You see in my past I had a dream
A fantasy
I thought that we would last
Become a little family
Then one, two, three, four
The years were flying by
They soared
And it's my gut feeling
It's not happening for me, so...

Let's end it on this
Give me one last kiss
It's over
Let's end it on this
Let's end it on this

End It on This--No Doubt
 
 

For a time, the man stood before the gate. Not out of respect, or not merely out of it, but instead to announce his presence to those within. He didn't fear the dangers of the cemetery, but he hadn't come here to be rude.

That done, he walked to the gates and lifted the lock. A pick slipped out of his sleeve and he inserted it. A second later, the padlock opened.

There were easier ways to get into the graveyard. Over the wall, for one, the way teenagers who wanted to brave the superstitions did. But he was a supplicant, and in order to appease the ones he wished to beg mercy of, he had to respect tradition.

Cautiously, he oiled the hinges of the gate and pushed it open soundlessly. He then shut and relocked it and started into the heart of the cemetery.

He was in far more danger now. Traditionally, he had to leave the same way as he came, even if he were under attack. Leave through the gate, though, and pursuit would stop there. Leave any other way and it wouldn't stop until he was dead.

None came and he breathed a sigh of relief. He quite honestly hadn't been sure. Silently, he padded through the cemetery, knowing he was being watched, following an exact route until he came to a tomb hidden by bushes. Quietly, he got on his knees and bowed his head, waiting.

The wait took an hour. Finally, the door to the tomb opened on silent hinges. Legs protesting stiffly, he rose and went in. Once inside, he went down on his knees again, this time before the cloaked woman who guarded the door.

There was a musty smell of old death in the tomb, and bits of bone from generations of the dead bruised his knees. There was a fresh body too, but he didn't look to see who it was. He didn't want to know.

"Que cherchez-vous?" The woman said, asking why he was here being the first thing the guard would traditionally say, no matter who it was who knelt before her, or even if she already knew the reason. His answer would dictate how he was treated.

"Je demande de la pitie," he answered humbly, his head still down.

"De qui?"

"Du maitre de cette maison."

There was a moment's hesitation, the woman obviously debating why he wanted to speak to the Guild master, and why he would ask for his pity. It was a weak stance to take, but a necessary one. "Quel crime avez-vous commis?"

He allowed himself a slight smile. It appeared they weren't holding a grudge, since she didn't bring up past crimes. He was luckier than he thought he'd be.

"Je n'ai rien commis. Je suis venu demander une faveur," he told her. This was risky. She had the right to refuse his demand, even phrased as delicately as he'd put it. He did have hope, though. He only asked for a favour. Not a demand. By giving her room to say no, he gave her reason to say yes.

"Une...faveur. Vous manquez de manieres."

He shrugged. " Il n'y a rien d'impoli a demander. Seulement a insister."

Another hesitation. He had her confused, wanting to know what kind of favour he could want so badly. She could refuse him outright, but politeness wouldn't allow her to ask. Finally, she said, "Bien. Maintenant, deshabillez."

He did as he was told. Standing, he pulled off his coat and let it drop. Kevlar torso armour followed it, along with boots, pants and shirt. The woman watched him without a word. It reminded him of when he first did this. Eleven years old and so embarrassed that the guard had to turn his back first. The last time, fifty people watched and hooted comments and he didn't bat an eye.

He didn't bat one now. Nude, he stood before her and met her gaze eye to eye. Hers were brown, he noted. The tomb was dark, with only a single dim candle to light it, but his night vision was excellent. He wondered how old she was.

The woman gestured for him to spread his arms and he did so, letting her pat him down in spite of his nakedness. He was used to it, not reacting as she moved around behind him.

Suddenly, he heard the click of a collar locking around his throat and the world went numb. An instant before, he'd been aware of everything in the tomb. Every bone, every breath of air, every lifeform. Now he was locked away from them, blinded, half deaf, cold in his nakedness for the first time.

Clutching the collar, trying to find the release, he spun to face her.

"What y' done t' me?!" he cried, forgetting himself and speaking in English.

"No weapons are allowed wit'in, you know dat," she retorted, also in English. She pointed at his hands. "Not even dose." She continued then in French. "Mettez ces vetements."

She handed him a folded set of clothes. Clumsily, he took them, shivering in the cold air, standing on one foot, then the other as he put them on.

The clothes were made to be one piece, all black, a stretchy material that covered him from his feet to just below his chin. The fabric was thin, but in this cold air it was deliciously warm. Quietly, the woman handed him boots to match them. They fit perfectly, though he wasn't surprised by that. They were probably his.

"Suivez-moi," the woman ordered.

Turning her back contemptuously, knowing he'd never dare attack her, she walked to the rear wall of the tomb and pulled a sconce. One of the biers slid to one side, revealing stone steps leading downwards. With one quick movement, she lit a torch and went down.

He followed her, and the tomb moved back into position above him. He was truly committed now. From here on, he couldn't leave without permission. Not without dying before he made it out of the cemetery.

Careful to keep close enough to the woman to see by her single light, he stumbled on the stone steps. His right hand he kept firmly on the wall beside them, the left ready to grab hold as well if he were to fall. He did not, however, reach out to his left.

There was a drop there. A cavern hundreds of feet deep, dug over centuries and lined with stones waited for him. Distantly, he heard engines working. The city was below sea level, and it was a constant struggle to keep the cavern from filling up with water. Even so, when they reached the bottom there was an inch of bayou water to cover his boots.

The woman led him across the cavern and up a few steps into a passageway. This one was dry, and she led him to an alter room that was magnificently lit by candles.

"Attendez ici. Priez si vous le desirez." She left.

He looked up at the statue of a saint above the alter. Whatever she said, he didn't feel like praying. He had to believe that his situation wasn't so desperate as to need divine intervention.

A quiet voice spoke from behind him.

"You were told never t' come back here, Remy."

Gambit looked over to see his adopted father standing in the doorway. Jean-Luc LeBeau was of average height, with long red hair tied back in a ponytail and a small moustache. He was dressed in a green, almost medieval tunic. Traditional thieves guild clothing. Jean-Luc was always a strong believer in tradition.

"I had t' come, father. I need somet'ing."

Jean-Luc sighed and came the rest of the way into the room. "It be dang'rous here for you, boy. De guild resents you for takin' de Elixer a' Life an' giving it t' an assassin. Alicia hid de fact dat y' came, but you can' stay."

Remy shook his head. "Father, I don' care how de guild gonna react. I gotta ask somet'ing."

Jean-Luc walked up to the alter and relit a candle that had gone out. "Dere are still dose who wan' you dead. I don' wan' dat."

"Father, I wan' t' get married."

The older man's back stiffened and his voice was tense as he answered. "You already be married, t' Belladonna of de assassins guild."

"I know. I wan' t' divorce her. I need your permission t' do it."

His father's shoulders slumped. "Your marriage be de only t'ing t' keep de assassins and t'ieves at peace."

Gambit snorted. "How much peace can dere be wit' a fresh corpse in de tomb? You tellin' me an assassin didn' get him?"

"Dere have been some... altercations wit' de assassins of late."

"Altercations?"

"Oui. Belladonna be very aggressive. Lots more dan her daddy. Sometimes, I t'ink she insane."

Remy swallowed. He'd once been in love with Belladonna. More, he knew what insanity was like firsthand and he suspected that hers was his fault.

"It 'cause o' de Elixer a Life, isn' it?"

Jean-Luc smiled sadly. "It do dat t' people sometimes. It was de price we paid for de life it gave ev'yone else."

Gambit shook his head. He wasn't in the mood to debate the ethics of gaining immortality through a technique not unlike Russian Roulette.

"It don' matter dat she crazy. She broke de peace first. Dat means you can say dat de marriage broke too. Dat way I c'n marry Rogue."

His father looked at him curiously. "De young woman you were wit' de last time you were here?"

In spite of himself, Gambit smiled. "Yeah. I really love her, father. Like I never could Belle."

Jean-Luc turned away. "I don' t'ink I c'n let you marry her," he admitted.

"Why not?!" Remy exploded. "I love her. You married me t' Belle for peace, but dat peace be a farce. You t'rew me out o' y' fam'ly." His voice cracked on that and Jean-Luc flinched. "All for a peace dat don' exist. An' now y' won' let me be happy for it. What else I gotta sacrifice for y' love, father?"

"Dat isn' fair!"

