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Chapter Text

 Somehow this was payback. He wasn’t sure for what, but he had to have done something to deserve this. He eyed the “bartender” leaning smugly against the row of dirty bottles lining shelves that held a pathetic selection of liquor, then scanned the grimy fridge stocked with what he assumed to be bottles of beer behind the filthy glass. Taking his chances, Logan nodded at the unmarked tap – the only tap. “Three fifty” the bartender grunted and slid him a glass. It smelled like piss. Shrugging, Logan slapped three seventy five on the counter. It tasted like piss. He debated taking back the quarter.

Fury was going to pay for being late, and it would cost him more than three seventy five. He tipped his worn cowboy hat up to get a better view of the customers brave enough to frequent this establishment. A couple hookers, getting an early start on numbing down for the night, sat clustered at the other end of the bar. The blonde had given up on giving him friendly looks about ten minutes ago. Either she decided he wasn’t interested, or she was too far gone at this point to notice him anymore. Logan assumed their frequent bathroom trips had mostly consisted of taking turns doing lines on the bathroom sink. Behind him were two kids, probably not old enough to drink, but young and stupid enough to think they were cool by doing it anyway. They were too busy trying to look like thugs to anybody passing by to have done more than glance at the ‘old dude in the stupid hat’ before going back to pretending to be bad ass. He wondered if they could really handle ‘bad ass’ if he picked a fight. 

He snorted into his piss water and looked back across the bar. And of course there was his friend the bartender, who noticed he was being stared at and merely grunted back in return. Yup, this had to be pay back. But, at least he wasn’t being watched. The closest possible trouble was NYC’s rookie gang violence unit, which was still two blocks away. It was the perfect place for a meeting. But Fury was late.

Another ten minutes passed; long enough for Logan to wonder if he’d have been safer with a bottle instead of the tap and offer a silent thanks to the powers that be for his healing factor. Only then, when he’d almost given up, did he hear the door on his left swing open and somebody stumbled inside. Half an hour late, but at least he showed. “Frank!” Fury shouted, and half ran, half fell towards him at the bar. “There y’are, you sorry bashtud. I tol you we’re goin’ t’Effie’s Pub, not Larry’sh. I been lookin’ fer you everywhere.” Fury slapped him on the shoulder and held his hand there. Logan could feel the jump drive pressed into his skin and palmed it as he pulled Fury’s hand away, sliding it up his sleeve.

“Been lookin’ in the bottom of every glass from here to there?” Logan barked. “You said Larry’s and I’ve been waiting here for the past forty minutes you drunk shit.”

Logan grabbed him by the sleeve, only slightly rougher than necessary. He was almost sorry that he wouldn’t have a chance to force Fury to drink the same sewer rat piss he’d been nursing along. Without looking at anybody Logan pushed Fury in front of him until they were out of the bar, down the block and in an alleyway where they wouldn’t be seen. Fury had spent the walk alternating between protesting drunkenly and moaning that he was going to puke. He made a very convincing drunk, Logan noted. Which made it that much easier to shove him around while they walked to a point that Fury and the Cajun had agreed upon earlier to discuss details. Nobody questioned a drunk or his handler. Finally the stench of garbage let Logan know they were near the alley and with a quick shove, Fury went sprawling face first down the back street and onto the dirty pavement.

“You had to pick the filthiest bar to take me to didn’t you?” Logan asked, spitting on the nearby dumpster to try and erase the taste from his mouth.

“Seemed your type of place,” Fury chuckled. Slowly he picked himself up and dusted off his pants, miraculously sober. He shook his head, his face turning deadly serious. “You have your information, you don’t want to know what I had to go through to get that,” Fury pointed at Logan’s chest pocket where he’d slipped the drive earlier. “S.H.I.E.L.D. is not going to get involved.”

Logan nodded, he had expected that much. “I’m serious, Wolverine.” Fury said, getting close enough Logan could almost taste his breath. “From this point forward this meeting never happened. I refuse to get my team involved in this. Let it be on your head.” And with that he turned and vanished back out onto the dark street, once again weaving his was uncertainly through the crowd like a master performer.

Odd, Logan thought, waiting a few more minutes before exiting the alley himself. Normally S.H.I.E.L.D. refused to get involved. When it came to the X-Men and their agenda Fury simply turned a blind eye – no pun intended. That was, of course, when he wasn’t hell bent on making the lives of his favorite “mutant terrorists” miserable. But he was never so…vehement about it. Fury’s disavowal of their interactions was always something assumed on the part of both parties. Why was Fury so suddenly so insistent on it?

Time would tell as Logan made his way up the sidewalks, through the occasional throng of people to where he had left his bike. Climbing on he revved the soft tail to life once, twice, then waited. An answering hum came to him from down the block within seconds and he kicked the throttle violently to start the ride home, still mulling events over.

He took the corners easy, knowing that any second the Cajun would be coming up past him to take the lead and monitor the way. Logan carried the goods, Gumbo made sure they weren’t being followed. Soon enough the flashy Aprilia Tuono V4 1100, the Cajun’s new toy, flew by with him bent low over the tank. Logan grunted, he’d never be caught dead on the thing, but it did the trick – caught attention. Gambit was the bait for anybody wondering what an X-Man might be doing in the city. While Logan was meeting with Fury, Gambit had been having a not so subtle dinner with Emma Frost. Not that anything Emma did could be mistaken for subtle. Now he held their attention while heading home on his not so subtle motorcycle.

Logan would take the direct route home, turning off at the next exit and heading straight back to the mansion. Gambit would meet him back in the garage about twenty minutes later if he didn’t have anybody to shake off in the winding back streets of Westchester. And if he did…well Logan figured he would probably enjoy the excitement. Gumbo could take care of himself, Logan would just wait longer. He hated nights like tonight and missions like this. They always amounted to a lot of hanging around waiting for something and hoping it didn’t happen.

Sooner than he expected the mansion loomed ahead and he was punching his access code in at the gate. He pulled slowly into the main garage, ground level, and parked his bike back in its own designated spot. Then he waited, and hoped he wasn’t missing out on a good time.

-xXx-

Freedom was the only thing Gambit could think of, flying around corners in the city making his way back to the highway and home. It was so nice to be free. It would be so nice not to go back. He flew past Logan and could feel the feral smirk burning a hole through the back of his jacket. His leather jacket. This was no bike to be riding in his signature duster. This was the first time in the four months since he'd purchased the bike that he'd actually been able to take it out and ride. Leadership, he thought, can do awful things to a man. 

Not that it was all bad. Being able to make the rules was a nice perk; being able to dictate strategy rather than just falling in line like a soldier. But all the paperwork, and the discipline, and the complaints just kept building up more every day, and it soon felt like he was going to drown in them. Thieves didn't act this way. Even with all the subterfuge and backstabbing that was always going on within the guild, leading the New Orleans Thieves Guild had been easy compared to this.

Of course, he thought glumly, after Katrina they would have followed anybody who could promise them a home not filled with water and floating bodies. He shook himself out of those memories, he had to get home. Nobody had followed him off the exit and there was nobody on the road except himself. It was time to go home, and get back to work.

Gambit pulled in slowly and let the bike come to a complete stop, removing his helmet before lowering his feet off the pegs. A balancing act only a trained thief could pull off and he knew it. Logan just grunted; cigar already clenched in his teeth though he knew better than to light it in the garage. Gambit didn't allow smoke, even his own, near any of his toys. It ruined the paint. 

"Having fun?" Logan asked while Gambit quickly wiped down the bike’s chrome wheels before calling it a night.

"Eh," he shrugged. "Ain' nobody out tonight, if anyone was watchin' they didn't figure it'd be worth seein' what I was up to."

"What you were up to?" Logan asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Well, of course, mon ami. Out of de two of us you have to admit, I'm de much more interestin' party."

"My ass, Cajun."

Gambit laughed, throwing his dirty rag in the general direction of a collection bin and missing. "Come on Wolverine. Y'can't tell me dere aren’t days you miss it? De adrenaline, de excitement, de..."

"Pinch?" Logan asked, jabbing Gambit in the ribs jokingly, leaning against his own prize bike.

"Was gon' say de chase, mon ami." Logan shrugged. "But yah, de pinch too." He flashed a grin.

Logan snorted, "You gonna let the team know what we were up to tonight or wait till the mornin'?"

"Translation: can I go smoke dis t'ing," Gambit laughed, flicking the tip of the cigar before turning and walking toward the mansion entrance door. "Or," he continued with his back turned to Logan, "you gonna make me sit in meetin's all night till I'm ‘bout ready t'strangle somebody?"

"Somethin' like that." Logan shrugged, grinning. It was no secret he preferred Gambit's laid back leadership methods to Cyclops’ old regime. And while he missed the ole one eye, sometimes change, however unexpected, could be a good thing.

"Much as I'd love to make you suffer," Gambit laughed, punching in the last of the security code and sliding through the open door, "dat means I gotta suffer too. An' I ain' feelin' quite so masochistic tonight." He held his hand out and Logan deposited the flash drive.

"Fury didn't seem too eager to hand that thing over, Cajun." Gambit gave him a barely readable look, almost confirming what Logan feared might be on that stick.

"Course not, S.H.I.E.L.D. don' like when stuff goes on dey can' handle demselves. Even less handin' it over to de enemy."

"You think we're ready ta tango with somethin' even S.H.I.E.L.D. seemed scared to touch?" The 'we' implied the team, and Gambit knew it. Much as he had faith in many of the individual members, Logan felt the same as he did when it came to a group situation, especially including some of the 'newbies' that had entered the ranks.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. ain' scared of nothin' Wolverine. Dey gov'ment, wit all de fine beaurocratic crap dat comes with it. Somethin' like dis, if it's what I t'ink it is, would end up wrapped up in red tape for months."

