Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jean‑Luc leaned forward in his chair as he reread Belize’s email, updating him on the Tillings and how they were progressing. None of the heists had commenced yet, but the Apprentices weren’t sparing any effort on their prep work. With any luck, they would have several new Master Thieves by the end of next month.

That was good news.

The Guild had been busier than ever lately. It was an election year, and while Jean‑Luc knew he could count on elections to bring in extra money—there was always some politician looking to pay big bucks for dirt on their opponents or offer certain considerations for a job that had to be handled discreetly—this year’s elections were particularly volatile. Money only meant so much in the face of his men running themselves ragged. A tired Thief was a sloppy Thief.

Shutting down his computer, Jean‑Luc stood from his chair, the leather creaking as he moved. Glancing at the clock, he sighed. Dieu, when had it gotten to be ten o’clock?

Crossing his office to where a credenza sat with several bottles of liquor on top, he picked up the bottle of whiskey and poured two fingers’ worth into a glass. The door to his office blew open, smacking the wall with a bang.

“Pere,” Henri called as he stepped into the room, not bothering to knock.

Jean‑Luc rolled his eyes heavenward, wondering if he could chastise his son for his lack of manners. Especially when he himself had been the one to teach Henri about breaking and entering before the boy could walk properly.

Deciding he couldn’t, Jean‑Luc picked up an empty glass and waved it at Henri. “Ya want one?”

“Oui,” Henri nodded. “There’s bad news out of the City tonight.”

That got Jean-Luc’s attention.

“What happened? Is it any of our boys?” Jean‑Luc demanded. 

“Non, and Dieu merci for that,” Henri shook his head and waved a hand towards two club chairs near the fireplace in his office. As he settled into his chair, Henri took a draw off his drink.

“Two Runners were found dead in a motel on the edge of the City,” Henri said. “They each had a gunshot t’ the back of their heads.”

“Is that confirmed or just hearsay?” Jean‑Luc asked. Setting his drink down, he leaned forward in his seat.

“Confirmed,” Henri answered. “What’s more, rumor is that they were carrying the blueprints for the KV‑71x.”

Jean‑Luc whistled low. “Is dat right?”

“Oui.”

Jean‑Luc hummed. Rumors about the KV‑71x had been circulating in the criminal underground for over a decade. The gun had first been conceptualized at the behest of the military as a sidearm for soldiers in combat zones. It was purposefully designed to be easy to repair and change out parts.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on who you talked to—someone had realized the gun’s potential to be used in gang wars as the interchangeable parts and rise of 3D printers would make it damn near untraceable for law enforcement.

Facing mounting pressure from the public, the government pulled out of the contract, and the gun was never put into production. The manufacturer had gone on record to announce publicly that they had destroyed all of the prototypes and die-casts, but rumors that the blueprints still existed continued to circulate.

Jean‑Luc didn’t doubt it. The KV‑71x had the potential to become one of the most widely produced guns in the world. You didn’t just get rid of that type of cash cow.

Over the years, the Thieves Guild had been approached a number of times by crime syndicates, warlords, and even other weapons manufacturers willing to pay exorbitant amounts of money for the Guild to steal the blueprints. But the fighting with the Assassins Guild had been at an all-time high back then.

Jean-Luc was no fool. It would have only been a matter of time before the guns were on the streets and in the hands of the Assassins. No amount of money was worth inviting that type of chaos on his own house.

“Does Alden have any idea who might have attacked his men?” Jean‑Luc asked finally.

Henri shook his head. “If he does, he’s not saying anything, but some of the Runners are already blaming the Assassins.”

“I’m not surprised. The Runners Guild has been on edge for the last few months. Alden would be a fool t’ accuse Marius formally without more information.” Jean-Luc replied, picking up his glass again. 

“You think Alden would go that far?” Henri asked in surprise.

It wasn’t unwarranted. Alden might have been the Guildmaster of the world’s largest arms syndicate, but confrontation had never been his style. He thrived on backroom deals and friendly alliances, keeping good ties with everyone and, by extension, keeping money flowing into his Guild.

“He may not have a choice. If he can’t calm his men down and keep them under control, he’ll have to make a formal accusation. If only to avoid losing face with his own men.” Jean‑Luc frowned. Losing the respect of your men usually meant mutiny. That never ended well for a Guildmaster or his kin.

“Alden called just before I came up here. He is calling for a Boucherie. He wants the Thieves to mediate between his Guild and the Assassins.” Henri raised his glass and took a sip of his bourbon.

Jean‑Luc mulled over the idea. Boucheries were a tradition nearly as old as New Orleans herself. The term referred to the Cajun tradition of families coming together to slaughter a hog, but the Guilds used it any time a face-to-face meeting was called between two or more of the Guilds. For serious discussions, a Guild or even the High Court might be called on to act as a mediator between the two feuding Guilds.

Accusing a Guildmaster of killing another Guild’s men certainly warranted mediation. Jean‑Luc paused. “He’s not asking for the High Court?”

Henri shook his head. “I’m not sure if Alden trusts them, given what happened last time.”

Jean-Luc snorted humorlessly.

The last Boucherie was only a few months ago, and the events were still fresh in everyone’s mind. In the weeks leading up to the meeting, girls from both the Thieves Guild and the Assassins Guild had started turning up dead in the bayous. When Julien Boudreaux suddenly went missing, the Boucherie became a last-ditch attempt to avoid an all-out war. Alden nearly lost his head when suspicion turned on him, and he was accused of trying to instigate and profit off an arms race if the Thieves and Assassins went to war.

It was only because Rogue, a pretty little Mississippi spitfire who had caught his youngest son’s eye, had figured out who the real culprit was that war had been avoided. She managed to rescue two Guild Apprentices and save Julien’s life, fighting off five armed men to protect Julien while the girls got help.

Jean‑Luc would never forget the terror in Remy’s eyes when the two bruised girls burst into the Boucherie, yelling over one another about Rogue staying behind to defend an injured Julien. Things had been better between the Thieves and the Assassins since that night, but the Runners Guild had been wary of retaliation from Marius on behalf of his Guild’s honor ever since.

Sighing, Jean‑Luc swirled the bourbon in his glass, watching the amber liquid. “Tell Alden that the Thieves Guild is willing to serve as mediators.”

“You sure?”

“Oui,” Jean‑Luc drained the last bit of his drink, “It’s better to get ahead of this before the situation becomes more unstable.”

“When do you want to have it?”

Jean‑Luc paused, thinking. “Set it for two days from now. Remy will be home by then. I’d like to have him at the Boucherie so the Thieves can present a unified front.”

“Mercy’s not going to be there,” Henri announced. Jean‑Luc raised an eyebrow at that.

“Is dat so? Did you talk to her about that?” Jean‑Luc asked, already knowing the answer.

“Pere, she’s pregnant. Pardon me for wanting to keep my pregnant wife away from two Guilds that are out for each other’s blood.” Henri’s eyebrows pulled together. Jean‑Luc resisted the urge to roll his eyes and prayed for patience.

“Henri, I love you, but your wife is a Master Thief in her own right. You’re not going to be able to trap her in the Guild Hall for the next seven months,” Jean‑Luc pointed out slowly, hoping the boy would see sense. Mercy—bless her soul—had been tolerating Henri’s mother-hen act for the last few weeks with all the patience of a saint, but Jean‑Luc could see it was starting to wear on her.

“It’s fine, Pere. She doesn’t need to be worrying about the Assassins’ and Runners’ foolishness right now.” Henri waved a hand dismissively, “She’s got enough to deal with.”

Jean‑Luc sighed and shook his head as he stood from his chair. The boy would learn sooner or later, and privately, Jean‑Luc was betting it was going to be sooner.

“Henri, let me put it t’ you this way. When your wife kills you, and I end up owing Marius Boudreaux a favor for disposing of your body, I will feed your corpse to their gators…without last rites.”

“Corpse. Gators. Got it.” Henri rolled his eyes and stood up, pulling a burner phone from his pocket. “I’m going t’ call the Pawn Shop to set a date for the Boucherie. I’ll call Alden and Marius first thing in the morning and let them know the Thieves have agreed to mediate. Anything else?”

“Non,” Jean-Luc waved a hand. “Go spend time with your wife.”

As the door to his office closed, Jean‑Luc moved to stare out the French doors. A little ways away, he could see the moonlight reflecting off the water, silhouetting the pier and boathouse in the otherwise dark yard. Everything was still.

Turning back towards his office, Jean‑Luc’s eyes landed on the antique map of New Orleans hanging over the fireplace. It had hung in this office since he’d been a boy. It was the map the Guilds used to divide up the City in an effort to create peace.

Not that it ever seemed to last long. Peace in this world was fleeting at best.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Jean‑Luc moved back towards his desk. Nostalgia was a wasted emotion. His men would mostly be kept out of harm’s way in this latest turn of events, but complacency wasn’t an option. He would do his best to smooth things over between Alden and Marius. There was something to be said for preserving the status quo, after all.

Even if things did sour between the Runners and Assassins, there would be new opportunities to take advantage of. Growing up, Henri and Remy hadn’t called him The Chess Master for nothing. Jean‑Luc’s lips curled into a smirk as he started up his computer again, letting his mind churn with the possibilities of how to press this new development to his advantage.

Chapter Text

Rogue blew out a breath and leaned back against the plush sofa, trying to regain her bearings.  Across from her, the Professor lowered his fingers from his temples. Her mentor smiled.

“You’re doing very well, Rogue. I think it is safe to say that you are in control of the psyches these days.  I doubt there is much more these sessions can do for you on that front, though my door is always open if you need it.” The Professor informed her, moving to pour them some tea. Rogue sat up in surprise.

“So, no more putting up mental barriers?” she asked, accepting the fragile teacup and saucer from the older man.

“Not unless you wish for it,” The Professor paused to sip his tea. “These meditation sessions have allowed you to become strong enough to keep all of the psyches in check without my intervention and keep their memories and emotions separate from your own. Though I understand if you still wish to keep a few of the more troublesome psyches sectioned off from the rest of your mind.”

Rogue snorted at the Professor’s polite answer. The man was far too sophisticated to outright call Apocalypse’s psyche a pain in the ass. Across from her, the Professor covered a laugh with a cough. 

Oops, she must have been projecting. Rogue ducked her head. “Sorry, Professor.”

“It’s quite all right. I find myself agreeing with the sentiment.” The Professor watched her, laughter dancing in his eyes. “To that end, I would like to discuss the next steps of your training.”

“Okay,” Rogue slowly set her tea down. She had a sinking feeling she knew where this was going.

“Now that you have control over your psyches, there is far less risk of you losing control if you absorb someone. Have you given any thought to what we discussed during our last session?” The Professor asked.

Hoo-boy. There it was. The million-dollar question. Though the real question was more like when hadn’t she been thinking about it? Rogue rubbed at the back of her neck. Looking out the window, she sighed, “I don’t know.”

“I believe you are ready to begin tackling the physical side of your mutation, Rogue. The first step of which will be intentionally trying to turn off your powers.”

“Yeah, no. I got that, but let’s be honest. I’m not going to get it right away. And I doubt most people will be lining up to play guinea pig until I do.” Rogue stood and moved to look out the window.  In the yard, some of the younger mutants were playing mutant ball in a small clearing of trees dressed in red and gold leaves.

“I think you are underestimating the others. None of us gained control without practice. It stands to reason that you will also need to practice to gain control over yours. We want you to be happy, Rogue.” The Professor pointed out. “I know that both Logan and Remy have stated several times they would be willing to let you absorb them once you were ready to start practicing.”

Rogue hummed noncommittally.

“You and Remy are planning to visit New Orleans this week. It might be a good time to speak with him about it,” the Professor pressed gently. Rogue bit the inside of her cheek. He meant well, she knew that, but, damn, she hated being pushed in any direction.

The Professor watched her silently, waiting for a response.

“Um, yeah. Maybe,” Rogue eyed the door. The walls of the office suddenly felt too close, the air too warm. “Speaking of, I should go find the Swamp Rat and make sure he’s packed.” 

Her feet were already moving towards the exit. Fortunately, the Professor didn’t try to stop her, merely bidding her farewell as she closed the door to his office.

Rogue stepped into the blessedly empty elevator at the end of the hall and jabbed the button for the Danger Room.  As the lift began to move, she sighed, letting her head fall back against the wall with a thunk.  She knew that practicing with her powers was the only way she’d ever have any hope of getting control. And, of course, Logan and the Swamp Rat would be willing to help.  They’d told her as much themselves.

With Logan, the problem was straightforward. His mutation gave him the ability to withstand her power for longer than most, but the memories she absorbed tended to leave her with nightmares for weeks after, more often than not.  Call her a coward, but she’d rather not deal with memories that left her waking up in a cold sweat with her skin crawling.

With Remy, things were less straightforward.

The Swamp Rat wouldn’t hesitate to help her. Hell, he’d probably make some smartass quip about always knowing she wanted to get her hand on him just before he rolled over into a coma. As an added bonus, his psyche was one of the few she actually enjoyed having around in her head, keeping her company.

But her powers hurt, and she, well…she didn’t want to hurt Remy.  And that scared the bejesus out of her.

What if he leaves?  Rogue wondered.

Not gonna happen, Chere, Remy whispered.

Rogue blew out a breath.  She wanted to believe it. Back in New Orleans, they had shared one spectacular kiss on the back porch of Irene’s house after he told her he wanted to join the X-Men. Since then, Remy had made no effort to hide his interest in her. For Pete’s sake, he’d even uprooted his whole life just to come back North with her.

But ever since arriving at the Mansion, Rogue couldn’t get the nerve to try again.  Whenever she got within five feet of him, she could feel everyone’s eyes glued to her. It made her freeze up like a deer in the headlights.

She was no newcomer to gossip. Back in Mississippi, her loner goth image tended to make her the subject of such.  Things had been a little better when she first got to Bayville. But then mutants were outed, and it was just more of the same old, same old.

She finally thought she had escaped all the speculation when she graduated, but nope. By then, everyone was getting older and starting to pair off romantically. Once again, she was the loner in the group. Only this time, her love life, or lack thereof, was the subject of speculation.

Why did they need to be all up in her business anyway?  Rogue ground her teeth together. She’d learned a long time ago that scrutiny brought expectations.  Usually, ones she fell short of.

Rogue stomped off the elevator towards the DR. As the metal door ‘whooshed’ opened, her eyes widened. Logan stood on one side of the room, watching Remy and Kurt sparring. Remy had his bo-staff unfurled. Singed marks dotted the wall from his cards. Kurt, on the other hand, wielded a saber, and he wasn’t playing around.  Rogue flinched as the metal of Kurt’s sword found Remy’s staff.

Rogue cursed under her breath.

During her last visit to New Orleans, Rogue ended up once again absorbing Julien Boudreaux.  With three intentional absorptions, it made Julien one of her most powerful psyches.  Shortly after returning to the X-Men, she’d gone to Logan, asking him to train her in blade combat. Both to keep Julien’s psyche happy and to give her another means of defense in the field.

To her surprise, her happy-go-lucky brother started crashing her practice sessions, showing up with a sword of his own. Kurt explained that he’d used swordplay in his act when he traveled with the circus and offered to be her training partner. She still wasn’t as good as Kurt—he could use both hands and his tail—but between Logan and Kurt’s training, as well as Julien’s psyche, she was learning fast.

“I thought you were supposed to be in charge of today’s session,” Rogue snapped, stomping over to Logan.  The older man snorted but didn’t take his eyes off the fight.

“I am. That’s why the Elf only has one sword, not three,” Logan replied.  Rogue huffed out a breath and crossed her arms, leaning against the wall.

“He’s gonna get hurt.” She muttered.

“Gambit will be fine. He’s squirrely and has a lot of space to maneuver.”

“Yeah, but Kurt isn’t playing around.”

“Could be worse. Gumbo could be stuck in a tiny bedroom with a pissed-off fuzzball trying to defend his sister’s honor.” Logan slid his eyes toward her.

Heat crawled up the back of Rogue’s neck as she refused to make eye contact with Logan. She was absolutely not rehashing that incident again. She’d never seen Kurt so mad. Even three weeks later, her brother was still giving Remy serious side-eye every time they were within twenty feet of each other.

The sound of a grunt pulled her attention back to the fight. Remy stumbled through a cloud of brimstone, trying to regain his feet. Kurt teleported a few feet in front of Remy and landed another kick to Remy’s chest.

Before Rogue could think, she was already shoving off from the wall.

“That’s enough,” she snapped, stalking towards the pair. Snatching Remy’s hand, she pulled him away from Kurt and towards the exit. “Remy and I still need to get packed for our trip. You’ll just have to find someone else to beat on for the next week.”

Dragging the taller man down the hallway towards the elevator by his uniform shirt, Rogue refused to turn around. She already knew he’d have that stupid grin on his face. As the elevator doors opened, she let go of the Cajun and stepped into the small space. Remy swaggered in behind her. 

Leaning a shoulder against the wall, he watched her with hooded eyes, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You know, Chere, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you like me.”

“Can it, Swamp Rat. I just don’t want to break your Tante’s heart by bringing you back in pieces.” Rogue snapped. Remy chuckled and stretched past her, pushing the button for the residential floor.

Dang Swamp Rat. He was determined to drive her crazy.

Staring at the pool table, Rogue deliberated her next shot.  Remy leaned against the wall lazily, waiting for her to decide.  Wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt, he was the very picture of the type of boy all Southern Mamas warned their daughters about. Catching her stare, he raised an eyebrow.

Several of the others took up various chairs around the room.  Jubilee, Sam, and Kurt were playing UNO in the corner—no one was crazy enough to suggest poker anymore unless it was friendly or Remy was away on a mission.

Rogue narrowed her eyes on a green-striped ball perched precariously on the edge of the corner pocket. She exhaled slowly, lining up her shot, when she felt a warm presence slide up beside her.

“Careful there,” Remy’s voice murmured, close enough to send a shiver down her spine. “Don’t want ya t' lose your focus now, do we?”

Without looking at him, Rogue smirked. She knew what he was doing.

“Trying to get in my head, huh?” She adjusted her grip on the cue, determined not to give in to his game.

“Non. Non. Just admiring your form.” He teased. His clothes carried the faint scent of bourbon and cologne as he leaned in, invading her space on purpose. “Though I bet I could show you a better angle on that shot.”

She bit her lip, fighting the urge to roll her eyes or, worse, blush. “Funny enough, I don’t remember asking for advice,” she sassed.

“Oh, I’m not giving advice,” Remy grinned. “I’m just…observing. Go on, let’s see that focus you keep bragging about.”

Rogue gritted her teeth and refocused on the green ball, trying to shake off the fuzzy feeling her brain got every time he got too close. Adjusting her grip on the last time, her pool stick hit the cue ball with a satisfying clack, sending the white ball skimming across the green felt…only to bump into the side of the pool table just to the right of the green-striped ball.  Rogue cursed under her breath.

“Looks like you need a few more lessons,” Remy teased, leaning down to line up a shot.

“And who’s gonna give them to me? You?” Rogue challenged. Red-on-black eyes snapped towards her.

“Mais, I’ll help ya with whatever training ya need, Chere.” Remy raised an eyebrow.

Rogue sucked in a breath at the earnest look in Remy’s eyes. He wasn’t talking about pool anymore, and they both knew it. She opened her mouth only for nothing to come out. Remy tilted his head, waiting.

“Shh. I’m trying to watch the news.” Kitty shushed them and turned up the volume on the TV.

Rogue deflated and closed her mouth, pressing her lips together for good measure. It was fine. It probably would be better to talk with Remy later when there weren’t so many ears around anyway.

Letting her off the hook, Remy turned and tossed an apology over his shoulder to Kitty, “Désolé, Chaton.”

Rogue glanced at the TV and rolled her eyes hard enough to give herself a migraine.

Senator Peter Krane.

He was all the news could talk about these days. After losing his party’s bid for the presidential nomination during the last election cycle, Krane decided to run on his own ticket this year. He’d pulled out all the stops in his race for the Oval Office, including launching a massive charm campaign and flipping on major hot-button issues.

Most notably, mutant rights. 

Despite a track record of inflaming anti-mutant sentiments and donating to anti-mutant hate groups, the man had somehow managed to spin it that he’d been bamboozled by hate group leaders and was now all for working to ‘build a unified tomorrow.’

It made Rogue want to gag every time she heard the slogan.

The worst part was that he was actually pulling it off. The poll analysis said he had a decent chance of winning.

Rogue didn’t give two wits about politicians in general, but if you ask her, Krane was slicker than pig snot on a doorknob.

“Keep frowning like that, and your face will stick,” Remy warned, lining up his shot again and sinking the purple ball. Moving smoothly around the table, he weighed his options for his next shot.

“Sorry. Every time I see his face, it gives me a headache.” Rogue leaned on her pool stick, watching the Cajun line up another shot.

“Mais, that’s why ya need to take a page from my book, Chere, and keep your eyes on something more pleasurable,” Remy leered at her, his eyes glowing faintly.

“What? Like you?” Rogue asked as he missed his shot. “Looks like you’re behind the ol’ eight-ball Gambit, and I’m about to sink it.” Moving around the table, she shot him a smirk before taking aim.

“You ain’t won de game yet, Chere,” Remy replied, “Maybe you need incentive. How about de winner gets a kiss from de loser?”

Rogue jerked, her shot going wild, as she felt him brush a hand over her lower back. Jerking upright, she glared, “That’s not funny. Or do you want to end up in a coma?”

“Worse fates spring to mind,” Remy shrugged as he leaned down to make the final shot and end the game. Pausing, he looked up at Rogue, dark eyes framed with dark lashes, “And I am expecting that kiss when I win.”

Rogue flushed at the heat in his voice and huffed out an exasperated laugh. “I swear, it’s like talking to a brick wall with ya.”

Remy's smirk widened. “I can live with that. Eight-ball side pocket—”

“Mail call!” Dr. McCoy announced, stepping through the door.

Remy cursed as his shot missed, sending the cue ball into the pocket. “Bad timing, McCoy.”

“My deepest apologies, my Acadian companion,” Beast offered Remy a toothy grin, not looking the least bit apologetic, “Perhaps our lovely Rogue will be generous enough to play you in another round so that she may have the joy of victory again.”

Dr. McCoy shot her a wink as Remy grumbled under his breath. Rogue snickered. He’d always been her second favorite adult at Xavier’s after Logan. Seeing her laugh, Dr. McCoy grinned wider and moved towards her, flipping through the envelopes in his hand, “Something did arrive for you in the mail today, Rogue—ah, here it is.”

Dr. McCoy handed her a delicate linen envelope before moving further into the room to hand out the rest of the mail. Rogue frowned in confusion as Remy moved to look over her shoulder. The small envelope simply had the name ‘Rogue’ and the address at Xavier’s scrawled across the front in an elegant script.

Who would mail her something?  She already lived with everyone she knew.

Running her finger under the flap, Rogue pulled out the notecard and scanned it.

Rogue-

I hope this letter finds you well. We didn’t have a chance to speak after the events of your last trip. Next time you are in town, do call upon me. I have a gift for you. Something that your Aunt left in my care. I await our next meeting, and until then, be wary of unexpected events.

-Madame LaCour

Rogue froze, staring at the signature at the bottom, half expecting someone to jump out and tell her this was all a joke. Remy reached for the letter, scanning it quickly before flipping it over and looking for any other information.

“Whaddya thinks she wants?” he asked.

Rogue shrugged helplessly. Truth be told, she tried to put the woman from her mind after she’d left New Orleans on the back of Remy’s bike. Rogue could still remember the feeling of ice-blue eyes following her around the woman’s Tarot Shop. Despite the warmth of the room, Rogue shivered.

“You gonna visit her?” Remy asked.

Rogue opened her mouth to say she wasn’t. There was something about Madame LaCour that set her teeth on edge but before the words could get passed Rogue’s lips she paused. The woman claimed to have something from Irene.  Rogue glanced at the signature again.  Maybe it was worth another trip to find out how they knew each other.

“Chere?”

“Maybe. I’ll think about it,” Rogue replied and stuffed the letter back into the envelope before tucking it into her back pocket. Picking up her pool stick, she cocked a hip at the Cajun, “Now, are you ready to lose again?”

Rogue sighed in pleasure as she leaned back against the leather seats in the Blackbird. This trip to New Orleans was infinitely better than her last flight down South.

Good ol’ Logan. He was the only person at the Mansion who hated flying economy as much as she did. He’d flown them down in the Blackbird landing just outside New Orleans at one of the regional airports. No sooner had the door opened than the Swamp Rat was out of his seat, snatching up her bag as he went.

By the time Rogue stepped off the plane, Remy was already exchanging good-natured claps to the back with Henri on the other side of the tarmac. The two men babbling away in a mix of French and English.  Rogue chuckled and shook her head at the sight. She wondered what the odds were that she would understand anything during the car ride to the Guild Hall.

“You got everything?” Logan grunted, stomping down the steps to stand beside her on the tarmac. Rogue nodded.

“Yep. Remy grabbed our bags already,” she replied.

Logan made an indistinct sound in the back of his throat. “I’ll be back at the end of the week to pick you up unless something comes up.” Pausing, he eyed her, “You gonna be alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” Rogue rolled her eyes. “I’m staying with Remy and his family.”

“Not helping your case, Stripes.”

“It’ll be fine.”

Logan grunted, clearly not believing her for a second. “Try to remember we’re only a phone call away this time. And if you start to feel like anything is off—”

“I’ll call.” Rogue finished, ignoring the knot that had settled into her gut ever since she received Madame LaCour’s letter. Laying in bed last night, she’d decided to visit Madame LaCour. It was probably masochism on her part—a bit like poking a bruise even when you knew it’d hurt— but curiosity had sunk its claws into her. She wanted to know what Irene had left behind.

Realizing Logan was still eyeing her, Rogue added, “Seriously though, everything will be fine.”

Logan grumbled something under his breath that suspiciously sounded like ‘doubt it’ before narrowing his eyes at Remy. “Gumbo!”

“Ouias, mon ami?” Remy asked, breaking off the conversation to walk back towards them.  Henri followed behind.

“If she gets hurt, I’m gonna toss you in the DR with the Elf…and this time, I’ll give him three swords. Got it?” Logan warned.

Remy winced. “Got it.”

“Logan!” Rogue squawked in mortification.  Logan grinned at her, showing off every tooth in his thick skull before patting her shoulder and clomping back up the metal steps onto the Blackbird.

Rogue buried her face in her hands, cursing Logan under her breath. “Imma kill him.”

“He means well, Chere.” Remy placed a hand on her shoulder.

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Yeah, you’re right. He doesn’t.”

“Let’s get a move on you two.” Henri called, “If we’re late. I’m gonna tell Tante it was your fault.”

Chapter Text

As expected, Remy and Henri held up most of the conversation in a garbled mix of French and English. At one point, the pair must have remembered their manners and looked back at her guiltily from the front seat, but Rogue simply waved them off, saying she was creating a to-do list on her phone for when she visited Irene’s house.

It was a lie—she was playing Candy Crush—and she doubted either Master Thief believed her, but the two men returned to their conversation anyway. And if seeing Remy chatting away with Henri wasn’t enough to make her smile, the grateful look in his eyes had her stupid heart squeezing in her chest.

As Henri pulled the car off the main road and up the familiar gravel drive, Rogue watched the trees as they passed. It was still warm in Louisiana, but fall had begun to change some of the leaves, adding bright pops of orange and yellow to the woods amid the pines and Spanish moss.

The woods around the car opened up into a clearing. Henri drove past the main house and around to a old carriage house which had been converted into the garage. Stopping the car, they piled out. Remy, once again, grabbed her bag.  Across the yard, Tante stood waiting for them by the back door leading to the kitchen. In her hands, she held a small bundle of mint.

“There you two are.” Tante Mattie beamed and wrapped her arms around Remy, pulling him into a hug, “Oh, Honeychild, I’ve missed ya something fierce.”

“Missed ya too, Tante,” Remy murmured, holding tight to the woman who had all but raised him.

Breaking off the embrace, Tante planted her hands on her hips. “Now, have ya been behavin’ yourself up north—oh, why am I asking you?” Tante cut Remy off with a wave of her hand before he could answer. Turning, she smiled at Rogue, “Has the Boy been behaving himself?”

“More or less,” Rogue smirked.

Tante ‘humped’ and eyed her nephew. “That means less.” She sighed and waved them through the kitchen door, “Well, come on now. No use standing outside looking at each other. Henri, go find Mercy and let her know that her tea is almost ready. And find your Pere, too. Tell him Remy and Rogue are here.”

“I’m already here, Tante. We saw the car coming up the drive from my office,” Jean-Luc announced, coming through the door on the other side of the kitchen, followed by Theo and Emil, “It’s good t’ see ya, mon fils.”

Rogue stood with the bags as Jean-Luc and Remy hugged, clapping each other on the back.  It wasn’t quite the embrace that the Swamp Rat had shared with his brother, but it was light years ahead of how their relationship had been the first time she’d seen Remy with his father.

Jean-Luc moved to greet her as well, a charming smile in place.  Reaching for her hand, he brushed a kiss across the back of her glove, “Petite, it’s wonderful t’ see ya again. Glad you were able to find time to come down and visit us.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” Rogue smiled politely, taking her hand back. Jean-Luc could be as charming as a summer day, but he was also as slippery as a water moccasin. Looking around the kitchen, Rogue settled for a safe topic. “Where’s Mercy?”

“I’m coming. I’m coming.” Mercy called, entering the room with Henri on her heels.  Reaching Rogue first, the blonde woman pulled her into a careful hug. “It’s good to see ya, Sha.”

Pausing to give Remy a quick hug, Mercy stepped back, and Henri wrapped an arm around her waist. “All right.  Now that you two are finally here, we've got something to tell ya.”

“What’s that?” Remy asked.

“First... I’m pregnant,” Mercy pulled her shirt tighter to reveal a small but noticeable bump.  Remy’s eyes popped wide.

“I’m gonna be an Oncle!” Remy crowed. Rushing towards his sister-in-law, he scooped her up, spinning Mercy in circles around the breakfast area. 

“Remy put my pregnant wife down, ya couyon.” Henri admonished. Despite fussing at his brother, Henri made no attempt to shake the massive smile splitting his face.

Rogue watched quietly, unsure what to make of Remy’s display. If she was being honest, it wasn’t that out of character for him, she supposed. It was his family, after all, and he always enjoyed working with the younger students back at Xavier’s.

He’ll be a great father one day, Rogue realized. The thought landed like a punch to the ribs. And God, he would be perfect, too. Patient. Kind. Goofy at just the right times. The type who built forts out of blankets and listened when the world got too loud.

Rogue swallowed sharply. She tried not to think about kids too often these days. Cause, yeah, that just wasn’t in the cards for her.

Remy rolled his eyes at his brother but acquiesced to set Mercy down. “Mais, I’m gonna have t’ get one of those ‘World’s Best Uncle’ mugs,” Remy said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin.

Emil and Theo sputtered their indignation.

“Don’t count on it,” Emil scoffed.

“We’re down here all the time. We’re definitely going to be the favorites. Well, me, anyway,” Theo smirked. Emil glared at Theo.

“Ouias, but I’ll get t’ buy all de fun toys that make noise.” Remy pointed out. “Plus, I won’t have t’ deal with it.”

Rogue stiffened.  Breathing through her nose, she tried to ignore the wave of guilt threatening to turn her knees to jello. Would Remy be happier down here? It was clear as day that he missed his family. She watched as he kept an arm slung around Mercy’s shoulders. Did he ever regret going back to Bayville with her?

Get it together, Girl. She ordered sharply. This ain’t about you or Remy. It’s about Henri and Mercy.

Shoving back against the wall of emotion, Rogue turned toward Mercy. “Congratulations. How far along are you?”

“Two months,” Mercy replied, shaking off Remy to move back towards her.

Rogue’s eyes darted towards Mercy’s stomach. She looked…large for just two months along.  Not that Rogue was stupid enough to say it out loud.

Mercy must have guessed her line of thought because her grin turned mischievous, “That’s the second thing we have to tell ya’ll….we’re having twins.”

Remy let out a whoop loud enough to rattle the windows and slugged his brother in the arm. “Attaboy. Having a lot of fun, were you?”

“Don’t you get me started. I don’t come with breaks right now,” Mercy warned, whirling on her brother-in-law and nailing him in place with a sharp look, “I will beat you six ways to Sunday.”

“Now. Now.” Jean-Luc soothed, placing a hand on Mercy’s shoulder, “As entertaining as that would be, Tante made a lovely dinner. Let’s get to it while it’s still hot.”

Dinner was delicious. No surprise there. Tante made Creole Daube and served it with thick slices of hearty bread to sop up the gravy.  Rogue sat with Remy on one side and Jean-Luc on the other, sipping her glass of wine.  Around her, the conversation flowed. 

“So, Petite, how are things with your family?” Jean-Luc asked, drawing her attention.

“Good. Most of the kids are back at the Mansion now that school is in session again,” Rogue replied.

“So, what are ya doing these days? I know you graduated a few years back,” Jean-Luc asked smoothly, as he leaned over to refill her wine glass.

Remy shot his father a warning look. Rogue sighed. Jean-Luc made no bones about his interest in her powers, something that irked Remy to no end. Things were getting better between the two of them, but Jean-Luc was on the charm offensive, and Rogue could already see Remy bristling.

“Pere—”

“I’m teaching at the Mansion,” Rogue answered quickly. “The kids go to the local high school for their Gen-Ed classes, but with the way things are for mutants right now, we teach a lot of the extras at Xavier’s to minimize the amount of time the kids spend on campus.”

“What are ya teaching?” Jean-Luc asked.

“I don’t really have a set class right now.  I mostly help with training and taking care of the vehicles.” Rogue shrugged.

“What about ya, Rems?” Emil asked. “Lockpicking 101?”

Remy rolled his eyes, “Bien sûr.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. He’s taught most of the younger kids the basics so they can get out of handcuffs if needed,” Rogue smiled proudly at the man seated beside her.

Remy shrugged a shoulder, “Mais, it’s no big deal.”

“We should get him to teach you some of de Guild's more advanced techniques. Might be useful one day,” Jean-Luc added, bringing the conversation back around. Rogue resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  She knew what Jean-Luc was hinting at. The man was like a dog with a bone.

“Rogue don’t need any more training. She’s as good a lockpick as any Master Thief,” Remy defended. Rogue bit back a groan as Jean-Luc’s eyes lit up.

“Is dat so?”

“Ouais,” Remy rolled on, too busy in his defense of her to notice his daddy’s glee, “In fact, she was able to pick a four-point restraint in under thirty seconds the first time she ever tried. We were—”

“Remy’s teaching sex-ed!” Rogue blurted out. “R-Remy’s the new sex-ed teacher. Emil, your cousin is teaching sex-ed to a bunch of fourteen-year-olds. Whaddya got? I know you got a joke for me.”

Sweet Jesus, she did not need the Swamp Rat recounting that little story at the dinner table…or ever.

Emil’s eyes lit up in unholy glee as he latched onto the bait, more than happy to rib his ladies’ man cousin for his new teaching position. Rogue sagged and reached for her wine glass, taking a hearty gulp. Beside her, she could feel Jean-Luc’s gaze burning into the side of her head.

After a few more minutes, Emil finally relented, and Tante Mattie shooed all the younger Thieves from the table to clean up the kitchen. It was understood that Tante might do the cooking, but she did not do the cleanup.

“You too, Honey. You’re family now.” Tante shot Rogue a look.

“Yes, Tante,” Rogue jumped to her feet, dutifully gathering dishes and cutlery as she went.  Tante nodded her head in approval.

“Hold on. Before ya’ll scamper off. We need to have a meeting.  Come up to my office after you’re done in the kitchen,” Jean-Luc ordered. Turning towards Rogue and Remy, he added. “Remy, there are some things you need to be brought up to speed on. Rogue, you come along too, ya hear? Like Tante said, you’re family. Might as well have ya in the loop too.”

Rogue climbed the stairs to Jean-Luc’s office.  Mercy was a few steps ahead of her, with Henri only a half-step behind his wife, ready to catch her on the off chance she stumbled.  Rogue snickered.  There was a better chance of the Guild Hall being struck by a meteor than Mercy losing her balance.

Maybe she should call Jean. The redhead had spent weeks after the fight with Apocalypse running interference for her from Scott and Logan’s mother-hen act.  Of course, since Remy had been sticking to her like glue ever since Jean-Luc included her in the meeting, maybe she could use some help of her own.

Wonder if Jean’s got a two-for-one deal, Rogue mused.

Stepping into Jean-Luc’s office, Rogue moved to sit in one of the armchairs near the fireplace, happy for the warmth now that the sun had gone down. Remy leaned against the back of her chair. Around the room, Henri and Mercy took up their spot on the leather sofa as Theo and Emil leaned against the bookcase.

Jean-Luc stood by the French doors in his office, phone pressed to his ear, “Merci. Oui, I’ll inform Belize myself.” Hanging up the phone, he turned to the room.

“Let’s start with the good news first. That was Genard. Etienne just successfully completed his Tilling,” Jean-Luc smiled at Theo. “We’ll set up the ceremony to make him a Master once he and your father are back. I know Belize wouldn’t want to miss it.”

Theo’s face lit up into the biggest grin Rogue had ever seen on the quiet man, “Will Etienne be home soon then?”

Jean-Luc snorted softly and shook his head. “Non, it seems he’s asked permission t' head to Barcelona for a few days to wait for Yvonne. He wants t' be there when she completes her Tilling.”

“Gotcha,” Theo nodded, not looking the slightest bit surprised by his younger brother’s change of plans. Rogue smiled to herself.

“Now, onto less pleasant topics.” Jean-Luc turned towards Remy, “Last night, we got news that two Runners were killed in a motel just outside the City. Some of de Runners are blaming the Assassins, saying they are getting revenge for what happened last spring.”

Rogue sat up straighter. The memories of the fight in the cabin and the five lives she had taken that night played in her mind. She could still feel the blood and grit from the outbuilding sticking to her skin and the smell of gunpowder in the air. Rogue swallowed. From the corner of her eye, she could see Remy watching her.

Pull ya self together, Girl, she ordered, focusing her attention on Jean-Luc and not the way her stomach churned.

Remy frowned. “Is there any truth in that?”

“Can’t rule it out without seeing the bodies, but Theo hacked de coroner’s files.  While this was definitely an assassination, some of de markings don’t fit with a professional hit,” Jean-Luc explained.

“So not the Assassins,” Remy replied.

“It’s possible they hired outside their own Guild if they didn’t want to start an all-out war,” Theo suggested.

“When has Julien ever backed down from a fight?” Emil rolled his eyes.

Rogue agreed. If Julien were settling the score, he would be doing so personally, not using a third party to go after whoever had wronged him.  Whatever this was, Rogue seriously doubted that the Assassins were behind it.

You’re learning, fille, Julien chuckled. Besides, I already got my revenge.

Colt’s psyche spat a curse, and Julien sneered back.

Stop it, both of you. Rogue ordered, feeling like a primary school teacher. Besides, Julien, just because you got your revenge doesn’t mean the real Julien feels the same.

Julien’s psyche grumbled and fell silent. He never liked it when she pointed out that his real self still existed outside her own body. Rogue sighed and ignored him. Julien’s psyche might be better behaved these days, but he still had a tendency to pick fights with Colt’s and Remy’s psyches.

“Not sure about pissing Julien off, but Alden’s men were carrying the blueprints for the KV‑71x.” Henri said, then glanced at Jean-Luc, “We got confirmation just before we sat down for dinner.”

Mercy inhaled sharply while Theo and Emil whistled under their breath.  In her head, several other psyches, including Logan and Mystique, were now paying attention to the conversation. Rogue sighed, more annoyed than alarmed. That alone was a bad sign.

“I’m sorry, the what?” she asked when it became clear no one was planning to elaborate.

“The KV‑71x was a gun conceptualized for the military, but it was never put into production once the Press got wind of it,” Remy explained. “It would have been very popular with gangs.”

Still could be, Julien sounded almost giddy inside her head. Anyone with a 3-D printer could modify the gun to expand the magazines or convert the gun from semi-automatic to automatic. There have even been suggestions that the magazine could be removed entirely and refitted to use a fuel source. With the right protective gear, it could function as a close-range flamethrower.

Charming, Rogue sneered.

If that gun does make it to the streets. There’s going to be a lot of innocent bystanders, Colt muttered darkly. Rogue winced.

Her relationship with Colt’s psyche was complicated at best. He had tried to warn her to leave New Orleans, genuinely not wanting to see her get caught up in the Guilds’ web of violence and hate. When she’d interfered with his plans to get revenge against the Guilds for the death of his uncle, they’d ended up fighting to the death, with Rogue using Julien’s psyche to influence her abilities.

Technically, Julien’s psyche had been in control when her finger pulled the trigger, killing Colt, but that didn’t stop Rogue from feeling guilty. Colt’s psyche didn’t have to blame her—she was more than capable of holding her own feet to the fire. Colt preferred to remain at the back of her mind unless he was fighting with Julien. 

He’s not wrong, Chere, Remy murmured. Once this thing hits the streets, it will be in the hands of every wannabe gangster. The blueprints alone will be worth a fortune to anyone on the black market.

“What do you say, Rogue?” Jean-Luc asked.

Rogue jumped. The world around her snapped back into focus. Jean-Luc waited, staring at her expectantly while Remy watched stone-faced.

“Sorry. I missed that. What did ya say?” she asked.

Jean-Luc frowned, eyebrows creasing together in a puzzled look. Rogue thought he wanted to ask her something for a moment, but his face cleared, and a charming grin slid back in its place.  “No worries. I was saying the Thieves have been asked to mediate, and since Remy is back, I want the Thieves to present a united front. You can sit with him if you’d like.”

Rogue cursed herself for getting distracted earlier. She knew her powers could be very useful in the criminal underworld. Of course, Jean-Luc wanted to trot her out as the Thieves Guild’s show pony.

Rogue didn’t have a problem with the Thieves, per se, or at least she liked Remy’s family well enough. That didn’t mean she wanted to get drawn back into the Guilds’ special brand of crazy.

“Um, I have to go into the City tomorrow. I’ve got some errands to run, and I don’t know how long it will take.” Rogue answered, scrambling for a plausible reason to avoid the meeting.

“You’ll be here for several days,” Jean-Luc pointed out.

“Yeah, but at least one of the errands can’t wait,” Rogue replied.

“Rogue doesn’t need to be there. She ain’t Guild.” Remy argued. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a deck of cards and began shuffling them. His movements were a touch too jerky to match the nonchalant tone in his voice. Rogue sighed. Dang it, she didn’t want Remy and Jean-Luc getting into it over her.

Henri must have been thinking the same thing, “Pere, it’s fine. She can come back here and keep Mercy company since she isn’t going.”

He might as well have sucked all the air out of the room with that statement. Mercy slid her eyes towards her husband. “I’m sorry. When did I decide that?”

Henri stared at his wife, mouth opening and closing as his brain fought to catch up with his mouth.

Mercy jerked to her feet, “Well then, I might as well go work on some other things since I’m not needed here.”

“Mercy, mon Amore—”

“Don’t worry, Honey. It’s fine.” Mercy’s smile could have cut glass.  Without another word, she turned on her heel and swanned out the door. The soft click of the door shutting sounded like a gunshot.

Rogue winced.

Remy sighed and turned back to his father, “I’ll be there.”

“Bon.” Jean-Luc nodded. “What about you, Petite?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Rogue muttered, sliding from her seat. “I’m going to go see if there is any coffee left.”

It was a flimsy excuse at best, but that didn’t stop her from making a beeline for the door. Before Jean-Luc could press her again, Remy jumped in, distracting his father by asking if they would be meeting before the Boucherie.  Rogue caught Remy’s red-and-black gaze, sending him a grateful look and slipped out of the office.

Blowing out a breath, Rogue walked down the hallway.  It was too late for coffee, but maybe she could find some tea before bed. Moving into the kitchen, she set to work on fixing a cup of tea. She was pleasantly surprised to find a brand new box of her favorite nighttime tea in the pantry.  She wondered if Remy had told Tante Mattie or if Tante just knew.

Probably the latter.

Dropping the tea bag into the steaming water, Rogue turned to head for the porch…and nearly ran over Mercy. Jerking back, Rogue cursed as hot water sloshed over the rim of the mug, soaking her gloves.

“Désolée.” Mercy apologized, grabbing a rag from the counter. “Sometimes I forget to make noise.”

Rogue snorted, dabbing at her glove with the rag, “I’ll bet.”

“Can I ask a favor?” Mercy pleaded. Rogue raised an eyebrow.

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I need you to go to the Boucherie.”

“Do what now?” Rogue blinked. If this was a joke, she wasn’t laughing.

Leaning a hip against the counter, Mercy chuckled humorlessly and scrubbed her hand over her face. “Henri’s not going to tell me anything, not really. He might give me the bare bones, but he’s worried about me stressing out because of the babies.”

“What about Jean-Luc or Remy?” Rogue asked, frowning. 

Mercy’s mouth twisted, and she shrugged helplessly. “Mais, Pere probably would, but we’re really shorthanded right now, so I doubt he’ll have the time to catch me up. And Remy…I don’t know. He might or he might listen to Henri.  All the hommes are acting like I’m as fragile as spun glass right now. I swear I’m about to unleash a full-blown, honest-to-God reckoning on these fools.”

Against her will, a single snort escaped Rogue before she could smother it.  She’d pay money to watch the blonde woman in front of her dropkick the entire Thieves Guild to Timbuktu.

“I do need to go into the City tomorrow morning,” she argued weakly, even though Rogue already knew it was a lost cause. Mercy was going to get her way, and Rogue would be her eyes and ears. 

Rogue couldn’t imagine what it would be like if Scott and Logan started leaving her out of the loop on missions. Jean had made sure they didn’t. Now, it was her turn to pay it forward.

Mercy started to say something, then stilled. Her eyes darted towards the back stairs that led from the kitchen to the family wing.

The walls have ears, Rogue thought, eyeing the doorway to the stairwell. That’s what Mercy had said during Rogue’s first visit to the Guild Hall.

“That’s fine,” Mercy began again after a moment, waving an airy hand. “You can borrow my car if you need to.”

Rogue nodded in agreement, reaching for her mug. Before her fingers could brush the handle, Mercy caught her in a careful hug, whispering into her ear. “Merci, Sha. I owe ya one.”

Rogue sipped her tea, watching as Mercy headed out the door towards the dining room and foyer with more grace than she could ever hope to have.  A mental image of Mercy doing a full Olympic-style balance beam routine, nine-month pregnant belly and all, sprang to mind. Rogue choked.

Moving out onto the porch, Rogue inhaled the smell of the Bayou. In the distance, the breeze picked up, rustling the leaves in the trees.  It was still nice in the evenings this far South, but Fall was definitely on its way.

Behind her, a door opened.

“Chere,” Remy greeted.

“Hey, Swamp Rat.”

“Ya end up getting coffee?”

“Nah, it's too late even for me. I got some tea instead.”

“Chere, I…” Remy sighed and leaned against one of the columns on the porch, “Désolé. I didn’t know what was going on down here. Henri says they just got de news last night and only confirmed de meeting this morning.”

“It’s fine,” Rogue said gently, waving off the apology. She wasn’t about to blame Remy for this. As far as she could tell, the Runners had gotten greedy.  Besides, she was starting to think the Guilds just enjoyed fussing at each other.

“You don’t have t’ go,” Remy replied firmly. “I’ll tell Jean-Luc as much.”

Rogue smiled at the conviction in Remy’s voice before sobering. Now that she’d promised Mercy to be her eyes and ears, she needed to keep Remy from turning this into a fight with Jean-Luc. Stepping closer, she reached out and lightly placed a gloved hand on Remy’s arm. Remy’s eyes darted towards it, but he didn’t move.

Wonder if he’s afraid I’ll spook like a cat. Rogue mused.

“It’s fine, Sugah.” Rogue smiled. “I’m gonna go.”

“Pardon.”

“Your Daddy just caught me off guard, is all,” Rogue explained lightly. Remy’s eyes narrowed at her, and Rogue resisted the urge to shift on her feet.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Rogue nodded firmly and looked out at the dark yard. “So…you’re gonna be an uncle. That’s exciting.”