"Isn' it?" He met him eye to eye. It was the first time, he realized, that he'd stood up to his father. He'd grown more than he thought since he left. "I given up everyt'ing f' de guild, Poppa. 'Cept my life. Can you, for once, forget 'bout what de families wan' an' jus' let y' youngest son be happy?"

Jean-Luc's head was bowed, his gaze locked on his feet. Curtly, he nodded.

"Marry de girl. I give m' blessin's t' y' both."

Remy smiled. "T'ank you, father."

Faintly, Jean-Luc smiled back. "T'ank me by havin' lots a sons."

"Can I have some daughters too?"

His father laughed. "As many as y' want, Remy." He spread his arms. "Come t' Poppa."

Remy stepped into his embrace, and for a moment let himself become again the little boy his father pulled off the street.

"Be happy, Remy. Be happy."

"I will."

Finally, his father released him. "Come on, boy. Time t' get you outta here 'fore y' seen."

Remy nodded and followed him out the back, past an alcove covered by a curtain.

With his powers blocked by the collar, though, Remy had no way of knowing it was occupied.

"Can ah tell 'em now?"

"Non."

"Aw, come on. Just Jean?"

"Hah! She'll have it all over de mansion in a minute flat!"

Rogue rolled over and looked at her fiance. "She would not!"

Remy shrugged. "Jus' wait f' Stormy t' get back, chere. It be only a l'il longer."

Rogue frowned, but relented. "Okay, okay. You win." She glared at the sudden grin on his face. "What are ya grinnin' at like a fool, swamp rat?"

"You. Y' never surrender t' me b'fore. I like it."

"Oh, you do, do you?" She grabbed a pillow and hit him over the head. "Well, don' get used ta it, Cajun."

"Hey!" Gambit rolled off the bed to escape her. "Dat wasn' very nice."

She snorted and stretched out, taking up as much room as she could. "Who says ah gotta be nice? Ah, this is comfy."

Gambit's head popped up over the edge of the bed and he just watched her for a moment. Then the grin reappeared on his face and he leaped at her. Rogue barely had time to scream before he was astride her, tickling. Then the screams only got louder.

Abruptly, they heard a pounding on the wall they shared with the next room.

"Hey! Keep it down in there!"

Gambit sighed. "Y' know, sometimes I really regret communal livin'. No, make dat most of de time I regret it."

Rogue collapsed back on the bed. "Ah'm gettin' real tired o' it mahself, sugah."

"Too bad we didn't get first dibs on de boathouse."

Rogue looked up at him. "Y'know, ah kinda been thinkin' 'bout that."

He stretched out beside her. "'Bout what? Tossin' Jean and Scott outta de boathouse? Dey'd prob'ly resist."

"No, 'bout gettin' a house o' our own." His eyebrows raised. "An' jobs. It's always been mah dream ta live a normal life. Don't ya want that too?"

"Don' know. Never had one."

Her red on black eyes glistened. "Then don't ya wanta start? Ah'm tired o' fightin' all th' time. Ah wanta have a fam'ly."

Remy thought about it. To live in the suburbs with a wife and a bunch of kids, going to work every day and coming home to a family that loved him. Once, the very concept would have been alien to him. Now it held a certain appeal.

"What if it don' work out?"

"Then we come back ta th' X-Men. We have ta at least try."

Remy looked deep into her eyes, so like his own, yet uniquely hers. Warm, loving, full of desire. Full of a need she couldn't fulfill as a member of the X-Men. A need to be a normal woman.

'Okay, chere," he told her. "We try it your way f' a while."

She hugged him. "Oh, Remy! Thank ya. Ah've wanted this since ah was a l'il girl!"

He laughed. "I hope you c'n still say dat when you're workin' f' $4.50 an hour at McDonalds."

She shook her head, snuggling up to him. "Ah don't care. Ah just want a little house in some tiny town far away from th' X-Men an' all their craziness. Ah'm tired o' everythin' bein' a fight."

Remy nestled his head between her breasts. "Y'know, chere, so am I."

Belladonna Beudreaux sipped delicately at the cognac. It wasn't her favourite drink, but this particular year had been exceptionally good. She smiled in pleasure and ran her finger along the top of the glass, listening to the crystal sing. Exquisite.

Everything in the room spoke of excellence. A warm fire burned in the fireplace, above which hung two crossed swords, both at least five hundred years old. Books sat on oak shelves along the walls, each first editions, many signed by the authors. A thick, illuminated bible from the Renaissance sat under glass, along with other treasures. Statues were placed strategically with paintings to enhance the room and every piece of furniture was a carved antique, crafted by a master.

Belladonna looked down at the corpse lying on the floor and frowned, displeased with how its blood marred the rich weave of the carpet. She really should have killed him in the bathroom, but she never paid attention to the aethetics of her surroundings when she was on a job. It was only afterwards, when she was able to relax that she did so.

The hour was growing late and she still had people to see this evening, so she finished her cognac and set the glass down. Rising, she moved to the door, pausing to stroke this statue, admire that painting. They were truly magnificent and she wished she could take them with her, but she was no thief. She would buy them legitimately instead, at the auction which would inevitably be held. After all, by morning the man would have no heirs. It would be expensive, but what was life without the finer things?

Smiling slightly, Belle slipped out of the house as expertly as she'd gotten in, pausing only to kill one servant who was still breathing despite the fact that her intestines were three feet away from her. She kept in the shadows for two blocks, then slipped into the passenger seat of an ordinary car that pulled up to the curb. It drove off with her.

The driver, a killer named Gris-Gris, didn't ask her how the job had gone. He knew better.

"We have news from de mole," he told her instead.

She glanced at him. "So, what is Jean-Luc up t' dis time?" Her spy in the Thieves Guild was under strict orders to only contact her clan for big things. She wouldn't risk losing him for something minor.

Gris-Gris watched the road. "He given his permiss'n t' Remy t' marry de mutant Rogue. De marriage t' you be annuled when he say I do."

"What?!" Belle slammed her hand against the car door. "Dat bastard!"

She didn't love Gambit. In fact, she couldn't remember ever loving him. He was only property to her, just as her guild was. It didn't matter how far he ran or who he slept with. He was still hers.

Besides, marriage to him afforded her a certain security. There were a lot of other Assassins guilds in the world, many more powerful than her own. If she were single, they'd try to take over by forcing a marriage between her and one of their own members, and she wasn't strong enough to resist all of them. Besides, Remy was too ineffectual to challenge her authority. She might not be so lucky with a different husband and she had no plans to be just a figurehead. She couldn't just marry anyone to replace him either. It had to be a man with rank.

Killing Rogue was the obvious answer, but she'd already tried that. The woman was indestructible and superstrong. Still, she had time to plan her move. Remy would still be her husband until he was remarried with his Guild leader's permission. That was tradition. Rogue, she was sure, would want to make sure the ceremony went perfectly. Her own wedding took years to plan, though most of that was spent organizing the politics of it. Belle had always found it awfully convenient that the marriage began to be set up only a little while after the ten year old Remy was adopted. Obviously, he'd been brought into the LeBeau household for just that reason, since Belle herself was nine at the time and Jean-Luc's youngest biological son was in his eighties. Her father may have been willing to marry her off without her consent, but he would not do so to a man old enough to be his grandfather.

Well, arranged or not, she planned to keep the marriage intact at any cost, though bringing Remy back to her side brought up a different problem. A requirement of all of the Assassins Guild leaders which she couldn't fulfill. A requirement which would cost her her power no matter who her husband was if it were found out. Still, she had time to deal with that as well.

"Tell our mole t' keep his ears open an' de other spies to be aware too," she ordered. "I wan' t' know everyt'ing dat happens."

Gris-Gris nodded and kept driving.

"Bonjour, Stormy. Enjoy de trip?"

Rogue smiled as Ororo looked at the Cajun regally. "Do not call me that."

Remy laughed. "Told y' b'fore. De name fits."

Storm shook her head, but decided not to press it. "You seem in good spirits today."

"Why not? It a good day." Remy had been holding Rogue's hand. Now her pulled her close and kissed her neck. "An' I got good news."

Storm's eyes sparkled. She was probably guessing, Rogue suspected. "Oh? What kind of news?"

"Come with us an' find out, sugah."

Leaving her luggage in the foyer, Storm followed Gambit and Rogue into the television room. The other X-Men were already there, having been asked to assemble. The men looked confused, the women like they knew exactly what was coming. Jean especially. She appeared as though she were about to explode from excitement, but she ignored her husband when he asked her why.