"They red tape it cuz it means too many people are gonna die, ya know."

Gambit laughed, "Dere ain' no people far as S.H.I.E.L.D. concerned, dere's 'an unacceptable percentage of foreseen loss associated with the project.' You worked wit' gov'ment Logan. You know dat."

Logan shrugged and the shadow of a grin graced his face. "So question is, is this Fury's way of getting rid o' us? Or is it a faster means to an end."

Gambit let the question hang in the air for a second, pondering. "Yes." Logan snickered at the response, but it was true. "G'night Logan. Don' stay up too late, we do have to do dis whole meetin' t'ing tomorrow."

A grunt was as much of an answer as he was going to get, and he knew it. Logan was a big boy; he could take care of himself. More, he could face the consequences when he didn't. Right now Remy found himself more concerned with what he finally held in his hand or at least what he hoped it was: answers. 

Silently he made his way toward the elevator, declining the effort of taking the stairs for once. As soon as the door opened he regretted it. "So how's Emma?" The southern drawl was like finger nails down a chalkboard. It was an unpleasant mixture of jealousy, anger and spite that never failed to make him feel slightly nauseated.

"Been takin' yo mother's lessons a little too serious," Gambit replied and stepped into the elevator. It was too late to turn back and do anything but. The comment had been a low blow too, but so was waiting up and stalking him. He figured that made them even.

"You are avoidin' my question."

His shoulders tensed and he kept his back to her. In a lot of ways she was exactly like his ex-wife: assassin trained, strong willed, and unwilling to give him the slightest shred of trust. "Magnifique."

It was the wrong thing to say and he knew it. "Well," she huffed as the elevator finally opened its doors on the third floor. "Ain' that just darlin'."

It wasn't a question. "Rogue," he sighed and finally turned to face her. "I ain' gon do dis t'night. You'll get y'answers wit de rest of de team in de mornin'." He let a bit of a smirk cross his face and light the corner of his eyes. "Ain' no dinner wit de White Queen ever gon be considered a pleasure." He waited a second for the spark of realization to settle in her eyes. "An' you know dat. You wanna talk, chere, we'll talk after we both get a bit of shut eye."

She was much prettier, Remy thought, when he couldn't see her plotting his death behind those green eyes. "Business?" He shrugged. "Mission?" She wouldn't stop if he didn't put his foot down, and at this point they were already half way to his room. He hadn't even realized they'd been walking, damn he was tired.

"Morning." He stated firmly, turning and pointing back down toward the other end of the hall toward her room. "Bed."

"Sure swamprat, just go an' pull rank like that." But she went, and she stopped questioning. And even more importantly, at least as far as Remy was concerned, the chip was no longer balancing precariously on her shoulder. She'd be much easier to deal with in the morning.

He entered his room, closed the door and shot one look of longing toward his bed before heading straight to his computer. The one thing he would thank Charles for until his dying day was that computer. Granted, there was nothing Cerebro could do for him that Remy wasn't perfectly capable of doing himself or paying somebody to do for him. But Cerebro could get it done so much faster and infinitely cheaper. Speed was the name of the game now.

Gambit had changed the X-Men in the months since he had taken over leadership. Though still hiding behind the guise of a school, no students roamed these halls any longer. It was too dangerous for kids; they made easy hostages. Instead the X-Men had transformed from a rag tag group of mutant freedom fighters to a self sufficient, highly trained, mercenary unit. After the death of Xavier Gambit had been one of the few to realize that it would only be a matter of time before Xavier's money would dry up. It had been time to start bringing some income back into the accounts. And, as a result of early planning, the X-Men had become one of the most highly sought after contracts in the country, if not the world. 

Even more importantly, because of Gambit's money management, they were poised to be able to pick and choose their contracts at leisure and still do some of their own work and research on the side. Work and research like what Remy found himself doing at the moment.

"Cerebro, load and display contents, please?" Remy said out loud, prompting a screen to come to life on one of the walls and display the contents of the jump drive. It held three folders, all encrypted from the looks of it. From the size of it there was a decent amount of information to be had. "Cerebro, how long to decrypt files?"

"Processing...approximately four hours. Would you like to begin decryption Gambit?"

Four hours of sleep didn't sound too bad, especially after a look at the clock. It was twelve thirty-ish. Sleep till four thirty, go over what he could for two hours, have breakfast with the team at six thirty, Danger Room session by seven thirty and team meeting at ten. "Please begin decrypting files, and set my alarm for four thirty AM."

"Complying."

That done, Remy began to get ready and climbed into his bed. It had taken over three weeks to convince Fury to hand over this data and he hoped it would answer more than a few of his questions. There had been too many reports of mutant kidnappings lately. Not just a typical mutant kid disappearing here or there, it was becoming epidemic. But more to the point, the kidnappees weren't being held indefinitely, they were being released a few days later with no recollection of the past 72 to 96 hours. It seemed, at least to Remy LeBeau, disturbingly … Sinister? That was, of course, nothing more than a hunch but the whole situation left a familiar chill running down his back.

Then there were the rumors...bad rumors. Remy LeBeau hadn't become the undisputed King of Thieves by ignoring something seemingly insignificant like a rumor. The story was that China's law enforcement project of robotic surveillance "officers" was being unofficially run and organized by Bolivar Trask. Rumor also had Trask working out of Magneto's former mutant nation Genosha once more. Of course, paper had Trask sitting fat and pretty in a penthouse in London enjoying the monetary rewards of his program that the Geneva council had been kind enough to denounce as inhumane. However, Geneva had also ruled that since Trask's wealth had been gained legitimately, with no direct ties to the Sentinel project, his bank accounts were thus granted immunity in the financial settlement that had been agreed upon to rectify the 'situation'. Geneva always managed to surprise the mutant community at large with how extraordinarily outlandish their decisions were as far as what was wrong and what was 'legal'.

Worry about it later, sleep now, Remy thought, turning toward his pillow without bothering to undress. Four hours would come and go fairly quickly and there was still a lot to be done.

-xXx-

Logan took one last draw on the cigar he had lit seconds after walking onto the back patio. He had heard the person following him from the moment he walked through the rear foyer. Whether that person was aware of it or not, he wasn't sure. A year ago, perhaps two he would've let her get away with it or considered it part of the game. Now, with the type of business they were dealing with, games got a body dead real fast. "Late night for you 'Ro." He didn't bother turning to look at her. Odds were two to one she wouldn't mind the rebuke, his favor.

"And it is not exactly an early night for you either, Logan." From the change in the intensity of her scent he could tell she had moved closer. Probably to sit in one of the chaise lounges that decorated this section of the grounds. "What would cause you and Remy to be out so late before an early morning Danger Room session?"

Logan snorted. "Ya make it sound like we've never done it before."

"Indeed, but not since Gambit took over. So was it business or pleasure?"

"Jealous?" Logan asked. He couldn't tell why, but tonight he found himself itching for a fight, and unfortunately for Storm she had volunteered herself as an accessible and, given their recent history, easy target.

"Curious." Storm wasn't rising to the bait. "It did not seem either of you were gone long enough for it to be a night of recreation. Rogue seemed to believe you were both meeting with Emma. If that is the case I feel fairly confident guessing that some team business was being transacted. I only wonder what?"

She hit the nail too close to the head. Logan shrugged and turned to finally look at her. "Gambit needs to learn not to open his mouth if he don't want rumors being spread."

Storm echoed his shrug in response, her thin white t-shirt sliding off one shoulder in the process and tossed her hair over that same shoulder, exposing a small portion of skin. "I do not spread rumors, Logan. You must have learned at least that much of me."

He shook his head. This conversation was now poised to travel one of two somewhat well worn paths, neither of which the Wolverine felt like exploring tonight. Either the conversation would get real ugly and real personal real fast, or one of them would be forced into admitting feelings that they had both long since abandoned. If it went the latter way Logan was pretty certain Storm wouldn't end up being the one spilling her guts to the moonlight. "Nice try kid, but I ain't sayin' a word till Gumbo gives the okay." A smile hovered at the edge of her lips and he tipped his hat to her slightly to acknowledge her small victory. He had needed to acquiesce to it being a work night in order to bow gracefully out of the conversation and she knew it. Suddenly Logan felt very tired. "Go to bed Storm, it's gonna be a long day tomorrow and even goddesses need to get some shut eye every now and again." He turned his back to her, taking a nice long drag to cool down nerves he didn't recall being fired up.

Now was his turn at victory. He had known the nickname would strike a cord with her. "Goddesses will go to bed when they wish." She rose into the air before him, the wind blowing her hair behind her in what Logan used to find an irresistible manner but now saw as nothing but a paltry special effect. "They do not follow the will of mere mortals. Especially mortals such as yourself." That said, Storm let the wind take her away towards the south grounds and the gardens.

Logan shook his head and stomped out the remains of the cigar, losing his interest in it. What had at first been a friendship between the two had blossomed into a loving relationship at some point nine or ten months ago. Unfortunately just as blossoms eventually fade, wither and die, their relationship had as well. It had gotten ugly only about nine weeks in and their friendship had remained touchy and distant ever since. But the Wolverine wasn't quite ready to admit he was at fault for the problem and Storm was too stubborn in her own way to take blame either. Instead they were left in limbo. Logan growled. If there was anything he hated it was that feeling of uncertainty. The Wolverine existed in a world of clear cut black and white, the spectrum of gray had no place in his reality and he found its presence disconcerting.

Looking up at the moon, Logan realized how late it truly was. Two a.m. was now fast approaching and he knew Gambit would hold true to his promise of an early morning. He turned and let himself back into the mansion, making his way back to his own suite of rooms. Sleep might still come easy tonight.

