silence stretched in the wake of her outburst, filling the space awkwardly. Rogue frowned down at her gloves, tracing along one of the seams.

When it became clear that Jean-Luc didn't plan to speak again, Rogue heaved a sigh, "It was my fault. I missed a memory."

"Whatcha mean?" Jean-Luc's eyebrows pulled together, forming a crease.

"When I absorbed the guard," Rogue broke off and frowned, trying to figure out how to explain it. “Remember when I said I only get what I get when I absorb people? That I can't control it?"

"Oui."

"Yeah, well, the memories don't come with a handy file system either. The guard had a memory that the two locks on the case had to be opened simultaneously to avoid tripping the alarm.  Apparently, they implemented the security measure after one of the displays turned out to be a forgery," Rogue shot Jean-Luc a look.

The Guildmaster stared at her innocently in return.

"Anyway, I absorbed the memory, but I was too busy focusing on other things to pay attention to it at the time. So...yeah, it was my fault." Rogue muttered, reaching up to rub at her neck, trying to ease the tension there. Jean-Luc watched her silently, and Rogue sighed, dropping her hands to her lap again. "Julien's psyche told me no one has ever landed the Thieves Guild on Interpol's radar before."

"Julien's an asshole." Jean-Luc pointed out. 

Despite herself, Rogue managed a small chuckle. "Yeah, I kinda figured that part out already. But look me in the eye and tell me truly that any Thief in your Guild would have screwed up this badly."

"Just so we're clear, Petite, I could look you in the eye and lie right t’ your face, and you'd never know," Jean-Luc offered her a cheeky grin. Rogue rolled her eyes and looked out the window. "You're right, though. That's not de type of mistake we allow in the Guild.

Rogue's shoulders slumped.

"But," Jean-Luc continued, "you also never would have been on a heist like that without at least ten years of training and several other heists under your belt first."

Rogue slid her eyes back towards the older man, and he nodded.

"It's true.  Mon fils filled us in on what happened at the Museum. You figured out a way to buy an extra twenty minutes by using the guard's rotations to your advantage.  Twenty minutes for a heist is almost unheard of."

"Maybe, but twenty minutes don't matter if you screw it up in the first five minutes."

"Technically, it was mon fils that tripped the alarm."

"I should have just gone back to the X-Men, then at least I wouldn't have caused ya'll any trouble."

"Why didn't you?"

Rogue paused, trying to figure out how to explain it. There was just so much. One big tangled-up ball of troubles that linked from one to another, twisting and looping until there was no way out. Rogue sighed and curled her fingers in her hair, pulling at her scalp.

While he waited for her to speak, Jean-Luc cracked open one of the large windows and pulled out a silver cigarette case.  Fishing out a cigarette, the man lit it and took a draw off of it.  The smell of cloves and tobacco filled the air.

"I'm just tired of it all, ya know?" Rogue sighed, "It seems like every time I turn around, something is going wrong, and I'm the cause of it. This whole thing was about fixing what happened with Apocalypse, but now I've just messed things up for ya'll in the process."

"I told ya, Petite, nothing's messed up.  We got it taken care of before things went too far." Jean-Luc leaned forward.

"All I wanted to do was fix something before I called the X-Men. Be useful. I don't know. Maybe I should just go back to Bayville." Rogue dropped her face back into her hands and let her shoulders drop.  Jean-Luc froze on the other side of the loveseat, cigarette still curling smoke into the air.

"Ya know there's nothing wrong with wanting to prove yourself, especially t’ de people you care about." He said finally.  Rogue raised her head, and Jean-Luc nodded at her.

"Remy told us some more about what this Apocalypse-fool is about. There's no training for what you're trying to do here. None of us know what we're doing. That's why you got to lean on the people around ya, your family."

"I suck at family," Rogue muttered, and Jean-Luc barked out a laugh.

"You and me both, Petite. Let me tell you something you already know. Sometimes, we do things thinking we're trying to prove something to others when we're really just trying to prove them to ourselves. My guess is, that's what’s bothering you. It's not what other people are saying about ya, but that you feel like a failure.  Does that sound about right?"

"I guess," Rogue nodded slowly, unsure if she liked how fast the older man had measured her up. Jean-Luc waved a hand at the room around them.

"You could call the X-Men. Sure you could.  There are three phones in this room right now, and you know they would be here in a heartbeat if you called them, right?"

Rogue nodded again, surer this time. The knot in her chest loosened slightly. Jean-Luc smiled at her.

"So what's the problem? You go ahead and work on this a little longer. See if you can't solve whatever this clue is, and if you can't?" Jean-Luc shrugged, "You have the X-Men in your back pocket. The Thieves, too, for that matter."

"But, the Museum—"

"Petite, Remy placed you under his protection. That ain't something we're gonna walk back. Besides, you two get on as thick as thieves, pardon the pun. It's nice to see him smiling again." Jean-Luc slid his eyes towards her before muttering under his breath, "Even if he is breaking into places with no intention of actually stealing something."

At the dismay in the man's voice Rogue clapped a hand over her mouth and tried to cover her laugh with a cough. Reaching up she rubbed the back of her neck, "To be fair, that was also my fault."

"Oh, Merci Dieu," Jean-Luc exclaimed, leaning forward with one arm on his knee and running his free hand over his face. "I thought the boy had gone and lost all his sense."

Rogue smirked. Jean-Luc was right.  For now, she should stick to her plan and try to figure out the next clue.  Besides, the Swamp Rat and his family were starting to grow on her.

Remy sighed and clicked through another round of Sphinx images on his laptop.  He was already on the second page of Google, and everyone knew that you only turned to the second page when you were truly desperate. 

Across the table, Henri was checking out some black market listings to see if there had been any sales of artifacts relating to Amenhotep III.

Despite what most thought about him, Remy never minded research.  Sure, he preferred fieldwork, but any thief knew you had to do your prep work if you wanted a heist to go off flawlessly.  Only the laziest of thieves shoved off their prep work onto the Apprentices, and Remy prided himself on diligence in every facet of his jobs. 

Growing up, he, Henri, and their cousins would usually work together at a large table in the Guildmaster's office. Jean-Luc and Oncle Belize required it. As a result, the boys developed a special understanding of each other's thought patterns.

Just another manipulation, Remy thought. Though he didn't mind the outcome of Jean-Luc's schemes for once, Speaking of which.

"Where's Jean-Luc?" He looked around the office. Remy could have sworn he had been here just a minute ago.

"He went upstairs t’ talk t’ Rogue," Henri replied, not glancing up from where his eyes flicked across the screen.

"What?" Remy shoved back his chair, rising to his feet. If Jean-Luc was bothering Rogue about her powers or anything to do with the Assassins…

"Remy, sit down." The command in Henri's tone brought Remy up short. "He went up t’ make sure she was okay after finding out about Interpol's involvement with de heist. You saw her this morning. The girl looked so knotted up with guilt I thought she was going t’ bolt."

"He's only concerned because he's interested in her powers," Remy argued. "I thought at least you would understand why I don't want him near her."

"Don't you dare, Remy," Henri snapped. Pausing, Henri pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and inhaled a breath. After a moment, he continued in a slightly calmer tone. "Yes, Pere is interested in her powers. Yes, I understand why that bothers you. But you don't understand what's been going on since you left."

"Oncle Belize is getting older and is starting to step back, which means Pere needs me t’ handle more for him. On top of that, you didn't exactly leave New Orleans quietly after your last fight with Pere." Henri held up a hand, stopping Remy before he could start, "I know why you had t’ leave. I get it. I do. But de Assassins and some other organizations have taken it as a sign of weakness. And that was before de Assassins took Pere hostage. There's a reason Pere doesn't want that news getting out any more than it already has."

"You never mentioned that," Remy sat back down.  He had assumed Henri's tired look when they were at Hermes was due to the stress of Jean-Luc's kidnapping. Suddenly, he wondered if it had been going on for longer.

"We didn't want you coming back just out of guilt, Rem." Henri shrugged.

"You should have called me."

"Yeah, well, I didn't," Henri smirked at him and rolled his shoulders.  Even from across the table, Remy could hear the pop. Henri slumped back against his chair, looking tired, "I'm already dealing with trying to keep the Guilds from starting World War Three, Rem. I'd like t’ think I don't also need to keep you and Pere away from each other's throats, too."

"Desole," Remy apologized.  Henri had always been the peacekeeper.  According to Oncle Belize, Henri may have looked just like Jean-Luc, but he took after his mother.  Sometimes, Remy wished he had gotten the chance to meet her.

Still, it wasn't fair for Henri to be stuck between him and Jean-Luc.

"Oh, stop it. You got that kicked puppy look again," Henri waved a large hand at him.

"You're just mad that I got away with stealing cookies from Tante, and you didn't." Remy grinned.

"You always were a pain in my ass.  You could have at least swiped some for me, too." Henri grumbled and crossed his arms. "For what it's worth, though, Pere really is worried about Rogue. Outside of her powers, I think he's got a bit of a soft spot for her…kind of like Mercy. Especially since you've put her under your protection."

Henri left the rest of the statement hanging unspoken between them. Remy ignored Henri in favor of clicking on the godless wasteland that was the third page of Google.  Beggars can't be choosers.

His brother either couldn't take the silence as a hint or, more likely, chose to ignore it and pressed again.

"So, have you two talked? Maybe over dinner or something?"

"Found it!" Remy bit out, clicking the mouse harder than necessary to open the link. As he did, the door opened.

"Found what?" Jean-Luc asked as he entered the room.

Beyond him, he could see Mercy and Rogue chatting about something or another in the parlor.  Remy watched Rogue from the corner of his eye, looking for any sign that she was upset. After a few moments, Remy decided that Rogue looked no worse for wear. 

Mercy said something Remy couldn't hear, but Rogue's face twisted into a smirk before answering.  Mercy's eyes popped wide. Before Remy could turn away, both women were staring at him.  Mercy's eyes flicked towards Rogue in askance, and Rogue gave a slight nod, sending Mercy into a fit of laughter.  Rogue managed to keep a straight face for a moment before her shoulders began to shake as well. Remy marveled. She looked perfectly at ease around his family.

He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that.

"Rogue, come here," he called, catching the two women's attention, "I think we got something."

Entering the room, Rogue moved around until she could see over his shoulder.

"There's a carved plaque that matches the etching on the bottom of the Ram.  It was discovered at Amenhotep III's tomb." Remy pointed to the screen.  Henri moved around the table to stand next to Mercy, who had followed Rogue into the room.

"It looks like it was a bracelet plaque, and it was connected with…the king's jubilee?" Henri frowned.

"The Seb festivals," Jean-Luc nodded, "I think Amenhotep III was de only pharaoh t’ survive long enough t’ celebrate three of them."

"What were they?" Mercy asked, pulling out her phone.

"They were festivals that tested a pharaoh's fitness for continuing as ruler of Egypt," Jean-Luc explained.

"Sounds like we need to bring those back for politicians today." Rogue scoffed. Jean-Luc chuckled.

"You'll get no disagreement from me on that, Petite. But, they were actually a tradition that dates back t’ de Old Kingdom.  Back when de pyramids were still being built."

"According to Wikipedia, after the Sed festival, Amenhotep transcended from being only a near-god to an actual living god," Mercy added, staring at her phone. Remy felt the heat of Rogue's body move away as she stood up.

"That sounds an awful lot like an all-power treasure to me." Rogue crossed her arms, "Any idea where it's at?"

"Amenhotep's tomb is in the Valley of the Kings," Remy answered slowly. Turning, he glanced at Jean-Luc and Henri, "Which means flying into Cairo."

Jean-Luc and Henri exchanged glances.

"Okay? I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that's a problem for more reasons than just getting a last-minute ticket," Rogue raised an eyebrow.

"Cairo's underground is run by Amahl Farouk. He rules over an area of the city called the Thieves' Quarter."

"Thieve's Quarter." Rogue repeated slowly, "Why does that sound like the Wal-Mart version of the Thieves Guild?"

Remy couldn't have stopped the laughter that burst from his mouth if he had tried. Next to him, Henri and Mercy laugh just as hard. Jean-Luc's face slipped into his mask of Guildmaster, not willing to insult another syndicate even inside the safety of a Guild Hall, but Remy could spot the humor dancing in Jean-Luc's eyes.

"As I was saying," Jean-Luc continued smoothly, "Amahl Farouk and his followers are not a Guild, per se, but they are extremely powerful.  Tensions between the Quarter and the Guild have always been a touch frosty since we compete in the same arenas. I'll need to speak to Farouk in advance to secure passage for Remy."

"I don't want to put anyone in danger," Rogue replied. The smirk dropped off her face as she tugged at her gloves. "He won't know me. Maybe I should go on my own?"

"Absolument pas." The words shot out of Remy's mouth before he could think.

"Do not worry about that," Amalric replied, entering the room with Lucas and Andre beside him. "Farouk is a greedy man, but not a stupid one. He would not risk angering two Guildmasters for what he would see as a simple job to steal an artifact. I'll gladly lend the Paris Guild's support, Jean-Luc."

Rogue looked ready to argue further. But Jean-Luc placed a hand on the back of her shoulder.

"Amalric's right, Petite." Jean-Luc agreed and turned towards the Parisian man, "We should call before it gets too late in the day, though. I imagine he'll be stubborn, if just for the sake of making a power play."

"Undoubtedly." Amalric sighed, looking like Jean-Luc had just told him they would be eating bugs instead of making a phone call.

"It probably will be late tonight before we have a solid plan set, but we'll keep you both in the loop," Jean-Luc noted. Rogue looked less than pleased at the timeline but thanked the two men anyway.

Remy wondered how much longer she could stand being cooped up inside. Back in Bayville, she had a tendency to head for the gazebo at Xavier's anytime she felt overwhelmed.

As the two men left, Lucas and Andre stepped into Jean-Luc's place and caught Rogue's attention.

"Well, if that's the case, ma belle, how about I take you around Paris and show you the sights. This is your first time? I can teach you a little French." Lucas smiled.  Rogue stared at the man like he had just asked her if she could speak to a fish.

Oh, hell no.

"Actually, Rogue and I already have plans for dinner." Remy cut in smoothly.  Lucas's eyes snapped toward him, but Andre's smile never faded as he watched Rogue.

"No worries. Perhaps lunch, then?" suggested Andre.

"Sorry, fellas," Mercy rushed in, snatching Rogue's free hand and pulling her out of the room, "I promised to take Rogue shopping. I need a dress for my date with Henri tonight.  We'll be out all day."

Watching the two women disappear around the corner, Remy turned a questioning eye toward Henri. His brother was standing there wearing a deer-in-the-headlights look. Remy made a mental note to help his brother make some reservations and have a bottle of chilled champagne waiting for them at the table.

He also added another mental note to make his and Rogue's reservations somewhere else.

To Rogue's horror, Mercy was entirely in earnest about going shopping.   According to Mercy the best way to lie was to tell the truth.  It didn't make complete sense to Rogue, but when you had money to back up your lie, why not?

Standing in the boutique that Mercy had dragged her into, Rogue couldn't help but wonder if she could afford to breathe the air in the store, nevermind buy anything. She felt distinctly grateful that her limited toiletries hadn't allowed her the option to wear her normal dark makeup. She could only imagine how much more she would stand out if she had.

Regardless, Rogue stayed glued to Mercy's side. As if being within proximity to the blonde woman would give Rogue some sort of stamp of approval that she belonged here too and hadn't just wandered in by mistake. To Mercy's credit, she hadn't abandoned her for the first clothing rack she spotted, like Kitty tended to do. Instead, they moved in tandem around the store together, looking at items.

By the third rack, Rogue relaxed enough to no longer feel like the store employees were planning to chase her out of the door with a broom. Carefully slipping off a glove, she reached out to touch a long-sleeved green shirt on the rack in front of her, enjoying the cool slip of the silk under her fingertips.

"That's pretty. You should try it on," Mercy commented. The blond woman was holding two beaded camisoles in different shades of blue. Returning the darker one to the rack, she moved over a few steps to look at some dresses.

"I don't have my wallet. It was in my backpack when Remy decided to…decided we should take a trip." Rogue ended awkwardly. She wasn't sure if the sales associates could speak English. Probably best not to mention that she was a kidnapping victim.

Mercy muttered something under her breath, then gave Rogue a smile. "Try it on anyway. If you like it, I'll make Remy buy it."

"Um, sure," Rogue agreed weakly as she picked up the shirt off the rack. There was no way in hell she was going to ask the Swamp Rat to buy her something. Rogue already had a sinking feeling he and the Guild were footing the bill for this adventure, but it was easier to just agree and say she didn't like it later.

Racking her brain for a different topic of conversation, Rogue defaulted to what always worked with Kitty—romance.

"How did you and Henri meet? Was your family in the same industry?" Rogue asked, moving past Mercy to look at some leather boots. Good lord, they were gorgeous. Mercy's head popped up at the question and beamed.

"No, I was a waitress. My Daddy owned a diner just outside the city. Looking back, he must have known something because it was a common spot for the Guild to meet with clients. Anyway, one day, when I was sixteen, this super hot guy in a trench coat walked in with an older man and was seated in my section. I about fell off the stool I was sitting on."

Mercy fanned her face, and Rogue snickered. 

"So I go over there and take their orders, and I notice he keeps looking at me. But before I can do anything, these two other guys show up, and they all get to talking. Well, eventually, the two men get up to leave. So I go back over there and start asking how everything was and how they liked their food. And I am giving that boy all the signs, ya know?"

"Did Henri ask for your number after that?" Rogue asked.

"No! Can you believe it? They left!" Mercy tossed her hands up before fisting a hand on her hip, "And then, a week later, they were back. And this time, the older man—who was Oncle Belize, by the way—had caught on to the fact I was trying to get Henri’s attention. Well, he wasn’t trying to put a stop to it so I decided to give it another shot, but I wasn't taking any chances. This time, when they got up to leave, I slipped my phone number into Henri's pocket."

"Mais, I guess Jean-Luc found out about it somehow, and the next time he shows up with Henri wanting to 'meet the belle fille that picked my son's pocket.' Mercy beamed, "And the rest was history."

"So, was your Father okay with you and Henri dating?"

"Well, my Daddy was pretty sick at that point," Mercy mumbled.  Rogue looked at her, and Mercy nodded sadly. "Yeah, he was a two-pack-a-day smoker. Eventually, the cancer got him, and my Mama had run off right after I was born, so it wasn't like she was around. I think Daddy knew that Henri could make me happy and that I wouldn't be alone. That was enough for him."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"So, are you in the business too?"

"Oui, I'm the only female Master Thief in the Guild's history." Mercy nodded proudly.

"Really?"

"Ouais, we got one girl who's an Apprentice right now, but it's mostly a boys' club." Mercy rolled her eyes, "Not that the boys are bad. In fact, Remy and I were pretty close before he headed up North, but sometimes a fille just needs some girlfriends, ya know?"

Rogue nodded in understanding.  Jean and Kitty drove her up the wall some days, but there were just some things you needed to talk about with another girl.  Unwillingly, Risty's face flashed in Rogue's mind.  Rogue grimaced and turned her attention back to the clothing rack in front of her, before realizing that Mercy was still talking.

"You should definitely come back to New Orleans again after this.  I know your family is up North, but I'm sure Remy would be happy to show ya the sites for real next time. And if he's not, I will. We could have ourselves a big time." Mercy offered, adding a silk dress to the stack of clothes hanging over her free arm.

Rogue startled. She hadn't considered that Remy wouldn't head back North.  Things still seemed tense between him and Jean-Luc. For some reason, her stomach twisted at the idea of seeing the back of the Swamp Rat. In the span of a few days, he'd become such a fixture in her life that it was odd to think there was a time she hadn't known him.

"Is he planning to stay in New Orleans?" Rogue asked casually, picking up a green slip dress. It was a shame it didn't have sleeves. Mercy went still for a beat, and Rogue knew she had landed on something.

"Sorry, Sha. Did Remy explain what putting you under his protection means?" Mercy asked slowly.

"Yeah, we talked about it. He said the Guild sometimes offers protection to Outsiders but that they don't do it very often because it can be a liability. Remy said that I don't have to worry about the Assassins now because I'm under the Guild's protection." Rogue answered, "Is that not the case?"

"I'm going to kill him," Mercy rubbed a hand over her eye, "Yes and no. You don't need to worry about the Assassins, that's true. But Remy didn't place you under the Guild's protection. I mean, he did because he's a LeBeau, and we lead the Guild. But he placed you under his protection as a Prince of the Guild."

"Which means?"

"Technically, Jean-Luc or Henri could have overruled Remy—they wouldn't have, but they could have—because they're the Guildmaster and the Heir. But since Remy said 'as a Prince,' he pretty much told Jean-Luc and both of the Guilds he would take his place in the Thieves again to protect you."

Rogue stared at the woman in front of her, looking for any sign that Mercy was joking, but Mercy stared back with a solemn look.

"Why? I mean, I get to protect me, but…" Rogue trailed off, her mind skipping from thought to thought, unable to focus on any for longer than a moment. 

"Rogue, a homme doesn't offer that type of protection in our world for no reason,” Mercy replied gently.  “A homme doesn't follow a femme halfway around the world just because."

"The life debt—"

"You heard Remy. He'd always planned to go with you. The debt didn't play a factor." Mercy cut her off. 

Rogue wondered if she must have looked like some sort of caged animal because Mercy took a small step back, and her tone changed into something slightly more teasing, "Now I'm not going to guess which way he cares about you. Maybe as a friend or something else—actually, scratch that, I got plenty of thoughts on the matter—but you'll need to talk to him about that."

Rogue watched as Mercy moved to the next rack of clothes, still trying to come up with a rebuttal, but as the moments ticked by, her mind remained blank.  Eventually, she gave up and followed after the chattering woman.

Chapter Text

Remy stood in the foyer, waiting for Rogue. As the minutes ticked by, he spotted Henri and Mercy coming down the stairs arm in arm.  Mercy looked lovely in a pale blue silk dress, which Remy imagined must have cost a pretty penny.

He had only seen Rogue for a moment this afternoon as she brushed past him, face flaming. Meanwhile, Mercy had strolled in behind her, looking pleased as punch. At least, until Mercy caught sight of him and mouthed she was going to kill him. 

He still didn’t know what that was about. 

