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Rogue peeked though the doorway of the penthouse ballroom. It was a fancy-shmancy affair: bowties and stilettos, champagne sipped from tall flutes, and whiffs of giant orchids making the room feel heady. European techno-classical music played in the background, giving the place energy while not pulsing loud enough to mask a private conversation.
Very tasteful, Rogue thought. Not her usual kind of dig—she felt more comfortable at a bar, game on the big screen, cold bottle in her hand, singing along to the classic country she grew up with—but this assignment wasn’t for her pleasure anyway.
“You got dis,” Remy whispered from behind her, his hand, always-wandering, finding a place on her hip. “I know more ‘dan anyone dat you irresistible lookin’ like dat. ‘De boy don’t stand a chance.”
Rogue’s eyes found the “boy” in question. His name was Evern DeLuca, the thirty-ish year old son of Leandro DeLuca, corporate billionaire. DeLuca had come from old money, his great-great-grandfather, Frank Miller, having been one of the primary investors in Leggett & Platt back when it first opened in 1883. (Miller’s grandson, Thomas, eventually changed his name to DeLuca in the 1950’s, feeling that “Miller” was far too common.)
Thomas Miller, now Thomas DeLuca, had been content to simply live in the luxury made possible by his vast inheritance. But not his son, Leandro. Leandro DeLuca had been ambitious. He’d invested in every up and coming industry since the 1980s from computers to European blue-chip stocks, Indian consumer growth, and Japanese automation. His portfolio was certainly diversified, his economic fingers stretching all over the globe.
The son, however, was a bit more of an enigma. Little was known about Evern DeLuca, his father apparently having gone to great lengths to shield his son from the scrutiny of the public eye. The debrief Rogue and Gambit had been given on Evern DeLuca identified him as a private collector; particularly of ancient artifacts. One of which they were assigned to acquire tonight.
The Ohn Amulet.
The debrief had stated that Evern DeLuca had a bit of a superstitious streak—the artifacts capturing his interest always seeming to be marked as magical or mythical in some fashion. The legends surrounding the Ohn amulet purported that the owner of it would enjoy long life, foreknowledge and, ahem, virility. It had disappeared from its shrine in Myanmar about a month ago, and had purportedly been acquired on the black market by the young DeLuca just last week.
However, this amulet was needed back at its shrine a-sap; apparently it was the missing link in some spell that held back some kinda demon from somewhere or something (Rogue had kinda tuned out listening when Dr Strange had blabbed on at this part— “Demons, blah blah, destroy the earth as we know it, yada yada yada”— same old catastrophe, different name.) The point was that they needed that amulet back, and unharmed. And Rogue’s old friends from the Avengers, knowing that this job would require the best, had contacted her, and more specifically, her husband to help.
Remy had been more than happy to take the job. “You know, to save the world, Cher,” he’d said with a grin. Rogue had rolled her eyes at her man’s claim, knowing full well that he was far more interested in the ego boost he got from the Avengers asking him to steal something than in the altruistic reasons why.
However, a look into the fortifications of Evern DeLuca’s apartment had been sobering. Among his other investments, Leandro DeLuca had invested heavily in cybersecurity firms out of the middle east. His own personal security, and that of his family, likewise being pretty much the best there was. Much as it pained Gambit to admit it—his itch to test his skills against that “beautiful security system”—even he conceded that their highest chances for success would not involve breaking and entering.
They needed to be invited in. Hence Rogue’s backless dress with the oh-so-mini skirt.
“Bet he be anxious to test out that Amulet trinket’s virility claims,” Remy teased. His words were a flippant jibe, but the way his fingers tightened at her hip didn’t escaped Rogue. Remy didn’t particularly like this plan. He’d gotten used to Rogue being his very own and it didn’t appeal to either of them to even pretend otherwise.
“Well he ain’t gonna get the chance tonight,” she’d reassured him placing her hand on his. “Once I get into his room its lights out,” she snapped her naked fingers at this part, “for the little prince.”
The plan was pretty simple: charm the young DeLuca, get invited back to his place with him, and once she’d gotten inside his room use her powers to knock the guy senseless. Beyond the very convenient unconsciousness using her powers brought, it also had the opportune little side affect of absorbing his memories as well, making finding the amulet easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy.
Rogue shook her hands at her sides, trying to get the nerves out, and took a fortifying breath. “Okay. Ah can do this,” she told her self.
“Undoubtedly,” Remy confirm.