"So, bub, what's this about?" Logan growled.

Gambit grinned. "Jus' dis, mon ami." Going down on one knee as he kept his hold on Rogue's hand, he fished a diamond ring out of his pocket and slipped it on her finger.

"Will you marry me, Rogue?"

The group shriek almost drowned out her yes. An instant later, Rogue was almost bowled over by squealing female bodies. Gambit was yanked away from her to shake hands.

Rogue laughed delightedly as she was simultaneously hugged by three women, trying to see her new ring as she did so. She finally managed to get a look at it behind Storm's head. There were actually three diamonds on it, one large and two smaller, one to either side. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

Ah hope he didn' steal this, she thought inanely, then kicked herself mentally for it.

"Oh, Rogue, I am so happy for you," Storm said. "This is wonderful."

"Yes," Betsy agreed. "Much as I hate to admit it, you and Gambit seem to be made for each other."

"Thanks, sugah." Rogue braced herself. "Ah have somethin' else ta tell y'all though."

Jean looked at her intently. "Which is..?"

Rogue took a deep breath. This was it. "Remy an' ah are leavin' th' X-Men."

As always, Wolverine's hearing was phenomenal. "Yer leavin'?" He barked.

Immediately, silence fell across the room, and in that quiet, Remy made his way back to her side. He took her hand. "I'm here, chere," he whispered.

Professor Xavier moved forward. "This is very sudden."

Rogue nodded a little guiltily. She felt as though she were letting him down. "Ah know, but ah really want a normal life. So does Remy. Ah think, after all this time, we've earned it." No one said anything. "It's not as though X-Men haven't left ta be t'gether b'fore," she added desperately. "Lorna an' Alex did." She paused, not sure if that was the best example. "It's okay, ain't it?"

Ororo was the first one to smile. "Of course. They are your lives to live as you please."

Remy grinned. "Knew you'd see it our way, Stormy."

"Of course. We have all needed time to ourselves and have pursued it. And do not call me Stormy."

The X-Men gathered around again, their joy tinged with sorrow now as they congratulated two of their members, and said goodbye.

Ponderously, the little red volkswagen laboured its way up the street, dragging behind it a U-Haul trailer almost bigger than it was. Coughing plaintively, it went around a corner.

"Y'know, chere. Dis t'ing be soundin' pretty sad."

Rogue glared at him out of the corner of her eye. "Ya wanna get out and push, sugah?"

"Why you always so testy when y' drivin'?"

"B'cause ah'm always sittin' next ta assholes that comment on mah car."

Remy shook his head. "I jus' don' un'erstand why y' brought dis ol' beater when y' coulda taken de Miata."

Rogue's grip was tightening around the steering wheel so much she was starting to put indentations in it. Remy watched, fascinated.

"Ah didn' take th' Miata," she explained to him as though he were a small, especially stupid child. "b'cause ah don't own th' Miata. Ah do, however, own th' bug. An' if ya don't shut up, ah am gonna beat ya over th' head with it, got it?"

Choosing discretion over Rogue's temper, Remy wisely kept his mouth shut.

As a result, the rest of the trip was uneventful, and they finally pulled into the driveway of the house they were renting. A tiny two bedroom home in a nondescript town in the middle of nowhere.

Rogue leaned on the steering wheel and sighed. "Isn' it beautiful?"

Remy frowned. "It's small."

"O' couse it's small, sugah. We can't afford better."

The Cajun's frown deepened. "I'm a multi-millionaire. Let's buy a mansion."

Rogue smiled as she got out of the car. "That's stolen money, sugah. Ah won't have anythin' ta do with it."

"Wasn' all stolen," Remy groused. "I gambled for some a it."

"Oh, sugah, look! Th' garden has petunias."

"Yippee." Remy got out of the car to follow her. He wasn't too thrilled with their new home, but Rogue's enthusiasm was infectious and he was soon enjoying the exploration of the backyard as much as she was.

"Oh, it's perfect," Rogue gushed.

"Yeah, an' ah bet dis place got an inside too."

"Ya very flip, ya know that?"

"Yup."

"Hello! You must be the new tenants."

They both looked over to see a man and a woman in their fourties standing behind a fence in their own backyard.

"Oui," Remy grinned, pushing his sunglasses farther up his nose as he walked toward them. "Who you be?"

"I'm Bob Sanderson and this is my wife, Jo." They both reached over the fence to shake his hand. "And you are?"

"Remy LeBeau. Dis be my fiance, Rogue."

"My," Jo exclaimed. "That's an unusual name."

Rogue smiled. "It's actually a nickname ah picked up as a teenager."

"I see. How exotic."

Remy chuckled. "I always figured it b'cause she got some horr'ble real name. Somet'ing like Bertha-Sue." The three of them laughed.

Rogue turned red.

"I can't imagine a much worse name," Bob agreed.

Rogue grew redder.

"Yah, I-" Remy noticed Rogue's face. "Uh, chere?"

Without a word, Rogue stormed towards the house.

"Uh oh," Remy breathed. He turned to the Sandersons. "'Scuze me."

"Um, sure."

He ran after her. "Chere, I'm sorry! Y' can' blame me f' a lucky guess!"

Rogue walked into the house and slammed the door, locking it.

Den again, maybe she can.

It was really a very small house. The living room led to a tiny, square hall from which the two bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen could be reached. Stairs to the basement went down from the kitchen. Bookshelves lined the walls of the hallway and there was a fireplace in the living room, right next to a built-in china hutch. The corners were rounded, the doorways arched. It was a house built with character and quality.

Or it would be if it wasn't so filled with boxes that she couldn't see anything. Besides, the lights were out.

Rogue sighed from where she sat with drawn-up knees in the bed. It was the only piece of furniture they'd gotten set up. The movers who'd followed them had dumped boxes wherever there was free room. Rogue wasn't sure in the darkness, but she thought the box next to her read kitchen utensils. Not that that was much of a surprise. Remy had gotten carried away while they were packing and labelled almost two-thirds of the boxes as kitchen.

She sensed movement near the door and heard a muffled curse as Remy slammed his foot against a box.

"Ya okay, sugah?"

"Yes," he yelped. "Dis place like an obstacle course in de Danger Room."

Rogue smiled. "Ah thought ya always knew what was around ya."

"Dere are too many boxes. Dey're screwin' wit' my senses. You should know dat."

She did, for she shared his powers. His spacial awareness of moving objects, his charm and his kinetic charging ability. Not that she ever used them, for two reasons. One, she had lots of others powers, and she really didn't need them next to her own invulnerability and superstrength.

More importantly, she didn't want to take them away from Remy. She had lots of powers. If she used his, she would just be adding them to the multitude. When Remy used them, they made him unique, and he had so little sense of self-worth on so many levels, he needed that.

She'd once tested his charging powers in the Danger Room when no one else was home. She was so strong, she'd been able to charge more than he could without killing himself. She was a little afraid, if he learned that, he would try.

Gambit made his way to the bed and crawled over her to get in. He was nude, since he preferred to sleep that way, and she'd actually gotten into the habit of doing the same. Remy produced a lot of body heat and the bed could become uncomfortably warm if she wore anything. Besides, she'd spent so long without any human contact at all that there was nothing she could think of nicer than sleeping next to Remy's bare skin.

She rolled over onto her side and Remy spooned himself against her back, his groin burning hot against her backside.

"Bonjour, Mignonne," he said throatily.

Rogue smiled. "Why is it ya always call me mignonne when ya want sex?"

"Hey, it a new house. We gotta break it in, neh?" He reached one arm under and around her to cup a breast. With the other, he nudged her legs apart and began to stroke her clitoris. His penis was hard against her back.

"Eager, ain't we?"

"You betcha, chere."

He continued to stroke her and she cooed, responding. Remy was an attentive lover and knew exactly how to please her. She felt herself growing wet and spread her legs to give him more access.

Remy took that as an invite and guided his penis into her. Its size always varied depending on his level of arousal and right now it was short and thick. That meant he wasn't interested in breaking the bed, but in gentler lovemaking. As that was exactly what she wanted too, she didn't mind.

Gently, Remy rocked her with even thrusts while his hands worked. Rogue hummed in pleasure, surrendering herself to the sensations. She didn't go all way to orgasm, but his efforts eased the tension that always seemed to build up in her shoulders and neck.

Only a minute later, Remy started gasping and she threw a hand over him, holding him tight to her as he buried himself deep and came.

