Archive of Our Own ^beta

-1-

Before dawn, Rogue curled up with a mug of hot chocolate on her favorite couch in one of the lesser drawing rooms. Or, was it a minor parlor? Whatever they called it, the room was usually empty at this time in the morning. Which, in itself, was something of a minor miracle. The LeBeau family home also served as the seat for the New Orleans Thieves Guild, so there were always people bustling about the main floors of the extensive house. With the majority of the Thieves being night owls by nature or trade and her body still accustomed to waking for early morning Danger Room sessions, this was one of the few times in a day, Rogue could almost guaranty some privacy.

She’d been living among the Thieves for the better part of two months and she was beginning to think they’d never heard of personal space. And, to her surprise, she didn’t think she minded.

Certainly, it had been strange at first. There was always someone around and they were a demonstrative bunch. From her observations, it seemed as though whenever there were at least two of them in a room, they were inexplicably drawn to each other. Usually in nothing more than simple comradery. The younger members greeted each other with hugs or hand shakes, or even a slap on the back. Young and old, they gathered around packed tables to eat or plan and worked together to clean or train. They were always testing their skills against each other, picking pockets and other feats of slight of hand.

When it came to her, the stranger in their midst, they were no different. She was Remy’s girlfriend, which meant she was one of them. The others would not stay away from her. They moved near her—even bumping into her—like her skin was not poison. Instead of treating her like something fragile and dangerous, they welcomed her like one of the family.

Mercy was in and out of Rogue’s room almost as much as she was her own. Her new friend was always wanting to borrow a book or lend Rogue an outfit, or to spend the afternoon painting nails and watching movies. Henri teased her like a sister while Etienne and Emil flirted with her as much to make her blush as to get Remy’s goat. Tante Mattie had welcomed her with a hug the first day Remy had brought her home and had been mothering her ever since.

After experiencing such casual intimacy which wasn’t laced with fear, Rogue didn’t ever want to go back to the way things were before. Back to the days when no one touched her. When every encounter was marked by blatant trepidation. When they kept her around less for her company and more to keep an eye on the danger she might possess. The days when the person who felt the most like family had no qualms about up and leaving her with a team who didn’t truly trust her.

One by one, she twisted the fingers of her glove, inadvertently working the material up her hand and revealing a sliver of skin along the bottom of her palm. Once upon a time, not so long ago, the merest hint of skin was quickly covered before even accidental exposure could prove dangerous. Here it was different. The Thieves—Remy's family—weren’t incautious or foolhardy. Instead, the thieves moved with complete control of their bodies and complete awareness of the surroundings. She wasn’t the only one who had to carry the weight of her mutation. Shared, the burden was lighter. Dangerous, yes, but for the first time in her life, it didn’t feel automatically deadly.

With half a sigh, half a yawn, she studied her hand. In contrast to the dark material of her gloves and sweater, her sun starved skin was too pale. Since her mutation manifested, she was careful to always keep her skin under layers of protective clothing, but what if it didn’t always need to be that way. She didn’t need to go back to that life. The life where she was feared and watched, and easily cast off when her presence wasn’t necessary.

Remy had made it clear time and time again that he loved her, that he wanted her in his life, that this was her home for as long as she wanted it to be. And she did. She wanted it all. She wanted the love he offered, the family he’d shared, the new friends she’d made. Not only that, she wanted more. She wanted to touch. As cliched as it sounded, she wanted husband and children, home and family, and that metaphorical white, picket fence. For so long she clung to her inability to possess even the smallest sliver of those dreams that she almost forgot she ever wanted them. For the first time since she was a child, she felt the fog lifting from her future.

“Mornin’ chère,” Remy said around a yawn. He leaned against the door frame and cradled a mug of coffee in his hands. From under half lidded eyes, he studied her. His burning gaze settled on the sliver of exposed skin, and left her flush with the twin flames of desire and want. Like always, his entrance was silent until he had wanted her to know he was there. She wondered how long he’d been standing in the doorway, watching her daydream, before he announced his presence. In a graceful, loping stride, he crossed the room and sat beside her. Remy wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him so she rested half against his chest. Without missing a beat, he kissed the top of her head where her hair changed from cinnamon to white. “Penny for your thoughts.”

With a laugh, she shook her head as she pulled herself into this moment. “Is that all they’re worth?”

“Non. They’re worth millions, but I find it a bit difficult to carry those millions in pennies.” Remy set his mug on a nearby end table, freeing his hand to trace the hard lines of her knee.

Rogue held out her hand with her bare palm facing up. “Just thinkin’ about how nice it would be to hold your hand.”

“All right.” He drawled out the words as if giving himself time to mull over thoughts Rogue couldn’t even start to fathom. What was there even to think about? While he and the others might not refrain from touching her with her clothes as a barrier, none had been foolish enough yet to dare touching her exposed skin. She might want more, but that didn’t mean the others felt the same way when put to the test.

“May I?” Remy held out his hand.

“May you what?” Rogue stared at his proffered hand. This early in the morning, his hands were free of even those partial gloves he favored. So much tantalizing bare skin on offer. He couldn’t be serious. Was he truly offering what she thought he was offering? Surely she was mistaken.

His hand remained steady. “May I hold your hand?”

No! jumped to her tongue and balanced on the precipice of possibilities. The word, razor sharp and cutting, meant as much to repel any advances as to protect her heart.

At her hesitation, he didn’t push, nor did he withdraw his offer. “It’s up to you, mamour, just know that when you’re ready—be it now or later— I will always be here for you. You are in control.”

The sincerity in his crimson eyes took her breath away. He wholeheartedly believed every word he spoke, every gesture he offered.

Instead of allowing the all too ready words of refusal to slip out and sever the tentative strings of possibility binding their hearts, trust won out. Silently, she nodded.

Remy slipped his hand into hers. The bare skin of his palm brushed against the sliver of her exposed palm. Her breath caught in her throat at the sensation. She longed to curl her fingers tightly around his hand and never let go. Instead, she kept her grip light. Remy squeezed her hand, reassuring her that he was there, that he wasn’t going anywhere, all the while keeping his touch feather light.

Her powers surged, pushing against, then through, the barrier of her skin. They pulled at Remy—his memories, his powers, his psyche. He didn’t pull away, instead he leaned in and rested his forehead against hers, their hands still loosely intertwined.

“Breathe.” His voice was strained. Fainter than usual, but it still contained his sense of self. “You’re not taking, mamour, ‘m giving myself to you.”

Not taking. His words rumbled through her, jostled against her sharp edges, smoothing away the tears and sting. They tempered the guilt which usually followed each absorption. She wasn’t stealing his life from him. He was sharing it with her. A gift of trust. Of his heart, his soul. Opening a part of himself to her, a part which nobody else knew. She was privy to his innermost fears, his most closely guarded secrets, his innate sense of self. Breathing in deeply, then exhaling slowly, she swore by all she held dear that she wouldn’t abuse his trust in her. She wouldn’t take more than she could handle, more than he had to offer.