“Ouias, I’m happy for them. They both wanted t’ be parents for a while now. Mercy’s gonna be a great mama,” Remy smiled. “Henri’s gonna be a total pushover, though.”

“He’ll be great. You’ll be a great Uncle, too. Kids love ya,” Rogue replied absently. 

Beside her, Remy continued to ramble about all the toys he wanted to buy for the twins. Rogue nodded along, fiddling with her mug, as she replayed her conversation with the Professor. There wasn’t anyone around. Now would be the perfect time to ask.

“Chere? Ya with me, Girl,” Remy eyed her.

“Oh yeah, I was just thinking about something the Professor said,” Rogue winced as the last part came out more like a question. Remy reached for her hand, gently threading his fingers through hers.

“Mais ouias? What’s that?”

Rogue stared up at him. Half his face lit from the lights shining through the French doors, throwing shadows over his impossibly high cheekbones. In the darkness, an owl hooted quietly. She should speak. She’d just open her mouth and ask him to help with her powers. Hesitation seized her. But they were friends now. Things were good. Did she really want to risk it?

Rogue swallowed hard, her eyes dropping to her mug. Turning away, she looked at the woods, “Nothing, Sugah. It’s fine.”

Remy took a step closer, “Rogue, listen—”

“Huh, look who it is. The prodigal son returns…again.” A voice called from the far end of the porch. Rogue looked over her shoulder and groaned.

Emeric.

Rogue pursed her lips. She’d had the dubious opportunity to meet the arrogant thief last time she was in New Orleans. He was cocky, rude, and, according to Etienne, one of the best thieves in the Guild.  He also had a tendency to stir up trouble and badmouth the LeBeaus.

Rogue hated him.

“Ah, Princesse. It’s good to see you again. Nice of you to let Remy come home to visit his family,” Emeric smirked, stopping a few paces away with a small group of thieves.

Rogue’s fingers tightened around the handle of her mug. She inhaled deeply and blew it out through her nose. Emeric wasn’t worth her time. He was just being petty. She’d only be giving him what he wanted if she let him get under her skin. 

Emeric’s eyes slid down to her gloves. “I see you two are still hands-off.”

Screw it. She was going to scratch his eyes out.

“Evenin’, mon ami. Heading out to the City I see. Ya got de youngin’s tonight?” Remy asked conversationally. The smirk disappeared from Emeric’s face.

Rogue pressed her lips together.

Emeric had gotten a bit too big for his britches during the last Boucherie, and Jean-Luc had downgraded him from running heists to babysitting the Guild’s pickpockets.

“Non, they got the evening off,” Emeric bit out.

“Ah, well, we won’t keep ya then. You hommes enjoy your evening.” Remy grinned. Emeric glared and turned on his heels, his toadies falling in line behind him. Rogue blew out a breath and glared down at her gloves, trying to ignore the guilt curling up in her stomach.

“Glad to see somethings never change, hien?” Remy said. Rogue smiled weakly.

“Remy, I…Look Sug’ I know that things…that is, we haven’t.” Rogue swallowed thickly as her throat closed up, cutting off her words.

“Mais, hush now.” Remy stepped closer, fingers reaching up to tuck one of her white streaks behind an ear. “Any good thief knows that ya need patience when it’s a prize worth having.”

Despite herself, Rogue snorted as the tension loosened in her chest. Somehow, he always knew exactly what to say to smooth down any of her ruffled feathers.

Popping a fist on her hip, Rogue shot him a saucy look, “I ain’t nobody’s prize, Swamp Rat.”

XOXOXOXOX

We Did It, mon Amore

We never got to see Mercy or Henri in X-Men Evolution, though they must have been around because Julien was still alive. I thought I would try my hand at their design. Also, I reject the idea that Henri is bald when every version of Jean-Luc shows him with a full head of hair.

Chapter Text

Golden light filtered around the edges of the curtains as Rogue cracked her eyes open. Grabbing her phone from the nightstand, Rogue squinted at the clock on the screen. It was still reasonably early in the morning despite her sleeping in—the one good thing about the time change from New York to Louisiana.

Moving around the room, which Mercy had informed her last night was now permanently referred to as her room, Rogue tossed on some yoga pants and snatched up Remy’s red-and-black flannel, pulling it over her tank top. She’d get it back to him at some point. She had only been borrowing it for—Rogue mentally counted—seven weeks now.

Stepping into the hallways, she followed the promising smell of coffee to the kitchen. Jean-Luc sat at the table with the newspaper spread out before him, chatting with Tante, who leaned against the counter with a coffee cup in hand. They both smiled as she entered.

“Morning, Honey.”

“Mornin’, Petite.”

“Good morning,” Rogue managed around a yawn. Shuffling over to the cabinet, she pulled down a coffee mug with an alligator on the side and the words, ‘Caution. I bite.’

“You want some cream with that?” Tante asked, moving towards the fridge as Rogue dumped coffee and sugar into the mug.

“Yes, please,” Rogue answered, taking the cream from Tante and pouring an unhealthy amount into her cup. Stirring her coffee, she slumped into the chair across from Jean-Luc.

“How’d ya sleep?” Jean-Luc asked.

“Pretty good,” Rogue answered before doing a double-take, “Where’s Remy?”

“He and Henri are in my office discussing some details for de Boucherie. We had t’ make a few last-minute changes. Plus, Remy wanted t’ get caught up on de Tilling since he trained most of de Apprentices before he went North.” Jean-Luc closed the paper, his face turning sheepish. “Listen, Rogue, I realize I was pushing you hard last night. I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s all right, Jean-Luc. You just caught me off guard.”

Jean-Luc’s face shifted again, a boyish grin now in place, and he shook his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“That my powers make me very powerful in the criminal underground, and it’s a boost for the Thieves Guild to have me sitting by your side during these kinds of things,” Rogue offered dryly. Tante Mattie laughed behind the rim of her coffee mug.

Jean-Luc winced, but his smile remained. “Mais, when ya put it like that, it sounds positively Machiavellian.”

“It was Machiavellian,” Rogue replied, taking a sip of coffee. “Just without the subtlety.”

“She’s got you there, Jean-Luc.” Tante pointed out, beaming at Rogue.

“Oui, I suppose that’s one way to put it.” Jean-Luc laughed. “Though I wouldn’t suggest that’s the only reason I want to see you sitting on the Thieves Guild side.”

Rogue chose to ignore the subtext of that comment and changed the subject, “Well, if Remy didn’t tell ya already, I thought some more about it, and I’ll be there. Though if it’s all the same, I’d prefer to stay out of the spotlight.”

“We can make that work,” Jean-Luc nodded, looking pleased as punch, “You can grab a seat with Emil and Theo. They’ll be off t’ de side.”

Rogue murmured her agreement. Ideally, she’d like to stay out of the spotlight entirely. Though she doubted Jean-Luc would allow her to. At least visiting Madame LaCour this morning would give her an excuse to get out of the house and away from Jean-Luc’s scheming.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Jean-Luc asked, face carefully blank.

“I was just thinking about the day. Like I said, I do need to head into the City this morning. Mercy told me last night I could use her car.” Rogue replied, not bothering to try and lie. After Remy returned to Bayville, she learned quickly that the Swamp Rat could tell any time she spun him a yarn.

Rogue had no doubt that Jean-Luc was the same. Best to stick as close to the truth as possible.

“Mercy’s up at de Training Hall this morning,” Jean-Luc answered, picking up his paper again. Under his breath, he muttered, “With about a dozen nervous nellies.”

Rogue raised an eyebrow in askance, but neither Tante nor Jean-Luc seemed inclined to explain further. Standing up, Rogue took her mug to the sink and washed it before heading upstairs to get changed.

She might as well get a workout in this morning.

Stepping into the Training Hall, Rogue wasn’t surprised to see how many people were already there. But she was surprised to see that most of them were standing around in small groups, talking in low voices rather than actually training.

Rogue raised an eyebrow. This is new.

Following the room’s collective gaze, she caught sight of Mercy on a treadmill, glaring at the display like it had personally offended her.

Well, that’s not a good sign, Logan muttered. Alright, Stripes. Nice and slow. Keep your steps deliberate, hands loose. Look for any possible triggers.

She’s pregnant, Logan. Not a bomb. Rogue rolled her eyes.

Moving to take the treadmill beside her, Rogue nodded in greeting. “Morning, Sug’”

“Morning, Sha.”

“How’s it going?”

“Every day’s a dream,” Mercy bit out.

Not knowing what else to say, Rogue began her warm-up, setting the treadmill for a slow jog. Beside her, Mercy bumped up the speed slightly to jog alongside her. Rogue felt more than heard the room suck in a breath, and several men twitched like they were going to intervene. Mercy let out a slow, murderous exhale.

Rogue’s eyes darted between the female Master Thief beside her and the other Thieves.

Hoo-boy. If she had to guess, Mercy was one unsolicited comment away from beating Julien’s high score and doing the Assassins Guild proud.

Cutting off her treadmill, Rogue turned to the blonde woman beside her, “Hey, Mercy. Do you wanna come to the City with me? If we leave now, I’ll have time to double back and drop ya off or catch a ride with Remy.”

“Oh my god, yes.” Mercy exclaimed and jabbed the button on the display, cutting off the treadmill, “Just let me grab my jacket.”

Rogue hopped off the treadmill, falling in step with Mercy as she moved toward the women’s locker room. Around the room, the men shifted to follow.

“Ah-ah!” Rogue whipped around to face the men, ripping off her glove, “I will drop whoever Mercy tells me to into a coma for the next three hours. Not one of ya’ll need to be in the women’s locker room. Now go on! Get!”

The men froze, trying to determine if she was bluffing or not. Rogue narrowed her eyes and wiggled her fingers. Realizing she was serious, the men shuffled off towards the gym. Rogue watched them go, making sure they actually went back to minding their own business.

“You are my new favorite person,” Mercy laughed as the men retreated.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Rogue smirked.

Leaning back against the leather seats of Mercy’s sedan, Rogue snickered at the sight of the blonde woman, all but bouncing in the driver’s seat beside her. Yep, she had definitely made the right call inviting Mercy to come with her.

They’d gotten changed and snuck down the back stairs—or, rather, Mercy had snuck. Rogue had just tried not to make too much noise—only to run into Tante. Mercy offered the older woman her best Southern Belle smile before telling Tante they were heading into the City and asking her to give Henri a heads-up. Tante had given them a wry look before promising to mention it to Henri when she saw him.

Rogue was certain that Tante was planning on not seeing Henri for at least a few hours.

“I feel like I can breathe again.” Mercy sighed, rolling down the window.

“So, how long has all of that nonsense been going on?” Rogue asked.

Mercy groaned and shook her head, “Since I took the test after I missed my period. I love Henri, I do. But the boy is drivin’ me up the walls.”

“Did he tell the others to watch over you like that?”

“Non. Henri and I never told anyone other than the family, but nothing stays secret in the Guild Hall. It’s just frustrating, ya know. I’m not being stupid. I cut out the sparring and all the balance training where I could have any type of fall. But the hommes are still watching me like I’m gonna drop any minute. It’s driving me crazy.” Mercy sighed.

“I can imagine,” Rogue muttered. “Have ya talked to Henri about it? I get he’s probably nervous about becoming a father, but all this stress can’t be good for you.”

Mercy stayed silent as she directed the car to the on-ramp that would take them into the City. The sound of the blinker echoed through the car. Rogue shifted, the leather of her seat creaking underneath her.

“Sug’?”

“I know. He and I need to have a talk.” Mercy sighed. “It’s just…we’ve been trying for a while, like almost three years now. The doctors didn’t think I’d be able to get pregnant, so if something does happen, we might not get another chance.”

Rogue nodded sympathetically. “That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Yeah, and on top of that, we were so focused on getting pregnant that we never discussed what would happen afterward.” Mercy added.

“I’m not following.”

“I’m the first female Master Thief ever in the Guild. Henri’s mama and grandmama weren’t Masters in their own right—though Rochelle LeBeau, Henri’s Grandma, might as well have been. But they never went back into the field after they had kids.” Mercy explained.

“I doubt Henri is going to forbid you from doing heists.”

“Non, not forbid. But what if he expects me to? Or, what if I can’t return to the field anyway?” Mercy asked as they crossed the Cresent City Bridge, taking the off-ramp towards Canal Street. Rogue opened her mouth to answer, but Mercy rolled on.

“I’m scared, Sha. Thieves have to have perfect control over their bodies. What if I can’t be a Thief anymore after I give birth? I want these babies. Dieu, we’ve been trying forever, but I didn’t...I never expected to feel so trapped. By the Guild. By my body.”

Mercy pulled the car into a parking spot just off Canal Street and cut the engine. Rogue unclipped her seatbelt and turned to face the slumped woman in the driver’s seat.

“Sugah, listen to me. Before Remy brought me down here to help rescue Jean-Luc, I lost control of my powers. Afterward, I couldn’t swing a dead cat without hitting three people trying to keep an eye on me. It’ll drive ya crazy. I was so worried about when I would lose control next that I started to obsess over it.”

Carefully, Rogue reached over and squeezed Mercy’s hand. “The thing is, you can’t solve problems that don’t exist yet. You can only fix the ones right here, right now.”

Mercy’s fingers tightened around Rogue’s.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” she nodded thoughtfully. Mercy’s eyes lit up, and she shot Rogue a smirk, “Care to share how you got rid of the busybodies, though?”

“Half of them I threatened to drop into a coma, and the other half, Jean, ran interference for me. She’s all about women supporting women,” Rogue smirked back. Mercy laughed and opened her door, getting out.

“You think she’d like to take a trip down here?” Mercy asked, linking her arm through Rogue’s, “You should bring Kitty down, too.”

“Oh, hell no. You and Kitty will never meet. My closet won’t survive it,” Rogue shook her head. “Besides, if Kitty and Theo ever teamed up, they’re gonna be the bane of every alphabet agency in the United States.”

As they approached, the neon sign was lit in Madame LaCour’s shop window. Rogue noticed someone had added a fresh coat of paint over the aging wood. Pushing the door open, a little bell chimed their entrance.

“You know Madame LaCour’s family used to be part of the High Court, right?” Mercy asked quietly.

“Mm-hmm,” Rogue hummed, looking around the shop. The space was still crammed full of knick-knacks and books. The shelves along the walls bowed under the weight of crystals, talismans, and good luck charms. The smell of clove and lavender hung in the air.

A black cat sat by the register on the counter. Pausing in its grooming, it stared at them with amber eyes before hopping down and disappearing behind the heavy curtain that separated the shop's backroom from the front.

Rogue wondered if the cat was going in search of its mistress or if it was just being a cat.

The curtain rustled, moving aside. Madame LaCour stepped into her shop, ice-blue eyes locking on Rogue immediately. Rogue’s jaw tightened at the sight of that unblinking, cat-stalking-a-bird stare. Taking a slow breath, Rogue fought back against the unease sliding up her spine and studied the tarot reader.

Madame LaCour looked the same as the last time Rogue saw her. All sharp features and sharper looks. She still wore the same dark clothes and high heels that could double as weapons. In her hands, she carried a small leather-bound book.

“Welcome back, Dearie. Can I assume you received my letter?” The older woman asked. She stepped behind the counter and placed the leather book in a drawer, locking it.

Rogue considered pointing out the futility of the action with a Master Thief present but decided against it. It wouldn’t win her any favors to go around being petty.

Stepping around the counter, the older woman greeted Mercy, “Madame LeBeau, how nice of you to visit my shop.”

“Madame LaCour,” Mercy replied politely. “Thank you. It’s a long overdue visit.”

Rogue watched as the same mask of civility Jean-Luc always wore slipped over Mercy’s features.

There was a flicker in Madame LaCour’s eyes, and her mouth curled up at the corner ever so slightly. Rogue glanced between the two women. It was like watching two fencers testing each other’s skills.

Satisfied, Madame LaCour swung her gaze back towards Rogue. “How have you been, Dearie? We didn’t get to speak before you left last time. You had quite the ordeal, I believe.”

Rogue stiffened. It was a thought that had crossed her mind more than once after returning home. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Madame LaCour had known more than she’d let on the last time they spoke.

Falling back on well-learned manners, Rogue managed to keep most of the irritation out of her voice, “I’ve been well.”

The older woman smiled thinly and waved a hand at a low table surrounded by several chairs. “Would you care to join me?”

“Are you doing readings today?” Mercy asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“I am.” Madame LaCour acquiesced, taking a seat in her high-back chair. She looked every inch a dark queen.

“I’ll do one.” Mercy moved towards one of the secondary seats.

“You believe in this stuff?” Rogue scoffed.

Ice blue eyes were on her in an instant. Rogue flinched. That probably wasn’t very polite.

“Mais, Tante can read cards,” Mercy defended.

“Yes,” Madame LaCour replied dryly, her hands shuffling the cards without looking. “The High Court has always had at least one card reader.”

Rogue’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. Colt had mentioned that Madame LaCour’s family was once part of the High Court but her family had lost their status for some reason. Something that displeased Madame LaCour to no end. Did she blame Tante Mattie?

“What do you wish to ask the cards?” Madame LaCour turned to Mercy, cards still rustling in her hands.

“Challenge and Solution.” Mercy rattled off immediately.

Rogue frowned in confusion. What in the world?

She means what challenge she is facing and what is the solution, Julien explained.

Madame LaCour nodded and fanned the cards face down on the table before Mercy. “Draw your cards. Try not to think too hard.”

Mercy’s hand hovered over the cards. Hesitating for a moment, Mercy selected a card slightly left of the center before rapidly moving to pull a second card from the far left.

With the two cards turned upright on the table, Rogue leaned forward, trying to get a better look.

“The reversed Seven of Cups,” Madame LaCour noted, pointing to the first card with seven gold cups overflowing with different symbols. “This often appears when you have an abundance of choices, but it’s worth noting that not all the choices are gifts. Some are curses.”

Rogue glanced down at the card again. Several cups contained images of jewels, crowns, and castles, but some others had demons and snakes.

“When the Seven of Cups is in the reversed position, it warns we must base our choices on what we value, not what is expected of us. You’ll need to decide for yourself if these choices are distractions or opportunities. On the other hand, the Two of Swords,” Madame pointed to the second card with a blindfolded woman holding a sword in each hand, “represents challenging decisions that can appear to be equally good or bad. The blindfolded woman is symbolic that she may not have enough information to make a choice or that she has been putting off making a choice.”

Madame LaCour stared down at the cards and then looked at Mercy. “It would seem you have many choices ahead of you. You’ll need to weigh them carefully before you make a decision.”

“If I make a choice, can it be undone?” Mercy asked.

“There are few choices that cannot be undone, but I would guess each choice you make will come with its own opportunities and challenges until you are so far down the road it will be hard to return to the starting point.” Madame LaCour leaned back in her chair and tilted her head in consideration. “Be careful what you do as a temporary measure. You may live with it the rest of your life.”

The skin on the back of Rogue’s neck prickled. Reaching up, Rogue scrubbed a hand roughly over the spot. This was stupid. People faced hard decisions all the time. It was practically a guarantee. Rogue glanced at Mercy, trying to catch her eye, but the blonde woman didn’t notice, still mulling over Madame’s words.

Gathering back up her cards again, Madame LaCour began to shuffle.

“What about you, Dearie?” she asked. “Or are you still set on living in the moment?”

Rogue glanced away to stare at a shelf full of crystals. Mercy didn’t seem put off by Madame LaCour. Why did the woman make her feel like she had spiders crawling all over her? Rogue’s jaw ticked. All she’d wanted to do was come here and pick up whatever Irene had left for her. But it looked like she would have to jump through Madame LaCour’s hoops first.

Rogue sighed heavily. “Sure. Why not?”

Madame LaCour gestured for her to sit, and Rogue moved to do as she was bid, sitting next to Mercy. As the older woman continued to shuffle the cards, Rogue shifted on the tiny seat. She wondered if Madame LaCour purposefully selected lower chairs for her guests so they had to look up at her.

“What do you wish to know?” Madame asked.

Not knowing what else to say, Rogue repeated Mercy’s answer, “Challenge and Solution.”

Madame nodded and fanned the cards across the table, “Draw your cards.”

Rogue stared at the cards, waiting for something to happen—maybe feel something—but all she felt was ridiculous. Madame LaCour and Mercy stared at her silently, waiting for her to choose. Rogue’s jaw clenched.

Of all the dumb ideas.

Snatching up two cards from the right-hand side of the fan, Rogue slapped them down onto the table face up. Her face burned as she propped her chin on her fist, not making eye contact.

If the two women thought anything of her little hissy fit, at least they kept their thoughts to themselves. Instead, Madame gazed at the cards.

“Interesting. The Magician and the Fool. That’s quite a powerful draw.”

Mercy made a sound of agreement.

Rogue blinked in surprise, then glanced down at the cards. Frowning, she tried to see if she could make out what they were seeing. She might as well have been trying to read ancient Hebrew.

“Huh?” Rogue asked.

“You pulled two cards from the Major Arcana,” Madame answered. At Rogue’s blank stare, the older woman continued, “The Major Arcana represents the life lessons we must learn, while the Minor Arcana represents the daily challenges we may face along the way.”

“Okay,” Rogue said slowly, drawing out the word. 

Madame LaCour tapped a lacquered fingernail against the first card, displaying the image of a man in a robe holding a candle aloft. “The card you pulled as your challenge is the Magician in the reverse position. This suggests that you have many skills and talents yet to learn in order for your real potential to be realized.”

Madame paused, turning to the next card. The card showed a young man with a knapsack over his shoulder and a little white dog by his feet. “When asking what the solution is, you drew the Fool. The Fool represents new journeys or taking a leap of faith. The white dog that travels with the Fool often represents the importance of having someone you trust beside you to help you along the way.”

“It would seem you have a great many things you need to learn in order to reach your potential. You’ll need to embrace change to do so.” Madame finished, eyes nailing Rogue to her seat. Rogue opened her mouth to say something, only to find that her mouth had gone dry.

Ringing shattered the silence.

Mercy muttered an apology and dove for her purse. Pulling out her phone, she glanced at the screen before looking at Rogue, “It’s Pere. Um, I’m gonna take this outside. Keep talking. I’ll be right back.”

Mercy stood from her seat, pressing the answer button. As she stepped through the door, the little bell jingled.

Madame LaCour watched in silence until the door clicked shut behind Mercy. Rising from her chair, she moved gracefully around the counter.

“Now that we’re alone,” she said, “I have something for you.”

Returning to her seat, Madame LaCour slid a small velvet box across the table. “Irene left this with me before she died. She was very specific—it wasn’t to be given to you until your third visit to the City.”

Rogue slid a gloved finger under the box’s lid and flipped it open with the caution usually reserved for bomb disposal.

The earrings inside were so loud they practically screamed in her face. Enormous, glittering, and shaped like golden peacocks, their tails encrusted with an explosion of sapphires and emeralds.

They looked like something a Vegas showgirl might wear into battle.

Rogue inhaled. “Wow,” she managed. “That’s...a statement.”

Madam LaCour snorted airily. “I believe that’s the polite way of saying ‘horrifying,’ isn’t it?”

“Your words, not mine,” Rogue replied, reaching to shut the lid—then paused.

Something thin and cream-colored caught the light beneath the earrings. She tilted the box slightly, lifting the jewelry just enough to fish out a slip of folded paper. It was barely the size of a matchbook, aged at the edges.

She unfolded it slowly. Just two words, scrawled in Irene’s unmistakable handwriting.

‘Trust him’

Rogue’s stomach swooped, her mouth going dry.

She stared at the note for a beat longer before quietly folding it back up and slipping it into the box. Snapping the lid shut, she cleared her throat. “Did she say why she wanted you to give them to me?”

“No, she was rather vague on the details.”

“Sounds about right,” Rogue muttered. “Last time I was here, you said you knew Irene. How did you meet her?”

“She found me, actually. She’d seen my future in one of her visions and came to speak to me.”

That didn’t make any sense. Wasn’t that the whole point of tarot cards? “Why couldn’t you just read your own future?” Rogue asked.

“Oftentimes, it is difficult to see ourselves clearly.” The woman gave Rogue a pointed look.

“Pfft. That’s the story of my life. I don’t need a card to tell me that,” Rogue scoffed, rising to her feet. Madame LaCour watched her, eyes unblinking.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” the older woman asked finally.

“I don’t believe in prophecy. Period,” Rogue huffed and crossed her arms, glancing around the shop.

“That’s interesting, given your upbringing.” The older woman noted, shifting back in her chair. Rogue froze. Turning to look at the dark-haired woman, Rogue narrowed her eyes.

“So she just came to see you out of the blue?” Rogue asked. She didn’t buy that for a minute. “Irene hated fortune tellers.”

Madame LaCour shifted to sit up straighter. Somehow managing to stare down her nose, despite still being seated. “Irene hated frauds,” she stated coldly. “Which I am not.”

Rogue looked away, unable to hold the woman’s stare. Reaching for a necklace on the counter, Rogue toyed with the accessory, letting the wooden beads run through her fingers. “I thought you said you and Irene didn’t see eye-to-eye.”

“Yes, but I never said that had anything to do with tarot, now did I?” Madame LaCour raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

Rogue opened her mouth, only to stop. Madame LaCour was right. She hadn’t said one damn thing about tarot cards. She’d just let Rogue jump to her own conclusions and hadn’t bothered to correct them.

Rogue studied the woman in front of her carefully. “You’re not Mystique, right?”

Madame LaCour stared at her, stunned, before tossing her head back with a laugh. Her whole face lit up as her shoulders shook. Rogue blinked.

She really is beautiful when she isn’t looking at ya like you smell bad, Rogue thought.

Getting herself under control, Madame LaCour waved a dismissive hand, “No, Dearie. Definitely not. Though I met your mother once and can understand your concerns.”

Rogue’s shoulders relaxed slightly. At least she didn’t need to worry about Mystique trying to shapeshift back into her life. Glancing at the door, she decided it was time to make her escape before Mercy wanted to come back in and prolong their stay, “Well, let me get out of your way. I’m sure you got things to do.”

Not waiting for the older woman’s response, Rogue moved towards the door, Madame LaCour’s eyes burning into the back of her skull the whole way.

Her fingers curled around the crystal doorknob—

“Before you go,” Madame LaCour called, “Do you remember what cards I pulled for you the last time you were in my shop? They were also part of the Major Arcana.”

Rogue didn’t turn.

“Can’t say that I do,” She gritted out and shoved through the door.

Stepping onto the street, Rogue could still hear Madame LaCour’s words ringing in her ears. Scrubbing a hand over her face, Rogue looked up at the sky, letting the warmth of the midday sun help to burn off the sudden chill clinging to her.

The problem was that she did remember the cards. The Tower and the High Priestess. A warning of inescapable events and trusting your instincts over conventional wisdom.

“That was Pere,” Mercy announced, ending her call. “The Boucherie has been moved up to this afternoon. He wants to know how fast you can make it to Royal Street.”

Chapter Text

Rogue stared out the windshield as Mercy wound her car across the French Quarter towards Royal Street. Rogue had a sinking feeling that Henri was going to blow a gasket when he saw his pregnant wife show up at the Boucherie.

She also had a feeling it wasn’t a coincidence that the Boucherie had been moved up while she and Mercy had been out of the house.  Hadn’t Jean-Luc said in the kitchen this morning that there had been some last-minute changes?

He sent me to the Training Hall, too. Rogue’s eyes widened. I bet he knew I’d see how the others treated Mercy and offer to let her come with me.

Rogue scowled. Damn that man. He was always three steps ahead of everyone.

Might not just be him, muttered Logan.

Rogue slid her eyes toward the woman in the driver’s seat.  Hadn’t Mercy been the one to tell her that the walls of the Guild Hall have ears? Someone had been on the stairs last night. Rogue was sure of it. But that didn’t stop Mercy from pleading her case for Rogue to go to the Boucherie in her stead.

“Mercy,” Rogue asked slowly, “who was on the stairs last night?”

“Not sure,” Mercy answered, keeping her eyes on the road.

Every lie is based in truth, noted Remy.

“Who do you think it was?” Rogue rephrased the question, watching Mercy carefully. According to Remy, Mercy’s specialty was body language. Mercy brought the car to a stop at a red light and looked at her.

“It could’ve been anyone. Tante. One of the hommes. An Apprentice—”

“Jean-Luc?”

“Maybe,” Mercy glanced away. To anyone else, it would have looked like she was just checking to see if the light had changed. Rogue knew better.

“Goddamint. Are you serious?”

“Désolée. It’s just...I haven’t been out of the house in weeks.”

Rogue pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose and counted to ten. She understood. She really did. But still— this? “Dang it, Mercy, I told you I don’t like getting involved with folks’ marriage issues.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” Mercy apologized again, pulling the car onto Royal Street. 

Up ahead, Rogue could see the awning advertising the Pawn Shop. Too late to do anything now. It looked like Jean-Luc was gonna get his full showing from the Thieves Guild after all.  Grimly, Rogue wondered how unified it would end up being.

The vehicle had barely come to a complete stop before Mercy slid out of the car with a determined expression. Rogue cursed under her breath. Yanking off her seatbelt, she scurried after Mercy, already regretting every second of this decision.

By the time they entered the Pawn Shop, it was a miracle that Rogue hadn’t torn a hole in her gloves the way she was fiddling with them. The little old shopkeeper in bespeckled glasses looked up from behind the counter as they entered. Seeing Mercy, he gave her a warm smile and nodded towards the door behind the counter.

Descending the rough wooden steps to the basement, Rogue sucked in one final breath trying to steady her nerves. Henri was seated on one of four long couches, flanked by Jean-Luc and Remy. He looked up—and froze. His entire body going rigid as Mercy stepped into view behind her.

Beside him, Jean-Luc looked positively smug. Like a cat who'd not only caught the canary but had arranged for the bird to fly into his mouth.

“Mon Amour, what are you doing here?” Henri stood so fast that the couch scraped against the stone floor. Not waiting for Mercy's response, Henri’s snapped toward Rogue, “Why’d you bring her here?”

“I—no—I mean—” Rogue stammered, caught off guard.

“Rogue and I went out this morning. We were still running errands when we got the news that the time had been changed.” Mercy explained, bringing her husband’s attention back to her.

Henri’s jaw ticked. Rogue doubted Henri had bought that yarn his wife had just spun for a minute.

“Why don’t you go relax at de coffee shop around de corner,” Henri suggested.

“Nonsense, she’s already here,” Jean-Luc said, gesturing lazily as he stood up. Remy sat forward slightly, tension in his frame.

“I already told you I didn’t want her anywhere near this,” Henri said through gritted teeth.

“Henri—” Remy tried.

“Don’t start with me, Remy,” Henri snapped, not taking his eyes off his father. “What de hell were you thinkin’, Pere?”

“I have just as much right to be here as you, Henri.” Mercy glared at her husband.

Rogue rubbed the back of her neck. Henri looked torn between outright fury at his father and frustration with his wife. And that was to say, nothing of the irritated looks he kept shooting towards her.

Rogue crossed her arms and glanced away. On the couch, Mercy’s purse sat unattended. Rogue pressed her lips together, weighing the odds she’d be able to grab Mercy’s keys and get the hell out of dodge without anyone noticing. After all, if Mercy was determined to join the Boucherie, then there was no reason for her to stick around.

“Glad to see you’re still bringing the LeBeaus together, and so publicly, too.” A voice snickered.

Rogue’s fingers clenched, the leather of her gloves creaking. Maybe if she closed her eyes, he’d just go crawl back under a rock.

“Emeric.” She bit out. “What are you doing here?”

“Jean-Luc requested I be here,” he said, all mock-innocent snark. “And who am I to say ‘no’ to the Guildmaster?”

He stepped beside her, surveying the room like a man at the theater. “Got to say I’m impressed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Henri go after Jean-Luc in public. Even Remy looks worried. That’s a first.”

Rogue followed Emeric’s gaze. Sure enough, Remy’s face was smooth, but there was a tightness at the corners of his eyes as he glanced between his brother and father.

Overhead, the pawn shop’s door chimed, followed by a procession of footsteps echoing from the floor above.

Rogue inhaled sharply.

Shit. The Assassins and Runners were here.

Glancing back at the LeBeaus, Henri appeared to be seconds away from cussing Jean-Luc to hell and back. That or tossing Mercy over his shoulder and hightailing it out the door. On the other hand, Mercy was shooting her husband a death glare, all but daring him to try it.

Rogue bit her lip. Whether she agreed with Jean-Luc’s methods or not, she doubted it was a good idea for the Runners and the Assassins to see the Heir of the Thieves Guild arguing with his wife and the Guildmaster.

Hell, it didn’t seem like a good idea for Emeric and his little buddies to be watching this. More than once, Emeric had told folks she would drive a wedge between the LeBeaus.  Catching sight of the smirking thief beside her, Rogue could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

Well, I am supposed to be the show pony, Rogue grumbled. She just prayed that Jean-Luc had acted like himself for once and kept her attendance a secret from the other Guilds.

“Jean-Luc? What is the name of Alden’s new second-in-command?” Rogue asked, drawing the room’s attention away from Mercy and Henri.

Jean-Luc blinked, momentarily disarmed. “Louis.”

“I don’t suppose you could do the introductions?” Rogue asked, pulling out her best genteel manners. Honestly, she didn’t care one wit about being introduced to Alden’s second-in-command, but at least that would buy Henri a few moments to pull himself together.

Jean-Luc smiled as Remy frowned. Rogue rolled her eyes. One ticked-off Thief at a time. 

Placing a hand lightly on the back of her arm, Jean-Luc directed Rogue towards the two groups entering the room. “Bonjour, mes amies. Welcome.” Jean-Luc greeted. “Before we get started, ya’ll remember Rogue?”

“Oh, yes. It’s wonderful to see you again, my Dear.” Alden smiled and gestured towards the man beside him. “Might I introduce Louis Meyer, my second-in-command?”

Rogue greeted Louis, and the man offered his own greeting in return. Meanwhile, everyone politely ignored the elephant in the room, that Louis was only the Runners’ second-in-command because Rogue had killed the man’s predecessor.

God bless Southern manners. Rogue thought dryly. A bullet to the head, a smile at the table. Onward they went.

Turning to the Assassins Guild, she nodded politely. “Mr. Boudreaux, Julien, it’s nice to see ya both again.”

“Welcome back to New Orleans,” Marius replied, his gaze piercing. “What are you doing here?”

“Complimenting the interior design, I believe.” She gave the King of Assassins a bland look, not bothering to try and copy Jean-Luc’s mask of politeness. Everyone already knew why Jean-Luc had dragged her here anyway.

Julien snorted. Moving forward, he bent low over her hand and kissed the back of her glove. “Welcome back, mon Ange. It’s wonderful to see you back in our City again. Have you gotten tired of LeBeau yet?”

Rogue smiled thinly. “Can’t say that I have.”

“Have you given my offer any thought?”

“Must have slipped my mind.”

Julien’s smirk widened. “I’ll have to make a more memorable one, then. Maybe over dinner?”

“Oh, Julien,” Rogue replied through gritted teeth as she tugged her hand out of his grasp. “You haven’t changed a bit, I see.”

Rogue could’ve sworn she heard Remy’s neck snap from how fast he whipped around, cutting off his hushed conversation with Henri to zero in on her and Julien. Rogue inhaled deeply, counting to ten. If she didn’t kill everyone in this room in the next five minutes, it was going to be a damn miracle.

“Julien,” Marius warned.

Remy slipped silently into the space beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. Glancing up, Rogue immediately stifled a groan. The Cajun’s eyes burned like wildfire.

 Julien, naturally, looked delighted. He lived to get under Remy’s skin, and it seemed she was his new favorite means of doing so.

Glad to see we’re off to a banner start, Rogue thought grimly.

“If everyone can have a seat, we should get started,” Jean-Luc announced, bringing the room’s attention back to the situation at hand.  Rogue crossed the room to where Theo and Emil sat, pausing just long enough to squeeze Remy’s hand. His red eyes snapped to hers, and she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. He needed to get his head back in the game.

As the meeting started, the pomp and circumstance of the Guilds were on full display.

The room held four sofas facing each other over a low central table.  Last time she had been here, the Thieves and the Assassins sat facing each other with the High Court and Runners Guilds acting as buffers.  The Thieves were positioned in the middle this time, with the Assassins and Runners facing each other.

Like chessboard pieces, Jean-Luc sat with Henri on his right and Remy on his left.  Mercy took the seat on the far side of Henri. The spot next to Remy was left conspicuously open. 

It didn’t escape Rogue’s notice that while Jean-Luc had kept his word about having her sit with Emil and Theo, her stool was directly left of the sofa…

One spot over from where Remy’s wife would one day sit.

Rogue ground her teeth together at the implication.

“This Boucherie has been called due to the death of two members of the Runners Guild and rumors surrounding those deaths.” Jean-Luc began formally. Turning towards Alden, he continued, “Guildmaster Hoffman, you asked for this Boucherie. Could you explain your concerns?”

“Of course, thank you. As you said, two nights ago, two of our men were killed while on a job for the Runners Guild.  Their bodies were found in a motel outside the City, each with a single bullet in the back of the skull. This typically suggests a level of…professionalism. Given the strained relationship between the Assassins and the Runners, paired with the recent threat from the Heir of the Assassins that there is now bad blood between our Guilds, the Runners are looking for confirmation that this was not the Assassins’ doing,” Alden replied formally.

Rogue raised an eyebrow, marginally impressed. She hadn’t expected the weaselly man to outright accuse the Assassins of killing his men, even if he’d used more words than necessary to do it.

“I see,” Jean-Luc nodded and looked at Marius, “Guildmaster Boudreaux, can you give us your side?”

“When the news broke in the City, I immediately issued a count of our men. Every Assassin in the City is accounted for with documentation.” Marius nodded to his son. Julien pulled a file from his red jacket, handing it to Henri, who passed it to Jean-Luc. “Here you will find a list of our men who were in the City that night, along with receipts and still frames from camera feeds around the Quarter and our territories. We have several men who are out of the City on contracts.  I can provide details if needed, but I would ask that this Boucherie be put on hold and that the High Court be brought in to review those documents.”

Jean-Luc opened the file and scanned the documents inside.  When he finished, he handed the file to Alden to review.

“It would seem that the Assassins have provided a full account of their men, minus those he claims were out of the City. Do you wish to involve the High Court?” Jean-Luc asked.

“Yeah, ’cause that worked so well last time,” someone from the Runners’ side scoffed.

From there, things went downhill.

The Runners weren’t inclined to believe Marius or trust the High Court. Marius’s men objected to the accusation that they would undermine their own Guildmaster and betray their Guild’s honor.  Around the room, shouts and curses began to pick up, while Alden and Marius only put forth a token effort to quell their men’s growing anger. 

The Thieves remained quiet, happy to let their rivals tear each other apart.  Rogue could have sworn she even saw money exchanging hands between two low-level Thieves.  Jean-Luc didn’t seem overly concerned about the growing tension around him as he continued asking questions.

“Guildmaster Hoffman, can you tell us what the final destination of the blueprints was? Perhaps we need to look at the local gangs. Did you mean to keep them at your Guild Hall here in the City?” Jean-Luc asked, catching the room’s attention and bringing the meeting back into some semblance of order.

“Only for a short time. We had planned to auction the blueprints off to the highest bidder.” Alden explained. Eyeing Marius, Alden added, “There was even some expectation that the Assassins would win the highest bid as they showed interest in the blueprints when I mentioned it to Marius a few weeks ago.”

Alden might as well have dropped a grenade on the room.

Rogue stared. She couldn’t decide if the man was a genius or an idiot, as what little trust the Thieves had in the Assassins evaporated instantly.

The Thieves were on their feet. Incensed that Alden had all but been ready to hand over the gun to their enemies. Even Jean-Luc’s impenetrable mask faltered, anger flaring in his eyes.

Rogue watched the room, letting the noise wash over her. Absently, she wondered if the Guilds ever stopped fighting or if they secretly enjoyed it—all the posturing, the half-truths, the endless cycle of blame and denial.

None of the Guilds were willing to admit their own misdeeds, and they sure as hell didn’t trust each other enough to reveal the full extent of what they knew. Rogue pressed her lips together.  It was a never-ending game of ‘show me yours, and I’ll show you mine...maybe.’

Rogue frowned. Nothing here made sense. Remy's psyche said the gun was going to be popular with gangs, but she had a hard time believing your run-of-the-mill street gang stood a chance against any of the Guilds. And why would a gang risk everything to steal the blueprints if the Runners were already planning to auction them off?

It’s probably a lone wolf. Someone planning to fence the blueprints in hopes of a big payday. If they moved fast, they could unload the blueprints before anyone caught on to what they were doing.  Remy pointed out.

Especially if the bastard killed the only two men who saw them, spat Colt, pressing toward the forefront of her mind.

Rogue winced and pressed her fingers under her right eye. Colt’s psyche had been agitated ever since he’d heard two Runners had been killed. Remy’s psyche bristled at her pain.

“Sugah, knock it off. Colt, ease up there. You push anymore, and my eye is gonna pop out of the socket.” Rogue muttered under her breath, massaging her eye. The psyches murmured their apologies and the pressure around her eye eased slightly.

Julien, would the Assassins buy the blueprints from someone else? Rogue asked. She felt the psyche shrug.

Maybe, but it would have to be someone that we trusted, said Julien.

Have the Runners and the Assassins ever had a go-between other than the Thieves Guild or the High Court? Rogue asked.

Non, the Guilds only use a Guild as a go-between. It’s too much of a liability for all of us to involve an Outsider, explained Colt.

And yet, here I sit, Rogue grumbled. What about mutual clients?

Colt and Julien paused. Rogue sighed in frustration. When the psyches didn’t answer her, it was because she hadn’t absorbed the information from them. Before she could think of another question, Colt spoke.

There is one client that both the Runners and the Assassins have worked with. Her name is Natalie Sterling.

Remy’s psyche swore violently.

What is it? What’s wrong? Rogue asked.

She’s a client for the Thieves, too. A repeat customer, in fact. She contacted the Thieves Guild for a job to steal a laptop that was in the possession of one of Senator Krane’s opponents, which had incriminating evidence about him, explained Remy.

She works for Senator Krane? Rogue asked.

One of his top aids. Handles his dirty work. She’s got a lot of contacts in the underground, added Julien.

Her mind spun as the pieces began to shift into place, the realization sliding like ice water down her spine. Rogue forced herself to still. The smartest thing she could do right now was nothing. She’d talk to Remy later in private.

A sudden lull in the noise jarred her from her internal conversation. As the room snapped back into focus around her, Rogue realized she now had the room’s attention. Heat flooded her face and neck.  Theo’s blue eyes peered at her, his hand hovering like he wasn’t sure if he needed to shake her or not.

“You were muttering, Chere,” Remy said softly.

“Oh…sorry,” she apologized. She stared fixedly at the floor. Good Lord, could the earth just open up to swallow her now? 

“I’d love to hear the Lady’s thoughts. After all, she’s helped us out before, right?” Emeric’s voice rang out, smug and sharp.

Jean-Luc added, “You’ve been quiet, Petite. Dat’s not like you. Everything alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine,” she said lightly. Abort mission, do not engage.

A slight smirk tugged at Jean-Luc’s mouth. “Hmm.”

“Now, now, don’t be modest.” Emeric drawled. His smile was all teeth. “You’ve got a knack for noticing things—funny though, you’ve been awfully quiet.”

“Must be the excellent company,” Rogue shot the blond Thief a saccharine sweet smile.

“Ours?” Emeric tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Or those voices in your head?”

Both Alden and Marius were watching her closely now. Whispers rippled around the room, too low for her to catch. Rogue risked a glance at Jean-Luc, hoping he’d do something to rein in Emeric. Jean-Luc’s dark eyes stared back unblinkingly. In them, Rogue could see a barely there glint of expectation.

Damn it, he already knew.

Jean-Luc’s odd expression during last night’s meeting suddenly made sense. He must have seen her zone out and put two-and-two together, recognizing when she was talking to the psyches.

She was going to have to give them something—but how much?

Remy watched silently, eyebrows creasing together, but he didn’t move to intervene. He couldn’t. He was here first and foremost as a Master Thief. He couldn’t intervene in his Guildmaster’s questioning. If he stepped in now, he’d only be drawing even more attention to her. She was on her own.

Emeric smirked. “Oh, don’t be embarrassed, Princesse. We all know you’re smart—except when it comes to knowing when to speak up.”

“Sounds like you’re doing enough talking for both of us,” Rogue answered, fighting to keep her tone even. “I was just confused about a few things. So, I asked Remy’s psyche for clarification. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“What are you confused about?” Alden asked. The demand was barely polite enough to pass as a question.

Rogue barely managed to restrain herself from pulling her hair out. Of course, the Guilds couldn’t just be content with a simple answer.

“I was confused about the idea that a local gang could go up against a Guild. I don’t fully understand the power dynamics in this City. Is there a gang strong enough to take on a Guild, or even two, if the Assassins were keen to bid at the auction?” Rogue asked, turning the question back on the room.

The men around the room eyed each other, trying to come up with an answer. Rogue exhaled in relief and shifted on her stool. Let them chew on that for a while and leave her the hell alone.

“That’s disappointing,” Emeric mused, his tone laced with enough condescension to send Rogue’s blood pressure spiking. “You’re normally so observant. Surely you have thoughts on who stole from the Runners?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was a consultant now,” Rogue gritted out.

“Come on, Princesse, ya got a clue? Or are you waiting for Scooby and Shaggy to show up?” the blond Thief drawled. Rogue glared, half hoping the cocky thief would drop dead on the spot. Emeric smirked, leaning back against the wall. “Nothing? Figures. Smart girl, but only when it’s convenient.”

The room erupted in snickers. Rogue’s jaw tightened.

That tore it.

Rogue had spent the last few years learning to cultivate some degree of patience. Or, at least, learning how to keep her mouth shut when it mattered. But between Jean-Luc’s quiet amusement, Mercy’s manipulation, Henri’s sharp looks, and, now, Emeric’s smug satisfaction, her temper flared.

“Actually, Honey, I was wondering if the person responsible might be Natalie Sterling.” Rogue snapped.

The room went silent. If every eye in the room hadn’t been on her before, they were now.

Emeric froze, the smirk falling off his face.

“Where did ya get that idea, Petite?” Jean-Luc asked slowly.

Rogue cursed herself for letting Emeric get under her skin and letting her big fat mouth run away from her. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“I was talking to Julien’s and Colt’s psyches,” Rogue explained. Alden stiffened at the name of his late second-in-command, “I asked if they ever had a mutual contact, and they said Natalie Sterling. As soon as they said her name, Remy’s psyche recognized it too.”

“You still have Colt’s psyche in your head?” Alden asked, visibly shaken.

“The psyches never leave.” Rogue shrugged and quickly continued, “Senator Krane is running for President. He’s been campaigning with a heavy charm offensive, presenting himself as more wholesome and kind-hearted. Probably wouldn’t look too good if he had ties to crime syndicates.”

“That’s a lot of assumptions,” Marius pointed out.  Rogue met his gaze squarely, refusing to be cowed.

“You’re not wrong. I can’t tell you for a fact if Natalie is the culprit, but if I were a sleazy politician who was running for election, I would want to cut off any points of contact with the criminal underworld. And if Natalie didn’t get a good severance check on her way out the door, maybe she’s looking for a new way to fund her lifestyle,” Rogue finished as her bravo fizzled out.

Whispers broke out around the room. Beside her, Theo and Emil stared. Rogue traced a finger over the seam on her gloves, half-afraid to even look in Remy’s direction. Her face felt like it was on fire.

“Well,” Jean-Luc said, bringing the attention back to himself, “Since Marius has been able to provide an account of his men who were in the City two nights ago. I suggest we temporarily postpone this meeting to gather more information. Each Guild can look into their most recent dealings with Ms. Sterling or other outside threats. We can reconvene tomorrow morning.”

Jean-Luc rose to his feet. Marius and Alden stood, too. Smoothly stepping around Remy, Jean-Luc caught Rogue’s hand and tugged her to his side, threading her arm through his own. “Thank you for your insight, Petite. Until tomorrow, mes amies”

Turning on his heel, Jean-Luc pulled her towards the exit. Rogue wondered if this was how a prized show dog felt being led around the arena on a leash.