-xXx-

Bishop watched as Wolverine made his way into the house before following Storm over towards the gardens. She sat calmly, humming to herself amongst the foliage of the surrounding rhododendrons. Tropical plants, Bishop knew, were her favorites. However, the climate of New York was too harsh for them to grow anywhere but the greenhouse. Bishop also knew Storm would never head to the greenhouse at night, her claustrophobia wouldn't allow it. Instead whenever she needed time to focus he could always count on finding her in this exact spot where she had a view of the mansion, a view of the lake, a view of the sky and a view of the earth. As she had told him, all things in balance helped her to balance herself. Quietly he sat next to her and waited. She would speak when she was ready and he would listen. He had left his weapon on the edge of this particular bed of flowers, knowing Storm would chastise him for bringing it. “Weapons of war serve no purpose in a place built for peace,” she had told him once.

Finally after about forty minutes she turned and acknowledged him. "It is getting to be late, Bishop. Perhaps it is also time for you to seek your bed?"

"Why do you let him speak to you that way?"

Storm shook her head and turned back toward the lake, her back facing him. "With Logan, I have learned it is not a matter of letting him or not letting him do anything. Logan will do as he wills and others must choose to either accept it or react."

Bishop looked away from her, towards the sky hoping to find some sense of calm for the emotions this conversation always invoked. "Why do you choose to accept it?"

"As I have told you before, Bishop. The question is not 'why do I accept it?' The question is why do I allow Logan's decisions to cause me to react." She turned back and took Bishop's left hand in her own two. "As I have taught you, I alone am the master of myself. When I allow another's actions to dictate my own I have given up mastery of my own being. So when Logan decides to make a particularly rude or insensitive comment, and I react without thought in the way he wishes, I have granted him power over me."

Bishop stared at her for a long moment. Storm, of all the X-Men, had always fascinated him. She was, in and of herself, a heretical dichotomy: a pacifist who had and could kill without thought, a warrior who held life sacred above all else, a mutant who cared only for the well being of the humans around her. "Yet when Gambit makes a joke that makes you laugh without thinking about it, that is not surrendering oneself?"

Storm smiled. "It is, but it is giving over power to one who wishes you well. There is a difference."

He shook his head again, pulling his hand away. "I do not understand, Storm. I was raised to react, not to give in."

"Simply because I strive not to react does not mean I am giving in."

Bishop shifted his weight so he was sitting next to her, both staring up at the sky. "It is late, Storm. We both should be in bed."

"You are right, my friend, we should." Neither moved. Instead they sat the rest of the night staring at the sky in silence.

-xXx-

Four thirty came damn early, Gambit thought as the alarm he had asked Cerebro to set started going off. Slowly he stretched then rolled out of bed, reaching for his jeans and feeling nothing. Only then did he look down and notice that he had fallen asleep with his clothes still on. "Merde," he mumbled. His shoes were still where he had left them, kicking them off only minutes prior to climbing under the covers, so he grabbed those and put them back on before heading over to his computer desk.

In a way he missed his old room here at the mansion. It had been smaller and much easier to manage. Remy had never been one to collect stuff, his room had consisted of his bed, his desk, and his dresser for longer than he could remember. Longer, in fact, than he had been an X-Man. Now that he had taken over the team he had moved into Cyclop's old suite of rooms which had included a bedroom, bathroom, office, walk-in closet, and sitting room for meetings. He had yet to figure out what to do with the sitting room. The walk in closet had sat half empty for the past year. The office he had put a laptop in simply to be able to distinguish it from the sitting room (though he hadn't yet turned that laptop on). And the bedroom was simply a larger version of his former room. Storm had told him, quite frankly, that it was pathetic. She had offered to help him do something with the space, but Remy just couldn't justify filling the rooms up with junk just to be able to say they were full. Much as he loved his creature comforts, living on the run with next to nothing was too much of an ingrained way of life to change it now.

"Cerebro, is decryption finished?" He asked, punctuated with a yawn, as he reached the desk and dropped into the chair.

"Decryption complete."

"Bien, display files please." At his prompt the folder contents appeared on the monitor on his desk, sorted into nicely categorized fields. "Thank you Cerebro."

"You are welcome, Gambit."

Rogue always laughed at him when he thanked the computer system, but he figured Charles wouldn't have programmed it to respond correctly if he hadn't expected his students to treat the system with respect and manners.

The files that were displayed before him were not what he had been expecting to see. Remy had expected names, dates, building schematics, government contacts. Instead what he was looking at was a very sophisticated financial ledger, most of it appeared to be in Russian. From the figures the company...Mutragenics was the name he was able to find in the statements, was a pretty fat and happy corporation. That in itself was suspicious. Not only was the US undergoing a recession, but the financial climate in Russia was crumbling. Between fuel prices and cost of living expenses most companies were having difficulty keeping up. Even Worthington Industries, though well supported and well situated for the current business climate, was feeling the economic strain and posting numbers that were hardly close to spectacular. This company, whatever it was, was putting up figures straight out of the late nineties and the web economic boom.

He sat going over earning potential statistics for a quarter that dwarfed most companies' current fiscal gross incomes. It was almost sickening. Then he stopped. "How de fuck does a company make money like dis an I ain' heard of 'em?" he muttered to himself, digging deeper into the file. He focused on the task of finding a name, somebody or something he could link this to. After all it was no secret that Remy LeBeau was a very well off man with a portfolio it took a staff of seventeen, consisting of lawyers, accountants, financial advisors and market analysts (along with one lone real estate broker), to properly manage. Among all of them, as well as his not quite legit contacts there was no possible way a company anywhere in the world, let alone one in depression sunk Slavic territory, could be posting these figures without him knowing about it. The sense of wrongness permeated the entire jump drive.

Not being able to put his finger on it, Remy left the financial accounts folder and instead dove into the material he was hoping to avoid. His Russian was less than adequate on the best of days... with a few drinks in him. Colossus had at one point joked that Remy knew just enough to pick up a few Russian hookers at a dive bar with the help of a translator. Fact was it was going to be painfully slow going through all this material on his own since Peter had (in his opinion at the moment) rather selfishly (though most of the world regarded it more along the lines of heroically) sacrificed himself to cure the Legacy Virus more than five years back. Thus leaving him effectively without a trustworthy translator.

Gambit leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes slowly to relieve them from the stress looking at a computer monitor caused his overly sensitive retinas. After a moment he looked up at his desk clock. Six twenty-two glared at him in overly happy red digital numbers. He glared back. Somehow the clock didn't get the hint and he gave up trying, opting rather to climb out of his desk chair and throw on clothes that he hadn't already slept in.

Much as he'd rather sleep, he always made it a point since taking over to have breakfast with his team. It was one thing Cyclops always did that Gambit had chosen to continue. He found it gave the team a sense of equality when they found that their leader didn't indulge himself in breakfast in bed and late morning naps when they were all up and about getting ready to run themselves ragged in the Danger Room. Of course, the only indulging Gambit would have been doing was possibly balancing the school checkbook and reading through the backlog of reports that filled every desk drawer he had. It didn't matter, that was not what the team would think was going on, and he knew it. Joining them for breakfast also gave him a feeling of being part of the team rather than above it; when he could sit and laugh with them about little things, antics and goings on at home that he would've missed holed up in his room going over statistics.

He tied on his shoes and grabbed his trench coat on his way out the door. Another thing he had learned long ago, though it had nothing to do with leadership: breakfast could become a pretty cold affair when it was the resident Ice Cube's turn to cook. And Lord help him, Gambit was pretty sure today was Thursday.

-xXx-

"Yo, incoming!" gave him just enough warning to duck and roll as a plate of pancakes, syrup and all, soared right past where his head had formerly been. "Sorry man." The owner of the warning shouted from where he stood next to Bobby as he readied another plate. Gambit just shrugged and gave Ricochet a thumbs up before making his way over toward the table.

"Save the practicin' for later, bub." Logan shouted, grabbing the plate out of midair and sliding it the rest of the way down the table.

"My thanks." Hank nodded before sinking his fork in. Logan simply nodded back.

"Who says I need practice, old man?" Nick laughed, grabbing another plate and getting ready to hurl it again towards the table.

"Dat'd be me." Remy stated, pointing at himself and letting his smug grin do the rest of the talking.

"K, got it, no throwing around breakfast." Nick shrugged and carried the next two plates over, putting one in front of Storm and the next in front of his leader with a nod. Nicolas Papavisilios was one of the current "newbies" at the mansion. From what Hank had figured out Nick's powers pretty much acted like an ongoing physics experiment. He could perfectly judge how much momentum and at what angle an object would have to be thrown in order to hit an intended target with the correct amount of force to cause the intended amount of damage. Minimal telekinetic enhancements allowed him to ensure such objects maintained the correct velocity. Needless to say from that point forward Gambit refused to play pool against him.

He checked quickly to make sure that he wasn't going to be today's flash freeze victim before digging into his own breakfast. Lack of sleep always led to an increased appetite, and lately Remy had been eating enough for two team members simply to keep up his stamina, not that it showed…yet. The door opened in the middle of his second bite and he looked up to greet whoever had come down to join them. He also immediately regretted it. "Well look what decided to come down for breakfast." He muttered to his pancakes.

"Be a dear and shove it." Mystique's fake smile did nothing to hide the 'out for blood' look in her eyes this morning.

"I can take care of that." Nick shouted from across the room and launched another plate of pancakes toward Mystique, who ducked seconds before it would have hit her square in the face. Instead it splattered all over the front of Jubilee who had just stood to clear her plate.