Wresting a modicum of control, she pushed against the pull. It was a tug of war with Remy’s soul and her sanity as the stakes. His grasp with its familiar patterns of burn scars and callouses grounded her to the here and now and kept her from getting lost in the absorption. The flood slowed to a still greedy, grasping trickle despite her best efforts. Her heart raced in her chest and almost drowned out his breathing, which, while ragged and harsh in her ears, was too weak for her liking.

Whether or not he would fade away before her eyes was up to her. She would not steal his soul. Would not leave him a shadow of himself.

“No.” With a gasp, she wrenched her hand from his. Already her soul felt bereft of his touch, but if she let go now, she would be able to touch him again.

“Mon cœur, you did it.” Though Remy’s face was pale, and dark circles marred the skin under his eyes, a smile lit his face like the sun. A pride at her accomplishments echoed in his words.

Rogue reached past what little distance separated them and pulled him into a tight embrace. His head rested against her shoulder, while her cheek pressed to the top of his head. Their skin did not touch, but she never felt closer to another person. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes as the enormity of what she had done washed over her. They had touched and at the end of the encounter, she was still herself, and Remy was still himself.

“Thank you.” Her voice was ragged with emotion, while her body buzzed with his borrowed energy. Though her thoughts were her own, she could not deny the fervent love and desire, and hope for a future together, which ran hot through her veins and carried the taste of him with every rapid flutter of her pulse. “I love you, Rems.”

When her head no longer ached and her eyes no longer burned at the growing daylight, Rogue released Remy from the embrace. He collapsed back against the couch and his shoulders drooped with an exhaustion which hadn’t been there when he entered the room.

“Je t’aime aussi,” he murmured softly. Despite the weariness which resulted from the exposure to her powers, Remy brushed his thumb over the swell of her cheek and wiped away the trail of spent tears. At his gently, lingering caress, her powers did not tug and pull at his psyche. Instead they remained tightly restrained and struggled against her efforts at control.

“If you’re willing, we can try again later—” With her gloves fully restored to their proper position, Rogue caught his hand with hers and drew it away from her face. A smile closer to carefree than she had felt since childhood, illuminated her face. She placed his mug of now cold coffee back into his hands. “—when you have more pep.”

Remy chuckled around a whole body yawn. Draining the remainder of the coffee, he grimaced. “Whenever you’re ready, Roguey, I’ll be willing.” With a slight wobble, he pushed himself to his feet and held out his hand. “Until then, how ‘bout some breakfast?”

“Sounds good.” Slipping her hand in his, Rogue followed him to the dining room. If need be, she would follow him to the ends of the earth, safe in the assurance that he would do the same for her.

-2-

Moonlight filtered through the wispy sheen of clouds drifting across the star spattered sky. The breeze caught the scent of magnolias, and carried it to where Rogue stood on the balcony, gazing out over the intricately manicured garden. Behind her, the soft strains of music mixed with the soft buzz of conversation. The familiar scents and sights of home did little to soothe the intermittent spikes of anxiety roiling in the pit of her stomach. She curled her fingers around the stem of her champagne flute. The fragile glass grew warm under her clammy touch. To settle the roiling nerves in her stomach and give her hands something to do, she sipped at the ginger ale masquerading as a much more potent drink. Though she had a relatively high tolerance for alcohol, she wasn’t going to risk it. Not tonight. She couldn’t screw this up. They were counting on her. He was counting on her. This was her chance to prove that she was one of them. That she truly fit in among the Thieves as something more than Remy’s fiancée.

When she left the X-Men, she never thought she would return to this side of the law. Then again, the X-Men were not exactly on the side of law and order either. But, this…this…was embracing a blatant defiance of the law.

“There you are.”

She knew it was Remy even before he spoke. Approaching her from behind, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him until her back was flush against his front. His highball glass clinked against her champagne flute as his hands pressed against hers. Though they'd only been engaged for a week, her hand felt naked without her engagement ring. But, Remy had insisted it was safe this way. A thief didn't wear something as identifiable and personal as her engagement ring on the job.

“Hey sugah.” The back of her head pressed against the sharp jut of his collarbone. Though he was clad in a bespoke suit and as handsome as the reflection of stars on the nearby lake, all the finery in the world did nothing to hide hard lines of his bones, the wiry pull of his muscles, and the rough knots of scar tissue crossing his body from her intimate, knowing touch.

In a smooth, practiced gesture, he slipped the delicate flute from hand and balanced it delicately along the balcony banister beside his tumbler. His highball was no more whisky than her drink was champagne. They would remain stone cold sober for the job.

“It’s time.” Remy leaned in close enough that his breath brushed over the shell of her ear in a warm caresses as he twisted a lock of her hair around his fingers. To the casual observer, it appeared as though he whispered sweet nothings to his paramour, and not, as was in actuality, giving her the signal for her part of the job.

Technically, this was Remy’s job and she was serving as his second. But, they had planned the job around her and the special skills she could bring to the Guild. While they never said she had to join them—they only asked that she keep their secrets—she couldn’t live among the thieves for this long and not want to take part of their world.

“Okay,” she murmured just as softy as Remy had instructed her, but she didn’t move from her spot along the railing. Turning, she grasped the lapels of Remy’s jacket and held him in place as she fought for a deep breath.

“You can do this, mon cœur.” His whispers were covered by a featherlight peppering of kisses down along her jawline. “Just like we practiced.”

Rogue stretched her neck to the side, allowing Remy access to the flawless expanse of her throat. While this might be a classy event, they weren’t the only couple indulging in a little necking. Although, she supposed, the act carried a bit more significance for her than most. It was another first among many firsts for Rogue.

The light tug on one of the snowy ringlets framing her face drew Rogue out of her reverie. Though the distinctive red on black of his eyes was hidden behind colored contacts, she basked in the passionate gleam which sparked in his eyes. She could spend all evening drinking in his presence. Her powers concurred as they buzzed along the points of contact. “Do you remember where you’re suppose go?”

Breaking character for a moment, Rogue rolled her eyes. “Ttch. Course I do, swamp rat. I could run the route in my sleep if that wouldn’t draw every eye in the room.”

“Bien.” Leaning down, Remy pressed a kiss against her hungry lips “Follow me.”

He caught her bare hand up in his and pulled her away from the wall. In an apparently insouciant manner, he led her on a winding path her through the crowd of dancing couples and lingering groups caught up in discussion.

Every so often, Rouge would brush into an attendee and her powers would flare, absorbing bits of memories and emotions. The mumbled apologies and the besotted expression she trained on Remy belied the amount effort it took to divide her control between sipping only the needed bits of information from each fleeting contact while preventing herself from absorbing anything from Remy.

When they reached a clear spot about two-thirds of the way across the dance floor, they came to a gradual, natural stop. Remy wrapped an arm around her waist and guided them into the proper position for the dance in progress. They quickly fell into the pattern of the waltz, and soon disappeared from notice among the throng of similar dancing couples.

“Did you get it?” he asked in a murmured French.