Beside her, Jean-Luc wasn’t smiling. His Guildmaster mask was far too firmly in place for that, but Rogue could see the triumph in his eyes. She’d just made Jean-Luc look like he had eyes and ears everywhere—a man so well-connected that he could pluck the truth from the shadows before anyone else even saw the shape of it.

Rogue cursed her own stupidity and Emeric. Why the hell had she opened her damn mouth? Regret, embarrassment, and half a dozen other emotions she couldn’t put a name to churned in her stomach, battling for dominance. Remy was hot on her heels on the stairs behind her, close enough that she could smell his cologne.

Stepping out onto the streets, the late afternoon sun blinded her. Looking around, she realized she was standing in the alleyway outside the Pawn Shop.  She hadn’t noticed they had exited through the side entrance rather than the store’s front.

Jean-Luc let go of her arm and turned to Theo, telling his nephew he wanted every scrap of information Theo could find on Natalie Sterling before tomorrow morning.

A warm hand found her hip, turning her until Rogue caught Remy’s worried look. “You okay, Chere?”

“Petite, I love ya, but could ya have kept that to ya self for five more minutes?” Henri snapped. Remy’s hand tightened on her hip.

“Henri,” Remy warned.

“Non, Remy,” Henri barked at his brother before nailing her in place with a dark look. “That was a gutsy move you pulled in there. Did you have a plan if the Assassins and the Runners hadn’t responded well to you talking to Julien’s and Colt’s psyches?”

“I—” Rogue tried to say something in her own defense, but fell silent.

Henri was right. She hadn’t had a plan when she shot off her mouth. Alden probably wasn’t a threat since Colt was dead, but she had no way of knowing how Marius would respond to his son’s psyche helping her. Shame and embarrassment burned in her chest.

“Henri,” Mercy chided.

Henri shook his head. “Non, mon Amour. She can’t do that here. Knowledge is power, but tippin’ your hand and showing what ya know can be dangerous for more than just yourself.”

Rogue looked away, shame burning behind her eyes. She’d screwed up. Again. She felt Remy move to step between her and his brother.

“Henri, you need to knock that shit off before I—”

“Dat’s enough. Both of ya,” Jean-Luc cut the pair off. “Henri, ya need t’ stop. Nothing happened, and de fille may have just saved us several hours of arguing in circles.”

“And what were ya thinkin’, dragging Mercy into this, Pere?” Henri snapped at his father. “Dieu, it’s a miracle that she didn’t get hurt.”

Henri leveled his glare at Rogue again. “Couldn’t you have at least dropped her off somewhere safe or something?”

That was it.

Rogue could accept Henri blaming her for her own stupidity.  But she wasn’t taking the fall for Mercy’s choices just because he decided to revert to being a Neanderthal. Rogue pulled herself upright and stepped forward, jabbing a finger into Henri’s chest.

“I’m sorry, but your wife is a grown-ass woman who is capable of making her own grown-ass decisions. You seem to be the only one around here struggling with that concept.” Rogue crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at Mercy. “You and ya husband need to have a talk. And leave me out of ya marriage issues from here on out. Got it?”

Not waiting for an answer, she grabbed Remy’s hand and dragged him away.  All she wanted was to get back to the Guild Hall, have the hottest shower of her life, and drink a whole pot of coffee. She spotted Emeric smirking at her in triumph from the corner of her eye.

Rogue gritted her teeth and kicked herself again.

She probably shouldn’t have said that, either.

Chapter Text

Rogue lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling in her room at the Guild Hall.  After she had stormed off with Remy in tow, she made it about as far as the end of the alleyway before realizing that she had no idea what car Remy had come in or where it was parked. The Swamp Rat must have realized her confusion because he gently directed her down the block to a small parking lot where Jean-Luc was waiting for them, keys in hand.

Remy didn’t look pleased to see his father waiting next to the car, and Rogue shared the sentiment. He watched Jean-Luc with a narrowed gaze, jaw tight, like he was daring the man to say one more thing. But Jean-Luc offered no comment or apology. He simply opened the back door for her, waited until Rogue slid into the seat, then closed it without a word.

Remy pulled away from the curb, cutting a path through the French Quarter as they headed for the Crescent City Bridge.

The ride back to the Guild Hall had been quiet for the most part. At least Jean-Luc hadn’t pressed her for any more information, but that hadn’t stopped Rogue from bolting as soon as the car stopped in the garage.  Behind her, she could hear Remy tell Jean-Luc to leave her be.

God bless the Cajun. He always knew when she needed space.

She’d been hiding in her room for the last hour or two, trying to sort her thoughts out, but it was reaching the point of self-flagellation. Sighing, she sat up and pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. She was wallowing in self-pity, but she’d never been great in situations where she was uncomfortable.

Everything in the Guild’s world made her uncomfortable.

Blowing out a breath, Rogue stood up. She needed to get out of this room. It felt too small, too warm. Opening the French doors to the second-story covered porch, she stepped out into the early evening air. If she were at home, she’d climb up to the Manson’s roof and watch the sunset, but it would probably be bad manners to go climbing all over someone else’s property without invitation.

A dark spot down the porch caught her attention.  Henri sat slumped in a chair a few doors down. He looked miserable, staring off towards the tree line.

Rogue glanced back at her room, fully prepared to leave Remy’s brother to his own devices. The looks he’d given her and how he’d blamed her for his wife’s decisions still chaffed something fierce.

Besides, he probably doesn’t want to talk to me anyway, Rogue frowned.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Irene reminded her that right or wrong, it was bad manners to go around commenting on people’s marriages publicly.

Rogue gritted her teeth. There was a start to a lovely guilt trip.

Sucking up her pride, Rogue moved down the porch. Hearing her approach, Henri looked up.  Rogue stopped a few feet away.

“Hey. Um, listen. I’m sorry for what I said back at the Pawn Shop. I shouldn’t be making assumptions about other folk’s relationships,” Rogue apologized.

Henri smiled humorlessly and ran a large hand through his hair, “Don’t worry about it. You weren’t wrong, and Mercy and Pere took turns telling me as much…and Remy…and Tante.”

“Maybe,” Rogue hedged, “but you were right, too. You’re not wrong to be worried about your pregnant wife, especially given the company y’all keep.  And I didn’t think about any of that before I opened my mouth.”

Henri snorted and raised an eyebrow, “I must look a sorry sight if you’re feeling bad for me even after I got after ya.”

“I ain’t gonna lie, Sug’. I’ve seen whipped dogs with more cheer than ya,” Rogue sassed gently, hoping Henri wouldn’t take offense. She managed to pull a short laugh out of the tall man. Taking it as a good sign, Rogue moved to take the empty seat beside him. 

Out in the woods, Rogue could hear the squirrels and other creatures moving around to get settled in for the night.  Overhead, there was the sound of distant honking as a large V of Canadian Geese cut across the orange and purple sky.

“Has Mercy told ya why I’ve been such a mess about her pregnancy?” Henri asked, breaking the silence. 

“She said that ya’ll have been trying for a while now.”

Henri hummed and shook his head. “We have been, but that’s not it. We both knew from the beginning we wanted kids.  Mercy’s folks are gone, and so is ma Mere.  We wanted a big family. We didn’t get married until after Mercy passed her Tilling, but even then, we figured we’d give it a little time before we started trying.”

“Some of the hommes were giving Mercy a hard time even after she got her Mastery, only including her on a job if they needed a decoy. Most don’t care about her being a woman. In this line of work, it’s just a matter of whether ya can get the job done, but there will always be a few idiots in de bunch.”

“Pfft. Ain’t that the truth,” Rogue rolled her eyes.

“Well, this contract for a job came across my desk. It was your standard garden-variety jewel heist at a Museum in Philly. An in-and-out type of deal. I pushed for Pere to send Mercy.  She knows her jewels. And, honestly, I just wanted t’ see her show them all what she could do. So, she gets there, and it’s as straightforward as expected. She makes the grab and is out the door in ten minutes.”

Henri’s eyes darkened. “It was a setup. I didn’t dig deep enough on the client. He tended t’ work with this two-bit merc, who was more violence than skill. The client hired him t’ steal the diamond from Mercy once she got it out of the Museum. That way, he’d have the diamond, and we’d have to return his money for failing to complete the job.”

“What happened?” Rogue asked.

“The merc ran Mercy’s car off the road. It went through the guardrail and rolled down into an embankment before slamming into a tree at the bottom of a ravine.  The bastard took the diamond and left her for dead.” 

Henri closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “She managed to get out. Crawled back up to the road and flagged down a trucker for help.  She was laid up for months afterward. We didn’t find out until almost two years later that because of the crash, her chances of ever getting pregnant were almost nonexistent.”

“Jesus,” Rogue breathed. “What happened to the merc and the client?”

“They died.”

Rogue nodded, not feeling an ounce of sympathy for either man. If someone had tried to kill anyone she loved, she’d probably throw the bastard off the rooftop of a very tall building. X-Men morality be damned.

“She was only on that heist because of me.” Henri’s voice broke. 

Rogue studied the man beside her, wanting to say something, but the self-loathing in Henri’s eyes had the platitudes and niceties dying on her tongue. Reaching out, Rogue placed a gloved hand on Henri’s shoulder.

“Sug’, I hate to say this, but if you are looking for someone to tell you not to hold your own feet to the fire, I’m kind of the reigning champ in that arena,” Rogue wrinkled her nose.

Henri barked out a laugh.

“But I will tell ya that guilt is pretty much a useless emotion," Rogue continued. "I guess it helps us figure out when we’ve screwed up, but after that, it tends to keep ya stuck in one place. Let me ask you this…would you have sent any thief on that heist if you’d known what that client was planning?”

“Non,” Henri admitted, the word squeezing past his teeth as he glared at a knot in the wood floor.

“Didn’t think so. Look, Mercy’s alive. And you two are going to be parents.” Rogue said. Henri brightened a bit at that. “Don’t let your past mistakes keep ya from having something good here and now. Mercy is doing everything possible to be safe and healthy, but you and the others need to back up. I can tell ya for a fact that when people are always walking around on eggshells anytime they’re near ya…well, it’s not good. It makes you start second-guessing yourself until you feel you’re crazy.”

“I didn’t ask de hommes t’ keep an eye on her,” Henri raised his hands in defense. 

Rogue shot him an unimpressed look. “You’re the Heir to the Thieves Guild and her husband.  Of course, they were gonna follow your lead.”

Henri made a sound like he’d just been shot. Leaning forward, he buried his face in his hands. Rogue heard a muffled, ‘they’re all in cahoots’ before Henri dragged his hands down his face to look at her. Rogue raised an eyebrow.

“Tante said de same thing,” Henri explained.

“You should listen to ya Tante,” Rogue laughed.

“Ouias. I know.” Henri groaned again and collapsed back against his chair, letting his eyes shut, “Mercy’s gonna kill me.”

“Nah, not kill ya. Just make ya grovel a bit.” Rogue smirked.

“For what it’s worth, Mercy is real torn up about how everything went down at de Boucherie.” Henri peeked an eye open at her.

“Yeah, I’m still a bit miffed with her, but it’s not her fault I shot my mouth off.” Rogue glanced at Henri. “I really am sorry about that. Don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”

“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t exactly being fair, either.  Both the Runners and the Assassins already know what you can do, so it wasn’t the big showstopping admission I was making it out t’ be.” Henri replied.

“Honestly, I don’t know how ya do it. All the glances, the pauses, the things people don’t say. I miss half of it until it’s too late.” Rogue stared out at the darkening sky.

“You seemed fine at the last Boucherie,” Henri said, watching her from the corner of his eye. “Ya handled yourself well. Wouldn’t have guessed you felt…what? Out of place?”

Rogue exhaled sharply, letting her head fall back against the chair. “That’s just it,” she muttered. “Last time I knew I was going to have to speak, so I had time to, I don’t know, mentally prepare? The rest was just trying to mimic the way Julien was speaking. It’s like playing a part in a script I don’t fully understand. There’s a rhythm to all of it.”

Henri frowned. “I’d have thought Remy would have explained it all t’ you after ya went North.”

“He tried,” she admitted. “But there’s only so much he can explain when half of it is instinct to him.”

Henri was quiet for a long moment, then nodded. “Ya know, that actually makes sense.”

She raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“Remy talked about ya for almost two years before any of us met ya. By the time ya showed up, it felt like we already knew ya. And when ya handled yourself so well last time, none of us really questioned how much time you’d actually spent with people like us.” He glanced at her. “Truth is, you’ve been around, what? A week? And most of that was things going sideways?”

Rogue snorted. “You mean ‘going sideways’ isn’t the standard state of affairs down here?”

Henri barked out a laugh. “Touché.”

“Guess that means I’m still the Outsider,” she murmured.

Henri shook his head. “Not exactly. You’re just someone who’s been thrown into the deep end without learning how t’ swim de old-fashioned way.” He smirked. “And you’re keeping up better than most would.”

Rogue flushed at the praise and ducked her head. “Thanks.”

“Pas de problème,” Henri waved off her thanks and stood from his chair. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go make nice to my wife. Bonne nuit, Petite.”

“Night.”

The sky was still pale grey with the barest touches of orange when Rogue’s alarm went off.  Shooting straight up, the covers pooled around her waist as she hurried to shut off the alarm.  She needed to call Logan, and while there was no guarantee of privacy in the Guild Hall, she figured making a call from the bathroom attached to her room at an ungodly hour in the morning was her best shot. 

Pulling the door shut, Rogue moved to perch on the edge of the claw foot tub, dialing Logan’s number from heart. The phone rang once and clicked.

“Do I need to come get you?”

“Good morning to you, too,” Rogue rolled her eyes.

“Does Gumbo’s family got you neck deep in trouble again?” Logan grunted.  Rogue wondered if he was already smoking a cigar at—Rogue glanced at her phone screen—six in the morning.

“No. I mean, there’s trouble, but the Thieves aren’t involved. Jean-Luc is trying to keep the peace, if you can believe it,” Rogue answered.

“What’s going on?”

“Have you ever heard of the Runners Guild?”

Logan snorted. “Stripes.”

Despite herself, Rogue smiled, “Right, stupid question. Have you ever heard of the KV-71x?”

“Stripes,” the humor evaporated in Logan’s voice, “you got thirty seconds until I’m in the Blackbird. What is going on down there?”

Rogue launched into a full explanation, starting with the blueprints disappearing and the Thieves mediating the Boucherie. She may have been a bit generous in describing Jean-Luc’s role as peacemaker, but she really didn’t want Logan coming after the man, claws out. As she finished explaining the Guilds all having a connection to Natalie Sterling, she paused.

Logan sighed on the other end of the line, “What do you want to do, Stripes?”

“The Guilds are meeting again this morning to discuss the blueprints and Natalie. Remy’s going to be there because he’s a LeBeau, but I don’t think he can tell the X-Men anything.”

“He can’t. He’ll be there as a Master Thief, not as an X-Men.” Logan agreed.

“I’m not a Master Thief,” Rogue pointed out. There was a long pause, and Rogue heard the flick of a lighter. Logan was definitely smoking a cigar now. Quickly, she added, “Jean-Luc will want me there anyway. Maybe I can find out more information on the gun.”

“Hate to say it, Kid, but it might be the best shot we got. ‘Ro heard from Porcupine the other day. Some of the larger gangs have taken to killing mutants on the streets as part of their gang initiation.”  Logan said. “A couple of Morlocks got hunted down last weekend.”

Rogue’s gut clenched upon hearing the name of her old partner. “Is Evan okay?”

“Yeah, he’s trying to convince the Morlocks to come to Bayville. I doubt they’ll want to stay in the Mansion, but at least if they’re here in town, we’re nearby if they ever need anything.” Logan sighed, “I’ll ask Half-Pint to look into Natalie Sterling and see if she can find out if Sterling is still working for Krane.”

“Okay. The Thieves have someone who’s also good at that type of thing.  I’ll let you know if he finds anything.” Rogue agreed.

“I want you to check in every day from here on out. No excuses. If you miss check-in, I’m coming to get you,” Logan informed her. “Stick close to Gumbo. He knows the game down there. He’ll keep you safe.”

“I know. I will.” Rogue promised. “I’ll try to call you tonight, but it might be tomorrow before I have any new information.”

“Take care of yourself, Darlin’,” Logan replied and disconnected the call.

Rogue stood up from the edge of the tub. She considered crawling back into bed but disregarded the idea.  There was no way she was getting back to sleep now.  Exiting her room, she headed for the kitchen to make some coffee.  This was definitely feeling like a three-cup kinda morning.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee greeted her as she entered the kitchen.  Remy looked up in surprise.

“Morning, Chere.  You’re up early.” He noted. Reaching up into the cabinet, he pulled down her alligator mug and passed it to her.  Rogue set to work fixing her cup. Remy watched her, leaning one hip against the counter as he silently sipped his cup. 

Rogue didn’t mind it. Whenever the stars aligned and they could spend time alone at the Mansion, she’d found Remy was just as quick to crack a joke as he was to sit in silence with her.  Without the eyes of the others watching them, Rogue found it easy to relax in his presence. There was something deeply soothing about the Cajun…when he wasn’t trying to yank a reaction out of her.

“How ya feeling?” Remy asked, grabbed a seat at the kitchen table. Rogue moved to follow, pulling out her own chair.

“Like an idiot that I let Emeric get the better of me,” Rogue admitted.

“Don’t worry about it. That homme could make a saint cuss.” Remy replied.  Rogue snorted.  She didn’t doubt it for a minute. Remy set his coffee cup down. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this, Rogue. Don’t know what Jean-Luc was thinking.”

Rogue opened her mouth, then thought better. The last time she was down here, she and Remy had gotten into it pretty badly over Jean-Luc’s manipulation. She had defended Jean-Luc, saying some of his manipulations might be justifiable. Remy had been quick to turn the situation back on her, asking Rogue if she’d defend Mystique, too. Rogue didn’t have a response to that. Or at least not one Remy had liked.

From what she could see, Jean-Luc manipulated people and lied like he breathed to stack the odds in his favor, but he was also in charge of the safety of a lot of people. On the other hand, Mystique was a mercenary who mostly looked out for herself.

“Yeah, but I’m still the one who opened my mouth. If nothing else, I probably should have thought things through a little better.” Rogue said finally, sipping her coffee, “But I’m not exactly great at bluffing.”

“Remind me, we should play strip poker sometime,” Remy smirked. Rogue rolled her eyes.  She’d walked right into that one.

“Hush, Cajun. It’s too early for your nonsense.” Rogue sassed, but there was no heat behind it. “Thanks for giving me some space yesterday. I needed it after the mess I caused.”

“No, need to thank me. I’m always happy to help,” Remy reached for her hand, running his thumb over the back of her gloved knuckles.  Rogue swallowed as a feeling of gratitude strong enough to close off her throat washed over her.

Lacing their fingers together, she smiled, “Thanks.”

Remy watched her, his eyes going warm. Rogue inhaled. She knew that look. It was the same one he’d had in his eyes right before he kissed her on Irene’s porch and knocked himself out. Clearing her throat, she pulled away. She didn’t trust him not to do something stupid that would leave her with a comatose Swamp Rat and an awful lot of explaining to do to his family.

“You going to the Training Hall?” Rogue asked, changing the subject.

Remy smirked, recognizing the tactic for what it was, but let it slide, “Ouias. Care to join?”

“Sure, I didn’t get a chance to work out yesterday anyway.”

They were the only ones there when they got to the Training Hall.  It was weird to see a space that usually had people literally crawling all over it, from the floors to the ceiling, so empty.

“Wanna spar, Sugah?” Rogue asked. Gambit’s eyes lit up as he grinned.

“Are we sparring or tussling?” He asked, leaning closer. Rogue snorted and pushed him backward with a finger to the chest.

“Sparring,” she answered firmly, though she couldn’t shake the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

The gym was quiet except for the soft hum of the overhead lights. Rogue tightened her gloves, rolling her shoulders to loosen them up. Across the mat, Gambit stood with his ever-present smirk, casually spinning his bo-staff like it was an extension of his arm. He had that annoyingly confident air about him. The kind that made her want to wipe the smirk off his face—preferably with her fist.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” she asked, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. “We using powers?”

“Bien sûr. If you got it, flaunt it.”

“Ya sure?” Rogue raised an eyebrow, “Wouldn’t want you crying uncle halfway through.”

“Me? Crying oncle?" He chuckled as he stepped forward, dark eyes gleaming. "Chere, the only thing I’m crying about is how distracted I’ll be trying not to stare.”

Rogue felt heat rise to her cheeks, but she brushed it off with a roll of her eyes. He was always like this—half sparring partner, half flirt. “Flattery won’t stop me from knocking you on your ass, Swamp Rat.” she retorted.

“Maybe not,” he replied smoothly, twirling the staff into a ready position, “but it might make you hesitate.”

Before she could snap back, he struck first. His bo-staff swept low toward her ankle. Rogue leapt back and countered with a jab aimed at his ribs. He twisted with practiced ease, deflecting her strike with his staff.

“Nice try,” he quipped, advancing on her with a flurry of strikes. The staff blurred as it moved, forcing her to dodge and weave. Her heart raced in her ears.

“Don’t get cocky, Gambit,” she warned, stepping inside his range and aiming an elbow toward his jaw. He ducked and pivoted behind her, his bo-staff grazing her left shoulder as she spun away.

“Cocky? Never. Confident, maybe,” he replied, his voice infuriatingly calm as he pressed the attack. “Watch your left side. You’re leaving it open again.”

Rogue lost track of time after that. Gambit won the first round, and she’d won the next two. Not that he looked the slightest bit upset when she slammed him to the floor beneath her.  In the fourth round, she’d been sure she had him cornered until he feigned left and sent a lightly charged card at her feet. Before she could recover, he had pinned her to the ground, his chest against her back. She could feel him grin against her hair, but he let her up.

Rolling to her feet, she exhaled sharply and stepped back to reset. Gambit’s gaze and sweat prickled her skin. The room felt stifling. Maybe it was time to kill two birds with one stone.

With a shrug, Rogue pulled off her jacket, tossing it aside. Her gloves followed suit. Beneath, her sports bra left her bare arms free and her movements unencumbered. Not a move she’d ever pull in the DR with Logan and the others, but alone in the Training Hall, somehow the risk didn’t feel quite as steep.

Besides, she could always play off any contact as a byproduct of training.

“Alright, Sugah,” she said, adjusting her stance. “Let’s see if you can keep that confidence now.”

Gambit’s grin faltered—just for a second—before he recovered, his eyes flicking over her in an appreciative look as the Queen of Hearts appeared between his fingers. His Lucky Lady. “Mais, that’s hardly fair. Now I am distracted.”

Rogue smirked. “Good. Makes it easier to win.”

She lunged forward before he could release the card, swinging with a right hook, driving him into retreat. His staff spun and blocked the hit. She pressed harder, the sound of their strikes echoing through the gym.

“Distracted and losing ground,” Rogue panted. She landed a glancing blow to his ribs before he danced out of reach.

“Losing? Hardly,” Gambit reversed his grip and swept the staff toward her midsection. She caught it with both hands, yanking it toward her and forcing him off balance.

Rogue seized the opening. Pivoting on her heel and driving her hip into his side, she tried to throw him. But he twisted mid-motion, breaking free with frustrating ease. The staff spun behind his back, regaining his defensive position before she could capitalize.

“Impressive,” Gambit smirked. He was panting too now. “But I’m not that easy to throw around.”

“There’s still time,” she shot back as they began to circle each other again. Sweat gleamed on his brow, and she felt the same on her own skin. Her body thrummed with adrenaline.

He darted forward, feinting high before sweeping low again. This time, she saw it coming. She jumped over the staff and closed the distance, brushing her fingers over his cheek.

Gambit staggered but didn’t go down. He used the momentum to spin away and put some space between them, his staff whistling past her ear as she ducked.

Regaining his bearing, he smirked, “Nice eyes, Chere. They look good on ya.”

Rogue didn’t need a mirror to know that his red-and-black eyes were staring back from her face. The room had gotten brighter as soon as she had taken on his mutation. Gambit’s psyche rang full volume in her mind.

Time to go, whispered Remy.

Rogue let out a breathy laugh and launched forward, aiming a sharp jab at his ribs. Gambit sidestepped, pivoting smoothly as he brought the staff down in a controlled arc.

Spinning them both, Gambit used his bo-staff to pin her against him, her back to his chest. The Queen of Hearts appeared at her throat, glowing brightly.

“I win, Chere.”

“Better check twice, Sugah,” Rogue smirked and adjusted her grip on his belt, charging up his pants.  She glanced at him over her shoulder. The Cajun’s eyes widened as he took in the state of affairs down south before his eyes hooded again, fixating on her.

“You know, Chere, if you wanted my pants off, all you had to do was say something,” Remy purred.  Heat licked at her, making her bold. There was something intoxicating about being the center of his attention.

“If I wanted your pants off, Cajun, you’d know,” Rogue leaned in.

In her mind, Remy’s psyche cheered.

Whoops and hollers broke through the fog surrounding them, shattering the moment. Rogue startled and looked around. At some point, they had gained an audience. She pulled the charge back. Remy released the card's energy, and it disappeared into a pocket.

Rogue flushed as Remy leaned on his staff, his smirk still intact. “Well, I’m not sure who won, but I’d call this a good workout.”

Rogue wiped the sweat from her forehead, with a triumphant smile. “We’ll call it a draw…for now. But next time? You’re going down.”

His dark eyes glinted with amusement as he chuckled. “Careful now, Chere. I might start thinking you enjoy this.”

She rolled her eyes, slipping her jacket and gloves back on. “Don’t push your luck, Swamp Rat.” But as she walked away, she felt a small smile tugging at her lips.

Damn it, maybe she did.

XOXOXOXOX

Sparrin' or...tusslin'?

Chapter Text

The smell of biscuits and gravy smacked Rogue in the face as Remy held the kitchen door open for her. Stepping inside, Rogue made a beeline for the coffee pot. The others were sitting around the table, eating. Jean-Luc sat with a newspaper spread out in front of him. When she saw the man had the Personals open, Rogue raised an eyebrow but decided that was none of her business.

Henri sat with his tablet in one hand but was paying more attention to his wife, who had commandeered his lap as a seat. 

That’s definitely an improvement from yesterday, Rogue mused.

Mercy pointed at something on the screen, and Henri chuckled before pressing a kiss to her temple. Across the table, Emil gagged.

“Did he grovel for forgiveness?” Rogue asked as she moved to join the others at the table. Henri rolled his eyes in mock irritation.

Mercy shot her a wicked smile. “Well, one of us begged.”

Rogue sucked in a breath and promptly choked on her coffee.

“Dese are not things I need t’ know,” Jean-Luc noted mildly and flipped to the next page of his paper.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kill ma Cherie first thing in de morning with stories of your sex life,” Remy said dryly, moving to sit next to Rogue. Mercy stuck her tongue out at him, and Remy smirked, “Mais, save it for mon frere. Ya doing alright, Chere?”

Bunch of dirty-minded Swamp Rats, Rogue thought. Her eyes were still watering as she managed to croak, “I’ll live.”

“Petite,” Jean-Luc called, catching her attention. “De Guilds will be reconvening this morning. Would ya like t’ come?”

For a moment, Rogue wanted to snark something about old dogs finally learning new tricks, but swallowed it down. It probably wouldn’t do to sass the Guildmaster in his own home. Especially since she still wanted to see if she could learn anything more about Alden’s plans for the blueprints.

“Is Emeric gonna be there?”

“Non, I have him attending t’ some other things.”

“Yeah, sure.” Rogue nodded in agreement. “I’m not gonna have to worry about Alden or Marius being angry with me for talking to Julien and Colt’s psyches, am I?”

A crease formed between Jean-Luc’s eyebrows for a moment before he shook his head, “Non. You saved Alden from having t’ declare war against de Assassins and cleared de Assassins’ name in a single move. If they do try t’ kick up any fuss, I’ll point out that by announcing it in the middle of de Boucherie like that, neither de Assassins nor de Runners can accuse ya of deception.”

The seriousness in Jean-Luc’s voice melted away, and he chuckled. “They probably don’t know how t’ deal with your level of honesty.”

Rogue snorted into her coffee cup and decided to trust Jean-Luc’s expertise. He knew this world better than she did. She seriously doubted the older man was willing to put her in harm’s way, given his interest in her powers. Instead, she switched gears to her next question, “So was I right? Did Natalie steal the blueprints?”

“Things seem t’ be pointing in that direction, but there are still some details we need t’ confirm. We’re hoping de Runners and de Assassins can help with that.” Jean-Luc said.

Rogue hummed doubtfully. From what she’d seen, the Guilds were far less likely to work together than to blame each other, but Jean-Luc seemed reasonably optimistic, so maybe she was wrong.

Regardless, she was keeping her thoughts to herself this time.

By the time the Thieves arrived at the Pawn Shop—this time with Mercy front and center—Marius and Alden were already seated on their respective sides of the room like kings guarding their dominions. Their men sat scattered about, lounging in mismatched chairs or perched on stools, keeping just enough distance to make their presence known. The tension hadn’t lifted, exactly, but at least no one had shown up in full regalia or armed to the teeth. Small blessings.

Jean-Luc, Marius, and Alden exchanged the bare minimum of pleasantries before settling in to start the meeting.

“Thank you for meeting again this morning, mes amie. Regarding Natalie Sterling, Theo discovered that she has used the alias Cassandra Parker in the past.” Jean-Luc began.

“Oui, I can confirm that alias. She used it when dealing with our Guild, as recently as five months ago,” Marius acknowledged with a curt nod.

“Then the date confirms the second thing we learned.” Jean-Luc continued, “We were able to match a credit card with that name. Based on the charges, she used it to travel to and from New Orleans via a riverboat that docks in Memphis. The problem is, it makes several stops. She might switch transport partway or use a different alias once she’s in Memphis.”

“Which riverboat is it?” Alden asked.

“The Crescent Belle,” Jean-Luc answered, giving his fellow Guildmasters a pointed look.

Rogue frowned. It was clear as day that the boat’s name carried more significance than just your regular old tourist trap. Rogue clenched her jaw, determined not to draw any more attention to herself by opening her mouth and asking the obvious question.

“It’s a riverboat that doubles as a casino run by the Marconi Family,” Remy breathed next to her ear. “They’re the local Mafia that run the Vice and Whores Associations. Remember I told you about them?”

Rogue nodded. The Vice and Whores Associations weren’t Guilds in their own rights and didn’t hold territories, but they did operate throughout the city.

Alden visibly brightened, a smile spreading across his face, laced with unmistakable relief. Rogue suppressed an eye roll. He was probably just glad he had someone else to blame. Jean-Luc’s earlier comments made it sound like there had been a real possibility that the Runners might have had to fight against the Assassins. Rogue flicked a sideways glance at Alden’s tailored three-piece suit and narrow frame.

She seriously doubted the weaselly little man could go to war against Marius even on behalf of his Guild’s honor. A lone woman would definitely make for an easier target.

“Well then,” Alden said brightly, clapping his hands. “I know that the Crescent Belle is due to depart the day after tomorrow. I would be happy to hire the Thieves Guild to steal back the blueprints.”

Every eye turned towards Jean-Luc. Anticipation glinted in his eyes, but it faded away as his Guildmaster’s mask slipped over his face. Jean-Luc leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful hum.

“It’s possible,” he said at last, “but it would be a last-minute job. Many of my men are already busy with other heists or overseeing the Tilling.”

Rogue pressed her lips together to keep from smiling as she watched Jean-Luc play coy. Every word he’d said was the truth, but it was nowhere near a ‘no’ either. Jean-Luc was playing the game, dangling interest just long enough to see how badly Alden wanted it.

Alden’s smile didn’t waver. If anything, it widened. Rogue narrowed her eyes, studying Alden carefully. The Runners Guildmaster was in his element, wheeling and dealing.

“I agree last-minute jobs are rarely ideal, and I certainly would not wish to stretch your Guild beyond its capacity,” Alden replied smoothly. “What about Remy? He is a Master Thief, and he’s been up North with our lovely Rogue. Surely, he doesn’t have any other jobs lined up right now.”

Rogue balked. Our lovely Rogue? What am I? Some sort of shared commodity around here?

Jean-Luc looked less than pleased with Alden’s choice of words, though the minute changes in his expression were so fast it was hard for Rogue to be certain.

“Your son also has quite the reputation at the card table. No one would question him visiting a riverboat casino during a trip back home to see his family,” Alden continued.

Rogue had to give the man credit. He had a point. Last time she had been in Louisiana, Henri said that Alden was very good at weaseling things out of people when he set his mind to it. Judging by the thoughtful look Jean-Luc now wore, Henri hadn’t been exaggerating.

“I have no problem paying the Thieves’ standard ten percent commission if it means getting the job done right,” Alden announced.

Rogue’s eyes darted between the two Guildmasters, trying to figure out if Alden was complimenting Jean-Luc or trying to prevent him from price-gouging the Runners. Judging by the sour look on Jean-Luc’s face, it was definitely the latter.

Rogue bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. It probably wasn’t right to be enjoying this, but there was some satisfaction in seeing Jean-Luc not fully in control of the situation for once. Alden was proving to be the wiliest of weasels.

She almost felt bad for underestimating the man. Almost.

Jean-Luc glanced at Remy, having a whole conversation with their eyes. After a moment, Remy nodded, and Jean-Luc turned back to Alden. “It’s a solid plan. The Thieves will take the job. Remy will act as the lead, though this will most likely be a two-person job. I’ll need to find out if there is anyone else who can act as his second.”

Rogue inhaled sharply and looked at Remy. He looked calm. Too calm. She knew that expression.

It had taken her a while to figure it out, but Remy had a knack for making the impossible look effortless—that didn’t mean it came without risk. The more unbothered the Swamp Rat looked, the more dangerous the job.

Rogue swallowed.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Julien scoffed. “What if Natalie no longer has the blueprints?”

Alden’s smile faltered, caught off guard. Before anyone could offer a solution, Alden’s eyes landed on her. Remy stiffened.

“Why not have Rogue accompany Remy? If the plans are missing, she can check Natalie’s head for information about who she sold them to.” Alden suggested. He paused, “On second thought, perhaps it would be a good idea to have her check Natalie’s head, regardless, to find out what her plans are.”

Rogue gawked at the Runners Guildmaster. He couldn’t be serious, could he?

Absently, she realized her mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut with an audible ‘click.’ A quick glance around the room told her all she needed to know—Jean-Luc and Marius were already on board with the idea.

“Rogue isn’t part of de Thieves Guild,” Remy pointed out. “She wouldn’t be part of de commission.”

Rogue glanced at Remy. He lazed against the back of the sofa with a slight smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. One of his hands rested on his thigh, his fingers twitching slightly. The only things keeping him from reaching for his cards were the presence of the other Guilds and enough weapons between them to arm a Third World nation.

Hoo-boy. He’s pissed, Rogue thought.

“True, she isn’t a Master Thief, but I would still be happy to offer her a five percent commission,” Alden said.

An offended sound crawled out of Remy’s throat, echoed by his psyche. Rogue cocked her head. That must have been an insultingly low offer.

“Five-and-a-quarter,” Alden suggested.

“She ain’t no gutter thief,” Remy glared.

“Six.”

“Non.”

Rogue watched in growing horror as Alden offered higher and higher numbers, only for Remy to turn up his nose at them without fail. What the hell was he doing?

“Six-and-a-half.”

Remy tilted his head as if considering, then said flatly, “Still no.”

He’s trying to price me out, Rogue blinked. A rush of warmth flooded her chest.

“What do you say, my Dear? Six-and-a-half percent?” Alden asked, breaking off negotiations to speak with her directly. He must have thought she would be an easier mark to negotiate with. Rogue’s jaw tightened.

“I realize what I’m about to say might be heresy around here, but I don’t need money,” she said, fixing Alden with a tight smile.

“You don’t need money?” Alden echoed like it was a foreign concept to him. It probably was.

Rogue shrugged, “I’ve got my bills taken care of. Got a roof over my head. Food on the table. I even splurge on decent coffee. So, yeah…I’m good.”

And she was. Or at least she wanted to be. She might care about the LeBeaus and, by extension, the Thieves Guild, but there was no way Alden was going to strong-arm her into this. Not his game, not his mess. The last time, it almost got her killed.

Rogue liked her life with a lot less Guild insanity and a lot fewer bullets flying in her direction.

“Well, what do you want then?” Alden asked cheerfully, like he hadn’t even heard her.

Rogue scrubbed a hand over her face and laughed. Not because any of this was funny, but because if she didn’t, she just might scream.

“I want to not get shot at. Just once. Just one dang time while I’m in this state. Every time I come here, someone tries to kill me. Sigs, Glocks, and—oh right—on one very special occasion with a grenade launcher running through the bayous.”

“Actually, mon Ange,” Julien cut in lazily, “that was a rocket launcher.”

“Okay, ya know what? Nuance.” Rogue snapped, whirling around. “It went ‘boom’ really loud, and I nearly got eaten by an alligator. Tomato, tomahto.”

Julien’s smirk widened.

“My Dear, everyone needs something. What do you need?” Alden asked, bringing her attention back to him.

Rogue stared at him. He had to be kidding. Part of her brain couldn’t believe that her life even required having this discussion. If Alden thought she needed or wanted anything from him, then he was out of his damn mind. 

“I told you, I don’t need anything. And the only things I want aren’t things you can give me,” Rogue answered, trying to get through to Alden.

Honestly, the only thing she wanted was to get some information on this damn gun so that she could take it back to Xavier’s to protect the kids—Rogue froze.

Her heart beat hard against her ribs. Jean-Luc had said it was a two-person job. Even short-handed, he wouldn’t send Remy in alone…would he?

Stripes, don’t, Logan commanded. Rogue ignored him. She looked at Alden, who was still making his sales pitch.

“The Runners Guild has access to many—”

“I want a copy of the blueprints,” Rogue interrupted.

Silence.

Alden’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his skull. The rest of the room was in a similar state. Even Remy stared at her like she had catfish coming out of her ears.

“I beg your pardon?” Alden asked.

“I want a copy of the blueprints.”

“And may I ask…why?” Alden’s eyes flicked towards Remy like he was expecting the Cajun to rein her in, but Remy’s face was carefully blank. Rogue decided to take it as a sign of approval and continued.

“These things are going to be very popular with gangs. I don’t know about down here, but up North, gangs have started targeting mutants with visible mutations for their gang initiations.”

Reaching up, she ran a white streak through her fingers before raising an eyebrow at Alden, “With my stripes, it’s only a matter of time before I end up on the wrong end of one. I’d like to know how to disassemble one ahead of time.”

Alden’s eyes narrowed, his stare going hard.

Rogue stiffened and swore. It was easy to forget that Alden was a Guildmaster in his own right, especially when he was in the same room as Jean-Luc and Marius. That didn’t change the fact that this man was the head of a criminal empire. You didn’t get and hold that type of power by being easy to push around.

“What guarantee can you give me,” Alden asked, voice mild, “that you won’t sell the copy yourself?”

Rogue snorted. She knew this game. It had been one of Mystique’s favorites.

“We both know you can’t prove a negative. That’s why politicians like to use it against their opponents.” Rogue scrubbed a hand over her eyes. “Look, if I thought there was a chance in hell you wouldn’t auction off these blueprints and open up this Pandora’s box, I would be negotiating for that. But that’s not gonna happen, is it?”

“No, it won’t.” Alden agreed. Rogue could see the amusement in his eyes, but she ignored it. It had never been a bad thing when people underestimated her.

 “So, since I can’t convince you not to do this, then I need to prepare for the fallout. I work for a school full of mutant kids. Your cash cow is going to have a direct impact on my family. You asked what I needed. I need to keep them safe.”

“And will your family agree?” Alden asked. “I admit, I’m impressed with your forthright nature. It’s a refreshing change of pace. But that doesn’t mean your family will be willing to leave such a financial opportunity on the table.”

Rogue laughed outright at that. The idea that the Professor would turn to arms dealing was absurd. Seeing the dark look on Alden’s face, she quickly got herself under control.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude,” Rogue apologized. “That’s probably a real concern in your line of business. But the man who runs our school has put Lord knows how much money into peace activism.”

“There is still always the possibility.” Alden countered smoothly.

“And there’s a possibility that Julien might become a pacifist, but that doesn’t mean I’m putting it on my Bingo card,” Rogue deadpanned, waving a hand at the Assassins’ Heir. Several of the men in the room laughed.

“Let me put it this way...my family is a bunch of do-gooders. For as much as ya’ll”—Rogue gestured to the room—“see me as the wide-eyed ingénue, I’m actually the cynical realist of the group. Compared to me, my best friend and brother are the nicest people you’ll ever meet.” 

“Chere, your brother tried to run me through with a sword three weeks ago,” Remy drawled, clearly enjoying himself.

Alden covered a laugh with a cough.

Rogue stiffened and closed her eyes, massaging the bridge of her nose. Goddamnit, Swamp Rat.

Trust him, Chere, Remy murmured in her mind.

“Let me rephrase that,” Rogue corrected, leveling a glare at Remy. “Unless your name is ‘Remy LeBeau’ and you happen to be talking to his little sister, my brother is an absolute cinnamon roll of a human being.”

“Honestly? Same,” Julien smirked. “I think your frere and I should get a drink sometime.”

She stared at Julien like he’d grown a second head. “Oh, hell naw.”

Absolutely not. Julien and Kurt becoming besties? Drinking while commiserating over Remy ‘ladies-man’ LeBeau? Screw Apocalypse and Mystique. That would officially be her villain origin story.

Emil perked up from his seat. “Wait, seriously—what did Remy do to piss off your brother that bad?”

Rogue glared, half hoping she could spontaneously recall Scott’s powers.

“Not the point of this conversation,” she gritted out through her teeth.

Emil grinned. “Feels a little relevant—”

“Nope!” she cut in. “Let’s get back to the safer topic of stolen weapons and organized crime, please and thank you.”

The tension melted out of the room. Rogue’s face burned, but a quick glance at Alden told her Remy’s little joke had done the trick. The cheerful smile the Runners Guildmaster typically wore was back. He glanced at his second in command, and something Rogue couldn’t decipher flew between the two men.

“Very well, my dear,” Alden said, holding out his hand. “A copy of the blueprints in exchange for discovering Natalie’s intentions.”

Rogue shook the Guildmaster’s hand, trying not to feel like she had just jumped into the water with cement blocks tied around her ankles. A warm arm wrapped around her shoulders. Remy.

“Well, now that that’s settled, I’ll need to make arrangements with the Marconi Family to secure passage for Remy and Rogue,” Jean-Luc said.

“I can assist with that,” Alden offered smoothly. “As we all know, the Marconis tend to be wary of allowing anyone on their boats without a proper introduction. The Runners have always kept good ties with the Marconi Family. If you have time, we can go now. Matteo should be at Lock & Key this time of day.”

Jean-Luc hesitated—just long enough to show he didn’t like the idea—but then nodded. “Bien sûr.”

That, apparently, was the cue. Chairs and stools scraped across the stone floor, and conversations shifted. Around the room, people began filing out.

Rogue moved to plant herself beside Remy, lest she say something else stupid. Reality crashed over her like a tidal wave.

She’d just cut a deal with a known crime syndicate.

To board a mafia-controlled boat.

To steal weapons blueprints.

From a potential killer.

Rogue swallowed thickly.

Logan’s gonna kill me. She groaned.

Damn skippy.

Chapter Text

According to Alden, Lock & Key, the Marconi Family’s bar was within easy walking distance of the Pawn Shop. In fact, nothing was ever far away in the French Quarter. That didn’t stop Alden from talking her ear off during the short walk. If it hadn’t been for the less-than-savory topic of conversation, Rogue would have thought Alden had missed his calling to work for New Orleans’ Tourism Department.

“The Runner’s territory includes the Warehouse District and the lower part of the Central Business District up to Loyola Avenue.  Our territory also includes Algiers on the other side of the river. That’s where our Guild Hall, Canon House, is located.  As I said, if you ever need help, you are always welcome, my Dear,” Alden said, not pausing to breathe.

For a small favor, I’m sure. Rogue snarked but murmured her thanks anyway.

Privately, she wondered what situation Alden was imagining where Rogue wouldn’t head straight for the Garden District—the Thieves’ stronghold.

Like I’m always telling you, Rogue, kill two birds with one stone. Mystique sighed, exasperated. Get the blueprints. Earn the Runners’ favor. Win a little power for once. Don’t waste the opportunity—Lord knows you don’t get many.

I don’t care about the Runners. Or power. I’m doing this for the kids at Xaviers and to keep Remy safe, Rogue pointed out.

Don’t be stupid. Men like that never stick around, especially the pretty ones. He’ll leave you, Mystique snapped.

Rogue stiffened, but her feet didn’t slow.

Back of the line, Mystique, she ordered.

There was a scoff, a muttered curse, but the psyche receded like a tide meeting a seawall.

Rogue rolled her shoulders, exhaling through her nose. The tension lingered, but Mystique’s venom didn’t touch her core this time. Not anymore. Instead, she turned to Alden, “So your territory butts up to Canal Street, then?”

“Yes. We have a small bistro just off Canal Street, which is our basis of operations on this side of the river. As you know, the Quarter is neutral. However, many Germans settled on Canal Street in the 1840s and opened breweries. We used those buildings as fronts for the guns we helped smuggle into the City during the Civil War. From there, we used the Mississippi to move things upriver or used the tunnels to move guns throughout the City.”

“Tunnels?” Rogue frowned, “I thought New Orleans was below sea level.”

“Not the Quarter,” Alden corrected. “It’s the only part of the City above sea level, hence the oldest part. It was the only land people could build on when they arrived.”

“Runners use the tunnels. Assassins use the alleys. And Thieves use the rooftops.” Remy added.

“Who uses the sidewalks?”

“Tourist,” Jean-Luc snorted. The rest of the group laughed.

“So is that a hard rule or…” Rogue trailed off. She remembered Remy telling her that Thieves traveled by rooftop because it was safer in parts of the City.

“Not a rule per se, but it helps to keep the peace,” Alden answered lightly.

Rogue could read between the lines.  If you could keep a bunch of folks who barely tolerate each other from crossing paths, you could save yourself a lot of trouble.

“You said that there were a lot of breweries on Canal Street. How did that work during Prohibition?” Rogue asked. Alden and Jean-Luc laughed outright as several of the men chuckled. Rogue raised an eyebrow.

“Prohibition never really gained a foothold here, Petite,” Jean-Luc explained.

“He’s right. There were as many as three speakeasies per block. In fact, Lock & Key served as one. It’s one of the reasons that the Runners and the Marconis have always held such good ties.  We allowed their Family to use our tunnels to bring in their booze.  We also oversaw the Whiskey Tree.”

“Wait, seriously? That place is real?” Rogue perked up.

Growing up in south Mississippi, every kid had heard about the Whiskey Tree.  It was supposed to be a place in the Bayous where smugglers met up to exchange goods—a modern-day Tortuga. Alden looked pleased as punch, finally having her full attention. Jean-Luc’s eyes darkened.

“Will Giovanni be in when we get there?” Jean-Luc asked, ending Alden’s narrative before he could start up again.  Alden shook his head.

“No, but Matteo will be in. Giovanni handed over management of Lock & Key as well as the Crescent Belle to Matteo last winter.” Alden answered. Turning back to her, he added, “Matteo Marconi is the son of the current Don, Giovanni Marconi. I’m sure Matteo will have no problem letting you on the Crescent Belle once I’ve introduced you to him.”

Remy and Jean-Luc exchanged a look.

“Oh, okay. Thanks,” Rogue nodded, feeling like she was missing something.

Introductions are important in the Mafia, Rogue, whispered Mystique, reappearing. When a person is introduced to a member of the Family, the person making the introduction vouches for the newcomer’s credibility. Introductions can raise a person’s status…if they introduce someone important to the Family. Alden is killing two birds with one stone.

Great. I’m the show pony again, Rogue grumbled.

“We’re here,” Jean-Luc announced.

Stepping through the door with a closed sign hanging in the window, they entered the bar. The smell of dust and stale beer hung in the air. Rogue stopped short, nearly colliding with one of Alden’s men. The man jerked back like she’d burned him, his mouth tightening.