"Like total ick!" She shouted standing there, staring in shock at her ruined t-shirt. "You are soooo buying me a new shirt, Nick!"

Nick shrugged. "Let Mystique buy it, she started it."

"How exactly do you figure I did that?" Mystique asked from her perch on the chair that had been sitting empty behind her when the plate flew.

"You said to shove it." Nick turned back to grab another plate to place on the table this time along with a roll of paper towels for Jubilee and her apparently much loved shirt. "I was just hoping you'd open your mouth wide enough."

Laughter erupted around the table as Nick handed the paper towels to Jubilee, put some more pancakes down in front of Kitty and made his way back to Drake for more without a second thought as to what he had just said or any apparent concern for what might embed itself between his shoulder blades. "You have a death wish." Bobby laughed, handing him the next full plate.

Nick shrugged. "I dance with death every day. I eat your cooking don't I?"

"Which is more than Ah can say for the rest of us. Let's speed it up Bobby, a girl could starve to death over here." Rogue laughed from the far end of the kitchen table.

"Cereal for the loud mouthed southerner!" Bobby shouted, holding his spatula aloft like a scepter.

"Which one?" Phantasm shouted from her seat next to Rogue.

"Dere are t'ree of us y'know." Remy chimed in, winking at the two girls.

"All of them!" Bobby shouted, waving the spatula in the air. "Genius cannot be rushed."

"Indeed." Hank stated, looking up from his book to join in the conversation. "It most certainly cannot. But since I am most afraid that you do not suffer from such an affliction Robert I see no reason you cannot increase the current rate of the cooking process. Speaking from the perspective of a genius of course."

"I do believe Hank just dissed me!" Bobby frowned and gave his friend a bewildered look before turning back to the stove.

"Score one for team South." Phantasm laughed and held up her hand to high five Rogue. "Now we just gotta score us some food."

Remy was just about to go in for his fourth bite when a barely visible but fully solid telekinetic dome appeared over his plate and it began to make its way over toward Charlotte Manning, aka Phantasm, and Rogue. "Hey, y'can' jus steal a man's breakfast. Dat ain' fair!"

"Looks like it's too late, swamprat." Rogue giggled and grabbed the plate that Phantasm uncovered as soon as it was securely on their side of the table. "So much for master thief, gettin' y'breakfast stolen out from under your nose." She tsked and Charlotte giggled.

Remy just shrugged and reached for another plate that was coming off the stove. He had seen Bobby nod when Rogue took the plate. She loaded her fork up with a big bite and winked at him before biting down on a frozen solid piece of pancake. "Bobby Drake!"

"What can I say, team South boys versus girls, and you ladies lost."

"Bobby, y'ain't from the South." Charlotte giggled, shaking her head.

"Yo, I'm from South Brooklyn, a'ight!" Bobby pointed the spatula menacingly, then returned to flipping pancakes. "Don' make me go gangsta"

"In his man apron." Kitty added, giggling behind her orange juice.

Remy laughed, it was good to see them all like this. There were days lately he felt that wistful look of regard that Scott used to give them settling on his own face. He could understand now. It was nice to know that, Mystique patently excluded, the reality of the world around them hadn't broken them yet. They were still able to laugh. "Leave de boy an' his apron alone Kit." Remy admonished, then cleared his throat and took on his 'leader voice'. "Gonna need y'all in de Danger Room dis morning. Dish duty can wait, Jubilation." He looked directly at her, silencing the excuse that had frozen on her lips before she could even fully open them. "Was going over de results from de conditioning exercises an' I ain't impressed. Some o' y'gettin' lazy." He knew better than to actually look at any of them. They knew who they were without the rest of the team knowing, and if they didn't they'd find out the hard way. "Den we havin' a debriefin' at 10, so shower quick cuz if Logan has to smell you t'rough the entire meeting I'm gonna let him deal with you after."

"Full team or senior staff only, Remy?" Storm asked from her perch at the island.

He mulled that over in his head. If he got the whole team involved now he'd have to keep them involved, if he only pulled in the senior rank he could always debrief the others later. Of course, that usually caused tempers to flare and attitudes to spark up at the worst possible moments. "Full team." He answered, there wasn't enough information yet to worry about the new recruits' sensitivity to danger. There was always the option of sending them on a wild goose chase later while the heavy hitters took care of the real problems. 

Lord, what he wouldn't give to hand over this job. But nobody could do it better, and after his display of what he could do both in New Orleans and over the past months here in New York they wouldn't let him abdicate too easily. Not to mention it would gnaw rather uncomfortably on what little conscience he still retained knowing he had left them to figure things out on their own. Storm cast a concerned gaze toward him. He just shrugged back and made a mental note that Stormy apparently knew something. He polished off the last of his second plate of pancakes and placed it on the counter before heading down to the locker room himself.

Of course, he wasn't alone, his spatial awareness had clued him in on that from the moment he walked out the kitchen door. Once down in the sublevels he finally stopped and turned around, quirking an eyebrow at her in a way that he knew she found infuriating. He waited.

"Yah said we'd talk."

"I said we could talk if you wanted to."

Rogue crossed her arms across her chest and started stubbing her toe on the adamantium floor. Every line of her body read of uncertainty and a need to stay away. It was one of her many habits that he found infuriating. "So let's talk."

He conceded, there was still a half hour before the rest of the team would be heading toward the Danger Room. Remy let his shoulder rest against the wall and swept his hand out between them, indicating she had the floor, respectively speaking.

"Yah look like hell, sugah."

He laughed, nodding and closing his eyes. "Nobody said dis job gonna be easy."

"Nobody said yah had ta do it all by yourself neither. Scott never did."

"Non, he had his wife do all the paperwork. Smart man."

That rubbed her the wrong way, he'd known it would. He could feel the tension build in her shoulders and see the ripple in her jaw as she started through clenched teeth. "Ah could help yah...if you'd let me.” Her posture loosened enough that her words might still be painful, but uttering them was less so. “Yah gotta let somebody help you, it's gettin' ridiculous. You don't sleep hardly enough, yah ain't eatin' right...and you smell like a cesspool so Ah know y'ain't showered in more'n a day, maybe two."

"Now you sound like my wife..." She glared, and he forced a deep breath. "Why you so worried bout me, chere?"

She shrugged, inching a bit closer to him. "You said we'd always be friends, no matter what." A ghost of a smile flitted across her face. "And friends don' let friends work themselves to death." She laughed. "Would've said 'drive drunk' but Ah'm pretty sure Ah've let ya do that on more than one occasion."

Now he laughed too. "Oui chere, t'ink ya have. Not dat I would've let y' stop me." He examined her posture. No doubt of it, much as she wanted to avoid any chance of contact with him there was still that lingering hint of hope that they'd work things out. It was like an old wound that wouldn't stop itching, that hope they both still harbored, that they could work through the stockpiles of shit they called their history and manage to have a normal relationship. God help him, but he was going to scratch the itch at least once more. "You win. Dis afternoon y' can help me wit some reports, deal?"

He could tell he'd caught her by surprise, but it wore off quickly and she nodded. He smiled and put one arm cautiously around her shoulder, "So tell me, Rogue, how good is y' Russian?"

Chapter Text

Walking into the locker room he felt...lighter. It was an odd feeling, but somewhat pleasant if only for its novelty. If he had to put a name to it he'd call it resolution. Yes, that almost fit. It was a feeling of purpose tied into determination with a big bow of relief on top. And all it had taken was a two minute conversation and an infinitesimal dropping of his guard. Small things, that's all it took sometimes, yet those small things were so hard to remember.

He rolled his shoulders, working the stiffness from sleeping fully dressed in the wrong position slowly out of his muscles. Turning, he stopped at his locker just long enough to strip and grab a towel. If he was going to be here twenty five minutes early he was taking advantage. Rogue was right about one thing, he did smell like a cesspool. A quick glance in the mirror only confirmed that he looked as bad as he smelled; not comforting. What had happened to the suave, sophisticated, well groomed Remy LeBeau he was so used to greeting in the mirror every morning? The mirror didn't answer, and frankly he wasn't sure he wanted it to.

Showering had become a luxury lately, and he was glad to have the group shower all to himself. He could do without the soap dropping jokes for a day. As always he wondered what Xavier had been thinking, with his nearly unlimited finances, putting a group shower in the men's locker room instead of individual stalls; the eccentricities of the rich.

His bare feet slapped against the painfully cold tile and the water was running as fast as he could reach the dial. He sighed and let the stream run over him, not waiting for it to warm up. Being that close to that woman usually necessitated a cold shower on his part anyway, even when he smelled like a barn...a condemned barn, he mentally corrected, full of rotting manure. Actually, now that he thought about it, being that close to any woman was starting to lead to cold showers. What had happened to Remy LeBeau? He felt the water warm as it ran over his shoulders and down his back, just standing and letting muscles loosen. Contentment edged in to join resolution.

The door behind him began to open and slam shut with an irregular rhythm and growing frequency, alerting him that he needed to speed up the shower and get suited up to join the team. Reluctantly he reached for soap and shampoo.

A low whistle caught his attention as the last of the suds flowed down the drain at his feet. It was just enough to make him turn his head. "Those are some righteous battle scars, bro." Nick commented from where he sat, lacing up one boot while the other lay crumpled on the floor between his feet. Remy recognized the beginnings of hero worship in that tone and eyed his back over his shoulder in the reflective section of adamantium surface that hadn't fogged over with condensation.