Empty, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her shoulder, his body contouring to hers. It was the intimacy after the act that she found mattered to her the most. She smiled slightly, hugging his arms. It was even better than orgasms, though those were awfully nice, she thought with a smirk.

Remy was quiet for so long she thought he'd gone to sleep. Then he spoke.

"Y'know, chere, I'm real sorry 'bout embarassin' y' t'day."

Rogue shook her head. "That's okay, sugah. Ya didn't know." Her voice took on a warning tone. "But if ya evah call me Bertha, ah'll tie ya guts inta knots. Got it?"

"I don' t'ink I gonna enjoy dat. C'n I call ya Sue?"

Rogue smiled. "No one's called me that since ah was a little girl."

He chuckled into her hair. "I c'n jus' see it. L'il Sue, her hair in pigtails, runnin' 'round de banks a' de Mississippi river wit' her dog, Cocoa."

"Cocoa?"

"Why not?"

Rogue fell silent, letting the tired Cajun drift to sleep behind her. It's been a long day for both of them, but she stayed awake for hours.

She hadn't thought of Cocoa in years.

"Have ya found a tie yet, sugah?" Rogue yelled as she dug through a box looking for her makeup.

"Non," Remy yelled back. "Do I need one?"

Rogue straightened up, putting her hands on her hips in exasperation. "Remy Etienne LeBeau, ya goin' job huntin' t'day. Don' ya reckon ya should at least try ta look respectable?"

Remy appeared in the doorway, dressed in trousers and an unbuttoned shirt. He was carrying his shoes and his long hair hung loose to below his shoulders. He grinned at her. "I always look respect'ble, chere."

"Uh huh. Ah guess ya forgot 'bout th' last time ya went on an all-night bender, right?"

Gambit's face fell. Muttering to himself about women, he reached into a box marked bathroom and pulled out a tie. Rogue's eyebrows rose, but before she could say anything, the doorbell rang.

"Ah'll get it." She took two steps to the door.

"Rogue, wait!" Remy yelled. "Sue!"

Rogue opened the door. Outside, half a dozen people started to yell "Welcome Wagon!" and froze.

It's mah eyes, she thought in sudden despair. Ah forgot mah sunglasses.

The six women stood frozen before her for an instant more, then the one at the front, Jo, shook herself.

"Ah- we're the welcome wagon. Just to officially welcome you to the neighbourhood." Her smile was a little forced at first, but it became more real as she handed her a basket of fruits and cheeses. "We figured you probably don't have much food here yet, or your plates unpacked."

Rogue smiled warmly at her, grateful for her attempt to ease the tension. The other women were relaxing as well, obviously deciding that her strange eyes didn't automatically make her dangerous.

"Ah'm afraid ah don't have any idea where mah dishes are," she admitted.

She heard Remy step up behind her. "Dey're in de attic," he told her.

Rogue looked at him over her shoulder. "Excuse me? Why were ya in th' attic?"

"Lookin' for de toilet paper."

Rogue rolled her eyes. "O' course."

The women laughed freely at that and Rogue felt like a hurdle had been passed. "Well, ah'd like ta invite y'all in, but-"

"Oh, we understand. Most of the women in the neighbourhood work. We're the only slackers in the paycheque department. We'll just make our introductions and leave you two alone."

With that, Rogue found herself and Remy shaking hands with each of the women. No one commented on their eyes, but one woman in her fourties with dyed red hair went so far as to give the Cajun a hug and whisper "He's gorgeous," to Rogue as she passed.

The next woman waited until she was out of earshot and smiled. "Town slut," she explained.

"Ah... see."

Jo was the last to shake her gloved hand. "Sorry we were so rude there," she apologized, then brightened. "Look, there's a block party at the end of the month at my house. Why don't you and Remy come so everyone can meet you?"

"We'll be there."

The six women left, Rogue watching them go gratefully.

"I guess de Professeur's dream be workin'," Remy commented blandly.

"Ah nevah knew life could be so perfect," Rogue whispered.

Remy sighed and kissed her cheek. "You feel perfect. I gonna find my socks. I t'ink dey're in a box marked tools."

Rogue blinked. "Tools? Shugah, what were ya thinkin' when ya packed?" She hurried after him, closing the door softly behind her.

Belladonna crocheted as she waited for Gris-Gris to attend her. Her grandmere had taught her when she was small, and she still crocheted when she wanted to relax. Each blanket, scarf, or sweater she made took a great deal of her limited free time, and went to those of her assassins who most pleased her. It was an honour her Guild strove for, which she approved of. She demanded excellence from her family, and accepted no excuse as good enough for not receiving it.

There was a knock at her door at precisely ten. Exactly when Gris-Gris hat been ordered to present himself. He didn't enter though. If she wished it, he would stand outside waiting until he starved.

"Come in", she called softly as she finished one row and began a new one.

The door opened and Gris-Gris came in, crossing quietly to where she sat before the window. Belle made him wait until she finished her new row and began a third.

"I understand dat dere been some fightin' 'tween our family an' de T'ieves Guild."

"Oui. A t'ief been killed and two of de family in de hospital. Do you wan' me t' stop de fightin'?"

He made it sound such an absolute, as though he could stop centuries of killing with just a word. Belladonna liked that about Gris-Gris.

"Stop it? Non, I wan' it t' get worse. I wan' de streets of Nawleans t' run red wit' de blood of de t'ieves."

"You wan' de war back?" Gris-Gris looked surprised. "But, our people goin' t' get killed too."

Belle glanced up at him. "Are you suddenly my confidant dat you t'ink you c'n be givin' me advice I don' need?"

Gris-Gris stiffened. "No, ma'am. F'give me."

Belle looked back at her crocheting. "You c'n leave, Gris-Gris." Without another word, he headed for the door. "Oh, and Gris Gris?" He looked back. "Make sure dat de t'ieves don' 'spect dat we started dis war." He nodded and went out the door as Belladonna finished the row and began a new one.

Impatiently, Rogue sat in a chair at the unemployment office, waiting for her turn with a councilor who'd hopefully be able to determine her skill level, and help her find a job. Thanks to the professor, she had a high school diploma and had taken some college courses. She hoped it'd be enough to get a good job, not that she was exactly sure what she wanted to do. But she and Remy needed money badly. They'd paid their first month's rent with the tiny amount of savings she'd managed to accumulate, but she was starting wonder if they'd have enough to buy groceries. Or pay for the next month's rent.

Still, in spite of it all, she was happy. To be normal, to actually have to worry about mundane things like bills rather than evil mutants or the Friends Of Humanity. It didn't lessen the seriousness, but it did make her more content about it. Not that Remy seemed to feel the same way. Still, if at least one of them got a decent job...

Rogue frowned. What kind o' education Remy got anyway? she wondered. She shook her head. No matter, Remy'll do everythin' he can ta get a job. He knows how important this is ta me.

"So," The councilor asked, "what kind of work can you do?"

Remy blinked. "What? Y' mean leg'ly?"

So, dis be what it like t' work, Remy thought as he adjusted his new uniform and put on his best smile.

"So, what c'n I get you t'day?"

"Three McYukkie burgers, two shakes and a salad."

Remy's smile broadened, "You wan' fries wit' dat?" he asked.

"Sure."

Remy went to get the order. So long as he didn't actually touch the so called food, he felt this wasn't going to be so bad.

So what if I' be workin' in McYukkies, he mused. It honest an' honest is good, I t'ink.

One of his co-workers, a pimply faced teenager with glasses, smiled at him. She'd been gawking at him since he started that morning. "How are you doing, Remy?" she gushed.

"Jus' fine." He lifted the tray of food. "Dis is easy."

"I hope you can say that after the lunch crowd gets here."

"Lunch crowd?"

Nervously, Rogue looked at the address on her list, then up at the building. Moe's Hardware Warehouse. It seemed to be the right place, so she went in. Inside was a massive area filled with hardware and equipment to be sold to various stores. Rogue made her way over to a man wearing a supervisor's tag.

"Hello, ah've come about th' job?" she asked tentatively; the list crushed in both hands. This was not a good start.

He looked her up and down. "Look, lady, this job requires a lot of heavy lifting. There's no way you can do it."

Rogue's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Listen, if ah can prove ah can lift heavy things, can ah have th' job?"

He laughed. "Sure, lady, whatever you say. Try and move one of those crates over there."