Rogue had a dress bag over one arm and another clothing bag in her hand. The striped-haired girl had muttered something about paying him back and disappeared upstairs to her room with Mercy hot on her heels.

No one had seen either woman since, and all the men knew better than to knock on the door to Rogue’s room to check on them.

“Looking pretty sharp, mon Frere,” Henri slapped Remy on the back. Remy’s eyes slid towards his brother.  For whatever reason—and Remy could suspect the reason—Henri had packed one of Remy’s suits in his bag.

From the corner of his eye, Remy saw Jean-Luc entering the foyer as well. His father leaned against the wall just outside the doorway leading to the parlor. He had the same look on his face that Remy had seen on parents dropping their kids off for the dance at Bayville High.

This was feeling more and more like a setup.

Remy gritted his teeth.

“Where’d ya make reservations?” Mercy asked, pulling him from his thoughts of familicide.

“Javier’s,” Remy replied.

“That’ll be nice.” Mercy smiled. Her voice held a note that suggested she was talking to a toddler who had just managed to stack three blocks on top of one another for the first time.

Remy nodded ignoring Mercy’s smile in lieu of going over his plans again.

Javier’s was good. He tried to stop by the little hole-in-the-wall restaurant whenever he visited Paris. It had good food and an elegant dining room that toed the line between fancy and comfortable.

The best part was that it was only a short walk from the Pont Alexandre III. At first, Remy had considered taking Rogue to see the Eiffel Tower, but that felt too cliché.  Plus, Remy doubted she would appreciate the crowds. The bridge was lovely at night and close enough to the Eiffel Tower to see it in the distance. If they were lucky, maybe a musician would be playing near the bridge.

Whatever Mercy planned to say next was cut off as a pair of pale legs came into view at the top of the stairs.  Remy stared. His gaze fixed on her as Rogue descended.

She looked like something from one of his dreams in a green silk dress that seemed to mold to her form. The dress caught the light and danced with it, painting her in shades of jade and emerald. A darker green shawl was wrapped around her shoulders, held in place with a yellow diamond brooch.

Remy couldn’t help but wonder if Mercy had told Rogue the jewel was real and worth over a quarter of a million dollars.

As Rogue reached the bottom of the stairs, she realized everyone was watching her arrival.  A flush of red filled her cheeks as she tucked one of her white streaks behind her ear. Clearing her throat, she smiled at him.

“You ready to go, Swamp Rat?”

That dug the spurs in him.

Stepping forward, Remy offered his arm to the woman in front of him, well aware of the room’s stares. He pressed the button for the elevator. Mercifully, the doors opened immediately, and he and Rogue stepped into the small space.

As she drew closer, the faint scent of orange blossom and magnolia reached him, and his heart quickened.

“We’ll be back later,” Remy said, offering a two-finger salute to the room.

“Take your time,” Jean-Luc called lazily after them as the doors slid shut.

Yep, this definitely felt like a setup.

Dinner had been phenomenal. No surprise there.  For Remy, ordering had been easy. He’d known what he wanted before they even sat down—Duck à l’Orange. 

Rogue, on the other hand, waffled back and forth, trying to make up her mind. Surprisingly, Remy didn’t find himself growing impatient like he usually did. Instead, he answered Rogue’s questions until she eventually settled on the Coq au Vin, arguing that if she was only going to visit Paris once, she needed to try the famous dish.

Remy had to bite his tongue to keep from offering to bring her back sometime in the future if that’s what she wanted.

The conversation over dinner flowed easily, though both of them carefully avoided discussing anything related to Apocalypse, Mesmero, or the treasure.

Rogue had skipped the cheese course in favor of having dessert. Remy couldn’t tear his eyes away as Rogue’s lips wrapped around the fork, biting into the chocolate and orange tart the waiter brought her. The second the tart touched her tongue, Rogue’s eyes rolled up, and she leaned back against her chair.

“Ya doing okay over there, Chere?” Remy smirked. Rogue’s eyes popped open as she realized he was watching her. Regardless, the dessert must have outweighed Rogue’s embarrassment because she waved him off with an airy hand and scooped another piece of tart onto her fork.

“Oh, hush yourself, Swamp Rat. I’m having a moment.” She sassed and popped the chocolaty bite into her mouth.

Remy gave her a lazy grin and made a show of settling back in his seat, keeping his eyes locked on her. “Well, by all means, don’t let me interrupt ya from havin’...a moment.”

The pink that had been fading away from Rogue’s face resurged with a vengeance at the unspoken innuendo. Rogue choked. Her eyes darted around the room to see if anyone understood him.  Remy bit back a snicker. 

It probably wasn’t nice of him to tease her, but, Dieu, if he didn’t love yanking a reaction out of her.

Rogue’s eyes narrowed at him from across the table, picking up on his game.  Remy grinned and waited to see if she would give up or come up with a snarky rejoinder of her own.

To his surprise, a smile tugged at the corner of Rogue’s mouth instead.  Leaning toward him, she shifted in her seat, causing the silk to rustle and bunch around her hips, tugging the slit of her dress a few inches higher.  The wrap around her shoulders slipped down, revealing a pale shoulder. His eyes locked onto the bare skin.

“What can I say? I love oranges,” Rogue murmured, her voice dropping into a throaty tone that had Remy sitting up and taking notice.

Looking up at him through her lashes, she flashed him a thick smile. Remy’s eyes traced over the long column of her throat, darting down to where the bodice of her dress met skin before snapping back up to Rogue’s knowing eyes.  The flush in her cheeks no longer made her look innocent but seductive, like a woman who had been carefully teased and caressed by a lover.

Where the hell has the femme been hiding this side of her? Remy blinked. Swallowing hard, he tried to answer, but his mouth had gone dry. Rogue noticed his stunned silence and smiled as she shifted towards him.

“Orange desserts. Orange tea. Orange scented candles.” She continued. A small hand found Remy’s knee. Rogue leaned in close, brushing her lips by his ear. “I even have this orange body oil I put on after the shower.”

His mind blanked. Her words ringing in his ears. Staring unseeingly across the restaurant, torrid images of steam-filled rooms, damp skin, and the smell of oranges hanging in the air played across his mind.

Absently, he felt Rogue move away, sitting back in her seat as if nothing had happened. Remy didn’t notice the waiter come over to their table until the man spoke.

“Is everything all right, Monsieur? Is the cheese not to your liking?” the man asked.

“Oh, don’t mind him. He’s just having a moment,” Rogue answered with a saccharin-sweet smile. Picking up her fork again, she popped another bite of tart into her mouth.

Remy did manage to shake himself out of his stupor long enough to pay the bill and offer Rogue his arm as they left Javier’s.

As they meandered across Pont Alexandre III, a few bicycles and pedestrians passed them on their way home from their daily lives. Rogue paused, stepping over to the stone railing. In the distance, the Eiffel Tower soared overhead, glowing against the night sky.

“I can’t believe I’m here.” Rogue stared up at the monument. Remy stepped up beside her and placed his own hands on the railing.

“First time?” he asked.  He already knew it was, but it felt impolite not to ask.  Rogue nodded beside him.

“Growing up, I never thought I would get farther than Caldecott County...maybe Jacksonville,” Rogue murmured, but Remy got the impression she was talking more to herself than to him. Rogue’s eyes were a million miles away. Suddenly, she shook her head, coming back to herself.

“Hey, Remy?”

“Oui.”

“Thank ya. For coming with me, for helping me find the clues,” Rogue looked down and traced a gloved finger over the stone railing. “I know you and the Guild are footing the bill for all this. So…thank you.”

“The Guild owed you a life debt, remember? Besides, once you can steal anything, money doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things.” Remy replied, shrugging his shoulders. At his answer, Rogue made an indistinct sound in the back of her throat. Moving away from the rail, she continued across the bridge.

Remy caught up to her easily. Mentally kicking himself. He probably shouldn’t have brushed off her thanks like that. He must have sounded like an arrogant fool.

By the time they reached the end of the bridge, Rogue was still oddly quiet, lost in her own thoughts. Unable to take the silence but not wanting to upset the girl more, Remy considered using his empathy to get a read on Rogue.

Rogue paused and looked down the stone steps that led to the riverside walk along the Seine.  Remy could hear faint jazz notes floating up from the riverside. A little ways away, a quartet played as people walked by or stopped to listen. A few couples were swaying to the music.

“Wanna go down?” Rogue asked suddenly, breaking her silence.

Remy’s head snapped towards the woman beside him in surprise at the question, and he quickly agreed. He’d been planning to suggest the idea himself but expected to have to convince her, not the other way around.

Offering Rogue his arm again, he helped her down the stone steps in her high heels. As they reached the bottom, Rogue didn’t let go of his arm like he had expected.

Rogue paused, looking back up at the bridge and the Eiffel Tower peeking out from beyond. Remy watched her from the corner of his eye. After a moment, the girl blinked, coming back to herself. Without a word, she tugged at his arm nodding her head towards the quartet, a peculiar look in her eyes. Arm-in-arm they meandered towards the music. Beside them, the dark water of the Seine rippled, the lights of the city glinting off the surface.

Remy’s mind whirled, trying to make sense of the woman beside him, but it was no use. He couldn’t get a read on her. Silently, Remy cursed. He hadn’t had a problem getting a read on a woman since the day he’d turned fourteen.  Once again, he considered using his empathy but disregarded the idea for a second time. It felt like cheating. Like the easy way out.

And, for some reason, he didn’t want to take the easy way with Rogue.

As they reached the crowd, he made a split-second decision. “Dance with me, Chere?”

“I got two left feet, Cajun,” Rogue rolled her eyes, sounding a bit more like herself.

“Trust me?” Remy pressed. Rogue’s eyebrows shot up before looking around to make sure the crowd wasn’t too close.

“Fine, but it’s your sore feet,” Rogue huffed out a laugh.

Reaching up, Rogue carefully gripped his right hand, laying her left one lightly on his arm. Keeping her body away from his, she woodenly began to move as Remy started to sway her. Remy shook his head.

“Non, not like that.” Keeping hold of her right hand, Remy tugged her other hand up to his shoulder, sliding his arm around her waist. His hand found the small of her back. For a moment, he wished he wasn’t wearing gloves so that he could feel the soft fabric of her dress under his fingers as he pulled her closer.

Rogue’s eyes widened, and she tried to jerk back. Remy kept his arm wrapped firmly around her, holding her in place.

“My skin…”

“Shush now. I’m in a suit, and you’re wearing gloves. It’ll be fine,” Remy promised.

“It’s your funeral,” Rogue grumbled but relaxed slightly, letting herself sway a little more. 

Remy wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, letting the music and the sound of the river carry the beat. In his arms, Rogue sucked in a breath, catching his attention.

“Remy, Mercy told me about you putting me under your protection…as a Prince of the Guild.” Rogue looked up at him.

Ah, that explains why Mercy wants me dead, Remy mused.

“She said that you tied yourself to the Guild again. That you’re going to have to stay down in New Orleans now. Is that true?” Rogue asked.

“That’s right.” Remy nodded.

He hadn’t considered that he wouldn’t be going back to Bayville when he’d made his declaration in front of the Guilds. It had been a knee-jerk reaction. The one thing he knew would keep the Assassins away from Rogue. But now the idea that she would be going back to Bayville without him…the thought landed like a stone in his gut.

“Well, I guess at least we won’t have to be enemies again,” Rogue replied softly, looking over his shoulder, not making eye contact.

Remy paused his movement. Gripping her chin with his glove fingers, Remy tilted Rogue’s face up until she looked at him again.

“We ain’t ever been enemies, Rogue. Might have been on different sides, but that don’t mean we were enemies. If you were, I never would have trusted you t’ watch my back in Blood Moon Bayou.” Remy said solemnly, willing her to understand. Something in Rogue’s eyes softened, and her lips tilted up at the corners.

“Une fleur pour la dame, Monsieur?” a voice asked.

Remy turned to spot a street vendor holding out a single red rose in full bloom. Reaching into his pockets, Remy passed the man a few bills before turning back to the woman before him. Even in the darkness, Remy could spot Rogue blushing furiously.

“Thank ya, Sugah.” Rogue mumbled. Moving to hand her the flower, he paused. Looking back down, he fingered a large petal, the gloves on his hand preventing him from feeling the velvety softness. An idea flashed in his mind.

“Do you trust me, Rogue?”

“Thought we covered that already,” Rogue’s mouth twisted into a half-smile as she quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Do you trust me?” Remy asked again. Rogue’s second eyebrow raised to meet her first at the seriousness in his tone.

“Yes,” Rogue replied. She stared at him like he had a screw loose, but there was no hesitation in her answer.

“Bon.” Remy plucked the large petal from the rose and placed it against her lips. Rogue made a noise of surprise as he pressed his mouth to hers.

Rogue stood frozen for a second before twining her arms around his neck. Remy moved in, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against him. With the petal pressed between them, Remy could feel the soft heat of Rogue’s mouth against his own.

It wasn’t the best kiss he’d ever had. Having to remain constantly vigilant didn’t allow him to lose himself in the moment like he wanted. But the feel of her in his arms carried a rightness he’d never felt before. Despite himself, Remy slowly pulled back, unwilling to risk ruining the moment by getting carried away. In his arms, Rogue sighed, and her eyes fluttered open.

And, Dieu, if they weren’t the prettiest emeralds he’d ever seen.

“I think ya just stole my first kiss, Sugah.” Rogue gave him a shy smile that had Remy’s heart doing double time. Not ready to let go, Remy snagged one of her hands and pressed a quick kiss to the back of it. Returning the gloved hand to its place on his shoulder, Remy began to sway her slowly to the music again. Rogue closed her eyes and leaned against him.

As they moved, Remy couldn’t help but think that Rogue had gotten it wrong. Her first kiss was back in the Acolytes warehouse when she had taken him—and only him, much to Pyro’s annoyance— out with a kiss during the fight.  Remy supposed he should feel bad for stealing both her first and second kiss, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so.  Not when it felt so right.

Besides, Remy reasoned he was a greedy thief after all.

“There you two are,” Jean-Luc greeted, as they entered the foyer. “How was de restaurant?”

“It was great. Then Remy showed me around the Pont Alexandre.”  Rogue answered, a smile splitting her face. Remy felt pride balloon in his at the sight.

“Ah, did he now? Did he take you down by the riverwalk?” Jean-Luc asked with a knowing smile. Rogue nodded. “Bien. I hate to ruin the evening, but some information has come in while you were out.”

Jean-Luc waved them into the parlor and waited until they were seated to continue.

“The bad news is Mesmero may already be in Cairo.  Theo hacked SHIELD’s files and discovered some information on him. Actually, SHIELD had quite a bit of information on both ya. The X-Men, too, for that matter.”

“Quio?” Remy gaped. He’d kept his tracks clean up north. How had SHIELD known about him?

Beside him, Rogue looked far less surprised and crossed her arms, “Damnit, Fury.”

“Theo and Emil are looking for a way to remove the files, but it may not be possible without notifying SHIELD.” Jean-Luc’s mouth twisted into a frown, “Sorry, Petite. We may not be able t’ do anything about de files.”

“It’s fine. I don’t want to cause ya’ll any trou—”

“Petite,” Jean-Luc cut her off with a warning look. “We talked about this.”

Rogue huffed and ran a hand through her hair, “I’m just saying ya’ll shouldn’t risk putting yourselves on SHEILD’s radar.” under her breath, she added, “Besides, Logan’s going to tear Fury a new one for this anyway.”

Jean-Luc snorted, “Regardless, SHIELD’s files are thorough. We discovered that Mesmero tends t’ use de alias William H. Thorton when traveling. Unfortunately, someone with that name passed through customs at Cairo International about an hour ago.”

Next to him, Rogue swore, and Remy reached out, rubbing his hand over her covered shoulder. Jean-Luc nodded his agreement and continued.

“The silver lining is we got things settled with Farouk. You two will be heading out early on a small charter t’ Cairo. One of Farouk’s associates will meet you there.”

“Not letting us have free run, then?” Remy raised his eyebrow.

“It was the only way we could get him t’ agree,” Jean-Luc replied sourly. Remy agreed. It would have been far better if he and Rogue could have just traveled around by themselves. They’d have to figure out how to work around whoever Farouk sent to keep tabs on them.  Hopefully, it would just be a grunt.

“How early is early?” Rogue asked.

“Four. Your flight’s at seven.” Jean-Luc answered, then reached for a file on the coffee table, handing it to Rogue. “Oh, and we got you a new identity, Petite. We started work on it as soon as you left New Orleans, so this one is a lot deeper. Between it and Theo and Emil scrubbing Interpol’s files, you won’t have any problems getting through customs.”

“Thank you.” Rogue took the file, careful not to let any of the documents spill out. “Well, if you don’t need me for anything else, I think I’m going to get ready for bed since it will be an early morning.”

Remy waited until Rogue disappeared up the stairs and he heard her bedroom door click shut before turning to the older man standing next to him. The silence stretched between them, filled with things unsaid. For a moment, Remy wondered if it was better that way, but Henri’s words from earlier in the day came back to him.

“Thank you. For calling Farouk and getting Interpol off of Rogue’s tail.” Remy said finally, before adding, “And for talking to Rogue earlier today.”

“She’s a very brave young woman, and she’s carrying a lot of weight on her shoulders.  She shouldn’t judge herself so harshly for making a mistake here or there,” Jean-Luc replied settling into an armchair and pulling out his cigarette case. 

Remy struggled to remember a time Jean-Luc hadn’t had it with him. Jean-Luc pulled out a clove cigarette and passed the silver case to him.  Fishing out one of his own, Remy pressed a charged finger to the tip, lighting it before doing the same for Jean-Luc. Smoke from the two cigarettes curled into the air, filling the space with the familiar smell of cloves and tobacco. 

For a moment, something like homesickness jerked at Remy’s heartstrings.

Pushing the thought away, Remy took another drag from the cigarette and looked at his father. “You know, technically, since you covered for Rogue with Interpol, the second life debt has been repaid. You could have demanded I return to New Orleans with you. Why didn’t you?”

Jean-Luc chuckled, “Would you have come?”

Remy stayed silent. They both knew he wouldn’t have. Jean-Luc leaned back in his chair, sliding his eyes towards Remy.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you should tell Rogue about the second life debt. She might not ask for the Guild’s help anymore.”

“Trying to find a way to keep her around? She’s not joining the Guild.” Remy bristled at the idea.  If Jean-Luc thought that Remy would let the Guild sink its claws into her, he had another thing coming.

“Oh, hush. I’m not saying her powers wouldn’t be useful, but you already knew that when you dragged her down to New Orleans, didn’t ya?” Jean-Luc rolled his eyes heavenward, “Non, I think you shouldn’t tell her because she seems like a stubborn one. Probably doesn’t like owing people things. She might be willing to ask for our help if she thinks we owe her, but would she be willing to if she thought it could put her into our debt?”

Remy frowned at that. As much as he hated it, Jean-Luc was probably right.

Rogue had been leaning on him to a degree up until now, but that was mostly due to her uncertainty about navigating the criminal underground. As much as Remy wanted to believe that she trusted him, he wasn’t crazy enough to believe a few days of working together erased months of being on opposing sides —he refused to consider them enemies. Going into Cairo to deal with Farouk, it would be better if Rogue felt comfortable asking for help if she needed it.

Besides, Remy reasoned, it’s not like he would deny her whether the Guild owed her or not. So it was all a wash in the end.

“D’accord. I won’t bring it up.” Remy agreed finally, then added, “Not until after Cairo, anyway.”

“You should know de fille’s family is looking for her.  Ol’ Wolverine showed up on our doorstep with three others about an hour or so after you left for the airport.” Jean-Luc added.

Remy startled. He’d completely forgotten about the X-Men, “Did they cause any trouble?”

Jean-Luc snorted, “Wolverine was as cuddly as his namesake, but no, once we told them that you and Rogue were already flying to New York, they left pretty quickly after that.”

Remy gaped at his father as it clicked into place why Jean-Luc had changed their flight plan to Boston. A million thoughts raced through his head, but finally Remy asked the most obvious one. “Why?”

“Maybe I didn’t care to see Wolverine slice ya into ribbons. Or, maybe I just like seeing a smile on ya face again.” Jean-Luc chuckled at Remy’s expression and stubbed out his cigarette.  Standing the older man moved towards the door.

“Wait.” Remy jerked to his feet. Jean-Luc paused and raised an eyebrow, “Thank you…Pere.”

“De rien, mon fils.”

Chapter Text

Rogue leaned back against the seat of the charter plane and hugged her paper cup full of hot coffee closer. It had been another early morning, and she was happy to finally be sitting in her seat on the plane, away from the crowds at the Paris airport.  

The cherry on top was that their small plane was mostly empty. Rogue twisted in her seat, looking around. Doing a quick count, she found that aside from her and Remy, there were only about eight other people on the plane, mostly businessmen and two women, all wearing expensive suits.

Next to her, Remy sprawled lazily playing on his phone. His long legs stretched out into the aisle. Occasionally, he would pull them in as a steward passed by, offering refreshments. While he looked bored, Rogue had spotted his eyes flitting over the other passengers as the plane took off, mentally cataloging their jewelry and combination locks on expensive leather briefcases.

Mais, if you're going to spend the money to buy a Von Baer briefcase, you can at least spend the money to get a custom lock put on. Rich people are so stingy, Remy grumbled.

Be nice, Sugah, Rogue chided.

Why? It’s not like your clients are going to be impressed with your expensive leather bag once you open it and there’s nothing inside. Remy smirked in the back of her mind.

Rogue chuckled quietly to herself, and Remy’s psyche grinned wider. Turning back to her own bag, she opened it, looking for the magazines she had bought before they boarded the plane.

Spotting the file Jean-Luc had given her, Rogue paused her search and pulled it out instead. She hadn’t gotten a good chance to go through it last night, and Lord knows she wasn’t caffeinated enough to pay attention this morning when she handed over her passport at the ticket counter.

Opening the passport, she spotted her school ID photo with her gothic makeup carefully photoshopped out. Her ID listed her birthday two years earlier than her actual birthday, but the month and day remained the same. Rogue guessed it probably wasn’t too hard for the Guild to hack the school’s system.

As her eyes landed on the name listed on the passport, the paper nearly fell from her hands.

Anna-Marie Broussard.