That was a reaction he didn't need, too many hero worshipers ended up dead. He'd seen it in the Guild too often to allow it to happen here. "Dese?" he shrugged as he turned the water off and reached for his towel. "Ain' no battle scars. Dey a rite of passage dat a stupid boy t'ought would make 'im a better man." The whip marks across his back had indeed faded significantly since his days of banishment, the skin no longer tight enough to restrict movement. In fact, he had almost forgotten they existed. He wrapped the towel securely around his waist and turned to face Nick fully, displaying the three jagged tear marks across his chest that, almost ten years later, still refused to fade. "Now dese are battle scars. Almost cost me my life, my friends, an' my sanity. Dey did cost me my soul, an' dey ain' nothin' to be proud of boy. Scars' jus' a reminder dat y' went an' did somet'in real stupid, an' y' damn lucky dat all y'got is scars." He watched Nick pale and heard him gulp. He knew the marks weren't pretty. His left pectoral looked like a chunk had been ripped out of the lower half of it—probably because it had been. His navel was non-existent, stitched back together by the street surgeon who had sutured the rest of the wound. The lower part of the middle scar had corded outwards from his abdominal wall, distorting what might otherwise have been an impressive six pack. The marks were pink and ugly against his lightly tanned skin. They were proof positive that bad guys like Sabretooth didn't mess around—if they wanted you dead, they'd do their damndest to manage it.

"Wolverine?" Nick whispered, turning to look at the implicated party.

"Hah!" Logan laughed. He pulled on his glove and pointed from Gambit's chest to Ricochet's. "Sabretooth. Lines're too jagged. Turns out I'm the one who saved Gumbo's sorry ass that night." Gambit shrugged, conceding and watched the shorter man turn back and eye him. "Course, if I'da known, I would've let 'em kill ya." The cold glint from his eyes was unmistakable, there was no doubt the Wolverine meant every word of that statement, and Gambit knew it.

Even after knowing he'd been forgiven, the truth still hurt. But he couldn't fault Logan for telling the truth. "You'd've done both of us a favor, mon ami." He looked around the locker room at the rest of the males of the team. The atmosphere had certainly deteriorated along with the topic and all eyes were on him. "But on dat happy note, I t'ink we should be headin' up to the Danger Room. De girls never gon' let us live it down if dey all beat us up dere."

"Sure Cajun," Logan gestured at the towel that still sat around Gambit's hips. "But word of warning, gets mighty drafty up there."

"Don' wanna know how you know dat, mon ami. An' I'm prayin' y' erased de tapes." Logan shot him a feral grin. "Was sort of goin' for de Commando effect. You know, naked, raw power."

"What you do in yer off time ain't none of my business, and I don't care what the ladies call it."

"I will never understand this place." Nick muttered as he passed both of them.

Logan and Remy looked at each other, eyes met and neither could contain their laughter. "Sad t'ing is, I feel de same way." Remy finally managed to choke out. Man, did it feel good to laugh for once.

"Ain' much ta understand, Cajun." Logan slapped him on the back, the last to head for the locker room door. "Ya don't gotta understand family, ya deal with it an' try not to let it get to ya."

-xXx-

The scent of clean towels and soap that permeated the locker room was refreshing. Ororo could think of very few smells that rivaled clean laundry. Her silvery hair had finally grown long enough again that she could contain it all in a high ponytail, the wisps framing her face the only exception. Rogue was the only other person already in the locker room, though it was no secret why. Storm shook her head, it was continually frustrating to watch friend and friend attempt to work things out only to somehow have it all blow up in their respective faces. Yet she knew them both too well; Rogue was too stubborn to give in and Remy was too enthralled by the chase to give up. In a cosmically tragic way they were perfect for each other. Just as she and Logan were not. It was...aggravating.

She stopped and centered. She was in control. "Rogue, you are ready early." Storm commented. She pulled her uniform out of her locker and laid it out on the bench. She was still adjusting to the new uniforms, the black such a stark contrast to her previous white.

Rogue moved out of her way, a habit that Storm often doubted she was even aware of, giving people more space than they actually required. "Needed some words with the swamprat." Storm watched Rogue toss her hairbrush back into her bag and straddle the opposite bench to begin stretching. "Bout time he listened to some reason."

Storm arched an eyebrow inquisitively. "Reason?"

"He's yoah buddy, Storm. Ya can't tell me y'all haven't noticed him walkin' round here like a zombie." Rogue waved her arms wide, "Ah know he ain' sleepin' much. If his bedroom lights go off at all it ain' for more'n a few hours. He goes days without shavin', showerin' or even changin' his clothes. He's been eatin' like a starvin' hog..."

"Have you been stalking him?" Rogue shot her a look that was part scorn, part guilt before opening her mouth to reply. Storm held up a hand to stop whatever rejoinder Rogue was working towards. "Alright. You are correct, he has not exactly been himself lately."

Rogue crossed both arms over her chest and leaned forward, a scowl firmly fixed on her face. "It's killin' him, Storm. He's tryin' to do Scott's job, Xavier's job and Gambit's job all at the same time. Last I checked he's only one person. One damn fool stubborn person."

Storm smirked. "The description sounds familiar."

"Oh no." Rogue's eyes sparked. "Ah'm stubborn alright, but I know I got limits. That fool Cajun hadn' even stopped to think that there's a mansion full o' people right under his nose who could pitch in an' give him a hand." Storm watched Rogue's eyes narrow slightly. "An' you used ta be co-leader Storm. You're his best friend. You shoulda been helpin' him with all this since day one."

Deep breath and center, Storm reminded herself. "You are right." She looked down at the floor for a minute to gather her thoughts. "Remy can be...is...very willful. Do not think I have not tried. He does think he needs to do it all on his own, and I do not know why. I also do not know how to make it clear to him that he can ask for help." She forcefully injected all the warmth she could into her voice, hoping it had the intended effect. "I am glad you were able to get through to him. I have been worried as well."

She watched Rogue visibly loosen and sit straighter, the threat in her stance melted away. "Ah'm just glad he's finally lettin' somebody help him, at this point don't matter who. Hell, I'd hire his ex-wife on if I thought it'd help him get some sleep. Another month an' I swear he'll stroke out if this keeps up." Storm watched a tremor run through Rogue's body at the thought. It was sweet and sad at the same time, seeing how deep the connection between the two ran that one could in fact feel physical pain for the other. It was something Storm was quite sure she would never experience. "Well, Ah'm headin' up. Don't know why Ah gotta do these dumb conditionin' exercises. Remy knows I don't get muscle fatigue."

"An' how's he know that?" Jubilee shouted from the entryway, Kitty laughing behind her. Storm realized belatedly that neither of them had noticed the pair enter, they hadn't been paying enough attention to the time.

"Girl, get yoh mind outta the gutter."

"Oh, come on Rogue." Kitty laughed as she phased through Rogue rather than walking by her, knowing how much it set her on edge. "Remy wishes he knew you didn't get muscle fatigue. You know it, so doesn't everybody else. And we applaud you for not letting that walking hormone hump your leg like a stray dog."

Storm was pretty sure that Rogue was blushing as deep crimson as possible. Rogue turned and opened the door between the locker room and the Danger Room stiffly, still facing the laughing girls. "Kitty, he ain't lookin' to hump me like some stray dog, an' my endurance abilities ain' got nothin' to do with...with..."

"With what, chere?" Apparently, Storm thought, Rogue could blush purple.

She watched Rogue freeze, and turn so slowly she seemed not to move at all. "How much did you hear, swamprat?" It was low and threatening, a tone that would put an animal's hair on end.

"Enough." Storm couldn't see him from where she sat, but she could hear and feel the laughter in his eyes, which she was sure were reflected on her own face. She kept herself focused on the tile floor to avoid inflaming the situation by giving any emotion away. "An' for de record, Kitty, ain' a good idea t'refer ta ya leader as a walkin' hormone cuz he's de one dat's got de authority to make you sit on watch duty for de next month." Rogue went stiff and walked into the Danger Room, assumingly past Gambit, and the door slammed shut behind her.

"She is, like, totally gonna murder us both." Jubilee muttered, her head buried in her locker.

"Eh, it's good for her." Kitty spat. Storm shrugged into her uniform while she watched Kitty do the same. "That girl is so afraid of her own body and everything that goes with it. It's good for her to hear what a guy might want to do with that body. Heck, I know for a fact Hank wasn't thinking the purest thoughts the last time he had to do a physical for her."

That chewed away the very last bit of self restraint Storm possessed. "And how would you know that, Kitten?"

"I was the next one in line. Sitting in the waiting room…it's kinda hard to miss" And she gestured at her pelvis, "...unless you're Rogue." Kitty laced up her last boot. "Love her like a sister, but she's so naive sometimes it kills me."

-xXx-

"Y'okay, chere?" Remy whispered, standing nonchalantly next to her while the rest of the group assembled.

"Fine."

It had been so forced her lips hadn't even moved away from her teeth. "Talk later?"

"Nothing to talk about." She shifted her gaze over to him briefly before looking back at the wall. "I'm going to kill them."

Remy smirked. "Take it out during de session, don' make me have to punish you for somet'ing stupid Kitty said." He turned toward her, breaking her concentration on the wall. "Dat's an order, Rogue. I catch you or her startin' shit wit' each other outside dese four walls over some joke dat went bad and you'll have a whole new reason to hate me. Clear?"

He thought he saw guilt, fear, and sadness flicker through her eyes for a moment before the hard defiance settled back into place. Though this time it was tempered by restraint. "Crystal, sugah."