Rogue’s arms curled around her waist before she realized it, fingers gripping her sides. Angling herself toward the wall, she tried to make herself smaller.

Remy shifted, stepping between her and Alden’s man, allowing her to have the corner to herself. He glared at the man. Rogue looked away, focusing on the room around them.

The bar, if it could be called that, barely accommodated their group.

A short bar top, lined with barstools, sat to one side of the space, while a few diminutive tables with chairs filled the rest of the small area. A door opened at the back of the room, and a man dressed like a 1920s barkeep stepped through.

“Mr. Hoffman. It’s good to see you. How are you? How’s your family?” the man greeted, shaking Alden’s hand and clapping him on the shoulder. When he finished, he turned to Jean-Luc, “Mr. LeBeau, welcome to Lock & Key.”

Rogue watched with interest. This man was treating Alden with far more respect than she’d ever seen Jean-Luc or Marius give the Runners’ Guildmaster. The two men Alden had brought with him looked completely relaxed, or at least more at ease than Jean-Luc’s men. Maybe Alden hadn’t been exaggerating when he said things were good between the Runners and the local Mafia.

“We’re well, Leo. Do you know if Matteo got my message? I called as we were leaving, but it’s only a short walk from Royal Street,” Alden said. Leo smiled.

“Yes, he’s finishing a phone call, but said to direct you and Mr. LeBeau to the back bar.  Please follow me. There will be more room for everyone there.”  Leo waved them towards the door.

A hand touched the small of her back, and Rogue barely restrained herself from jumping out of her skin. Alden steered her, deliberately past Jean-Luc, towards the door as though she were his guest to present.

“As I was saying, my Dear, when this was a speakeasy, the front room served as a tea room—hence the size. Of course, waiters often had flasks on their hips ready to add a splash of bourbon if requested,” Alden shot her a conspiratorial wink.

Their group moved through the door at the back of the tea room into...an odd space.

On one side of the room was a set of stairs, its carved wood banister leading down to a lower level. On the other side, an ornate wood-paneled wall had been built, running almost the full length of the room, narrowing what would have been a large room into a quasi-hallway. 

Alden paused, pointing to the sectioned-off area. “During Prohibition, the bar was hidden behind that wall. The staff could mix drinks back there, and the shelves were fitted with a lever to dump all the bottles into the basement if there was a raid. After Prohibition ended, they remodeled the space to put the restrooms back there.”

Rogue didn’t respond, more focused on getting Alden’s hand off the waistband of her jeans. The man wasn’t wearing gloves, and he was one clothing shift away from being knocked into a coma.  Moving through a second door, they entered a much larger room.

A U-shaped bar dominated the room. Brass and crystal chandeliers hung overhead, filling the room with warm light. Black-and-white photos hung on the wood-paneled walls, capturing images of what Rogue was certain was ‘the old country.’

It looked like a set from The Godfather.

“Please have a seat.” Leo indicated a large table. “Let me go grab Matteo.  He’s downstairs in his office.” He gestured at the bartender, “Tony here, can get you guys whatever you want. It’s on the house.”

As Leo disappeared back towards the hallway, Rogue wasted no time. Stepping away from Alden, she moved to stand next to Jean-Luc.

“Is there a seating order?” she asked quietly, trying to frame it like she was asking out of respect. Frankly, she didn’t give a damn one way or another, but she’d bet every dollar in her bank account that Jean-Luc wasn’t about to let her sit next to Alden.

The mask slipped for a moment, and Jean-Luc’s eyes flashed in amusement, catching onto her charade.  A charming smile slid over the older man’s face, and he reached over to pull out a chair for her. “Non, Petite. Nothing so formal as that. You can grab a seat here if ya want.”

Rogue dropped into the seat, gripping the edge of the chair under the table for good measure. Jean-Luc took the seat beside her. Remy immediately sat on her other side, boxing her in. Rogue relaxed, leaning back against her seat’s soft leather. Better the devil you do know than the devil you don’t.

On the other side of the table, Alden turned, noticing the seating arrangements. Something flickered in his eye, but he kept his smile in place.

Waving a hand, he gestured for his men to grab seats. Before they could pull out their chairs, a woman with a clipboard in hand and an irritated look on her face entered the room. Her impossibly tall heels clicked against the floor.

“Tony, the delivery truck just pulled up. The driver says the warehouse is out of the amaretto, but he can swing by later this week once they get it back in stock. He wants to know if—Remy?”

“Delphine?” Remy blinked. The Swamp Rat stared like he’d just had a screw knocked loose. His face shifted into something warmer, almost like nostalgia. Standing, he moved around the table to greet the woman. “What are ya doin’ here? I didn’t know ya were in N’awlins.”

“Long story,” the woman smiled. Reaching up, she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear from where it had come loose from her tight ponytail. “We should get a drink. Catch up.”

I beg your finest pardon, Rogue sat up straighter.

I’m sorry, but, like, who is she supposed to be? Mafia Princess Barbie? I mean, really, pinstripes? That’s totally cliché. Kitty scoffed.

I bet she wears a fedora, snickered Boom-Boom. 

Rogue bit back a grin.  She should probably pull the psyches back, but it was nice to have the girls swarming to her defense.

“’Fraid I’m not in town for long,” Remy replied, but didn’t quite pull away.

Rogue shifted in her seat. She was vaguely aware of Alden and his men smirking, but what caught her attention was the look on Jean-Luc’s face. He looked at Delphine like she was a cockroach he’d just found in a jewelry box.

“Pity.”  Delphine smiled and reached out to touch Remy’s forearm. “It’s nice to see a friendly face.”

Rogue twitched in her seat. Imma rip her damn arm off.

Go for the jugular, Boom-Boom cheered.

Remy’s not interested in her, Rogue. Jean soothed. Look at him. He’s barely smiling at her.

She’s smiling enough for both of them, grumbled Kitty.

Rogue agreed. The woman’s face looked like it was gonna break in half.

“Alden! Welcome. It’s wonderful to see you.” A voice rang out across the room. “Tony, let’s have some wine for the table.”

Reluctantly, Rogue tore her eyes from Remy to spot a man approaching the table, his retinue of men trailing behind him like shadows. He looked older than Henri, dressed in understated street clothes that did little to mask the authority in his gait.

Beside her, Alden rose smoothly from his chair.

Rogue blinked. That wasn’t his seat a moment ago.

Alden had maneuvered himself into Remy’s chair.

“Matteo,” Alden said, clasping the man’s hand. “Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice. How’s your wife? Your father?”

“Both doing well,” Matteo replied with a nod. “And you?”

“We’re in good health, thank you.”

Alden gestured across the table. “You know the LeBeaus, of course. Jean-Luc.”

Matteo moved around the table to shake Jean-Luc’s hand like an old friend. Rogue watched as they exchanged pleasantries laced with the kind of history she didn’t bother pretending to understand.

Alden nodded in Remy’s direction, “And, of course, his younger son, Remy.”

“The prodigal LeBeau,” Matteo grinned. “Still stealing fortunes and hearts, I imagine?”

Remy smirked. “Only from those who deserve it.”

“Welcome, both of you,” Matteo said. He paused and raised an eyebrow, “Delphine, is there something you need?”

“No, Sir. I was just telling Tony that the delivery driver said they wouldn’t be able to drop off the amaretto until later this week.  The warehouse is out of stock.” Delphine answered smoothly.

“That’s fine.” Matteo waved a hand, dismissing her. “Oh, before you go, I have some errands for you to run uptown.  Leo has the details for you.”

“Yes, Sir.” Delphine's smile tightened. She cast a parting glance at Remy before heading for the door, heels clicking as she went.

Remy returned to the table without a word. He didn’t spare Alden a glance either. The tension in his jaw said enough. He took the seat beside Jean-Luc, further down the table, his original chair now occupied.

“Now, perhaps someone can introduce me to this lovely lady,” Matteo smiled at Rogue.

“Matteo, I’d like to introduce you to a friend of the Guilds. This is Ms. Rogue.” Alden smiled. 

Rogue jerked to her feet and quickly shook the offered hand. The man’s eye swept over her once, appraising her and dismissing her in a single glance. As far as Matteo was concerned, she was a non-factor.

Fine by her.

Matteo offered her a practiced smile, “Any friend of the Guilds is welcome company here.  And, far lovelier company too.”

Alden didn’t miss a beat. “Rogue has a rare talent for untangling delicate situations.”

Matteo raised an eyebrow at that.  His smile didn’t falter, but something like mild amusement flickered in his expression.

“A woman with intelligence and discretion. A rare thing in our world, no?” Matteo replied. He didn’t bother to wait for Rogue to respond as a waiter arrived with a bottle of Barolo. “Please sit. We should catch up.”

Rogue blinked. She glanced at Remy, then at Jean-Luc, then at Alden. None of them looked surprised. Sinking back into her seat, a glass of wine appeared at her elbow.  Reaching for it, Rogue swirled the dark red liquid in the glass before returning her attention to the table.

Jean-Luc indulged Matteo’s small talk while Alden played along, eager to maintain his good standing and not offend anyone. Remy, for his part, kept his expressions neutral, answering only when spoken to.

Then came the food—small plates of antipasti, fresh bread, and imported cheeses. Rogue barely resisted a sigh. And I thought the Guilds stood on ceremony.

Better settle in. It’s gonna be a while, advised Remy.

Rogue nursed her wine for over an hour, listening as the conversation drifted between old stories and subtle power plays. Sweet Jesus, the Guilds’ dealings were practically transactional compared to this nonsense.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of pleasantries, Matteo set down his glass with a satisfied sigh, his gaze sharpening as he leaned forward and asked, “Now, what can I help you with? I imagine this isn’t a social call.”

“A bit of trouble, I’m afraid. I’m sure you heard about the death of my men?” Alden asked.

“I did, my condolences. Please let us know once you have the details for the funerals. My father and I will make a point to stop by and pay our respects,” Matteo answered.

Rogue raised an eyebrow. She wondered if the two Runners had been high-ranking Guild members and warranted such respect from a Don and his son, or if this was Matteo’s way of building camaraderie with the Runners.

“The Runners appreciate that,” Alden replied sincerely with a small nod. “What has been kept quieter is that my men were gunned down so that the assailant could make off with the blueprints for the KV-71x they were carrying. We believe that Natalie Sterling is behind the killings. She will be traveling out of the City on the Crescent Belle.”

Matteo shook his head sadly, “That’s unfortunate. I’d have expected Ms. Sterling to be smarter than that.”

“Didn’t we all?” Alden smiled grimly. “Sadly, if she is capable of crossing one of us, she could cross any of us. My men are furious.”

“Understandably.”

“I have hired the Thieves Guild to retrieve the blueprints from her,” Alden explained.

“Ah, I see.” Matteo’s eyes moved towards Jean-Luc, “And it would be easiest for one of your men to grab the blueprints once Ms. Sterling is already on board the boat.”

“Fewer places to hide.” Jean-Luc pointed out.  Matteo leaned back in his seat, studying the ceiling for a few moments.

“Has the Thieves Guild already accepted the job?”

“We have.”

Matteo leaned forward, “There’s something to be said for maintaining the balance of things. If Ms. Sterling is allowed to get away with disrespecting the Runners Guild, it could throw the balance of the City into chaos.”

“I believe it would take more than a single action to do so, but I follow your logic,” Jean-Luc replied.

“And if the Thieves Guild were to fail at getting the blueprints back after being hired to do so, it wouldn’t be a good look for our City either,” Matteo continued.

“No,” Alden shook his head.

“I suppose not,” Jean-Luc conceded.

“I’m more than happy to allow your men on board.” Matteo answered, “But since we’re making accommodations, my father has been trying to set up a meeting with the Guilds to discuss some of our other businesses in your territories. I know you are all busy men, but perhaps we can get something on the books today while you are here?”

“And what does Giovanni want?” Jean-Luc asked smoothly.

“Business, naturally. Our ventures are doing well, but there are some details he would like to open up negotiations on again,” Matteo offered the table a charming smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “My father’s getting older. He deserves to sit at the table again…with respect.”

Alden chuckled, shaking his head. “You really are your father’s son.”

Matteo smirked. “I take that as a compliment.”

“The Thieves can meet with your father when he returns to town,” Jean-Luc sighed. Alden quickly seconded the idea.

Matteo clapped his hands together, satisfaction flashing across his face. “Good. Then consider the Crescent Belle yours, for a night.”  He looked at Remy, “I’m sure it goes without saying, but I ask you to use discretion while on board.”

“Bien sur,” Remy smirked.

“Who will be the second on this job?” Matteo asked.

Jean-Luc didn’t blink. “Rogue.”

That got Matteo’s attention. Brown eyes snapped towards her.

“You?” he asked. His tone was somewhere between disbelief and intrigue, and it made Rogue want to cuss something fierce.

Swallowing down her snit, Rogue took a page from Jean-Luc’s book and met Matteo’s gaze with steady calm. “Yes.”

Matteo considered her for a moment, now more curious than dismissive. “Well…I suppose the Guilds have been modernizing after all.”

“The Guilds are not bound to the ‘old-school’ ways like your Family is,” Jean-Luc noted. 

Rogue nearly choked on her wine.  She could think of at least a dozen words to describe the Guilds, and none of them were ‘modern.’

Alden seized the moment. “You’ll be glad to have Rogue involved. She’s got a talent for shaking out the truth. A bit of an interrogator, really.”

Rogue silently swore at Alden for bringing her back to the room’s attention.  Couldn’t the man just let sleeping dogs lie?

Matteo turned towards her, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Is that so?” He studied her for a moment before chuckling. “I don’t know, Alden. She’s got far too pretty a face to be truly threatening.”

Rogue shot Matteo a dry look. “You’ve never seen me fight for the last cup of coffee in the coffee pot.”

“Oh, I like you, Sweetheart.” Matteo laughed, shaking his head. Swirling his wine lazily, he looked back at Remy. “I’ll have Delphine meet you at the gangway when you arrive.

Rogue stiffened at the woman’s name.  Remy kept his eyes on Matteo, but there was that same look of recognition that Rogue had noticed before.

“Given your shared history, I’m sure she’ll be happy to help you in any way she can,” Matteo smirked.

Rogue didn’t wait to hear the rest. She pushed back from the table smoothly, keeping her expression neutral.

“Excuse me,” she murmured, standing. “I need to find the ladies’ room.”

Finishing up in front of the mirror, Rogue blew out a breath.  She needed to talk to Logan.  Hell, there were probably a million-and-a-half things she needed to focus on right now, but she couldn’t shake the image of Delphine’s hand on Remy’s arm.

And what the hell had Matteo meant about their shared history?

Cajun, who’s Delphine?’ Rogue asked.

Sorry, Chere. Can’t help ya, Remy shrugged.  Rogue ground her teeth together. She must not have absorbed that little tidbit. She’d have to ask the real Remy instead.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Rogue ordered herself to pull it together. Exiting the bathroom, she followed the wall partition to where it opened to the rest of the hallway. She’d heard the men pass by a few minutes ago as the meeting broke up.  They were probably waiting for her out front.

She was almost back to the tea room when a voice at the bottom of the stairwell caught her attention.  Stepping back out of the line of sight, Rogue listened.

“Everything is set for Thursday night.”

Rogue’s eyes widened. It was Matteo. Leo had said Matteo’s office was on the lower level. Rogue held her breath, straining to listen. She didn’t hear anyone else talking. He must be on the phone.

“Pops, it’s fine. It’s under control,” Matteo said. “Nothing’s gonna ruin this.”

Matteo paused, then sighed heavily. “I know, Pops. I know there’s a lot riding on this—believe me, I haven’t forgotten. Would you just—can you trust me on this, just once? Look, I even got the Guilds to agree to meet with ya when you get back from New York. Jean-Luc finally gave in.”

Rogue leaned forward as Matteo paused again, longer this time.

“No, Alden hired LeBeau’s kid, yeah, the younger one, to retrieve some stolen blueprints for him. They’re for the gun—Yeah. That gun. Seems that Ms. Sterling is behind it.” Rogue could hear a bottle uncork and something pouring into a glass, “I know, Pops. This won’t interfere with anything. They can have Sterling for all I care. Yes, I confirmed the guest list. Sterling, Tribune, the Governor, all the regulars. They’ll all be there. Yeah, Aunt Ree, too.”

Rogue stiffened. The Governor? As in Louisiana’s Governor? Rogue racked her brain, trying to recall anything she’d heard about him in the news. She wondered what the chances were that Senator Krane’s top aide would have met the Governor of Louisiana.

Pretty good if Rogue had to guess.

“Leave Julia out of this!” Matteo snarled into the phone. Rogue jumped. “I don’t care what you think about her, Pop. She’s got nothing to do with this. Look, I’ll call ya later. I sent Delphine up to run an errand, and she’ll be back soon.”

Rogue’s feet were already moving.  She didn’t know what would happen if she got caught eavesdropping, but she wasn’t about to find out. Mercifully, the door to the front room swung open without any noise. Slipping into the room, Rogue silently moved to stand next to Remy. Alden and Jean-Luc were still in conversation, ironing out the details about communication and their next meeting.

Remy glanced in her direction, then did a double-take seeing her standing there. Raising an eyebrow, he cocked his head at her.  Rogue shook her head slightly.  She’d tell him once they got back to the car.  Remy nodded, shifting to stand a little closer. Finishing their conversation, Aden, Jean-Luc, and the rest of their group stepped out of the front door.  Leon called out a final farewell to their group from behind the bar, but Rogue got the impression he was only speaking to Alden.

“We’ll speak in a few days then,” Alden noted with a nod to his fellow Guildmaster. Turned to her, Alden smiled, “I’m afraid this is where we part, my Dear. I’ll see you again soon.”

“Goodbye, Sir,” Rogue replied, managing to paint on a smile.  Alden nodded one last time to Jean-Luc and Remy, then headed down the street, Louis and his men following.

“Well,” Jean-Luc clapped his hands together. “We better get back to the Guild Hall.  We got a lot of work to do on ya, Petite.”

“Come again?” Rogue blinked.

“Mais, you’re going on a heist. We’re gonna have to put you through Thieves Guild boot camp.”  Jean-Luc explained as he headed down the sidewalk, waving for her to follow. “Hurry up, Petite! We’ve got less than forty-eight hours to turn you into a Master Thief.”

Rogue looked at Remy and the other men, waiting for someone to tell her she was on Candid Camera.  Not seeing anyone laughing, Rogue groaned, letting her head drop back to stare up at the sky.

XOXOXOXOX

Cue the Music Montage

Chapter Text

Rogue stared at the device in her hands and blew out a breath.  It wasn’t like she was holding a bomb or something.  No reason why her heart should be trying to fight its way out of her ribs. 

Come on, girl, you can do this, she thought. Sucking in a breath, she steeled her nerves.

Hitting the call button on the screen, Rogue pressed her phone to her ear.  Maybe if she was lucky, Logan would be busy tormenting the younger mutants, and she could—the phone clicked.

“Stripes.”

Shit, Rogue cursed. “Hi, Logan.”

“What happened?”

“Why do you think something happened?”

“Kid, if your voice were any higher, only dogs would hear it. Now…what happened?”

Rogue flopped back on the bed, running a hand over her face.  Already, this conversation wasn’t going well. “So, the Guilds met today, and it’s definitely Natalie Sterling.  They think she uses a riverboat to travel anonymously from New Orleans to Memphis.  Alden hired the Thieves to steal the blueprints back from Natalie. The good news is that the boat doesn’t leave until tomorrow evening.”

Silence reigned. Rogue glanced at the screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.

“Who’s Jean-Luc sending?” Logan asked finally.

“Remy. The plan is for him to get on board. Steal the blueprints. Then, disembark right before the boat leaves port. They’re having a planning session now.” Rogue glanced at the clock.  She needed to get to Jean-Luc’s office, but she’d managed to beg for a few minutes to run up to her room after they got back to the Guild Hall.

“Who’s going in with him? Or is he going in alone?”

Rogue closed her eyes in dread. “That’s the less good news. The Thieves are really busy right now, so they’re a little shorthanded—”

“Stripes.”

“Umm...”

“Rogue, you have ten seconds to tell me that Jean-Luc isn’t sending you on a heist,” Logan growled.

“He’s not,” Rogue assured. “I’m sorta sending…myself?”

“Cyke, get down to the hangar and start doing a pre-check—”

“No! No! It’s fine! Logan, it’s fine.” Rogue answered, trying to calm the older mutant down and regain control of the conversation. She hopped off the bed and began pacing the floor.

“Everything is under control. I cut a deal with Alden that if I use my powers on Natalie to find out who her buyer is, he’ll give me a copy of the blueprints.”

On the other end of the line, she could still hear the faint hiss of static and the quiet inhale-exhale of Logan’s breathing. Rogue paused.

“Logan?”

“Give me a second, Kid. I think I’m having a stroke.” Logan muttered.  Rogue winced.

“You’re telling me that you cut a deal with the head of a crime syndicate for a copy of stolen goods.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Rogue argued weakly.

“And now?”

“Less of a good idea, but I still think I made the right decision.”

Logan made a noise that sounded like it carried the weight of every bad decision she’d ever made. “Okay, Stripes,” he said. “Walk me through your thought process.”

“First, it would be a good idea to know what we’re dealing with when it comes to this gun, and I won’t put Remy in a tight spot by asking him to betray his family.” Rogue started.

“I’m with ya.”

So far, so good. At least Logan wasn’t in the Blackbird already.

“Two,” she continued. “These guns can be modified with 3D printers, which will allow gangs to make them untraceable. Maybe Forge and Kitty can whip something up to ping us if people download plans for aftermarket parts.”

She was flying by the seat of her pants now, and if Logan’s grunt about ‘techno mumbo jumbo’ was anything to go by, he wasn’t fully buying it, either. Rogue bit her lip. Time for the big guns.

“I’m not leaving him to watch his own back, Logan,” Rogue said softly. “I know this is technically a basic B&E, but I won’t let him do this by himself. Not if I can be his extra set of eyes.”

“Damnit, Stripes,” Logan grumbled. “You weren’t supposed to go all X-Men on me.”

Rogue snorted. “Did it work?”

“Yeah, it did. Alright, I’ll let you and Gumbo have this one. But button that shit up from here on out. I have a feeling I know where you’re going. Honorable will get you hurt, if not worse. If you’re playing to play in their sandbox, you’re gonna need to play by their rules,” Logan said. “What’s the plan?”

“Still working on it.  Remy and Jean-Luc should have something roughed out by this afternoon, and we’ll have everything finalized this evening.” Rogue answered.

“Good. Call me when you do,” Logan replied. “And, Darlin’, don’t go making any more promises while you’re down there. Got it.”

Rogue replied she wouldn’t and said goodbye.  As she ended the call, there was a knock.  Moving to open the door, she saw Remy standing in the hallway.

“Hey there, Cajun. What’s up?”  Rogue leaned a shoulder against the door frame.

“Ya wanna head up t’ de Training Hall?” he asked.

“What about the planning session?”

“On hold for a minute.  Emil and Theo are trying t’ see if they can pull some blueprints for de boat, but Matteo’s security is pretty tight.”

“Why not just ask him?” Rogue frowned.  If Matteo wanted them to be discreet while on his boat, wouldn’t it make more sense for him to help them?

“Matteo might like Alden, but he’s less amiable with the rest of us.” Remy shrugged, “Even if he did hand over the floor plans, I’d still want to pull our own copy.”

“In God we trust, but all others verify?”

“Exactement.”

“Works for me. Give me a second to get changed. I’ll meet ya down in the kitchen.”

Leaves crunched as they walked the path through the woods.  Up ahead, the Training Hall peeked out from between the trees.  She could feel Remy’s eyes on her as the silence stretched between them. Remy sighed.

Her shoulders tensed. She already knew what was coming next.

“So,” Remy drawled, hands tucked in his pockets, “when exactly did ya decide t’ cut a deal for a copy of de blueprints?”

Rogue exhaled, keeping her gaze forward. “I didn’t plan to. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

Remy stopped mid-step, turning to face her. His eyebrows creased together as he pressed his lips into a thin line. “That’s not exactly comfortin’.”

“Would you prefer I hadn’t said anything?” Rogue raised her chin. She wasn’t going to apologize for doing what she had to.

“I’d rather ya think things through before making a gamble like that.” He answered.

Remy’s voice wasn’t sharp, but there was a weight to it, somewhere along the lines of frustration and concern. Rogue sighed, looking at the trees around them.

“It seemed like the right move at the moment. Ororo heard from Evan the other day. The Morlocks are getting hunted down. They’re easy targets because they live on the fringes of society, but it’s only a matter of time before the violence spreads.” Rogue looked up at the Cajun, willing him to understand. “When Alden asked what I needed, all I could think was I needed to find a way to keep the kids at Xavier’s safe.”

“Fair enough, but try and give this poor ol’ boy a bit of warning, will ya?”

Rogue hesitated. “About that. Back at Lock & Key, when I came out of the bathroom, I heard Matteo talking on the phone. I think he was talking to his father.”

“Chere, please tell me you weren’t eavesdropping on Matteo Marconi.”

“Believe it or not, I wasn’t. I walked out of the bathroom, that’s all. Never in a million years did I think Matteo would be having a conversation where anyone could hear it.”

“What was he talking about?”

“He was on the phone, talking about ‘the regulars.’ I’m guessing they’re people who’ll be on the boat.” She lowered her voice, “He mentioned the Governor.”

Remy let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair. “And ya think that means something?”

Rogue nodded. “I think he might be connected to Natalie. She worked for Senator Krane.”

“I hate t’ say it, but it’s too much of a coincidence t’ ignore. I’ll ask Theo t’ see if he can get the passenger manifesto. Have ya told anyone else this?” he asked.

Rogue shook her head.

“Good. Make sure ya don’t.” Remy looked past her, glancing around at the trees. “Even within de Guild, news can spread. Matteo can be charming when he wants t’ be, but he’s ruthless when it comes t’ protecting his Family’s assets. The Crescent Belle is de Marconi’s second biggest money maker.”

“What’s their first?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

Rogue believed him.

Remy exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Reckless as hell,” he muttered.  Reaching up, he tucked one of her white streaks behind an ear. “I guess I can’t be too mad if it means you’ll be watching my back.”

“Someone has to,” Rogue smirked, cocking a hip. Remy chuckled, and she softened. “And for the record, thanks for having mine, too. Not sure Alden was going to agree until you jumped in.”

“You were selling it too hard,” Remy said, waving off her thanks. “Good folks like Xavier, Kitty, and Kurt don’t exist in this world. It’s hard for people like Alden to wrap their heads around the fact that there are folks out there who do good just because it’s the right thing t’ do.”

“Was it hard for you?” Rogue asked.

“Ouias, especially when I first came to Bayville. Still is a lot of the time. Sometimes the things Summers and the Professor talk about seem more fantasy than reality.”

“Good on paper, but not in real life.” Rogue nodded.  She’d struggled with the same thing when she’d first left the Brotherhood.

They started walking again.  Rogue glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “So, uh,...who’s Delphine?”

Remy froze like a deer in the headlights, just long enough to make her regret asking. Then that slow, stupid grin of his crept across his face. “Why ya askin’?”

“No reason. Just curious.” Rogue huffed.

“Curious,” he repeated, dragging the word out like taffy. “Or jealous?”

Rogue scoffed, crossing her arms.  “I am not jealous. And you didn’t answer my question, Swamp Rat.”

“Maybe I like to keep ya guessin’.”

“Ya like being concussed, too?” Rogue glared.

He beamed like she’d offered him the Mona Lisa on a silver platter. “Ya wound me. I thought ya found my mysterious air endearing.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Charming, too,” Remy winked.

Rogue rolled her eyes. “I’m just trying to figure out if she’s a business associate or something else.”

Remy hummed and looked up at the sky, tapping his chin. “Well, she’s certainly precious t’ me.”

“That’s vague,” Rogue grumbled.

“…a real gem of a partner.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Mais, she really shines under pressure—”

“I’m gonna beat ya with your own bo-staff.”

“—cut like a diamond, that one.”

“Stop it.” Rogue swatted at him.

“Stop what?” Remy grinned, dancing backward out of range. “I’m just saying, Delphine and I have an unbreakable bond—one might even say, flawless.”

Rogue groaned. It was like the boy wanted to die young. “I swear to Jesus, if you make one more jewel pun, Swamp Rat, I’m gonna—”

“Sounds like someone’s feeling a bit rough around the edges.” His smirk widened, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “Maybe even... chipped?”

Rogue watched the idiot dance in circles around her. He was just trying to get her goat, and, dammnit if he wasn’t succeeding.

“Remy, knock it off. She is too damn smart to put up with your nonsense, and I’m too damn pregnant to stop her from killing ya,” Mercy said, appearing at Rogue’s side.

“Oh, look, who it is.” Remy waved a hand.

“Shush you,” Mercy flapped a hand at the Cajun before turning towards Rogue. “Sha, I’m so sorry about the Boucherie. I wanted to apologize earlier, but Remy said I should give you some space. And then we had to meet with the Guilds again. And, then—”

“It’s fine,” Rogue cut Mercy off.  She didn’t feel like rehashing every little hurt from the previous day. “Just ask next time. Okay?”

“Oui,” Mercy beamed.

“So what are you doing here?” Rogue asked.

“I heard about you going with Remy onto the Crescent Belle. I was thinking maybe I could give ya some pointers on body language,” Mercy offered, tucking a blonde strand of hair behind her ear. “But only if ya want to, though.”

“I’d like that.”

Following Mercy through the doors to the Training Hall, Rogue tried to ignore the room’s collective stare at her entrance.  She had no doubt that gossip about her role in the upcoming heist was already circulating.

“I need to get back to the Guild Hall. Are ya gonna be okay?” Remy asked.

“We’ll be fine.” Mercy rolled her eyes at Remy. “Go work on pulling a plan together. Rogue and I can take it from here.”

“Chere?”

“We’ll be fine, Sug’. I'm not sure what you think you’re gonna teach me about sashaying in heels anyway.” Rogue smirked. Beside her, Mercy snorted.

 Remy shot her an affronted look. “I’ll have ya know I look fabulous in a pair of kitten heels.”

“Ugh! Well, there’s a mental image,” Mercy scrubbed a hand over her eyes. “Like the pregnancy dreams weren’t weird enough already.”

“If you’re still up for it later, we’re thinking ‘bout going t’ Rambling Cup,” Remy offered, ignoring his sister-in-law. “I know we ain’t got t’ do anything fun on this trip.”

Rogue thought for a moment, then nodded.  She’d probably regret it in the morning, but it’d be nice to do something fun while they were on vacation. “Sounds good, Sugah.”

“Bon. I’ll see you two later. Have fun, Chere.”  Remy offered a two-finger salute and headed out the door.

“Okay, so what do I need to know?” Rogue asked.

“Alright, so we call it ‘body language’, but technically it’s crowd interaction and camouflage,” Mercy answered, immediately getting down to business. “Basically, hiding in plain sight while information gathering.”

“I’m following you so far.”

“There are three key components: appearance-based camouflage, behavior-based camouflage, and crowd interaction. We’re not going to worry about the appearance part of it today.  I’ll help ya pull an outfit together once the plan is finalized.  We’re just going to focus on behavior and crowd interaction.” Mercy explained. “How are you at small talk?”

Rogue made a face. “Suck at it.”

It wasn’t her fault. Really. With powers like hers, the last thing she wanted to do was invite strangers to spend more time around her.

“Small talk will probably be the most important thing you’ll need on the boat.  People will be there for a night out and will want to socialize. You can gather a lot of information if you can just keep the person in front of ya talking.” Mercy replied.

Rogue nodded.  She could remember Mystique mentioning something along those lines during the limited training sessions she’d provided when Rogue lived with the Brotherhood. “The Ford Method, right? Family, occupation, recreation, and dreams?”

“Bon,” Mercy said, looking pleased. “Who taught ya that?”

“My mama,” Rogue answered automatically, but the words sounded brittle even to her own ears. “She was a mercenary and trained me in some stuff.”

Her voice thinned on the last word. Rogue clamped her mouth shut. There was no way in hell she was discussing Mystique or the blue-skinned woman’s plans for her in the middle of the Training Hall. Rogue glanced toward a group of men a few feet away, whose movements had stalled.

Mercy’s expression didn’t change as her gaze flicked over the room. She narrowed her eyes at the three men, and suddenly they found the inspiration needed to get back to work.

“Gotcha,” she said lightly, returning to the conversation. “Didja learn about openers?”

The change of subject was hardly subtle, but Rogue seized it, grateful nonetheless. “No, I don’t remember anything like that.”

“Right,” Mercy clapped her hands together. “So there are two types of openers. Observational, where ya comment on something in the space around ya, or situational, where ya comment on an event that's happening. Think ‘misery loves company.’” Mercy explained.

Over the next few hours, Mercy walked Rogue through the finer points of small talk. How to ask without prying. The art of steering a conversation without ever touching the wheel, and how to keep people chatting long after they’d forgotten what started it.

Rogue sighed. Thank God she’d grown up in a small town, where gossip came as naturally as breathing. Otherwise, she’d have been in way over her head.

“The most important thing is to mirror their energy. If they’re enthusiastic, match it. If they’re reserved, keep things easy and don’t force conversation. When it’s time to leave, keep pace with the people around you so you don’t stand out. Staying near groups of similar-looking people can help, too.” Mercy finished.  Rogue nodded, trying to commit everything to memory, but it felt like her brain was turning to mush.

“What’s next?” Rogue asked.

“Wanna do some lock picking?” Mercy asked.

“Sure.” Rogue agreed immediately. At least she was familiar with that.

Following Mercy down a short hallway off the main Training Hall, they stepped into a room that looked like it belonged in SHIELD’s command center. The walls were lined with embedded safe doors, biometric scanners, and sleek keypad interfaces with blinking lights. The soft hum of electronics filled the air, underscored by the faint mechanical clicks of cooling systems tucked out of sight. A massive vault door filled one wall at the far side of the space. Down the center of the room, a long island sat with dozens of long flat file drawers underneath.

This must be the vault room, Rogue realized, looking around. Remy had mentioned it a few times back in Bayville. The Thieves used it as a specialty practice space. Across the room, a massive hole in the wall caught Rogue’s eye.

“What happened there?” she asked, pointing at the empty space.

“Emil’s got a new vault door, but he still needs to wire it in. That’s the problem with thievin’. Ya always got to keep up with the newest devices on the market,” Mercy explained.  Walking over to the island, she pulled open a long drawer and fished out a pair of hinged cuffs. “Wanna start with the basics?”

“Sure,” Rogue smirked and held out her hands.  As soon as Mercy tightened the cuffs around her wrist, Rogue pulled the lockpick from its place in her mouth and set to work.  Twenty seconds later, the cuffs fell off. 

“Okay, then. I guess we can skip the lock picking,” Mercy laughed. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Remy told us you were as good as a Master.”

“Yeah, he taught everyone about handcuffs, but I asked for additional training because I wanted to know more than just the basics.” Rogue smiled, “Eventually, he got me my own pick set, so I’d stop borrowing his.”

“Ouais, it’s always good to have your own set, so you know what you’ve got to work with in a pinch.”

“Over the summer, my brother went home to Germany, and he brought me back one of those super expensive electric lock picks they make over there. The Völkel Pick?” Rogue laughed, “I thought Remy’s head was gonna explode.”

Mercy snorted, “I’ll bet. Those things leave crosshatch marks like a raccoon on a sugar high. Jean-Luc and Oncle Belize would skin us alive if they ever caught us using one. We’re supposed to know how they work…but use one? That’s grounds for exile.”

“That’s what Remy said. I don’t get it. Why do they even make them if they scratch up the lock?”

“Hollywood, I’m guessing. They look fancy. Light up. Make noise. But to a real Thief, they’re basically a war crime,” Mercy rolled her eyes. “Since we clearly don’t need to go over lock picking, how are you with safe cracking?”

“Terrible,” Rogue admitted.

“Alright, let’s start from the beginning,” Mercy gestured to a small wall safe with a combination lock.  Pulling out her lock picks, Rogue set to work on the locking mechanism.  She had to focus.  The pressure needed to slide the pins into position on a wall safe was different than a pair of cuffs. After a few tries, the last pin clicked into place, and the door swung open.

“I thought you said you weren’t good at this?” Mercy raised an eyebrow with a bemused look.

Rogue shrugged. “Combinations I can manage—barely. And only because there’s an actual lock to work with. But if it’s a keypad or just a dial? I’m useless.”

“Let’s try this one then,” Mercy gestured to a different safe with a lock and keypad. “Give it a try. It’s a two-step. I’ll help if you get stuck.”

Rogue sighed, already knowing how this was going to end. She reached for the lock. “Just so we’re clear, even with Remy’s psyche, there’s no way ya’ll are gonna turn me into a Master Thief before this job.”

“Oh, I know.” Mercy leaned against the wall, watching her work. “Jean-Luc does too. We’re just trying to give you a general overview that any Apprentice would have.  Remy could do this job on his own, but since most of the people on the boat will be part of the criminal underground, it’s good for him to have a Second going with him in case something goes wrong. And knock Natalie out, of course.”

Rogue snorted as the second pin slipped into place. “Makes sense.” She paused and looked up. “You said that any Apprentice would have. How does all that work?”

“It starts off with the youngin’s.  That can be any kid who shows potential.  Some are born into thieving families, but they can also be from the streets.  Most of the Guild’s families start training their kids as toddlers.  But street kids, like Remy, might catch an older thief’s eye.”

“Got it,” Rogue said, carefully twisting the pick until the third pin fell into place. Moving to the keypad, she hesitated. Racking her brain, Rogue tried to remember what Remy had shown her before.

“Slip the pick under the edge and pry the keypad off,” Mercy advised. 

Rogue did as instructed, prying the casing loose.

“Anyway,” Mercy continued. “So the youngin’s can come from anywhere so long as they have a natural inclination for learning and are self-starters.  Once a kid hits ten, they can move on to become Apprentices. That includes formal lessons at the Guild Hall and excursions into the city. They have to show proficiency at certain skills like lock picking and safe cracking—No, not the black wire.” Mercy indicated a red wire under the motherboard. “That one.”

“Thanks,” Rogue tugged at the red wire until one end came free, and the light on the keypad turned off. “So lock picking and safe cracking, then?”

“Ouais. The Apprentices also learn soft skills like observation, situational awareness, and how to blend into a crowd. Each skill has to be witnessed by a Master Thief on at least one heist. There’s also the physical component—endurance, balance, flexibility, that kind of thing.”

Rogue frowned at the tangle of wires. “What about specialization? Like Theo with hacking, or you with reading body language?”

“Some kids show an aptitude early and start leaning into it, but most wait until they’ve earned their Mastery and put in a few years of fieldwork. Specializing too early can box you in.” Mercy leaned over her shoulder, checking on her progress.

“Can people specialize in more than one area?” Rogue asked, scowling at the wiring. Gloves always made everything harder. With a huff, she yanked one off and wiggled her fingers at Mercy. “My gloves are off. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m shamed you think I would. You’re not poison, Sha,” Mercy rolled her eyes. “But yeah—if they’re ambitious…or reckless. The Guild won’t stop you, but juggling multiple disciplines is a hell of a balancing act. It’s like mastering two different languages. Doable, but it takes time. Remy, Henri, and Emeric all specialize in multiple areas.”

Rogue finished reconnecting the wires and moved to reattach the red wire. “So, um, bit of a random question.”

Mercy raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“You ever heard of someone named Delphine?” Rogue slid her glove back on, doing everything in her power to not look at the blonde woman standing next to her.  

Mercy blinked, caught off guard. “Delphine?”

“Yeah. She was at Lock & Key this morning, and it seemed like she and Remy knew each other. When I asked him, he got all vague about it. Just curious if she’s someone people in your circles actually know, or, like, a personal friend.” Rogue shrugged like it was no big deal.

A slow grin crept onto Mercy’s face. “Ahh. That kind of curious.”

Rogue narrowed her eyes. “I’m not jealous. I’m just…investigating. Quietly.”

Mercy held up her hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t say a word.”

“So you do know her?” Rogue pressed.

Mercy chuckled, clearly amused. “Mais ouais, Delphine’s a thief. She works freelance. Doesn’t belong to the Guild. Just drifts from job to job.”

“So she and Remy…?” Rogue trailed off, resisting the urge to throttle her. She loved Mercy, but if the girl didn’t start talking soon, Rogue was gonna strangle her.

“They worked a heist a few years back,” Mercy said, tapping her chin in thought. “In Paris or Milan—I can’t remember. Whatever it was, it involved enough diamonds to make a grown man cry.”

Rogue dropped her face to her hands, smothering a groan. Dragging a hand down her face, she glared at the smirking woman beside her. “So all those jewel puns—‘precious,’ ‘flawless,’ ‘chipped’—was just…what? Him punning with strategy?”

“Sounds about right.”

“He’s messing with me on purpose.”

Mercy laughed outright at that. “Of course he is. That boy gets high on your flustered expressions.”

“He’s trying to drive me crazy,” Rogue muttered darkly.

“And yet…” Mercy smirked. “You’re still here.”

The safe beeped as the power came back on, and the door ‘clunked’ as it unlocked.  Rogue grinned triumphantly and swung the door open.

Only to find a second keypad waiting inside.

She stared at it. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Ouais,” Mercy chuckled at her misery. “Oh, and that second keypad? It’s on a timer. So, ya know, you might wanna hop to it.”

Rogue groaned again.

Chapter Text

Rogue laughed as Remy spun her around his back and caught hold of her again. The room blurred around her before he turned her to face him once more. Tugging her hands up until they were clasped around his neck, he eased into a gentle sway.

“Didn’t take you for a dancer, Swamp Rat,” Rogue teased. Though it wasn’t entirely out of character for him, she supposed, graceful as he was.

“I’ve got a few surprises left,” Remy replied.

“Should I be impressed or concerned?” Rogue arched a brow, feeling his fingers linger just a little too long at her waist.

Remy spun her out and back before lowering her into a dip.

“A little of both. Keeps things interesting.” Remy winked. His red-and-black eyes smoked at her before darting down to her mouth. Rogue’s breath caught in her chest.

Pulling her back upright, he twirled her again across the makeshift dancefloor at Rambling Cup, which was just an area next to the pool table where Remy had pushed some chairs away.

Over the speakers, Bonnie Raitt crooned ‘Something to Talk About.’ Rogue’s face felt like it was on fire. Thanks partly due to the daiquiri she’d already downed, but also because Remy’s family was watching them with blatant curiosity.

Well, everyone except for Emil. He was still at the bar, locked in a losing battle to catch the bartender’s attention.

With one final spin, the music faded away. Rogue blinked. She stood plastered against Remy’s front, their faces inches apart. Rogue cleared her throat. Reaching up to lift her hair, she made a show of fanning her neck as she put some space between them.

What was it about the Cajun that always made her forget to keep him at arm’s length?

You want me to take my best guess, Remy grinned.

Rogue ignored the psyche and headed back towards the pool table, where Theo and Henri were mid-game. Moving to an empty barstool, she perched beside Mercy.

Remy leaned against the wall, occasionally tossing out quips about his relative’s skill. Henri and Theo rolled their eyes, but otherwise, ignored the Swamp Rat as they continued taking turns sinking shots. Emil shuffled over, drinks in hand.

“Damn tourist. If they ruin this place, there’s gonna be hell to pay,” Emil muttered. Pausing, he passed Mercy her virgin Paloma. “Who’s winning?”

“Pretty evenly matched,” Mercy said, taking a sip of her drink. “Hey, Rogue, wanna play Henri for me?”

“Nope,” Rogue replied, popping the ‘p.’ Mercy pouted at her, but Rogue just snickered.

“We could play.” Remy shot her a sly grin. “We never did settle up on that bet back at de Mansion.”

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Rogue crossed her arms. “You’re a damn masochist and a fool to boot, ya know that?” she grumbled.

Remy leaned in and shot her a wink. “Only for you, Chere.”

Emil glanced between them like he was watching a tennis match. Rogue bit back a groan. She could practically see the wheels turning in the boy’s head as he tried to decide which question he wanted to ask first.

As Emil opened his mouth, Mercy sent an elbow into his ribs. Emil grunted and snapped his mouth shut, shooting Mercy an annoyed look.

Right. Well, this feels far too familiar to be fun. Rogue kicked off the wall, “Imma go grab a drink. Be right back.”

Taking a spot at the far end of the bar, away from the main crush, Rogue waited for the bartender to come over. That was fine. She wasn’t in any type of hurry. Looking back at the group, Remy had Mercy on the dance floor. Remy nodded down at her belly before looking up and saying something Rogue couldn’t hear. Mercy laughed and swatted Remy’s shoulder, causing him to laugh as well.

Rogue’s heart squeezed in her chest. Remy rarely laughed like that back in Bayville. Not that it was so surprising. The LeBeaus were easy to love. They were his family. Even if he’d made his home up North with her, Rogue knew how hard it was when your home and your family weren’t in the same place.

And now that Remy’s family was growing…

She shoved that thought away and snapped back around to face the bar.

“Ya get a chance to order yet?” Henri asked, appearing beside her like a shadow.

“No, not yet,” Rogue cleared her throat, glad her voice came out steady.

The music shifted, and an accordion started up as a lively zydeco beat filled the room. Rogue turned back to the dance floor, where Remy spun Mercy around, careful not to bump her into any chairs or tables.

Her heart squeezed painfully, and Rogue sucked in a sharp breath.

She couldn’t put her finger on it, but Remy was different whenever he stepped foot back in Louisiana. It wasn’t confidence. Lord knows the Swamp Rat had boatloads of that no matter where he was, but there was an ease to his movements. Like being home fit him in a way nothing else did. His eyes were a little brighter here, and his grin came a little easier.

He looks good, Rogue thought.

“Whatcha say?” Henri asked.

Rogue startled. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Nothing.”

At Henri’s disbelieving look, she shrugged, “I was just thinking Remy always looks good when he’s back home with ya’ll. Happier, ya know? He gets like that after he calls home, too.”

“Makes sense.” Henri nodded. “Family is a big comfort in the chaos of the Guilds.”

If Henri had stabbed her, it might have been kinder, Rogue decided.

She stared at the bar top, tracing a finger along the wood grain. What the hell was she doing stringing Remy along? Keeping him tied up in Bayville with her when she couldn’t even commit to making a damn move—especially when he could be back home with his family.

Henri managed to catch the bartender’s attention. The harried man came over to take their drink order. Rogue quietly gave her order, and he rushed off again.

“Ya know Remy is really excited about being an uncle,” Rogue began, watching Henri from the corner of her eye.

Henri stilled. Turning towards her, he raised an eyebrow, silently ordering her to spit it out.

Steeling herself, Rogue continued, “He’ll miss seeing the twins grow up if he stays in Bayville.”

“Is dat right? And did Remy tell ya that?” Henri’s voice was carefully neutral.

He hadn’t, and they both knew it.

Rogue glanced away, already regretting opening her mouth in the first place. “Well, no—”

“Bon,” Henri nodded firmly. “’Cause I’d hate to have to beat mon frere stupid.” A grin tugged at his mouth. “Actually, ya know what? Scratch that…no I wouldn’t.”

Rogue rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched up. The bartender came back and set down their drinks in front of them.

Henri shifted to lean a hip against the bar and sipped his whiskey. “So, since we’re on the topic of relationships…how are you two doing?”

“Oh…um, we’re good,” Rogue replied, reaching for her daiquiri and taking a large gulp. She choked as the rum hit the back of her throat.

“Well, that’s convincing,” Henri noted dryly, as she clung to the side of the bar, fighting for breath. “You let him start helping you with your powers yet?”

Rogue’s eyebrows shot to her hairline as she whipped back around. “You know about that?”

“Mais ouais,” Henri shrugged. “He talks about you when he calls home. That’s probably why he always looks so damn happy when he gets off the phone. Spends the first thirty minutes catching up on Guild business and then spends the next forever talking about you.”

“Oh,” Rogue said, a little dumbly.

Of course, Remy talked to his family. And naturally, the LeBeaus would ask after her—they were polite like that. She stared down at her drink, hoping silence might be enough to kill the conversation.

Henri gave it a beat, then ventured, “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that’s a no?”