Anna-Marie was the name Mystique had registered her under when Rogue first came to Bayville, and according to Irene, it was the name on her adoption papers. Not that that meant anything. Rogue wondered if those two would have known the truth if it bit them in the ass.

Of course, she didn’t have anything better to go on. Her first absorption of Cody had wiped a lot of her memories, including her name. As a result, she preferred to go by Rogue and had for years now. It always took her by surprise whenever her real name popped up.

Rogue frowned, looking at the last name again. It was definitely French in origin.

“Hey, Cajun. Do you know where ya Daddy got this last name?” Rogue asked. Remy peered at the paperwork and nodded.

“Ouais, that was Mercy’s maiden name. Guess you two are sisters now.” Remy snickered.

Rogue made a sound of acknowledgment in the back of her throat as she turned over a few more papers in the file. Birth certificate, credit cards, accommodation details, some money, and…

Oh, hell no.

Rogue sucked in a breath as she lifted a piece of cut-out newspaper from the bottom of the pile. Staring at the piece of paper, Rogue felt her heart begin to race as her blood pressure spiked into the lower stratosphere.  

There, printed in black and white, was an engagement announcement for one Mr. Robert Lord to a Ms. Anna-Marie Broussard. Her eyes raced over the clipping from The NOLA Tribune.

The Broussard Family is happy to announce the engagement and forthcoming marriage of their daughter Anna-Marie to Robert Lord, son of Mr. Jonathan Lucas Lord of New Orleans, LA.

Ms. Broussard is studying Literature and is currently the curator of the local art museum. Mr. Lord works in Acquisitions. The couple plans to make their home in New Orleans.

The announcement included a photoshopped image of a candid black-and-white photo of Remy down on one knee in front of her, with a gazebo and a jazz band in the background.

That’s a good-looking photo, non? Remy’s psyche asked innocently.

Rogue choked and resisted the urge to crumple the paper in her fist.

She was going to kill Jean-Luc.

Turning, she smacked Remy—the real one—on the arm, pulling his attention away from his phone. Glaring at him with as much venom as she could muster, she thrust the paper towards him, shaking it for good measure.

“Do you know what your Daddy did?” she hissed through her teeth, daring him to deny any knowledge.

Remy raised an eyebrow but carefully plucked the news clipping from her grip. His eyes flitted over the paper. Fisting a hand over his mouth in an attempt to keep quiet, the Cajun’s shoulders began to shake, and his eyes lit up with glee.  

Handing back the paper, he gave up the losing battle and let a grin split his face wide open.

“That’s a good-looking photo, non?” Remy asked.

Rogue’s eye twitched.

“What will your family say?”

“They probably already know. I’d bet Emil was de one who did up de photo.”

Rogue heard a strangled sound come out of her throat, and her face burned red hot. Leaning forward, she buried her face in her hands and counted to ten…twice…backward.

She was going hunting for Swamp Rats when she got back to the United States. No season. No bag limits. Just dead Swamp Rats everywhere. It was going to be something biblical.

Lifting her head back up, she glared at the still-chuckling Cajun in front of her.

“You realized your Daddy is tryin’ to play matchmaker here, don’t cha?”

“Ouais,” Remy smiled unabashedly. The very picture of cheerfulness at her misery “Probably explains why he gave ya Mercy’s maiden name. He must figure he’s already arranged one Broussard-LeBeau marriage. The second one’s got t’ be easier.”

“What? Are you saying you’re really okay with people thinking we’re engaged?” Rogue stared gobsmacked. It felt like the whole world had turned upside down.

“Worst fates spring to mind.” Remy rubbed his chin thoughtfully, cheesy grin still in place.

Rogue didn’t know what to say to that. Or, rather, she didn’t know what she could say that wouldn’t involve a boatload of profanity and get their plane turned around. Biting her tongue, she scrubbed her hands over her face and studiously ignored the grinning man beside her. “I have not had nearly enough coffee to deal with this.”

“Ask and you shall receive, ma Cherie.” Remy turned and caught the passing stewardess’ attention, giving her the winsome smile of a recently engaged man. “Pardon, Madame, can I get another cup of coffee for my fiancée?”

The woman tittered behind her hand at the Swamp Rat’s love-struck expression and headed back toward the crew area and the coffee machine. Remy turned back towards her, and Rogue glared up from between her fingers.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, mon cœur.”

Rogue ground her teeth and picked up the pace. Moving through the Cairo airport was like navigating a ballroom, and she did not know how to waltz. Ahead of her, the crowds seemed to magically part for Remy, only to close in around her a second later, choking off her path. The benefit of being tall, she supposed.

Sucking in a breath through her nose Rogue huffed out an annoyed sigh and quickened her steps.

Damn this. And damn her pride. She was not getting lost in this chaos.

Reaching out, she snagged ahold of the back of Remy’s coat, twisting the fabric in her fingers. Remy’s head turned, glancing at her over his shoulder. Rogue scanned the crowd, refusing to make eye contact.

It wasn’t like she was trying to hold onto him. There were just a lot of people, that’s all.

Rogue heard Remy snort. Before she could snap at him, he reached around and smoothly pulled her beside him, tucking her in close and threading her arm through his own.

“Ya doing okay, Chere?” Remy asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Did I say I needed your help?”

“Non, non. Just watchin’ over ya.”

Rogue softened slightly at that. It wasn’t Remy’s fault the airport was so crowded. It wasn’t his fault that Jean-Luc had chosen to play matchmaker. Taking another deep breath, she shot him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, Sugah. I’m not really doing well with all of this.” Rogue waved a hand toward the crowds.

Remy nodded and tugged her closer out of the path of a boys' soccer team. She could feel the heat of his arm wrapped around her, branding her skin even through her clothes.

“Bien sûr. We’re almost there.” Remy smiled. Rogue tried to ignore that they were close enough for her to feel his chest rumbling when he spoke.

They passed through customs and into the main lobby area a few minutes later. As the crowds began to thin, Remy loosened his hold on her. Rogue felt the loss of body heat and swallowed her disappointment. Next to her, the Cajun’s eye scanned the crowds as they moved towards the door.

Suddenly, Remy’s eyes widened as his gaze locked onto something on the other side of the airport. Rogue heard him swear under his breath.

“What’s she doing here?” Remy muttered.

Chienne, Remy’s psyche spat.

Rogue followed the Cajun’s line of sight and spotted a young woman standing by a revolving door with a bored look on her face, holding a sign with the last name ‘Lord’ printed on it. Catching Remy’s gaze, the woman smirked and tucked the sign under her arm. She wove through the crowd with the same ease Rogue had seen in Remy only a moment earlier.

“Mr. Lord,” The woman greeted as she stepped into hearing range.

“Aziza,” Remy replied flatly.

“Oh good, we’re dispensing with the formalities,” The dark-haired woman replied airily with a thin smile that reminded Rogue a bit too much of Mystique. The woman flicked her eyes toward her and gave Remy an expectant look, “Well, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Chere, this is Aziza, one of Farouk’s top associates. Aziza, this is Rogue, a friend of mine and de New Orleans Guild.” Remy said flatly.

“Yes, Farouk had mentioned your Guild had brought in an Outsider,” Aziza answered, her amber eyes locked on Rogue.

Rogue couldn’t help but wonder if this was how a mouse felt when spotted by a cat…and she had the distinct feeling Aziza saw herself as the cat. After another moment, Aziza turned her gaze back to Remy.

“How is your Guild, by the way? How is Emil?” Aziza asked lightly.

“Well, he’s not in jail if that’s what ya mean,” Remy gritted out, eyes flashing dangerously.

“I’m glad to hear it. Especially after we had to part ways so suddenly last time.”

“Ya mean when ya left him to take the fall?”

“Oh, he can’t still be upset about that.” Aziza heaved a sigh, “I needed to get those jewels back to Farouk. We both know Farouk is far less accepting of failure than Jean-Luc is with his own family.”

Listen to me, Rogue. Mystique commanded. These people are not the Thieves Guild. The Guild may be supported by family ties, but the Quarter is not. Farouk is a dangerous man who only cares about wealth and how to attain it.

Be careful, Child. Neither Aziza nor Mystique are lying, Storm whispered. Rogue fought to keep her face still. How did Ororo know the head of a crime syndicate?

Rogue turned her attention back to the staring match in front of her. Whatever happened between Emil and Aziza, it was clear that Remy had little and less patience for the woman in front of him. Seeing the normally suave Cajun so out of sorts wasn’t helping to settle Rogue’s nerves. To say nothing of his psyche’s reaction.

Pushing back against the unease sliding up her spine, Rogue toyed with the pendant on Tante’s necklace as she fought for control. Someone needed to keep a level head here. Clearing her throat, she caught the pair’s attention.

“Sorry to break this up, but we’re on a tight schedule. How will we be getting to the Valley of the Kings?” Rogue asked.

“We have a car to take us. I should warn you it will take several hours to get there.” Aziza advised.

“We?” Rogue asked. Of course, she already knew that Farouk had required one of his people to accompany them, but something told her playing the uninformed Outsider might not be a bad idea.

That’s my girl, Mystique whispered.

Aziza seemed to buy it. Her face took on a smile that could be taken as either friendly or patronizing. “Yes. Farouk is willing to grant the Thieves Guild access for your job, but I’m afraid he’s not willing to allow you two free rein. You know how territorial men are.”

Rogue smiled but didn’t answer. She recognized this game. If she disagreed with Aziza, she would come off as rude, but if Rogue agreed with the woman, she would be disrespecting Farouk.

Remember Rogue, it’s better to be silent and thought a fool than open your mouth and remove all doubt, Irene had told her once.

Aziza’s eyes brightened at Rogue’s non-answer, and the woman’s smile shifted minutely from patronizing to somewhat impressed. Aziza dipped her head in a small nod of approval that was so quick that Rogue wondered if she had imagined it.

“The car is waiting. If you’ll follow me.” Aziza said.

Rogue had half expected the tall woman to walk away, leaving them to follow, but Aziza took her role as guide seriously and stayed close as they moved towards an underground car park.  

As they walked, the taller woman took particular interest in quizzing Rogue on various topics, ranging from Rogue’s personal life to her interests, while Remy walked beside them in silence. Between trying to keep up with the twists in Aziza’s conversation and watching Remy from the corner of her eye, Rogue had to dodge out of the way more than once or risk being run over by some harried traveler.

After one particularly close call with an elderly couple and their middle-aged son, Aziza raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

“Not a fan of crowds?”

“Not really,” Rogue admitted. Aziza snorted.

“Me either. Fortunately, my abilities let me avoid most of them.” Aziza frowned as a toddler, and her parents went scurrying past. Rogue’s head snapped around to stare at the woman beside her. Seeing her shocked expression, Aziza laughed, “They really didn’t tell you anything, did they? I’m a mutant.”

“She can turn invisible. Has a shield against psychic attacks, too.” Remy informed Rogue, breaking his stony silence to slide his eyes over Rogue’s head towards the other woman.  

“What can I say? Invisibility lends itself to jobs that need a…subtle touch.” Aziza smiled, then narrowed her eyes are Remy, “Moreso than some other abilities anyway.”

“Mais, ya must lend yourself pretty frequently, then,” Remy replied.

Oh my God, this Swamp Rat is going to get us killed. Rogue groaned but noticed that Remy didn’t mention her powers. Either Aziza already knew about them, or she was in the dark.

“Invisibility sounds…useful,” Rogue offered, trying to break the tension. Aziza broke her stare with Remy and gave Rogue a look that made her feel like she was a pet that had just done something particularly cute in hopes of getting a treat.

“It can be. Here we are.” Aziza waved towards a nondescript black SUV with tinted windows. As uncomfortable as Rogue felt, she was glad to be able to put her bag down. Pulling the car out of the underground garage to begin winding through the city, Aziza kept up her conversation. As a result, Rogue found herself leaning forward between the two front seats as her seatbelt uncomfortably dug into her hip.

“So you’re heading for Amenhotep’s tomb?” Aziza asked

“Yeah.” Rogue nodded. Aziza paused in conversation to hook a hard left.

“Who’s the client? Farouk didn’t say.”  

She’s information gathering, Mystique warned.

“Thorton. His name is William Thorton,” Rogue answered, proud she was able to remember what Jean-Luc had said about Mesmero’s alias last night.

Well done. Now, try to find out if she is aware of what the mark is. Mystique ordered. Rogue bit the inside of her cheek but resisted the urge to shove Mystique’s psyche away. Somehow, she didn’t think the Scott Summers approach was going to work here.

“Hm, Thorton.” Aziza hummed. “Is he a private collector?”

“Plannin’ t’ look him up?” Remy asked, cutting his eyes toward Aziza.

“Does it shock you we might keep track of wealthy collectors looking to buy things from our part of the world?” Aziza raised an eyebrow at the man in the front seat, “I’m sure the Thieves Guild keeps its own black book.”

“So, is he a private collector?” Aziza asked Rogue again, her friendly mask slipping back into place.

“I know he’s been interested in antiquities for a while now, but I’m not sure if you could call him a collector,” Rogue hedged, “I’m not sure there is a common thread to his collection.”

Ya know, other than bringing back a centuries-old mutant to create a new world order. That old chestnut, Rogue snarked.

“That’s a shame. There were a lot of artifacts that came out of Amenhotep’s tomb aside from the plaque. It might be worth reaching out to your Mr. Thorton to see if he’s interested. I’d be happy to help for a small finder’s fee,” Aziza offered.

Rogue swore mentally. So Aziza already knew what they were looking for. Rogue sent a silent prayer to whatever god was listening that Jean-Luc hadn’t informed Farouk about Apocalypse. Something in her gut curdled at the idea. Before Rogue could think any further about it, another thought struck her.

“Wait, ya said there were a lot of artifacts that came out of Amenhotep’s tomb.” Rogue repeated as her brain caught up with the conversation, “Does that mean the tomb is empty? Where did they end up?”

“Several different museums in Cairo, but the National Museum of Egyptian Civilization has most of the artifacts,” Aziza shrugged.

Rogue wished Remy was sitting in the back seat with her as indecision weighed on her. If she was wrong, then they would be giving Mesmero even more of a head start than he already had. But if she was right…

Listen to your gut, Stripes, Logan urged.

“Can we go to the Museum?” Rogue heard herself blurt out. Remy turned and looked back over his shoulder at her in silent askance. Rogue shrugged helplessly. She couldn’t explain it even if she wanted to.  

“Aziza said it’s going to be several hours to get to the Valley of the Kings, but if we don’t find anything there…”

“We’d have t’ double back.” Remy finished, nodding in understanding.

“The Museum isn’t far from here. There are some hotels nearby. We could stash your things at a hotel and play tourist,” Aziza offered. Rogue cut her eyes towards Remy. It was a good plan. Remy nodded subtly.  

“That works.” Rogue agreed. Aziza nodded and cut the wheel to the left, turning up a side street. Rogue gripped the emergency handle as Aziza wove the vehicle down side streets that looked far too narrow to accommodate the black SUV.

Five minutes later, she pulled the SUV in front of an elegant-looking hotel, stopping under a shaded portico. Rogue could see a uniformed bellman standing next to a luggage cart through the tinted windows.

“This hotel is popular with Americans who travel to Egypt, so whoever is manning the front desk should speak English. Are you traveling as business partners?”

“Engaged couple,” Remy corrected. Aziza snorted but continued.

“I’ll let you two go in alone then. I can go get the car parked while you’re handling the rooms. Text me once you’re settled, and I’ll meet you in the lobby as your local friend.” Aziza ordered. Remy nodded and reached for the door handle, but before he could finagle it open Aziza gripped his arm. “Remember, this is Egypt. Unmarried couples don’t share rooms here.”

Remy nodded again, and both of them got out. As they did, the bellman moved forward quickly, taking their bags and directing them toward the front desk.

Rogue tried not to cringe as her sneakers squeaked on the pristine inlaid marble floors. Twisting the pendant on her necklace, Rogue hung back as Remy approached the front desk. She could hear him speaking to a man with a crisp British accent wearing a dark-colored blazer. The man nodded his understanding and typed something into the computer in front of him.

Suddenly, the man’s eyes flicked towards her, and he asked Remy something in a low voice. Remy shook his head. The man nodded again and renewed his typing.

Rogue let her eyes travel over her surroundings. The lobby was dominated by creams and blues, with dark wood screens dividing the space. The furniture was all generically elegant, grouped into small seating areas around the lobby. Lush leafy palm trees in large pots decorated with hieroglyphs divided up the space, giving the otherwise cavernous room an intimate feel. The lobby was no doubt designed to make travelers feel like they had reached an oasis in the desert.

“Ready t’ go, Chere?”

Rogue turned back to find Remy standing in front of her. In his hand, he held two sets of key cards. Rogue nodded and followed Remy towards the elevators that were set slightly off down a hallway from the main lobby area. As they stepped into the elevator, Remy pressed the button for the correct floor, and Rogue felt them begin to move upward.

“Your room is across de hallway from mine,” Remy informed her, “If you want t’ change before we meet Aziza again, that’s fine, but we’ll need t’ be quick.”

Rogue nodded her understanding. Sliding her eyes towards her companion, Rogue watched Remy for a moment. His shoulders were set with a tension that hadn’t been there before. At the sight of it, worry began to balloon in Rogue’s chest. She chewed the inside of her cheek.

“Is everything okay, Sugah?” she asked finally. Almost instantly, Remy’s shoulders dropped, and the tension disappeared like it had never existed. He slid his eyes towards her.

“Worrying ‘bout this here Cajun, Chere?” Remy asked, giving her a cocky smirk.

Rogue frowned. A few days ago, she would have spat back some sort of insult and backtracked to avoid answering the question, but now, seeing Remy fall back into deflecting had her worried.

Maybe she was finally starting to pick up on his tics after so many days together. She would bet every dollar in her pocket that something had him on edge, and Aziza was at the center of it.  

Maybe it’s time for the Scott Summers approach, after all, Rogue thought.

Turning to face the man beside her squarely, Rogue fisted a hand on her hip. “Actually, yeah. You’ve been as tense as a rubber band ever since Aziza showed up. Is there something I should know?”

“She and I ain’t ever been a thing if that’s what you’re asking.” Remy crossed his arms, glaring at the elevator doors.

“Did I ask that?” Rogue snapped and reached out an arm to shove Remy’s shoulder, causing him to look at her. “Don’t lie to me, Swamp Rat. Something’s got you worried. What’s going on?”

Before Remy could answer, the elevator dinged, and the doors opened, revealing two people waiting to get on. Remy gripped her arm and directed her out of the elevator. Rogue felt her blood pressure spike and opened her mouth to tear the Swamp Rat a new one.

Rogue, be silent. The hallway is no place for this type of discussion, Mystique ordered.

Rogue snapped her mouth shut with an audible click and pressed her lips together for good measure. Marching silently beside the Cajun man. She barely restrained herself from stomping down the hall. Beside her, Remy moved silently, but Rogue could feel his eyes on her even as he kept his face forward.

Stopping midway down the hall, Remy handed her a key card. “Let me dump my stuff, and I’ll be over in a minute. If you’re gonna change, do it quick. Then we can talk.”

Rogue’s anger abated slightly, and she nodded. Taking the card from Remy’s hand, she opened the door and stepped into the hotel room. Setting her bag on the bed, she looked around. Part of her desperately wished for a quick shower before Remy knocked on her door.

There’s no time for that. Mystique snapped. Check the room.

Rogue rolled her eyes but did as Mystique commanded. The idea that Aziza had bugged the room just in case Rogue just so happened to change her mind about going to the Valley of the Kings was laughable, but Rogue didn’t feel like dealing with the headache Mystique’s psyche would cause if Rogue ignored her.

Moving around the room, Rogue systematically pulled back the curtains, checked behind the artwork on the walls and large furniture pieces, and turned over the phones and lamps for bugs. Finally, Rogue pulled the curtains and switched off the lights looking for pinpricks of light reflecting off any hidden camera lens. Not seeing anything she turned the lights back on.

Happy? Rogue snarked.

Moderately. Rogue could practically feel Mystique rolling her eyes, Now get changed if you are planning to before that boy arrives. I want you to put half the money the Thieves gave you in your bag and half in your shoe.

Rogue rolled her eyes again but pulled on a fresh shirt. Her pants were clean enough that she didn’t need to worry about those, plus they had pockets. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she pulled off her right shoe. This was familiar enough, at least.  

When Rogue was in the Brotherhood, what little formal training Mystique provided centered around being prepared to be on your own. Even so, Mystique had taken Rogue aside for extra training. Claiming that, as a woman, Rogue would have to be even more prepared in the field. Of course, Rogue knew better now. It had been just another ploy to gain her trust.  

Still, she hadn’t given up the habit of carrying money on her even as an X-Men. When she’d first received her new uniform, Rogue had sewn a small compartment in her uniform boots that allowed her to carry cash, just in case. Folding a few of the bills, she tucked them into her shoe before slipping it back on.

Good. Now repack your bag to take with you. Do not leave any of the paperwork behind.  

Rogue grabbed the small backpack Mercy had given her and stuffed her paperwork into it. Pausing, she looked back at her luggage before digging into the bottom of it. Pulling out the blue scarab and piece of parchment with the Amun-Ra hieroglyph on it, she stared at them blankly.

It was a risk to take them, but Rogue didn’t like the idea of leaving them behind. Based on Mystique’s psyche and Remy’s behavior, the hotel was feeling less and less secure by the second.

A small leather pouch peeking out from between a pair of pants and some socks caught Rogue’s eye. It was the toiletries bag that Tante had packed in Rogue’s go-bag. Snatching it up, Rogue dumped out the travel-size toiletries and dropped the scarab and parchment into the pouch. Rogue grabbed the tampons that had been in the pouch and tossed them on top, along with an extra pair of underwear. That should keep people from being too nosey.

Clever girl, Mystique cooed.

As she zipped up the case, a knock sounded on the door. Crossing the room, Rogue opened it to find Remy on the other side.

“Ya just ‘bout ready?” he asked, stepping into the room and closing the door.

“Yeah,” Rogue glanced back at her backpack on the bed. Turning to face the man before her, she found Remy had already crossed the room and was moving the curtains to look behind them.

“I already did a sweep if that’s what you’re looking for.” Rogue crossed her arms, frowning. Irritation itched at her at the Swamp Rat’s presumption.  