“Oui.” Grateful the dance didn’t require she to do much more than follow his lead, Rogue closed her eyes and leaned against her fiancé as she sorted through the mishmash of memories for the pertinent information. The beat of his heart served as a grounding rhythm, preventing her from becoming lost in the myriad of newly acquired psyches as she took the time to sort through them. Her head throbbed in time with the music and when her steps wavered, Remy was there to support her every step of the way.

As one song ended and a new one began, Remy flawlessly transitioned them into the next dance. This one was a bit more difficult, but her feet soon found the well practiced steps ingrained into her memory after weeks of practice. Before the dance was half over, Rogue squeezed Remy’s hand. He caught her eye and she gave a subtle nod. It was time. She had the absorbed the pilfered memories, sorted them, and the requisite data was now ready to use.

Remy’s fingertips brushed along her hip in a silent confirmation of her message. Never losing time with the music, Remy directed them towards the edge of the dance floor. Once clear of the other dancing couples, Rogue slipped her hand into his. The familiar warmth of his touch buzzed through her.

“Where to?” He murmured softly into her hair.

With his hand safely ensconced in hers, she pulled him into the deep shadows of a nearby blocked off hallway.

“Chère?” Ensconced in the darkness and hidden from prying eyes, Remy pressed her against the wall. The fingers of his free hand trailed up her arm. His breathing quickened and the desire between them pulsed in a near tangible manner.

“Not yet, swamp rat. Work first, then we can play.” Despite her protest on timing, Rogue pressed a kiss to his lips a moment longer than would be considered chaste. Before he could deepen the kiss and they both forgot their reason for being there, Rogue slipped past him while keeping hold of his hand. She tugged him to follow so he remained beside her with every step as they started down the hall. “This time, follow me.”

-3-

The ski chalet was…a choice. Not necessarily one Rogue would have made on her own, but Remy had his reasons. For the most part, Rogue got it. She’d been living among the Thieves for nearly a year and was learning their ways.

Remy had a job in Telluride and, while neither of them could pass for a ski bunny, being seen on the slopes every so often would give them plausible deniability for why they were in town during the middle of ski season. Furthermore, the cabin was certainly luxurious enough with every amenity she could imagine. Their newly wed act wasn’t much of an act, even if their actual wedding wasn’t for another month. No one who had seen them around town would question why they spent as much time indoors as they did outside. When they needed to be out of doors keeping up their cover, running errands, or surveilling for the job, Rogue couldn’t find it in herself to begrudge the view. Even the snow encrusted mountains were gorgeous. The kind of scenery you wished to bottle up on a postcard, cross it with a snow globe, and take it with you. But, not live there.

Seriously, she could take just about anything. Anything, except this bloody cold.

Stomping the snow and slush from her boots onto the threshold mat, Rogue dropped the bag groceries to the ground and wrapped her arms around her middle in a futile attempt of seeking warmth. The sleeves of her snow jacket were damp with the melting snow beading on the water resistant material.

As if only now noticing her absence, Remy looked up from the plans covering every inch of the table. “Chère, what have you been up to?”

Before he finished the question, Remy was across the room, helping Rogue out of her coat and boots. Grateful for his assistance—and more importantly his warmth—Rogue leaned against him.

“Freezing.” Her teeth chattered, proving her point. As his fingers ghosted down her arms and tracing her wrists, the internal fire trapped beneath his skin began to sink its way towards her frozen bones. “You were busy and I was bored. Thought I might as well do some grocery shopping. Wanted some of your red beans and rice for dinner and the kitchenette isn’t exactly stocked for home cooking.”

“I would have gone with you.” He wrapped his arms around her and picked her up so her stocking feet wouldn’t become any wetter in the growing puddles of melting slush.

Relaxing into his embrace, she didn’t struggle as he carried her across the room and set her in front of the fireplace. He wrapped her in a crocheted afghan and replaced her damp socks with dry ones. With a kiss pressed to the top of her head, he offered a mumbled, “I’ll be right back.”

Rogue pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and buried her chin into the folds. Sinking into a warming stupor, she listened to the crackle of the fire and the rustle of Remy putting away the groceries. The whistling of the kettle promised the coming of a warm drink.

Before long Remy was back at her side. His fingers brushed against hers as he handed her the promised mug of tea. The moment their fingers touched, he gasped. “Mon cœur, your hands are cold. Let me warm them up for you.”

He sank bonelessly to the ground beside her and cupped his hands over hers, allowing warmth from both sides to penetrate her frozen digits. Rogue hummed as her betrothed’s powers, sans psyche or memory, ran through her veins and warmed her from the inside out. She blinked, growing accustomed to the way her vision morphed with the change of her eyes. With only a slight shudder signifying his awareness of her absorption, Remy leaned into her.

“What happened to your gloves?” Remy asked after a moment. He cuddled around her, one hand still holding hers, while the other traced designs along her knee. Rogue sipped at the tea. The hot liquid only barely avoided burning her tongue.

“I forgot them.” Her cheeks flushed at her confession. Her gaze shifted to a nearby end table where her purple winter gloves laid, forgotten and unworn as part of her winter ensemble. It hadn’t been her intent to forget them. They just weren’t the first thing she grabbed for anymore. Around the Thieves, and especially around Remy, she didn’t need the constant layers of protection. They never feared her touch, accepting that accidents were simply part of the learning experience. Remy, he not only welcomed her touch, he invited it. Sometimes, he even offered to freely share of his memories and feelings.

“I just…I hate …,” she exhaled heavily, “I hate wearing them. They remind me of…of everything…the past…you know. I don’t want to go back to living in fear all the time”

Remy opened his mouth to protest, but before he could get a word out edgewise, she wriggled a hand out of his grasp and placed a finger to his lips. “I know this is different. By the time I realized I needed them, I was already halfway to the store. I thought if I made it a quick trip, it wouldn’t be so bad.” She ran her thumb along his unshaven cheek. The short hairs were sharp and prickled her skin as she ran it up against the grain of the beard. When she started to gain control of her powers, she’d quickly become addicted to all the various textures of his body. Enjoying the sensation nearly as much as she did, Remy indulged her her roving caresses. “I like being able to touch you without a barrier.”

“I know, mon cœur. But, please wear your gloves when it’s freezing.” He lifted the hand he still held and slowly, pressed fevered kisses to each knuckle and each fingertip. “I happen to love these hands very much and wouldn’t want anything to happen to them.”

Rogue hummed in growing passion with the rising ardor of his touches. His kisses and caresses slowed, prolonging each moment of contact into a delicious, enticing preamble of what was to come. Before the tea could spill over her lap, she placed the mug on the brick hearth. Taking advantage of her now free hand, Remy continued his fervent kisses onto her other hand until the last remnants of chill fled from her bones.

Climbing onto Remy’s lap, she straddled his hips, and freed her hands from his embrace. She combed her hands through his hair until she was cupping the back of his head. Beneath her touch, the strands of his hair were silky with the ends being just long enough to start curling and tickle along the edge of her hands. With a gentle pressure, she guided his head back so his smoldering red on black gaze met the desire mirrored back in her eyes, the temporary twins of his own. He tightened his hold at her waist and his fingers skirted under her layers of clothes.

His breathing grew heavy, syncing with hers as she dipped her head and kissed him until they were both burning with a fire which had nothing to do with fireplaces or mugs of tea.