Either he’d missed the hint, or Henri was taking a page from Jean-Luc’s book and ignoring it altogether.

“I mean, to be fair, I only got the go-ahead from the Professor right before we came down, and there has been a lot of stuff going on since we got here,” Rogue defended.

“I know he thinks he can help you learn how to touch.”

“No offense, but your brother doesn’t have three brain cells to rub together when it comes to women touching him.”

“Well…maybe just one woman in particular,” Henri smirked, sliding his eyes towards her.

Rogue stared at the rows of bottles lined up on the back of the bar, refusing to make eye contact. Cause, yeah, Henri wasn’t wrong. Remy might flirt like he breathed, but he wasn’t going out to pick up women every night anymore.

A few months back, during one of the girls’ nights in the Rec Room, Tabby had happily recounted every detail she knew about the man, including his alley-cat ways. Rogue spent the evening torn between wanting to strangle Tabby and wanting to plug her own ears.

Later, when Rogue had tried to subtly question Remy about it, he’d blinked at her in stunned surprise, then grinned like a fool and asked if she was jealous. She’d stomped off red-faced and swearing, but ever since then…Remy always made it back to the Mansion before midnight.

“I still say he’s being dumb,” Rogue grumbled.

“Maybe you need to trust that he’s a grown-ass man capable of making his own grown-ass decisions.” Henri raised an eyebrow.

Rogue buried her face in her hands. “How long have you been sitting on that to throw it back in my face?”

“Since you said it back in the alley. But the principle still stands, hein?”

“Okay. First of all,” Rogue held up a finger, “my advice is ‘do as I say, not as I do’ type of advice. And second, it’s not the same.”

“How do you figure?”

“The worst thing that could happen if you don’t start trusting Mercy’s choices is that she beats ya down with a cast iron skillet in a pregnancy-induced rage. In my case, Remy’s choices could get him hurt. Really hurt.”

“So, you don’t trust him.”

“Not with himself,” Rogue snapped, irritation itching up her spine. “He’s so damn blasé about my powers. I never even get to be that blasé about my powers…and they’re my powers.”

She raked a hand through her hair, then spun to face Henri, squaring her shoulders. Good manners said she should shut her mouth, especially around Remy’s brother. But weeks of fear and frustration were churning like acid in her gut.

“I’ve had to be in control of everything from the moment my powers showed up. Control over myself. My clothes. The psyches. Other people.”

Henri frowned, and she pressed on.

“Like, if you asked someone to hand ya something, they’d just hand it over normally. But me? I’d set it down next to ya so you can pick it up yourself.”

Rogue blew out a breath and scrubbed a hand over her face.

“Most folks don’t think about not touching someone because it’s in human nature to touch. I don’t just have to control myself. I have to control everyone around me to keep them from getting hurt.”

Henri tilted his head, raising an expectant eyebrow.

Rogue blinked. “…And as I say that out loud, that’s probably not very healthy, is it?”

“Non, not really.”

“Well…shit.” Rogue dropped onto a bar stool, the fight going out of her.

Looking at her gloved hands, resting limp in her lap. “I don’t want to hurt him,” she said quietly. “He never takes my powers seriously. He says we’ll just figure a way around them, or it’s no big deal if I end up accidentally draining him. He just wants to throw caution to the wind and try.”

Rogue swallowed. “And when I’m with him, I want to try, too. But someone’s got to keep their head.”

“Could you ask him something different?”

Rogue blinked. “Different how?”

“In thieving, improvisation’s key, but planning is sacred. It’s one of the things the Apprentices have to learn before their Tilling. Remy doesn’t always act like it, but he’s one of the best planners we’ve got. That’s part of why he’s the best in the Guild.” Henri looked at her, “Why don’t you ask him for a plan?”

“Like what?”

“That’s up to ya’ll. But whatever you need to feel like he’s thought this through, and you two aren’t just winging it.”

“That…might actually work,” Rogue said slowly, turning the idea over in her mind. She looked up, incredulous. “How have I not thought of this before?”

Henri chuckled, “Most people don’t know how to negotiate. They think you’re supposed to look for the middle ground. But you have to look for the common ground. Start with something you can both agree on and build from there.”

Rogue nodded absently. That made sense. Her mind whirled with possibilities. If she and Remy could come up with a plan of some sort, then maybe…she paused, her initial rush of excitement already fizzling out.

“What if he thinks I’m not worth the trouble?”

Henri snorted violently enough that Rogue wondered if his brain had just hemorrhaged.

Rolling his eyes, he clucked his tongue. “Girl, keep that crazy behind your teeth. I know you got mon frere’s psyche in your head, and I’m sure as shit he ain’t pleased to hear ya talk about yourself like that.”

Mais ouais, Remy scoffed.

Rogue flushed and buried her face in her hands, peeking out between her fingers. Henri watched her with mock exasperation, shaking his head like she’d just confessed to kicking a puppy.

“Mais, I guess if you want to hear it from someone else, I’ll go ahead and be the one to say it.”

Henri leaned towards her like he was about to share an earth-shattering secret. “Remy talked about ya for almost two years before you showed back up in New Orleans. That’s the longest he’s ever talked about a femme. We all knew you were something special.”

He straightened again, shot her a wink, and took a sip of his drink like the matter was settled.

Across the room, Remy spotted them and waved from the dance floor. Rogue ducked her head, biting her lip, “Thanks, Henri.”

“Pas de problème, just one fool helping out another,” he said, waving her off with a wide hand. He paused mid-sip, then lowered his glass. “Can I ask you something else, Petite?”

Rogue hesitated, seeing the smile on Henri’s face. It was the exact smile all the LeBeau men wore when something truly unholy was about to happen. Nothing good came when a LeBeau smiled at you like that.

“I guess?” she said warily.

“You mind telling me why your brother tried to run Remy through with a sword?” the blasted man smirked. “And does it have anything to do with that little handcuff story you wouldn’t let Remy tell at the dinner table the other night?”

Rogue froze like a possum in a porch light. “I…That’s…That’s in no way pertinent to this conversation, Henri.”

Her face and ears burning, Rogue snatched up her drink and marched towards the pool table. Over the music, she could hear Henri’s booming laugh following her.

“Somebody's gonna find out eventually, Petite.”

Rogue stepped out onto the quiet street, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft thud. Gas lamps flickered along the sidewalk, throwing pools of amber light across the damp pavement.

Making their way down the alley towards the parking lot, where Mercy’s sedan and Theo’s SUV were waiting, the warmth of the bar faded away. Mercy led the way, her heels clicking against the pavement as she twirled her keys on one finger.

“I’m telling you, if that bartender smiled any harder, her face would’ve cracked,” Rogue muttered.

Beside her, Emil strutted like a rooster in a henhouse on payday—and just as insufferable. “Hey, it worked. We got free shots!” He held up his phone like a trophy. “And I got her number.”

Theo rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. “Yeah, because nothing says romance like arguing over the finer points of jello shots. Smooth move, couyon.”

Remy snorted as they entered the parking lot. “Hey now, let de boy live. We all need a hobby.”

A group of people getting out of a car caught Rogue’s attention. It was Julien and his men. The rest of the group stiffened, noticing they weren’t alone anymore.

Julien looked entirely too pleased, his smirk already in place like he’d been waiting for them. Rogue sighed.

Somehow, it wouldn’t surprise her if he had been.

“Bonne soirée,” Julien greeted. He stopped a few feet away, his men flanking him. Rogue eyed the group. She recognized Gris Gris and Fifolet, but not the rest.

“Out for a fun night?” Julien asked.

“Evening, Julien,” Henri answered, stepping in front of Mercy. “Just finishing up, actually.”

Rogue shifted to stand by Remy. Mentally, she willed Julien to get on with whatever he had to say. She seriously doubted the Heir of the Assassins Guild had stopped them just to discuss the weather.

“I was wondering if the Assassins can expect an update on the recovery of the blueprints,” Julien said, getting to the point. “Since the Runners accused the Assassins, we would like to know when the matter is resolved.”

“I can understand your concern.” Henri replied smoothly, “But because the Runners contracted with our Guild for this job, it will be up to them to decide what to do with the blueprints after they are recovered. Client confidentiality.”

“Fair enough,” Julien nodded. Then he smiled at her, “Of course, mon Ange isn’t part of the Thieves Guild, is she?”

Rogue frowned. She wasn’t sure if Julien was trying to float her as a good go-between for the Guilds. Regardless, Julien’s comment had Remy shifting his stance as his eyes took on a faint glow.

Rogue bit the inside of her cheek, eyeing the pair. She’d promised Logan she wouldn’t do anything else rash, but it wouldn’t take much for the conversation to turn into an all-out brawl.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the little skunk-haired mutie. Long time, no see.”

Everyone turned. From the far side of the parking lot, a blond-haired man swaggered toward their group.

Rogue frowned. He seemed familiar. It wasn’t until the man smirked—that same punchable smirk he’d had in high school—that it clicked.

Duncan Matthews

Rogue’s jaw dropped. Standing before her, Duncan’s broad frame was just as stocky as she remembered. His dumb jock energy radiated off him like heat off asphalt, and next to him was a wiry, nervous-looking guy—probably his latest lackey.

“Duncan,” Rogue closed her eyes. She half-hoped he’d disappear into the void and she’d never have to deal with this idiot again. Opening her eyes, she gave him a slow once-over. “Wow. You’re still alive. I owe Scott twenty bucks.”

“Oh, is Summers here? I’d love the chance to kick his ass,” Duncan said, looking around.

“No, but I’ll pass along the message.” Rogue planted a hand on her hip. “Aren’t you supposed to still be in jail?”

“My boss put in a good word for me. They let me out on good behavior,” Duncan shrugged, grinning.

Rogue groaned and scrubbed a hand over her face. The last time she’d seen him, Duncan had been getting shoved into a cop car. She’d been seriously hoping that someone had misplaced the key to his cell. And forgotten where they kept the spare.

Way to go, penal system, she sneered.

Duncan swaggered closer, hands in his pockets. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here. Figured you’d be hiding in some basement, writing bad poetry about death.”

“And I thought you’d be working at a car wash, trying to figure out how soap works. But here we are.”

Duncan’s smirk faltered. “Still got that freak attitude, huh?”

“Oh no,” Rogue said flatly. “The popular kid still doesn’t like me. Whatever shall I do?”

Remy chuckled. Julien smirked. Duncan’s idiot friend shifted uncomfortably.

“So who’s all this?” Duncan asked, eyeing the group. “Your kissing cousins?”

Rogue massaged her temple, feeling a headache coming on, and smiled thinly. “Duncan, try to keep up, would ya? Cousins can marry in Alabama. I’m from Mississippi. And you are standing in Louisiana. I know you barely passed American History, but those are three separate states. Okay?”

The smirk dropped off Duncan’s face. “You better shut your mouth, mutie. Before I shut it for you.”

Rogue could feel the Thieves and Assassins stiffen behind her. Meanwhile, Duncan kept running his mouth, utterly oblivious that he was standing in an entire parking lot full of criminals whose opinion of him was dropping by the second.

Wonderful.

Rogue pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, Duncan, as charming as this little reunion’s been, I’m gonna need you to leave. So, how about you just turn around and walk away?”

“Oh, what’s wrong?” Duncan grinned. “Not so tough without your combat boots and eyeliner?”

“Jesus Christ, Duncan.” She snapped. “Just go home. Get a drink. Play in traffic. Do literally anything else. You could not have read this situation worse if you tried.”

Oh my god. It’s like playing battleship, but you’re trying to keep the dumbass from blowing himself up, Rogue fumed.

“Better listen to the femme, Fonchock,” Julien warned.

“Oh yeah? And what are you? Some type of mutie lover?” Duncan sneered, squaring up towards Julien.

Then, like the absolute idiot he was, Duncan pulled a switchblade.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Rogue threw her hands up.

Remy barked out a laugh. “This is fantastic. This is the highlight of my week.”

Julien tilted his head, giving Duncan a look that Rogue could only imagine a predator would give a particularly slow-moving prey.

Rogue didn’t wait. Darting forward, she grabbed Duncan’s wrist and twisted. The knife hit the pavement. Before he could react, she plowed her fist into Duncan’s nose with a satisfying crunch.

Duncan reeled back, holding his nose. His friend must have had at least a fraction of self-preservation and grabbed him by the arm. “Dude, let’s go.”

Duncan pointed at her. “This isn’t over, freak!”

As the men turned the corner and disappeared from sight, Rogue sighed. Grabbing the knife from the ground, she snapped the blade closed and stuffed it into her pocket.

Of all the dumbass dumbassery to have ever dumbassed…

“Well, mon Ange, looks like you saved me again—”

“Don’t start with me,” Rogue snapped, cutting Julien off, “That wasn’t for you. That was for me. His family still lives two miles from me. And if Matthews woke up dead tomorrow, I’m the one who’d have to deal with the fallout.”

Rogue stomped over to Remy.

“You okay, Chere?” Remy asked.

“Fine.”

“He wouldn’t have woken up dead,” Gris-Gris said. Rogue spun on her heel to face the Master Assassin.

“Oh please,” Rogue scoffed, fisting her hands on her hips. “I might have been born at night. I was not born last night.”

“Non, he wouldn’t have. He just would have…disappeared. Never to be heard from again,” Julien smirked.

“Oh,” Rogue glanced back at the far side of the parking lot. Maybe she should have let Darwin’s Theory of Natural Selection take its course.

“You want us to go catch him, or…?”

“No. No. It was the right…m-moral decision.”

Theo snorted. “How’d that word ‘moral’ taste coming out of your mouth?”

“Like I just inhaled turpentine,” Rogue ground out. Around the parking lot, Thieves and Assassins snickered.

“So, does he need to die?” Julien asked, letting his head loll in Remy’s direction. Reaching into his coat pocket, Julien pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping them against his hand.

Remy stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I mean, I wouldn’t be opposed. The problem is that she already knows that we know. So, if Matthews turns up dead now, it ain’t going t’ go well for any of us.”

“I can be patient. Give it a few years.”

“If he still works at that mine outside of Bayville, I could just make it go ‘boom.’ Kill and bury him in one shot.” Remy looked up at the sky thoughtfully.

Rogue gritted her teeth.

“I like it, but we should add some quicklime down in the tunnels. If you can start a fire with the explosion, they’ll use water to douse any flames,” Julien paused to light his cigarette. “Once quicklime turns into a slurry, it’ll eat through a body in a few days. Long before anyone digs him out. I got a couple of sources in New York.”

“Dat works.”

“Nice to see you two boys getting along so well,” Rogue snarled. Grabbing Mercy’s hand, she stomped towards the car. “Come on, Sugah. Let’s get out of here.”

Chapter Text

Staring at the floor plan on Jean-Luc’s desk, Rogue’s brain struggled to catalog all the spaces on the Crescent Belle. There was a casino and a bar. The main hallway. Secondary hallways trailed off from the main hallway, connecting to stairwells that led to rooms and suites. A cigar lounge. Crew areas. The engine room. The list went on.

Rogue closed her eyes, trying to visualize the map she’d been studying for the last hour in her mind. The main hall, casino, and bar were easy enough. From there, secondary hallways trailed off the four corners of the casino. The stairwell leading to the upper level was near the…the—damnit.

Rogue opened her eyes again and glared at the floor plan. Every time she managed to memorize one part of the boat’s layout, another part slipped away. It was like trying to catch smoke.

How the hell was she going to pull this off?

Voices overlapped around her. Jean-Luc and Remy were mid-discussion, rattling off routes and contingencies like they were reading each other’s minds. Theo had a laptop open beside him with some sort of schedule, probably the evening’s events, as he swiped a finger over the screen of the tablet he was holding.

“If you two arrive a few minutes into de Champagne Hour, that should give ya enough time t’ get up t’ Natalie’s room and look for de blueprints,” Jean-Luc noted. “The boat leaves at eight on the dot.”

“When does Sterling check in?” Remy asked.

Theo didn’t glance up from his screen. “She upgrades for early boarding privileges. She’ll be on the boat within the hour if she sticks to her usual routine.”

Rogue frowned. “If she’s getting on the boat early. Wouldn’t it be better to also get on early?”

Jean-Luc shook his head. “Non, with only a few passengers on board, it’ll be harder for you and Remy t’ hide in de crowd.”

“Plus, it looks like most of the earlier boarders are regulars,” Theo added. “They get on. They gamble. Then, they get off at the first port of call in Baton Rouge. Less than a third of the guests travel on to the other ports. If you and Remy get on early, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Where does it dock in Baton Rouge?” Remy asked.

“An old industrial port.” Theo made a face. “The place should be out of business. I’m guessing the Marconis cut a check to the owners so they can dock there after hours. Matteo arranges a car service to take guests who are disembarking back to New Orleans.”

Rogue pressed her lips together and nodded along like it made sense. Because it did, but she hated how she still had to ask.

“Who else is on the list?” Rogue asked, craning her neck to get a look at the screen. Basile, Arceneaux, Tribune, Quiroga…ah, Parker, Rogue spotted Natalie’s alias on the highlighted list.

 Scanning the rest of the list, Rogue frowned, “No LeBeau?”

“Lord,” Remy corrected, “I’ll be going as Robert Lord. Pretty much everyone has an alias t’ get on board.”

“Isn’t Basile the Governor’s last name, though?” Rogue pointed out.

She’d called Logan again this morning to check in, and he’d told her that Kitty had been working on digging up everything she could find about Governor Basile. So far, there wasn’t a clear connection between him and Senator Krane, but Kitty had promised to keep digging.

Jean-Luc chuckled. “Remy means dat anybody with common sense and a reasonable ego will be using an alias. Neither are traits de Governor is known for.”

“Do I need an alias?”

“Non. Matteo knows why you two are there. He listed you as ‘plus one.’” Theo explained.

Rogue nodded. That worked for her.

“If we get on the boat right before it leaves, isn’t there a chance that Natalie might fence the blueprints or something?”

Catching the grins unfurling over the men’s faces, Rogue flushed. “I can use thief words too, ya know.”

Jean-Luc beamed at her with a smile that was all pride and amusement. Rogue suddenly felt like a little kid who’d just walked in with his work boots on, saying she wanted to be just like him when she grew up.

“Fraid that’s a chance we’ll have t’ take. Besides, if Remy can’t find de blueprints in Natalie’s stateroom, that’s where you come in.” Jean-Luc patted her shoulder. Turning towards Remy, he asked, “Have ya worked out a plan t’ get Natalie somewhere isolated so Rogue can use her powers?”

“Oui, I spoke with Delphine this morning. She offered t’ tell Natalie that there was an attempted break-in into her stateroom. We can stash Rogue just inside de door, and when Natalie enters, Rogue can absorb her.” Remy replied.

Hearing Delphine’s name, Jean-Luc’s expression soured. He didn’t say anything outright, but the look he shot Remy could’ve curdled milk. Rogue didn’t catch the full meaning behind it, but it didn’t take a mind reader to know Jean-Luc wasn’t thrilled about Remy speaking to Matteo’s elegant assistant.

Rogue tried to ignore the twinge of petty satisfaction that ran through her that Jean-Luc didn’t seem to like the dark-haired woman either.

“How long should I lay Natalie out for?” she asked, changing the subject.

“As long as you need t’, but a few hours would buy ya two some extra time,” Jean-Luc answered.

The tension between her shoulder blades loosened. She could work with that. Even if she hated the woman for risking innocent lives just for a big payday, Rogue didn’t want to cause Natalie permanent damage.

She didn’t know what she would have done if the LeBeaus had asked her to.

Shaking the morbid thought off, Rogue changed the subject. “What if we can’t get the job done before the boat leaves port?” she asked.

“That’s when we go t’ Plan B. You and I will bid our time shmoozing on board with de other guests in de casino.” Remy wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I’ll gamble, and you’ll sit there being my Lucky Lady. Once we get close t’ Baton Rouge, we’ll make our move. Then slip away with the crowd like we were never even there.”

Rogue nodded slowly, running the plan through her head a few times, looking for any blind spots or holes in the plan, but it was solid. Simple and straightforward. Henri’s comment about Remy’s ability to plan things played across her mind.

“Wait.” Rogue paused as her brain caught up with what Remy said, “What do you mean, your ‘Lucky Lady’?”

Remy grinned at her in delight. “You’re playing arm candy tonight, Bele.”

Rogue narrowed her eyes. Clearly, her hearing was going, and she must have heard him wrong. “Come again?”

The fool-brained Cajun grinned impossibly wide. “Ya heard me. You’ll be on my arm, looking pretty while I do all de talking.” He shot her a wink. “Try not t’ look too deadly while you’re at it.”

“You—”

Jean-Luc cut her off and changed the subject, not liking his son’s chances of surviving the next five minutes. “If you plan t’ take any cards with ya, I want you to take a non-standard pack. I don’t need the Marconis accusing ya of cheating while you’re on their boat.”

Theo snorted. “What are they going to do? Call the police?”

“Wait, is this boat illegal?” Rogue narrowed her eyes.

“Non, non. Not anymore. Matteo is very careful t’ keep everything above bar these days.” Jean-Luc waved a placating hand, “But given most of the guests are friends of de Marconi Family, any disagreements on board tend t’ be handled…independently of law enforcement.”

Rogue leaned back against her seat, closing her eyes. There was no way in hell she would be informing Logan of that little tidbit of information when she called him later. Or Scott. Or anyone.

She breathed out through her nose. She could do this. She needed to do this. But her usual style of being straightforward, forceful, and relentless felt clumsy here. Logan had taught her how to survive a fight, but this wasn’t a fight.

It was chess.

Opening her eyes again to stare up at the ceiling in Jean-Luc’s office, Rogue wondered if Tante had left the coffee pot on.

Rogue gulped down her coffee. Eyeing the coffee pot, she begrudgingly reminded herself she should stick to just one cup. She needed to be alert tonight, not jittery.

“Well, look who’s getting ready for a big night out,” Emeric drawled, stepping through the back door.

Rogue rolled her eyes heavenward. This was just what she needed.

“Can I help you?”

“Relax, Princesse,” Emeric smirked and held up his hands, “I’m just here for coffee.”

Rogue didn’t believe that for one moment but stepped away to allow Emeric access to the coffee pot. Emeric nodded his thanks, smirk still in place, and poured himself a cup.

The two of them sipped their coffee, silence stretching between them. Rogue glanced down at the dark liquid in her mug. She wished Emeric would just get on with whatever snarky comment he wanted to make and leave.

“Good luck tonight,” Emeric said, breaking the silence.

Rogue blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Good luck tonight.”

“What do you really want?” Rogue rolled her eyes. She didn’t believe for a second that the cocky asshole had suddenly had some sort of change of heart. Emeric snorted.

“I’m serious. I’ve met Matteo a few times and like him well enough. It’s unfortunate that his Family got pulled into this because of the Runners’ piss-poor planning.

Emeric drained the last of his coffee, setting the mug beside the sink. “Besides, I’m a Master Thief in my own right, remember? This type of job requires two people. Someone needs to play decoy and be the second set of eyes during the heist. Since Mercy is no longer in the field, it’s good that you were able to fill the role.”

“So…good luck.” He gave her a pointed look. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Jean-Luc has me working on some very pressing matters.”

Rogue stared, unable to come up with a response, before Emeric swaggered out the back door. As the door clicked shut behind him, Rogue couldn’t shake off the feeling she’d just been insulted.

Blowing out a breath, she counted to ten. She could deal with him later. Or never. Actually, never sounded good.

She picked up Emeric’s mug from beside the sink and placed it in the empty dishwasher with her own mug.

“Hey, Rogue. Ya want to come up to my room and see if we can find you something to wear tonight?” Mercy asked, swanning through the door from the dining room.

“Wear?”

Mercy waved her along. “You’re playing arm candy, aren’t you? You’ll need a dress. Something…arm candy-ish.”

“And what exactly does that look like?”

“Let’s just say subtlety isn’t what we’re going for.”

Rogue closed her eyes in pure, undiluted dread.

Mercy chuckled, clearly enjoying herself just as much as Remy had. “Come on, Sha. Let’s see if we can find something that won’t make you want to murder Remy on sight.”

With a resigned sigh, Rogue trailed after her—already regretting every choice that had led her to this moment.

Rogue stared at the mirror, wondering what, exactly, she’d gotten herself into.

Mercy moved around her, tugging and adjusting the dress—as well as the hidden pockets cleverly concealed in the skirt.

Rogue had to admit, the number of things she could carry was impressive. Especially considering the dress was more of an idea than an actual garment.

Given the constraints of her powers, she and Mercy had struggled to find something that would cover most of her while still meeting the requirements of “arm candy.”

That was until Mercy pulled out a dark teal number with a slit that went clean up to her hip and a plunging neckline that didn’t leave much to the imagination—or modesty.

Rogue swallowed hard. If she dropped anything tonight, well, it would just have to belong to the floor.

“Ya look great,” Mercy grinned. “How do you feel?”

“Like I need two more yards of fabric and a roll of dress tape for the sake of modesty,” Rogue grumbled. Good Lord, you could almost see down to her navel.

At least it had straps.

“You’ll be fine. Believe it or not, once you’re on board, no one’ll bat an eye,” Mercy replied. Moving across the room, she opened the jewelry box. “We’re gonna need some absolutely obnoxious jewelry, though, to really make you fit in.”

Rogue inhaled sharply, feeling like she’d just stuck her finger in an electrical socket. Cold slid down her spine. “Um, give me a second, I might have something.”

She checked the hallway, then darted down to her room. Grabbing the jacket she’d been wearing at Madame LaCour’s from her suitcase, she reached into the inner pocket and retrieved the small box. She flipped open the lid.

The jewel-encrusted peacocks glinted at her.

Rogue grimaced.

Plucking the card from where it was wedged in the box, Rogue stared blankly at Irene’s looping script.

‘Trust him.’

Her chest tightened. Sucking in a breath and blowing it out through her nose, Snapping the lid shut, she turned on her heel and dashed back to Mercy and Henri’s room.

She really hoped she wasn’t about to regret this.

“Will these work?” Rogue asked, handing over the box.

Mercy opened the lid and sucked in a sharp breath.

“Wow. Yeah, those will do,” Mercy answered. Raising an eyebrow, she looked at Rogue, “Where exactly did you get these?”

“My aunt left them to me after she died,” Rogue answered. She and Remy hadn’t informed anyone in the Thieves Guild about Irene and her prophecies, and that wasn't something Rogue was about to change. “Why? Are they real?”

“Non, but they're damn good replicas,” Mercy said, studying the earrings. “The real version was part of a limited collection made by the designer. I think he only made about a hundred sets. A real set would run ya about a hundred grand.”

Rogue's jaw dropped open. A hundred thousand dollars just to hang ugly peacocks off your ears?

Mercy nodded at her expression. “Yeah, like I said, these aren’t real. The jewels are lower quality, but they’d still cost well over ten grand. Even some of the hommes would have trouble identifying this set from a real set.”

“Oh,” Rogue uttered dumbly, not sure what else to say.

“Was your aunt big into jewelry?” Mercy asked, handing the box back.

“Not really,” Rogue replied, busying herself with attaching the earrings. Truth be told, she couldn’t recall Irene ever wearing any sort of jewelry except for the simple gold band on her left hand.

“Well, the good news is that you can probably get away with just wearing those. So, you don’t need to worry about rings or bracelets over your gloves.”

“Small blessings,” Rogue muttered, pulling the carefully placed hot rollers out of her hair. “You got a bobby pin?”

“Here ya go,” Mercy said, handing over a small box of pins.

Rogue thanked her absently, still staring at her reflection in the mirror.

“So, how do you feel?” Mercy asked.

“Alright, I guess,” Rouge hummed and twisted a lock of hair around.

Dang it, it was no use—the stupid, sparkling monstrosities were still visible. Maybe she could fix her hair so that at least the peacocks’ heads were covered. That way, anyone she talked to wouldn’t have three sets of eyes staring back at them.

Mercy frowned at her in the mirror’s reflection. “You don’t have to do this, ya know. Remy won’t make you.”

Realizing that Mercy must’ve taken her absent-minded silence for doubt, Rogue paused. “I know he wouldn’t. I won’t lie—I kinda wish I had a little more time to prepare for tonight. But I won’t leave Remy to watch his own back.”

“Merci, Sha. I’m glad you’re going with him. We’re so short right now. I was afraid he’d have to go in on his own tonight.”

Rogue snorted. There was no chance in hell she’d let the Cajun do this by himself.

“I guess even being a walking tranquilizer dart has its perks sometimes,” Rogue snorted dryly.

Immediately, she wanted to snatch the words back. They were too real, too sharp for her to play off as a joke.

“You don’t believe that,” Mercy said softly, still watching her in the mirror.

Rogue glanced down at her skirt, adjusting it needlessly. “I mean, I know I’m not useless. But I’m also not one of you. I didn’t grow up picking locks or cracking safes. I’m learning most of this on the fly. Half the time, I’m just trying to keep up.”

And the other half, she felt like she was drowning. But it was too late for that now. She had a job to do. X-Men didn’t abandon the mission.

Rogue looked back at the mirror, taking in the thigh-high slit and plunging neckline.

Of course, she’d never seen Scott or Logan running a mission while wearing a cocktail dress either, so… ya know.

Mercy stepped back, fisting her hands on her hips, and fixed her with a hard look. “Rogue, I’ve seen a lot of people try to bluff their way into jobs they weren’t ready for, and I’m telling you right now, you ain’t seeing yourself clearly.”

“Come again?”

“Pere would have sent you no matter what… powers or no powers. Because when the chips are down, it’s people you care about. Not money or ego.” Mercy crossed her arms, “You’d wrestle God himself to pull Remy back from the gates of heaven, and Pere knows that. That’s why you’re on this job. Not because of what you can do, but because of who you are.”

The words landed hard and soft all at once. Rogue sucked in a breath as her throat closed up. She swallowed. Taking one last glance in the mirror, Rogue offered Mercy a smile. “Thanks.”

Mercy smiled back. “Anytime, Sha. Now finish up fiddling with your hair and go knock ’em dead—just not literally.”

Rogue’s lips twitched. “No promises.”

A long wolf whistle greeted her as she stepped into the foyer.

“Lookin' good, Petite,” Jean-Luc grinned. Remy stood beside his father.

God…damn, Rogue’s brain stuttered to a stop.

Remy’s psyche preened.

She struggled to remind her body that breathing was a necessary function as she took in the sight: Remy in a custom-fitted suit, silk scarf at his neck, looking like every bad decision she’d ever wanted to make twice.

The two men grinned at her like a pair of opossums eatin’ sweet potatoes.

“You doing okay there, Chere?” Remy smirked.

Rogue coughed, clearing her throat. “Yep. Yeah. I’m great. You clean up nice, Swamp Rat.”

She clapped him on the back a little too roughly and winced.

Sweet Jesus, why not just call him ‘old buddy, old pal’ while you’re at it, Girl? Rogue groaned inwardly.

Remy’s smile slipped into something more sinful. His gaze was a slow drag, taking a deliberate study of her. This wasn’t just appreciation in his eyes—it was intent.

Rogue’s face burned.

“Enjoying the view?” she snarked, fighting the urge to cross her arms.

Heat flickered in those dark eyes. His smirk was gone, but the hunger in his voice wasn’t. “Oui.”

Rogue swallowed. Damn him.

Remy reached up and swept her hair back from her face, and goosebumps rippled over her. For a moment, his eyebrows pulled together in a crease but smoothed away almost instantly.

“You ready to go, Chere?” he asked, offering her his elbow.

“Lead the way, Mr. Lord.”

Silence filled the car as the sun burned down towards the horizon. Rogue watched as the trees beyond the window began to thin out, replaced by houses and storefronts.

“Chere, where’d ya get those earrings?” Remy broke the silence.

“Irene left them with Madame LaCour with instructions to give them to me on my second visit after her death.”

“You doin' okay?”

“Can we get through this first?” Rogue sighed. She really didn’t want to think too hard about Irene right before a mission.

Remy reached over the center console for her hand, rubbing small circles with his thumb across the back of her evening gloves.

Rogue watched, mesmerized by the small movement. Good old Cajun. He always knew what she needed.

Before she could overthink, she turned her hand over and laced their fingers together.

Neither of them said anything for the rest of the car ride.

Chapter Text

As Remy handed over the keys to the valet, Rogue stared up at the Crescent Belle. Her faint childhood memories of watching riverboats sailing far out on the Mississippi River had nothing on this. The boat was massive, four decks tall and long enough to stretch the length of the pier. A towering red paddle wheel rose two stories high, and the vessel was topped with twin smoke stacks.

White columns framed each level, trimmed in delicate wrought-iron banisters and intricate filigree. The whole thing looked like it had sailed straight out of a bygone era.

“This is low-key,” Rogue deadpanned.

Remy snorted. He wrapped an arm around her hip as they joined the crowd on the dock.

“Mais, it’s N'awlins, Chere. People only pay attention when it looks like you’re trying t’ hide something.”

The mood around them was boisterous. People jockeyed for position as they waited to board. Rogue cursed under her breath when a man in a brown suit stepped on her foot, shouldering past her in his rush to the front of the line.

Remy glared at the man’s back. Catching her stare, he shook his head with a rueful smile. “Feel like we need t’ send that one t’ Tante for some lessons in manners.”

“Tell me about it,” Rogue grumbled.

Leading her up the gangplank, he nodded to two burly-looking bouncers. A few steps behind the men, Delphine stood at the door waiting for them. Reaching into the inner pocket of his suit coat, Remy pulled out the invitation Matteo's man had delivered to the Guild Hall earlier that morning and handed it over with a flourish. The bouncer gave it a quick glance and nodded.

“Welcome aboard, Mr. Lord.”

“Merci, mes amies,” Remy replied cheerfully, swaggering past the pair, his arm still firmly wrapped around her.

“Mr. Lord, welcome aboard the Crescent Belle,” Delphine greeted primly. “Is this your first time with us?”

“Oui, I’m long overdue.”

“Well, welcome aboard. If you and your guest would like to follow me this way, I’d be happy to point you two towards the casino. I understand you play.” Delphine waved them down the hallway away from the patrons still socializing near the entrance.

“There ain’t no one who likes poker more than me,” Remy boasted loudly.

“Then you might be interested in joining our tournament tonight. The buy-in is a hundred thousand dollars,” Delphine replied, gliding down the corridor. Once they were out of earshot, Delphine lowered her voice, dropping the act, “Do you know where you’re going?”

“Ouias, Room 212. Matteo sent de information over earlier,” Remy answered.

Delphine moved to a small alcove just outside two large doors that led to the casino. Even through the frosted glass, Rogue could see shadows moving and hear the low hum of conversation punctuated by occasional cheers.

“I saw Natalie earlier when she checked in,” Delphine said quickly, her gaze scanning the hallway beyond Rogue’s shoulder. “But I haven’t seen her show up for the Champagne Hour yet. Usually, she uses the time to mingle with the other regulars on board and try to drum up new connections.”

“Does she ever talk with the Governor?” Rogue asked. Remy stiffened. Delphine’s dark eyes snapped towards her.

“You know the Governor?” Delphine asked.

Her voice was carefully even, but Rogue could hear the suspicion ringing clear as day underneath.

Rogue cursed. She’d forgotten that they weren’t supposed to know who was on the guest list outside of Natalie.

“We saw him going into de casino as we came in,” Remy covered smoothly. “Seems odd that two people in the same political circles are on the same boat.”

Gratitude that didn’t quite drown out her mortification washed over Rogue. Trust the Cajun to be ready with a lie.

Delphine raised an eyebrow. Pressing her lips together, she checked the hallway again before leaning in.

“They’re both regulars,” she said quietly. “I’ve seen them talking before, but I don’t know what they were discussing. Our guests tend to prefer discretion when they are traveling with us.”

Delphine flicked a glance her way, then gave Remy a pointed look. Rogue’s face burned. Delphine was telling Remy to keep her in check.

“Merci, Petite.” Remy breathed gratefully.

“No problem. I need to get back to work.” Delphine smiled. Moving forward, she wrapped her arms around Remy’s neck. “Come find me later, okay?” she murmured into his ear.

Rogue glanced away, willing herself to ignore the twisting in her stomach at the woman’s soft question and Remy’s small nod.

It was fine. The Swamp Rat could talk to whoever he wanted to. It was no skin off her nose. Delphine lingered a moment longer than Rogue thought polite society recommended before turning and heading back the way they came, her heels clicking as she went.

“Chere…,” Remy began.

“I’m sorry,” Rogue cut him off. “I shouldn’t have mentioned the Governor. I wasn’t thinking.”

Remy sighed. His hand dropped from where he’d been reaching for her. “It’s fine. Let’s just stick t’ de plan and find de blueprints.”

Fine by her, the sooner they could get off this boat, the better. Then, they could leave Matteo and Delphine to their little gangster’s paradise.

Grasping the large door handle, Remy opened the door for her. A wall of sound slammed into Rogue—laughter, shouts, the clinking of glasses, and the unmistakable rustle of cards being dealt.

Gambling tables stretched out before her, crowded with men in sharp suits and women draped over their shoulders like expensive accessories. Their cocktail dresses glittered under the warm light of brass chandeliers, the sequins catching the faint sway of the boat.

A few women mingled on their own or joined the games, but most held drinks for the players or stood whispering into the ears of wealthy patrons. Their dresses were cut high, dipped low, and stitched together with the promise of something more.

Suddenly, Rogue felt very overdressed.

In the center of the room, a section of poker tables stood cordoned off by thick velvet ropes. That was probably where the tournament was going to be held. Dealers sat at their tables, making final preparations. A tall man in a white suit and a scarred cheek loomed near the entrance to the roped-off area.

Several men and their dates stood nearby, chatting and joking. Even from the doorway, Rogue could see sharp eyes glancing toward the chips the dealers were stacking into neat towers.

Rogue’s gaze moved toward the back of the room. A long mahogany bar stretched across the rear wall, polished until it gleamed. Behind it, the bartender poured drinks with mechanical efficiency, but his eyes never stopped sweeping the room. A large mirror hung behind the shelves of liquor, reflecting the entire floor. Patrons could watch all the action without needing to turn around.

The air carried the faint tang of bourbon and tobacco, mingling with the salt of the river outside. Somewhere, a band struck up a slow jazz tune.

Holding her head high, she tried to recall what Mercy had said about camouflage. Match energy. Stick to people you look like you belong with. Know when it’s time to leave.

Moving a half-step closer, Rogue pressed herself against Remy’s arm. His eyes didn’t waver from the room, but she felt the muscles of his arm jump at the contact.

Remy wove them past blackjack and roulette tables. He didn’t seem to have a set course but rather was promenading just for the sake of it. Rogue felt a few glances land on her, but most slid right over her to settle on Remy.

“Mr. Lord,” one man moved forward to shake Remy’s hand before adding quietly, “Or is it LeBeau tonight?”

“Lord,” Remy replied smoothly. “Matteo was nice enough to invite me to his tournament.”

“Well, damn. There goes my luck for the rest of the night,” the man groaned good-naturedly.

That seemed to break the ice as others from around the room approached to greet Remy and ask about his father and brother—apparently a Jonathan Lucas Lord and a Harrison Lord, respectively. When someone asked about Harrison’s wife, Grace Lord, Rogue had to fight to keep from rolling her eyes.

The Swamp Rat’s family needed better names.

As the group around them chatted, Rogue leaned in, letting her lips brush close to Remy’s ear. She smiled like she was teasing, but kept her voice low.

“How many people here do you know?”

“A lot,” Remy muttered, nodding to a man passing by. “Some are Guild clients. Some are contacts. Others are heads of their own Families.”

Rogue's brow furrowed. “Why bother with an alias then?”

“Formality, mostly,” Remy shrugged. “Plus, it keeps de few Outsiders on the boat from being able t’ identify anyone.”

Rogue nodded, despite the fact that it seemed like a massive waste of time. Everyone here clearly knew who everyone else was. But if the charade kept egos intact, who was she to point out the absurdity?

Falling silent, she settled in, letting herself fade into the scenery. Beside her, Remy continued to play showman, giving her time to take in her surroundings. Rogue knew the plan. They couldn’t just charge onto the boat and steal the blueprints. They needed to be seen mingling first. Preferably betting and losing money.

Gazing across the room, she watched as money traded hands and dice rolled. Under everything, she could hear the low murmur of conversation—backroom deals, most likely—humming just beneath the surface.

Rogue paused.

Something was off.

Staying pressed to Remy’s side, she tossed her head back with a giggle, keeping up the act as one of the men finished a story. From under her lashes, she swept the room with her eyes.

It started with a few glances in her direction. Not that it was so surprising. She was a stranger and, as such, she was bound to catch some attention. But the looks lingered, eyes following her a bit too long. As she crossed eyes with small groups of people, conversations hushed, then reignited.

A man she didn’t recognize—broad-shouldered and in his early sixties with a scar running from his brow to his jaw—tilted his glass in her direction, but there was no malice in his eyes. If anything, his gaze held…interest.

Rogue’s fingers tightened on Remy’s arm, bunching the fabric of his coat. These men were players in the city’s underbelly—smugglers, racketeers, enforcers for syndicates she had no business dealing with.

There was no hostility in their eyes.

Just recognition.

“Excuse me, but would you happen to be Miss Rogue?” a man asked, breaking off from the group and smiling at her. He was tall, dressed in a charcoal suit with silver at his temples.

Rogue blinked. She had never met this man a day before in her life. She was sure of it.

From the corner of her eye, she saw surprise flicker across Remy’s face. The man had caught him off guard, too.

Shit. That wasn’t good.

Managing a polite smile, Rogue nodded. “I am.”

“Seems you’re very popular tonight,” the man noted, swirling the amber liquid in his glass as he looked out over the room.

“I wasn’t aware I was expected,” she replied evenly.

The tall man’s grin widened just enough to set Rogue’s teeth on edge. “Well, when someone with your reputation steps onto a boat like this... let’s just say it tends to draw attention.”

Rogue laughed lightly, waving a hand. “Oh, well, let’s not go bringing a girl’s reputation into this, shall we?”

Sneaking a glance around the room, she caught subtle nods from men she barely recognized from the half-recalled memories of her psyches—Remy, Colt, Julien, Mystique, and a few others. Some of these men led labor racketeering out of Chicago. Others handled drug trafficking out of Miami. Still others were old-school enforcers for the New York Mafias.

None of them had any reason to know her face.

And yet, they did.

“How long until the tournament starts?” Rogue asked, peering past the group at the roped-off section of the casino floor.

“About thirty minutes,” the man said.

“Perfect,” Rogue turned towards Remy, smile still in place. “I want to check my hair from the car ride before everything gets started. Any idea where I might find a mirror?”

“Of course, Bele,” Remy wrapped an arm around her waist, directing her towards the bar. “I’ll catch up with you hommes later.”

Remy managed to keep them moving despite the crowd. They looped around the bar and down a hallway, where the restrooms were located, but Rogue didn’t slow down.

Screw the plan. They were getting the blueprints and getting out of here. She wanted off this boat…now.

Remy must have been on the same wavelength as he kept pace beside her. Up ahead, she spotted a narrow secondary stairwell leading to the Staterooms on the second floor.

Rogue waited until she was sure they were alone before letting go of his arm. “Remy, what the hell is going on? Everyone knows who I am.”

“I know,” Remy muttered darkly.

He reached for her, guiding her toward the door to the stairs.

“How do they know who I am?” she demanded, trying and failing to keep the bite out of her voice. This wasn’t Remy’s fault, but the worried look on the Cajun’s face wasn’t doing anything to help settle her nerves.

Stepping into the stairwell, Remy glanced around. Not seeing anyone, he raked a hand through his hair and blew out a breath.

“I don’t know. I know for a fact that Jean-Luc isn’t spreading your information around. And I seriously doubt Marius would waste his time with gossipin’.”

“What about Alden?” Rogue asked, hitching up her dress to follow Remy up the stairs. Mystique’s psyche had said that introductions were important.

Remy grimaced, “It’s possible. He’s always trying t’ better de reputation of de Runners Guild. Claiming you—and your powers—as a friend of de Runners would make him look like he had powerful allies.”

Rogue swore.

“It could be more than that, though,” he added, opening the door to the second floor and waving her down the hall.

“What do you mean?”

“The Guilds all have mutants in their ranks. We’ve had them for centuries,” Remy said. “But de Underground only caught on t’ the idea once mutants were outed. For the last few years, every crime family has been trying t’ expand their connections—recruiting mutants who are morally gray and willing t’ work for protection, or for a good payout.”

Rogue boggled at him.

“You’re telling me this now,” she hissed.

“What would ya have me do?” Remy snapped.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rogue threw her hands up. “Give us a heads-up, maybe?”

Rogue stomped past him towards the door marked ‘212’, fury crashing in her chest. She was so damn mad right now. She needed to get away before she said something she couldn’t take back.

A hand caught her wrist and dragged her back.

“Don’t walk away from me, Rogue,” Remy glared. His eyes burned with anger, but there was something else underneath it. Frustration? Guilt? Maybe both?

“Ya should have trusted us,” Rogue said hotly.

“I was trying to keep the Underground out of Xavier’s,” Remy growled. “Forgive me if I’m still trying t’ figure out where the hell the line is between X-Men and Thief. Maybe you can give me some pointers since ya seem t’ have it all figured out.”

He dropped her hand like it burned him and moved past her.

Rogue stood frozen for a second, Remy’s words ringing in her ears. Then her anger collapsed in on itself, leaving only shame in its place. She ground the heels of her palms into her eyes, cursing herself eight different ways.

“Remy, wait,” she called, spinning around, catching his shoulder before he could get to the door.

Remy stopped, but he didn’t turn around to face her.

“Sug’, please.” Rogue moved around to stand in front of him, “Sugah, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that. I know you’re struggling to find a balance for all this.”

His jaw was tight. “Don’t need no lip service, Rogue. And when exactly were ya planning on telling me that you were talking to Logan about tonight?”

“You were listening in on me?”

“Ain’t no secrets in the Guild Hall, Chere. You know that.”

“I mean…I was going to tell ya.”

“Right.”

“No, I’m serious.” Rogue reached for his hands, grounding both of them. “I know it’s hard. That’s why I negotiated for a copy of the blueprints in the first place.”

“Quoi?”

“The other day, when the Guilds met the second time, I was planning to just listen.” Rogue squeezed his hands. “You’re acting on behalf of your Guild, which means you have to be a Master Thief right now. I get that. But I was worried the others might pressure you for information once we got back. I thought if I could go and listen in, then I could answer any questions, and you wouldn’t have to.”

Remy nodded slowly.

“But then you got pulled in for the job, and Alden came up with the idea of me going with you. I figure, since I’m not Guild…”

“You could negotiate as an X-Men,” Remy finished, his eyes widening in understanding. “That’s brilliant.”

Rogue shrugged, suddenly feeling shy. “It just seemed like a good way to kill two birds with one stone. Mystique used to say that all the time growing up. Figured I might as well put it to use.”

Turning towards the lock, she fished her lockpicks from one of the hidden pockets in the dress. “For what it’s worth, I think you should tell the Professor or at least Logan about this. I doubt Logan will press you for names, but they’ll need to know that crime families are trying to recruit mutants. Kids on the street will be vulnerable.”

“Ya preaching t’ the choir there, Chere,” Remy muttered, leaning a shoulder against the wall.

Rogue glanced up at him. Remy’s shoulders had rounded slightly under his suit jacket, his red-and-black eyes distant. Reaching up, she found his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. Remy stayed silent, but managed a small smile and squeezed back.

Rogue turned back to the lock and frowned.

The gold finish was flaking. The cylinder was torn up—deep cross-hatch scratches etched around the keyhole. Sloppy.

Quickly maneuvering the lock pins into place, Rogue turned the tension rod, the familiar sensation in her fingertips oddly comforting. It was one of the first skills he’d ever taught her, and her hands moved with muscle memory now. The tumblers clicked beneath her fingers.

“Got it,” she grinned.

Remy's teeth flashed white in the dim hallway. “Getting pretty quick with that these days.”

Reaching up, the Rogue turned the handle, and the door gave way. The light from the hallway threw a bright rectangle on the floor of the dark stateroom.

Rogue’s breath hissed through her teeth as her brain registered two things at once.

The first was that Natalie sat tied to a chair in the center of the room, her body slumped forward with two gunshot wounds to the back of the head.