“Désolé, Chere. Didn’t mean any harm, just didn’t realize that they taught you those kinds of things in de X-Men,” Remy explained, letting go of the curtain to raise his hands in the universal sign of no harm meant. Rogue didn’t bother to correct his assumption of where she had learned to do room sweeps and instead decided to change the subject.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Rogue asked, “What’s with you and Aziza?”

“A few years ago, before I went North, the Guild worked a job with Farouk for a jewel heist. Aziza left Emil in a tight spot when she took the jewels back t’ Farouk. We got Emil out of there, but it don’t make me any less mad about it…or trust her anymore.”

“I thought Jean-Luc said that Farouk could be trusted,” Rogue frowned.

“Trust is a loose term in this world, Chere. Trust only goes as far as having a mutual goal, usually money or territory. In this case, Farouk is probably betting he can make money, which is why he only agreed t’ allow us passage if one of his people traveled with us.”

Rogue nodded in understanding. Remy sighed and looked away.

“Rogue, I hate t’ tell ya this, but we’re not getting out of this without stealing something this time.”

“What do ya mean?”

“Chere, I’ve tied myself back to the Thieves Guild again. I can’t...” Remy broke off and sat heavily on the bed, scrubbing his hands over his face, “I can’t not steal something. Not as a Prince. Not in front of Aziza. It would impact de Guild. Henri said that de last time I took off, it caused a lot of trouble for him and Jean-Luc. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Rogue chewed the inside of her cheek, taking in the man’s slumped form. Her mind whirled, trying to devise a way to avoid what Remy was saying. But every spark of an idea fizzled out in the face of the inevitable. Rogue sighed. In a way, she got it. This wasn’t about stealing for greed or even for fun.

Reputation is the best defense against being overthrown. Mystique noted.

It twisted something inside her to acknowledge the truth of Mystique’s words, but Rogue agreed.

This wasn’t the X-Men’s world, with its clearly drawn lines of good and bad, black and white. Everything here was shades of grey. The Thieves had done a great deal for her—yes, she realized they had their own agenda, but the principal still stood—and if Rogue had to bend a bit, so be it.  

“Remy, I ain’t gonna lie to ya Sug’. There’s about a hundred things I don’t like about this.” Rogue sat next to Remy and put a hand on his shoulder, causing the man to raise his head to look at her. “But I’m not going to fuss at you for wanting to protect your family. You told me on the plane to London the only reason we could get away with not stealing anything was because Jean-Luc wasn’t there.”

“The way I see it, at the end of the day, we gotta keep Aziza away from that treasure. If that means stealing something else to keep her happy and off our trail, so be it.”

“You ain’t gotta lie to me. I know this isn’t what you were wanting t’ hear,” Remy snagged her hand and laced their fingers together.

“No. It’s not, but again, I get it.” Rogue shrugged. At Remy’s disbelieving look, Rogue rolled her eyes heavenward and heaved a theatrical sigh. “I guess we’re just doing the wrong thing for the right reason.”

“We still going down those same roads, Chere?” Remy snorted, but Rogue thought he looked a bit happier after that. Rogue nudged his shoulder and grinned.

“At least you’re taking me by private jet this time instead of by boxcar.” Rogue stood and grabbed her backpack, slipping the straps over her shoulders.

“I’m never gonna live that down, am I?”

XOXOXOXOX

That’s a good-looking photo, non? 

Or, in which, Swamp Rat season is now open. 

Chapter Text

Aziza was waiting for them in the hotel lobby when they stepped off the elevator. Part of Rogue wondered if the woman would be upset at having to wait, but Aziza simply nodded her acknowledgment and tucked her phone away into a pocket as she stood to greet them.

Who was she texting? Mystique demanded.

Maybe her boss? Her boyfriend? I don’t know. It’s not any of my business.

Rogue, you are in a foreign country under an assumed name, caught between two criminal organizations. Everything is your business. Mystique snapped.

“Did you two get the rooms settled?” Aziza asked as they approached.

“Oui.”

“Good. If you’re up for it, the museum isn’t far from here, only a few minutes’ walk. We could drive, but with the traffic in that part of the city, it’s faster to go on foot.” Aziza suggested.

Neither Rogue nor Remy had any issue with the short walk, and the trio headed in the direction of the museum.

As Aziza and Remy began to talk shop about the museum's security measures, Rogue let herself fall back a pace or two. After her last blunder, it was probably better to leave this to the two professionals. Instead, she focused on taking note of the buildings and any other notable features in case she and Remy needed to walk back to the hotel on their own.  

They turned off the main sidewalk a few minutes later and headed up the walkway towards the museum. Situated next to a small lake, the building was a mix of modern and traditional, with large sandstone blocks making up the façade. Even from a distance, Rogue could make out the giant glass pyramid on top of the building, seemingly suspended by four pillars, silhouetted against the bright blue sky.

Unwillingly, the memory of Apocalypse’s floating pyramids came to mind. Rogue shook the image away and shivered despite the warm day. Out on the main road, cars flew by. Rogue focused on the noise and curled her toes in her sneakers, trying to ground herself. After a moment, the memory abated.

As reality filtered back in, taking the place of memories, Rogue realized she was still staring at the flow of traffic. Up ahead, Remy and Aziza continued their conversation, now discussing the museum’s layout. Something pricked at the back of her mind. Something was off.

Her eyes widened as realization struck. The traffic was flowing steadily.

Hadn’t Aziza said things would be faster on foot because traffic would be backed up in this part of the city? Why would she have wanted to walk?

Rogue glanced up the path, then back to the road. Turning, she trotted after the pair, mind spinning. Maybe traffic was just lighter today? Or maybe it still was faster to walk than get the car out of parking? Rogue wanted to believe it, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to tell Remy. She just needed to get him alone for a second.

As Rogue caught up to the pair, the main entrance loomed ahead. Hoping that Remy would catch on, she darted forward and looped her arm around Remy’s free arm. Her right thumb tapped a staccato beat against his forearm. Remy barely stilled for a second at the sudden contact before continuing his smooth gait. To anyone watching, they would look like they were a foreign couple here to tour the museum.

As Aziza stepped over to purchase the tickets, Remy’s eyes darted towards her.

“Chere?”

“Il n’y a pas de trafic,” Rogue replied, slipping into French. Her eyes jerked back towards the street to indicate that there was indeed no traffic on the roads. Following her gaze Remy nodded slowly in understanding.

“Cela pourrait être une coincidence,” he offered.

Stupid Thief. There’s no such thing as coincidences, Mystique sneered. Rogue agreed. This didn’t feel right. Up ahead, Aziza was finishing the payment.

“Tenez-vous-en au plan pour l’instant, mais faites attention.” Remy added. Rogue blew out a breath in frustration but silently agreed. One step at a time. There was nothing they could do right now but tour the museum and see if the plaque was here. In the meantime, they would just have to keep their wits about them.

“Elle connaît peut-être le trésor” she hissed at Remy as Aziza headed back towards them. Rogue hoped that she was wrong, but if there was a chance that Aziza—and, by extension, Farouk—knew about Apocalypse’s treasure, things just got more dangerous.

“I asked them about Amenhotep III,” Aziza said, handing over their tickets, “His display is in the Hall of Kings.”

The Hall of the Kings was impressive, to say the least. The pharaohs and their artifacts were on display in full regalia. Clearly, the museum and its staff had spared no effort in the room’s design, resulting in a space that left visitors in awe and humbled by the ancient pharaohs.     

Part of Rogue wished she could have visited a year ago before Apocalypse had risen, and everything in her life seemed to have gone wrong. The mixture of history, myth, and art would have been something she could have indulged her senses in for days.

As it was, she could barely look at the mummies without seeing Apocalypse’s withered face staring up at her from his sarcophagus as he sucked the stolen mutant powers from her.

Rogue jerked her head to the side, trying to shake off the memory, and turned her attention to a set of shabti-boxes inside the case in front of her.

Behind her, Aziza slowly moved along another series of glass cases. The woman’s eyes quickly scanned the contents of each case for the matching bracelet plaque. On the opposite side of the room, Remy was a few yards ahead of them, checking out a wall display full of items from various tombs.

Good Lord, this is like trying to find a needle in a haystack, Rogue frowned. She didn’t even want to think about what they would do if the plaque was stashed away in one of the museum’s archive rooms.

“Any luck?” Aziza asked softly. Rogue managed not to jump at the woman’s unexpected arrival. She shook her head, and Aziza offered a sympathetic smile. “I saw some semi-precious stones up ahead. Maybe we’ll find some other jewelry there.”

“I just hope that it isn’t in the archives,” Rogue muttered. From his place next to some type of statue, Remy paused in his search and looked over at them. The Cajun frowned when his eyes fell on Aziza standing next to her, but he didn’t move to intervene.

“If it comes down to it, I can call Farouk for some additional help. He should still be awake,” Aziza offered, glancing at her phone to check the time. “I know you said you were on a tight deadline.”

“We’ll see. I don’t want to put anyone out.” Rogue hedged. There was absolutely no way in hell she was bringing any more of Farouk’s people in. She’d call the X-Men first, but Aziza didn’t need to know that.

Pausing, Rogue frowned in confusion, “Wait…he should still be awake?”

“Farouk is overseas right now working on a few deals, but I can call him if I need more people,” Aziza shot her a conspiratory wink, “Truth is, Farouk wouldn’t mind. He’d jump at the chance to negotiate with Jean-Luc again. The Quarter and the Guild haven’t worked together in a while now.”

Privately, Rogue wondered if that was when Aziza had left Emil to take the fall but thought better than to ask. Moving down the displays of jewelry, she scanned the contents—mostly rings and necklaces. Rogue sighed.

“Ya doing okay over here, Chere?” Remy asked, appearing by her side. Despite the question being directed towards her, Remy kept his eyes locked on Aziza. Rogue glanced around the Hall. Mercifully, they were alone. Even still, she did not need Aziza and Remy getting into it here.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I take it you didn’t have any luck?” Rogue asked. Remy shook his head.

“There’s some canopic jars and other funerary equipment in de next display. I’m going to have a look.” Remy’s eyes flicked towards Aziza, who was watching with a bemused expression, “Unless you need help here?”

Aziza snorted and rolled her eyes. “I think we’re more than capable of checking a few jewelry cases. We’ll join you in a few minutes if we don’t find the plaque.”

“I can wait.”

“Trust me, I know how to do my job.” Aziza frowned.

“Mais, de thing is, I don’t trust you.” Remy glared.

“Then trust me when I say I have no intention of letting Farouk down,” Aziza snapped, running out of patience.

Remy opened his mouth to say something else, but Rogue cut him off. They didn’t have time for this right now, and if Remy and Aziza got any louder, they were going to start attracting attention, “Sugah, it’s fine. We’ll only be a few more minutes…five minutes tops.”

Rogue looked at Remy pleadingly. After a second, Remy relented and nodded his head. Turning around and heading back the way he came, Remy called over his shoulder, “Five minutes, Chere.”

Rogue sighed in relief as he went.

“Sugar?” Aziza raised an eyebrow, “I thought you two were only posing as a couple.”

“It’s a common endearment down South. Lots of folks use it.” Rogue mumbled, avoiding eye contact in favor of peering into another case, “It don’t mean nothing.”

“I see,” Aziza replied, sounding anything but convinced. Rogue tried to ignore the heat crawling up the back of her neck.

“So, how long have you known the LeBeaus?” Aziza asked. Rogue shrugged noncommittally, not wanting to give too much away. Call it paranoia, but Rogue couldn’t shake the feeling that Aziza would be reporting every detail back to Farouk.

“I only met the others recently, but I’ve known Remy for a while now.”

“A while?” Aziza looked up from the case in front of her and frowned in confusion. Rogue nodded.

“Yeah, he took a job in New York. I was living in the same area. That’s how we met.” Rogue answered, careful to avoid saying anything that would link her to the X-Men or mutants. Whenever she said New York, people almost always assumed she was talking about New York City.  

Aziza’s face cleared in understanding.

“I see. You met after Remy had that fight with Jean-Luc a year ago and took off from the Thieves Guild.” Aziza nodded her head. Rogue blinked in surprise.

“You know about that?”

Aziza laughed lightly, “There’s a lot of talk in the underground. The Quarter and The Guild compete in the same arena, so inevitably, you hear things. It doesn’t help that subtlety has never been Remy’s strong suit.”

Rogue snorted, “Tell me about it.”

“There was a lot of gossip when Remy broke so openly with Jean-Luc. You don’t usually see that type of public falling out in the underground.” Aziza explained, then smirked. “Of course, Remy outdid himself when he brought an Outsider back to help defeat the Assassins.”

Rogue paused, unsure what to say. She thought that the events in New Orleans were only being circulated within the Thieves Guild. It didn’t sit well with her to know her part in the fight with the Assassins was common knowledge.

For a moment, Rogue wondered again if Aziza or Farouk knew about her powers, but kept her mouth shut. She didn't want to introduce the topic if there was even the slightest chance they didn’t already know. Mutely, Rogue turned back towards the display.

Aziza waited for her to speak, but as the silence stretched on, the taller woman finally continued.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but you’re not part of the Guild, are you?” Aziza tilted her head. Rogue paused in surprise before turning to face the other woman, not sure where this was going.

“No.”

“So you’re a free agent then?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Rogue lied, unease sliding up her spine.

“Would you be interested in joining an organization like the Thieves Quarter?” Aziza asked plainly. Rogue blinked, stunned, not expecting such a straightforward question.

Rogue’s brain struggled to formulate a response that wouldn’t insult the woman in front of her but wouldn’t suggest she was open to the idea.

Hell would have to freeze over first.

“Um, I won’t lie to ya. You’ve kinda caught me off guard.” Rogue laughed weakly and glanced around, “Truth is, I never really considered not going back to the United States after this job is over.”

Not a lie, but not an answer either.

Aziza hummed in understanding, “That might still be an option. While Farouk does keep his base of operation here, his reach extends all over the world, and he is looking to expand. If some of his new ventures come to fruition, he will want someone in the United States…perhaps to act as a liaison with the Thieves Guild.”

Rogue’s eyes darted away from Aziza’s amber ones toward the final case. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Of course,” Aziza nodded in understanding, “I only bring it up because I was a free agent once. It can be…hard.”

A short whistle cut off the conversation. Rogue looked up and spotted Remy waving them over. Rogue was glad for the excuse to avoid spending any more time in Aziza’s presence. Something about her felt off, but Rogue didn’t know what.

The woman had been helpful without being overly interested in sticking to their side. In fact, the only reason the woman seemed to want to spend any time talking to her was because it got on Remy’s nerves. Rogue waffled. Did Aziza know about the treasure, or was she just being paranoid?

Stepping up beside Remy, Rogue peered into the glass case. The bracelet plaque sat on a linen-covered cushion with a small scarab perched next to it. In front of the cushion sat a tiny sign written in Arabic with the English translation under it.

Amenhotep III bracelet plaque and Commemorative Scarab dedicated to Amenhotep III found in his tomb (August 1799). The bracelet plaque was a commemorative item created during the Seb Festival in the Regnal Year 37. The Commemorative Scarab, one in a set of thirteen, recounts the event and was found with the bracelet plaque. Scholars are still unclear why this scarab was not found with the other twelve at Amenhotep III’s West Bank Mortuary Temple.

Rogue frowned. There was no doubt in her mind that the commemorative scarab was the clue. The fact that it had been separated from its set and left in the Pharaoh’s tomb with the plaque was too obvious to be a coincidence. Still, something bothered her.

“Thirteen. Why thirteen?”

“Thirteen was the symbol of rebirth in the afterlife,” Aziza explained, coming up from behind them, her eyes glued to her phone. Glancing one more time at the screen, Aziza slipped it into her pocket, “Many pharaohs were buried with artifacts in sets of thirteen.”

“Oui,” Remy nodded, “In tarot, de thirteenth card is Death. It signals de end of a cycle and the start of a new one.”

“How should we get it out?” Aziza asked. As Remy studied the case, Rogue turned away. She had agreed to this after all.  

In the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter if Aziza took the scarab. The clue was that they needed to go to the Mortuary Temple next. That’s where the other twelve scarabs were. That’s where the next clue would be. Rogue was certain of it.

But that didn’t mean she needed to stand there and watch.

Besides, things would go faster with just the two of them, Rogue reasoned.

Turning, she moved back towards the display of jewelry Aziza had pointed out earlier, trying to give the pair some extra space. Staring blankly at a gold necklace inside the display, Rogue toyed with Tante’s necklace, trying to ignore the pair of thieves across the room.

Letting her thoughts wander, Rogue tried to figure out their next steps. They needed to get to the Mortuary Temple, wherever the hell that was. Aziza said Farouk wasn’t in Cairo. Would he let them stay now that their ‘job’ was technically over?

Somehow, Rogue doubted it.

At the very least, she and Remy would need to return to the hotel and collect their things. If they could convince Aziza to stop and get the car out of parking, maybe they could have a moment to come up with a plan.  

Suddenly, footsteps echoed from an adjacent hallway near the front of the Hall.

Rogue’s head shot up. Snapping around to look at her companions, she spotted Remy and Aziza also staring in the direction of the hallway. They’d heard it, too.

Her feet were moving before Rogue’s brain realized what she was doing.

Rushing back towards the entrance, Rogue swung around the corner into the secondary hallway, nearly bowling over a distinguished-looking man wearing a bright blue suit.

“Excuse me, Sir. Do you know where I can find the brochures?” Rogue asked with a bright smile. The man stopped short at Rogue’s sudden appearance and frowned down at her.

“Sorry…No English,” The man offered.

“Brochures,” Rogue repeated louder, playing the role of dumb American, “Ya know like paper.”

The man’s frown deepened, and he shook his head before trying to move around her and get on with his day. Rogue quickly sidestepped and stopped him again.

“Brochures,” Rogue said slowly as if she were talking to a small child, raising her voice to an obnoxious level. She flapped her hands together in a slow folding motion.  

Understanding filled the man’s eyes, and he gave her a tight smile, which clearly indicated he thought she was a nuisance. Sighing, the man relented and waved for Rogue to follow him back towards the entrance, though his patience didn’t extend as far as waiting to see if the dumb American tourist would actually follow him or not.

Rogue grimaced and sent the man a silent apology before trotting after him.

Mentally, she willed Remy to hurry up.

The man led her back to the entrance and waved a hand at the display of brochures in front of a large window. Rogue smiled brightly and was sure to thank the man. The man nodded, slightly mollified, but quickly returned to his day, eager to escape her.  

Rogue lingered over the display, haphazardly grabbing a few brochures. She did find one brochure about the Valley of the Kings and Amenhotep’s Mortuary Temple and added that to her growing pile in her backpack. Using the reflection in the window, she kept an eye on the doorway leading to the Hall.

Finally, Rogue spotted the pair exiting the Hall and leaving through a side door. Sighing in relief, she snatched one last brochure, something about a Temple Complex, and headed for the main entrance.

Stepping out into the bright afternoon sun, Rogue blinked in sudden blindness. As her vision cleared, she walked down the front façade of the museum and towards where Remy and Aziza had exited.  

Up ahead, she could see an alleyway. Suddenly, the sounds of a fight reached her ears, sending her heart skittering in her chest. Pumping her arms, Rogue tore down the rest of the block, skidding into the alleyway.  

At the far end of the alley, she saw Remy fighting against Aziza and a dozen other men. Slamming his bo-staff into one man’s stomach, the Cajun flipped him overhead, tossing the man into a wall next to a dumpster. Remy released a few cards at his attackers, but the tight quarters meant there was only so much charge he could use without hurting himself in the process.

Several black SUVs skidded into view at the opposite end of the alleyway. Remy turned at the noise. Distracted, he failed to notice the man he’d thrown moments before coming up from behind. The assailant landed a hard blow to the back of the Cajun’s head with a spare bit of pipe that had been lying next to the dumpster.  

Remy went down hard.  

Rogue’s heart shot to her throat as she tore down the alleyway, ripping her gloves off as she went.

Before she could get there, Aziza and the men, along with a limp Remy, clamored into the vehicles. As the SUVs peeled away, Aziza yelled back out the window.

“Tell Jean-Luc to open negotiations within four hours if he wants to see his son again.”

Rogue stared at the empty opening to the alleyway, her mind refusing to comprehend what just happened. It felt like she was moving underwater. Around her, the silence echoed off the walls. Then reality came rushing back in.

Wheeling around, Rogue headed back towards the street, trying to come up with a plan. In her head, her thoughts ricocheted off one another, simultaneously too slow and too fast for her to grasp.

Goddamit, why did it feel like she was moving so slow?

Picking up the pace, her feet thudded against the concrete. In her mind, the psyches were in chaos, each trying to get her attention, slowing her own thoughts to a crawl. Unwillingly, Rogue’s feet came to a standstill.

“Stripes, you’ve got to—”

“Chere, it’s—”

“That was, like, totally insane. What—”

“Rogue, calm yourself like we do in your meditations. Listen to—”

Mystique’s voice broke through the din.

Rogue, focus! You need to get away from here…now, Mystique commanded.  

Rogue nodded as her feet turned sharply in the direction of the hotel. She needed to get back there and figure out what the hell was going on. What had she missed? Fear and adrenaline were making her limbs feel heavy, and she tripped over a crack in the sidewalk.

Brain scrambling, Rogue tried to focus on the facts.

Aziza had betrayed them.

Jean-Luc needed to contact Farouk—or maybe Aziza?— within four hours, or they would hurt Remy.

Rogue needed to find a phone.

Rogue swore. Remy had his phone with him. But there were phones in the hotel rooms. She could call Jean-Luc from the hotel room.

Not that she had Jean-Luc’s number.

Remy! What’s Jean-Luc’s number? Rogue demanded, but silence echoed back. Icy fingers wrapped around her heart. Remy?

I’m here, Chere.

At the sound of Remy’s psyche, a wave of relief swept through Rogue so strongly that she was half afraid her knees would buckle. Ducking into another alleyway, Rogue pressed herself against the stone wall. Taking a deep breath she tried to focus only on Remy’s psyche and ignore the others still clamoring for her attention.

Remy, what’s Jean-Luc’s number? She asked again.

Can’t help ya, Chere. You must not have absorbed it from the real Remy. The psyche replied.