"Bien," he gestured toward the rest of the waiting group. "Time we got dis show on de road, eh?" They grouped up and he silently sized up his team before launching into his full blown leader mode. It was a skill that he had despised in Cyclops during his first few years on the team, but had recently come to terms with and grown to almost appreciate, though he still despised how it sounded coming from his own lips. "So like I said earlier, been going over some of the recent readouts from Cerebro and a few of you ain't postin' numbers or meetin' targets like y'should. Ain't gonna name names, ain't gonna point fingers. I also ain't gonna lie to you, dere's no room for slackers on my roster. We go out dere in de field and I'm puttin' all yo lives on de line. I refuse to trust yo' safety to somebody who ain't puttin' in de effort." He briefly scanned the line, made eye contact with most of them and judged they were still listening enough that it was safe to continue. "So we gonna do dis here conditioning exercise. Don' ask how long it's gonna take, cuz dat's up to all of you. De objective is fairly simple: don' get caught. We gonna be usin' de Sentinel program, and we de targets dis time. Simulation ends when one of you gets captured and can't get free after ten seconds. Watch yo' backs, watch yo' teammates. You are all on evasive maneuvers an' dere ain' a lot of hidin' places so don' go holin' yourselves up. Cerebro is trackin' you and I will know. Questions?" He did another brief scan but saw nothing to indicate anything other than anticipation. "Kay, Cerebro cue up Sentinel protocol Alpha 902 Theta 54 please."

"Certainly, Gambit." The computerized voice answered, followed by the flashing lights and the klaxon alarm warning that the simulation was about to begin. In a way, Gambit found himself anticipating the exercise too, not just to burn off what little energy he actually possessed, but to see the reaction from his team. This scenario was his latest work of art. They were used to cities and towns, places with escape routes, obstacles and debris. This was going to be different…there was no place to hide in the desert. The battle conditions were going to be climate controlled. It was already starting to get hot, as the floor beneath him changed to Shi'ar produced slippery sand. A wind picked up and he could tell from the shock on a few people's faces that they had not expected anything like this. But how better to test endurance than in the harshest climate known to man, other than Antarctica of course? He had contemplated using that setting for some time, Antarctica, but ultimately decided it might open too many old wounds that were better left to heal or fester of their own accord.

"Brilliant," he heard Hank mutter from his right before the odd mechanical/hydraulic sound that he could only associate with a Sentinel distracted him from what the team might be doing. Then he ran and watched the rest of them scatter, noticing idly that the scatter pattern wasn't random, which was good. They were thinking.

He found himself grouped with Iceman and Bishop, the former seemed to be having unexpected problems with the training environment and the latter seemed far more intent on attacking than evading. "Good thing this is a running exercise, boss." Iceman shouted. "No humidity, no ice. I'm not good for much besides running at this point."

He nodded and looked over at Bishop, who had hit a standstill and was firing at the incoming bogey. He realized it was coming in too fast. "Don' just stand dere, pup!" Bishop dove and Gambit released a volley of charged cards, aiming for the dune between the Sentinel and its target. The resulting spray gave Bishop enough cover to get out of range before the Sentinel could reach out for him with one of it's grappling tentacles.

"I always forget how freaking huge these things are." Bobby commented from Gambit's right. "We got one more incoming." This one was coming in from due east, the one aiming for Bishop had come from the south. Quickly, he mentally traced the routes the other small groups had taken. His group had been the one to head southeast. The Sentinels were herding them. "Damn smart robots, they're pushing us back together." Iceman had apparently reached the same conclusion.

"Targets identified. Mutant Iceman, Mutant Gambit, Mutant Bishop surrender or you will be eliminated." The enormous robot reached one arm toward Gambit and he let loose another volley, removing three of the Sentinel's fingers in the process.

"Forget how charmin' dey are too?"

"If we continue south, but let them herd us back west we should circle around behind some of them." Bishop stated, he had recovered from his roll down another dune and had joined back up with the two.

Gambit nodded as they ran, "Y'good for some cover fire? Keep 'em trailin' us in only one direction? I ain't lookin' t'get sandwiched." Bishop nodded, which was good enough for him. He saw lightning up ahead, that meant Storm was still fighting, and saw a dot moving through the air. Too fast to be Storm, too big to be Rogue, had to be Angel. Personally Gambit liked to keep his fliers spread out, but they always clumped together on him. He filed that away for another time.

Bishop turned and fired on the two Sentinels that were tracking them, one of whom looked slightly angrier than the other for being short a few fingers even though Gambit knew the robots couldn't get 'angry'. A stitch was starting to develop in his left side, and Gambit realized rather belatedly that it would be somewhat embarrassing if this scenario ended because of him. Suddenly a hand was on his arm. "Gambit stop a second!" Iceman said, running a hand over the Cajun's face then reaching for Bishop.

"What are you doing?" Bishop asked, releasing another powerful lazer blast.

"Beautiful sweat!" Iceman laughed, turning the beads into an ice spear. "Hope this works." He turned and threw it at the Sentinel that had gotten too close, lodging it in the knee joint.

"And that will do what?" Bishop again questioned as the three commenced running.

"Structural weakness." Gambit stated, aware now of the Iceman's plan. "Open circuitry in the knee, water can short out the mechanism."

Iceman smiled, "Exactly!" Gambit noticed some concern on Bobby's face when he turned to look in his direction. "You alright Gambit?"

He shook his head. "Fine. Run." He didn't have enough breath to say much more. His side was screaming, his blood was pounding in his ears and his finger tips were numb. He could still only think of how embarrassing it would be if he ended his own training scenario.

Almost instantaneously he found himself running on metal floor instead of soft sand. "Training session over." Cerebro anounced as his team gathered up in the center of the room.

"Who?" He asked the group, glad it only needed to be a one word question.

Eyes glanced around the room until Mystique sauntered forward, her hands on her hips. "I got bored." She shrugged and gave him a seductive smile before sashaying off to the locker room. He tried not to be angry, counted to ten, looked behind him at the blue figure as she passed through the door and counted to ten again. Finally he looked at the session clock, forty two minutes, longer than their typical evasion scenarios. He'd let it slide and not reorder the practice. They looked sufficiently tired.

"War Room, you got twenty minutes." He heard a few groans as most of them turned toward the locker rooms. "And team…" They stopped and he smiled. "Good job out dere."

-xXx-

It was still different…odd…sitting in the leader chair, facing everybody as if he had all the answers. Especially when he knew he didn't, he mostly had questions and few of those were even entirely clear. Gambit toyed with the flash drive, eyeing it dubiously, like it held answers that it was hiding from him. When the last seat was taken he looked up and plugged the stick into one of the ports on his left. "Dis information was obtained last night from a gov'ment source. Most of it has not been translated, so we still not sure what exactly we're looking at, but it is believed that the company represented by dis information is somehow linked to the disappearances we been looking into dese past few weeks."

He let that sink in for a minute. "De only information I been able to make any headway with is de financial stuff. The company earnings are off de charts. I got a couple leads working on tracing down where de cash flow is coming from and going to." Technically that was a lie, he hadn't contacted the Guild yet…but that was only because of time constraints. He would be placing a call to Theoren as soon as this meeting was over and hopefully have somebody on the ground in Russia before the end of the day. "In de meantime, dere's been some other information coming through the underground contacts dat I t'ink you should all be aware of. I know we all been hearing about de new Chinese law enforcement program. De street rumor is dat Bolivar Trask be running dat operation."

He heard a murmur of reaction around the table hit him from all sides and held up his hands. "Now, I still got proof dat our friend Bolivar is following de letter of his sentence if not de spirit and is staying inside his London apartment. Dis could simply be street hysteria. Until we know for certain, we staying out of it. In de meantime we gon be doin' a lot of Sentinel training programs like we did dis mornin', I don' want us t'get caught wit' our pants down on dis one." He saw a couple grimaces and some satisfied nods. There were also some stone faced acceptances that was the best he could expect from some of his team. It would have to do. "Reason I been checkin' up on our little friend is dat de rumor mill also got activity goin' on in Genosha. Now I know dat ain' highly likely given de current circumstances dere, but better safe den sorry, eh?"

"Current circumstances?" Charlotte piped in and Gambit nodded to Hank who pulled up a virtual schematic of the island that hovered over the round War Table.

"Y' ever hear de sayin' Rome wasn' built in a day?" He asked, pointing at the mass of buildings that would have indicated Genosha's capital. "Magneto hadn'. All dis was built in practically a day. Man sure had a way of playin' God. He used all de iron and other metals in de bedrock of de island, which we all knew." With a flick of his hand the hologram rotated and the city skyline disappeared. "What nobody suspected, mostly cuz we didn' t'ink he'd be dat dumb or crazy, was dat Magnus used all de metal deposits, ripped everyt'ing up to de surface an' left de whole island completely unstable. So when de whole big finale went down…"

Hank cleared his throat and stepped in to the conversation, just as Remy had hoped he would. "I believe what our esteemed leader is attempting to illustrate is that when the force of the aerial attack impacted the island there was not enough structural support left for the ground to support both the attack and the existing structures, causing the island as a whole to virtually implode." Remy watched Hank scan the table and take in the still blank looks of his teammates. "Ahem, big bomb hit island make big boom. Buildings go bye-bye. Man no can live on island no more."

"Gotcha!" Jubilee piped up from the back of the room.

Remy had to laugh at the injured look on Beast's face, being forced to resort to such language. "Exactly, so it ain' too likely dat dere's much goin' on in dat neck of de woods. Just de same, if de rumor mills don' quiet down we may be makin' a bit of trip out dat way."

"How long until you have those files translated?" Storm asked from his left.