And she strode out into the ballroom.
————
Gambit watched heads turned toward his lady as she walked into the room. Despite the nerves Rogue claimed to feel, once she stepped out onto that floor she looked like nothing but pure confidence. He smiled to himself as she sauntered—no rush at all—through the ballroom. Clusters of people parted when she drew close, turning, noticing, wondering after her. All the while his lady’s back was erect, her high heels and loooong legs moving her towards the open bar where DeLuca sat.
Gambit noted at least two men wrapping up their current conversations to make their way toward the same bar.
“Dat ok,” he told himself as he tamped down his instinct to punch some faces. “Good even. No’ting a man want more than a girl being noticed by other men.”
He would know. Used to be a sort of sport for him back in the day, seeing what kind of lady he could steal from what kind of man, feeding off the competition, the thrill of it.
But it didn’t thrill him now. In fact he felt his teeth clench as one of those men reached out and touched Rogue’s arm right as she arrived at the bar, turning her towards him. Rogue allowed herself to be turned and raised a flirtatious eyebrow at the intruder. Remy couldn’t hear the words but he knew she was drawling something in that sexy southern way of hers. Rogue was fully aware that she was close enough for DeLuca to hear whatever she’d said, and the young heir turned to watch the exchange.
Rogue was incredibly attractive, not just in her obvious bomb-shell looks, but in everything about her. The way she cocked her hip, fingered with the necklace at her bust, tipped her chin up in a playful challenge— all of it invited a man in, drawing his gaze. Much like the sleight of hand Gambit knew so well, Rogue was very adept at getting a man to notice what she wanted him to notice.
Gambit knew she’d learned from a master—Mystique having groomed Rogue from a young age to use her good looks to her brutal advantage. It turned Remy’s stomach knowing how Rogue had been manipulated, taught to seduce men just to suck them dry with her then uncontrollable mutant power.
The second man approached, introducing himself to Remy’s wife. Man #1 didn’t like the intrusion, but Rogue laid a hand on man #2’s arm, welcoming him in a way that made Remy grit his teeth harder.
Rogue laughed and stepped up to the bar, hopping up onto the barstool next to DeLuca with a grace he wasn’t sure didn’t involve a subtle use of mutant flight. Her long legs crossed as she brought her conversation a little closer to DeLuca. Man #1 and #2 both stepped closer towards her. Too close. Way too close for his liking.
Remy turned away and mentally cursed Mystique—in French and English—channeling his jealously into a much easier-to-manage hatred of his mother-in-law. That was mildly satisfying. His cursing had been creative, which made him feel a little better. He turned his attention back to Rogue.
Those two couyon were still hovering around his wife. Their backs were to him, but his Cher wasn’t saying much, so Gambit assumed they were doing all the talking. She swiveled on the barstool to talk to the bar tender—laughing as she ordered a drink. Gambit saw DeLuca look at her as she leaned an elbow on the bar, giving the boy ample opportunity to view the whole of her beauty.
Turning back around, Rogue sat upright on the stool, back arched just so. She bit her lip slightly, oh so subtly drawing attention to her mouth, making Remy freeze.
Wait. She only did that for him. Remy’s gaze narrowed, his hands balling into fists.
Rogue tipped her beautiful face slightly in DeLuca’s direction. Her thick lashes shaded her flawless skin before she opened her large green eyes and looked right at him, opening up an opportunity for him to start a conversation.
He didn’t.
Man #1 put one elbow on the bar next to Rogue, leaning in toward her, saying something to draw her attention back to him. Gambit didn’t like it. It was too possessive. She said something to him, her face strait, dismissive as she turned her attention back the other way. But Man #1 didn’t get the clue, instead he leaned closer, bumping her hand with the back of his.
It was just a casual touch. In days past that skin to skin would have been the last thing he’d remember from tonight. But his Rogue had learned to control her powers for some time now.
Remy hated that in that moment he wished she hadn’t.
———
Wow, these two can’t seem to get enough of one-upping each other on how much money they got, Rogue thought as she painfully listened to Bozo #1 and Bozo #2 try to impress her. It was getting really annoying. Maybe I’ll give their names to Remy later, in case he wants to unburden either, or both, of them of some of their excess assets. Would serve them right for getting in my way.
“You gotta private yacht you like talking about too?” Rogue asked turning to address DeLuca for the first time.