-4-

Some might say Paris was cliched when it came to planning a honeymoon, but Rogue didn’t care. This was her first time in the City of Love and she was enchanted. No wonder Remy loved this city.

It was the last leg of their honeymoon. They’d been here a week, dining at fabulous restaurants and visiting museums, churches, and monuments of every sort. The visited many of the tourist attractions, but it was the quiet moments where they found a small café or happened upon a hidden park or visited the one of the kind of places only locals know that were often the sharpest in her memory. And, their days paled in comparison to their nights.

Their nights…

Well, their nights often drifted into late, indulgent mornings. Rogue would never—could never—get enough of her husband. His caresses, his passion, his love. She knew no matter what may come, it would always be the two of them against the world. Together they would face good times and the bad.

Rogue closed her eyes and breathed in the early morning air. It wasn’t nearly as early a morning as she had at the X-Mansion with Logan and Scott running the team ragged before the sun slipped above the horizon, but definitely early for their honeymoon. There were only a few days left before they would return to New Orleans and their duties.

Mentally she traced the memory of her husband’s caresses along her skin. ( Her husband ! There were still times it didn’t feel real.) There were tender spots hidden under the collar of her blouse where Remy left reminders of their lovemaking. A satisfied smirk played at her lips as she wasn’t the only one with reminiscences of their evenings marking her skin. Satisfaction curled deep in her psyche as she pictured the dark bruising visible over the collar of Remy’s button up shirt. He’d made no attempts to hide the mark, instead wearing it like a badge of pride.

“What are you thinking, mon cœur?” Remy stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He held her body flush to his and she traced bare hands along his forearms.

“You.” She leaned her head back so he might capture a kiss on her lips.

“Bien.” The response was a deep rumble in his chest, which seemed to suggest it was taking all his will power not to drag her back to their apartment and ravish her again. If he tried, she would let him. Her body longed to resume the secret intimacies which existed only between them.

Instead, he breathed deeply, and pulled away just slightly enough that only their hands were touching. He wrapped his hand around hers and interwove their fingers. She squeezed his fingers between hers, her ring dug into the side of his fingers. As he returned the squeeze, he murmured in her ear, “Hold my hand. I don’t want to lose you.”

Rogue would swear across a million lifetimes that he would never lose her, but that didn’t mean she would let go of his hand. She loved the bit of casual intimacy holding hands offered. She trusted him to lead her safely to the end of the world and beyond if that was where they were headed, therefore trusting him to lead her across Paris was no struggle. As they walked, she took the opportunity to take in the sights—the architecture, the people, the atmosphere. She never wanted to forget a moment of their time spent here together.

“We’re here,” he said, calling her back to the moment, his hand never leaving hers. A bustling farmer’s market filled the square. Milling patrons visited booths full of fresh produce. Buskers played instruments, filling the air with music and song. Rogue and Remy walked amid the crowds taking in in the sights. Occasionally, a slight trickle of memory would seep through Rogue’s skin when the crowds jostled her against someone. The resulting contact never resulted in more than a slight spell of lightheadedness in the person whose memories she absorbed.

After one such incident, Rogue’s stomach growled with the memory of the heady scent of ripe fruit and fresh baked bread. With the hand not captured in her husband’s hold, she gestured at booth back the way they had come. “Let’s go over there.”

At the booth, Rogue surveyed the offerings and pointed to the apples and turned to Remy. “Let’s have a picnic.”

“Oui.” A grin spread across his face. They hadn’t eaten since the night before and they were both more than a little peckish after all their exertions. He turned to the man watching the booth. “Nous voudrions…”

“Rems, may I?” Rogue interrupted the order. Despite living in New Orleans for little over a year, Rogue’s French was still only intermediate. This was France and she wanted to try to use her hard won skills. Remy smiled warmly and allowed her to take the lead.

“Deux pommes, s’il vous plait.” Rogue offered in her best French.

The conversation continued with Remy only stepping in when she grew frustrated with her limited vocabulary. She knew at any moment she could dip into Remy’s psyche where it lived in her head, or any of the actual Parisians she’d absorbed over their trip, but Rogue wanted to strengthen her own skills rather depending on the memories of others.

Hand in hand, they drifted from stall to stall, stopping as something piqued their interest. As they filled their bags, Rogue imagined playing out this scene in the future. There was no reason they couldn’t visit a farmer’s market in New Orleans and create an impromptu picnic with what they found. It was fun and spontaneous. Old memories of her time with the X-Men stirred and she couldn’t remember the last time—if ever—she’d done anything quite so spontaneous. She always had to be so careful. Her days were choreographed and precise, never leaving anything to chance. It was too dangerous. Or, so she had believed at the time.

“This way, mamour.”

Lost in memory, Rogue didn’t realize they had changed directions until a gentle tugging at her hand brought her back to the present.

“What did you find?” She glanced at the nearby stalls in the direction they were headed, but couldn’t find anything which would complement their lunch. They had been looking for a stall which sold bread. Maybe they could stop by the boulangerie they discovered yesterday instead…?

“Ici.” Remy stopped beside a booth festoon with colorful scarves.

Rogue struggled to keep up as her husband addressed the proprietor in rapid French. Before she could untangle little more than he was looking for ‘une écharpe en soie,’ the proprietor laid a green scarf across the table.

Her fingers itched to touch it. The green, hand painted material looked as soft and sleek as silk. As if sensing her desire, Remy placed the scarf in her hands. “What do you think?”

“C’est très magnifique,” she murmured. The gorgeous scarf felt as amazing to touch as it did to look at. It flowed over her fingers in a cool whisper. With a touch, there was no doubting it was silk.

With a grin, Remy pulled out his wallet and handed several large euro notes to the proprietor. As he turned back to Rogue, he looped the scarf around her neck. “Une belle éscharpe pour ma belle femme.”

“Merci,” she mumbled just loud enough to be heard. Her cheeks flushed a brilliant scarlet as the proprietor agreed with Remy’s statement.

“Allons-y, mon cœur.” Taking her by the hand, Remy led Rogue to a quiet corner of the market.

“Sugah, you didn’t need to do that,” Rogue couldn’t help but protest. She didn’t catch the price, but it was really too much. For most of her life she’d made do with second hand or survived without. A silk scarf wasn’t a luxury she needed.

“I know,” Remy agreed. “Mais, I wanted to. It’s a gift. I want to be able to lavish you with all the good things in the world.” He didn’t need to bring up their difficult and impoverished childhoods to know what he was alluding to. “I know how much you appreciate a variety of textures, and this”—he traced his fingers along the edge of the scarf—“is something to add to your collection.”

He was right. As hard as it was to accept the lavish gift, it was a gift given in love.

“Thank you. I love it.” She raised their entwined hands to her lips and pressed a kiss to their fingers. “And, I love ya more.”

“Je t’aime, mon cœur, ma jolie femme, my Roguey.” He. Cupped her cheek and upped the stakes with a kiss to her lips.