What about Henri? Or Mercy? Rogue suggested desperately. Fear rose up her throat, threatening to choke her. Her eyes stinging in helplessness. She felt Remy’s psyche shake his head in the back of her mind.

Désolé, Chere.

Aww, Loverboy is gonna die, Julien taunted as the other psyches picked up the noise again. At the Master Assassin’s words, the icy feeling twisting in her gut turned hot. Fear mixed with anger burned like acid in the back of Rogue’s throat.

Do you know what’s going on? Rogue demanded. Tell me.

Julien spat a curse at her, and she felt the burning in her gut flare white-hot. Rogue gritted her teeth. She didn’t have time for this. If Julien was answering her, then he had information.

Something in her focus shifted, and the same sense of stillness from the night in Jean-Luc’s office settled over her. Turning her full attention to the psyche still cursing her, Rogue snatched up Julien’s psyche and pressed down on him.

The psyche twisted and fought against her mental hold, but Rogue paid Julien no more mind than a cat would pay a mouse trying to escape its claws. Instead, she pressed forward into Julien’s psyche, ripping open his memories for her to see. Julien screamed. Rogue didn’t care. He knew something, and she was going to wring it out of him one way or another.

Methodically she took Julien apart piece by piece, forcing the psyche through a fine mesh strainer until she had extracted everything she needed from him.

When at last there was nothing else Julien could tell her, Rogue flicked the psyche back into the dark recesses of her mind where he disappeared. A dark sort of satisfaction filled her.

Around her, the rest of the psyches had fallen silent.

Rogue blinked as the sights and sounds of the real world around her filtered back in. Stepping back onto the sidewalk, she continued her trek towards the hotel.

From what Rogue could determine, the Thieves Guild and the Thieves Quarter may not have the same rivalry as the Thieves and the Assassins, but it was a close thing. Not surprising, given that both the Guild and the Quarter competed for the same clients.

When Henri said that the Guild’s reputation had taken a hit with Remy publicly breaking from the Guild, he’d been putting it mildly. According to Julien’s memories, the Guild’s main competition had been circling like vultures looking for an opportunity to force Jean-Luc to give up some very lucrative contracts and territories.

Rogue cursed again. She’d bet money that Farouk had been planning the setup from the moment Jean-Luc contacted him. No wonder Aziza had been so quick to change their plans to check out the museum instead of heading to the Valley of the Kings. It put Remy right on their front doorstep.

At least now we know who she was talking to on the phone in the lobby, Rogue sneered. Mystique had been right. Rogue should have been questioning everything.  

Stepping into the lobby, Rogue tried to think. She still had no way of contacting the Guild, but she did have the X-Men. If she could find a computer, she could look up the Mansion’s phone number. Rogue had no idea what time it would be there, but someone was always home.

Rogue headed for the front desk. Hopefully, someone would be able to direct her to a computer. Out of the corner of her eye, a flash of purple caught her attention. Turning, Rogue’s eyes widened as shock rocked through her for the second time that day. Ducking behind one of the large potted palms in the lobby, Rogue tried to catch her breath.

Mesmero was standing by the elevators.

Fear crawled up her throat, and for a moment, Rogue almost ran. She had never wanted to come face-to-face with the man who had used her so thoroughly. As quickly as the thought came, a second one followed on its tail. Rogue peeked back around the plant and then glanced around the lobby. No guests were standing around, and the man at the front desk was chatting with the bellhop outside.

The elevator dinged, catching her attention. Turning back, Rogue spotted Mesmero’s cape disappearing into the elevator and the door sliding shut. She could already guess where he was going. Moving forward, Rogue watched the floor numbers as the elevator started to climb.

Sure enough, the elevator stopped at her and Remy’s floor.

Rogue clenched her jaw and pushed the button on the wall panel. Immediately, the doors to the second lift opened, and Rogue stepped in, jamming her finger against the button for her floor. As the elevator started to rise, Rogue ripped off her gloves and tugged up her sleeves.

Rogue, don’t be foolish. You can’t beat him, Mystique pleaded.

I’m not planning to, Rogue muttered darkly, squaring her shoulders. The doors opened, and Rogue stepped off the elevator.

Rogue!

I am not leaving him behind, Mystique, she snarled.

Reaching their doors, Rogue glanced between hers and Remy’s.

She chose hers.

Throwing open the door, she spotted Mesmero standing in the middle of the room with his back towards her. Springing forward, Rogue slammed her body into his, sending them both down hard. Before Mesmero could recover, she shoved her knee into his back, her bare hand hovering beside his face.

“If you so much as twitch, I will put you into a coma that you’ll never wake up from.” Rogue threatened, and the man stilled under her. “The clue isn’t here. Someone else got it.”

“And why should I believe this,” Mesmero managed to drawl even as his face was half pressed into the carpet.

“Because I have an offer for you to get it back.” Rogue snapped, twisting her knee. She wouldn’t pretend that the pained grunt she pulled out of the man didn’t bring her a bit of satisfaction.

“Then perhaps you could start by letting me up so we can have a civilized conversation,” Mesmero suggested. Rogue twisted her knee one last time but let the man up anyway.

“There’s nothing civilized about you,” Rogue spat as the man rose smoothly to his feet only to pause and brush some non-existent dirt from his robes. Rogue rolled her eyes.

“And yet you still wish to make a deal with me.” Mesmero smiled and offered a little bow, “How can I be of service?”

“Cut the bullshit. You want the next clue to Apocalypse’s treasure, right? Well, I hate to tell you but it ain’t here. It’s with Remy, and he’s been taken hostage.”

“How unfortunate,” Mesmero replied mildly.

Rogue gritted her teeth. Hitting the man in front of her would get her nowhere. She sucked in a breath through her nose and blew it out through her mouth, fighting for calm.

“Remy and the clue are in the Thieves Quarter. Help me get them back.” Rogue offered.

That seemed to delight Mesmero to no end. “You’ve taken a shine to our young Thief. How quaint. Still, I must ask, why should I help you? You’ve already told me where the clue is.”

“Because you never risk yourself if you can avoid it. And going into the Quarter on your own would be a risk.” Rogue countered. Mesmero paused at that, considering her words. Rogue watched him before adding, “Besides, there’s a good chance that whatever the next stop is won’t be the last clue. You’ll need Remy’s skill set.”

“How can I trust you won’t betray me?” Mesmero asked.

“You don’t. But we have a mutual goal.” Rogue replied, the words flying off her tongue before she could stop them. Part of her mind argued that this wasn’t the X-Men’s way, but for once, Rogue didn’t care. She didn’t care what Mesmero, or Logan, or even the Professor thought about her methods right now.

She was getting Remy back.

Mesmero watched her unblinking. After a moment, Rogue realized he was trying to use his powers on her.

“And knock that shit off. You and I both know your powers don’t work on people once they realize what your abilities are,” Rogue snapped, crossing her arms. Asshole.

Mesmero must have found something funny, though for the life of her, Rogue couldn’t imagine what it was. Chuckling, Mesmero held out a hand. “Very well. We are in an accord…for now. Let’s go get your Thief. I’m sure this will prove to be most diverting, at least.”

Rogue gritted her teeth. Shaking the man’s hand, she tried to ignore the feeling that she’d just made a deal with the devil himself.

Chapter Text

The fact that Mesmero knew who Farouk was and precisely where the Thieves Quarter was located did nothing to reassure Rogue as they moved along a dark side street. 

When they had first left the hotel, the sun had already set. However, the number of brightly lit shops and busy sidewalk cafés made Rogue feel fairly comfortable with her surroundings. But as dusk turned to full night and they moved away from the crowded main streets onto more deserted secondary streets, Rogue began questioning her plan.

The buildings looked older here, not run down but older. They had thick stone walls to keep the heat away, set along winding corridors that had been laid years, maybe centuries before cars were a consideration. The streets were made from cobblestone with narrow sidewalks.

Rogue found herself walking closer to Mesmero than she would have preferred if she wanted to stay beside him. She alternated between watching her surroundings, watching for loose cobblestones, and watching Mesmero.

“Could you stop looking at me like I am going to feed you to the lions, my Dear?  We are in an accord.” Mesmero reminded her with a sigh.

“Forgive me if I don’t trust ya,” Rogue glared. “How much farther?”

“Patience is a virtue.”

“I’m pretty sure virtue can get you killed where we’re headed,” she grumbled. Mesmero laughed again. Rogue hated the sound of it, full of pretension and pomp. Like he thought you’d said something amusing but were too dim to understand why.

“Indeed, but I would not worry yourself overmuch. I have not come this far only to disappoint my master.”

“Yeah, it’d be a real shame if his servants let him down again.  Didn’t a bunch of them trap him in hibernation last time?” Rogue asked innocently. 

“Pathetic fools the lot of them. Thinking they could trap my Master for an eternity. His power is far beyond their limited comprehension.” Mesmero sneered. Triumph sang through her at finally finding a crack in the man’s armor.

“But not yours, though, right?” Rogue guessed, “You’re putting a lot of faith in the idea this treasure is going to keep Apocalypse from getting stuffed back into hibernation.”

“If that is what you believe, then you misunderstand what the Treasure does. It does not stop hibernation but rather it will give my Master ultimate power.  Power that should have been his from the very beginning.” Mesmero informed her.

Rogue’s mind spun as she half-listened to the man beside her wax poetic about Apocalypse.  So, Mesmero didn’t know what they were looking for. At least not any more than she and Remy did, though he was doing a good job hiding it.

She recalled a moment over Christmas break when she and Beast had sat by the fire discussing Sherlock Holmes.  She had been reading when Beast came across her and struck up a conversation about her favorite parts. 

‘It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts’ Beast had quoted as his favorite line, and Rogue agreed.

Considering what she knew from Napoleon’s book, Rogue couldn’t help but wonder if Mesmero was wrong.  Why else would the clue be Amenhotep’s thirteen scarabs? Both the number and hieroglyph pointed to rebirth.  Rogue tucked that tidbit away for later. 

Afterall, she had no intention of sticking around longer than she had to after she freed Remy.  They could discuss her theory once they were away from the crazy mutant beside her.

Instead, she turned back to the still-talking man.

“So that’s it, huh? Apocalypse gets this ultimate power, and then…what? He destroys the world?” Rogue scoffed, rolling her eyes for full effect.

Mesmero gave her a thin smile. “Only the weak parts.”

“Any chance that includes Principal Kelly?” she muttered under her breath. She hadn’t meant for Mesmero to hear, but the man laughed hard at that.

“My goodness, you have changed since our last meeting.” Mesmero sounded delighted, “What would your Professor say?” 

“You leave him out of this,” Rogue snapped. She wrapped her arms around her waist, not trusting herself not to hit the man in front of her.  She was down to her last nerve, and Mesmero was jumping on it.

“There’s nothing wrong with being pragmatic, my Dear.” Mesmero continued, “You are correct that Kelly is a weak man who only sees the world through his own narrow perspective.  That type of thinking has never done the world any good.”

Neither has genocide, Rogue thought.

“You know my Dear. Apocalypse is a merciful master.” Mesmero slid his eyes toward her. “He would grant you a great boon for your assistance in recovering the treasure.”

“Say what now?”

“Once he has refashioned the world and set things to proper order, he could bestow great power on you, Rogue.  Advance your gifts to their full capabilities. Grant you the opportunity to truly be with your young Thief.  Give you the ability to protect your family and his from harm.” Mesmero suggested.

Rogue’s lip curled up as revulsion shot through her.  “Thanks, but no thanks.  I saw where your promises got Mystique.”

“You are smarter than her.  While you will always be your mother’s daughter, your time with the X-Men has given you more perspective than she had.” Mesmero pointed out.

Rogue frowned, unsure if Mesmero was referring to what the Professor had taught her or the psyches.  Maybe a bit of both.

Before Rogue could open her mouth to ask what he meant, Mesmero stopped at the entrance of a dark alleyway. “And now, my Dear, the time for questions is at an end. We have arrived.”

Rogue stared down the dark alleyway. About halfway down the length of the building, she could see a door, the metal doorknob barely glinting in the shadows. The alley extended past the door before it twisted out of sight. Rogue wondered if it was a dead end or if there was another outlet. Regardless, the tall buildings enclosed the space, and the lack of any overhangs or even debris in the alleyway meant there was nowhere to find cover from anyone lurking on the rooftops.

“So what’s the plan?” Rogue asked, turning back to the man beside her.

“Your Thief is being held in the basement. There is only one way in and one way out. I shall place everyone inside under a thrall so that you can free him.” Mesmero explained.

Rogue barked out a humorless laugh at the man before her as she crossed her arms. “You’re not coming?”

Not that she’d expected him to. The man was a coward as far as she was concerned. On top of that, she didn’t trust Mesmero to watch her back, but she hadn’t expected him to be so blatant about sending her in as the patsy.

“Don’t tell me you’re surprised.” Mesmero replied, placing a hand on his chest in faux-shock, “After all, you said it yourself, I never risk anything when I don’t have to.”

“Of course.”

“Oh, come now. Don’t sulk. You will be plenty safe. After all, we have an accord.”

“How reassuring.” Rogue snarked. Mesmero raised an eyebrow at her, his patience at its limits.

“Regardless of how you feel, if you wish to save your Thief, you had best get a move on,” The man raised his fingers to his temples, falling silent for a moment, “It’s done. Now for your part.”

Rogue pressed her lips together to keep a string of profanity behind her teeth. Moving swiftly down the alleyway, she pressed an ear against the door, listening. After a moment, Rogue pulled back, not hearing any voices or movement from inside, and reached for the doorknob.

Locked.

Of course, it is, Rogue heaved a sigh, glancing around the empty alleyway. Where was a thief when you needed one?

Chere, that’s a basic door lock. It should be easy to pick if you—

Rogue reared back and planted the heel of her foot right above the doorknob, driving her weight against the door. The door gave way and swung open with a satisfying smack against the interior wall.

Never mind, then. Remy muttered.

Rogue carefully stepped through the doorway. She could feel her heart racing in her chest. Glancing around, she almost dove back out the door when she spotted three men sitting around a kitchen table. 

Rogue blinked.

They were frozen like statues.

One man’s hand held a cup suspended mid-air between the table and his mouth. The other two looked like they were mid-conversation.  All three had glazed-over looks on their faces, eyes staring off unseeingly.

Well, that’s discomforting, Rogue thought dryly.

Spotting Amenhotep’s scarab on the table between the three men, she moved forward and snatched it up. Stuffing the artifact into her pocket, she took stock of the kitchen and adjoining rooms. She could see a hallway that led further into the house and a foyer beyond that. Near the front door, there were two more men, both armed with guns.

Spotting a knife block on the counter, Rogue grabbed a knife—just in case—and headed further into the house, looking for Remy.

Entering the narrow hallway, Rogue paused. Closed doors lined one side of the hallway leading to additional rooms.  Small windows were set into thick walls on the other side of the space. Dark lattice wood shutters covered the bottom half of the windows, filtering out most of the street light.  What little made it through to the interior of the house was cast over the floor in weak rectangles of light.

As she moved down the hall, Rogue checked each door. She found more people all frozen in place inside the various rooms.  Closing one door on a man in the middle of getting dressed, she did a quick tally in her head and cringed. That was nine. Mesmero had better keep his end of the deal or she and Remy were going to be sitting ducks.

Rogue reached the last door in the hallway and opened it.  The door squeaked loudly on its hinges, revealing a dark set of stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, light slanted across the floor from the adjoining room.

Rogue sighed. One way in, one way out. That’s what Mesmero had said.

“Oh man, we’re gonna die,” Rogue grumbled.

As she descended the steps, the rough wood creaked underfoot.  Reaching the bottom, she looked around. The walls here were made of rough stone, and the floors were concrete.  There were only two doors down here. One of the doors was shut with no light visible under the door, but the second door sat wide open with a light on.

Moving to the opening, Rogue’s heart leapt to her throat as she spotted Remy.  He was tied to a chair, head slumped forward. Even from the doorway, Rogue could see a dark, mottled bruise at the base of the Cajun’s skull. His coat had been stripped off and was lying crumpled in a pile in the corner. The room was bare, other than a drain in the floor.

The image of a similar room located at Blood Moon Bayou floated across her mind.  The Assassins used it when extracting information from their victims. Rogue shivered. Grimly, part of her wondered if the Thieves had a similar setup.

Pain exploded across the side of her head.

Rogue stumbled. The strength of the blow sending her careening to the side. The knife fell from her hand, clattering across the concrete, coming to rest against the far wall.

Managing to keep her feet under her, Rogue turned just in time to see Aziza a few steps away. The woman shimmered and disappeared. Rogue swore violently and rubbed the side of her face.

That’s right, Aziza could turn invisible and was immune to psychic attacks.

Lovely, Rogue sneered.

Her eyes darted around for any sign of the woman. Straining her ears, she listened for the female thief.

“You should have just done what you were told and called Jean-Luc. But since you’re here now, you can stay and watch as we cut Remy’s fingers off to send back to his father. How many do you think he can lose and still be a thief?” The woman taunted.

Rogue’s heart pounded in her chest as her eyes scanned the room uselessly. Her eyes flicked towards the knife at the edge of the room.

A second blow to the back of her head nearly drove Rogue to her knees.

Invisible arms wrapped around her throat, cutting off her air. Behind her, she could feel Aziza pressed against her back.

“It’s a shame.  I did like you.”

Throwing her weight backward, Rogue slammed them against the rough stone wall. Aziza grunted in her ear but didn’t release her hold.

As a dark ring began to form around her vision, Rogue clawed at the woman’s arms. She couldn’t lose now. They’d never make it out of here alive. Fury gripped Rogue’s heart and she threw herself backward again, trying to crush Aziza against the wall, but her backpack softened the blow, making it impossible.

From the corner of her eye, metal glinted.

Tante’s necklace.

Pinning the woman one last time against the wall, Rogue gripped the pendant. With one sharp yank, she felt the chain give way.

Rogue drove the spike backward.

Aziza shrieked, shimmering back into view. The pendant lodged deep into her upper thigh.  The vice around Rogue’s throat disappeared, and she gulped in a breath.

Aziza stumbled against the wall trying to keep her feet under her. It was all the opening Rogue needed. Pouncing with a snarl, she slammed her knee into the outside of Aziza’s leg, sending both of them down hard onto the concrete.

The taller woman let out a pained noise as she hit the ground first, with Rogue’s weight landing on top of her.

Ripping her glove off, Rogue caught the dark-haired woman by the throat and yanked hard with her powers, fury making her pull harder than she normally would. Rogue watched in dark satisfaction as Aziza’s eyes rolled up in her head, and the woman fell limp.

Standing up, Rogue stared down at the unconscious woman, trying to catch her breath. As Aziza’s plans for Remy played out in full detail in her mind, Rogue’s jaw tightened, muscles twitching under her skin. Pulling her foot back, she planted a sharp kick into the unconscious woman’s ribs.

Rogue, Scott’s psyche sounded horrified.

Shut up, Scott. Rogue snapped. She was in no mood to play Heroes and Villains right now. Besides, if Aziza had a broken rib or two, she wouldn’t be coming after them.

Retrieving the knife and her glove, Rogue rushed into Remy’s cell and knelt down in front of the Cajun man. Carefully, she pressed her fingers to the side of his throat.  Relief washed over her as she found a steady pulse there.

“Remy? Sugah?” Rogue gently rubbed his cheek, trying to rouse the man, “Come on, Cajun. Open those pretty eyes for me.”

“You think they’re pretty,” Remy asked, his eyes cracking open.  Rogue rolled her eyes and huffed out a laugh. As Remy looked around the cell, regaining his bearings, Rogue stood and moved around the chair to cut his hands free.

“Glad to see that Sleeping Beauty will still wake up for a compliment.” Rogue sassed. Remy shook his head, trying to clear it.

“Mais ouais. Especially if it’s coming from a pretty lady.” He tossed over his shoulder. “What are you doing here, Rogue? How did you find me.”

“Well, it’s been over forty-eight hours since I rescued a Cajun from a hostage situation. I don’t wanna get rusty.” Rogue answered as the knife cut through the rope holding one of his hands to the chair.

Rogue stood as Remy rolled his wrist a few times before pressing a finger to the ropes on his other hand, charging them up until they snapped. As the Cajun worked at the restraints holding his legs, Rogue gripped her shoulder, rolling it slowly.  After her fight with Aziza, the aching was back.

Remy finished with the ropes and freed himself from the chair.  Spotting Aziza lying on the concrete floor, he whistled. “You going to fill me in on what happened?”

Rogue nodded and grabbed his coat from the ground, handing it to him. “Yeah, once we’re out of here, but I doubt you’re going to like it.”

As they stepped over Aziza’s figure, Rogue considered tossing the woman into the cell and leaving her there but doubted the room would hold her for very long.  As they climbed the stairs to the main hallway, Remy’s eyebrows flew to his hairline at the sight of the men still frozen like statues.

“Um, Chere? Is there something you want to tell me?” Remy’s eyes carefully traced the room, taking in every detail.

“Later Cajun.  We need to get out of here.” Rogue replied, jerking her head in the direction of the kitchen. She didn’t want to spend another minute in this house.

Remy looked like he wanted to argue but followed her anyway. As they passed through the kitchen, Remy paused long enough to snag a set of picks from one of the men at the kitchen table before picking the man’s pocket and fishing out the money inside.

“I got some money on me,” Rogue informed him.

“I’m feeling petty,” Remy grumbled. With a flick of his wrist, the picks and the money disappeared into the folds of Remy’s coat.

Back in the alleyway, they moved towards the street. 

“I still have my coat and staff, but they got my phone.  We’ll need to get back to the hotel as fast as possible. We need to get our stuff, and I need to find another phone so I can call Pere.” Remy announced. “Now that we’re out of there, you mind telling me how you got into Farouk’s stronghold.”

“She had help,” Mesmero answered, materializing from the shadows.

“Merde, what the hell is he doing here?” Remy demanded, his eyes narrowing with disdain.

“That’s the part you’re not going to like,” Rogue sighed and scrubbed a hand over her face. Remy shot her a look of disgust at her answer. Rogue felt her blood pressure spike.