"Hopefully a day or two, given some help." To her credit, Rogue didn't flinch at the comment. "Now about today's session, forty two minutes ain' bad. However…" He scanned the room briefly, eyes settling finally on Mystique who had taken out a pocket knife to clean her nails as if she hadn't a care in the world. "Raven." She glanced up briefly, Remy knew it was the best he was going to get. "Y' pull another stunt like dat one back dere an' I'm packin' y'off to Cable faster'n you can blink."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Don' tempt me Raven. Y'very lucky I got room and patience for y'. After de stunt you pulled wit Creed you just plain lucky t'be breathin'. So if y'bored I'm sure Nathan'd be more'n happy to keep you entertained…indefinitely." She eyed him callously, the yellow irises almost impossible to read if you didn't know her well. "Dere are much worse fates den death, and I will make sure you find one given de opportunity if you keep dis shit up." He looked away, dismissing her as unimportant before she could turn the chastisement into an argument that would only end with him looking bad.

"As for de rest of you, I'll be handing out individual reports when I get a chance to look over the readouts. Overall, y'did good. Fliers…" He looked over toward where Rogue and Angel were sitting, knowing he already had Storm's attention. "I know I said dis before, y'gotta keep y'selves separated. Dere's a lotta sky up dere, it can't be dat tough. Y' make a much more tempting target all bunched together than y'do if you keep y'distance. Telepaths…" He looked over toward Betsy and Charlotte. "Either neither one o'ya decided to link me into the communication network or y' both just plumb forgot to make one." Betsy nodded once, tensely and Charlotte looked down to the floor, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. "Dat's what I thought. We dealin' with robots, dey can't 'hear' you. Next time don' forget." He scanned the remainder of his team briefly. "Questions?" No response came, and nobody looked like they were holding anything back. He nodded. "Den it looks like y'all got de rest of de day off, 'cept for your daily assignments o'course. Soon as I know more, you'll know more. Dismissed."

As a group they stood and filtered out, most heading toward the upper levels but some heading back toward the locker rooms to finish washing up. Rogue lagged behind, waiting with him in the room until everybody else had left. "Y' got somet'in' t'ask me, chere?"

"That was pretty cold, sugah." She leaned forward across the back of her chair, leaning toward him but keeping her distance. It was enough to drive a man crazy.

"Which part? You groupin' up on me or feedin' Mystique to de wolves?"

Rogue rolled her eyes and Remy could see her put her hackles up. It was fascinating the way her body would tense, shoulders rise, eyes narrow, hands ball into fists and her chin would jut just a tiny bit forward. It was her fighter stance, and boy did he know it well. "Ya know she does it just t' git you all riled up. Ya don't even know for sure that she was the one that ended that training session."

Remy nodded. "Y'right. Fact I'm pretty sure it wasn't her."

Rogue huffed, it sounded like an angry freight train and if he didn't step carefully Remy would have that train come barreling down on him…again. "So why'd you say that stuff then?"

He slowly unfolded himself from his chair and rose to his full height, stepping around the table so there was nothing between them but air. He had found with Rogue it was just as important to physically stand your ground as it was to do so philosophically. He was pretty sure it had to do with her lack of physical contact, but the girl was almost inept at reading the subtle nuances of body language. Sitting in a chair, regardless of his expression or how he was sitting would be interpreted by Rogue as him dismissing her as not worth the time. Making his intentions so blatant was something that had taken him time to adjust to, being trained so long in subtlety. "De simple fact dat she took responsibility for it, an' acted like it didn' matter, in front of de whole team…Rogue t'ink about what dat does to morale for a second. I got young kids bustin' dere butts in dat room to try and prove dey got what it takes to be part of dis team. I can't have one person draining morale and spoilin' dere efforts by being blatantly insubordinate every chance she gets. De rules gotta apply to everyone, and everyone gotta put in de same effort or else dis whole t'ing goes up in smoke."

"Did ya mean it?" Her shoulders had fallen slightly, her eyes were no longer narrowed. He was pretty sure he was back in the safe zone.

"Bout sendin' her out to Cable?" Rogue nodded and he sighed, running a hand through his hair he looked down at the floor. "Tween you and me? I can't afford to send her away. Good Lord knows she's gon be de death of me, but she's good. Jus' too bad she knows it. But dat stays 'tween you an' me. Mystique can sniff out an idle threat a mile away, and I gotta have somet'ing to hold over her to make sure she toes the line."

Rogue sighed. "Ah know she drives ya crazy. She drives everyone crazy. But she's still my Momma, Remy. You, more'n everybody else here, has ta learn to live with her."

"Why's dat, chere?" He grinned, then nodded. "Y'right. But nobody gets special treatment. Including you."

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him, but this was the mock glare. This glare he could live with, in fact it made her look damn good. "What is that supposed to mean, swamprat?"

"Means dat you promised to give your leader some help wit' a certain project…so you best be in my office in two hours. Be an extra day on cleaning detail for every minute you're late." He decided to go for the gold and tapped her on the nose with one gloved finger before she could react. The look on her face was worth the risk. With that he smiled and walked out of the room leaving a fuming Rogue behind.

Chapter Text

The question was an interesting one, and she let it sit and stew in her mind while she tended to the tropical oasis around her. A snip here, some water there and an occasional whisper of encouragement—that was the secret to her magic. Weather, she had realized, was what enabled nature to exist. Yet it was here, where she the weather goddess was able to create a lush environment with her own two hands alone, this was where she felt the most human. Here she overcame her very nature and relied solely on the skills of her hands and mind to create something beautiful. Her visitor didn't press, something that didn't go unnoticed or unappreciated. "Then you believe," she finally stated, staring into the face of an orchid whose name she could not quite recall, "that the rumor is fact?"

"It is more than likely."

She nodded and moved along. "Bishop, I am given to understanding from your accounts of your world that the lines of fact and fiction were not entirely…stable." He shrugged uncomfortably, and she raised one eyebrow at him in reply to the unspoken acknowledgement. "The difference between rumor and truth was judged by the recipient of the rumor, not by fact but circumstance. That is correct?"

He leaned heavily against the doorframe to the greenhouse, arms crossed over his chest. "Storm, this time I am right. Gambit knows it's true, the rumors are correct."

"And you fear that what we assumed to be the war to begin your future was, in actuality, not." She sighed and spun back to face him, mimicking his stance. Arms crossed heavily over her chest, head tilted slightly downward so her eyes were leveled along her brow line, one corner of her mouth strayed toward the floor and her feet turned slightly apart. "Bishop it is not simply your future, it is all of our futures. What you seem unable to accept is that you have as little control over the outcome as any of us do. The Goddess knows what tomorrow may bring and I do not question her." She watched him tense and shake his head at the floor. "Neither should you." Silently she unfolded, realizing how badly her time lost charge was in need of comfort, not opposition. "I understand it is difficult, my friend. You have lived through what might only be for us. This may be your past, but when you made the choice to travel backwards it also became your present and your future became as uncertain for you as ours is for us." She smirked and reached for his hand. "In a way you may be luckier than all of us, your past may never actually occur. Any and all past discretions can therefore be forgiven, better-forgotten. I can think of no few people who would love to have that opportunity."

Bishop's eyes narrowed fractionally. "Don't patronize me Storm."

"I am not patronizing." Had she been anyone other than herself the smirk gracing her lips would have indicated otherwise.

"And I am being serious."

"As am I," she turned and went back to caring for her less cumbersome charges. "As is Gambit also, I assure you. He has never left anything to chance, now is not the time he would choose to do so."

"You have so much trust in him."

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Remy is very misunderstood." The unspoken question permeated the silence and for once she decided to give in and answer. "Given a choice Remy LeBeau has always chosen the lesser of two evils. I knew when he first found me, there is much good in him to trust. Something it has taken him long to come to terms with." She eyed Bishop over her shoulder. "Something you should have already realized, long ago when he found you. We have much in common, Bishop. There are days I am surprised by how much we share in common."

"There was not much good about the choices the Witness made." His stare moved fractionally from the concrete floor to the woman in front of him.

"Not the choices, the man. It is Remy's great misfortune to be constantly placed in situations where there is no good choice." She spun to face him again and pointed one regal finger. "What makes him the man that he is, is his conscious effort to inflict the smallest amount of harm. Leaders on a battlefield are never faced with easy choices." Storm sighed and traced her fingers through one lacy fern. "Sadly, it seems a life that he was born and raised for, to lead. I assure you, it is not something he enjoys."

-xXx-

If asked what his favorite thing about being under Gambit's command was Logan would probably say: the beer. No kids, no reason to hide the alcohol. He flipped the cap off the Hefe Weiss and looked at the label—Muskoka. Good beer. Yeah, it was a German beer kind of day, matched the German bitch sitting across the room. "Ya got some nerve, give yer that."

Raven offered a fluid shrug. "I was never a big fan of Cajun."

"Hmph." Logan took a pull and put the bottle on the table, aware he'd catch hell later for leaving a ring. "Tell me somethin', there a reason yer tryin' ta get yer ass packed outta this joint? Cuz lady, way I see it yer oughta be beggin' us for asylum." He grabbed his bottle and took another swig, eyeing Mystique as only a true predator could. "Asylum's certainly where ya belong."

"That's funny coming from somebody like you." She slid off the counter and marched decisively toward him, shifting slowly into the mirror image of the one and only Wolverine. "Not like ya don't have yer own head problems, bub."

The SNKT was distinctive and instantaneous, giving even the trained shape shifting assassin no time to react before three lethal claws were at her throat. "Ya may be the best at what you do, Mystique. But I'm the best at what I do, and I don't care what Gumbo says, you ain't worth the trouble."

"Did I interrupt the fun?" The markedly British accent floated over to him through the doorway and with one final SNKT the claws were gone and the figure before him was once more blue and female.

"Ain't interruptin' nothin', Betts." Logan finished off the last of the bottle, tossed it in the sink and grabbed for the fridge door once more. "Mystique here was just about to tell me why she's bein' extra bitchy today."

"And wouldn't that be something to hear."