At that moment, Rogue’s stomach growled in reminder that they still hadn’t eaten. “Com’on, handsome, let’s have that lunch. And then, maybe we can go somewhere more private for dessert.”

“Oui, madam. I know the perfect spot.”

“Of course you do.” Rogue grinned. Her husband knew all the perfect spots indeed.

-5-

After 'Aces and Eights'...

On Thursday, at a quarter past five, Rogue let herself into the apartment. A thrill ran down her spine at the prospect of date night. While their relationship remained secret, they couldn’t risk too many public appearances—not until they could be certain Ellie was safe. And, that wouldn't be until the MRD was utterly decimated and the Mutant Registration Act was repealed. Though they had made progress on their goal, the resolution still felt miles away.

While Rogue cherished spending the evening in with her husband, she missed the easy domesticity of their early marriage. Of coming home every night to his company and waking in their bed every morning at his side. Since coming North, the months of their separation dragged until each day felt like years. So, every stolen moment together felt more precious than the king’s ransom worth of treasure locked away in the LeBeau family vault.

When she’d been with the Brotherhood, she hadn’t been able to sneak out for a night of domestic bliss with any sort of regularity. Despite everything she’d done to prove her loyalty to their cause, they never truly trusted her. She could never be certain that they didn’t have a tail on her when she left their headquarters. More than once she’d had to cancel plans because she caught a glimpse of a familiar face following in her wake.

Now that she was back with the X-Men, she might not have their trust, but at least she had her freedom. If she wanted to take a night off, she could do so without expecting little more than a suspicious look cast in her general direction the next morning. She could put up with a thousand times worst than a few bitter comments, if it meant she could spend some time alone with the man she adored.

Slipping out of her shoes, Rogue crossed the apartment on silent feet. Remy sat at the dining room table with his head bowed over a series of blueprints. With a quick, light hand, he made notations in the margins of his notebook. Every inch of the pages was filled with plans written in the thieves’ cypher.

After a minute or so of silent contemplation, Rogue draped her hands over her husband shoulders and pulled him back into an embrace. Pressing a kiss to the top of his head, she waited for him to give her full access to his lips. When he finally tilted his head back, she hungrily kissed him. Against her lips, he hummed his pleasure at her touch.

Her powers recognized him. The pull bubbled against the inside of her skin as it waited for her to release her control over it. There was a nudge against her mind, a soft, beckoning welcome inviting her to absorb him. With a release of her hold, she allowed her powers to gently roll over him, to absorb the memories and thoughts which had filled his mind since she had last seen him. His mind was troubled; guilt racked through his psyche.

“He’s just fine, sugah,” Rogue murmured softly as she broke the kiss, but not her touch. Her hands ran across his chest and along his arms. She peppered his unshaven jawline with quick, sensuous kisses. “No harm done which can’t be undone. The Prof even used the circumstances to make those hard headed fools start to see sense.”

Remy turned his head so he could return the touch and nuzzle against her cheek. “He’s your brother, mon cœur. Not exactly how I wanted to introduce myself to my brother-in-law.”

“He’ll forgive ya—eventually. Especially, once he learns the truth. When he finds out why we’re doing all this, he won’t even hold it against you.” Rogue slipped her fingers past his collar and began massaging the tight knots at the base of his neck.

“Mais…”

“No, ifs, ands, or buts, swamp rat. If Kurt can find it in his heart to forgive our bitch of a mother, he will forgive you.”

Remy shook his head, “I still find it hard to believe Mystique is your momma. Never thought of her as much of the mothering type.”

“You’re right. She ain’t. She only cares about you as long as you’re of use to her. And if it comes between you and her, she will choose herself every time.” Rogue huffed. Her gaze drifted to the framed picture on his end table. It was the most recent picture Mercy had sent them of Ellie. Their little girl was growing so fast in their absence and they were missing all her early milestones. Worry gnawed away her heart. Would she be any better of a mother to Ellie than Mystique was to her?

As if reading her thoughts, he caught her hand and tugged her around to his side. “Mon cœur, you are already a thousand times better of a mother than yours was. Ellie knows her momma and papa love her and will do anything for her.”

“Thanks sug.” She leaned against him, pressing her side against him, her fingers played with the ends of his hair.

“Now,”—He pulled her onto his lap. His lips pulled into a tight line and a frown creased his brow.—“can you find it in your heart to forgive me for flirting with Lorna?”

“Yes.” Rogue had already known about the kiss since she absorbed Magneto. Though she lacked context at that time, she trusted her husband. It hadn’t been the first time she’d witnessed him flirt as he worked a mark, and it wouldn’t be the last time. It was all an act. And like an actor in a play, he would play the part as the role demanded. Absorbing Remy tonight, it gave her the missing context. In the end, she’d gleamed the truth he’d wished to share with her. That while Lorna had been the one to kiss him, he had manipulated the girl's feelings for him. That he’d been honest with Lorna as he revealed the truth of her prison. That Genosha wasn't the sanctuary she believe it to be. That he wanted her to be free and if she wasn’t ready to take those steps, then maybe, just maybe he’d been able to plant a seed.

“Je t’aime toujours. Seulement toi.” Remy murmured. He grasped her hand and pressed a series of kisses along her glove covered knuckles. A frown marred his features. “You don’t need these now.”

“I know, I know,” Rogue mumbled under her breath as she peeled off the leather gloves. Although she was back among her previous team, she was playing a role as much as Remy was. The trick to being undercover on a long con was to live and breathe the role. To make her cover a part of herself. In the case of this role, it meant donning the gloves and acting as though she didn’t have control of her powers. While it wasn’t the worst part of the job, it was up there under pretending she didn’t have a husband or daughter.

With a frustrated grumble, she brushed her lips against Remy’s temple and borrowed a modicum of his powers. In a flash of fuchsia and ash, she sent a charge through the unnecessary (and unwanted) accessories. “Better?”

“Oui.” He repeated the earlier gesture, this time kissing her bare knuckles. “You were saying something about the Professor knocking some sense into those hard headed fools. Does that mean we’re almost done here?”

“Not yet.” Rogue shook her head. “Xavier gave Magneto and Senator Kelly a glimpse into the future in hope of convincing them to try finding a peaceful solution. Ya know, the whole Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come spiel—if you don’t change your ways, the future is doomed.”

Remy interrupted her explanation with a cynical snort. Rogue sagged against his chest, deflating with the retelling. “I know, I know. I don’t trust any of them farther than I can see ‘em. But, if I go in there telling the X-Men that the two side are conspiring together, all attempts at deescalation will be lost before we even give it at chance.”

He nodded slowly, mulling over the news and all the cascading implications. A long, slow breath escaped from between his teeth. “We’ll need to keep an eye on them.”

“I know.” Once again, protecting their friends and family, not to mention the fate of the world, was left up to them. “Seriously now, who thought they were qualified to save everyone from their own stupidity?”

A smirk she hadn’t seen in far too long flitted across Remy’s face. “We did, mon cœur, when we decided to take down anyone who might threaten our Ellie.”

“Right.” Remembering the reason behind why they were willing to go through all this, Rogue returned his gaze

“How’s the break-in coming?” She gestured at the blueprints spread across the table with a sweep of her arm.