DeLuca looked up at her startled. “Yes, I mean no.” He clearly hadn’t expected her to address him directly, even though she knew he’d been listening to their conversation. He cleared his throat, “What I mean is yes, I have a yacht, but no, I don’t like talking about it.”
Rogue gave him a husky giggle. “I knew I’d like that about you… uh, what was your name again?”
“Uh Evern. Evern DeLuca. But it isn’t ‘again’. We’ve never met before.”
“Well first time’s the real charm then, don’t ya think Sugah?” she said with another flirtatious laugh.
DeLuca turned back to his drink, “I’m sorry. I don’t think so.”
For a moment, Rogue was speechless. She’d never been shut down like that.
Like ever.
Thankfully just then the bartender brought her drink, so she took a sip to give herself time to regroup.
Tonight Rogue’s curly two-toned hair was up revealing the long, soft skin of her neck. It had been put up by her very own husband’s quick fingers. “I pinnin’ dis up using jus’ trois
pins,” Remy’d whispered over a bobbypin still in his teeth. “Pull them out and yo pretty locks come down in a tumble. Ain’t no hot blooded man gonna not notice dat.”
Rogue reached up to her hair and pulled the pins. As planned with a shake of her head her waist length hair came down her back in a thick sheet of curls.
Bozo #2 butt in immediately, “Can I buy you another drink?”
It’s an open bar ya dim whit, ain’t no body buying, she thought irritatedly. Instead she replied sweetly, “No thank you, Sugah, Ah can get mah own drinks.”
She turned back to DeLuca. “Unless someone else is offering…”
“Uh, no,” he blurted. “I mean, no need, ma’am. The drinks are all free. It's an open bar.”
“Don’t mean we can’t drink one togetha,” she drawled, leaning back on one elbow and playing with the neckless charm at her chest. He glanced at her hand and then back up to her face. He cleared his throat.
This was proving to be a lot harder than Rogue had expected.
———
A group had stopped to chat in front of Gambit, obscuring his view. He quickly passed to the other side of the doorway to regain his sight of Rogue.
The bar tender was handing Anna her drink. She sipped it, then reached up and pulled the pins from her hair. As planned, her beautiful locks came tumbling down like Jericho. Even from this distance, Remy caught his breath. Elle est magnifique!
From what he could tell, Man#1 and Man#2 both reacted like he had. But not DeLuca. He barely spared the most beautiful girl in the room a second glance.
Oh.
Oh, oh!
Hah! It’s a wonder he hadn’t picked up on it sooner.
Unbuttoning the fourth button on his dress shirt, Remy shrugged out of his suit coat, swung it gracefully over his shoulder, and strode into the ballroom.
Oh Rogue was going to hate this.
———
“Cheers,” Bozo #2 said lifting his glass to her. She ignored him.
“This a right nice party,” Rogue said still addressing DeLuca. “So fancy! Too bad I don’t know a single soul here.” She pouted her full lips just a little, adding a tiny bit of that vulnerability that most men lapped up like dogs as she added, “Maybe you wanna show me around, Evern?”
His mouth opened, and then closed again.
Just then Bozo 2 said, “I’d be happy to introduce you…” right as Bozo 1 said, “I’ll make sure you aren’t lonely…”
DeLuca looked away in disgust. Dang it, Rogue thought, these two tag-a-longs are startin’ to get in the way.
“Why don’t you two fellas run along. Ah think Ah’d like to get to know Evern a little bettah just now.”
But just then, Evern DeLuca sat up straight, his full attention drawn to his right.
“Bonsoir. Cette place est-elle prise?”
Like two little mirror images, Rogue and DeLuca’s mouths both dropped open as Remy stood on DeLuca’s other side. His suit coat was slung over his shoulder, drawing attention to how the tailored cut of his shirt hugged her husband’s very fine physique just right. He’d unbuttoned four whole buttons on his dress shirt—far too casual a look for this stuffy party, but undoubtedly very hot.
“I’m sorry,” Remy said with an exaggerated french accent, “Is this seat taken?”
He wore his sunglasses and a smile so debonaire he belonged in a 1950’s black and white film.
“Oh, no no!” Evern stuttered, standing to pull out the chair for Remy. “This place is available.”
“Merci, monsieur.”
Remy artfully slung his coat over the back of the bar stool and began rolling up his sleeves as he sat down, drawing attention to his toned arms and exposing more of that skin Rogue had craved for what felt like half a lifetime.
It was not lost on Rogue that DeLuca watched as well.