The second was Julien Boudreaux, standing beside her corpse.

Chapter Text

Rogue’s mind refused to comprehend what she was looking at. What was left of the back of Natalie’s skull was a mess of tissue and broken bone.

But her face…her face was gone.

Rogue could make out a few white teeth that were probably part of her lower jaw and a pink fleshy lump that must have been her tongue. Blood pooled in her lap and over her legs, staining the champagne gown she was wearing dark red.

Rogue turned away, only to regret it immediately. Dark jelly-like blobs were splattered over the floor.

Most likely brain matter, Dr. McCoy noted clinically.

Her stomach heaved, and her skin turned cold.

A hand gripped her upper arm roughly, and the floor lurched beneath her. The next thing she knew, she was back in the hallway.

Ahead of her, Remy stood between her and Julien, shoulders tense, staff already in hand.

“What de hell is this, Julien?” Remy snarled.

“It wasn’t me.”

“Bullshit.”

Three cards appeared in Remy’s hand. Julien answered by pulling a dark blade from somewhere on his person. Some small part of her brain that wasn’t frozen in horror dimly registered that Julien was wearing a custom-fitted suit, the same quality as Remy’s.

“I said it wasn’t me,” Julien snapped. “Why the hell would I jump through Alden’s hoops when I could just buy the damn prints?”

Marius must have been willing to go to Alden’s auction, Rogue’s mind sluggishly registered the implication.

Julien must’ve been pissed. Made sense. He probably saw it as his father begging for scraps from the Guild that held him hostage. But it was what Julien wasn’t saying that worried her. 

If he’d come here without Marius’s permission, then Julien was acting erratically again.

“I only got here a few minutes before you,” Julien added.

Rogue nodded, still feeling dazed. Robotically, she shuffled past Remy’s outstretched arm. She heard him protest, but it sounded muffled. Pulling off her glove, Rogue held out her bare hand.

“Prove it?”

Irritation flickered over Julien’s face at the sight of the outstretched hand, but it melted away, replaced with a charming grin. “For you, mon Ange? Anything.”

He reached for her, but she pulled back just short of contact. Julien raised an eyebrow. Rogue nodded in satisfaction.

Julien would never willingly give her anything about the Assassins unless he knew she was his only option. Whatever else he was, he wasn’t lying now.

Letting her hand drop to her side like dead weight, she turned to Remy. “He didn’t do it.”

Remy’s jaw ticked, but after a beat, he relented. With a flick of his wrist, the cards vanished, and the bo-staff collapsed.

Julien tilted his head, observing her. “You’re calm for someone who just stumbled onto a murder.”

Rogue heard herself make a sound, something like a hum, the comment barely registering. Her mind was too busy filing away details—no marks on the wrists, jewelry scattered over the vanity.

Everything was too quiet.

It was like watching herself through thick glass, moving and thinking, but far away from her own body.

Fingers grazed her arm. She flinched.

Remy peered at her. “Chere?”

“Oh,” she said faintly. “Right. I guess I am. How long do ya think she’s been dead?”

Julien moved forward, unceremoniously prodding Natalie’s body and poking at her arm and hands. Rogue’s jaw clenched at the sight, fury breaking through the fog.

“Somewhere between two to three hours, I’m guessing,” Julien said after a moment. “The body’s still warm, and the skin is starting to mottle. She’s just starting to get stiff.”

“Could you not touch her like that?” Rogue’s voice came out quieter than she expected.

Julien arched a brow. “What? She doesn’t mind.”

Rogue crossed her arms, glaring at the vanity. The only safe place to look in the room. Three hours. Natalie got on the boat a little after lunchtime, never realizing that she would be dead within a few hours.

Guess now we know why she didn’t come up for the Champagne Hour. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, another followed in its wake.

“Wait, that doesn’t make any sense,” Rogue said.

The men glanced at each other and then raised an eyebrow at her.

“What do ya mean?” Remy asked.

“She’s already wearing her dress.” Rogue waved a hand at the body.

Both men stared at her blankly. Rogue sighed.

“Women don’t lay around in evening gowns for hours on end. You put them on right before you go to an event. Shower, hair, makeup, dress, jewelry, finishing touches…in that order.”

Rogue pointed to the vanity, “She didn’t get her jewelry on, but she’s already wearing her dress. Which means she was getting ready at least two hours before the Champagne Hour was supposed to start.”

“She was meeting with someone early,” Julien nodded before scanning Natalie’s body again with sharp eyes. “There’s no defense wounds on the corpse, not even a chip in the nail polish.”

Rogue pressed her lips together. Whoever had interrupted Natalie hadn’t been seen as a threat.

Remy slid past her, his thumb rubbing small circles against her hip bone as he moved toward the vanity. Stopping to inspect the jewelry, he let out a low whistle.

“Between de necklace and de rings, there must be nearly a quarter of a million dollars lying here,” Remy smirked at her over his shoulder. “Guess you were right about politics being a cushy gig, Chere.”

Sobering, he added, “The problem is no snatch-and-grab thief is going t’ leave this type of bag behind. Which means the killer was here for something specific.”

“The blueprints,” Rogue replied. Glancing around the stateroom, she sighed, “We should probably check the room, but I doubt we’ll find anything.”

It didn’t take long. The space was small, and there were only so many places you could hide things, even on a mafia-run boat.

“There’s a room safe, but it’s empty,” Remy peered into the closet. He poked a button on the safe’s door. “But it was preset with a code, so Natalie definitely used it at some point.”

“Natalie must have taken the blueprints out. Maybe for the meeting?” Rogue guessed.

“Or, she was trying to barter for her life,” Julien added.

Rogue grimaced. He had a point. No matter how much the blueprints were worth, you couldn’t spend money if you were dead. 

Looking around at the small space, she frowned. “How is it no one heard a gun go off?”

“Suppressor,” Julien answered. “Plus, the carpet, bedding, and solid wood door would muffle any noise that did escape the muzzle. Probably wouldn’t have sounded louder than a Champagne cork popping.”

“There weren’t many people on the early access list,” Rogue pointed out. “Whoever it was that killed Natalie would have been on board early so they could meet with her.”

“It could have been one of de crew,” Remy countered.

“Oh, please, you think it was one of Marconi’s men?” Julien scoffed.

“It’s possible.” Remy glared. “Those blueprints are worth a fortune.”

“They wouldn’t go against the Guilds openly like that. Hell, they even play nice with Hoffman,” Julien sneered.

Rogue inhaled deeply and blew it out through her nose, trying to block the two men out. Her thoughts felt like they were moving too fast and too slow simultaneously.

If the killer was on board, it could be one of the early passengers, which would limit the number of people who would have had access to Natalie. A point in their favor.

But, if it was one of the crew, there could be dozens of people who had access to Natalie’s room. A point in the killer’s favor.

Vibrations through the floor brought her thoughts to a screeching halt.

“What the—”

“It’s de boat,” Remy said, glancing at his watch. “Merde. It’s eight o’clock. We’re leaving the dock.”

Remy grabbed her wrist and tugged her towards the door. “We got t’ get back to the casino before someone finds us here.”

Rogue followed Remy into the hallway, blinking in the light. As dim as the hallway was, it felt too bright and exposed after being in the cramped stateroom.

Behind them, Julien quietly closed the door. Jogging to catch up, he shoved his hands into his pockets, keeping pace with them.

Remy’s jaw ticked. The Cajun looked like he’d be happier if Julien decided to swim back to shore, gators and all.

“Pull your shit together, Thief. You’re jumping at shadows,” Julien rolled his eyes. “The Marconi Family? They’re not that reckless.”

Remy glared at Julien over her head. “Reckless or not, they had access t’ Natalie all night.”

Julien snorted, looking past her at Remy. “That doesn’t explain why she ain’t going to be winning any beauty contest anytime soon. If Matteo wanted the blueprints, why bother with killing her? They got money.”

They stepped out of the stairwell, heading down the hallway towards the casino.  Up ahead, the soft hum of jazz and slot machines filtered through the doors.

“Maybe they’re tying up loose ends,” Remy snapped. “You probably don’t get that since your idea of tying up loose ends is stabbing people who annoy you.”

Rogue massaged the bridge of her nose.

“Stabbing works,” Julien shrugged. “And it’s easier than your method — what do you call it again? Kidnapping a femme to fight your battles for you?” Pausing, Julien offered her a winsome smile, “Don’t worry, Ange. Most of us wouldn’t dream of tossing a lady such as yourself onto a boxcar.”

Remy narrowed his eyes. “You’re lucky I haven’t tested to see if that knife of yours is as dull as you are.”

Rogue’s eye twitched.

Murder. There was about to be another murder on this boat. And then Jean-Luc and Marius would be mad at her. And then she would have to buy them condolence cards and make funeral casseroles.

And she did not have time for funeral casseroles next week.

In one swift move, she grabbed both of their collars and yanked them sideways into an alcove, nailing them in place with a glare. Julien’s smirk faded, and Remy blinked in surprise.

“That’s enough,” Rogue hissed. “I am down to my last nerve, and you two chuckleheads are jumping on it. We have a dead body, missing blueprints, and…oh yeah, there’s a killer on board.”

“Killers,” Remy muttered, eyeing Julien.

Rogue inhaled sharply through her teeth and flung a glare at him that she usually reserved for Bobby’s particular brand of stupidity.

Remy ducked his head. “Désolé, Chere.”

“Julien, how long do we have before the body starts to smell?” Rogue asked.

“About twenty-four hours from the time of death.”

“Good, at least time is on our side there. The next stop is—dang it, what’s the next stop?—Baton Rouge. I think Theo said we get there about midnight?” Rogue frowned, trying to recall everything they’d talked about in Jean-Luc’s office.

“Oui, but de gambling goes until two,” Remy replied.

“Okay, assuming the killer is still on board with the blueprints, they’ll probably be getting off there,” Rogue said.  “Julien, do you know anyone on board this boat?”

“Oui.”

“Great. With an abundance of caution, see if you can find out if anyone was aware of the blueprints.” Rogue turned back to Remy, “Like it or not, we need to talk to Matteo and find out if anyone got off the boat before it departed.”

Remy moved to open his mouth, but Rogue cut him off with a look. She needed to speak to him without Julien around. Remy snapped his mouth shut.

“The first step is to find those blueprints.  Once we’ve got them, we can sort this out privately as Guild business.” Rogue released them both with a sharp shove. “Now, can we get back to work?”

Remy straightened his jacket, muttering under his breath, but he nodded. Julien rolled his shoulders and fiddled with his cuff links.

“Bien sûr, Ange,” Julien said with a mock salute. “Lead the way.”

Rogue brushed past them. She rolled her eyes as she heard them follow, still bickering but quieter this time.

She’d take it as a win.

They were barely out of Julien’s line of sight before Remy grabbed her arm, pulling her into an empty corner.

“There’s no way we can trust Julien t’ tell us anything he finds out,” Remy informed her.

“Yeah, I know,” Rogue agreed. “But I needed to talk to you without him listening in. I’m not sure Julien’s here on behalf of his Guild.”

“What do ya mean?”

“I’m not sure Marius knows Julien is here.  Remember how I told you that Julien thinks his father is weak?” Rogue asked.  Remy nodded. “There’s no way Julien would agree to bidding politely on the blueprints after what Colt did.”

“So, he’s another unknown factor,” Remy’s mouth tightened. “Like we don’t got enough of those already.”

“Do you really think it might be Matteo?” Rogue asked.  The idea had been sticking in her mind ever since Remy mentioned it.

“Not sure. Mafia and Guilds usually don’t get along, and de Mafia and de Thieves Guild have a particularly checkered past.  There’s a lot of politics behind it, but de Marconis have never made trouble for the New Orleans Guilds. It’s too long to get into here, but the short story is I normally wouldn’t expect de Marconis to rock the boat, but greed makes folks do crazy things.”

“Another unknown factor,” Rogue sighed. “There’s still the Governor.”

“Who we have yet to see,” Remy reminded her. “Another—”

“Another unknown factor,” Rogue snorted and smiled at the man before her. “Good Lord, at this rate, Cajun, you’re the only person I’m gonna trust on this boat.”

Remy shot her a smile and kissed the back of her hand.  It was a move he’d done a thousand times before, but the warmth in his eyes made Rogue’s stomach do a little swoop.

“An honor and a privilege, t’ be sure.”

Matteo stood by the bar surveying his domain, wearing a suit that probably cost more than most middle-income households made in a year.  Beside him, Delphine stood in a perfectly pressed black pencil skirt and silk blouse, not a hair out of place.

“Mr. Lord! Decided to stick around then?” Matteo greeted cheerfully as they got close.

“So it seems,” Remy answered, an easy smile stretching across his face. “Ya know, Marconi, it dawned on me that I never got a chance t’ see your office. Mind giving me a tour?”

Something shifted in Matteo’s eyes, but his grin never faltered. “Of course. I needed to stop and grab something anyway. Please, follow me.”

Matteo led the way, Delphine falling in step beside him. At some point, two men, one wearing an emerald pinky ring and one wearing a chain with a silver cross, moved to walk behind them. Bodyguards, if Rogue had to guess. 

Leading them through the main hallway, he turned down a smaller, secondary hallway. Reaching a highly polished door, Matteo turned the gold handle and waved their group through into his office.

Rogue felt slightly guilty. She’d expected Matteo’s office to be more of a decoration than a utilitarian space. But seeing the stacks of papers and a large desktop on the desk, there was no denying that Matteo was heavily involved with the day-to-day details of running the casino.

As one of the bodyguards shut the door, Matteo gestured at two chairs in front of his desk, indicating they should sit.

“Bad news, Sterling is dead in her stateroom,” Remy announced, dropping into the nearest chair like it was just another Tuesday. “We found her body when we went t’ grab the mark.”

Matteo stilled in his chair. Then he leaned forward, folding his arms over the desk. “Really?”

“Oui. Two bullets t’ de back of de head. Most of her skull is gone.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Matteo replied and rubbed a hand over his jaw. “And the blueprints?”

“Missing.”

Behind Matteo, Rogue saw Delphine shift on her feet. A small thing, but enough. Delphine’s eyes flicked up, catching her stare, and widened. Clasping her hands together, the dark-haired woman turned her attention back to her boss.

“We closed the door behind us when we left. There was no one in the hallway, but you’ll probably want t’ make preparations for when we get t’ Baton Rouge t’ get her off the boat.” Remy said.

“Yes, of course. I’ll have my men see to it,” Matteo nodded and began to rise. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

“Not a problem,” Remy answered, completely ignoring Matteo’s attempt to see them out of his office. “But if you don’t mind my asking, did anyone leave de boat before we departed?”

Matteo paused, hand still outstretched towards the door. Irritation and, maybe, worry flickered in Matteo’s eyes as the man warred with himself. He pressed his lips together. For a moment, Rogue wondered if the man was planning to remain silent. 

Before Remy could press him again, Matteo sighed and reached down, logging onto his computer.  Clicking an icon on the screen, he pulled up the guest registry. It was the same one that Theo had accessed earlier. Rogue and Remy shifted forward in their seats to get a better look as Matteo scrolled through the list.

“No,” Matteo replied finally. Clicking a tab, the screen changed to display another guest registry dated the week prior, highlighted in red, “Once the guests are off, their name is automatically highlighted.”

Clicking the tab again, the screen reverted to the current guest registry with no red highlights. 

“I suppose it’s possible that someone might have snuck off, but we have total control over the security on our dock.  If the boys had caught someone sneaking around, Delphine or I would have been alerted immediately.” Matteo turned back to look at Remy and narrowed his eyes. “If you don’t mind me asking, what do you plan to do now?”

Remy rubbed his hands together before flopping back in his seat.

“Not sure there’s much t’ do at this point,” he sighed. “Creating a scene with so many distinguished guests on board isn’t going to do anything but draw attention to the blueprints. The Guild may just have to sit on its hands for now until rumors start to surface. Whoevers got them is gonna want to sell them. Sooner than later, most likely.”

Tension Rogue hadn’t noticed earlier, leached out of Matteo’s frame.  From the corner, Delphine stared at Remy hard enough to burn a hole through his skull.

“Well, I am sorry about this. Despite evidence to the contrary, we do take security seriously on the Crescent Belle,” Matteo apologized with a smile. 

Pulling open a drawer, Matteo placed a neat stack of chips on the desk.  “Since you two are stuck on board until we get to port, let me offer you some starter chips on the house.  And I’d be happy to waive the buy-in for the tournament, Mr. Lord.”

“Mais, you don’t have t’ do that.”

“Think nothing of it. I insist.”

“Well then, merci. Good t’ have friends in high places, I guess,” Remy smirked, pulling a chuckle out of Matteo. Taking the chips, Remy turned toward her. “Come on, Chere, let’s see if we can find somewhere to put these t’ good use.”

Remy offered Rogue his arm, sweeping her out the door, tossing Matteo a two-fingered salute as he went.

He didn’t speak again until they were back in the casino.  Moving down a relatively empty row of slot machines, Remy moved her to sit in front of the machine.  Leaning over her shoulder, he dropped a chip into the coin slot and pulled the lever.  Immediately, the machine came to life, the display spinning, making an ungodly amount of noise.

“I recognized most of those names on de list, Chere. Either personally or through de Guild.” Remy murmured in her ear. The noise of the slot machine nearly drowned out his voice. “The only names I didn’t know personally were Tribune, Conti, and the Governor.”

“Matteo looked relieved when you said you wouldn’t push the matter.  And I thought Delphine was gonna burn a hole through your head staring like that,” Rogue pointed out.

“Yeah, I noticed that too,” Remy nodded, dropping in another coin.

“So now what? Plan B?” Rogue asked. “We chat it up with the guests?

“Non, Plan B is shot to hell. Unfortunately for us, Matteo knew what he was doing by getting me into de tournament. He’s literally tying me t’ a table where he can keep an eye on me. We’re gonna have t’ go with Plan C.”

“What’s Plan C?”

“We’ll split up.  Looks like you’re going to have to put those skills Mercy taught you to work.” Remy smiled.

Rogue smiled back weakly, trying to ignore the way the idea landed like lead in her stomach. She hadn’t expected to leave Remy’s side tonight.

Remy’s eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “You gonna be okay, Chere?”

“Pfft. Yeah, of course,” Rogue waved a hand, trying to rearrange her face into a more believable smile. Seeing that the Cajun wasn’t buying it, Rogue gave up and changed the subject. “How long do we have until the tournament starts?”

Remy glanced at his watch, “About twenty minutes. Let’s walk around and see if we can find the Governor.”

Remy offered her his arm, and they started a slow, meandering path from one end of the room to the other. As Remy swiped a bourbon off a waiter’s tray, Rogue noticed Julien sitting with a small group of people. 

Julien nodded in acknowledgment, catching the attention of the man sitting beside him. Following Julien’s line of sight, the man’s eyes widened as they landed on her.  Leaning his head towards Julien, the man murmured a question. Julien raised an eyebrow in surprise and glanced at her before giving the man a short nod.

Rogue looked away, making a mental note never to leave Xavier’s again for the rest of her days.

A few people stopped to speak with them as they snaked past the tournament tables again with Remy in full swagger. At least, none of these men seemed to have the slightest interest in her, except for one man who wouldn’t stop staring at her cleavage. From what Rogue could gather, these were contacts of Remy’s from various jobs and were more interested in talking shop.

“So, I heard there’s some interesting company on board tonight. Governor Basile?” Remy’s jacket hung open, and his fingers danced along the rim of his glass like he had nothing but time.

“Didn’t peg you for someone who cared about politics.” One of the men raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I don’t. Mais, I’ve heard through the grapevine the Governor ain’t much for poker. I’m sure he’s got some little slush fund that I’ve been paying taxes into.” Remy smirked. “Wouldn’t mind getting some of that back into my pocket.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” one of the women laughed.

“Basile? He’s been losing all night. You’d think he’d be in a terrible mood, but I guess that’s what happens when you’re playing with other people’s money.” A blond man with curly hair and a Boston accent looked over Rogue’s shoulder. “He was by the craps table, not sure where he got to. That man would bet on two rats in an alley. Been in every damn game tonight.”

“I’ll have t’ see if I can find him later. Matteo said he was one of de regulars, so he probably has a favorite game. All the regulars do. Who were the others, Bele?”

Play dumb. Let the men correct you, whispered Mystique.

“Hmm?” Rogue hummed, letting her fingers idly play with the collar of his suit jacket. “Oh? Um? I think he said Conti…and, what was the other one? Tributary?”

“Tribune,” the thin man corrected immediately. “But you won’t squeeze a penny out of him, Lord. Strictly business, that one. Not sure I’ve ever seen him even touch a slot machine.”

“Mrs. Conti plays the penny slots,” a red-headed woman confided, looking glad to have someone to talk to. Leaning towards Rogue, the woman added. “I’d stay clear of her, though. Unless you’re bringing her a cocktail, she’ll snap your head clean off.”

Remy shrugged, flashing his best charming smirk. “So penny-slots and doesn’t gamble. Merde, I might have t’ get my thrills elsewhere.”

“You got all the thrills you need sittin’ right there, Lord.” The blonde man’s eyes slid over her, slow and appraising. “Damn shame to be stuck at a poker table when you got a prize like that.”

Rogue giggled softly, curling closer into Remy’s side and letting her hand rest on his chest. “Depends on the gambler,” she said lightly. “Some play for the rush. Some just like to watch.”

“I wouldn’t mind watching you,” the man leered. Rogue felt Remy tense.

“So, Lord, is this pretty little thing your pick of the night?” one of the men asked, using his glass to gesture at Rogue.  The woman he had an arm wrapped around tittered into his shoulder.

“What can I say? She’s my lucky charm.” Remy smirked back. Rogue felt his fingertips tighten on her hip.

“Tell me, Sweetheart, are you playing poker with us tonight?” the man whose eyes had been glued to her cleavage asked—bless his heart, he even managed to look her in the eye.

“Oh no. Not me. Cards and chips have never been my strong suit,” Rogue said with a breathy, over-the-top laugh.  It was that or grind her teeth into dust. And she didn’t have the dental insurance for that.

“She likes to blow on my dice,” Remy leered.  That sent the men into an uproar of laughter.

“Looks like the Governor is heading for the Blackjack table,” a thin man spoke again, gesturing across the room. “Tribune’s over by the bar.”

Rogue glanced over her shoulder, spotting a blond man in a dark suit leaning against the bar. 

Beside her, Remy drained his bourbon. “Speaking of bars, Bele, get me another, would ya? And get yourself something, too, while ya at it.”

Remy fished a few large bills from his wallet and handed them to her. It took all the restraint Rogue had not to jump out of her chair like the seat was on fire. She knew what Remy was doing. It didn’t mean that she wasn’t glad for a reason to leave the table.

Giggling softly, Rogue drew a circle over Remy’s shoulder before grabbing his empty bourbon glass. As she sashayed past the Swamp Rat, she felt the sharp sting of his palm against her backside.

“With an ass like that, I might keep that one for at least one more night,” Remy announced.

The men hooted like jackals.

Rogue barely kept her expression in check as she sashayed away. Her fingers gripped Remy’s bourbon glass tight enough that it was a miracle it didn’t shatter.

He was playing his role. She knew that.

And he was going to regret it.

XOXOXOXOX

Funeral Casseroles for Everyone

I think this was one of the fastest pieces I've ever turned out, but I found a pose reference online during lunch today and decided to go for it. 

Southern Funeral Casserole | Edited By Rogue

Ingredients:

▢30 ounces frozen hash browns , diced or shredded will work, THAWED*
▢2 cups sour cream
▢10.5 ounce can cream of chicken soup (or homemade)
▢10 Tablespoons butter , divided, melted
▢1 teaspoon salt
▢1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
▢1 teaspoon dried minced onion
▢2 cups shredded cheddar cheese
▢2 cups corn flakes cereal

Instructions:
 
Allow potatoes to thaw in your fridge overnight, or spread them on a baking sheet and warm them in the oven at 200 degrees for about 20 minutes, until thawed.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
Combine sour cream, cream of chicken soup, 6 Tablespoons of melted butter, salt, pepper and dried onion in a bowl. Mix well. 
Add potatoes and shredded cheese and stir to combine. Spoon mixture into a single layer in a 9x13'' pan.
Add cornflakes to a large ziplock bag and crush gently with your hands or a rolling pin.
Add remaining 4 tablespoons of melted butter to the crushed cornflakes and combine well. Sprinkle mixture over potatoes. 
Bake uncovered at 350 F for 40-50 minutes.

Notes:

• Jean-Luc prefers sliced andouille sausage and two tablespoon of cajun seasoning
• Marius prefers diced smoked ham and extra cheese.
• For Transport: Wrap in two tea towels and give to a street urchin for delivery.  DO NOT deliver casserole in person.

Chapter Text

Across the room, the jazz band broke off as an announcer informed the crowd that the poker tournament would start shortly and the players should make their way to their tables.  The music started up again, and the conversations renewed as several people moved toward the center of the casino.

Rogue’s feet stalled. Glancing back, Remy caught her eye and jerked his head towards the bar. Mr. Tribune still stood by himself. Rogue nodded in understanding.

Remy reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of shades. Slipping them over his eyes, he followed the other players into the roped-off area.

Rogue sucked in a breath and blew it out through her nose. Alright, Girl.  You can do this.

Cutting through a row of slot machines so that she approached from the side, Rogue weighed her options.  Her first idea had been to go up and try to flirt with him for information. But that led to two problems.

One, her flirting skills were subpar at best.

Second, there was already a group of beautiful women sitting on the stools next to Tribune. Despite doing their best to catch his eye, the women might as well have been potted plants for all the attention he gave them.

Rogue moved to take a seat a few stools away.  The bartender immediately appeared in front of her.

“Can I get you something, Miss?”

“Do you have a wine list?” Rogue asked.  She hadn’t planned on drinking, but she was going to have to order something if she wanted to sit at the bar.  She just prayed he didn’t ask for ID.

The bartender didn’t even bat an eye and handed over the wine list.  Scanning the list, she spotted a red wine she knew Remy was fond of.  She returned the wine list to the bartender, who disappeared to grab the requested bottle.

Rogue watched Mr. Tribune using the mirror behind the bar as she waited.  He was definitely older than her.  Maybe a little older than Henri, but it was hard to tell.  He wore a dark navy suit with a white shirt and a dark tie. Everything was well-fitted, but it wasn't a custom suit like most of the men wore tonight. No flashy jewelry or pinky rings, though he sported a nice watch on his wrist.

He wasn’t drunk. Rogue couldn’t tell if the glass beside him held plain club soda or a gin and tonic. Not that it mattered. It was almost untouched.

Good Lord, he makes Scott look like a party animal, Rogue mused.  In front of her, the bartender set down her drink.  Rogue thanked the man and slid one of the large bills Remy had given her toward him.

The bartender disappeared, leaving Rogue to rack her brain.  There was no way flirting with Tribune was going to work.  Hell, she wasn’t even sure if a friendly conversation would do the trick.

Rogue paused as inspiration struck.  Well, they say misery loves company.

Shifting on her stool to face the room, Rogue slumped back against the bar with a loud sigh. She thought she saw Tribune glance her way, but it was so quick she might have imagined it.

After watching him from the corner of her eye for nearly twenty minutes, her hopes that Tribune would take the bait and approach her began to fizzle out.  Rogue sighed again and scanned the room as she traced the rim of her glass. Maybe he wasn’t the type to fall for the ‘bored girlfriend’ routine.

Rogue bit her lip. 

What would Mercy do? He was wearing a nice watch. Mercy would probably make an observation about that. Rogue risked another glance, eyeing the timepiece, and wanted to groan.  Like she knew anything at all about men’s watches.

She was still trying to come up with a plausible reason to introduce herself when one of the women at the bar stumbled into Tribune’s side, sloshing half her martini across his suit jacket. Tribune stiffened, his expression tightening as he stepped away from the fawning woman, dabbing futilely at the spreading stain with a cocktail napkin.

Rogue seized the opportunity.

Grabbing a stack of napkins from beside her, she handed them over. “Here. You might need a few more.”

The blond man glanced at her, momentarily caught off guard. He took the napkins with a polite nod. “Thank you.”

He spoke with a slight accent she couldn’t quite place, but Rogue didn’t have half a mind to pay attention to it. She needed to keep him talking.

“No problem. Rough night?” she offered, trying for light.

Tribune raised an eyebrow at her. “I could say the same for you.”

Rogue snorted and glanced out at the casino. “I grew up poor. The idea of throwing hard-earned money away doesn’t make sense to me. You, uh, don’t strike me as the gambling type either.”

“I’m not.”

“Business, then?”

“Trying to be.”

“Oh. Cool.” She nodded too fast.

He finally looked at her, his face schooled into a flat, polite mask. “I appreciate the napkins. Excuse me.”

Rogue watched him go, face burning with embarrassment. As the doors to the casino swung shut, her shoulders slumped. Returning to her barstool, Rogue dragged a hand down her face.

Well, that was a bust.

How do you get someone who doesn’t want to talk to open up? Rogue wondered and almost snorted at the irony. 

Back in high school, she’d been the one who didn’t want to talk to anyone at parties. The only person she’d been willing to talk to, outside of the kids at Xavier’s, was Risty. What a mess that had turned out to be.

Hang in there, Chere. Don’t be afraid to move on and circle back, encouraged Remy.

Rogue sighed but slid off her barstool.  She might have struck out with Mr. Tribune, but maybe she could still find the Governor. He had to be around her somewhere

Surveying the room, most of the crowd stood with their backs to her, listening to the MC explain the tournament rules. The game was Texas Hold’Em, and there would be four rounds.  At the end of the game, a percentage of the prize pool would be awarded to the top finishers, with the winner receiving the largest share.

Matteo stood at the back of the room, overseeing everything.  Delphine weaved through the crowd.  A dark spot in an ocean of cocktail dresses and flashy suits. She could see Remy at one of the tables, chips stacked in front of him.

Rogue shook her head. She didn’t even want to imagine how much money was changing hands tonight. This place was a gilded trap, all velvet drapes and champagne-soaked promises of fortune.

Rogue moved past a man in a rumpled brown suit. She recognized him as the same idiot who had stepped on her foot earlier. Skirting the crowd, she worked her way around the floor.  She was sure the other guests would get back to their gambling soon, but for now, it was nice to be able to walk without worrying about bumping into people.

A flash of yellow caught Rogue's attention as she turned down another row of slot machines. Halfway down the row, a woman in bright yellow cigarette pants and a leopard print shirt sat feeding chips into a penny slot machine like her life depended on it.

Jabbing a long, blood-red fingernail at a button on the display, the poor machine whined to life while the woman watched. Eventually, the slot machine slowed, and the five spinning dials came to a standstill.

Nothing.

Not giving the machine a moment’s reprieve, the woman fed another coin into the slot and started the process over.

Rogue moved down the aisle, something in her gut telling her to stick around.

Sliding onto a stool at a nearby slot machine, she pulled out one of the bills Remy had given her and fed it into the machine. As the slot reels whirled, Rogue watched the older woman from the corner of her eye.

“What’s it take to get a cocktail around here?” the woman grumbled irritably.

Rogue snorted. “I’d go with smoke signals. If that doesn’t work, maybe a runway with an air traffic control tower.”

The woman cackled, looking up from her machine, and clapped her hands together. “That’s a good one. I like you, Sweetie.”

Reaching past a few empty chairs, the woman held out a hand, encased in gold rings and bright gemstones. “The name’s Rita Conti.  Call me Ree.”

Conti. That had been one of the names on Matteo’s list.

“Nice to meet you.” Rogue shook the woman’s hand. “So, any luck?”

“The machines are running hot tonight,” Ree crowed. “You gonna play?”

“I think so,” Rogue shifted on her seat. “You just push the button and pull the lever, right?”

“Whadda ya, stupid? No, no, Sweetie. Let me show you.” The woman hopped off her stool and moved to show Rogue which buttons to push and how to place different bets. 

Rogue glanced at the woman’s feet. She wore clunky four-inch heels, but even still, Ree was probably an inch or two shorter than Kitty.  If you didn’t account for the permed halo of hair the woman was sporting.

After a short tutorial peppered with expletives and advice, Ree made her way back to her seat.

“Just out of curiosity, you’re from Long Island, right?” Rogue asked.  Ree lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Yeah! How’d you know? Most of you Southerners think I’m from Jersey because of that stupid TV show where the kids run around like assholes and fist-pump in nightclubs.”

“I can hear it in your accent.  I was born in Mississippi but moved up to Westchester County a few years ago.” Rogue explained. “I go into the City enough to recognize that accent anywhere.”

“Yeah, there’s something great about a Long Island accent, ya know?” Ree smiled. “I like to tell people it’s full of life and family and feels like a warm summer day on the boardwalk.”

Rogue thought it sounded like getting smacked in the face with a bagel at high speed while all the R’s went out for coffee, but decided to keep that to herself. “Do you play every time you’re on board?”

“Every trip. Matteo always saves me a spot. Have you met Matteo?”

“I have. A couple times now.”

“Good kid. His family and I go way back. My late husband, Danny, actually helped build this boat.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Ree glanced at her machine, then back at Rogue. “You like boats?”

“I mean… sure?”

“That’s not a real answer, Sweetie.”

Rogue shrugged. “They float. That’s already more than I’d manage if I tried to build one.”

Ree cackled again. “Oh, I definitely like you. Hey, you want to see the part I helped with?”

Ree didn’t bother waiting for an answer and jumped out of her chair, reaching for Rogue’s arm. Rogue allowed herself to be tugged from her seat but quickly took her arm back.

“So, when Giovanni decided—do you know Giovanni?” Ree asked.

“I know who he is, but I’ve only met Matteo personally,” Rogue answered.

“Got it. Anyway, when Giovanni bought this heap back in the 80s, he called my husband, Danny, in to help him fix it up. Danny was a second cousin to one of the Families up in New York, but he wasn’t interested in going into the business, ya know?” Ree explained.

Rogue nodded.

“But Danny was pretty sharp when it came to building things, so he agreed to help Giovanni renovate this old rust bucket, and we moved down here. What Giovanni wanted was to have a place where the men could get together and discuss business.” Ree rolled her eyes. “But the thing is, after the Apalachin Meeting in ’57, nobody was doing sit-downs anymore.”

Rogue nodded, intrigued. “I’ve heard of the Apalachin Meeting. The police ended up raiding it, right? After that, things had to go underground.”

“That’s right. So formal meetings were out, but a pleasure cruise on the Mississippi River?” Ree wagged a finger. “Now see, there’s a reason for people to get together and spend an evening talking. Of course, men being men, Giovanni and Danny weren’t too concerned about how the boat looked.”

Ree paused in front of an unmarked door and gave Rogue a long, measured look. “Matteo says you’re alright.”

“He said that?” Rogue asked in surprise.

“No. But he hasn’t kicked you off yet, so close enough.” Ree reached for the door handle. “Come on.”

Ree waved Rogue through the door into some sort of service hallway. Rogue hesitated, glancing around. There was no one nearby.

“I’m not sure we should be in the crew areas.” Rogue eyed the dim space.

“Sweetie, it’s fine. I’ve known Matteo since he was in diapers.  What’s he gonna do? Shoot me?” Ree made a gesture for Rogue to hurry up.

No, but I’d bet he’d shoot me, Rogue thought.

Stripes, don’t, Logan warned

You wouldn’t abandon the mission.

I have a healing factor.

And I have poor decision-making skills. Rogue followed Ree into the cramped passageway. 

The older woman waved her forward, still talking. “So, I go to Giovanni and I tell him…look, it doesn’t matter how slick your games are. The men aren’t gonna show up if there’s no women.”

She kept going, unfazed.  “And ladies don’t want to spend the evening sitting around watching a bunch of jackasses gamble while wondering which one’s gonna lose a hand and decide it’s time whip it out for a pistol measuring contest.” Ree rolled her eyes.

Rogue choked. She stumbled, one hand catching the wall for balance as she doubled over, laughing. “Oh my God.”

Ree just grinned, pleased. “Let me guess…you know a few fellas like that?”

“One or two,” Rogue laughed weakly, fanning her face. “I’m gonna need to borrow that line.”

“Take it. I got a million of ’em.” Ree pushed open another door and gestured for Rogue to step through.

They emerged into another hallway. This one was wider, with softer lighting and a faint hint of expensive perfume in the air.

“This is the observation room,” Ree said. “But we called it the Ladies Lounge.”

Rogue peered through the glass doors.  Inside, plush velvet settees curled around low mirrored tables. An elegant crystal chandelier lit the room, throwing soft, warm light on everything.  At the back of the room, a small bar stocked with Champagne bottles and flute glasses had a single bartender working behind it.

A half dozen women milled around in their sparkling cocktail dresses and heels, wine glasses in hand.

“It’s beautiful,” Rogue said.

“Yeah, I’m glad Giovanni and Danny let me put my spin on it.” Ree smiled proudly, “I fought for this room. I told Giovanni, you want loyalty from the wives? You show ’em respect. Give ’em space. Somewhere that feels like theirs. Of course, back in the day, we didn’t let the goomars in there.  That was strictly for wives and girlfriends.”

“Goomars?”

“The mistresses,” Ree pressed her lips together. “Don’t get me wrong. Being a goomar had its own place in the pecking order, but the rule was: stay outta the wife’s line of sight. That’s how the balance stayed intact. Not just in families but in The Families. Everyone has a role. You respect it and nobody stepped on anyone else’s toes.”

Rogue glanced at the women inside. “And now?”

Ree sighed and crossed her arms, her bracelets giving a soft jingle. “Matteo’s too soft. He wants everyone to feel included. The wives, the goomars, the tourists — hell, probably the bartenders too.”

Rogue hesitated. “I don’t know if I’d call Matteo soft.”

Ree raised an eyebrow.

“Mr. Lord, my friend, and I stopped by Matteo’s office earlier.  He needed to speak with Matteo and hadn’t seen his office yet. I wasn’t there long, but it looked like Matteo was really involved with everything.”

That got Ree’s attention.

“You were in his office?” she asked, more curious now than skeptical.

Rogue nodded. “Briefly.”

Ree studied her for a moment. Then, a slow smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You’re not just a pretty face, are ya?”

Rogue shrugged, a little caught off guard. “Depends who you ask.”

Ree hummed to herself. After a beat, she snapped out whatever she’d been thinking and grinned at Rogue, all teeth. “Hey, you wanna see the dead rooms?”

Rogue blinked. “The what now?”

Rogue’s stomach sank as they stepped into the second-floor hallway. Beside her, Ree was still chattering about the dead rooms. The sinking feeling only got worse when Ree turned down the hallway, heading in the direction of Natalie’s room.

Rogue barely heard her. Her heart pounded in her ears, too loud, too fast. Up ahead, Rogue could see the gold plate on Natalie’s door with the number ‘212’ etched into it. Her legs felt like jelly.

Ree, on the other hand, was practically buzzing. The woman was thrilled to have an audience who hadn’t heard all of her stories before.  Rogue wondered if Ree even noticed that she hadn’t managed an answer to the woman’s last two questions.

Then Ree stopped.

Not at 212.

Two more steps, and she jiggled the handle to Room 214, pushing it open with a little grunt.

Rogue let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She lingered in the hallway, glancing at Natalie’s door, then followed Ree into the dark room.

The room was dark, lit only by the faint spill of light from the hallway. It was the mirror image of Natalie’s room. Except this one was still…unoccupied.

“Is this the dead room?” Rogue asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Whadda ya think I was taking you to a morgue or something?” Ree snickered.

“Something along those lines,” Rogue huffed out a breathy laugh. “So, why is this the dead room?”

“It’s never rented.” Ree shot her a conspirator’s look and crossed the room. “Back when Giovanni started the boat, gambling was illegal, so there was always a concern about how to move people without being seen.”

She rapped her knuckles on the back wall of the closet. The hollow sound echoed in the quiet room.

“It’s a false back.” Slipping a manicured finger into a small groove, Ree pulled the panel open, revealing a small stairwell.  Actually, ‘stairwell’ was a misnomer. It was more of a ladder.  There was a hole in the ceiling and the floor, big enough to accommodate a single person at a time.

“The boat never got raided, of course, and only the crew ever used the passage,” Ree explained. “Or when mistresses needed to be moved around without the wives seeing them. Come on.”

Before Rogue could respond, Ree stepped onto the ladder with surprising grace. She climbed down the narrow opening like she’d done it a hundred times, heels clicking softly on the rungs.

Rogue blinked, watching her disappear. For a moment, she stood frozen, staring at the dark opening on the floor, then at the high slit of her gown.

“Oh, yes,” She muttered. “This’ll be elegant.”

It had taken some careful maneuvering and less-than-ladylike language, but Rogue managed to get down the ladder. Ree hadn’t batted an eye at her language—God bless New Yorkers—and kept a sharp eye on the hallway, allowing Rogue to make it down the ladder with most of her dignity intact. 

It wasn’t until Rogue had finished readjusting herself that she paused, trying to figure out where they were.

Matteo’s office door stood gleaming just across the hallway.

Rogue’s stomach dropped.

“Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Ree asked.

“Nothing,” Rogue lied. “It just dawned on me that the tournament is still going on.  I don’t know how long the rounds are. My friend might be looking for me.”

Heading towards the end of the hallway, Rogue looked right and left. Damn it, which way was it back to the casino? Ree followed along. If the older woman thought she was off her rocker, at least Ree kept it to herself.

Turning a corner, Rogue barely avoided colliding with someone.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“It’s alright. I should have been paying more attention,” the man apologized.

Rogue glanced up.  It was Mr. Tribune.

“Mr. Tribune, good to see ya.  Any luck with the Governor?” Ree asked.

“Not yet, Mrs. Conti,” he nodded politely. “But hope springs eternal.”

“That’s a shame. Oh, have you met…Sweetie, what did you say your name was?” Ree frowned.

Rogue’s brain stuttered to a stop. Damn it, she should have asked for an alias. Realizing the pair was staring at her, panic set in.

LeBeau, Remy whispered.

“LeBeau. I-I’m Ms. LeBeau,” Rogue echoed automatically. As soon as the name left her mouth, Rogue wanted to take it back, but it was too late.

Goddamit, Swamp Rat, she growled.

Sounds good on ya, Remy snickered and fell silent.

“Right…LeBeau. Have you two met?” Ree asked.

“No,” Rogue said as Tribune replied, “We have.”

Ree arched a brow, lips twitching.

“I mean, we did meet, but we really didn’t talk,” Rogue corrected quickly. “I was by the bar when a woman spilled her martini on him. I just handed him some napkins.”

“Ah,” Ree nodded like that explained everything. Turning, she offered Tribune a sympathetic smile. “They’re at it again?”

“I’m afraid so,” Mr. Tribune sighed.

“Wait. This is a regular thing?” Rogue frowned.

“Yes,” the pair chorused.

Ree rolled her eyes. “The girls try to use it as a conversation starter.”

“Pouring drinks on someone?” Rogue said slowly.

“Yes,” they said in unison.

“Lord have mercy,” Rogue muttered, stunned. “Far be it from me to tell you how to live your life, sir, but they sell ponchos at Walmart for two bucks. You should get one. Save yourself a fortune on dry cleaning.”

Mr. Tribune barked out a laugh, his face breaking into the first real smile of the night. “I’ll take that under consideration.”

“She’s as sharp as a whip, this one. Reminds me of me when I was her age.” Ree jerked her thumb in Rogue’s direction. “I’ll tell you what, Sweetie, I wouldn’t mind you coming on this boat more often. You could become one of the Regulars.”

Rogue smiled thinly. There was absolutely no way that was ever going to happen. As soon as this job was over, she was getting off this boat and never looking back.

“Well, I don’t know about that.  My friend’s playing in the tournament tonight, that’s the only reason I was invited. Speaking of which, I need to get back to the casino and find out if the first round has ended yet.”

“By all means, don’t let me stop you,” Mr. Tribune said. “Very nice to meet you properly, Ms. LeBeau. Mrs. Conti, always a pleasure.” He gave a courteous nod and stepped aside.

As they moved on, Ree leaned in. “He’s one of the newer Regulars on the boat. Been showing up for a few months now. Nice fella, but the poor guy doesn’t get any peace—women flock to him like flies on honey.”

Ree wagged her eyebrows. “Not sure where that accent’s from, but rumor has it he’s some sort of big-shot businessman from the Northeast. A legitimate one. And I hear he’s loaded. You want me to ask around and find out if he’s single?”

Rogue was saved from answering as they entered the casino. The first round must have just ended because the gambling was back in full swing.  Remy stood near the edge of the floor, tall and sharp in his tailored suit, silk scarf hanging around his neck. Rogue waved a hand desperately.

Spotting her, Remy weaved through the crowd like smoke slipping through cracks.

“Whoo-whee! Is that your friend?” Ree asked, stopping dead in her tracks.

“Mm-hmm.” Rogue bit back a smile.

Ree gave him an appreciative once-over. “Forget what I said earlier. Does he have an older brother?”

Rogue smirked. “He’s got a single father who likes to read the Personals.”

“I can work with that.”

Chapter Text

Rogue leaned against a mahogany railing near one of the casino’s upper seating sections. The tournament's second round hadn’t started yet, which meant they had a little time to kill—and Ree was determined to spend it well.

“So, Sweetie, tell me. Is your father tall?” Ree asked.

“Quoi?” Remy stared wide-eyed at the tiny woman in front of him.

Rogue pressed her lips together, trying to suppress a laugh. It was no use. A single snort escaped. The Cajun flung a glare her way. At least, Rogue assumed it was a glare. He was still wearing those stupid sunglasses.

His failed attempt at intimidation only made her laugh harder, muffled behind her hand.

At least Rogue was getting some enjoyment out of her time on this boat. Despite their best efforts, she and Remy hadn’t been able to find out if anyone had known about the blueprints or any connections to Natalie. Just dead ends and dry champagne.

“She was a stuck-up bitch the one time I saw her,” a voice drawled nearby.

Rogue’s laughter died on her lips. A young man at a nearby table leaned back in his chair, tossing back a glass of something.

“Couldn’t be bothered to smile,” he added.

“She thought she was too good for everyone,” said the woman next to him, looking like she’d poured herself into a dress two sizes too small.

“Can’t imagine why she wouldn’t want to talk to a goomar,” Ree sniffed.

The woman stared blankly, but her date’s face turned dark.

Rogue tensed, but Ree just crossed her arms, staring him down. Finally, the man looked away, burying his face into his date’s neck and loudly telling her to ignore the old bat.

Ree looked down her nose and sniffed again. Turning on her heel, she strutted away, herding Remy and Rogue along with her.

“Ya okay?” Rogue asked, falling in step.

“Me? Oh yeah, sure. I just can’t stand those types.” Ree rolled her eyes. “At least that little missy isn’t totally stupid. Natalie’s about as charming as a wet cat. Very high-and-mighty that one. You know she had the balls to go after Matteo for switching her room?”

Rogue stumbled, nearly colliding with a waiter. Righting herself, she shot the man an apologetic look.

“Switchin’ her room?” Remy repeated.

“Yeah, her regular room had a pipe burst or something. Matteo even upgraded her to a stateroom, and she still pitched a fit. Can you believe it?” Ree asked.

“Some people’s children,” Rogue muttered. Over Ree’s head, she caught Remy’s eye. They needed to talk. Now.

Remy was already one step ahead of her. Pulling out the full Cajun charm, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to the back of Ree’s hand. “Pardon, Madame, but would you mind if I borrow ma Bele for a moment? I haven’t had a second alone with her tonight—and I could use a good luck kiss before de next round.”

That did the trick. The poor woman melted like butter as Remy offered her a boyish grin. The same one he used to get out of trouble with Tante Mattie.

“Oh, aren’t you two precious.” Ree grinned. “Alright, I’ll leave you two to your little tête-à-tête. I need to go get a cocktail anyway.” She gave Rogue a wink and sashayed toward the bar.

Rogue side-eyed him. “Was that really necessary?”

Remy grinned at her and slipped an arm around her waist. “Bought us some time, didn’t it?”

They ducked into a corner behind a potted plant where a loveseat sat nestled just out of sight. Remy grabbed a seat. Before Rogue could take the spot beside him, Remy tugged her off balance, sending her tumbling into his lap with a squawk.