Remy grunted. “Think ‘m about there. Wish I could have one more look at the facilities before I make the run, mais Sybil. Zane is a mighty upset with me since I failed to obtain ol’ Mags shiny headwear for her.”

As she combed her fingers through Remy’s hair, her husband leaned into her touch. “How can I help, Rems? Would it be more helpful to take a break now? Or, do you want to talk through your plans and see if I can detect anything you’re missing?

“As temptin’ as a break sounds, I’ve got a couple of threads which are almost there. If I drop them now, not sure I’ll be able to find ‘em later.” Remy stretched and rubbed his eyes. If the dark bags under his eyes were a sign, then he hadn’t been sleeping since he return from Genosha.

With a heavy sight, Rogue pushed against the table to stand. “Sounds like it’s gonna be a long night. Why don’t I go make some coffee.”

Remy caught her hand and interlaced their fingers as he secured her on his lap. “Non. I need you here.”

“Why’s that swamp rat?” Rogue squirmed as she tried to find a comfortable spot. Worry lines creased her brow. He’d definitely lost weight since coming north, and it wasn’t simply due to the lack of Tante Mattie’s home cooking. Unable to do anything about what was troubling him, she gave his hand a squeeze. “You need me to hold your hand so you can read the blueprints?”

“It helps me concentrate,” he replied with only a distracted shade of his usual bantering.

“All righty then.” She closed her eyes and laid her head against his shoulder. The steady beat of his heart kept beat with hers. “Anything else I can do to help.”

“Just having you here helps,” Remy murmured into her hair.

“I know.” Rogue cast a glance back at the photograph of their daughter. In the glass, she caught the ghostly reflection of her and Remy. If she allowed her vision to blur just a bit, she could almost imagine that the photo had captured the three of them together as a family. As the way things ought to be.

Moisture threatened to spill from the corner of Remy’s eyes as he stared in the same direction. He squeezed her hand like he would never let her go. “Soon, mon cœur. Soon we will be together again. Trust me.”

With the back of her hand, Rogue brushed away the salty tracks streaming down her cheeks. “Always.”

+1+

The interior of the car was silent except for the incessant whirr of cards as Remy shuffled his ever-present deck in increasingly complicated patterns. His restless movement was the only external sign of his growing nerves. They were really going to do this. At last.

Occasionally sparks of fuchsia flickered at his fingertips and across the surface of the cards. He quickly diffused the power before Rogue could notice the slip. She already had enough on her mind, she didn't need to worry about him too. From the corner of his eyes, he watched his wife. Though Rogue’s eyes never left road as she drove, her own nerves were evident in the tense lines of her muscles and the stiff hold of her shoulders.

Taking the path they both knew well, Rogue flicked on the turn signal as she downshifted into the turn. Once they were past the gate, it was only a matter of moments before she pulled the car to a stop at the end of the mansion’s driveway. Remy fidgeted uneasily in his seat. Though her car was recognized by the security system, the X-Men would soon be alerted to her arrival, and subsequently, his own.

“We don’t have to do this now.” Rogue squeezed his knee. Her touch was a reassuring presence he didn’t think he’d ever be able to live without. With a snap of the cards, he pocketed the deck, then placed his hand over hers and returned the squeeze. “We could wait until morning. I am perfectly willing to brush off Logan for another twenty-four hours…”

“Non. I want to start living together as an honest to goodness family. No more hiding.” Remy rested his head against the back of the seat. He felt like he aged a decade over the last two years. “I am so sick of hiding, of pretending you and Ellie aren’t the most precious people in the world to me.”

“Same, swamp rat, same.” Rogue’s freehand briefly brushed over her stomach. It was still early enough that there weren’t any physical signs which couldn’t be explained away. “And it would be nice if this little one didn’t need to start his life in hiding too.”

“Then, we’re in agreement. We just got to go in there and tell the X-Men—including your very angry father-slash-big brother figure—that we’ve been lying to them for the last two years.”

“Pretty much.” With an expression of grim determination, Rogue maneuvered the car into the garage like it was an ordinary day.

Sure, ordinary, Remy scoffed. His nerves danced a jig in his stomach and part of him wished he’d brought more cards with him. If Wolverine didn’t kill him, Nightcrawler surely would.

“We’re here.” Rogue’s voice startled him out of his mental spiral.

He could scarcely believe that he was actually here. Together and out in the open. After all this time…

“Hey, sug, it’s gonna be okay.” Rogue leaned over so she could cup his cheek and press a kiss to his lips.

Mechanically, he nodded. His gaze drifted to the backseat of the car. They had already installed Ellie’s carseat in anticipation of traveling as a family again. They’d decided it would be best to introduce Rogue’s big announcements one at a time. Husband first, then children.

With the MRD gone and the anti-Mutant laws being questioned and repealed, Henri and Mercy had driven up North with Ellie as soon as they received the all clear. They’d arrived early this morning and were staying at Remy’s apartment. Rogue had escaped the watchful eyes of the X-Men and they spent the afternoon with their daughter. It was time—past time—to let everyone know the truth.

Rogue knocked on the passenger side window with a gloved knuckle. While he let his nerves get tied up in knots, his wife had exited the car and was waiting for him to join her. Smiling up at the love of his life, Remy attempted to release his seatbelt with shaking hands. What was wrong with him? He was the freaking Prince of Thieves. He had just successfully pulled off a long con and secret marriage over the course of years (yes, years, as in multiple). They had done all this under the noses of several of the most paranoid groups on the planet. And now, he was shaking in his boots at the thought of meeting Rogue’s family. After everything he’d done…they were going to hate him.

Impatient with his delay, Rogue opened the door. “Swamp rat, unless we want to have the confrontation in the middle of the garage, we better head on in. It’s not like they didn’t notice our arrival.”

“D’accord. D’accord.” Remy slipped out of the car, wishing they hadn’t left Ellie back at the apartment. Maybe they should introduce their daughter first. “What if they don’t accept me?”

“Then,” Rogue tugged on the fingers of her gloves one at a time until she could easily pull them off. “Then, we turn around, pick up Ellie, and head back to New Orleans. I ain’t staying where you aren’t wanted.”

“Mais…”

“For better or worse, Rems. I made my vows to you. You’re my husband. Not Logan, not Scott, not any of the X-Men. If push comes to shove, I choose you. I’ll always choose you.” She held out her bare hand. Her wedding ring glimmered in the dim light.

“Hold my hand, mamour,” he whispered softly, knowing she would hear him, even if he hadn’t said a word.

“Of course. We’re in this together. Like always.”

She slid her bare hand into his. How different her hands were now than when they first met. Callouses and scars marred her once milky smooth skin. Neither of them would have it any other way.

With a squeeze of his hand, she led him to the door. “Let’s go.”

Remy had been all over the secret parts and back ways of the Mansion so often he could make his way blindfolded through the passages, but he allowed Rogue to lead him through the living spaces. It was nearing dinner, so he wasn’t a surprise when she led him directly to the dining room. They passed through the kitchen, which was a mess of dishes and food splatters. Rogue gave a long sigh and shook her head. From the sight of the mess, it didn’t take a genius to know the cook wasn’t…proficient. Tante Mattie would have tanned his hide if he left her kitchen like this.