“I had no idea where you were, Swamp Rat. Aziza said I had four hours to get Jean-Luc to open negotiations. Whatever that meant. I had no phone. No way to contact Henri or Jean-Luc. Nothing. So, yeah, when I spotted him,” Rogue jerked a thumb in Mesmero’s direction, “I cut a deal with him that if he’d help me get you out. I’d give him the scarab.”

“You serious,” Remy eyed her like she had lost her mind and just told him she was sleeping with Magneto or something equally idiotic.

“I wasn’t leaving you behind,” Rogue growled back, stepping forward to get up into his face.  If that fool-brained Swamp Rat really thought she would leave him to die, God help her, she was going to slap the stupid right out of him.

“I’d hate to break up this touching moment—truly, it’s worthy of the Great Bard himself—but perhaps you could fulfill your end of the bargain, my Dear,” Mesmero commented drolly, holding out his hand. “I still have a museum to get to.”

“A museum?” Rogue’s head snapped around. Slowly, she reached into her pocket and pulled out Amenhotep's scarab.

“Yes, The Egyptian Museum. That’s where the other twelve scarabs are residing. Surely you didn’t think they would just be lying around at Amenhotep’s Mortuary Temple? They might get stolen.” Mesmero smirked and flicked his eyes toward Remy, “Of course, you weren’t wrong that thieving skills might be useful for a venture such as this. Perhaps you and Gambit would still like to join me.”

Rogue gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, her leather gloves creaking in protest.  Her stomach churned at the sight of the man’s oily smile. Mesmero had known the next location all along, which meant he was only here for Remy.

Now that Rogue thought about it, Mesmero never even mentioned the scarab.

The bastard had played her.

Suddenly, she wanted to hit something hard, preferably the smug man before her. She stepped forward, intent on doing just that, when Remy’s warm hand found the back of her shoulder, stopping her. Remy gave her shoulder a soft squeeze.

“D’accord. Lead the way.”

Chapter Text

Remy quickly jimmied open the door of a nondescript sedan and unlocked the doors so that Mesmero and Rogue could get in. Kneeling down, he popped open the console to the steering wheel column, revealing the wires underneath. A few crossed wires later, the engine purred to life.

Throwing himself into the driver’s seat, a bright shock of pain rocketed through his skull as he slammed the door shut. Damn, Aziza. Emil really did have the absolute worst pick in women. Remy rubbed the soft part right under the base of his skull. Adjusting the rearview mirror, he caught Rogue’s worried look in the reflection.

Poor girl isn’t looking so hot herself. Remy noted, spotting her gingerly massaging her shoulder as she slumped against the back seat.

Pulling the car away from the curb, Remy wound his way through the streets of Cairo, following Mesmero’s directions.

Racking his brain, Remy tried to come up with a plan. As far as he could tell, no one seemed to think the thirteen scarabs were the treasure but rather just the next link in the chain. When he and Henri had been doing research, he vaguely remembered reading that scarabs usually had hieroglyphs etched on the bottoms, relaying messages about places or events. You needed all the scarabs to understand the message.

That had to be the next clue.

If he and Rogue could figure out the message, maybe they could escape Mesmero and get to the next location first. Despite Mesmero’s offer to bring them along, Remy was no fool. He needed their abilities. Which meant Mesmero had no intention of letting either of them go until they’d served their purpose, but it also gave them some leverage.  

Remy could work with leverage.

Still, it might be worth trying to dig up some more information. After all, he hadn’t been raised up a LeBeau for nothing. Keeping his eyes on the road, Remy eased open his empathy, taking the car’s measure.

Immediately, Rogue’s worry and anxiety, tinted with a heavy dose of guilt, oozed over him. Remy shook it away and tried to ignore it in favor of focusing on the man beside him. In contrast to the woman in the back seat, Mesmero’s emotions were calm, bordering on stoic.  

Well, can’t have that, Remy scoffed. Time to ruffle some feathers.

“So, homme, what happens if you never find the treasure? Don’t imagine that will go over well with your boss,” he asked, sliding his eyes towards the older man. In the seat next to him, Mesmero’s face never changed, but the sudden wave of irritation rippling over Remy’s empathy told another story. Remy smirked.

“I have no intention of disappointing my Master.”

“Sure, sure, mais, how long have you been looking for this thing?” he pressed. Across the vehicle, he felt Mesmero’s guard go up as suspicion crawled over Remy’s empathy.

Easy does it, homme. Remy chastised himself. Let’s not make the couillon jumpy.

“I fail to see how that is any concern of yours,” Mesmero snapped. Remy scoffed in the back of his throat.

“I’m a thief, ain’t I? Antiquities are our bread and butter. I can tell ya for a fact that de market for Egyptian artifacts has been down for de last decade or so. Not a lot of movement going on unless it’s something tied t’ a big household name like King Tut or King Ramses.” He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. “Any idea what Dynasty this thing is from?”

Remy felt Rogue’s confusion behind him, but he didn’t let his eyes waver from the road. Beside him, indecision gnawed at Mesmero. Remy waited. He’d laid the bait out. Time to see if this fish would bite.

“According to Apocalypse, the Treasure existed before the pyramids,” Mesmero answered finally. Not quite what Remy had been hoping for, but he whistled softly in a show of appreciation, filing the tidbit of information away.

“Old Kingdom then,” Remy nodded.

“You know your history,” Mesmero commented, slightly impressed.  

“To a degree.” Remy shrugged. “Mon Pere knows more. Like I said, de market hasn’t been hot in a decade or so, but it was pretty active when he was still working in de field.”

“Perhaps I should contract with your Guild then,” Mesmero suggested. Remy snorted at that. Jean-Luc would never work with Mesmero after the chaos the man had left in New Orleans, but Mesmero didn’t need to know that. Instead, Remy kept up the farce of talking shop.

“Might be a hard sell t’ convince them. The Guild don’t come cheap. Plus, you did leave us with a mess in New Orleans.” Remy pointed out. Rogue’s eyes burned into the back of his skull, but Remy was surprised to feel her curiosity rather than the anger he’d been expecting. Whatever Rogue’s thoughts were on his tactics, she was giving him the floor.

“My Master is exceedingly generous to his loyal servants. You and your family could be rewarded with wealth beyond your comprehension, and your family’s enemies would find no safe haven under his rule.” Mesmero offered before adding, “I spoke to our lovely Rogue about the same thing earlier. Both of your gifts would be highly valuable to him. I’m sure Apocalypse would have no qualms about fixing her control issues so that you two could fully be together.”

A bolt of anger sharp enough to make Remy’s hand slip on the wheel shot through him at Mesmero’s words.

The idea of Apocalypse getting within a hundred miles of her, never mind close enough to fix her, nearly had his foot slamming on the brakes. Taking a breath, Remy’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

Behind him, rage and mortification swirled together in a hurricane of emotion. Remy winced. He almost felt bad for the poor SOB sitting next to him…almost. That didn’t mean Remy wouldn’t lend Rogue some of his powers so she could blow the pretentious asshole into the stratosphere.

Whatever Rogue planned to say was cut off as the Museum came into sight. Mesmero ordered him to pull the car around the block. Remy sighed but pulled left anyway. As they all piled out of the vehicle, Mesmero waved them forward towards an alleyway.

Remy rolled his eyes but did as he was bid like a good little puppet. Rogue fell into step alongside him, and Mesmero brought up the rear a few paces back.

As the large pink building loomed ahead, Remy tried to recall anything he knew about this location.  

It was one of the oldest—the oldest?—museums in Cairo. There were two floors open to the public and four sets of stairs, two in the front and two in the back. The Central Hall was the main display area and was visible from both the main and second floors. The Museum showcased exhibits from the Early Dynastic Period all the way to the Roman Period. There had been an expansion at some point…Remy frowned. He couldn’t recall what the addition had been.

“Remy,” Rogue called his name quietly, pulling his attention from his thoughts. She wasn’t looking at him. Instead, her eyes were turned towards the ground. “I’m sorry. Mesmero…I… I’m sorry.”

For the life of him Remy couldn’t begin to fathom what Rogue was apologizing for. For what Mesmero had said in the car? For getting involved with Mesmero in the first place? Another wave of guilt washed over his empathy, prompting Remy to move a little closer so that he could brush his hand against hers.

“Ain’t nothing t’ be sorry for, Rogue. Let’s just find these scarabs, and we’ll figure things out from there,” Remy murmured, then bit his tongue. He wanted to say more. Tell her everything was going to be alright. Tell her they would find the scarabs. That they would escape Mesmero. But now wasn’t the place. Not with Mesmero dogging their steps.

Rogue’s emotions lifted a little at that, but worry and guilt still clung to her like a wet blanket. Remy sighed. One step at a time. First, they had to get the scarabs.

Stick to the shadows. Avoid the cameras. Short circuit the door alarms. Pick the lock. Remy sighed as the door swung open. He would never admit it on pain of death, but he was getting really sick of Museum heists. Don’t get him wrong, he loved the classics, but it was becoming monotonous after three in a row.

“Impressive,” Mesmero commented, waltzing through the door without so much as a ‘pardon me.’

Remy wondered how many times he could roll his eyes before they stuck in the back of his head like Tante always warned him about. Next to him, Rogue watched Mesmero, lips pursed. Rogue flicked her eyes towards Mesmero before giving Remy a look.

Remy snickered. Southern women could say more with a cut of their eyes than a whole debate team.

As Rogue moved past him into the dark interior, Remy reached out and gently brushed a hand over her low back. It was nice to know that even without words, they were in agreement about their current tag-along.

Stepping in and closing the door behind him, he looked around the dark space. He could see signs for restrooms and what he guessed was a small custodial closet. As best as he could tell, they were standing in a small secondary hallway.  

“Shall we?” Mesmero asked. Remy blinked.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I supposed t’ know where we are going?” Remy smirked, “Did ya forget that this was your idea? I assume ya know where the scarabs are.”

For a split-second, Mesmero looked utterly flummoxed, but as quickly as the look came, his face smoothed back over into a haughty expression. “I’m sure it will be simple enough to find them.”

As the man turned and stalked towards the main display area, Remy felt a petty sort of triumph ring through him. Every thieving instinct in him was screaming that this was clearly a poorly planned heist, that he should run while he still had time. But Dieu, if it hadn’t felt good to see the man lose a bit of control over the situation.

Beside him, Rogue’s shoulder shook silently, and she pressed a gloved hand over her mouth to suppress a snicker. Remy shot her a crooked grin, glad to see her smiling.

“Come on, Swamp Rat,” Rogue muttered dryly as she moved past him, following Mesmero toward the end of the hallway, “Let’s get this fun over with.”

For a moment, an audacious plan shot across Remy’s mind. He could give Rogue his coat—the only thing that would tie him back to the Guild—and shove her out the door and tell her to run before tripping the alarm on purpose. It was insane to even consider. A plan no Thief would even dream of. It was the type of thing an X-Man would do.

Before he could make a decision, Remy almost tripped over Rogue, who stood frozen at the entrance of the hallway. Looking up, he spotted Mesmero standing with a security guard and a little old man wearing glasses and a tweed suit, both with glazed-over looks on their faces.

“Gambit. Rogue. Meet our new friends.” Mesmero announced, offering a thin smile. Turning back to the two men, Mesmero narrowed his eyes, “Take us to the scarabs.”

The two men immediately turned and headed off to follow orders. Beside him, Rogue shot him a worried look. Remy watched grimly but moved to follow. Seeing the two men under the same control he and Rogue had experienced turned his stomach. Remy didn’t need his empathy to recognize the self-satisfied look on Mesmero’s face as his new puppets did as they were bid.

Silence and dread filled the cavernous space as they made their way through the Museum. Entering the Central Hall, they passed by soaring statues of Pharaohs and their Queens, Gods, and Goddesses, all seated in perfect symmetry. A second-floor balcony with a carved stone banister wrapped around the Hall. Remy could spy dozens of glass cases lining the balcony's perimeter from their place on the lower floor. Even at night, the cases were lit, displaying multiple stacked sarcophagi inside each case. The bodies of the dead still resting inside.

Remy shuddered. This felt more like grave robbing than a heist.

Towards the back corner of the room, a small circular alcove sat between the busts of two Pharaohs. Along the back of the alcove, colonial-style glass cabinets lined the walls, artifacts proudly displayed inside. Remy snorted humorlessly to himself. For any other heist, he would have been thrilled at the lack of security the old cabinets presented. Now, he found himself wishing they were fitted with thumbprint scanners and bulletproof glass.

The curator and guard indicated the middle cabinet before moving to the side to allow Mesmero and Rogue space. Mesmero stepped up eagerly to the front of the case, eyes greedily taking in the contents. A moment later, the man reared back, snarling in dismay. Beside Mesmero, Rogue sucked in a breath staring into the display.

Remy’s eyes darted down to the case where thirteen identical scarabs—not twelve—sat in a perfect ring behind the glass.

Mesmero waved a hand, and the curator sagged momentarily, blinking as he tried to gain his bearings. Impatiently, Mesmero stalked toward the man, “Why are there thirteen scarabs?”

The little man adjusted his glasses. “I beg your pardon. Who are you? What are you doing—”

“Answer the question,” Mesmero towered over him. “Why are there thirteen scarabs?”

The man’s eyes darted towards Remy and then to Rogue before turning back to the guard, who still wore a glazed look on his face. Deciding it was in his best interest to answer Mesmero’s question, the old curator tried again, “Thirteen is the symbol of rebirth. The scarabs were created to commemorate Amenhotep III’s passing into the afterlife. They—”

“Yes, I know that,” Mesmero snapped, “But there are only supposed to be twelve. The thirteenth one was found separately in Amenhotep’s tomb.”

Mesmero held out the scarab in question. Remy’s eyes darted between the scarab in Mesmero’s hand and the thirteen in the case.

It wasn’t a match for the others.

The thirteen scarabs were smooth stones with the scarab's details etched across the rock's surface. The scarab in Mesmero’s hand resembled more of a carved statue.

Remy’s eyes darted back towards Mesmero and the curator. The old man’s forehead was beading up with sweat.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand—” the man tried again, and Mesmero heaved a weary sigh, cutting him off.

“Do try and keep up. This was found in the tomb of Amenhotep III. It was supposed to be one of thirteen.” Mesmero spoke slowly like he was talking to a dim child, indicating the scarab in his hand again and then gesturing at the case in disgust. “Yet, here we stand with thirteen scarabs already in the case. Would you be so kind as to explain why?”

“There were only twelve originally, but a few years ago, some archeology students went back to the original dig site and uncovered the thirteenth scarab.” The man explained. At Mesmero’s furious look, the old man raised his hands defensively, adding, “Funding for the Ministry of Antiquities has been slashed for the last few years, so updating signage, especially between museums, hasn’t been a priority.”

Mesmero sneered at the shaking man and glared around the room. For a second, Remy wondered if he was going to break something, but Mesmero drew a breath, marshaling his emotions behind a mask of disdain.

“If I may,” the older gentleman said, gesturing towards the scarab in Mesmero’s hands. The curator looked slightly more comfortable now that Mesmero was no longer glaring at him. Mesmero raised an eyebrow but handed over the small statue.

The curator gently took the antiquity and carefully rotated it back and forth, his eyes dancing over the rough surface. After a moment, the old man looked up at Rogue, refusing to make eye contact with Mesmero again, “This is not a scarab at all. Rather, this is a miniature of the Kheper Scarab sculpture that was dedicated at Amenhotep III’s West Bank Mortuary Temple.”

“Indeed?” Mesmero asked peering closer at the statue still held in the curator’s hands. The elderly man nodded, glasses bobbing on his nose slightly.

“Yes, the Kheper Scarab was moved from the Mortuary Temple to the Karnak Temple after Amenhotep’s death.” The man explained.

That seemed to give Mesmero pause. Remy could practically see the pieces fitting together in the man’s mind. After a moment, Mesmero inclined his head to the elderly man in a mockery of a bow.

“Thank you. Your assistance to my Master will be noted,” Mesmero declared before cutting his eyes towards the guard, “Finish this.”

Without question, the guard drew his sidearm and shot the elderly man once through the back of the head. Bright red blood sprayed across the glass cabinet. The elderly man’s body tumbled to the ground. Immediately, the guard pressed the gun under his own chin and pulled the trigger a second time. His body hit the ground with a dull thud.

“No,” Rogue screamed, jerking forward toward the elderly man now lying in a pool of blood. Remy reached for his cards, charging up three between his fingers even as Mesmero retrieved the gun and leveled it at Rogue.

“Ah, ah. Put them away,” Mesmero tsked. Remy glared. Rage surged under his skin, clawing at him, desperate to be released. Mesmero sighed at the display of insolence and clicked off the safety, pressing the muzzle of the gun under Rogue’s jaw. Fear—raw and consuming—shot through Remy’s veins like ice.

“Don’t let your recklessness outrun your usefulness, Gambit. It would not bode well for the Lady.” Mesmero warned tightly.

Rogue stood perfectly still. The blood drained from her face leaving her paler than Remy had ever seen her. Clenching his jaw, Remy slowly slipped the cards back into his pocket before raising his hands. Mesmero nodded and lowered the gun from Rogue’s head but didn’t click the safety back on. Scooping up the now bloody sculpture, Mesmero pressed it into Rogue’s gloved hands.

“Be a Dear and carry this, would you?” Mesmero smirked. Even from a few feet away, Remy could see Rogue trembling in fury. Her mouth opened and closed several times before she managed to push one word out from behind her teeth.

“Why?”

“He was a liability. They both were. As I said, our scholarly friend will be remembered,” Mesmero replied simply. For a moment, Remy thought Rogue would lunge for Mesmero, gun be damned. He quickly stepped between her and the psychic mutant. Mesmero smirked at the display. “I trust you’ll be able to procure us another vehicle?”

“Oui.” Remy spat.

“Good. I’ll give you a moment to calm her, but be quick. The Karnak Temple awaits.” Mesmero nodded and moved around the bodies to inspect another artifact, careful not to let his robes touch the congealing blood.

In two steps, Remy was in front of Rogue. Snatching her to him, he crushed her into his chest. Rogue’s arms snapped around his waist in an effort to ground herself. Remy gritted his teeth against Rogue’s horror at the men’s deaths.

It was probably the first time she had seen a dead body up close, he realized.

The first time Remy had seen a dead body, he had been three, maybe four, living on the streets in New Orleans. He had come around the corner in an alleyway to find a woman in a short dress with a needle in her arm.

At the time, he hadn’t understood why an adult would willingly want to stick a needle in themselves. It seemed like a painful idea to his young mind. Especially if it made you lie on a heap of cardboard boxes with your face turning purple.

A fine tremor ran through the woman in front of him, and Remy tightened his arms around her like he could take away the reality of what had happened. Rogue’s horror and rage twisted across his empathy in useless impotence in the face of death.

Stroking Rogue’s back, trying to soothe her the best he could, Remy wished he had never taken her away from Bayville. The realization made him pause, his eyes dropping to the woman in his arms.

“Chere, look at me,” Remy murmured in her ear. Rogue raised her head, and Remy stared at her pointedly before flicking his eyes towards Mesmero. Rogue frowned but nodded her understanding for the need for quiet. Leaning his face down, he whispered, “Trust me.”

Sliding his hand up to cup her jaw, he pressed his mouth to hers. It wasn’t a good kiss. There was too much going on between trying to keep track of Mesmero on the other side of the Hall and forcing himself to stay conscious to give Rogue’s powers as much time as possible to work their magic.

Even still, he couldn’t deny the feeling of pleasure as she tilted her head up to press against him or the soft brush of her lashes against his face as her eyes fluttered closed. She didn’t reach up to loop her arms around him, but her fingers clenched at the fabric of his shirt.

Finally, Remy had to pull away.

It was that or risk passing out.

Any other time he would have gladly traded slipping into unconsciousness for a few extra moments with Rogue in his arms, but Remy would be damned if he was going to leave her alone with Mesmero right now. Pulling away, Remy gripped her waist, both to keep her close and to give him some stability as he blinked away the darkness that had begun to swim at the edges of his vision.

As his vision cleared and the strength returned to his knees, Rogue’s hands continued to grip him tightly around the waist, offering support, but her eyes watched unseeingly over his shoulder, head tilted ever so slightly. It was the same look Rogue had in Jean-Luc’s office when she had been listening to the psyches.

Rogue’s eyes snapped to his, and for a moment, he saw his own red-and-black eyes gaze back at him before fading to her normal pale green.

“Comprendre?” Remy asked. Rogue looked down at the bloody scarab in her hand. It began to glow a light shade of pink before Rogue pulled the charge back out. Quickly, she pulsed the charge a few more times. Nodding her head once in determination, they silently turned and headed for Mesmero.

In Bayville, the Professor removed his helmet and set it aside before turning to the men standing behind him.

“I have picked up on Rogue and Gambit using their powers in Cairo.”

The sound of Logan’s claws extending echoed off the metal walls of Cerebro.

“Egypt. Oh man, how did Rogue end up there?” Kurt asked. Behind him, his tail lashed anxiously. The Professor shot the young man a worried look. Kurt had been tying himself in knots ever since Rogue disappeared, blaming himself for speaking harshly to his sister.

Things only became worse as they barely had any indication of Rogue’s whereabouts the last few days, only one quick blip in London. Logan and Ororo had immediately gone looking for her, but by the time they arrived, Rogue had disappeared again.

“Chuck, I’m warning you right now. If he’s hurt her in any way, you’re not going to like what I do next.” Logan growled.  

The Professor sighed. What he had learned tonight wasn’t going to put Logan and Kurt anymore at ease.

“I’m afraid there may be more to it than that.” The Professor replied, bridging his hands, “Cerebro also picked up on Mesmero using his powers in the same vicinity as Gambit and Rogue.”

“You want to run that by me again, Chuck?”

“It would seem that Mesmero has joined Rogue and Gambit in Cairo.”

“No way,” Kurt waved his hands back and forth in front of him, “There’s no way that Rogue would ever work with Mesmero. Gambit must have tricked her or handed her over to him or something.”

“I’m with the Elf on this one,” Logan agreed.

“I don’t think Gambit is working with Mesmero.” Charles shook his head, “In fact, Cerebro is picking up on Gambit using his powers intermittently with a distinct pattern of three short bursts, three long bursts, and three short bursts again.”