“Cajun!”

“Shh,” he hushed, pulling her close. “We’re just a couple getting cozy, remember? Did ya have any luck with Tribune?”

Rogue’s shoulders slumped.

“No, I couldn’t get him talking,” she admitted. “But I did learn some interesting stuff from Ree. Apparently, there are all sorts of secret passageways built into the walls.”

“Not surprised.”

“There’s a series of rooms Ree called ‘dead rooms.’ Matteo never rents them because the closets have a stairway that allows the crew to move between floors unseen,” Rogue explained. “There’s one on the second floor. Right next to Natalie’s room.”

“Might not be a coincidence that Natalie got moved, then.”

“The one on the main floor lets out across the hall from Matteo’s office,” Rogue pulled off his sunglasses and gave him a look. “I hate to say it, Cajun, but your theory that Matteo is involved is sounding a lot more plausible.”

“And we’re the worse off for it,” Remy said grimly.

She exhaled. “So what’s next?”

Remy opened his mouth, then paused. A group passed by, laughing and joking. A moment later, the man in a brown suit scurried after them.

Remy waited until the man was out of earshot, then continued, “I’ve got t’ get through this round. But during the next break, I think you and I should try t’ get into the security room. See if we can get a look at the video feed.”

“What should I do?”

“Plan D, just bide your time. Walk around a little bit and see what you can overhear. If ya can get eyes on de Governor, all the better. I’m still not convinced we should write him off just yet. But Chere…,” Remy squeezed her hands. “Stay away from Matteo.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” she muttered.

Glancing down at the sunglasses in her hands, she caught sight of her reflection in the tinted glass.

“Why are ya wearing these things anyway? I thought you said everyone knows who you are,” Rogue glared at the shades. His eyes were her favorite part of him.

“Mais, I’m still playing poker, ain’t I?” Remy grinned and plucked them from her fingers. “Helps with bluffing.”

Rogue rolled her eyes. “If that was the case, maybe I should get myself a pair.”

“To go with that deck of Queen of Hearts you’re always talking ‘bout?” Remy smirked.

She rolled her eyes again, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth this time. Red-and-black eyes darted to her mouth, and she felt him shift his weight underneath her.

Remy leaned in, his voice dropping low. “Tell me how you’d do it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Cheat.” He tilted his head, eyes beginning to glow faintly. “How would you do it?”

“You first,” Rogue raised an eyebrow, ignoring how her heart picked up the pace.

“Mark de deck. Signal across the table. Palming’s harder with casino cams but doable—if you’ve got hands like mine.”

“Ah, those infamous hands.” Rogue breathed. She could feel them branding her through the silk of her dress.

He raised one, inspecting it like a work of art. “National treasures, really.”

“So modest.”

“Only in bed.”

Rogue choked. “That is a wild lie.”

Remy leaned closer, the silk bunching as his fingers gripped the tops of her thighs. “Wanna fact-check me later?”

The music broke off. Overhead, the announcer called players to the second round. Remy glared over his shoulder with a look that could’ve curdled milk.

Rogue got off Remy’s lap and straightened her dress as Remy slid his sunglasses back on with a sigh.

Rogue watched as Remy dutifully trotted back to the tournament area. As he passed, the man with the scar over his eye latched the velvet rope behind Remy, closing off the arena.

Blowing out a breath, Rogue looked right and left. To the right sat the bar. Most of the barstools were full. To the left, the rest of the casino stretched out. Deciding on the left, Rogue started another slow loop around the room.

Remembering what Mercy taught her, Rogue kept pace with a group of guests, walking just behind them—close enough to blend in, far enough to be ignored. Nobody turned to look at her, so maybe she was doing it right. Or, maybe no one cared about another dressed-up woman.

She broke off near the Cigar Lounge. Glass walls separated it from the casino, offering a full view of the floor beyond. Even through the wall of glass, the familiar aroma of cigar smoke hit her.

Thinking of Logan, Rogue’s heart gave a sharp twist. She wished he were here.

A whistle caught her attention. Inside the lounge, three men smirked at her through the glass, their cigars perched between their fingers as they waved her over. Rogue rolled her eyes. They looked like extras from The Godfather. Not sparing them a second look, she strode past the lounge, pushing through a set of double doors that led into a quieter hallway.

The dim corridor was a welcome relief from the noise and flashing lights of the casino. The air felt cooler here and smelled faintly of brine. If she remembered right, the Promenade Deck was this way.

Rogue walked quietly, noting the ship’s fading grandeur—the peeling paint and slightly scuffed walls. Wrinkling her nose, she carefully skirted around a dark stain on the carpet. Maybe Matteo didn’t care about the areas of the boat that weren’t making him money.

Reaching the glass door, Rogue paused, fingers tracing the cool surface. She could see the dark water of the Mississippi. The river flowed along smoothly, catching the occasional light from the shore. The only disruption came from the waves trailing the boat’s hull. Everything looked peaceful and still.

She pushed the door open.

The wind rushed in like a hurricane, carrying the smell of brine, mud, and wild vegetation. It whipped through the corridor, swirling around her and sending teal silk flying up past her ears.

Rogue yelped and jumped back, slamming the door shut. The wind died instantly.

She yanked her dress back down. Glancing around, her cheeks burned even though she was alone.

Right. So much for peaceful.

Deciding she’d rather face casino sleaze than Mother Nature, Rogue turned on her heel, retracing her steps. Her heels tapped softly on the carpet, the distant din of the casino growing louder.

“Need I remind you that you work for me?” a voice snapped from the adjoining hallway.

Rogue froze. It was Matteo.

Moving forward, she peeked around the corner. Matteo and Delphine stood at the mouth of the hallway, their backs to the flashing casino floor. Neither had seen her.

“Of course not, Mr. Marconi. I’m always aware of who my current employer is,” Delphine replied coolly.

“Then, as your employer, do your job and stop trying to catch LeBeau’s eye.”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t…lie to me. Or else I’ll start to think I can’t trust you. You still haven’t explained where you were earlier. Now,” Matteo leaned toward Delphine, “go back on the floor and do your job. And don’t let anything interfere with tonight.”

Matteo didn’t wait for an answer and stalked down the hall, turning the corner.

Delphine’s hands balled into fists as she watched him go. If looks could kill, Matteo would have been a pile of ash. Taking a breath, Delphine brushed some nonexistent dirt from her blouse and headed back toward the casino.

Rogue stayed where she was. Moving too fast could get her caught. And Rogue doubted they would believe she’d been planning to take a late-night stroll. Even if it was the truth.

Remembering what Logan taught her, Rogue slowly counted to one hundred, then repeated the process a second time.

Deciding it was safe, Rogue headed for the hallway entrance, battling against the instinct to run. Slipping back into the casino unnoticed, Rogue let the din of slot machines and laughter wash away the tension still thrumming in her chest. She didn’t know what to make of Delphine’s and Matteo’s conversation, but she knew one thing: she was telling Remy as soon as he was out of the tournament.

A familiar, unwelcome whistle cut through the noise. Rogue closed her eyes. There was no way her luck was this bad. The three wise guys from the Cigar Lounge sauntered toward her, smug grins in place. Rogue exhaled slowly. She did not need this right now.

“Hey there, Babe. Can I buy you a drink?”

Rogue forced a smile. “No, thank you, Sir.”

“Sir? Hey, I like that.” The man grinned at his companions, causing the two other men to laugh. “C’mon now, don’t be rude. Let me get you something. My treat.”

“No, thank you.” She bit out and stepped sideways. The man mirrored her.

“Why not?”

“Not interested. Walk away.”

“Feisty one, eh? I like that.”

Rogue pressed her lips together. There’d better be a proctologist on board. She was gonna need one to get Mercy’s shoe back after she planted it up this fool’s—

“Gentlemen,” Matteo said, appearing from the dark hallway. “You seem to be enjoying yourselves. A little too much, maybe.”

One of the men managed a smirk around his cigar. “Just having some fun, Matteo. Didn’t mean no harm.”

“Be that as it may, I think the lady has humored you enough. I would appreciate it if you stopped bothering Mr. Lord’s date.” Matteo replied.

The first one sneered. “Mr. Lord? You mean that pretty boy gambler?”

Matteo tilted his head. “That’s the one. And he doesn’t take kindly to his lady being harassed.”

The tallest of the trio scoffed. “Look at you, Marconi, playing babysitter. Tell me, is Giovanni still playing nice with the Coonasses?”

Wrong answer. The moment the words left the man’s mouth, the air shifted. Matteo’s stare turned hard. It was a miracle the weight of it didn’t pin the three men to the floor.

“You seem awfully concerned with my father’s business. Or, perhaps you’re speaking on behalf of your boss,” Matteo mused. “Would you like me to arrange a meeting between my father and Salvidor so that he can air his concerns directly?”

“No need for that, Matteo. Just making conversation,” the man with the cigar backpedaled.

Matteo’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. He took a step closer to the men. “Ascoltami bene.” His tone was soft, but there was nothing gentle about it. "Non voglio problemi sulla mia barca. Se ci provate ancora...”

Rogue shivered. She didn’t understand the words, but she didn’t need to. Whatever Matteo had said turned all three men pale.

Matteo reached out, adjusting the lapel of the cigar-smoking man’s jacket. “Be smart,” he said quietly. “And don’t start any more problems.”

The men exchanged glances before nodding hastily. Without another word, they melted into the crowd.

Matteo turned to her as if nothing had happened. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Thanks for that.” Rogue nodded.

“Of course,” Matteo smiled. “I don’t like troublemakers on my boat, Ms. Rogue.”

Rogue’s stomach dropped to her feet. Clearing her throat, she forced herself to smile and nodded farewell as she slipped past him. Weaving across the casino floor on unsteady legs, Rogue made a beeline for the bar.

Sliding onto an empty stool, she flagged the bartender for another glass of wine. Running a hand over her face, Rogue tried to silence the warning bells still ringing in her mind after her run-in with Matteo.

It’d be easier if she didn’t have the creeping feeling he’d been talking to her, too.

The sound of ice clinking as someone set down an empty glass on the bar beside her caught Rogue’s attention.

“Another club soda with lime, please.”

“Mr. Tribune,” Rogue nodded. “Your night going any better?

“Ms. LeBeau,” Tribune greeted. “Not really, though at least no one has spilled anything else on me. Yourself?”

“No. Like I said, I grew up poor, so this really isn’t my cup of tea,” Rogue shrugged.

The blond man nodded. “I have to agree. I worked too hard to get where I am today to throw my money away on things like this.”

“So why come on a casino riverboat if you’re not planning to gamble?”

“Business venture,” Tribune replied as the bartender set a fresh drink in front of him.

Rogue nodded. That’s right. He’d mentioned that earlier.

“Are you trying to buy the boat?” Rogue frowned, looking out over the casino floor. There’s no way Matteo would give this place up. He was probably hauling the money out by the wheelbarrow load at the end of the night.

“No, no. Not that. I work in mining.” Mr. Tribune gestured with his chin towards the far side of the casino floor, “I’ve been working with getting the Governor on board to open a new salt mine here in Louisiana. The Governor is a fan of the craps table. Sometimes, you have to go where the business gets done.”

Rogue tried not to show her disappointment. If the Governor really was only here to gamble, then he might not have been Natalie’s buyer after all. Looking over at the craps table, her eyes widened.

“Oh my god. He looks like Santa Claus stole Colonel Sanders’ suit,” Rogue clapped a hand over her mouth.

Beside her, Tribune chuckled. “That’s one way of putting it.”

From across the room, Rogue could hear the Governor let out a booming laugh that sounded suspiciously like ‘Ho, ho, ho.’ Rogue stared in disbelief. “How did—How did he get elected?”

“From what I understand, he’s an old college buddy of LSU’s head coach. Once the coach started stumping for him, the Governor ran on the ‘everyday-man’ appeal and won the popular vote.” Tribune rolled his eyes.

“God bless college football,” Rogue muttered, taking a tiny sip of her wine.

Tribune hummed but didn’t seem inclined to add anything else to the conversation. Rogue racked her brain, trying to come up with something else to keep him talking. Pausing, she glanced at the tall man beside her. “Excuse my asking, but are you from Germany by chance?”

Mr. Tribune startled. “Yes. How did you know?”

“You’ve got a bit of an accent. You roll your R’s, and your W’s got soft.” Rogue grinned. She hadn’t picked up on it before. He’d been so fluent. But now that Rogue had heard it, she couldn’t unhear it.

“Hmm. I thought I had lost that years ago,” Tribune mused, taking another sip of his drink.

“I doubt most people would be able to pick up on it, but my adoptive brother is from Germany,” Rogue waved a hand. “Were you born there?”

“No, I was born in the United States but spent some time in Europe. Most of my teens were spent in Germany. That’s actually how I got into mining. My first job was working at the Garzweiler mine.”

“So, how did you meet Matteo if you were living in Germany?” Rogue asked.

“I met him here in New Orleans. After moving back to the United States, I never lost my taste for German wine. His family owns a restaurant in the City, and they have a number of wines from Südtirol on the menu,” Mr. Tribune explained.

He turned to face her. “What about you? How do you know Matteo?”

“I don’t really know him at all. I met him once, but like I said, my friend likes to play poker, and he brought me along,” Rogue answered. “Why?”

“Everyone on the boat either knows Matteo personally or is a guest of one of his invitees. Usually, he comes out onto the floor about an hour after the boat launches to greet everyone, but he’s been in a foul mood tonight.”

Yeah, having a dead body on board can do that to a fella, Rogue scoffed.

“Well, I can’t imagine all of this,” she gestured to the room with her wine glass, “is easy to manage. I’m sure he’s under a lot of pressure.”

“Could be,” Tribune murmured.

Rogue raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was talking to her or himself. Catching her stare, Tribune cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Are you, ah, aware of what Matteo's Family business is?” he asked quietly.

“Used furniture dealer,” Rogue deadpanned. Tribune snorted before turning serious again.

“Matteo’s father, Giovanni, has a lot of expectations for his son. I’ve been riding the boat intermittently for the last few months, trying to catch the Governor’s ear, so I’ve seen a couple of tournaments.”

Tribune leaned towards her, lowering his voice even more. “Things are always tense during the tournaments because of the money being flashed around, but tonight, Matteo’s more on edge than I’ve ever seen him.”

“What do you mean?”

“This afternoon, I saw Matteo arguing on the floor with one of the guests. I assume she’s a regular because I’ve seen her on the boat the last couple of times I’ve been here. He’s also been snapping at one of his employees, Delphine. You might have seen her. She has dark hair and is wearing all-black. Matteo’s usually more buttoned up than that.” Tribune explained before straightening back up.

“I’ve seen Delphine around,” Rogue hedged. She swirled the wine in her wine glass. “She doesn’t seem to like working for Matteo much.”

Tribune snorted humorlessly, “I doubt anyone likes working for Matteo…or his family. I overheard a rumor from some of the staff that Delphine used to be a jewel thief, but I doubt it’s true.”

“Why do you say that?” Rogue asked, making a conscious effort to loosen her grip on the stem of her wine glass, half afraid it would snap in her fingers.  

Mr. Tribune shrugged. “It doesn’t make sense. The boat doesn’t take jewels as payment. Why would a jewel thief be working on a casino riverboat?”

Rogue muttered some half-hearted agreement as Tribune returned to watching the room. Her heart slammed against her ribs. She would bet every dollar in her pocket that the woman Matteo had been arguing with had been Natalie. Her mind spun, trying to fit the pieces together.

The noise in the room increased, catching Rogue’s attention. The second round of the tournament was ending. Even from across the room, she could see Remy moving in her direction, slipping through the crowd like smoke.

The ice clinked in Tribune’s glass beside her as he drained the rest of his drink and set the empty glass down. The bartender whisked it away immediately.

“It looks like the Governor has managed to separate himself from the craps table. I had better try to catch him before he finds the roulette table—and, nope, too late. There he goes,” Mr. Tribune sighed heavily. Turning towards her, he stuck out his hand. “It was a pleasure speaking with you, Ms. LeBeau. I hope both our nights get better.”

“You too,” Rogue smiled back. Mr. Tribune turned and disappeared into the crowd.

“When’s the honeymoon, Ms. LeBeau?” a voice that sounded like honey, bourbon, and sin breathed by her ear. 

Rogue jabbed her elbow backward, only to hear a satisfying ‘oof’ from the man behind her.

“Not one word, Swamp Rat. Not one word,” she warned. Catching his wrist, she dragged the grinning idiot towards the door. “Come on. We need to talk.”

XOXOXOXOX

Matteo Marconi

Chapter Text

It didn’t take Rogue long to explain everything she’d learned during the tournament's second round. That didn’t stop it from feeling like a lifetime. Especially since Remy wouldn’t stop grinning at her like sin in Sunday clothes, causing Rogue’s face to fire up every time she looked at him.

Getting fed up, she leveled a glare at the Cajun that would’ve made the Devil himself cross the street and informed Remy that she still wasn’t happy about him smacking her on the rear. That wiped the smile off his face.

“Désolé, Chere. Just didn’t want de others thinking you’re anything other than a pretty face,” Remy apologized.

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better, how?” Rogue raised an eyebrow.

“I just mean, we don’t know what’s going on. If any of this goes sideways, it’d be better if they didn’t think you were anything more than a pair of eyelashes and an empty head.” Remy reached for her hand, rubbing little circles on the back of her gloves.

“Besides, that gives us an edge, non? You know they’re damn stupid to underestimate ya.” Remy wheeled, pulling out his best hang-dog look.

“I still oughta whoop you,” she huffed, crossing her arms. “So now what? The security room?”

“Oui, de next round won’t start for thirty minutes.  The room is near the back of the boat. Let’s see if we can get access to the cameras,” Remy suggested. 

Moving through the crowd took more effort than expected.  The end of the second round triggered a mad rush for the bar. Fighting their way against the current of people, Rogue gritted her teeth and gripped Remy’s arm tighter, curling into his side. It was like the whole room had decided to try to wedge itself between the two of them.

Breaking free of the crush, Rogue sucked in a deep breath. She hadn’t done well in crowds since that terrible night at the concert years ago.  Remy loosened his grip on her but kept a hand at the small of her back, leading them past empty rows of craps tables.  Rogue shot him a grateful smile as the last knot of tension melted out of her.

“Mr. Lord, where are you heading off to? I hope you aren’t throwing in the towel. You did well in the first two rounds,” Matteo said, appearing from nowhere along with the two muscle-bound men from his office.

Rogue blinked. Where the hell had he come from?

Remy didn’t look the slightest bit surprised at Matteo’s sudden appearance. “Non, just trying t’ get ma Bele away from the bar. She ain’t a fan of crowds.”

To his credit, Matteo’s face immediately morphed into a look of concern. “Are you alright?”

It was probably working in her favor that she looked like she’d just been put through the wringer. “Yeah, I’m alright. I’m fine with small crowds, but, uh…that,” Rogue glanced back at the mob surrounding the bar, “You’re probably gonna owe your bartender hazard pay for dealing with…that.”

Matteo’s lip twitched as he took in the state of his bar. “I believe you may be right.” Turning to one of the men at his side, Matteo added. “Call below deck. Tell them the Main Bar needs assistance.” The man immediately pulled out his phone and took a couple of steps away to relay the order.

“While you’re here. I think you should know there’s a rumor going around. Some folks said they saw ya arguin’ with Sterling on the casino floor before the boat departed.” Remy said.

Rogue barely kept her jaw from dropping.

What the hell was he doing?

Information gathering. Watch, whispered Remy.

Matteo’s expression didn’t budge. “People like to talk. That’s nothing new.”

“Mais ouais,” Remy nodded. “But when someone who’s a Regular misses out on an event like tonight, folks are gonna notice. And if they remember you two had words, then even a small scene starts to look like something bigger.”

Matteo straightened, his eyes going hard. “What I do on my boat and who I speak to is my business, Mr. Lord.”

“Relax, homme. Don’t mean nothing by it,” Remy raised his hands. “Just trying t’ give you a heads up. You’ve got a reputation for being buttoned up. It’s gonna raise some eyebrows if you’re seen out of sorts.”

The quasi-compliment did the trick, smoothing down Matteo’s ruffled feathers. “Ms. Sterling owed us some money,” he admitted after a beat. “She left some gambling debts unpaid the last time she was on the boat.  My father doesn’t take well to loose ends. I can show you the ledger in my office if you need proof.”

“Nah, ya don’t need to go through all that trouble. Like I said, I just wanted to give you a heads-up.  Someone at the table—Jones, from up in Chicago—said that Howard is on board.  You might need to plan to move the body before you let any of the guests off at Baton Rouge.”

“Howard’s an idiot,” Matteo rolled his eyes. 

Remy snorted. “Well, ya ain’t wrong, but even a blind squirrel can find a nut now and then. How long do we have until the next round starts?”

“About thirty minutes,” Matteo answered.

“Bien,” Remy reached over and wrapped an arm around her waist again, “I promised my little River Rat here that I’d take her up to the top deck to see the Mississippi.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” Matteo said, moving so they could pass by. “Thirty minutes!”

Remy gave a two-finger salute but didn’t slow his gait.  They were almost at the door when he yanked her behind a row of slot machines.

“What the—”

“Shh,” Remy shushed her. “Watch this.”

With a few twists of a lock pick, a panel at the back of one of the machines opened, revealing a small keypad inside.  Remy pressed a few buttons, and the whole row of slot machines lit up, spilling coins onto the floor.

“Time t’ go.” Remy pulled her out the door.  As they walked down the hallway, two men went scurrying past them with toolboxes.

“What was that?” Rogue asked.

“An old trick I picked up in Vegas,” Remy replied. “All the machines in a row are wired together for testing.  It makes it easier for staff t’ do their daily checks rather than having to check them individually. Come on, the security room is this way.”

“How do you know?” Rogue asked as Remy dragged her back toward the Promenade Deck.  She couldn’t remember where the Security Room was located for the life of her.

“A good thief plans every job down t’ the last detail,” Remy replied, taking a sharp turn down a secondary hallway.

Rogue looked around to make sure no one was heading their way. Remy knelt in front of the door, pulled out his picks, and got to work. Rogue eyed the space. The staff areas were in even worse shape than the hallways.

The lock on the door looked beat to hell, with deep scratches crisscrossing the surface in a crosshatch pattern. Not the kind of wear you’d expect from old age or clumsy hands. The damage was too precise for that. Like someone had gone at it with a specialized tool and didn’t care who noticed.

Something pricked Rogue’s mind, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it.  The tumblers gave a soft click.

Remy opened the door for her. They both stepped into the room, if she could call it that.  It was barely bigger than an office cubicle, with one wall dominated by a steel shelf with all manner of tools, wires, pipe fittings, and everything else a boat could need to be shoved haphazardly onto the shelf.  A large table with a rat nest of cables and monitors took up space on the other wall, along with a server tower.

The whole space felt hot and smelled like stale Cheetos.

Rogue wrinkled her nose. Lovely.

Remy moved to one of the laptops and pulled up the video feed. It took a few minutes, but eventually, he found the camera group for the casino floor.  Starting the feed at one o’clock, he played the footage in fast-forward, his eyes glued to the screen.

“There,” he said, clicking to expand the view.

As he hit play again, Rogue leaned in. There was no sound, but Rogue could see Matteo talking to a woman in an elegant pantsuit.  The woman crossed her arms and leaned in, snapping something at Matteo before spinning on her heel to walk away. 

Matteo’s face twisted in anger. 

Before she could take two steps, he snatched her by the arm and dragged her back. He snarled something at her.  Natalie lifted her chin and replied, though she looked visibly shaken even through the grainy footage.  Matteo stood in the casino, watching her walk away.  Turning to one of his men, he said something, then stalked out of frame, headed in the same direction.

“Well, that’s not good,” Rogue muttered. “Is there a camera on the second-floor hallway? I want to see if anyone came out of 214.”

“Yeah, here it is,” Remy clicked the mouse on another group of cameras.

The angle wasn’t ideal.  The camera was mounted on the same side as the even-numbered rooms, so the view of 214’s door was partially blocked. Remy fast-forwarded, and they watched silently as a blur of figures moved through the hallway.

“There she is,” Rogue pointed at the screen.

Remy rewound slightly and hit play again. Natalie walked down the hallway and entered her stateroom, shutting the door behind her.  The feed kept rolling, but no one else was coming down the hallway.

Then, before Rogue could ask Remy to rewind the footage, something flickered at the top of the frame.

The screen went black.

“What the hell?” Rogue looked at Remy.

Remy pressed a few buttons, a crease pulling between his eyebrows, “The feed’s been erased.”

“Go back to the very end. There was something there right before the feed cut off. Near the turn for the stairwell.”

Remy rewound the feed again and played it at half speed.  Right before the camera cut off, he paused the footage. 

At the top of the screen, a pair of legs in a pencil skirt and black heels could be seen.

“Delphine was in the hallway.” Rogue breathed.

“We don’t know it was her,” Remy cautioned.

Rogue ignored him, staring at the screen. It was Delphine. Rogue knew it in her bones. Besides, she and Delphine were the only two women on board with hemlines below their knees.

The timestamp was only a short time after Natalie’s argument with Matteo on the casino floor.  There was no way that it was a coincidence.

“Merde! They’re coming back.” Remy swore.

Rogue’s eyes jerked towards the second laptop. The two maintenance men were leaving the casino, toolboxes in hand, heading straight for them.

Remy closed the video feed and pulled up the hallway camera, his fingers blurring across the keyboard as he deleted the last few minutes of footage. “We gotta go.”

Before she could speak, he grabbed her arm and dragged her from the room. Her pulse roared in her ears. She could hear the maintenance men’s voices echoing down the hallway, grumbling about busted slot machines.

The floor tilted under her feet as she was yanked sideways into a small alcove.

“Désolé, Rogue,” Remy apologized.

Her back hit the wall, hands rucking up the fabric, causing the silk to rustle. One hand dove under the slit of her dress, hooking a thigh and yanking it up over his hip. And suddenly, he was right there—

Rogue forgot how to breathe.

Heat seared the front of her as he pressed in, all hard lines and long limbs. Remy turned his face towards her, burying his nose just behind her ear, her hair providing the only shield between them. Rogue could feel his breath against her skin, warm and unsteady.

A sound she’d never heard before crawled out of her throat.

All three of her mommas would have been ashamed of their daughter if they could see her now. Somewhere outside the alcove, the men’s conversation broke off.

“Hey, you two can’t be back here.”

Remy stepped away, letting her leg drop.  Rogue’s eyes snapped open. For a moment, she stood there, stunned.

Then mortification surged hot up her neck as she spotted the two men standing in the hallway.

“This area is for crew only,” one of the men informed them.

His partner didn’t bother to hide his interest as his eyes swept over Rogue from top to bottom and back again. Rogue’s hand came up to cover her face. In her chest, humiliation and rage battled for dominance. 

She was going to kill Remy.

Just a reminder, fille, gators don’t like anything larger than a small pig. You’ll need a hacksaw to dismember the body. Julien instructed.  We got a few over at Blood Moon Bayou if you need to borrow one.

Shut up, Julien, Rogue snarled.

“Pardon, homme,” Remy smirked, “We were just—”

“Leaving! We were just leaving,” Rogue interrupted as her hand clamped down on Remy’s wrist. “Let’s. Go.”

To his credit, the Swamp Rat kept his damn mouth shut for once, letting her drag him back down the hall. Her face was still burning when they stepped back into the casino.

“What the hell, Swamp Rat?” Rogue demanded, dropping his hand to cross her arms.

“Désolé, Chere. There was no way we were going to be able to avoid them, and we needed an excuse to be in that hallway.”

“And your solution was dry humping me in a dark corner?” Rogue shot him an unimpressed look.

“It worked,” Remy shrugged.

“Says the guy that didn’t have a maintenance man trying to burn your clothes off with his eyes,” Rogue glared.

“To be fair, my entire plan was ‘suave distraction.’ But then you made that little sound ya did, and my brain just…short-circuited. So technically, this is your fault.”

“Pretty sure ya landed somewhere between ‘unhinged mime’ and ‘drunken octopus.’” Rogue grumbled, her face flaring back up at the memory of her own too-eager reaction. That didn’t stop the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Seeing her smile, Remy grinned. He knew he’d won. Rogue rolled her eyes. The boy could charm birds out of trees when he wanted to.

 “So what now?” she asked, dropping his hand to cross her arms.

“At least we know that Matteo was arguing with Natalie before the boat, but we don’t know if he went to her room,” Remy said.

“Or he could have used the secret passage. I still think it’s awfully convenient that Natalie’s room got switched.” Rogue replied.

She hesitated for a moment. “Remy, Delphine was in that hallway.  I know it was her.”

Remy looked over his shoulder, scanning the casino floor. After a minute, he inhaled deeply. “Delphine’s been tryin’ to talk to me all night.  Startin’ to think having a conversation might not be a bad idea. She’s over by the door. Give me a few minutes to see if I can get any information out of her.”

Rogue followed his line of sight only to immediately regret it.

Delphine stood near the bar, looking cool and unaffected. She was talking to someone, but her eyes kept drifting toward Remy. Like she’d been waiting.

The Swamp Rat spending any time alone with Delphine didn’t strike Rogue as a good idea.  In fact, it ranked somewhere near the top of her list of ‘worst ideas ever.’ Right next to “go ahead and push the big red button.”

“Do you want backup?” Rogue offered, even though she already knew the answer.

Remy shook his head, still looking at Delphine, “Non, she’ll be more open to talking if it’s just her and I.”

Of course, she would. She’d probably want to slip into something a little more comfortable, too.

They split off from each other by the roulette table. Remy cut across the floor, catching Delphine’s attention. Rogue didn’t follow. At least, not directly.

Instead, she wove through the crowd, circling wide to the far end of the bar. She found a seat with a clear view of the hallway Remy and Delphine disappeared into.

Fine. She’d go along with Remy’s little plan to talk to Delphine alone—he was probably right about Delphine being more open with him.  But she’d be damned before she left Remy without backup. After all, Jean-Luc had sent her because he knew she would keep his son safe. Cause he was her friend… and stuff.

Narrowing her eyes, Rogue shredded a cocktail napkin as she waited for the two to reemerge.

She told herself she wasn’t watching the door too closely. And she definitely wasn’t imagining Remy leaning too close, with that stupid Cajun grin of his in full effect.

It was just business.

Rogue pursed her lips and ripped the napkin viciously before letting the shreds drop onto the growing pile of paper carnage in front of her. Someone stepped into the space beside her.

“Got something against bar supplies, or is this your way of sending a message?” Julien slid onto the stool beside her, eyes flicking to the pile of shredded napkins with a raised eyebrow.

Rogue exhaled and gave him a side glance. “I’m multitasking.”

Julien smirked, signaling the bartender for a drink. “I’d say you’re wasting good paper, but far be it from me to critique your process.”

Rogue rolled her eyes. “You going somewhere with this, or are you just bored?”

“Where’s LeBeau?”

“Trying to get information out of Delphine.”

Julien snorted as the bartender set his drink down in front of him. “I’m surprised you let him out of your sight.”

“I’m not his keeper,” Rogue snapped.  Julien shot her a look that suggested he thought she was an idiot.

“You two find out who got into the room?” he asked.

“No. Someone erased the security footage.” Rogue picked up a fresh napkin. “Anything on your end?”

Julien shrugged. “Not much. I haven’t heard anyone even hinting about the blueprints. I did discover that the Marconi Family is dealing with pressure from the New York Families, but that’s nothing new.”

He paused to sip his bourbon.

Rogue turned towards him, “What do you mean?”

“They’ve always been outsiders. They’re not part of the New York or Chicago contingents…and they sure as hell aren’t Guild.”  Julien muttered the last part under his breath. 

Rogue raised an eyebrow, waiting for Julien to explain further, but he changed the topic, “Speaking of which, there are several Associates here who were asking about you. What’s that about?”

Irritation licked at her hotly. Rogue picked up a new napkin, tearing it in half. “Alden’s trying to hone in on Jean-Luc’s show pony,” she grumbled.

Julien’s gaze burned into the side of her skull. Sighing, Rogue tossed the napkin back down. Crossing her arms, she slumped back against her barstool.

“I’ve heard that introducing people can raise a person’s status in the underground. Alden was all too happy to introduce me to Matteo.  Since I highly doubt Jean-Luc and Marius are spreading my name around…,” Rogue raised an eyebrow, and Julien shook his head. “Right. So, if they aren’t gossiping, that leaves Alden.”

Julien made a noise in the back of his throat. “You might be onto something there, fille.”

The door on the other side of the bar opened, and Remy emerged, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. He scanned the room until his eyes landed on her before flicking to Julien.

Julien’s grin sharpened. “Ah, there he is. Right on cue.”

Rogue sighed under her breath. Here we go again.

“Of course,” Julien said, loud enough for Remy to hear, “I suppose it isn’t surprising that they’ve been asking about you, mon Ange. Who wouldn’t want to meet the loveliest femme in the room?”

Catching her wrist, he kissed the back of her hand as Remy stalked through the crowd. Rogue shot Julien a withering look.

Remy barely had time to reach her side before Julien upped the ante and leaned in just a little too close.

“You know,” Julien smiled, “you could’ve saved yourself the worry and just asked me to stick my tongue down Delphine’s throat instead.”

Remy narrowed his eyes. “I’d pay t’ see that. It might’ve improved her mood.”

Julien snorted. “Unlikely. Delphine has all the allure of a damp napkin.”

He turned towards her and offered a shrug. “But if LeBeau here is committed to dropping a diamond for a dime, can’t say I’m complaining. My offer to make you Queen of the Assassins still stands.”

In the back of Rogue’s mind, Remy’s psyche choked out a garbled sound as he tried to simultaneously cuss Julien in every language he knew. Julien’s psyche roared with laughter.

Rogue massaged the spot under her right eye.  Damn it, she hadn’t packed any aspirin.

Remy shot Julien a warning look. Turning his attention back to her, he lowered his voice. “Delphine admitted to going to Natalie’s room but said that Natalie was alive when she left. I couldn’t get much more than that. Delphine’s definitely hiding something, but I don’t think she is the killer.”

“Quit thinking with your dick, LeBeau. Of course, she would tell you she didn’t kill Sterling. She’s still got to get off the boat.” Julien rolled his eyes.

Remy’s eyes flared brightly.

“Knock it off. Both of ya,” Rogue hissed.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the third round of the tournament will be starting shortly.  Gamblers, please join us at the table,” the announcer called.

“Matteo said he had a ledger proving that Natalie was in debt. We need t’ get eyes on it. Find out if he has anything else hidden in his office,” Remy murmured as the crowd began to move.

“Like the blueprints?” Rogue guessed.

“Ouias,” Remy nodded grimly, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “As much as I hate it, you’re gonna be on your own, Chere. There’s no way Matteo won’t notice if I don’t show up for de next round.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I’m around to fill in the gaps,” Julien said, swirling the ice in his glass like he didn’t have a damn care in the world.

Remy flung a dark look at the Master Assassin, and Rogue half expected the glass in Julien’s hand to explode from sheer proximity to the Cajun’s fury.

Julien raised an eyebrow in mock innocence. “What? Would you rather she go alone?”

Remy’s jaw ticked, his eyes burning. Not with rage, but resentment. He hated being backed into a corner. Hated that she was the one going in. Hated that he couldn’t go with her.

Julien smirked, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep my hands to myself…probably.”

That did it.

Before Rogue could respond—or Julien could smirk again—warm hands grabbed her by the waist and tugged her off the stool. In one smooth move, Remy dragged up along his front, slanting his mouth over hers.

Rogue’s eyes slip shut as his mouth claimed hers, because that’s exactly what this was.

His psyche surged forward to meet hers, pouring through the bond, while her powers latched onto him hungrily. But she wasn’t tearing memories away this time. It felt like Remy was leaning into the pull—deliberately opening his mind to her. Flooding her with thieving skills and escape routes, all threaded with something darker, something more primal underneath.

He was giving her the skills she needed, but it wasn’t just strategy.

It was a warning.

Mine, growled Remy

Breaking the kiss, Remy pulled away, dazed and slightly spun.

The casino's bright lights and noise filtered around her, reminding Rogue where she was. Straightening, Remy reached for her hand and kissed the back of her glove.

“For luck,” he murmured.

“Yours or mine?” she asked.

Remy grinned but didn’t answer.  Shooting one last warning look over her shoulder at the Master Assassin, Remy reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his sunglasses. Slipping them over his eyes, he turned on his heel and swaggered away, immediately swallowed by the crowd. 

Rogue turned back to Julien. She could only imagine what jackass comment was about to fly out of his mouth.

Julien leaned against the bar, staring in the direction Remy had gone with a bored expression. A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face. Catching her gaze, he nodded once and finished his drink.

“Let’s get to it, then.”

XOXOXOXOX

Ready to Go Mr. Lord

Chapter Text

Rogue walked down the hallway towards Matteo’s office. Julien strolled along beside her, one hand in his pocket. Rogue might have been inclined to think that Julien wasn’t taking this seriously, except for the fact that his eyes never stopped sweeping the space, and his footsteps were almost as quiet as Remy’s.

Stopping in front of the polished door, Rogue pulled out her picks and got to work. Just like the door, the gold lock was polished to a gleaming shine, catching the warm light off the hallway.

“I’m impressed, Rogue. You pick locks like a natural-born thief,” Julien noted.

“One of the first things Remy taught me when we went back to Bayville. Though I have to admit I never thought I’d get so much use out of it,” Rogue answered. The lock gave way, and she twisted the door knob.

Stepping into the office, Julien shut the door behind them and moved towards the desk. Rogue crossed the room to a tall file cabinet.

“There’s not even a lock on these,” Rogue frowned.

“Not surprised,” Julien replied, carefully sorting through a stack of files on Matteo’s desk before setting them back exactly as he found them. “Howard’s on board almost every trip. It’s probably easier to hand over anything he requests.”

“Who is he? Remy mentioned him earlier.”

“FBI.”

Rogue whipped around. “There’s an FBI agent on board?”

Julien snorted but didn’t pause in his search. “Oui, but he’s a bumbling idiot. You’ve probably seen him out in the casino. A middle-aged man with a receding hairline? Ugly brown suit?”

“You’re serious?”

“Mm-hmm,” Julien hummed. “He’s been after the Marconi Family for over twenty years, but he’s never even gotten close to getting anything to stick. At this point, I think Giovanni sends him a Christmas card every year.”

Remy’s ‘even a blind squirrel’ comment came to mind, but Rogue pressed her lips together. One thing at a time. If Julien, Remy, and Matteo all agreed that he was harmless, then he was probably harmless…probably.

“Seems awfully petty of Giovanni to send the FBI agent who’s been after him for years a Christmas card,” Rogue remarked.

Julien heaved a long-suffering sigh. “You this chatty with LeBeau when you two are on jobs?”

“Just makin’ polite conversation,” she smiled sweetly, fluttering her eyes at him.

Julien stared at her, unimpressed, before a wicked smile stretched over his face. “You want to make polite conversation? Why don’t you tell me why your frere tried to kill LeBeau?”

The smile melted off her face. “That’s none of ya business.”

“Oh, please,” Julien smirked. “There’s only one reason a brother wants to kill LeBeau. I should know. I almost got him with a Bowie knife,”

“Let’s go back to not speaking, shall we?” Rogue turned away, making a show of scanning the bookshelves.

“You started it.” Julien shrugged, picking up another file. “I was just thinking maybe your frere and I could swap tips on technique. When do you think LeBeau hunting season should be?”

Rogue ignored the question. Maybe if she didn’t answer, Julien would get back to work, and they could get this over with. She didn’t want to be here any longer than they had to. Her eyes fell on a large oil painting on the wall. On a whim, she tugged at it, and the picture swung open, revealing a wall safe.

“Let me guess,” Julien said, not bothering to look up from the file in his hands. “There’s a safe behind it.”

“Yep.” Rogue answered, popping the ‘p.’

Julien glanced up and shook his head. “I’ll admit, that’s a bit cliché even for Mafia.”

Rogue ignored him. Pulling her picks from her thigh holster, she tried to recall what Mercy had said about safe cracking. Starting with the lock, she fitted the tension bar into place, sliding each pin into place. When the lock gave way, she rotated the rod and eyed the keypad.

That’s one, Rogue sighed.

You’re doing great, Chere, encouraged Remy.

Julien moved to stand beside her, watching with thinly veiled amusement. “Are we going to be here all night, or…?”

“I got this,” Rogue huffed.

Slipping the pick under the keypad, she pried the console free until she could reach the wiring. Staring at the wires, Rogue bit her lip and frowned. She needed to reverse the blue and green wires to override the panel. Tugging the black wire free to shut off the power, she reached for the blue wire.

‘BZZZZT’

“Shit!” Rogue swore as Julien burst out laughing.

Jerking her hand back, she inspected her fingers. There was a dark singe mark on the silk of her evening gloves. Rogue glared at the offending electronic. She could have sworn it was the blue and green wires she had to switch.

Julien leaned in. “Wrong wire, fille.” He tapped the red one lightly. “This is what we need.”

Rogue’s pride prickled as he took the keypad from her, but she let him work. With practiced ease, Julien pulled out a small knife and, using the back of it, freed the red wire. The red light on the keypad went out immediately. Switching the blue and green wires, Julien finished by reattaching the black and red wires to their respective locations.

The safe door clicked as it unlocked.

Julien shot her a smug grin. “And that’s how you do it.”

“Pretty good at cracking safes for an Assassin. You thinking about moonlighting?” Rogue snarked.

Julien made a sound of disgust in the back of his throat. “Don’t insult me. Lock-picking and safe cracking are universally applicable skills,” he shot her a nasty grin, “So is killing.”

Julien twisted the handle. The safe door squeaked in protest as it swung open, revealing its contents.

A single gun.

The metal glinted dully in the office's light. Rogue’s breath hissed through her teeth.

Julien pulled the gun out for closer inspection. The slide gave a sharp snap as he pulled it back to reveal a bullet already in the chamber.

“Is that the gun?” Rogue breath.

Julien snorted and let the slide snap back into place. “Can’t match a gun to a bullet wound just by looking at it. That’s Hollywood nonsense. But it’s the right caliber bullet. The problem is the gun is clean.”

“Matteo could have cleaned it,” Rogue argued.

“No,” Julien shook his head and shoved the gun back into the safe, “Why would Marconi waste time cleaning the murder weapon instead of using that time to get the body off the boat?”

There’s no suppressor, Colt pointed out.

Julien moved back to the desk to renew his search as Rogue closed up the safe. For lack of any better ideas, Rogue began checking the wall panels for hidden latches or pulls.

This was beginning to feel like a wild goose chase.

“I found something,” Julien announced. From a top drawer, he pulled out a ledger and laid it on the leather-bound blotter. Opening the leather cover, the book was almost half the size of the desk.

“He keeps a handwritten ledger?” Rogue asked, moving to peer over Julien’s shoulder. Julien nodded absently, not looking up as he scanned the rows of names.

“Most Families do. You can’t hack a paper ledger,” he murmured.

“There,” Rogue pointed, spotting Natalie’s name. In the column for debts, a thousand dollars was marked beside her name. Rogue glanced at the top of the page. It was the date for the boat’s last voyage.

So, Matteo hadn’t been lying when he said that Natalie owed the boat money. Rogue frowned and rubbed at the back of her neck, looking at the amount again. Somehow, it didn’t add up.

“A thousand dollars doesn’t seem like a lot in the grand scheme of things. Especially given all the money that’s been exchanging hands tonight,” Rogue said.

“It’s not.” Julien flipped through more pages.

“So why would Matteo raise a stink over that?”

“Giovanni has always believed that men in his line of business can’t afford to be careless. He’s pressuring Matteo to prove himself.” Julien scanned the rest of the page before flipping to the next page and back again. Rogue raised an eyebrow at him, and Julien rolled his eyes. “Like I said, Mafias aren’t Guilds.”

“And by that, you mean…” she waved a hand for him to continue. This was like pulling teeth.

“Christ, I forget how little LeBeau has told you,” Julien heaved a sigh. “The Guilds are passed down through bloodlines—the Boudreauxs and the LeBeaus.”

“And Hoffman?” Rogue guessed.

“Assuming he can rope some poor femme into marrying him,” Julien scoffed, “But, yeah, Hoffman, too. However, mafias aren’t necessarily passed down through bloodlines, although it’s preferred. They’re run more like businesses.”

Rogue raised her eyebrows at the venom in Julien’s voice.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Julien barked out a snide laugh. “With the Mafia, it’s all about whose ass you kiss and whose hand you shake to move up the ladder. Guilds don’t care about that. If the Mafias are white-collar businesses, then the Guilds are specialists. We know our trades through and through. We don’t give a shit where people come from as long as they got the skills to get the job done.”

Julien looked around Matteo’s office in disgust.

“Belladonna could wipe out every enforcer in the Northeast if she wanted to, but do you think they’d ever see her as their equal?” he asked.

Rogue stayed silent, not sure what answer she could give about Remy’s ex-fiancée that wouldn’t land her in a heap of trouble. Fortunately, Julien wasn’t inclined to wait for one.

“No. The best she could ever hope for would be to be an Associate.” Julien spat out the word. His blue eyes blazed as he looked at her. “There’s a reason they’re called Made Men, fille, not Made People.”

Rogue nodded, desperately wanting to get the conversation away from Belladonna. Glancing around for a change of subject, her eyes landed on the names listed in the ledger.

“Would the Assassins buy the blueprints from the Marconi Family?”

Julien tilted his head, mulling over the question. “It’s possible. But unlikely.”

He crossed his arms. “I know what you’re getting at, but you’re barking up the wrong tree. The Marconi Family has never interfered with Guild business before. If Matteo was trying to pull a fast one, he never would have let a LeBeau, of all people, onto his boat.”

His jaw tightened as he continued, his voice now quieter. “Like it or not, there’s a balance to all this. Nobody’s dumb enough to knock the table over. Not unless they’re ready to set the whole damn board on fire. Matteo knows that.”

“Plus, out of all the Guilds, they tend to be on the best terms with the Runners. Alden even handles some of their imports. If Matteo wanted to get cute, he wouldn’t risk offending them either.”

Rogue chose not to meditate on what Alden might be importing. She didn’t have the mental capacity to even consider the implications of that right now.

Flipping through the pages, she scanned the ledger, looking for Natalie’s name. Maybe this wasn’t the first time Natalie had gotten into debt with Matteo.

Rogue’s eyes landed on another name, stopping her cold.

Delphine’s name was listed in the ledger. Rogue’s eyes flicked to the amount. Her jaw dropped.

Eighty-four thousand dollars.

A small part of Rogue’s mind that wasn’t frozen in shock registered Julien leaning in close to peer over her shoulder. Rogue stepped to the side, putting more space between them. Julien whistled.

“Didn’t think the Marconis typically resorted to loan sharking, but I can’t say I’m surprised,” Julien said. “At least now we know why Delphine’s putting up with his ass.”

“I gotta talk to Remy,” Rogue muttered.

The third round of the tournament had already ended by the time she got back into the casino. Scanning the crowd for any sign of the Cajun, she mentally cursed herself for listening to Julien’s suggestion that they take a circuitous route back to the casino to avoid raising suspicion.

She spotted Remy just as Julien’s footsteps swaggered up behind her.

Letting the door swing shut in his face, Rogue’s lips twitched as she heard Julien curse.

Easy there, Chere, Remy cautioned. Slow down. Don’t want to attract attention.

Rogue gritted her teeth. She was already moving enough in these dang shoes and godforsaken dress. Noticing several people glancing her way, Rogue forced herself to slow her feet even more. A hand found her hip.

“You left me behind, mon Ange,” Julien said plaintively, appearing beside her. “You’re breaking my heart.”

Rogue barely managed to swallow back something nasty about tearing off Julien’s arm and beating him with it. And only because the crowd parted for the Master Assassin, allowing her to pick up the pace without knocking someone into a coma.

Remy’s eyes landed on them, then dropped to her hip. Rogue could practically feel the Cajun trying to burn Julien’s hand off with his eyes. At least he still had his sunglasses on. Even through the tinted shades, she could see his eyes glowing.

“Hey, Sug’,” Rogue greeted and darted forward, pulling out of Julien’s grip.