And then it clicked. Oh gosh… A hot blush crawled up her neck as she realized how foolish she’d been.
Fishing with the wrong bait.
She was so stunned she couldn’t help but listen in as her husband and DeLuca struck up a conversation. DeLuca was like a different man—confident and outgoing. Flirtatious.
As DeLuca leaned forward to order Remy a drink, her husband tipped his sunglasses down just far enough to wink at her.
Why that gloating little piece of…!
Rogue felt a hand rest on her thigh. It was Bozo #1. “Now, now boys, hands to ya’self.” She wasn’t gentle as she swatted his hand away. He looked at her surprised, cradling his hand at the strength of her refusal.
“Looks like someone picked up my shift,” she said. Then she stood and without looking back waved dismissively over her shoulder as she strode away. “Ah’m off the clock.”
———
Rogue paced back and forth in their hotel room. She had long since ditched that sad excuse for a dress, exchanging it instead for stretch pants and a hoodie. And gloves. (Whenever she felt vulnerable, Rogue was known to don gloves. Not because she needed them, but because… they made her feel protected somehow? She knew it didn’t make sense but she wore them anyway.)
It had been hours since she’d left that high-falutin’ peacock show of a party, and she hadn’t heard hide nor hair of Remy—not a single word!
She knew deep down that there wasn’t anything to worry about yet—if she’d still been on the job she might not be home by now either—but the truth was that she was maybe less worried than she was just… irritated!
Irritated that her job had been swiped. Irritated that Remy had seen the obvious signs long before she had (I mean, seriously! In hindsight now, how could she not have known?!) Irritated by that stupid French accent he’d been faking (Remy wasn’t French. He was Cajun!) And irritated that he’d been flirting with someone else right in front of her! (Which was clearly a necessary and unavoidable part of the job, she knew, but still!!)
And most of all, Rogue was irritated that all she had now was a lot of time to worry and wonder about what her man was up to.
And wonder she did.
Remy had always been a hopeless flirt—with Betsy, Ororo, even with Jean (even though everyone knew that was more to piss off Cyclops than anything else.) Back then Gambit had flirted with every woman he’d seen and the best Rogue could do was remind herself that he wasn’t hers anyway.
But he was hers now! Plus they had all been… well women.
She’d never seen Remy turn on the charm with a man before… did it bother her how flawlessly he’d done it? (She’d been right there next to DeLuca, both of them drooling over her husband before she’d remembered to pick her jaw up off the floor!)
What she felt right now was more than just the humbling realization that her man had so easily strutted in and snatched the guy she couldn’t seem to buy a second glance from (there were good reasons for that, and she knew it). What she felt was… what? Jealous? Taken off guard?
She hadn’t wanted to do that job anyway, but they’d both decided it was the only way. She hadn’t felt worried, not in any real danger kinda way (I mean really, in addition to being invulnerable, super strong and a flyer, one wrong touch and Moneybags would have been out cold.) But in the original plan she had been in control. She would have known what was going on and when it had gone too far.
But this waiting. This not knowing. It was starting to wear her thin.
Rogue huffed and threw the pillow in her hands—hard—at the desk in the corner. On impact the pillow exploded, feathers puffing into the air in a glorious cloud and then floating down to the ground in an infuriatingly leisurely manner.
What was taking so long? Where were they now? And what about the rest of the plan?
Rogue’s plan had involved knocking DeLuca out and stealing his memories to find the amulet. What was Remy’s plan? (Although at this thought, even in her head, Rogue balked; when had Remy EVER had a plan? And stuck to it? Guess she shouldn’t worry as her husband was the best wing-it-as-you-go, jimmy-riggin’, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants improver she’d ever met in her life!)
So deep down, she knew the plan was in good hands. Remy would most certainly come back with than dad-gum stupid amulet.
So why was she still fit to be tied?!
Maybe it was because, every time she closed her eyes she saw… someone else’s hands on her man and it made her madder than a hornet with a rock in its nest!
She was self-aware enough to admit that she’d always been the jealous type—even back when Gambit had just joined the X-Men, back when he’d owed her nothing, she’d felt it—so this was nothing new.
But that was then. And this is now. She was Mrs. Remy LeBeau. He belonged to her. And her green-eyed monster was raging at the seams!
Was this how Remy had felt? When she had been the bait? Maybe she hadn’t been sensitive enough to how that would make him feel. She hadn’t thought too much about it because in that plan, she would know what was going on. She would be in control. So she wouldn’t have to worry.