Proudly, Rogue strode over to the first crate. It was about four feet long and probably about 150 pounds. Casually, Rogue picked it up and turned around to see the manager gaping at her in stunned amazement. "Where do ya want it?"

"How, how did you do that?" he gasped.

"Ah work out," she said sweetly. "So do ah get th' job?"

He nodded wordlessly.

"Four McBurgers, a McPuke meal with coke and six McChickies."

"I wanted this hot!"

"Two McVomits, please."

"There's hair in my food!"

"There's food in my hair!"

"Can I have the key to the bathroom? Uh, too late."

Frantically Remy ran back and forth from his till to get the order, to the racks to get the food, desperately asking "Do you wan' fires wit' dat?" every ten seconds.

He'd never been in anything like this before. He'd stolen jewels and paintings in places where a single wrong step could get him jailed for the rest of his life. He'd fought with the X-Men against aliens, crazed mutants, and fanatical human hate groups. He'd almost been killed a dozen times, and actually died once. Yet in all that time, he'd never been under as much stress as he was now.

"Here's your McBugger burger. Dat be $2.50 please."

"I wanted a McBeaver!"

Remy blinked. "But you said Bugger burger, not Beaver."

"I said Beaver! Are you stupid?"

One card, jus' one card...

"Sorry, Sir, I get you de right burger now."

"Don't forget the fries."

"But... you didn' wan' any."

"Don't argue with me!"

Quickly, he served him and went on to the next customer, chanting a silent mantra to himself all the way.

I'm not goin' t' quit on my first day. I' not goin' t' quit on my first day...

"Bonjour," he said as brightly as he could. "What can I get for you?"

"Mama!" the little boy screamed, "He's a mutant!"

His mother, her face white, swallowed, "Um, just - just two avocado burgers please."

With the eyes of everyone in there on him, Remy sighed. "You wan' fries wit' dat?"

Okay, two cards. One for de cust'mers, one for de deep fryer.

"Problems, LeBeau?"

Remy looked over at his boss, a punk kid 8 years younger than him. "Non, sir."

"Good, keep it that way. We have a high turn-over rate. Screw up and you're out of here." He stalked off to do his homework.

T'ree cards.

"Don't worry, Remy," his co-worker gushed. "I can give you any help you need."

I be ' doin' dis for Rogue. Dis place is not goin' t' get t' me. I am in control.

"Oui?" he asked his newest customer.

"Fries please."

"You wan' fries wit' dat?"

"You lost ya job?" Rogue asked in amazement. "On ya first day?"

"I'm sorry, chere. It was a good job, really it was. 'Cept for all de people, of course."

"But, how could ya lose it on ya first day?"

Remy scratched his cheek. "Musta been de sign sayin' '6 billion served, 2 million lived.'"

Rogue laughed. "Sugah, ya have got ta try harder."

"I know, I know. I get a better job tomorrow. So, how was your day?"

Rogue beamed at him. "Ah got a job workin' in a warehouse."

"Cool. Does dis mean I c'n call you a fork lift wit'out gettin' slapped?"

"No."

He grinned. "Didn' t'ink so, chere. How you get de job anyway? I didn' know y' had a degree in warehouseology."

Rogue blushed. "Actually, ah used mah powers ta impress the supervisor."

Remy rounded on her, stunned. "You what?! After y' tol' me I couldn' use my Charm t' get myself a job? Do y' know how much money I could make doin' phone sex?"

"Ah- How am ah supposed ta respond ta this?!"

He grinned, a little sadly. "Flippantly?"

The doorbell rang, and he went to answer it. "So," he said, obviously changing the subject. "Who gonna make dinner?"

"You are."

"Hey! I been workin' wit' food all day!"

She snorted. "McYuckies don't qualify as food."

"Yes dey do."

"No they don't."

"Yes dey do."

"No they don't."

"Yes dey," Remy hesitated. "Why am I arguin'? I agree wit' you. 'Sides, we don' have no food in de house."

Rogue laughed. Then Remy opened the door and found himself staring down the muzzle of the biggest gun he'd ever seen.

"So," Mystique said. "I understand you've been sleeping with my daughter."

"You two are pathetic," Mystique snapped as she stirred the peas viciously and flipped the pork chops with the same force she'd use to beat a man to death. "Neither of you know how to get real jobs, pay bills or cook, and you're trying to live on your own AND plan a wedding? You're crazy."

"I c'n cook," Remy groused.

Mystique spun to point her wooden spoon at him. "You shut up."

"Bite me."

"Momma, please--"

"You too. I can't BELIEVE you didn't have any food in the house. Thank God I brought some groceries. You'd starve without me."

"So we been busy. Give us a break!" Remy was close to yelling. "We didn' ask y' t' come here t' treat us like shit!"

"You're making me wish I'd blown you away at the door, boy."

His hands were starting to glow. "You wanna try again?"

"Momma! Remy! Please!"

Seated at the table next to Remy, Rogue sat with her hands in her lap and stared between them. Mystique always had this ability, to make her feel like a helpless little girl caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Especially when she was trying to act motherly. Mystique had been a good mother in many ways, but not in any of the domestic ones. When Rogue was a teenager in Caldecott, it'd been Destiny and herself who did all the cooking and cleaning. The only time Mystique would cook was when Destiny wasn't feeling well or she wanted to put someone at their ease for some reason, though Remy was obviously spoiling her attempts at that. The last time she cooked for Rogue was right before she told her about her plan to have her steal Ms Marvel's powers. Ever since then, the thought of her momma trying to be this nice unnerved her. Especially when the woman was so angry that she looked as if she was killing the meat instead of cooking it. Rogue wasn't alone in her impressions though. Remy may have been all but foaming at the mouth, but Rogue knew him well enough to know that Mystique had caught him off balance as well.

At least she didn't shoot him. For a moment, Rogue hadn't been sure she wouldn't. With almost no space between stacked boxes for the Cajun to maneuver, she'd managed to back him into a corner, her gun pointed at his head. Unarmed, Remy had just grinned at her, seeming to Rogue like he was looking forward to testing his speed against her reflexes.

"Momma!" Rogue remembered screaming. "What are you doin'?!"

"Just checking out the trash." Mystique pressed her gun against Gambit's forehead. "Of all the men in the world--my God, Rogue, Magneto himself was interested in you--why pick this loser?"

Remy had looked apopolectic.

"Ah love him, Momma."

"What does love have to do with anything?"

Rogue reached out to touch her arm. Not to try and take the gun, but just to let her touch help soothe her anger.

"Would ya have left Destiny, jus' 'cause people thought ya relationship with her was wrong?"

Mystique was silent a moment, then lowered the gun. "There are groceries in my car," she told the Cajun. "Go get them."

"Not in dis lifetime."

Things had almost deteriorated into violence again before Rogue went to get the groceries herself. Now they sat in the kitchen and listened to her berate them both.

"I don't know why you've come all the way out to this armpit of a town, anyway. And I thought Westchester was bad."

Rogue sighed. "Momma, please. For the first time in mah life, Ah'm really happy."

Mystique stopped cooking and slowly turned to look at her, her face empty of any expression, yet Rogue could feel the incredible rage in her. Remy could sense it, too, and he tensed beside her, ready to fight for her if he had to.

"I see. So all the time you were with me, you weren't happy."

"That isn't what Ah meant!"

Mystique advanced on her. "So you weren't happy in Caldecott, or Washington, or Australia, or New York. Not on Muir Island or in the Savage Land."

"Momma... "

"Leave her alone! She don' gotta answer t' you!"

But Mystique continued relentlessly. "You insult the X-Men, the Brotherhood, and me by saying that."

Rogue ducked her head, humiliated, as Remy squeezed her hand under the table. "Ah just wanted ta be normal."

"Get this through your head! You--are--not--normal! You have great gifts, tremendous power!"

"But Ah never asked for them!"

Mystique stepped back, her hands on her hips. "So, who do you want to be? Rogue of the X-Men, or Bertha Sue of Caldecott County?"

Rogue flinched at the name.

"That's what I thought." The shapechanger said in satisfaction. "I did not raise you to wallow in mediocrity."

"I t'ink y' overstayin' y' welcome," Remy told her coldly. "'Bout time y' left."

"Not just yet. I want an answer out of my daughter."

"How 'bout y' settle f' an answer outta me!" His hands were glowing again. The two glared at each other, neither backing down.

Frustrated, Rogue stared at her foster mother, pleading with her to understand. "Ah'm not wallowin', Momma."