Mystique grinned wickedly and turned away from the Canadian now that his head was buried in the fridge and was showing no more interest in her game. "Gee, Wolverine. You seem to have gotten the Ninja's butt floss all in a twist with expectation."

Betsy reached toward a cabinet and Logan grinned, she'd pulled this little trick on him once before and Mystique had no way of knowing what was coming. The dull thud of fist meeting skull was followed by the sharper sound of skin slapping skin. Knowing Betsy, probably a wrist grab twisted into a cross body restraint. "I am no ordinary Ninja, love. So let's leave my 'butt floss' out of this and the pretty blue lady can tell us what's gone up her ass sideways today?"

"Damn shadow walker."

Betsy snickered. "Remember that next time you decide to take a walk in the dark. Now I'm bored, entertain me." She released Raven in one fluid motion leaned casually against the wall as if she hadn't just bested Mystique in a brief round of hand to hand combat. Logan really did like the post Crimson Dawn Betsy a hell of a lot more than her predecessor, less psychic knife waving and much more ass whooping.

"Did your Angel fly the coop?"

Rather than rising to the bait Betsy flashed a winning smile right back at Raven. The two could probably have competed for coldest hearted on the team and Logan would have had difficulty choosing a winner. "When the bird is away the cat needs new prey."

"Clever." Raven grumbled. Logan snorted into his new beer. "And what is it I'm supposed to be telling the two of you that you don't already know?" Neither answered and Raven held her hands up like an innocent preschooler. "Am I not allowed to detest a man who has tried to defile my daughter on a regular basis for years now?"

"Considerin' ya assassinated yer own son on live national television…." Logan bared his teeth in a feral grin. "No."

"He was an abomination." Raven snarled back.

"Looking at his pedigree it certainly can't be a surprise." Betsy laughed and reached for an apple out of the bowl behind her. "You can't have expected the result of breeding two abominations to have been anything other than revolting." Her piercing violet stare snapped from the skin of the apple to Mystique's golden eyes. "But changing the subject only prolongs the conversation."

Taking his cue, Logan moved in on Mystique just like he had planned with Betts earlier, cornering her between the Ninja, the wall and the Wolverine. "Ya covered fer Phantasm in the Danger Room this mornin'. Ya certainly ain't given ta bein' the chivalrous type." Mystique started to open her mouth in protest, but was silenced once more by a SNKT. "Smelled shame and embarrassment all over the kid. Question is did ya do it ta piss Gumbo off, or you playin' some bigger game here?"

Logan watched Betsy out of the corner of his eye as she held her fist casually in front of her face, a purple dagger of energy appeared from seemingly out of nowhere. "She doesn't really have to tell us Logan."

He watched Mystique turn her gaze toward Psylocke long enough to catch sight of her Psychic Knife. A faint whiff of fear wafted off her for the briefest of moments, though she didn't show it. Logan had to give the witch credit, she was harder to read than half of Hank's library. "I am not stupid enough to try and do more than what I can to get under that low life's skin. Do you really think if I were up to something I'd be wasting my time here? That bastard has cut me off from all my contacts and left me with nothing. And he enjoys rubbing my nose it every chance he gets. I'm not grateful, and I don't care. So long as he keeps me prisoner here I have every right to make his life a living hell, and I fully intend to do just that." The Knife flickered out and Logan sheathed his claws.

Think it's truth or bloody lies?

"You keep tellin' yerself that, Raven." Logan swiped his beer back off the nearby windowsill and sauntered out the door. Could be either, she got damn nervous when you pulled yer little head trick. Might just have been fear of being stabbed in the head. Course Raven's head is so messed, she might not know if she's tellin' the truth.

He got back the mental equivalent of a sigh, but he no longer cared. The only thing that went better with beer than pretzels was meditation, and the Wolverine was going to go do just that.

-xXx-

He let the door shut behind him, the ghost of a smile still on his face. It had been good see the look on her face when they got to joking around—like old times. He threw himself into his desk chair and whipped out his blackberry and pressed the button on the lower left edge. "Say a command" the phone woman ordered.

"Call"

"Please say the name of the person you'd like to call"

"Theoren"

"Did you say 'theeyorin'?"

"Yes" Remy laughed, the way the disembodied voice of his blackberry butchered his cousin's name killed him every time.

"Calling 'theeyorin'."

"Ha!" He covered his mouth quickly, knowing he'd get an answer after the first ring.

Sure enough. "Allo Remy. What you got?"

Remy kicked his feet up on the desk. "Why you always gotta t'ink it's business, coz?"

He heard the dry laugh on the other end of the line. "Cuz you ain't never called jus' t'check on de family."

"S'true." He pulled the jump drive out of his pocket for inspiration, twirling it idly between his fingers. "Got an eyes n' ears job, need somebody pretty level headed for it."

"Y' jus' eliminated half de guild." Remy laughed. "Eyes n' ears, hmm." He could practically hear the gears turning in Theoren's head. "It gotta be guild?"

That got Remy thinking. "Truth…non. Fact, probably better if it be an outside job. Plausible deniability 'n all dat."

"Plausible deniability?" Theoren asked. Remy could hear the gears in his head turning as clearly as he heard him start typing on a keyboard in the background. "Dis gon' be one o' dem jobs, huh? Dat means we gon have to pay."

"Yup, figgered dat, mon ami."

"Who payin'?"

Remy mulled that thought over for a few seconds, mentally double checking account balances and outstanding debts faster than many could recall their bank's name. "I t'ink de team'll cover dis one. We got more'n enough 'rainy day' money sittin' aroun. Be easier than tryin' ta filter money out of de Guild accounts."

He heard Theoren breath a sigh of relief. "Bien. Where am I puttin' dese eyes n' ears?"

Remy stared up at the ceiling. "Russia. Need 'em on de ground in Russia."

"Russia be a big place, Remy. You got anyt'ing more specific dan dat?"

"Workin' on it, still tryin' ta translate dis chouchoot I done got from de feds last night. F'right now I'd say Moscow be a good place to start. Hire it out, get 'em on de ground. I gonna be givin' dem a call soon's you have flight info uploaded. I'll give our podna de details."

"Bon, de encrypted line?"

"Y'gotta ask?"

"Heh, guess not. I'll reset de encryption code on my end, upload it t'ya phone when I'm done."

"Bien. How is de family doin?"

Theoren laughed. "De famille is doin' jus' fine. Probably better wit' you not bein' here no more."

"Ouch!" Remy laughed, his cousin's tone had taken the sting out of that one. Truth be told, he was probably right. Remy had been there right when they needed him. Survival was more than instinct for him, and he had gotten them through the worst of the storm—no pun intended. Now though, they needed somebody more like Theoren who could concentrate on more than just ensuring the bare necessities. Left to just Remy, they'd probably all still be bunkered down somewhere in Texas.

"Hahaha! Don't go takin' it personal, coz. You get de pictures Lapin sent?"

Remy's eyebrows knitted together for a second, and he started the laptop in his office for the first time ever. "Non, what he send pictures of?" He tapped impatiently on the screen while windows loaded.

"Boy, you have been outta de loop for awhile. His gaienne had de baby, little boy."

"Christ!" Remy swore. "You kiddin'! Didn' even know de boy had a girlfriend. Ha! Lapin, a daddy. Now dat's a scary thought."

"Jus' be glad it wasn' a girl. Dey was seriously gonna name it Katrina."

"Ugh. What dey name it?"

Silence for a moment. "Xavier Remy Lapin." Dead silence for another few seconds. "Never could convince dat boy you were no good. I'll resend de pictures. Bye coz." The line went dead.

Remy just sat there for a good few minutes, staring at his phone. "I'll be damned," he finally whispered. He pulled the laptop closer and logged into his e-mail. Sure enough, there were pictures—lots of pictures. "I'll be damned!" He laughed and opened one of the pictures of his cousin holding the baby. Lapin looked scared out of his wits and the baby was screaming.

"What are you laughing at, sugah?" He spun, surprised that Rogue had managed to come in without him noticing. "Sorry, the door was open and y' did say two hours…"

Remy waved his hand at her to let her know it was okay and went back to the pictures. "S'alright, chere. Lapin just had a baby, lookin' at de pictures he sent."

She sat on the floor next the desk, seeing as there was nowhere else in the room to sit. "Serious? That's a frightenin' thought."

"Y'ain't kiddin'. Check dis out." He turned the computer so she could see the picture currently on the monitor. It was a shot of Lapin trying desperately to change the baby's diaper, and obviously failing. "Now dat's priceless."

She giggled, covering her mouth with one gloved hand. "It is pretty good, but this isn't gettin' those files translated…"

"Non, y'right." He closed the files somewhat reluctantly. "He named him Xavier Remy Lapin." He turned to look Rogue in the eyes, needing to see some sort of reaction. Out of all of them he knew she would understand. She was the only one who had ever met his family, the only one who really got it.

"You miss them, don'tcha sugah?"

He nodded. Even Theoren had managed to bury the hatchet between them, he had finally realized it belonged six feet under with Etienne. As much as they treated him like the black sheep, they were still his family and N'awlins was still home. But as much as he wanted to be back there, he knew he belonged here. He was needed here. "Mebbe after dis situation calms down I'll go home for a visit."

Rogue smiled and nodded. "Maybe you should." Then she started laughing. "You realize this poor baby is doomed. He's either gonna take after his Daddy or his namesake. Either way he ain't got a chance."

She looked him straight in the eye for a second, then he started laughing too. "Dey were gonna name it Katrina if it had been a girl."

"Thank gawd fer small favors." Rogue rolled her eyes and stood. "Alright, Cajun. If we're gonna get down to work I'm gonna need a chair. Don't you own any furniture?"