Kurt startled. “You mean—”

“He’s sending an SOS,” Logan nodded, “Chuck, do me a favor and contact Fury. SHEILD’s been looking for Mesmero. Elf, round up Cyke and Storm. Then get to the hangar and start doing the precheck. We’re heading to Cairo.”

Chapter Text

Rogue sat in the backseat of the SUV that Remy managed to procure. Mesmero sat next to her, gun still in hand. In the driver’s seat, Remy drove through the night. Every once in a while, Remy’s eyes would dart up to catch hers in the rearview mirror.

Silence echoed through the vehicle, and was only broken by a direction from Mesmero or Remy’s short acknowledgment he understood.

In her right hand, Rogue palmed the scarab. Despite Remy’s plan, she hadn’t been able to charge it up to contact the X-Men for the last few hours. The glow of Remy’s powers was almost blinding inside the dark vehicle.

They had stopped twice to refill their SUV, once just outside of Cairo and then again a few hours ago. When Mesmero had gotten out to keep an eye on Remy, Rogue managed to fire off a few more SOS charges. Desperately, she hoped the X-Men would get the message.

The X-Men were looking for her.

It was the first thing Rogue picked up after Remy kissed her. The thought had all but been shoved into her mind as her powers began to absorb him. The next memory she’d absorbed was Remy’s terror the moment Mesmero had pointed the gun at her.

Rogue couldn’t remember much other than the sear of the still hot metal pressing against her skin. Hot enough that she wondered if Mesmero had left a burn mark. That and the echoing chorus of Logan, Mystique, and Remy’s psyches all screaming at her to stay still.

Honestly, all three of them agreeing on something would have been hilarious if Rogue hadn’t been convinced that Mesmero was about to turn her into a chalk outline.

Not funny, Chere. Remy grumbled.

Sorry, Sugah. Gallows humor. Rogue apologized.

“Would you hand me the statue, my Dear?” Mesmero asked. Rogue jumped slightly as the sudden question broke the silence in the car, but handed over the artifact anyway. Mesmero turned the stone over in his hands inspecting it, letting the gun lie unattended in his lap.

For a second, Rogue thought about trying to grab for it.

Don’t even think about it, Rogue, Mystique snapped. He’s faster than you expect.

Hate to agree, but she’s right, Stripes. Too small of a space for a move like that. Logan agreed.

Rogue gritted her teeth and fiddled with the straps on her backpack. With nothing better to do, she opened it and began digging around. If she didn’t find something to do with her hands, she was going to try and strangle the man next to her.

Her eyes landed on the stack of brochures she had picked up earlier today, and she pulled them out of her bag. Hadn’t there been one about the Karnak Temple complex? Leafing through the stack in her hands, she eventually came across the right brochure.

“What do you have there?” Mesmero asked.

“It’s a brochure about the Karnak Temple. I picked it up earlier. I thought they might have a map or something useful in it.” Rogue lied.

“Clever girl,” Mesmero praised. Rogue rolled her eyes at the compliment and tried to ignore the sudden feeling that she needed a bath.

She really couldn’t give one wit if there was anything useful in the brochure. Mesmero could read the damn thing himself if he wanted the information. But it sounded better to say she was trying to be helpful rather than tell the truth and say she was trying to distract herself from attempting to put him in a coma.

There was a crude map printed on the back of the brochure showing the temple complex and its major points of interest. Unfolding the brochure, Rogue’s eyes fell on a section about the Kheper Scarab sculpture.  

The Kheper Scarab sculpture has been popular since antiquity. It is dedicated to Khepri, the scarab-face god, and is thought to impart divine power and long renewal. Tourists are encouraged to make a circular walk around the statue to achieve good luck and success in their lives. It is said that one must walk around the statue at least three times in order to fulfill a simple wish and seven times to pursue something more valuable.

Rogue paused. Reaching a hand back into the bottom of the bag, she felt her fingers brush over the leather pouch containing the blue scarab from King Tut’s shabti box.

“Anything useful?” Mesmero’s voice cut off her thoughts

“There’s a map on the back,” Rogue gestured to the brochure. “And there’s some stuff about the statue being dedicated to Khepri.”

“Anything else?”

“Umm…something about tourists walking around the statue for good luck,” Rogue hedged. Mesmero made a face like she had just dropped a dead mouse in his lap.

“How…quaint.” The man sneered. “It's good to know that the tourism industry is alive and well.”

“What? You don’t believe in Egypt’s gods?” Rogue scoffed, slouching in her seat.

“Whether I believe or don’t believe is of little matter. I sincerely doubt that the gods of old could be called on for favors by a bunch of tourists tromping around in sneakers and Crocs.” Mesmero answered smugly.

“We’re here,” Remy announced from the front seat, cutting off Rogue’s reply.

Through the windshield, Rogue could see the entrance to the temple complex down a short dirt road. Remy drove past the turn-off and continued down the main road a little ways before pulling the car to the side. Everyone piled out of the vehicle.

“Very good,” Mesmero nodded, moving in the direction of the temple. “We will head in on foot. It would be best if we moved quickly this time. I would prefer not to be seen.”

“Afraid you’ll run out of bullets?” Rogue spat. Mesmero spun on his heel, and for a second, she thought he would point the gun at her again. Instead, the man shot her a smile that sent icy fingers crawling up her spine.

“No.”

At the entrance, they had passed through a double row of ram-headed sphinxes that reminded Rogue of the Ram statue she and Remy had seen back in London. The main entrance had been lit, but once they crossed the threshold, the darkness swallowed them quickly, working both for and against them. It kept them hidden but made it nearly impossible to tell where they were, even with the map on the back of the brochure.

“So what are we looking for?” Rogue asked as they turned down a long row of columns. Even in the darkness, she could spot the dark shapes carved on them—hieroglyphs most likely—but there was no way to distinguish them further.

“The Sacred Lake.” Mesmero stopped to peer at the little map, “We should find the statue along the North side. The Priest used the lake for purification before rituals.”

“Homme, I’m going t’ have to draw de line if you’re expecting for all of us t’ get naked,” Remy noted drolly. Then he threw a wink in Rogue’s direction, “Well, you at least. My Cherie can do as she likes.”

If it weren’t for the look of absolute loathing Mesmero shot Remy, Rogue might have taken offense. As it was, seeing the Swamp Rat getting under the older man’s skin only made Rogue press her lips together to keep from laughing.

“That will not be necessary.” Mesmero bit out.

They continued to move towards where Mesmero claimed the Lake would be, careful not to trip over loose stones or cracks in the ground as the inky darkness pressed in around them. More than once, they’d had to backtrack due to a missed turn. As they passed endless columns and stone blocks as tall as she was, Rogue wondered if the temple had been designed to disorient visitors or if it was just the effects of the ravages of time.  

She also noticed that she wasn’t the only one having trouble keeping her sense of direction.

Mesmero’s growing frustration was palpable, though neither she nor Remy offered any advice. Privately, Rogue wondered if Remy was truly as lost as he acted. A thief must have an excellent sense of direction, and she had a sneaking suspicion he was trying to buy time for the X-Men to find them.

When Remy had used a charged card to throw a little light on the map for Mesmero, his red-and-black gaze met her own eyes knowingly.

Rogue smirked.

Despite their efforts to be as useless as possible, eventually, the complex opened up to a large limestone pool with carved steps leading down to the water. It was slightly brighter here, with the half-moon casting a weak light on the space even as it was sinking towards the Western horizon.

It wasn’t hard to spot the Kheper Scarab even from their position on the far side of the lake. The statue sat in the middle of a courtyard surrounded by high stone walls. The scarab itself was massive, almost the size of a car tire, perched on top of a pedestal that was taller than Remy.

As they got closer, Rogue could see hieroglyphs carved into the pillar. The statue had a low fence encircling it, no doubt to keep the tourist from touching the antiquity. Remy climbed over the low railing and squatted down, peering at the surface as Mesmero came to stand next to him. Risking a little light, Remy unlocked his phone and used the screen to illuminate the façade.

“Chere, ya still got that book from Napoleon with you?” Remy asked, turning back to her.

“Yeah,” Rogue replied. Removing her backpack she pulled the book out and passed it over the railing. As she handed the book to him Remy’s eyes flicked towards her and then away. Rogue shook her head. If the Swamp Rat thought she was going to abandon him here he was out of his mind.

Remy frowned and shook his head. Glancing to ensure Mesmero was still distracted by the statue, he quickly charged a pebble on the ground before pulling the charge back out. Rogue nodded in understanding. Pulling another brochure from her bag, she silently waved it at Remy before retreating a few steps away toward the wall.

Remy nodded before turning his back towards her and handing the book to Mesmero.

Crumpling the paper into a ball in her hand, Rogue charged it up with three short charges, three long charges, and three more short charges. As she did so, she let her eyes roam the area.

“What are you doing over there?” Mesmero demanded.

“Looking for more hieroglyphs,” Rogue replied automatically. Mesmero narrowed his eyes for a second but nodded.

“Very well. Do not leave the courtyard.” Mesmero ordered.

Oh, trust me, I won’t, Rogue thought viciously but nodded her agreement anyway.

With nothing better to do, Rogue started making slow laps around the courtyard. Maybe if she walked the three laps like the brochure said, she could wish for Mesmero to disappear. Or would that be a seven-lap wish?

Rogue glanced at the two men.

Seven, she decided. Mesmero was definitely enough of a pain in the ass to warrant seven circles.

As she walked, Rogue carefully kept the brochure concealed on the outside of her body between her and the wall. As she moved, her eyes scanned the walls absently, but the limestone blocks were oddly smooth, with no hieroglyphs or carved reliefs of any kind. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the jagged, weather-worn capstones at the top of the wall and the few holes from missing stones, she would have thought the wall was new.

Reaching the starting point again, Rogue looked out over the lake. In the distance, the sky was starting to lighten to grey at the horizon. Her eyes widened in realization.  

Shit, it’s almost dawn. Rogue's heart began to race as she stared up at the brightening sky again. Biting her lip, she tried to calculate how much time they had until dawn. They’d be lucky if they had twenty more minutes before the sun was over the horizon.

What would Mesmero do if daylight came and they didn’t have the clue?

What day was it even? Did it even matter? Surely, a site like this would have visitors every day of the week. Did Mesmero plan to put everyone into a thrall? Maybe she could convince Mesmero to move on and hold up somewhere until the temple closed again.  

She could hear Remy and Mesmero discussing something to do with Amun-Ra behind her. Rogue began pacing again.

If she could delay Mesmero it might also give the X-Men more time to find them. She knew they were looking for her, but there was no way of knowing if the X-Men had seen Gambit’s powers on Cerebro.

Rogue glanced over her shoulder at the two men deep in conversation with their heads bent over the book. Rogue could hear them arguing but couldn’t make out the words.

Racking her brain, Rogue tried to come up with an argument that would convince Mesmero to abandon his search until later. She desperately wished she had telepathy so that she could talk to Remy without Mesmero’s interference.

As her feet finished another lap, Rogue looked up. The sky was noticeably brighter now. At the horizon, pale oranges and yellows were filtering in, chasing away the darkness. Her companions were still focused on their argument, pointing at different spots on a page, oblivious to the world around them.

Beyond the men and the white courtyard walls, the western night sky was still dark with stars even as the Eastern sky was growing lighter. Rogue sighed. At least it would be easier for Remy to see the hieroglyphs now. Around the courtyard, the white limestone walls had begun to take on a pink hue from the early morning light, reminding Rogue of Remy’s mutation.

A dark spot in the wall caught her attention. Rogue squinted. A small dark piece of stone was set oddly out of place among the otherwise pristine white limestone.

In fact, now that she was looking at the full expanse of the wall, there were multiple dark spots all set even distances apart from one another, all about a foot off the ground.

Curious, Rogue moved around the perimeter to the first dark spot. Quickly checking to make sure the men still weren’t paying her any mind, she crouched down to get a better look. The dark stone was slightly smaller than her fist. It was set back into the wall and covered with sand and dust. Reaching forward, Rogue ran her gloved fingertips over the stone, wiping away the thick layer of dirt.

As the dirt fell away, the gleaming surface of a carved blue Scarab became visible.

Rogue’s heart jolted in her chest, missing a beat, then slammed against her ribs. Jerking around to look at the rest of the wall, she did a quick count in her head.

Twelve. There were twelve dark spots in the wall.

Rogue stood and began to move forward again, carefully checking each spot and measuring the number of steps between them.

Spying a gap in the pattern, Rogue moved toward the empty spot. Leaning down again, she brushed her hand against the wall. Dirt and dust came away until a perfect imprint of a scarab was left in the stone. Rogue did a quick count. It would be the third stone in the series if you were counting from east to west.

A memory from Aziza floated across Rogue’s mind. Three was the symbol of plurality. Egyptians used it to signify a complete system.

Rogue climbed to her feet, trying to ignore that her knees felt like jelly. They needed to get Mesmero out of here. If they could give him the slip, she and Remy could come back later, but for right now, getting him away from the next clue was vital.

You can take him Stripes. Go for the element of surprise. Logan advised.

If not for the gun glinting on the ground next to Mesmero’s knee, Rogue might have considered it. But the chances she could vault the low fence and get her glove off before he could reach the gun was questionable. Not to mention, they needed to get him away from here, and that would be a lot harder to do if Mesmero was unconscious.

Do not fight him, Rogue. A man like Mesmero must be made to feel superior in order to be controlled. Mystique countered. Rogue didn’t disagree.

Time for an old Thieves Guild standby. Misdirection, Remy whispered.

Rogue nodded and approached the statue. Remy spotted her first, and she raised her eyebrows at him, darting her eyes towards Mesmero and then away from the pillar. Remy’s face smoothed over, but he gave no indication if he understood her. Rogue prayed that the Cajun man got the message or at least caught on quick.

“I have a question. If the statue is supposed to be dedicated to Khepri, why is there an etching of Ra on it?” Rogue asked. Taking a half step forward, she leaned over Mesmero’s back like she was trying to get a better look at the raised relief carved on the pillar, causing the man to shift uncomfortably.

She recognized the symbol from the book—a circular disk with wings—representing Ra.

“Both Khepri and Ra are tied to the sun. There may be a connection there.” Mesmero answered, not bothering to look at her. Rogue noticed he didn’t go as far as to say it was the connection. If Mesmero was confused, that might work in her favor.

“Yeah. But wasn’t Ra supposed to be the ultimate god or something? The ultimate power?” Rogue pressed. She could feel Remy’s questioning gaze boring into the side of her head. She didn’t dare turn her head towards him.

At her question, Mesmero paused. Standing up to give her his full attention, he raised an eyebrow, “What are you suggesting?”

“Why would someone carve a god of ultimate power on the front of a pillar for a statue dedicated to a lesser god?” Rogue asked. “Seems disrespectful.”

Mesmero frowned at her question. “You think Ra is the clue?”

“I mean, isn’t this treasure supposed to be some type of ultimate power?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Mesmero agreed, “Unfortunately, that doesn’t narrow things down much. Ra was prominent through much of Egyptian mythology.”

“Maybe not. You said that this treasure was older than the Pyramids, right?” Rogue asked Mesmero. As the man opened his mouth to answer, Rogue quickly turned away to look at Remy, ignoring Mesmero entirely.  

“When we were in Jean-Luc’s office, I saw something in Apocalypse’s memories. It wasn’t one of his servants but someone else, like a high-priest or something.” Mesmero tried to cut in again, but Rogue rolled on, not allowing him to speak. Over the man’s shoulder, Rogue spotted a smirk pulling at Remy’s lips as he caught on to what she was doing.

“He had that same figure inlaid on a gold chest piece that hung around his neck.” Rogue pointed at the raised relief of Ra on the stone. Frustrated, Mesmero tried to speak again, but Remy jumped in, cutting him off.

“If we’re talking about a High Priest of Ra from the Old Kingdom, Chere, then it’s got to be Imhotep. He was the first one to design the pyramids.” Remy pointed out. To anyone else, it would look like the Cajun was excited at figuring out the clue, but Rogue could see the wicked glee dancing in his eyes.

“If I may, continue my thought,” Mesmero snapped. The man’s face was fuming at having been talked over and left out of the conversation. Having regained his audience’s attention, Mesmero continued calmly, “As I was saying, Imhotep is the only logical choice. He was, as you said, the High Priest of Ra. Additionally, Imhotep was known to Apocalypse. They worked together to stop an alien invasion by the Brood in 2620.”

“Aliens. You serious?” Remy gaped.  

“Indeed. I’m afraid there’s far more to history than your textbooks taught you,” Mesmero gave the pair a smug grin.

“Bold of you t’ think I went to school,” Remy muttered, before adding, “2620 was the same year Imhotep completed the pyramid for pharaoh Djoser.”

“Impressive for the untaught.” Mesmero sneered.

“I said I didn’t go to school, not that I wasn’t taught. Mon Pere saw to that,” Remy snapped back, staring down his nose at the shorter man. Smirking, he added, “Besides, I already told you big names mean big money for the Guild, and Imhotep is one of the biggest.”

“Didn’t pyramids represent a pharaoh’s divine status or something?” Rogue asked, trying to keep things on track. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, and they needed to get out of here before someone saw them.

“Correct. It would seem that the treasure is at the pyramid of Djoser.” Mesmero agreed.

“It might be de pyramid itself,” Remy pointed out. “Their purpose was t’ help the soul ascend to heaven and join de gods.”

“Indeed,” Mesmero stepped over the rail, and Remy quickly followed suit. Rogue locked her knees to keep from sagging in relief as Mesmero moved away from the statue.

“How long will it take us to get there?” Rogue asked, eager to keep Mesmero moving. Mesmero smirked.

“I’m afraid this is where our accord ends.”

Before Rogue could wrap her head around Mesmero’s words, the older man drew his gun and leveled it at Remy, firing a single shot. Next to her, the Cajun cried out before crumpling to the unforgiving stone, arms clutched around himself.

Chapter Text

“Remy!”

The scream ripped from Rogue’s throat as she darted forward, dropping to the stone floor of the courtyard beside him. Remy was on his knees, his arms wrapped tightly around himself. Rogue could hear his breath whistle through his teeth with every breath.

“I would offer to let you come with me, but I suspect your young Thief will need medical attention sooner rather than later.” Mesmero tucked the gun back into the folds of his cloak, “I’m sure if you start screaming, the authorities will come pick you up quickly enough.”

With a bow, Mesmero turned and disappeared into the shadows of the ruins, cloak swirling behind him as he went. Rogue desperately wanted to run the man down and beat him to a bloody pulp, but now was not the time.

Dumping out her bag, she looked for anything to stem the bleeding.

“Is he gone?” Remy gritted out.

“Yeah, Sug’. He’s gone. Just hang in there for me, okay?” Rogue pleaded. Remy released his hunched-over position but kept a hand firmly planted against his hip.

“That’s good. Couillon.” Remy spat in the direction the man went. Rogue paused in her frantic digging to wheel around and gawk at the man beside her.

“Wait, are you hurt? Did he get you?”

“Ouias, but the man’s a terrible shot when he’s not hypnotizing someone else to do it.” Remy shrugged one arm and lifted his hand to reveal a three-inch gash to his hip, blood already staining his shirt red. “It’s just a graze.”

“Goddamn it, Swamp Rat, if you don’t put pressure back on that, I swear…,” Rogue broke off her threat to return to digging through her bag. Ripping open the little leather pouch, Rogue pulled out the underwear she had hidden the scarab in and pressed the fabric to Remy’s wound.

“Gotta say, Chere, this ain’t the way I pictured seeing your delicates for the first time. Maybe next time—Ouch!”

“Hush you, baby. You have to apply steady pressure.” Rogue snapped.

“Not that much pressure,” Remy grumbled. “What happened to tender loving care?”

“You don’t deserve my tender loving care after you scared me like that. With the way you dropped, I thought Mesmero put a bullet in your chest.” Rogue snarked.

Pressing even harder, she tried to focus on recalling what Dr. McCoy had taught them about field medicine and not the way her hands were shaking. Definitely not the way the corners of her vision were turning watery.

“Désolé, Chere.” Remy apologized. Rogue felt leather-encased fingers slide under her chin to tilt her face up from his wound to look him in the eye, “When I felt the hit, I figured it was better to let him think he had won since we were trying to get him out here. We were trying to get him out of here, right?”

“Yeah,” Rogue nodded. To her horror, she felt her chin wobble and a hot tear slide down the side of her face.

“Imma be fine, Chere. I’ve had worse than this from de Assassins.” His thumb swiped away the tear, then shot her a crooked grin, “Now, no more crying, Girl. Ya hear me? Or else I might think you like me or something.”

“Pfft. Well, we can’t have that.” Rogue huffed out wetly. Remy tucked one of her white streaks behind her ear.

“So. Did you figure out de clue?”

“I think so. The wall around the courtyard is inlaid with blue scarabs.” Rogue held up the blue scarab from the Shabti-Box. “One of them is missing.”

“Well, whatcha waiting for?” Remy asked. Rogue looked down at his side, and Remy snorted at her and waved her towards the wall, “Go. Like I said, I’ve had worse than this. Besides, I got a bit of a healing factor, too. Not like Wolverine’s, but de bleeding is already slowing down.”

Rogue looked at the wall and nodded. Pausing, she made sure his hand was sufficiently pressing against his wound. Grabbing the blue scarab, Rogue stood, “I’ll be right back.”

Moving to the empty spot on the wall. Rogue held up the scarab and pressed it into place. Around the courtyard, a loud click echoed off the stone walls.

“Umm, Rogue. You might want t’ see this.” Remy called from behind her. Turning around at the sound of her name, Rogue spotted the now-standing Remy—Sweet Jesus. Why was he standing?— staring at the front of the statue. Rogue hurried back over.

“The wings moved when you made that clicking noise.” Remy pointed at the etching of Ra. Rogue looked closely at where Remy was pointing. Sure enough, the wings had drooped slightly, just enough to indicate they were hinged. When the wings were in position, it looked like a raised stone relief. Rogue marveled momentarily at the craftsmanship that must have been necessary to create such a mechanism.

Remy grinned at her like a fool, and Rogue had no doubt her face mirrored his own.

Reaching out, Rogue pushed down on both wings simultaneously. As she did so, the disk in the center raised up, revealing a compartment hidden inside the stone pillar. Something glinted in the darkness. Carefully, Remy reached out with his free hand and plucked the object from inside.