At Remy’s aghast expression, a smile quirked at Rogue’s lips. “It’s Kitty’s night to cook. Maybe we should whip up something edible. Then, they’ll all be so grateful that it won’t register until they’re digesting their meal that I brought my husband home to with me.”

“Mon cœur, next time, let’s think of that strategy before we’re at the mouth of the lion’s den.”

She smirked. “Ya got a point. Though, hopefully there won’t need to be a next time.”

“Oui.”

Just out of sight of the door connecting to the dining room, Rogue hesitated. He wasn’t the only one nervous about this meeting.

It was his turn to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be with you all the way.”

“Course you will.” She lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles in a mirror of his oft repeated gesture. “Together, forever. Through thick and thin.”

From the angle of the doorway, Rogue was the first one to be seen by the occupants of the dining room.

“Rogue! Where have you been?” Logan bit out in a rough growl. The one, according to his wife, was more bark than bite. “You didn’t answer your communicator.”

“I told ya. I had some personal stuff to deal with today,” Rogue challenged her one time mentor. Their eyes met in a battle of wills. Both Rogue and Logan were too stubborn to back down from an open confrontation. After a moment, one that was certainly not as long as it felt to Remy, Logan gave a curt nod, accepting her absence.

It was only then, Logan’s focus had expanded enough to spy what had captured the rest of the room’s attention. More precisely, who had captured their attention—Gambit.

In less time than it took to blink, Wolverine was up and over the table, upsetting the dishes and the pot of half burnt spaghetti sauce. “What is Gumbo doing here?” This time the growl was all menace and the one Remy was infinitely more familiar with.

“Stop,” Rogue held up their entwined hands as though they were a shield. Her mutation danced along his skin and sipped at his powers. Along with the absorption, he offered a helping of his support and love for her.

To Remy’s surprise, the gesture was enough to stop Logan in his tracks.

Already standing, Storm moved to place herself between Logan and the couple. “Rogue, I believe you have a story for us.”

His wife nodded. “Yeah, sure. It’s quite the story. But, first, I wanna introduce y’all to my husband. Storm, Logan, everybody,”—her gaze swept around the table taking in the other X-Men—“this is my husband, Gambit.” Half turning back to him and tightening her grasp on his hand, “Rems, this is the X-Men.”

“Bonjour, mes amis.” He gave an elegant half bow and a cheeky grin which had the tendency to charm those willing to be charmed. Rogue rolled her eyes in feigned exasperation. “Roguey has told me all about you.”

“Well, she’s never mentioned you,” Scott complained from the other side of the table. His shirt was covered in red sauce and strands of overcooked noodles. Meanwhile his hand rested near the controls on his visor as if he expected the need to defend himself would arise before dessert.

“We had our reasons, Scott,” Rogue spat back before recalling why they were there and taking a deep breath. If it was him, Remy wasn’t certain he’d be able to keep his cool half as well as his Roguey was managing. Once she was steady, she gestured at the table. “Mind if we have a seat. We can explain everything now.”

Storm surveyed the worked up gathering of Mutants. Though Jean had telepathically rescued the table from being completely overturned by Logan’s antics, there was still a mess of spilled food and cracked dishes. Kitty had half phased through the table as she wavered between being upset at the destruction of her meal and excited with the anticipation of Rogue’s news. Meanwhile, Kurt was nearly purple with the onslaught of revelations thus far.

With a shake of her head, which was usually enough to quell any arguments before they started, Storm decided how to proceed. “Why don’t we clean up this mess, then we can meet downstairs. Let’s say, in a half hour. I believe someone else ought to be part of this discussion.”

She didn’t need to say who the somebody else was for everyone in the room—including Gambit—to know whom she was referring to. The Professor.

Unfortunately, even just the inference of the Professor’s presence was enough to start a chorus of negative responses.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Nein.”

All this posturing was going to kill the conversation before it even started. It was all Remy could do not to walk out then and there. He wasn’t going to stay where he wasn’t wanted. Except, Rogue still held his hand. He was exactly where he was wanted—by his wife’s side. No matter how much Rogue claimed she was willing to leave the X-Men for his sake, he knew they were important to her. He would make the effort for her sake. For Ellie’s. For their unborn child.

“C’mon, let’s give them a moment.” Rogue spoke soft enough that only he could hear her. Giving his hand a tug, she pulled him back into the kitchen and away from the squabbling. “Let’s start the pans soaking and maybe throw a dessert in the oven. They can’t be mad at ya when there’s chocolate cake.”

“Bien sûr.” Remy grinned. He always knew he’d married a brilliant woman. “Point me to the pantry and I’ll get started.”

It didn’t take long for them to fall in sync and work together like they had so many times before when baking in their own kitchen. With much less mess than the creation of the previously half-edible, now inedible, dinner, he and Rogue soon had the cake in the oven.

Before the suggested thirty minutes had elapsed, the cacophony of harsh half-whispered arguments, and the clinks and clanks of gathered dishes came to an end. While Remy finished clearing ingredients off the counter and wiping splattered tomato sauce from the cabinets, Rogue stood at the sink with sudsy water up to her elbows as she scrubbed dirty dishes with more effort than necessary.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, Remy pulled his wife against him. “You ready?”

“Yeah, just let me rinse off this dish, then we can head on down.” Despite her best attempts at appearing nonchalant, where her body pressed against his, he could feel the anxiety running through her muscles. Though his muscles were pulled just as taut as hers, he traced the sliver of skin just above the waist of her jeans. She melted at his freely given touch.

Remy pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “C’mon, mamour, it’s time.”

Once again, she slipped her slightly clammy hand into his. While he knew the way to the Professor’s chamber without a guide, he kept pace with his wife as they wound their way into the secret depths of the Mansion.

—

The dining room argument had not as much ceased as changed location. Gathered around the room on the assortment of furniture which had been added to the Professor’s chamber, the X-Men rumbled and roared their disparate opinions without pausing to listen to each other. The predominant consensus revolved around Gambit being a no good, dirty thief who must have tricked Rogue. That he was merely trifling with her feelings in order to wheedle information from her. He probably wanted access to something the X-Men possessed…

Like a storm brewing in the distance, Rogue flung the door open and practically dragged Remy in behind her. Despite her dramatic entrance, no one bothered to look from their arguments long enough to acknowledge the couple.

“Stop it! I ain't gonna stand here and allow you to cast dispersions on my husband,” Rogue blurted into the cacophony. “Gambit has been part of the team longer than you’ve realized.”

The announcement brought everyone to standstill. Silence echoed almost as loudly as the previous argument.

Every eye in the room fixed on her—on them. Only Kitty seemed to focus on Rogue’s bare hands and all that it implied. The girl bit her lip to keep in the myriad of questions which threatened to spill into the tense silence.

Under the excruciating scrutiny of the others, a buzz of energy sparked in his blood, danced along his nerves, and seeped through his skin. A faint fuchsia aura glowed around their conjoined hands. Though the charge had come from her, he worked to diffuse the energy while Rogue worked on diffusing the tension in the room.