Mystique turned her back contemptuously on Gambit to stir the peas savagely. "Yes, you are. You always do this. You get this picture in your head of the way you think things should be and you won't let it go, no matter what anyone says. And if you haven't got what's in that picture down to the last detail, you feel you've been cheated. You think normal is a two-bedroom house in middle class suburbia, so you create it. Welcome to the 50's. If you thought normal was a convent in the Alps, I'd bet you'd be there now." Grabbing the pot, she carried it over to the sink and dumped it out in a strainer. "In fact, I am amazed you wound up with the Cajun here, considering what you used to tell me about your idea of 'the perfect man'. One who has a great job and is friends with all the neighbors--and gardens, of all things!"

Rogue felt Remy kick her in the leg and realized she was about to crush his hand. She released it as Mystique slammed a plate of food down in front of each of them.

"Now, eat."

An instant later, the front door crashed open, and all three were on their feet, ready to defend themselves. Then Forge appeared in the kitchen doorway, followed by a black woman Rogue didn't recognize.

"Mystique!" Forge barked. "You are coming with us, now!"

Immediately, Mystique was all smiles, "Why, Forge, I was just out visiting my daughter. What could be the harm in that?"

Rogue turned from his answer to see a bizarre reunion as the black woman advanced on Remy. She was slim, dressed in an XSE uniform with her blonde hair clipped short, except for a braid in the back that went down to her waist. She had an M tattooed over her right eye and looked faintly washed out. Gambit watched her warily.

"Are you Remy LeBeau? she asked. He nodded. "Dad!" she cried and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He looked surprised. Rogue felt like her jaw was going to hit the floor.

After a moment, the woman pulled back to study him intently. "Y'know, you were AWFULLY cute when you were young. I'd almost want to borrow you if it weren't for that incest thing."

Remy raised an eyebrow. "You mus' be Bishop's sister."

She grinned. "Yup. They call me Shard. When Forge announced he knew where Mystique was, I just had to come meet my dad."

"Um, right,"Gambit managed. Rogue knew how the idea of having two people he'd adopted decades into the future come back to the present unnerved him somewhat. It was a feeling she could understand. Still, Shard seemed to have a lot more in common with him than the straightlaced Bishop.

"Shard," Forge called, "Save your reminiscing for later. We need to get back to headquarters."

"Aw, hell... "

Rogue turned and was surprised to see that Forge had actually handcuffed her mother.

"Momma?!"

"Don't worry about me, Rogue," Mystique smirked. "Forge seems to feel I might run away from him."

"Call it 'learning from experience'."

"Just admit it. You can't live without me." She turned to Gambit. "You be good to my daughter or I'll kill you."

Remy looked enraged, then grinned. "Sure t'ing--Momma."

Mystique shuddered. "Oh, God, he's one of those."

Rogue followed a little behind as Mystique was led out of the house to a black van. She didn't know what to say to her, not after that little speech she'd made.

"Remember what I told you, "Mystique called as she was pushed into the van. "You're better than this."

Her arms wrapped around herself, Rogue stood in the doorway and watched them go, her stomach queasy. She became aware of Remy behind her.

"Chere, ignore her. She got no right t' be comin' down on y' f' any reason." He sighed. "Watchin' her and you t'gether reminded me 'bout when I was t'irteen an' jus' got caught smokin' by my father." He shuddered. "Dat was not a good day."

Rogue smelled tobacco and watched him lovingly as he lit up a cigarette and stepped past her to smoke it outside. She really loved him, especially after how he'd stood up for him. No matter what Mystique said, that was proof her dream was really coming true, but part of her was still unnerved.

"Remy? Do ya think mah Momma was right?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe. I do know dere's nothin' wrong wit' following y' dreams."

"But are ya happy?"

The Cajun grinned. "I always happy when I wit' you. Dat's why I'm marryin' you." She blushed. "Dis prob'ly not de life I woulda chose f' m'self, but den, I never saw myself wit' de X-Men. I happy bein' here. Believe dat."

Relieved, she kissed his cheek. "Thanks, sugah."

"No problem."

She went inside to see if their food was cold yet, completely missing the lie in his face.

Gambit woke out of a sound sleep, all senses hyperalert, casting around with his spatial awareness for what had awakened him.

Rogue slept beside him, unaware. Remy knew she shared all his powers, but she didn't have his sensitivity. Breathing slowly, he concentrated.

There was movement next door, at the back. Someone was working at a window, trying to get in.

Clumsy burglar, he thought. He considered leaving him alone, knowing he wouldn't want to be interrupted if it was him, but he liked the Sandersons. More importantly, he was bored.

Grinning, Remy slipped out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans. They'd finally gotten most of the boxes unpacked so he had no trouble navigating his way through the house and out the back door. He didn't even bother to take any cards with him. He doubted he'd need them.

The air was crisp against his bare skin, the grass wet below his feet. The Cajun padded across his backyard, eyes fixed on what he could see of his neighbors' house over the fence. He could hear the burglar now, though he supposed he was TRYING to be quiet.

Kneeling behind the fence, Remy peered through the boards. He could see the burglar easily, trying to force one of the back windows open with a crowbar. Remy shook his head at such incompetance.

Grinning, Gambit crouched lower and kicked off, jumping right over the fence. He was silent and the burglar went on with what he was doing, occasionally cursing softly. He didn't notice the Cajun walk up behind him.

"Bonjour, mon ami," he whispered.

One of the things Cyclops had tried to drill into their heads in the Danger Room was not to underestimate any opponent. Remy had never really paid much attention, prefering the example Storm set. She liked to blow off steam by fighting up to a half dozen punks at a time without using her powers.

An instant after he spoke, though, Remy found himself wishing he'd listened to Scott. The burglar spun, swinging the crowbar full force at his head.

Remy ducked, then threw himself to one side to avoid a second swing. This guy was a lot faster than he thought he'd be. With Remy no longer in his way, the burglar ran.

Silently berating himself for being so stupid, Remy grabbed one of the stones the Sandersons had lining their garden and threw it.

The stone screamed after the man, landing a few feet in front of him with a loud explosion. Surprised, the burglar dropped to the ground, but his reactions were still just as quick.

Remy twisted out of the way of a bullet as lights began to go on over the neighborhood. This was getting to be a lot more serious than he'd expected . . .

Remy grinned widely. It was great.

The burglar fired another bullet at him as he ran through an open back gate. Remy sidestepped it, then felt something barrel into him from behind. The next thing he was knew, he was 50 feet in the air and rising rapidly.

"Sugah, what are ya doin'?"

Remy looked over his shoulder. It was Rogue who held him, of course. She was wearing one of his t-shirts, covering her from her neck to halfway down her thighs, and her hair was a mess.

"Let me go! Dere was a burglar tryin' t' break into de Sanderson' house. I gotta get him!"

She frowned. "Ya should jus' called the cops."

"Dat ain't as much fun."

Rogue was easily the strongest X-Man, used to benchpressing 50 tons during training sessions, but Remy knew just how to get away from her. Giving a strange half-turn and twist, he broke her hold and fell.

His powers kicked into high speed and he was immediately aware of everything as though they were frozen in time and he was the only one who moved.

The burglar was climbing into his car. Rogue was turning to dive after him. At most of the houses on the street, people were appearing at the front door to see what was happening.

The was a lamp post below him and a little to the left. Remy grabbed the bar, swung around once and released, twisting over to land in a dismount that would make any Olympian proud. His bare feet screamed at him that this was a really bad thing to do on concrete, but he ignored them and bolted for the car.

The burglar got it started and gunned straight for him. Someone screamed for him to run as he scooped up some pebbles and leaped.

The car passed under him, and Remy tossed the pebbles through the open passenger side window. They were small and couldn't hold much charge, no more than the smallest firecracker, but it was enough to surprise the driver. Remy landed in a crouch as the car swerved out of control, straight into Rogue.

The front of the car buckled as it hit her and Rogue grabbed the hood, the metal crumpling more as she lifted it over her head. Holding the car that way while the burglar screamed from inside that he surrendered, she walked over to Remy.

"Sugah," she said in fake calmness, "Have ya nevah heard o' th' word OVERKILL?!" The last word came out in a near scream.

Remy grinned up at her, flushed with exhilaration. "Isn't it great?"

"Um, excuse me." They both looked over to see Ben huddled nervously a few feet away, more of the neighbors huddled behind him. "I--I called the cops for him." He nodded at the sobbing burglar.