It was an orange gem. Small enough to fit into the palm of Remy’s hand and disk-shaped. When Remy held it up to the sunlight, it seemed to glow from within with flashes of red and yellow, cut with more facets than Rogue could ever hope to count. It looked like the sun itself.

Remy inhaled sharply beside her and coughed.

Looking down, Remy pulled his hand away from his hip. Rogue gasped as the wound knitted itself closed faster than she had ever seen Logan heal. Moments later, not even a trace of a scar remained to indicate where the bullet had struck him.

“It feels like my skin’s humming.” Remy stared at the treasure in awe. “Like the way my powers were back before I…”

Remy broke off abruptly, eyes darting away. Rogue opened her mouth to ask what Remy meant, but he held the gem out for her to take. Carefully plucking the gem from Remy’s fingers, she sucked in a breath of her own.

A wave of energy flowed through her like a warm light washing over her skin. It was filling her up from the tips of her toes all the way to the roots of her hair. Every cell of her body felt alive.

In her mind, silence rang full volume.

The psyches weren’t just quiet.

They were gone.

Even Remy’s psyche was missing. 

Suddenly, desperation clawed at her. She needed to know how far it went. Ripping off her gloves and tucking them into her back pocket, Rogue held the treasure. The hum under her skin buzzed faster now that her hand was in direct contact with the gem. Singing life into every part of her.

Rogue desperately swung her gaze towards Remy, ready to plead with him to let her try touching him.

Warm hands wrapped around her own before she ever got her mouth open.

The world tilted under her feet.

Lightly calloused fingertips traced over her knuckles before dancing over the palm of her hand. Rogue tore her eyes away from the sight to look at the man holding her hand. Remy watched her intently, eyes glowing like embers.

Rogue swallowed thickly and reached up to cup his jaw, feeling the rough drag of his stubble over her skin. Rogue exhaled a ragged breath. “Oh my God.”

Sliding her fingers up his face and into thick auburn hair, a million thoughts raced through Rogue’s mind, but only one mattered. This. This was enough. More than she could ever hope for. All she had ever dreamed of, but something pulled at her. Telling her to go deeper. See how far her powers could go.

Electricity raced under her skin.

Rogue wheeled around and her eyes landed on a few pebbles lying on the ground. An image of Jean flashed in her mind. Reaching out with her mind, she imagined picking them up and bringing them closer. Stretching out her hand, the pebbles rose at the unspoken command and floated through the air before dropping into her palm.

“Chere?”

“I can do it.” Rogue heard herself whisper, clutching the pebbles in her fist. It felt like someone else was speaking. 

Opening her hand again, she commanded the pebbles to spin in a small twisting pattern. Instantly, the stones did as they were bid. A laugh bubbled up her throat, bursting from her mouth before she had a chance to stop it. She hardly believed it.

Turning towards the Cajun, Rogue thrust out her hand, pebbles still spinning. “Remy. I can do it. Don’t you see?”

Letting the stones drop, she wheeled around, her free hand clutching at her hair and a grin splitting her face. Spinning back, she caught Remy watching her, his face blank, but Rogue couldn’t bring herself to care as her mind skipped from possibility to possibility.

What control meant. What real control meant.

Her brain felt like a live wire. She needed to use her powers. She needed to move.

Before Rogue had the chance, a warm hand caught her hip. Dragging her towards him, Remy stalled her movements. Rogue jerked her eyes up in confusion.

“Get your hands off of her, Gambit.”

Logan slammed into Remy, knocking him to the ground. Not giving the Cajun a chance to recover. Logan pinned Remy with his heavier form, catching him around the throat. The Cajun’s hands flew to his neck, trying to break the older mutant’s grasp as Logan reared back, extending his claw.

“You’ve had it, Bub!”

“Logan! Stop! Please leave him alone!” Rogue screamed. Without thinking she thrust her hand forward,  telekinetically shoving the shorter man backward, sending him to the ground at Cyclops’ and Nightcrawler’s feet. “It’s not his fault. I made him come.”

Rogue positioned herself between Logan and Remy. Behind her, Remy was already rising to his feet while the X-Men stared at her stunned. Further away, Rogue could see a second plane landing beside the BlackBird. This one with SHIELD’s insignia on the side.

“Stripes,” Logan pulled himself up onto his knees. He stared at her in shock. 

“Mesmero was after this for Apocalypse!” Rogue flashed the orange jewel in her hand in Logan’s direction. Excitement took hold in her chest. Her heart was thudding against her ribs like she had just run a marathon, “It’s the ultimate power. Apocalypse needs it for his plans, but Remy and I figured out the clues first.”

“Kid, you’re not making sense.” Logan rolled up onto his feet.

“The gem is an advanced piece of alien technology that enhances the abilities of anyone carrying an x-gene.” Fury announced, entering the courtyard with a dozen agents, “SHIELD’s been searching for it ever since Apocolypse was resurrected in the hopes of keeping it out of his hands. It’s been around since ancient Egypt.”

“You’re just telling us this now,” Logan growled at Fury.

“We had reason to believe Mesmero was after it, but he wasn’t sure where the gem was located.” Fury ignored the growling Wolverine. “When our tracker programs picked up on a William Thorton entering Egypt, we figured he must have finally puzzled out the location.”

“Mais, he didn’t do anything. De femme is de one who figured it out. Kept Mesmero away from it, too.” Remy argued, jerking a thumb in her direction. At the Cajun’s affronted look on her behalf that Fury was crediting the crafty little man with finding the treasure, Rogue smiled, and the electricity under her skin hummed warmly.

“Good job Stripes.” Logan took a few steps toward her, “Now, why don’t you hand it over so we can put it somewhere safe?”

Rogue’s head whipped around at the suggestion. The buzzing under her skin kicked back up. Logan couldn’t be serious. He must not understand what Fury had been saying. The edge this gave them.

“Don’t ya get it. I can control it. Not just my powers, all the powers. Every power I’ve ever absorbed. I can control them. Apocalypse won’t stand a chance. Nobody has to get hurt. I can handle him by myself. I can fix everything. Keep everyone safe.” Rogue exclaimed, waving a hand at the other X-Men.

Had Logan forgotten them? They could get hurt. They didn’t have healing factors like he and Rogue did.

Her heart thundered in her chest.

“Rogue. Not like this.” Logan shook his head.

“You don’t understand.” Rogue wheeled around, resisting the urge to stamp her foot like a child. “Everything is going to be okay. I have control.”

The buzzing under her skin burned brighter. 

“Stripes, listen to me.” Logan swiped for her arm, but Rogue used Quicksilver’s powers to step back out of reach. “This isn’t control. This is power. And I know for a damn fact that power never comes without a price. I don’t know what the price of this is going to be, but I don’t want to see you pay it.”

“Rogue, you’ve got to listen,” Scott pleaded. Kurt stood beside him, worry etched in his golden eyes. 

Rogue’s eyes darted to her friend and her brother, but she shook her head. They weren’t listening. She understood their worries. Sure, she did. She’d lost control not that long ago. But this was different. She was controlling the powers, not the other way around.

She wouldn’t keep it forever, just until the world and the people she loved in it were safe.

“You don’t understand. I’m just going to keep it until we can stop Apocalypse. Just until I know everyone is safe.” Rogue wanted to cry at the disapproval on Logan’s face. She willed him to understand.

The power inside her welled up. It felt like she was at the top of a cliff, and the energy was beckoning her to jump. Let herself plunge into true power and fix the world the way it ought to be.

“Wolverine, you have three minutes to shut her down, or I’m calling the rest of my men in,” Fury warned.

“Rogue, Child. Please, listen to yourself.” Storm approached slowly, hands raised. They were starting to encircle her now. The energy shifted, pulsing angrily at the threat surrounding her.

But they’re not a threat. Rogue hesitated. Spinning on her heel, she bumped into Remy’s chest. She hadn’t heard him come up from behind her.

“Remy, please. I promise I can do this. I know I can stop him,” Rogue pleaded, desperation squeezed like a vice in her chest.

Remy smiled softly, chaffing his hands up and down her arms. For a moment, she feared he would try to reach down and snatch the gem from her hand. Instead, he settled his hands on her shoulders. Heat sinking through the fabric of her shirt into her skin.

“Why, Chere?”

“What do you mean ‘why’?” Rogue sputtered. “Apocalypse is going to destroy the world. Did you forget that, Swamp Rat?”

“No. I mean, why do you think that you have t’ do this alone?” Remy asked softly.

“I caused this.” Rogue’s eye screwed shut in frustration.

They had already talked about this. Why was he bringing it back up now?

“Stripes, this isn’t your fault,” Logan argued.

“I know that!” she shouted, twisting back to glare over her shoulder. “It doesn’t mean I wasn’t the cause.”

Remy’s hand cupped her jaw and gently turned her face back to him. For a split second, she caught the dark glare Remy flung at Logan from over her shoulder.

“You’re right, Chere. Mesmero and Mystique did use ya t’ cause this, but you didn’t answer my question. Why do ya need t’ do this alone?” Remy spoke softly, yet his yat seemed to echo across the stone space.

Rogue hesitated, “I…”

“Why do ya think there is any power level you could reach that your family would be okay letting ya run off and face Apocalypse alone?” Remy’s face broke into a crooked grin, “Hell, they chased ya all over de globe when ya were just with dis ol’ Cajun.”

The buzzing slowed to a hum, and something loosened in her chest. Rogue sucked in a full breath through her nose. Oddly enough, she felt like she could breathe again.

“Do ya really think I’m going to let you run off and face Apocalypse without me? Didn’t I already tell ya, Girl, that I’ll watch your back as long as ya let me?” Remy gave her the most earnest look she had seen on him to date.

“Gambit’s right, Schwester,” Kurt agreed from his place a few feet away. He didn’t move forward to crowd her, but her brother’s gold eyes watched her warmly.

Rogue swallowed thickly, hearing Kurt call her sister again. The backs of her eyes began to sting. Dragging her free hand over her face, the tips of her fingers felt cool against the flushed skin but grounded her all the same.

Another deep breath, and the humming died down to a barely noticeable tingle. In the wake of the receding power, calm began to overtake her, leaving her bone-tired.

“Sorry, ya’ll,” Rogue flushed, looking at the faces around her. Ducking her head, Rogue rubbed the back of her neck, “I guess I let myself get overwhelmed there for a minute.”

“C’est bon,” Remy waved off her apology, “You came back t’ us.”

“Gumbo’s right, Stripes. Glad to have you back.”

Rogue felt Remy’s hands slide from her shoulders. One hand skimming down to pluck her gloves from her back pocket. Remy held them out to her, “Maybe it’s time t’ put these back on?”

Rogue waited for the twist in her gut that always came whenever someone suggested she should put her gloves on, but it didn’t appear. For once someone was offering her gloves to protect her, not everyone else.

Rogue looked up at Remy. Red-on-black eyes watched her warmly as he waited patiently for her to take the gloves. Around her, she was painfully aware that the others were watching the exchange closely.

Rogue flushed.

She glanced down at the gem in her hand and then up at Remy. Her whole life she had sat on the sidelines as opportunity passed her by. Suddenly, she didn’t want to let this one go.

“Ah, hell. One for the road,” Rogue muttered.

Catching hold of the Cajun’s shirt, she dragged him down to her, sealing her mouth to his. Remy made a surprised sound in the back of his throat. Then his arms were snapping around her waist and dragging her up flush against his front. Rogue went up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. Softening into a deeper kiss, one of Remy’s hands moved to cup her jaw while the other drifted down towards her hip. 

SNIKT

“Schwester!”

Eventually, he pulled away to rest his forehead against hers. Remy chuckled. “Ya trying t’ get me sliced and diced, Chere?”

A throat cleared, breaking into the moment. Fury stepped forward, “As touching as this is. I’m going to have to insist you hand over the gem now.”

Rogue rolled her eyes but pulled back anyway. “Anyone ever tell ya you’re a romantic, Fury?”

“Never.”

“Sounds about right.”

Grabbing her gloves from Remy, Rogue tugged them on. Immediately, the psyches and the noise they brought with them came roaring back as the last of the buzzing disappeared from under her skin.

As she finished putting on her gloves, Fury approached along with a man in a suit carrying a metal briefcase. As she moved to place the gem in the case, Rogue paused a thought washing over her. Pulling her hand back, Rogue eyed Fury. “Actually, before I hand this over, I want a few guarantees. “

Silence reigned.

After a moment, Scott finally stepped forward. “Rogue, that’s not how the X-Men operate.”

“You’re right. It’s not. And I might be an X-Men,” Rogue agreed, glancing over her shoulder at Scott before turning back towards Fury, who was watching her evenly, “But I’m also Raven Darkhölme’s daughter. And she’s never handed over anything without getting something out of it. So let’s negotiate.”

“What do you want?” Fury asked.

“First, I want you to hand over all the files on the kids at Xavier’s,” Rogue stated, holding up a finger. Logan’s head snapped up.

“What’s she talking about Fury?” Logan growled. 

“Gambit’s too.” Rogue added, cutting Logan off before it could devolve into an argument, “And I want you to keep the kids at Xavier’s off of SHIELD’s files moving forward.”

“Done.” Fury gave a short nod.

“Second,” Rogue ticked up a second finger. “Remy walks free of all charges for anything that happened. He only came along to help me.”

“Somebody has got to go to jail.” Fury state.

Rogue bristled. If Fury thought she was going to throw Remy under the bus, he had another thing coming. “If someone has to take the blame for the heist, I’ll happily sign a—”

A gloved hand clapped over her mouth, cutting her off and tugging her backward. Rogue felt her back hit Remy’s chest as an arm snaked around her waist, securing her to him.

“If ya’ll need someone t’ go t’ jail. I have just de homme for ya. How fast do ya think you can get t’ de Pyramid of Djoser?” Rogue could hear the grin in the Cajun’s voice. Against his hand, she smiled. Clever Cajun.

“As fast as I need to,” Fury remarked dryly.

“Mesmero is headed there now. He’s also responsible for de deaths of two innocent men at the Egyptian Museum in Cairo.” Remy offered. Fury turned to look back at his men and nodded. Several people began moving back towards SHIELD’s plane.

“Anything else?” Fury demanded.

Rogue broke free of Remy’s grasp so that she could turn to look at him. Remy shook his head, telling her that he didn’t have anything else to add. Rogue stared into space, her mind racing, trying to make sure she hadn’t left anything out. Suddenly, a thought struck her.

Turning to look at Fury Rogue’s lips twisting into a smirk.

“Actually, there is one other thing…”

Chapter Text

Remy stood in front of the massive mahogany desk in the middle of Jean-Luc’s office.  It was a place he had stood countless times before any time he and his brother, or one of their cousins, had gotten into trouble.  Not that they had been punished for the petty crimes they got up to, but Jean-Luc had always been quick to bend their ear about getting caught.

This time, though, Rogue stood next to him. Wolverine leaned against the bookcase behind them with his arms crossed, watching them both like a hawk.

Remy had already decided he was heading North again, with or without Jean-Luc’s permission.

He’d spoken to Henri about it on the phone earlier.  When Remy asked what type of trouble this would cause the Guild, Henri had merely hem and hawed, before eventually pointing out that it would reflect badly on the Guild if someone Remy had put under his protection didn’t have Remy watching over her.

Remy chose to ignore Mercy’s snickering in the background.

For most of the ride back, he and Rogue had slept curled up side-by-side in two chairs.  Personally, Remy would have been happy if they could have slipped off to share the medical cot in the back of the plane, but he wasn’t fool enough to suggest that in front of the others.  Not when it was clear they didn’t trust him in the slightest.

By the time the Blackbird had touched down back in Bayville, it had been the middle of the night.  Surprisingly, Remy hadn’t found himself immediately marched off the property and dropped outside of the gates.

He credited Rogue with that.

However, they were marched into the Professor’s office first thing the next morning to recount the whole story from start to finish.

It had taken some cajoling, then outright pleading on Rogue’s part to convince the X-Men that he wasn’t as bad as they thought him to be.  For his part, Remy stayed silent, more than happy to let Rogue lead the charge. Especially when it came to convincing that Papa Bear of hers to keep his claws away from Remy’s favorite part of his anatomy.

Jean-Luc didn’t raise no fool.  A lying sneak thief of a gambler, but not a fool.

Rogue even managed to turn Remy’s kidnapping of her into a tale of desperate heroism and familial duty.  Remy wasn’t sure if he was proud or concerned at her ability to omit truths and spin half-truths.

Going to have to keep an eye on that, he mused, turning his attention back to the woman grinning at Jean-Luc with a hand on her hip.

“So what happened to de treasure?” Jean-Luc asked.

“It’s in SHIELD’s possession. And as long as nobody gets the idea to go trying to steal it,” Rogue gave the older man a pointed look, “then it’ll stay locked up where Mesmero can’t get to it.”

Jean-Luc smirked and raised his hands in surrender. “As much as I would love to see Fury’s face if the Thieves did manage to steal it out from under him, you don’t need to worry about that, Petite.  It might have been one hell of a prize, but some things just need to stay buried.”

“Well, if it’s any consolation, Fury agreed to hand over Remy’s file, and SHEILD will keep Remy’s involvement with the heists off of local law enforcement’s books,” Rogue informed Jean-Luc.

“Is dat right?” Jean-Luc grinned and leaned back in his chair, “Who knew Fury could be brought to a heel by a fille.”

“You going to tell him about that other thing you did?” Logan grumbled.  Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow and sat back up in his chair.  In curiosity, he eyed the woman in front of him, who was now tracing the seams of her gloves.

“I might have bargained on the Guild’s behalf for one carte-blanc favor from SHIELD, given the role y’all played in helping to recover the gem.  Anyone with the last name LeBeau can call it in.” Rogue answered, shy at being called out for her good deed.  Behind his desk, Jean-Luc’s mouth dropped open.

Remy smirked at seeing his father so utterly thrown off his game by the slip of a woman standing before him.

Jean-Luc threw his head back in laughter and shook his head. Standing up, he walked around his desk and leaned on the front of it, regarding Rogue for a moment.

“Ya sure I can’t convince ya t’ move down t’ N'awlins?” Jean-Luc asked.

“No, Sir. I’m sticking with the X-Men.” Rogue waved off the offer without a second thought.  She probably didn’t think Jean-Luc was serious. Remy knew better. From the corner of his eye, Remy glanced at Logan, who gave him a knowing look.

They were going to have to keep an eye on that. Remy frowned.

“Dat’s too bad.” Jean-Luc shook his head woefully, causing Rogue to laugh. “Would you like me t’ have Theo and Emil adjust your credits at your school?  We could make it look like ya took extra courses in Mississippi so ya can graduate faster.”

Rogue’s eyes popped wide. Remy couldn’t blame her for jumping at the offer. Kelly was a bigot and an ass.

“That would be amazin—” Rogue broke off as Logan’s hand clamped down on her shoulder, “a-absolutely morally reprehensible. Education is very important.” Rogue finished rapidly. Checking over her shoulder to see if Logan bought it. She winced when he shot her a dire look.

Remy wanted to laugh at Rogue’s misstep, but he knew he was already in the same boat.  After Rogue had finished recounting their adventures, the Professor shocked everyone, Remy most of all, by offering him a spot on the Team.

Remy immediately jumped at the chance.

On the other hand, Logan hadn’t taken the news quite as well.  At least, not until the older man realized that he could punish both of them for their globe-trekking.

They were going to be washing the Blackbird for the next six months.

Remy would also be doing extra DR sessions with Logan to ‘get him up to scratch for missions.’ Remy didn’t buy that for a minute, but he wasn’t about to complain.  It was a small price to pay to stay near Rogue.

Besides, he doubted it was worse than the punishments that the Guild handed out.

Rogue had only gotten to avoid extra DR sessions because she would be doing her own training with the Professor.  Now that she had experienced the full depth of her power, she was eager to see if she could harness some of that control without the gem.

Remy brought his focus back to the conversation going on around him.

“Well, if ya ever change your mind about graduating early. We’re only a call away.” Jean-Luc smiled, “Like I said before, de Thieves will take care of ya. Especially since you’re under Remy’s protection now.”

Logan twitched.

Remy sighed. Well there’s a fun conversation he was going to get to have on the way home.

He’d already puzzled out that Wolverine was familiar with the Guilds.  How familiar time would tell, but the man knew far more than he should as an Outsider. Judging by the older man’s reaction to hearing Rogue was under his protection, Remy wondered if he should invest in an adamantium cup.

“About that.” Rogue pulled herself upright and narrowed her eyes in what Remy had mentally dubbed her ‘Raven Darkhölme stance.’ “Remy’s coming with us. We still have to face off against Apocalypse, and his skills will be needed.”

Remy’s head snapped towards Rogue.

Jean-Luc crossed his arms, his face smoothing into his Guildmaster’s mask. “And if I say ‘no’.”

“You can consider this me calling in my second life debt,” Rogue replied smoothly.

Jean-Luc’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, and Remy mentally swore.  He’d forgotten to tell Rogue that the second debt had already been fulfilled. Jean-Luc’s eyes slid towards him. Remy could see the laughter dancing in them as his father silently communicated that he knew Remy had forgotten to tie up loose ends.

Remy fought the urge to shift on his feet like a young pup. It was a rookie mistake, and they both knew it.

Jean-Luc turned his gaze back toward Rogue, who was still watching him expectantly. After another beat of silence, Jean-Luc waved a hand and pushed off from the edge of his desk, “Bon. As long as mon fils has no objections.”

Only years of training kept Remy’s jaw from hitting the floor.

“No, Pere,” Remy replied, keeping his answer short to prevent himself from saying something stupid. Rogue grinned.

“Well, we best be on our way,” Rogue said, reaching for his arm and pulling Remy towards the door.

“You take care of mon fil.” Jean-Luc called, “And keep him away from that metal-controlling mutant. Never liked that bastard.”

As Rogue tugged him from the room, Remy’s eyes caught hold of Jean-Luc’s. The man who had pulled him off of the streets. The man who had put a roof over his head and food in his belly. The man who had used him and his powers but may have loved Remy all the same. The man who had arranged his marriage without Remy’s consent. The man who was playing matchmaker with his son’s life again.

Jean-Luc smirked.

Remy smirked back.

Looks like they had a mutual goal to accomplish.