“What did you say?” Logan struggled to keep his temper in check.

Remy got it. It was much easier to lash out than to think through things rationally. But, neither he nor Rogue had been that person for a long time now. They couldn’t be. Not when Ellie’s future depended on them.

“Gambit has essentially been a part of the team for a while now. Since as long as I have.” Breathing heavy from her outburst, Rogue leaned into his side. Without a conscious thought, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. At the small intimacy, Kitty let out an excited squeal. He couldn’t help but smile at the sound.

“Explain,” Scott bit out in a growl almost worthy of Logan.

“All the information about the MRD I’ve been giving you, it’s not all from absorbing folks. Remy’s my contact.” Rogue sank down onto a battered green sofa taking Remy with her. “Last month, he’s the one who provided me with the blueprints we needed to break into the MRD. He also got us the files we used to pull their machinations apart. Didn’t you find the whole operation a mite too easy to infiltrate?”

The X-Men shifted uncomfortably in their seats as they silently cast uneasy looks at each other.

Rogue blew her white fringe out of her eyes and squeezed Remy’s hand in a Grant me patience to deal with these idiots gesture. Slowly she resumed her explanation. “Remy cleared the way for us. He’s also the one who has been leaking all the gross miscarriages of justice to the public. The same info which has been turning the people to our side. He’s the one who destroyed the Mutant Registry database…”

“He was working for the MRD!” Logan near exploded as his patience wore thin. His claws tore through his skin with an audible snikt. Tiny rivulets of blood trailed across knuckles and dripped onto his shoes.

“Oui et non, mon ami,” Remy drawled in an insouciance he didn’t truly feel. Like it or not, he wanted their approval. For Rogue’s sake, if not his own. “Needed to gain their trust so I could infiltrate their headquarters. Someone needed to know what the MRD already knew and what they were planning to do next. Since Roguey already had connections with y'all, it was left to me to find a way into the MRD.”

Though his wife’s touch tethered him, he still reached for his deck of cards and began a one handed shuffle. At the sight of the cards, the X-Men stiffened. Scott, Logan, Kurt, and Bobby not so subtly shifted into a defensive position. Inwardly, Remy cursed. While he needed the soothing familiarity of the cards, the others perceived their presence as a threat.

Forge’s brow creased as he incorporated this new information into what he’d experienced over the last few years. “You broke into the Mansion and stole the inhibitor collar.”

With a nod, Remy continued his explanation with a resonate drawl. “And you got it back. Do you really think I couldn’t have kept it from Monsieur Claws if I really wanted to?”

Logan growled from deep within his chest; it was nearly deep enough to rumble the foundations of the building. “Ya want to test that theory, bub?”

“Rogue, Remy.” Before their best chance for revolving this mess dissolved into a fight, the Professor’s familiar voice reverberated in the minds of everyone gathered in the room. In the shared mindscape, every eye turned to the hale and hearty mental projection of Xavier in their midst. “It is good to finally see you together in your time period. I take it your mission was successful?”

“Hi Prof.” The sweet Southern drawl of Rogue’s voice rang out clearly in the shared space. “Yup.”

Over the past few years, Remy had snuck in and talked to the Professor before. While the Professor had been cautious about revealing overt glimpses of the future, he had given them a tacit approval of their plans. Despite knowing the Professor kept their secrets, Remy couldn’t help but grin at the shocked expression on the X-Men’s faces. He hoped that with the Professor’s acceptance of them as a couple would help the team trust him and Rogue, and the reasons behind their deception.

“Good.” As if the others’ surprise and confusion was not echoing loudly through the mental connection, the Professor continued on as if it was business as usual. “Have you decided if you will be bringing Ellie with you when Gambit joins the team?”

“Who’s Ellie?” Kurt’s tail swept back and forth in an anxious pattern. He glanced between his sister and the Professor.

The Professor raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t told them yet?”

“Non.” Remy shook his head. “They were still having a hard time accepting me. We thought we might break the news to them one bombshell at a time.”

“Ah. My apologies,” the Professor intoned.

“Well…” Kitty was vibrating with enough excitement to nearly phase out of the vast white planes of the mindscape. “Who’s Ellie?”

Remy nudged Rogue. He’d let her be the one to share this good news.

A million dollar grin broke out on Rogue’s face. She tightened her grasp on his hand. Soon, they’d be together as a family. “Ellie—Eleanor Marie LeBeau—she’s our daughter.”

In unison, the X-Men turned to the couple in surprise. “What?!”

Images of Ellie plucked from his and Rogue’s memories created a collage of moments across the formally barren expanse of the shared mindscape. Much in the way he often imagined the way Rogue’s absorption might work, each memory was accompanied by the onslaught of associated emotions. From those earliest touch-and-go days as Ellie struggled to cling to life as she laid in the NICU to that morning’s joyous reunion as curious, vivacious, two-year-old Ellie squealed in delight at being in her parents’ arms. With her auburn curls and green-on-black eyes, there was no doubting whose daughter she was. There was not a dry eye left in the room as the others experienced each desperate decision Rogue and Gambit made to keep their baby safe, every heartbreaking moment of prolonged separation, and every ounce of overwhelming love they possessed for their sweet, precious, daughter.

“Congratulation, Rogue, Remy. Welcome to the Team.” The Professor’s voice broke through the memories, then faded out as they all returned to the here and now.

This time, when the room settled into silence, the sharp, brittle edges of hostility had dulled with the lingering onslaught of the overwhelming emotions. The edges were still present, but they paled in comparison to the bright curiosity and muddled confusion brought on by the Professor’s words. Finally, the others noticed his bare hand entwined with Rogue's gloveless hand. The unspoken questions increased exponentially. If they didn't start their story soon, the cake would burn before they were done.

“I believe we are now ready to listen.” Storm was the first one to break the silence. Her calm voice shattered the tension into a million pieces. “Will you please share your story.”

“Go on, mon cœur,” Remy prompted. “It begins with you.”

“All right. Let’s see, where should I start?” Rogue curled up into his side. She fit next to him like she belonged there. And, in a way, she did. “I suppose I ought to start at the beginning. ‘Bout four years ago—after the explosion and the destruction of the Mansion—when everyone left and went their separate ways, I didn’t have anywhere to go. Didn’t have any family to welcome me back. So, I headed South, hoping to find a place to call home…”

Her eyes shone bright as she looked up at him. His returning grin was a shining reflection of love. Without the need for words, their gaze sizzled with the bright intensity of intimacy. Unable to bear the fervor of the private ardor, the gathered X-Men had to look away from the couple. What felt to Remy as an eternity of being engulfed in his wife’s love, in actuality passed in a few fleeting seconds.

Someone—Remy wasn’t sure who—cleared their throat, breaking the moment. As Remy lifted Rogue’s precious hand to his lips and peppered her knuckles with a series of fleeting kisses, Rogue continued her story as if she’d never been interrupted. “And I found it. Home, that is. Home, harbor, family, and so much more….”