Worry, worry, worry.
Rogue’s head whipped around as she heard the electronic blip from the hotel key card in the door…
———
“Where have you been!?”
His wife’s voice was sharp, impatient, hurled at him before he’d even made it all the way through the door.
“Just walkin’ in the moonlight, Cher. It’s a beautiful night out dere ya know.”
To his disappointment (but not surprise), Rogue had changed out of that amazing dress and was now standing before him, arms crossed tersely, in her pajamas.
“Cut the crap, Remy. I ain’t in no mood.”
Remy raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh you in a mood all right.”
Rogue’s eyes blew wide in surprise at his nerve. Then she clenched her fists hard. “Explain yourself. What happened tonight?”
“Explain myself? Anna, you know ‘exactly what happen. Plan had to change. Honey—no matter how sweet—ain’t never gonna catch a gator.”
“A gator, huh? Is that what he was? So you’re like, what? Stinky fish?!”
Remy laughed out loud. “Guess so. Some’ting like dat. No doubt I no where as sweet as you, Cher.”
The joke was for him alone, since at that very moment, his Rogue looked anything but sweet. Her body language was all sorts of upset—arms crossed, hip cocked, lips pursed out enough to get caught on a hook.
And it delighted him to no end!
It had been a while since he’d seen his Anna Marie this wound up—why not have a little fun, no?
“So did you get it or what?”
Gambit bent down to untie his shoes. Without looking up, Remy replied, “I got it. Already handed off to Quicksilver. And as per usual he’s a big enough Jerk not to slow down to say ‘thank you’.”
“Oh,” Rogue said as he stood up and kicked his shoes off. She seemed surprised that the handoff was already done. “Well that’s good then.”
“Yup,” Remy said. “Mission accomplished.”
Gambit shrugged out of his suit coat and began to undo the buttons on his shirt (not a hard job since there were only 4 left still buttoned.) He saw Anna’s eyes dart to the buttons and then narrow.
“Wondering if this be the first time tonight this shirt has come off, eh, Cher?”
“No,” she spat, although not at all convincingly. His knowing look just made her cluck and stomp off to the bathroom. His laughter followed her in.
One second later she was back.
“Well is it?!”
“Is what?”
“IS IT the first time,” she flipped her hand at his shirt, “it's come off?”
The truth is that it was. Happenstance had it that Remy hadn’t had to spend more than half an hour at the bar with that DeLuca boy. Turned out that he’d been wearing the amulet the whole time. On a chain around his neck—hoping for luck, Remy supposed. Remy had noticed the chain even before his beloved Roguie had stomped out of the ballroom.
Lifting it off of the guy had been easier than finding gumbo in New Orleans.
So easy in fact, that Remy had had plenty of time to fleece a couple more patrons at that high-to-do party on his way out. (Just to keep his skills sharp, of course.) Gambit had walked away with two watches, a wallet and a fine string of heirloom diamonds in his pockets—in addition to the 2000 year old magical amulet that was going to save the world, of course.
(As to where he had been all night? He might have stopped by the harbor to steel a couple of yachts from a couple of particularly annoying couyon at that party.)
“We save da world,” Remy answered her with a smile. “What does it matter?”
“Ah… Ah wanna know!”
“A gentleman don’t kiss and tell, Cher.”
“You… you sayin there was kissin’!?”
An infuriating one sided grin grew on Remy’s mouth. “Wouldn’t you like to know…”
“Yes. Yes I would.” She crossed her arms over her chest. And waited.
Remy just smiled, his eyes full of mischief.
Rogues mouth slowly dropped open realizing that he wasn’t going to tell her. Rage and embarrassment made her cheeks grow hot.
Remy noticed—of course he did—and laughed at her expense.
“Ah hate you, Cajun.”
“But not as much as you love me. Gambit work hard to keep that ratio on his side.”
“Well I ain’t sure you haven’t tipped the scales right over this time!”
Remy walked toward her, and pulled her—crossed arms and all— toward him. “Aw, Cher, don’t be mad. You really wanna hear all dem gory details?”
Her brow furrowed slightly, battling over whether it would be better to live with her overactive imagination of what happened, or the potentially scarring cold hard facts.
“Yeah. I wanna know.”
Remy nodded solemnly. “D’accord. But only on one condition.”
“What’s that?” she asked, eyeing him sideways.
“You gotta put dat dress back on…”
———