"Thanks, hon," Rogue told him. "Ah hope we didn't scare ya none." She shot a glare at Remy, who kept grinning at her.

"Uh, well, actually--" He smiled tentatively. "We were wondering if you two wanted to join the Neighborhood Watch."

Rogue sat alone and thought. Working in the warehouse was harder than she'd thought it would be. Even with her superstrength, the monotony of it drained her, and the fact that she was a mutant made it hard to make friends. Most of the time, she didn't have anyone to talk to, which made her days very long.

At least Remy didn't have that problem. After the debacle with McYuckies, he'd gotten a job in telemarketing. He got to sit at home and talk on the telephone all day. He was also paid once a week on a commission, far more than she did. She'd told him not use his Charm powers on the poeple he called, she just hoped he listened. In her mind, talking people into doing something they didn't want to was different than using super strength to get a job done.

Living a normal life wasn't quite what she'd thought it'd be. Ah thought Ah'd be so blissfully happy. She did not know that she'd be tired, overworked, or stressed out. Or that she'd start feeling a distance between her and Remy.

He had th' time o' his life 'gainst that crook, she thought sadly. She hadn't realized until she saw the glow in his eyes how subdued he'd been.

Ah want him ta be as happy as Ah am, she thought as she went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. In the backyard, she could see Remy weeding the petunias. He'd stripped off his shirt and wrapped a bandana around his forehead to keep his bangs out of his face, and he looked absolutely gorgeous. He also wasn't smiling, or laughing. In fact, he looked somewhat annoyed as he yanked out weeds, charged the dirt around the roots, and threw them up to explode in mid-air. Little green bits of confetti fluttered down around him.

It's mah dream. Evah since Ah was a lil' girl. Why can't he share it with me th' way Ah want him to?

Maybe he just needed more, she decided. He'd jumped at the chance to join the neighborhood watch, though she doubted he got much out of it.

He does need more, she decided. We both do. Somethin' ta live for, instead o' just survivin' th' way we are now. Somethin' ta make us close again.

She heard the microwave go off behind her. Taking a deep breath, she reached for a small plastic stick sitting in a holder by the sink and pulled it out.

The tip was blue.

"Yes," she whispered. Then louder: "Yes, Yes, Yes YES YES YES YES YES!!!!!!"

Rogue's eyes filled with tears and she ran out the back door, to where Remy was beating the petunias to death with a shovel.

"Remy! Oh, Remy!! Ah- What th' hell are ya doin' ta mah flowers?!"

Gambit looked up at her. "Neh? Oh." He gestured at the devestated plants. "Weedin'."

"With a shovel?"

He tossed the shovel away. "Um, de roots were really deep?"

Rogue glared at him, but didn't have the heart to get mad. Not today. "Remy," she gushed. "Ah have great news! Th' stick was blue."

He stared at her blankly. "Is dat some kinda code?" He asked at last.

She resisted an urge to kick him. "No, ya goof. Ah'm pregnant! We're gonna have a baby!" She hugged him.

Remy slowly hugged her back. "Oh," he said.

"Who wants hot dogs!"

"Me!" Rogue cried, surging towards the barbecue with the rest of the throng of hungry neighbors. She was rewarded for her efforts with a fat, juicy hamburger that she immediately carried to the table and began to pile up with lettuce, tomato, mustard, relish, ketchup, and onions.

"Hey," Jo laughed. "How are you going to eat all that?"

Rogue smiled. "Well, Ah'm kinda eatin' for two."

Jo blinked, then her face lit up she hugged her. Rogue tensed, but the woman didn't come near her skin. "Oh, honey, congratulations!" She drew back. "How did Remy react?"

Rogue's smile faded a bit. "He was happy. Wasn't quite as ecstatic as Ah thought he'd be, though."

Jo chuckled at the disappointment in her voice. "Some men are like that. Give him a little time to get used to the idea of losing most of his freedom to a shrieking, crying little poop-producer. He'll come around. Bob certainly did." She smiled toward her husband, then lifted her head. "Hey, everybody, guess what? Sue's going to have a baby!"

Immediately, Rogue was surrounded by a throng of women, all congratulating her and offering advice or horror stories. She laughed, careful not to let anyone touch her bare face, but otherwise soaked up the attention.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bob approach Remy and turned her head slightly to watch.

Shortly after they arrived for the party, Remy had moved away from the main crowd and sat under a tree near the fence. When Bob went up to him, he shook his hand, but declined when Bob gestured for him to join him and the rest of the men.

Rogue's lips pursed in annoyance. He's not even tryin' t' make friends. What's the matter with him?

It was so unlike him. At their going away party from the X-Men a month ago, he'd been the most vocal and happy, grinning and joking with everyone. Now he was acting like he was at a funeral.

"Excuse me a minute," Rogue said. Extracting herself from the women who were now discussing their own experiences with childbirth and pregnancy, she went over to him. He looked up as she approached, his eyes hidden by his sunglasses.

"What are ya doin'?" She hissed under her breath.

He looked around and shrugged. "Sittin'."

Rogue's hands clenched in anger and it took an effort to bring her temper under control. "Ya should be tryin' t' make friends with th' people we're gonna be livin' by for th' next couple decades. They're gonna think there's somethin' wrong with ya."

He sighed. "Rogue, I jus' don' feel like bein' social t'day. I don' know any of dese people."

"That's why we're here. Ta GET ta know them."

"But I don' feel like talkin'. Dey keep askin' 'bout my past an' I can' 'xactly tell dem de truth."

She ran a hand through her long hair and yanked savagely at a tangle. "Well, pawn them off with somethin'. Just be sure ya don't mention th' X-Men or th' Thieves' Guild. An' keep away from any mention o' foreign countries. We don't wanna seem too alien ta them."

His smile was sarcastic. "Anyt'ing else, mistress?"

Rogue fell silent, glaring at him. He looked back at her, but she couldn't tell what his expression was behind the glasses.

"Ya know how important this is ta me," she bit out at last.

"Yah."

"Then why are ya tryin' ta ruin it for us?"

He leaned back against the tree. "I'm not tryin' t' ruin it, chere. I jus' bein' myself."

Rogue stifled a sudden urge to tell him maybe he should be someone else. "Sometimes, sugah," she said instead, trying to reach him, to make him understand. "Sometimes Ah feel like Ah'm th' only one tryin' t' make a real life for us here."

His reaction wasn't what she expected. To her intense surprise, he laughed. Her rage grew again.

"Trust me, chere, I'm tryin' harder at dis dan anyt'ing in my life."

Rogue threw her head back angrily. "Well, that don' say much foh ya efforts, does it then?"

"Guess not," he replied softly.

"Fine, be that way." One hand on her stomach, she turned and went back to the party, determined to have a good time, no matter what he might say.

He didn't say a thing.

Francois Gilbeau was dead.

Jean-Luc LeBeau sighed as he cracked the top off his hard-boiled egg. Another thief, murdered in an altercation with the assassins. He didn't have all of the details yet, but it looked to be non-premeditative. Francois had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time and an argument turned into a fight.

Carefully, he spooned out some of the golden yolk. It wasn't quite as bad as it'd been before he adopted Remy, but it was getting there. Two thieves dead in six months. At the height of the feud, as may as twelve thieves would be killed in a year. A tiny drop in the bucket when compared to the national murder rate, but still devastating emotionally to the Clan and the Guild.

There were never as many assassins killed as thieves, either. In a straight fight, the assassin almost invariably won. That was thanks to Candra, of course. Candra the External had founded the two separate guilds when New Orleans was still being built. Jean-Luc had been just a little boy then, immigrating to Louisiana to escape anti-French persecution in Canada. The family had been thieves even then. They'd had to, to survive.

Candra had approached his grandfather with a deal. If they worked for her, every seven years, in return for a tithe, she would give him an elixir that would extend life. Crazy as it sounded, something she said convinced his grandfather and he agreed.

For a hundred years, his grandfather had led the Thieves' Guild, his aging frozen from the moment he first tasted the Elixer of Life. Finally, he retired into seclusion and Jean-Luc's father took his place. He ruled until his assassination in 1923, when it was Jean-Luc's turn. It was immortality paid for in gold and jewels, and an occasional assignment.

Fifty years after the Thieves' Guild was founded, Candra sponsored a new one, this one of assassins.

The deal she gave the Beadreaux family was different. In return for doing her killing for her, she'd granted them mutant-like powers.

Mutant-like, Jean-Luc mused as he sipped his orange juice. But nothing to compare to an Alpha-class mutant. Jean-Luc had once seen a dozen assassins attack a mutant. Remy went through them like they were nothing. Still, the powers they did have were very useful and getting more varied with the newest generation. The only reason the Thieves hadn't been completely wiped out was because they had more children than the Assassins could. Jean-Luc himself had fathered 30 sons and daughteres over the centuries; though, as perfect targets, none of them had survived. Only Remy remained.

Jean-Luc's thoughts drifted to his adopted son. Although Remy didn't know it, he'd been aware of him since he'd first appeared on the streets, a little boy of maybe five or six. Jean-Luc made it a point of knowing everything that went on in the street, though he'd never risk endangering the families by getting involved. Beautiful and helpless, he'd never expected the little one to survive.

Instead of just surviving, he excelled. He grew, he thrived, and he learned without schooling or a home to go to. He got involved in all the things most other street kids did, from drugs to prostitution to pornography, but somehow he always managed to pull himself free before it was too late. Impressed, Jean-Luc watched and began to plan the unprecedented.

For years, he and Marius, then leader of the Assassins, had been trying to reach a peaceful accord, neighter one wanting to see any more family die. Marius had two small children, a twin boy and girl, but Jean-Luc had no living daughters and his last son, Henri, was in his 80's, far too old for Belle.

Instead, Jean-Luc offered the boy. To be adopted into the Thieves' Guild and married to Belladonna as a symbol of their alliance.

Marius agreed.

It'd been easy to catch the boy. Just present him with a pocket to pick and catch him. Then take him home and offer him a place in the family, all seemingly out of the goodness of his heart.

Jean-Luc had always felt guilty about that duplicity, expecially since the desperately lonely young boy accepted so eagerly.

Of course, none of them realized what they were getting when Remy was adopted. He surpassed any expectations they'd had in his skills as a thief, and at 13, they learned he was a mutant. He was the first in either family, which added a whole new level of hope to the alliance. The assassins got their power from Candra and the thieves had none. But if Remy's genes bred true, he could introduce mutants to both sides, and with the Elixir of Life, he could continue to father powerful children for hundreds of years, binding the families together even more tightly.

Events didn't work out that way, of course. Remy killed his brother-in-law in self-defense on his wedding night and the Guild Council panicked, banishing him on the spot. Remy, with all his wonderful genetic potential, vanished.

It bothered him to think of Remy in those terms. He loved the young man as much as any of his natural children, but Remy had been adopted for one reason only. As head of the Guild, Jean-Luc could never forget that.

Remy worsened their opinion of him when he returned and broke Candra's hold on both guilds. Marius embraced it, tired of her manipulations, but it wasn't so simple for Jean-Luc. He had the Council to answer to, and he reestablished their connections with her only weeks after Remy returned to his exile. Marius died of a heart attack soon after and Belladonna went back to Candra as well.

Jean-Luc truly regretted Marius' death. Of generations of assassins, he'd been the only one willing to contemplate peace. Belladonna wasn't. She didn't seem to care whether his people died or not.

His breakfast finished, Jean-Luc started to stand, but fell back into his chair from a sudden dizziness. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself, but the dizziness only became worse. Quickly, he reached for the bell that would summon his attendants.

A hand grabbed his wrist before he could, and he was slammed back into his chair. Another hand clamped over his mouth.

"Oh no, you don'."

Surprised, Jean-Luc looked up and his eyes widened in horror. Belladonna stood before him, smiling cruelly. Anopther two Assassins stood behind her, both of whom he recognized. One had been given the ability to teleport, the other was a telekinetic.

Jean-Luc tried to speak, but Belle's hand wouldn't let the sound get out, and he was suddenly too weak to move. Fear filled him and Belle chuckled at the sight of it in his eyes.

"Don' worry, ol' man, Dis only take a sec'nd."

She was right.

Yawning, Rogue walked out of the bathroom, brushing her hair.

"Remy," she called, "if ya get a break in makin' phone calls, could ya go ta th' store an' get some milk? Ah'll be at th' warehouse all day."

"Sure," he yelled back from the kitchen.

Giving her hair a final brush, she went to get the mail. Remy hadn't joined the party at all last weekend, eventually going home early, but she'd had fun anyway. She'd gotten a lot of good advice and the neighborhood women were already planning a shower for her.

There were several bills along with with the usual junk mail, and one postcard from Storm. Rogue almost put the bills aside, since Remy liked to be the one to handle the finances, but one from the phone company caught her eye.

Ah wonder how much Remy's telemarketin' costs us?

Putting her hairbrush down, she stuck the rest of the mail under her arm and opened the letter.

It was thinner than she'd expected as she saw the total at the bottom. $20.17. Confused, she looked closer at the bill.

There were only half a dozen calls listed on the sheets, most of which she could remember making herself. The only call she could attribute to Remy was one for take-out at a pizza restaurant.

"Remy?"

"Oui?"

"Sugah, Ah just got th' phone bill an' none o' ya telemarketin' is on it."

No answer.

Rogue looked towards the kitchen, a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Remy?"

Another moment passed, and then Remy appeared in the doorway. Leaning against the doorjamb, he crossed his arms, his face completely neutral.

"Isn' it?" he asked softly.

That sinking feeling increased. "Remy, why is this bill so low? Where are ya supplies for when ya call?"

He hesitated. "I... don' have none," he admitted.

Rogue couldn't believe she was being so calm. "Where have ya been gettin' th' money ya claimed ya made?"

"... from m' own account... "

"You BASTARD!" Remy flinched as her fist come down on top of the TV, shattering it. "Ya sneaky, filthy liar! How could ya do this ta me?!"

Remy jerked as Rogue destroyed the television, wondering if she'd do the same to him. If he got her mad enough, she just might.

Apologize t' her. Tell her y' sorry an' y' never gon' do it again.

He opened his mouth to say the words, and nothing came out.

"Well?" Rogue demanded, her hands on her hips.

He couldn't do it. For a month, he'd been keeping quiet and doing what she wanted, letting her mold him as she wanted. To make him into a man who could share her dream down to the last detail. Who would be perfect for her. But what she wanted for her dream wasn't what he wanted, or even what he could stand. And she wouldn't see the truth.

Den tell her.

"I didn't do it t' hurt you, chere," he said softly.

Her eyes flashed, glowing the way his did when he was enraged. "Ya coulda fooled me! Why didn't ya just get a normal job like Ah told ya to?"

"Because I'm not a normal person." She closed her mouth with a snap and he took a deep breath. "I don' want t' be normal."

"Remy, bein' here is th' most important thing in th' world ta--"

"An' what 'bout what's important t' me?" He interrupted, tired of letting her guilt him. "I got a voice too, but you never listen t' me! Y' too busy givin' orders."

She bristled at that. "I nevah once tald ya t' do anythin'."

He laughed bitterly, his own anger growing. "Y' don' even know y' doin' it! But y' tell me t' get a job, wear a tie, make friends, work in de garden . . . "

"That 'cause otherwise ya don' do any o' those things!" she yelled.

"An' why should I?" he yelled back. "I'm y' fiance, not y' servant!"

"Ah nevah said ya were!"

"Y' sure act like it! Y' tryin' t' make me de perfect man for y' perfect world! Well, I don' fit!"

"Ya didn't try!"

They were both screaming at each other now.

"I did try!" he bellowed, poking himself in the chest. "I been miserable for de last month, an' whenever I try t' say somet'ing, you jus' give more orders. Y' be a control freak, jus' like Mystique said. Ever since we met, you be de one in control of everyt'ing!" He didn't care if he hurt her anymore.

Neither did she. "Somebody's gotta be in control, or ya mess up, jus' like ya have everythin' else ya done!"

The last of Remy's temper snapped. "I hate dis life an' I hate livin' here wit' you!"

"Then get out!" she screamed.

Remy headed for the door. "Fine!"

He had no idea where he was going, or for how long. Or even if she'd let him back in if he returned. Part of him counselled to walk around the block a few times to let them both calm down, then come back and talk to her rationally. Another part said just keep on walking. He didn't know which to listen to.

Then he opened the front door and, as with almost everything else in his life, the choice was taken away from him.

A trio of Thieves' Guild members were coming up the stairs, reaching for the doorbell. They blinked in surprise, but recovered before he had a chance to say anything.

"Remy LeBeau, de Council summons you t' de Guild's side in New Orleans." The man's face softened and his voice dropped to a whisper.

"Your father is dead."