“How’d it go?” Remy asked, catching her by the shoulders. His eyes were locked on the Assassin behind her.

Remy’s hands slid up and down her arms like he was checking her for injuries. The action was both sweet and vexing…and Rogue didn’t have time to deal with any of it.

“We need to talk,” Rogue lowered her voice. Remy’s eyes snapped back towards her. Nodding once, he threaded her arm through his and led her through the crowd back toward an empty hallway.

As they reached one of the alcoves, Remy finagled them so that Rogue was partially shielded by his taller frame, blocking most of her view of the hallway. What little she could see was cut off as Julien joined them.

“Do ya mind?” Remy snapped.

“Not really. Non,” Julien smirked.

“Enough! Julien, stop provoking him.” Rogue snapped. She wasn’t sure if she was more frustrated by Julien’s smugness or by how Remy’s fingers were twitching for his cards.

“We found the ledger. Natalie did owe Matteo a little bit of money, but it wasn’t anything substantial. About a grand.” Rogue sighed. That part was easy. It was the next bit that she wasn’t sure how Remy would react. “We also found Delphine’s name in the ledger. She owes the Marconi Family eighty-four thousand dollars.”

“Non,” Remy shook his head. “She wouldn’t risk that. She knows getting into debt with the Marconis is dangerous. Even if Delphine were desperate enough t’ take the money, Matteo would gut her if she went behind his back.”

Rogue bit her lip but kept quiet, thinking about Delphine’s sneer when Matteo barked orders at her or dismissed her from the room. Delphine might not be stupid, but anyone could see she was sick and tired of working for Matteo.

Julien scoffed. “And yet, desperate people do stupid things all the time.”

“She’s not stupid,” Remy repeated, this time with more bite.

“Smart doesn’t pay off a debt that big,” Julien replied. “It kinda paints a very unflattering picture of your pal Delphine. Funny, isn’t it? All that charm and no sense of financial planning.”

“Remy,” Rogue tried gently, “those blueprints are worth a fortune—”

“Delphine’s not a killer,” Remy shook his head firmly. “I’ve worked with her. She’s sharp, but killing? No. Besides,” Remy narrowed his eyes at Julien again, “You’re saying Matteo’s own right-hand woman—who, by the way, is in his debt—decided t’ screw him over?”

Rogue hesitated. Remy made a good point. The problem was… Delphine had been in Natalie’s room. She’d told Remy herself that she’d gone to speak to Natalie about the blueprints.

“Not screw him over,” Julien corrected smoothly. “Cut a deal. Fence the blueprints, clear her debts, and then disappear before Matteo ever realizes she was involved in the first place.”

Julien paused, tilting his head like he was humoring them. “But let’s say you’re right. Let’s say Delphine didn’t do it. Matteo still needs someone to blame. He won’t allow himself to look weak in front of Giovanni. If we don’t offer him a narrative, someone else will.”

Remy narrowed his eyes. “You mean you will.”

Julien didn’t deny it. Instead, leaned one shoulder against the wall. “Better me than someone who actually wants blood—”

“Says de Assassin,” Remy spat.

Julien straightened at that, shoving off the wall. “There ain’t too many on this boat that would have had access to Natalie’s room. And I find it hard to believe that Matteo wouldn’t have given Delphine a heads-up about your job here tonight. She’s not a foot soldier—she’s his right hand.”

He scoffed. “I do, however, have a hard time believing that Matteo would agree to allow Le Diable Blanc onto his boat only to double-cross the Thieves Guild. Especially given the Thieves’ relationship with the Marconis.”

“Huh?” Rogue looked between the pair.

Julien blinked at her for a moment, then shot Remy an incredulous look. “Are you serious?”

Remy’s glare darkened.

Julien shook his head in disgust and turned back to her. “The Thieves Guild used to have a branch in New York. But it nearly went extinct due to the rise of organized crime. It put Giovanni in a bad position. He’s located in the Guilds’ backyard, but there is a lot of pressure from other Families for him to take a stand and take control here.”

“There were some drunk guys earlier,” Rogue said slowly. “When Matteo shooed them away, they asked if Giovanni was still playing nice with ‘The Coonasses.’”

Julien cursed something foul under his breath. Remy ignored him and reached for her hand, “Yeah, that’s what they call us. They don’t want Giovanni getting too cozy with the Guilds.”

“So what happened to the New York Guild?” Rogue asked

“By the ’70s, the mafias started losing their grip on New York. It was one of the more peaceful times in New Orleans, so Jean-Luc was able to help the daughter of the previous Guildmaster reestablish and shore up the New York Guild. The move also cemented New Orleans’s reputation as the strongest of all the Thieves Guild branches.” Remy explained.

“What’s the deal with Giovanni and Jean-Luc?” Rogue asked.

Remy exhaled sharply through his nose. “Jean-Luc’s been using Giovanni’s wariness ‘bout retaliation t’ his advantage.”

Julien snorted. “Translation: Jean-Luc has been giving Giovanni the shaft for years and smiling while doing it.”

Shit. Suddenly, Jean-Luc’s dislike of Delphine made sense. There’s no way he would have wanted anyone who’d worked with the Thieves to be working for Matteo. Rogue froze.

“Wait. That’s why Matteo pushed for the meeting with his father when we visited Lock & Key, isn’t it?” Rogue guessed. “He knew Jean-Luc would have to agree to get you onto the boat.”

“Did he now?” Julien perked up.

Rogue cursed her own stupidity. She shouldn’t have spoken about Thieves Guild business like that in front of Julien.

“Well, if that’s the case, Matteo is definitely out,” Julien said. “He wouldn’t double-cross the Thieves Guild when he finally managed to secure a meeting for his father.”

Remy shot Julien a sour look, his jaw tightening. “I still don’t think Delphine did it.”

“That’s not the point.” Julien sighed in annoyance. “If she did—and we don’t say anything—Matteo’s going to lose face. And he’ll need someone to blame.” Julien’s eyes flicked to Rogue, just for a second. “And he’s already got the perfect mark.”

Rogue felt the weight of their gazes. “You’re saying Matteo might come after me?”

Julien shrugged. “We were in his office, Ange. He can’t touch me, but you’re an Outsider. And if he thinks you’re playing games…”

“Rogue’s under the protection of the Thieves Guild.” Remy snapped.

“Which is the problem,” Julien snapped back. “If he goes after her, it won’t just be personal—it becomes political. It’ll become a Guild matter, and it’ll destabilize everything. Dieu, help us all if the New York and Chicago contingents use this as an opportunity to push Giovanni for an all-out war,” Julien’s eyes turned hard. “I will not let the Assassins be dragged under because your father and Hoffman got greedy.”

Rogue shivered at the picture Julien was painting.

Julien paused, taking a breath. “But…if we bring this to Matteo first, it shows respect. What he won’t forgive is us keeping secrets that make him look incompetent in front of Giovanni.”

Remy took a half step towards Julien. “You son of a—”

Julien cut him off, voice smooth. “I’m just stating facts, Thief. If we don’t control this, Matteo will. And you won’t like how he handles it.”

Silence.

Rogue watched the war play out in Remy’s expression. His fingers twitched before curling into fists by his side. He was being boxed in again. Forced to play along. And he hated that Julien was right.

“Fine,” he muttered. “We’ll go talk with Matteo. But we keep this from turning into a damn bloodbath.”

“The bloodbath’s already coming, Thief,” Julien said. “But glad we’re all finally on the same page. Now, let’s not waste time. We take this to Matteo and let him decide what to do next.”

Rogue stood watching as Remy and Julien made their way toward Matteo. She swallowed, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut. It would have been a lot easier if Remy had been willing to meet her eyes or if Julien’s face hadn’t had that resolute look to it.

The sight of the Prince of Thieves and the Prince of Assassins together must have caught Matteo’s attention. He cut off a conversation with a couple in front of him and moved to intercept them, his bodyguards shadowing him step for step.

As the men began to talk, Rogue looked away. Blowing out a breath, she scanned the room for something to distract herself from the conversation she couldn’t hear but already hated.

Mr. Tribune stood by the bar.

“Any luck with getting that meeting with the Governor?” she asked as she approached.

Mr. Tribune shot her a weary look. “No,” he answered, removing his glasses to massage the area under his eyes before replacing them. “He found the baccarat table.”

“Sweet Jesus, is the state gonna have any money by the end of the night?” Rogue joked weakly, using the mirror behind the bar to survey. She could see the whole casino from here, glittering and busy. Everything looked the same as it had all night.

And yet—

Something was off.

“He’s actually doing better,” Tribune replied. “Might even be up, believe it or not. I’m hoping a few more winning rounds will put him in a generous mood.”

Rogue half-nodded, her attention still drifting. “You’ve got more patience than I do, waiting around for someone’s luck to turn at the tables.”

“I usually pass the time by exploring the boat’s corridors,” Tribune said dryly. “Gets my steps in and keeps me from strangling our esteemed elected officials.”

“How pragmatic of you,” Rogue muttered, only half-attending to the conversation. Her brain screamed at her that something was missing.

Then it hit her.

The vibration. All night, there’d been a low thrum beneath her heels—the steady pulse of the boat’s engines.

Now... nothing.

The boat had docked.

Her chest tightened.

“Well, I am a businessman. Killing two birds with one stone is practically our credo.” Mr. Tribune smirked, “However, this time, I spent the last thirty minutes watching Agent Howard questioning two poor maintenance men about rigging the casino’s slot machines to pay out extra money.”

It took a moment for Rogue’s mind to catch up with what Tribune had said. “That’s…not how casinos work. That’s not how any of this works.” Rogue said slowly.

Tribune smirked. “From what I gathered, he thought Matteo might be paying out extra to get more guests on board. He was grilling the two maintenance workers on Matteo’s business strategy.”

“There’s no way they would know that.”

“I know.”

“Wow,” Rogue breathed, feeling a little flabbergasted. “He is really bad at his job.”

“So I’ve heard.” Tribune nodded, picking up his drinks again, “Well, I’m off. Wish me luck?”

“Good luck,” Rogue called after him.

As he walked away, Rogue turned back toward the casino floor. The lights shimmered. The music played. People laughed and drank like nothing was wrong.

But her gut said otherwise. There was something else. Something that was causing the gnawing feeling in her gut to sharpen to a point.

Her eyes swept the room again, causing the sea of sequins, neon, and champagne to blur as her mind kicked into overdrive.

Rogue’s breath caught.

Where was Delphine?

She scanned the room again, more methodically this time, looking for Delphine’s dark clothes in the crowd.

Nothing.

The boat had docked.

And Delphine was gone.

Chapter Text

Rogue tried to pull her thoughts together.

Delphine was missing.

She needed to tell Remy, but one glance at the group of men had her feet stalling. Matteo, Remy, and Julien were still talking, but even from where she stood, Matteo looked thunderous. A few steps away, one of the bodyguards stood with a phone pressed to his ear.

“Sweetie? You doing okay?”

Rogue jumped. Ree stood next to her, watching her with concern. 

“You alright?” she asked again. “You look like you’re going to faint.”

Across the room, the bodyguard barked something into his phone and ended the call before moving towards the far set of doors, cutting sharply through the crowd.

“Yeah, no—I’m fine. Just…yeah, I’m fine.” Rogue smiled awkwardly, hoping the woman wouldn’t press her.

Three young women strutted past them in scandalously short dresses and dangerously high heels. Ree didn’t bother to hide her eye roll as she turned up her nose. One of the women caught the look and halted mid-step.

“Something funny, grandma?” the boldest of the trio snapped, flipping her curls over one shoulder.

Ree smiled sharply. “Not at all. I was just wondering if you were heading to a casino or a street corner. But do carry on.”

The women bristled, but seeing Ree’s expression, they faltered. With a scoff and a hair flip, the three women turned and stormed off into the crowd.

Rogue snorted. “You always make friends wherever you go?”

“They started it,” Ree said. “Either way, I’m not worried. They won’t be back for the next cruise.”

“You really think all these women are mistresses?”

“A few, maybe. Most are just the flavor of the night.”

“That’s harsh,” Rogue said mildly.

“It’s the truth,” Ree shrugged. “And frankly, it’s for the best.”

“What do you mean?”

“If they can be run off by just a sharp look by an old woman, they don’t belong here. I watch them on their phones, scrolling through influencer videos—how to dress like a mafia wife, how to act like one.” Ree laughed harshly and shook her head. “That’s what they think it is. A costume. Like something they can take off with their false eyelashes at the end of the night.”

Rogue nodded. “They don’t understand what they’re playing at.”

“They don’t even try.” Ree flagged the bartender for another drink. “They think all the old-world customs and etiquette are charming. They don’t understand that this is a society all its own. Etiquette tells everyone where they stand in the pecking order. Allowing yourself to be disrespected? It makes you look weak, and weakness can get you and your loved ones killed. Showing disrespect?” Ree shook her head, “Best-case scenario, you get a beating.”

Rogue glanced down at her gloves. How many times had she chalked up the Guild’s protocols as silly and outdated?

“So that’s it then? Everything has to work a certain way, or it all falls apart.”

“It’s not a machine,” Ree said. “It’s a balance. Every person, every deal, every debt—it all keeps the scales level. You let one thing slip, let one rule go ignored, and suddenly everything tilts. Next thing you know, the bodies start piling up. Because once the balance is broken, it doesn’t stop until someone forces it back into place.”

Rogue pressed her lips together. Her mind flew back to a few months ago when she’d stood on the second-story porch of the Guild Hall in the sweltering heat, listening to Jean-Luc explain why he and Marius had tried to betroth Remy and Belladonna. How the fighting had been at an all-time high back then.

Suddenly, Jean-Luc’s reasoning didn’t feel so frivolous.

Rogue cleared her throat. “And that’s Matteo’s job? Keeping the balance?”

Ree smiled grimly. “It’s everyone’s job. Whether they admit it or not. The underground’s bad enough—but when power shifts? That’s when it gets dangerous.”

She tilted her head. “Speaking of balance, mind if I ask you something?”

“Okay?”

“I know who your Mr. Lord is, Ms. LeBeau,” Ree smirked. Rogue winced. She really needed to come up with a better alias next time.

“And I know who Julien is,” Ree added, nodding toward the men across the room. “Ya mind telling me why they’re talking to Matteo?”

“Probably just discussing the local weather,” Rogue said flatly.

Ree raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Rogue fought to keep from shifting on her feet like a school child who had just been caught putting a frog in the teacher’s desk.

After a beat, Ree softened. “Matteo’s like a nephew to me.” She said, reaching for Rogue’s hand and giving her a pleading look. “I don’t want to see the Guilds giving him any trouble.”

Well, there’s the start of a fine guilt trip.

Be careful, Chere, Remy warned.

Keep your mouth shut, fille, Julien snapped.

Rogue pressed her lips together. She really didn’t want to lie to Ree, but she didn’t even know what was being discussed over there. Starting rumors now would only make things worse.

“Mr. Lord had a job to do,” Rogue began, choosing her words carefully. “It had nothing to do with Matteo, except that it happened to take place on this boat. Unfortunately, the job didn’t go as smoothly as hoped, but Mr. Lord has been keeping Matteo in the loop all night. I think that’s what they’re discussing now.”

Ree hummed in understanding at that, sharp eyes pressing Rogue for more. Rogue stared back evenly. She liked Ree, but that was all she was going to give the older woman.

Ree chuckled and broke eye contact, taking a sip of her drink. “You’re loyal. Good. You’ll need that.”

“For what?”

“You’re not an Outsider, but you’re not quite part of this world either. One foot in and one foot out. Take it from me—I stood where you’re standing when Danny and I came to New Orleans. Loyalty can keep you safe.”

Rogue swallowed, managing a small nod, but inside, something twisted.

Loyalty keeps you safe.

She’d heard that all her life. Irene and Mystique had all but beaten that lesson into her brain until it was second nature. She hadn’t questioned it until Scott convinced her to join the X-Men. Until she saw what it meant to choose right over safe.

But this wasn’t the X-Men’s world. There was no black and white here. Just a million shades of grey.

Across the room, the conversation broke up. Remy and Julien turned, heading in her direction while Matteo and his bodyguard exited through a closed set of doors. Julien said something to Remy and broke off from him, disappearing behind a row of slot machines.

Remy reached her side. “Matteo wants to see us in his office.”

As the doors to the casino closed behind them, the noise and energy were cut off. Silence rang in her ears.

Remy ripped off his sunglasses the moment they were clear of the lights. He scanned the empty hallway as they made their way towards Matteo’s office, like he half-expected something to come at them from the shadows.

Rogue matched his steps. “Where’s Delphine?” she asked quietly.

“Missing.”

“And Julien?”

“Rechecking Natalie’s room for de blueprints.”

They walked a few more paces before Remy spoke again.

“Let me handle this,” Remy said abruptly, breaking the silence. “Don’t say anything. Not t’ Matteo, not t’ anyone.”

Rogue blinked, slowing slightly. “Excuse me? Since when do I just stand there and look pretty?”

Remy stopped, turning to face her. Even in the dim light, Rogue could make out the set of his shoulders. He was tense like she’d never seen him.

“Chere, please.” His voice was tight. “The conversation with Matteo didn’t go well. Things were already tense, and now Delphine’s missing. Matteo’s on a warpath. If this goes sideways, I need t’ keep his attention on me, not on us. Just this once, don’t say anything.”

Rogue crossed her arms, ready to tear into the Swamp Rat and give him a piece of her mind. But then she saw it—the flicker of something in Remy’s eyes. Not just worry, but fear…for her.

Rogue shivered, her retort dying on her lips. Swallowing thickly, she nodded.

Remy’s polite knock on the door and smooth gait as he stepped into Matteo’s office were completely at odds with the fury radiating off the man inside. Rogue kept her head high, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste copper.

Do not antagonize the crime boss. Do not antagonize the crime boss. Do not antagonize the crime boss. She chanted.

Remy stood between her and Matteo’s desk. His stance relaxed, hands in his pockets like they were discussing a business deal instead of barely holding off a blood feud. Rogue envied his calm.

Matteo was anything but calm. His jaw flexed, eyes burning holes through her.

“You broke into my office,” Matteo growled, before turning his glare on Remy. “I offered to show you the damn ledger, and instead, you let your girl sneak around like some gutter thief—”

“She ain’t no gutter thief,” Remy said smoothly. His voice had that lazy drawl he used whenever he wanted to sound unbothered. “Let’s not pretend this is about ma Cherie. You’re not mad she looked at de ledger. You said it yourself, you offered t’ show us. You’re mad because I’m asking questions you don’t like.”

Matteo’s lip curled up. “You’re questioning me? In my own office? On my own boat?”

“But of course,” Remy said. “You told us Natalie owed you a debt. We had t’ be sure. I wasn’t going t’ take your word for it without proof. Trust but verify, isn’t that what they say?” Remy asked, his red-and-black eyes watching Matteo closely. “You should understand that better than anyone.”

“You think I’d lie about something like that?” Matteo slammed a fist on his desk, rattling the keyboard.

“I think people lie all de time,” Remy said, his voice still light. “And I think you’re angrier at yourself than you are at me.”

Matteo stiffened.

A knock cut off whatever Remy was going to say next. Matteo bit out a sharp ‘come in.’

The door opened, and two large men stepped inside, dragging Delphine with them. She was pleading and fighting against their grip, but the men held her fast.

“We found her trying to get off the boat, down at the crew exit.” One of the men announced, shoving the woman into a seat. “She had these on her.”

The man pulled out a small handkerchief and set it on the desk in front of Matteo. Reaching forward, he tugged the fabric back until something glinted in the light.

Rogue breath caught in her throat. Remy’s eyes widened

A pair of peacock earrings.

An exact match for the set Irene had given her. 

Rogue’s mouth went dry. She could feel the rough edges of the earrings resting against the sides of her face. She desperately wanted to reach up and check if her hair was hiding them from view.

She didn’t dare.

“I didn’t do it. I didn’t kill her,” Delphine pleaded.

“Care to explain why you have Ms. Sterling’s earrings then?” Matteo asked. “Or perhaps you could explain why she’s dead? Or, better yet, where the blueprints are?”

“I didn’t do anything with the blueprints—”

Matteo flew out of his seat, catching Delphine by the hair.

“Don’t lie to me,” he hissed. “I suggest you tell me what the hell is going on before I lose my temper.”

Delphine’s eyes screwed shut in pain, and a tear tracked down the side of her face. “I didn’t take the blueprints. I swear. I went to Natalie’s room earlier to offer to help her fence the blueprints in exchange for a commission. Enough to pay off my debt.” Delphie inhaled a ragged breath, “But she told me she already had a buyer lined up, so I left. I swear I didn’t kill her. She was alive when I left.”

“And the earrings?” Matteo demanded.

Delphine’s whole body shuddered. “Once Remy told us she was dead, I went back to the room and took the earrings. She wasn’t going to need them. I was going to pawn them to pay back my debt.” Her eyes locked on Remy. “Remy, I swear it wasn’t me.”

Rogue believed her.

She might have been scared to death, but Delphine wasn’t fidgeting or being vague on the details. No pitch change. No stammering. Nothing.

Rogue glanced at Remy, waiting for him to say something.

The Swamp Rat’s expression didn’t change, his eyes flat as he watched the woman caught in Matteo’s grasp.

Rogue faltered.

He must have seen it, right? There’s no way Remy could miss the desperation vibrating from the woman still pleading with him to believe her. He was a Master Thief.

“Shut up,” Matteo spat. Fed up with Delphine’s groveling, he shoved her back into the chair. Matteo didn’t bother sparing Rogue a look as he turned to address Remy, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with my wayward employee about the details of tonight.”

Delphine’s breath caught, though Rogue could barely hear over her own heartbeat. Glancing at Remy, she wondered what the hell he was waiting for. The Cajun always had a plan. An Ace up his sleeve.

“I’ll keep you informed of any details about the blueprints I manage to uncover. I know they are important to both Alden and your Guild.” Matteo continued, then gave Remy a pointed look. “Though I expect your father and Alden will keep their meeting with my father, regardless of the outcome?”

“Wouldn’t dream of breaking it,” Remy replied lightly.

Rogue wavered, glancing between the two men. Yep, any time now.

“I’ll see you out. I want to discuss a few more things with you and Mr. Boudreaux before you two leave. Just give me a moment,” Matteo said.

“Bien sûr,” Remy nodded.

An arm wrapped around her waist, tugging her from the room. Rogue barely registered her own movement. Her mind struggled to grasp what was happening.

Behind them, Delphine called out—a final plea—but the heavy doors swung shut behind them, muffling her voice.

They barely made it to the Main Hall before it hit Rogue like a punch to the gut.

“You let her take the fall,” She hissed.

Remy’s pace didn’t falter. He slipped his sunglasses back over his eyes. “I did.”

They were almost back to the casino now. Rogue grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. Reaching up, she tore those stupid sunglasses off his face. “That’s it? No excuses? No justifications?”

Remy exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “Matteo wants t’ discuss a few things before we leave. I’ll do what I can to keep her alive. But not at the cost of you.”

“She didn’t do it.”

“I know.”

“This isn’t right.”

Remy’s expression hardened. “It is what it is, Rogue. I hate to say it, but Delphine knew the risks when she got in bed with the Marconis. Even if I vouch for her, stealing and trying to sneak off the boat didn’t help her case. Matteo needs a scapegoat. He’s not going to risk his standing with his father, and I’ll be damned if it’s gonna be you.”

Footsteps echoed down the hall. Matteo, along with Julien, came into view

Remy’s jaw ticked. Glancing over her shoulder, his eyes landed on the bar just inside the door. “Go to the bar and get me a drink.” He ordered.

Rogue glared. “Are you—”

“Now, Rogue.”

For a moment, she thought about arguing, about standing her ground and forcing this conversation into the open. But Matteo was almost on them, his gaze sharp and suspicious.

Rogue turned on her heel and stomped towards the bar, helpless fury curling up in her stomach. Rogue ground her teeth.

Please, Chere. He’s trying to keep you out of the line of fire, pleaded Remy.

Rogue clenched her jaw. She knew that. Knew he was just trying to keep her safe. But that wasn’t going to stop her from buying the most frou-frou drink she could at the bar.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.

“A Pink Lady,” Rogue ordered.

Ask for extra garnish, snickered Julien.

“And can you add some of those little umbrellas?” Rogue added, throwing in a giggle for effect, “They’re so cute.”

The bartender was too professional to roll his eyes, but Rogue swore she heard a pained sound escape him as he turned to grab the cocktail shaker. A few minutes later, the bartender returned and set a cotton-candy pink drink down in front of her that hurt to look at. 

Rogue peeled a hundred from the roll of money Remy had given her earlier and handed it over to the man. “Keep the change.”

“That’s…an inordinate number of tiny umbrellas.”

Rogue snorted bitterly. “Yeah, well, the guy who asked me to fetch him a drink is acting like an ass right now. So, ya know.”

“Ah, I see.” Tribune replied, keeping his tone carefully neutral. “Sounds like your night isn’t improving,”

“You could say that again.” Rogue crossed her arms, staring at the men standing just on the other side of the doorway.

“What about you?” she asked. “Did you get your meeting with the Governor?”

“No,” Tribune placed two empty glasses on the bar. The bartender whisked them away without a word. “But I managed to get an appointment at his office two weeks from now. So I’ll take that as a win.”

He straightened his suit jacket. “I’m leaving now—before the Governor can change his mind. With any luck, this’ll be my last time onboard. But I wanted to say goodbye. It was refreshing talking to someone who hates casinos as much as I do.”

“Misery loves company,” Rogue muttered. 

Tribune chuckled. “Indeed. What about you? Are you staying for the next round of the tournament?”

“I doubt it, but that’s up to Matteo.” Rogue jerked her head towards the men still in conversation. “My friend is over there talking to him now.”

Mr. Tribune stiffened. “The mutant?”

Rogue jerked on her barstool like she’d been struck. Slowly, she turned to face the blond man beside her.

“I’m sorry,” she bit out sweetly. “Is that a problem?”

So help her God, she was all out of patience tonight. If the Lord gave her strength, she was gonna need the bail money to go with it.

“No, of course not. I didn’t realize that you were dating someone like that.” Mr. Tribune offered her a thin smile, probably meant to placate her.

Rogue’s jaw ticked. Screw it, Logan will bail me out.

“This ain’t a dye job, ya know,” Rogue snapped, reaching up to tug on the white streaks framing her face.

The man’s lip curled up, and the patronizing smile on Tribune’s face melted away. “Forgive me for not recognizing your situation sooner. I don’t see many mutants where I come from.”

Rogue narrowed her eyes and fisted a hand on her hip. “There’s more of us than you realize. It’s just a lot of mutants have to hide for their own safety. My adopted brother—the one I mentioned? Spent most of his life in hiding in Germany because of people like you. Doesn’t change the fact that he’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.”

Goddamnit, Matteo’s about to have a second body on this boat.

“I apologize if I’ve caused any offense. I’ll just be on my way.” Tribune looked down his nose at her, not looking the slightest bit sorry. Bobbing his head in a mock-bow, he spat out, “Auf Wiedersehen.”

“Don’t let the door hit ya on your way out,” Rogue rolled her eyes.

Tribune sneered one last time and turned on his heel, stalking out of the room.

Rogue watched the hateful man leave, a wave of sympathy washing over her. If that was the type of people Kurt had to put up with in Germany, it was a miracle that her brother had turned out so kind-hearted.

Looking back at the room, she spotted the Governor’s white suit in the crowd. Rogue shook her head in disgust.

How was it that hateful people like Tribune and Natalie always ended up in bed with politicians? And not just here. It seemed like prejudice against mutants was growing everywhere.

Washington was a mess. Krane’s policies had opened the door for that mess. There were protests in London. Leaked footage from Brazil. Logan and Kurt had reported grim news from Canada and Germany on their last visits.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Her mind flashed back to the lock on Natalie’s door. It had been all scratched up with a crosshatch pattern. Rogue’s heart shot to her throat.

Fuck.

The scratches.

She knew those marks. They came from a Völkel Pick—the same one Kurt had brought her from Germany that nearly made Remy's head explode.

She’d forgotten all about them after they discovered Natalie’s body.

Rogue’s feet were already moving.

Delphine wouldn’t need something like that. Both Remy and Mercy said no professional thief would ever use something that left such an obvious marker behind.

Could it have been one of the crew? The maintenance guys? But there had been scratches on the lock to the security room, too. Why would the crew need a lockpick to get into the security room?

Rogue sped up, shoving past Remy and the others.

“Rogue—” Remy called.

She didn’t stop. Her brain was spinning.

Tribune. He’d lived in Germany. It was a stretch, but…

She hit the hallway at a near sprint, slowing just enough to scan the rows of cabin doors—her eyes jumping from lock to lock, searching for that same scratched-up pattern.

Nothing. Not a single damn scratch anywhere.

Whoever had used that lockpick had gone straight for Natalie.

Her stomach twisted.

A hand clamped down on her wrist, spinning her around.

“What are ya doing, Rogue?” Remy demanded. Behind him, Matteo, Julien, and two bodyguards were closing in.

“I don’t think it was Delphine,” Rogue blurted out. “I think it was Tribune.”

“Mr. Tribune?” Matteo frowned. “He’s a regular guest—”

“Yeah? So was Natalie,” Rogue snapped. “They both board early. That would’ve given them plenty of time to meet. And Natalie told Delphine she already had a buyer lined up for the blueprints.”

The men exchange glances. “What are you saying, Chere?” Remy asked.

Facts, Stripes. Focus on the facts, Logan grunted.

“Think about it. The lock on Natalie’s door—it had crosshatch scratches. The kind that only comes from a Völkel Pick.”

“You’re telling us this now,” Matteo said sharply.

Rogue sucked in a breath and pressed her lips together. Killing a mob boss’s son would get her nowhere, and it would cause trouble for the LeBeaus.

“Forgive me if the sight of a woman with her head blown off not ten seconds later made it slip my mind,” Rogue bit out tightly. “May I continue?”

“Ignore him, Chere. What’s this about Tribune?” Remy tugged her back to face him.

“Why would Delphine…a professional thief… need to use an electric lock pick to get into Natalie’s room? Rogue asked. “And unless one of your maintenance guys keeps stupidly expensive German lockpicks on hand…” Rogue paused. Matteo shook his head. “That pick only comes from Germany. Tribune grew up in Europe and worked at a mine in Germany.”

“That’s a huge jump in logic,” Matteo crossed his arms. “Mr. Tribune is an extremely successful and legitimate businessman.”

“Which would make him rich enough to be Natalie’s buyer,” Remy pointed out.

“Plus, he knows the Governor and Natalie knew Senator Krane,” Rogue added.

“Political circles aren’t that big. There’s a chance they may have met. And politicians always need wealthy donors,” Remy agreed, picking up on her line of thought.

“He said he likes to ‘kill two birds with one stone.’ What if Tribune wasn’t on board tonight just to meet with the Governor?” Rogue asked.

Matteo glanced over his shoulder, scanning the casino. “The Governor is still by the roulette table.” He turned to one of his men. “Find Tribune. He likes to explore the corridors.”

“He’s already off the boat,” Rogue answered.

“Are you sure?” Matteo asked. “Mr. Tribune always waits for the Governor.”

Rogue nodded. “He said he got an appointment with the Governor in two weeks. He also said he wasn’t planning on getting back on this boat again.”

“He’s making a run for it.” Remy shouldered past her, heading for the Main Hall. Matteo’s men followed hot on his heels. 

Rogue took off after the men, struggling to keep up with their longer legs unencumbered by heavy silk. Cursing, she lifted the hem of her dress, trying to put more length in her strides.

“This is bullshit,” Rogue growled. “Who the hell plans a murder in formalwear?”

The Main Hallway leading to the entrance was blessedly empty. As Rogue turned the corner, she nearly plowed into Remy’s back, still standing at the top of the gangway. Further down the hall, she could hear more of Matteo’s men arriving.

Tribune was nowhere in sight.

Chapter Text

Remy caught her arm before Rogue could get past him and tucked her into his side. Moments later, the rest of Matteo’s men arrived. The man with the emerald pinky ring—who had been shadowing Matteo all night—stomped down the gangplank, waving for the others to follow.

“Hurry up, you guys. Head for the departure area. Keep your eyes open…and be discreet. Matteo doesn’t want anyone picking up on something being wrong,” the man ordered.

The other men jumped to follow his lead. Rogue moved to follow only for Remy’s arm to stop her.

“Shh. Wait,” he breathed next to her ear, his eyes locked on the men’s silhouettes. Rogue nodded and stilled.

As the men turned the corner of a decrepit-looking outbuilding, Remy’s grip loosened.

“C'mon, follow me,” he said, keeping his voice low.

Rogue nodded, following him down the gangplank. As they reached the bottom, Rogue looked around the old industrial port. While the port was still operational, business definitely wasn’t booming.

Remy whistled softly, catching her attention, and waved her in the opposite direction of Matteo’s men.

The old wooden boards creaked under their feet. Keeping a close eye on the ground to make sure she didn’t get a heel caught in a crack, she picked her way down the dock following Remy. Every once in a while, they passed a functioning light that cast a circle of yellow light over the wet surface of the greying wood. In the distance, the lights of Baton Rouge cut through the hazy mist.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“If Tribune has someone picking him up, he won’t be meeting them where the other guests could see. The man paid attention t’ every detail on that boat. He would have paid attention t’ the layout of the port, too,” Remy answered. “There has to be a second exit.”

The employee’s parking lot, Colt suggested. Images of smuggling jobs at various ports fill her mind.

“Colt’s psyche says to try the employee parking lot. There’s always an entrance for the trucks picking up goods, but the employees have their own space to park,” Rogue relayed. Remy nodded and turned, heading for the far side of the port.

“I’m sorry I forgot about the scratches,” Rogue apologized as they passed a derelict shrimping boat, the gangplank half-submerged in water.

Remy stopped short. Turning towards her, his eyes glowed faintly in the shadows. Rogue felt something loosen in her chest, glad she could see them again. They’d been covered most of the night.

“Mais, it’s not your fault, Chere,” Remy reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze. “I didn’t see them either, non?”

“I know, but—”

“But nothing. We’re still gonna get de job done. Just getting t’ tour some of Baton Rouge’s finest property while we’re at it.” Remy waved an airy hand at their surroundings.

Rogue pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. In the darkness, Remy’s teeth flashed white.

“You always take me to the nicest places, Cajun.” Rogue teased.

Remy’s eyes flared. He stepped in closer until she could feel the heat radiating off him. “If that’s your way of hinting at a date, Ms. LeBeau, just say the word. I’m sure I can come up with some candlelight and champagne magic.”

Heat flared across her skin as her heart jumped in her chest. She desperately wished he would kiss her again. Or maybe… maybe she could kiss him. The thought startled her. It wasn’t like her to even consider making the first move, or any move. But for once, she didn’t flinch from the idea.

Remy’s eyes zeroed in on her mouth. He took a half step forward, his hand finding her waist. Rogue tilted her face up, anticipation gripping her tightly. She could barely breathe.

One kiss won’t hurt. He did fine the last time.

A splash, followed by a curse, cut through the darkness.

They froze.

“Sounds like we got company,” Remy’s eyes scanned the darkness.

Rogue glanced around. The marina was a maze. A tangle of corrugated steel buildings and open-air storage with piers haphazardly forking off into the darkness, but this section was decidedly older. Most of the structures must have been warehouses long since abandoned. Rust streaked their corrugated metal walls, and their windows were shattered or boarded up.

If she had to guess, they were standing behind some sort of warehouse. There was no railing at the edge of the walkway—probably so that boats could pull up and unload with ease. Inky black water reflected the dim glow of Baton Rouge as it rippled against the dock piles.

Up ahead stood a two-story building, one of the few that wasn’t on the verge of collapse It might’ve been an office in a previous life. A lean-to extended from one side, serving as both a makeshift porch and a storage area.

The noise came again—a shuffle, followed by the faint creak of wood.

Someone was moving out there.

Remy pulled a card from his pocket. Catching her eye, he jerked his head toward the building. Rogue nodded. Following him down the back of the warehouse, she tried to match his steps exactly, staying as quiet as she could.

Remy reached the corner and peered around. Signaling it was clear, they cut across the open walkway between two buildings and pressed themselves against the siding, sticking to the shadows.

Rogue held her breath, listening for any sign of footsteps or voices, but the only noise she heard was the faint sound of water slapping against the piers.

Remy motioned for her to stay put. Moving like a shadow, he crept down the side of the building, his suit blending into the darkness. Pressing his back to the wall, Remy peeked around the corner.

A crowbar whistled through the air.

Remy dropped. The crowbar connected with the side of the building with a loud crash, sending a shower of splinters down. Surging to his feet, Remy caught his attacker’s wrist in a vice-like grip and twisted the man’s arm sharply. The crowbar clattered to the ground.

Remy spun on his heel, swinging the man around and slamming him hard against the wall, pinning him there. Rogue darted forward, snatching up the crowbar from where Remy’s attacker had dropped it.

“Who the hell are you?” Remy demanded.

The man squirmed, his face twisted in fear. He was wiry with a scar on his left eyebrow. Somewhere in the back of Rogue’s brain, alarms went off. He looked familiar. She’d seen him somewhere before.

“I-I thought you were someone else!” the man stammered.

“Bad guess,” Remy glared, tightening his grip. “What are you doing here?”

“Just trying to make a quick buck, man!” the attacker gasped. “I don’t know anything, I swear!”

Rogue narrowed her eyes. He was lying. Everything in his body language was screaming it.

Before Remy could press further, two sharp cracks rang out, and the wood siding on the corner of the building exploded.

Gunshots.

The man screamed, covering his head. Remy threw him to the ground.

“Time to go,” he grinned at her and took off, tearing around the corner of the building. Rogue cursed and raced after him.

Don’t get shot, ordered Logan.

Working on it, Rogue snarked.  

Pumping her arms, she skidded around the corner of the warehouse into an open storage area. The pungent smell of shrimp traps hit her as she wove her way through the maze.

Through the netting and crates, she could see Gambit had already reached an old tug boat at the end of the pier. He vaulted on board, hurling a charged card at a nearby man as his bo-staff unfurled in one hand.

Clearing the last of the traps, could see Gambit now, grappling a rifle away from one of the men before bringing the butt of the gun down hard on something. Probably someone’s head.

Something slammed into her from the side.

For a moment, Rogue was weightless. Then she collided with the hard ground, her shoulder scraping against the edge of the wooden planks. The crowbar disappeared from her grip, skittering a few feet away.

Rogue tried to roll with the momentum, but silk tangled around her legs and hooked on one of her heels, slowing her movements. Fighting back to her feet, Rogue heard Gambit yell her name.

Knife, Logan yelled.

Throwing an arm up, Rogue blocked as a man with a neck tattoo slashed at her with a rusted fishing knife. She drove her fist twice into his ribs, driving him backward. The man choked on his breath, stumbling. With a shove, Rogue sent him to the ground.

Something moved behind her.

Rogue twisted just as a whoosh of metal cut through the air. The crowbar missed her head but slammed into her shoulder.

Rogue staggered. Stars burst in her vision as pain sang through her. Her left hand twitched uselessly.

Fingers tangled in her hair, jerking her off-balance. The world spun, and Rogue hit the ground hard, the breath ripping from her lungs. Before she could roll away, a boot slammed into her ribs, knocking the rest of the air from her lungs. She gasped, curling inward, but a rough hand wrenched her up by the hair, a blade pressing against her throat.

“Stay still,” the man with the neck tattoo growled.

The wiry man grinned down at her, still holding the crowbar. “Not so tough now, are ya?”

Across the dock, Remy’s head snapped up. “Rogue!”

He shoved the first man off balance, sending him sprawling back onto the deck a second time. He leapt back onto the pier—only to be cut off.

The doors of the abandoned office building burst open, and Tribune strode out, gun in hand. Another man followed him a half-step behind. Rogue’s eyes widened. Duncan Matthews stopped beside Tribune.

Duncan’s gaze landed on her. His mouth turned up into a smug smile. “I told you it wasn’t over, mutie.”

Shit, that’s where she’d seen the wiry guy. He’d been with Duncan that night at Rambling Cup.

Rushing forward, one of Tribune’s men picked up a discarded oar and swung it. Gambit dodged. Another thug tackled him from behind, locking Gambit’s arms to his side and dragging him down. Gambit fought to break free, but a third burly man joined in, slamming into him with full force.

They hit the ground hard, and before the Cajun could wrench free, the burly man shoved a knee into his back, pinning Gambit’s arms uselessly beneath him.

Tribune stopped in front of Gambit. The blond man sighed through his nose, and cracked the butt of his gun against Remy’s head.

Rogue jerked forward. “Gambit!”

“Shut it, bitch,” the man behind her snapped. A sharp sting and something wet dripped down her neck.

Rogue sucked in a shallow breath, trying to focus. Her ribs still burned from the earlier kick. The man behind her held her tight, but the blade at her throat trembled slightly. His grip was too stiff, too unsure.

Amateur.

If she moved just right—

She didn’t dare.

Gambit was on his knees, blood trickling from his temple. Two of Tribune’s men held him down, his arms pinned behind his back, but Gambit wasn’t struggling anymore. He watched them, waiting.

“Go on, Ms. LeBeau,” Tribune looked at her and tapped the gun against Gambit’s cheek, almost playfully. Gambit tensed. “Try something. I’d love an excuse. You mutants are nothing but a burden on society. A mistake.” He smirked. “And mistakes need to be corrected.”

‘BANG’

Tribune’s pistol exploded out of his grip, the force of the shot nearly taking his fingers with it. He let out a startled curse, clutching his hand as his weapon skittered across the wet ground, coming to a rest by a sash of old propane tanks.

Julien lowered his gun with the precision of a man who hadn’t missed a shot in his life.

Before Rogue could register that Julien had moved, he was there.

A dark blade pressed against Tribune’s throat as Julien shoved him back against the nearest wall, pinning him there with a knee to the gut.

Julien tilted his head, eyes sharp and unreadable. “You were saying?”

Tribune sneered. “So, this is how you repay your own? Selling out to mutants?”

Julien’s eyes burned. “My sister’s a mutant.”

He drove the blade into Tribune’s shoulder and twisted. Tribune choked out a strangled gasp.

It was all the opening Rogue needed. Twisting her captor’s wrist, Rogue shifted her weight. The blade at her throat disappeared, hitting the dock with a ‘clang.’

 A bright streak of magenta and a ‘boom’ echoed across the pier, sending shrimp traps cartwheeling through the air.

The Swamp Rat was free.

“Julien, don’t kill him!” Rogue shouted over the chaos.

“Bon Dieu!” Julien glared over his shoulder, already mid-strike. “Why don’t you just kneecap me while you’re at it?”

“I’m serious.”—Right jab. Right jab. Left cross.—"I need him breathing,”—Uppercut.—“I can’t pull information out of a corpse.”

Rogue twisted behind her opponent, taking his arm with her. She drove her knee into the outside of his thigh, collapsing his legs. The man hit the dock hard. Viciously, Rogue planted a spiked heel into the man’s family jewels.

“Better listen to her,” Remy warned, swiping another man’s legs out from under him with his bo-staff.

Julien let out a noise of disgust but didn’t argue. Without warning, he yanked the knife from Tribune’s shoulder and cracked the handle against his skull.

Tribune crumpled to the ground like wet laundry.

“There. He’s breathing.” Julien flicked the blood off his blade, watching Tribune’s slumped form with mild disappointment. “Happy?”

“Overjoyed,” Rogue snarked, smashing her fist into the wiry man’s nose.

Remy’s bo-staff whooshed past her, swiping the legs out from under the man with a shaved head. Rogue shot Remy a grateful smile. She hadn’t heard the bald man creeping up on her.

Rogue watched as the man staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his split lip. His eyes darted between her, Remy, and Julien, then to the unconscious Tribune at Julien’s feet.

His breathing turned shallow. “Forget this, man. I’m done.”

“Yeah, screw this job,” another said.

Like rats abandoning a sinking ship, they turned on their heels and ran, stumbling toward the tugboat tied at the dock. Rogue snorted…until she saw a familiar face in the chaos.

Duncan Matthews.

Her high school tormentor, eyes wide with the same stupid panic she remembered from years ago. He shoved past the others, desperate to make it to the boat.

Rogue’s blood ran hot.

“Oh, hell naw!” She took off after him.

Remy’s eyes scanned the area, making sure he’d gotten them. A few feet away, Julien still stood beside Tribune’s limp form, knife in hand. If Tribune woke up now, it wouldn’t be without consequences.

The man’s henchmen were either lying broken or battered on the dock or had managed to retreat to the tug boat, which was currently sputtering away towards the opening of the marina.

Rogue brushed past him in a blur, snatching the bo-staff from his hands. “Borrow this?”

His feet were already moving to back her up, a card charging up in his fingers. Just as quickly, he stopped, his eyes following Rogue as she charged after Duncan Matthews. Remy smirked. Rogue swung the bo-staff like a baseball bat, catching Matthews on the outside of the thigh. He went down hard.

Then Rogue was on him like a junkyard dog.

Remy tilted his head, allowing himself a moment to indulge in watching his Cherie work. She was in her element.

Slipping the card back into his pocket, Remy turned on his heel. Ignoring Julien and Tribune, still slumped against the warehouse wall, Remy entered the building. The main floor was barren, but a set of stairs led to the second floor. 

Climbing the stairs to the upper level, Remy glanced around. In the middle of the room, a few folding chairs sat around a rickety-looking table. There in the center lay a black tube with the gun manufacturer’s logo stamped on it.

The blueprints.

Popping off the top, Remy turned the tube over, dumping out the contents. Thumbing through them quickly, Remy scanned the documents to make sure everything was there. Satisfied, he carefully rolled the blueprints back and slid them back into their protective tube.

Whistling to himself, Remy descended the stairs again, stepping back into the night. The fight was still going on the far side of the dock. The sound of metal hitting bone echoed across the marina.

Remy shook his head and took a seat on a wooden crate. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

“You’re not gonna offer to help her?” Julien asked. He leaned against a weathered piling, twirling a knife between his fingers with the ease of someone who’d practiced the motion a thousand times.

Remy snorted. “Non, if we take her fun away from her now, she’ll whoop our asses next. Cigarette?” He held out the pack.

“Merci,” Julien sheathed the blade and plucked one out of the carton. Lighting the cigarette, he took a draw off it, still observing the fight. “She ain’t got a lot of finesse, though.”

A loud crunching sound rang out, followed by a muffled yelp and a string of colorful expletives. Rogue must have rebroken Matthew’s nose. That was nice.

Remy shrugged a shoulder, “What can I say? The femme’s more of a brawler.”

Julien hummed in acknowledgment. “Oui, I recall. She flipped me through the door of that jazz club.”

“And to this day, it’s one of my favorite memories of you, homme,” Remy smirked. Julien rolled his eyes.

Another loud ‘thwack’ echoed across the pier, followed by a pained grunt. Rogue stood over the fallen man, chest heaving. Matthews lay groaning at her feet but made no move to get up. Probably the most intelligent decision he’d ever made.

Stomping back towards them, Rogue retracted the bo-staff and tossed it back to Remy. “Thanks.”

“Any time,” Remy replied.

It was the same exchange they’d had all those years ago at the jazz club. Rogue’s lips twitched up at the corner, and Remy grinned. She remembered.

Turning her attention towards Tribune, the smile dropped off Rogue’s face, replaced by an irritated look. Yanking off an evening glove, she pressed a hand to the side of the man’s face without preamble. The unconscious man twitched slightly at the contact but otherwise lay still.

“That’s more interesting when you’re watching it happen to someone else,” Julien mumbled.

Remy ignored him. Jerking back, Rogue’s eyes flickered unseeingly as she tried to sort through the new memories she’d just absorbed.

Without intending to, a card appeared in his hand, buzzing with energy. Remy glanced down. The Queen of Hearts. Rogue was always at her most vulnerable right after an absorption. It had become second nature to stand sentinel until she came back to herself.

Slowly, Rogue climbed to her feet, but she didn’t move away. Silently, she stared down at Tribune’s unconscious body. Remy pulled back the charge but didn’t tuck the card away. He shifted his weight, waiting for Rogue to say something.

Nothing.

“Chere? You good?” he prompted gently.

Her eyes remained fixed on the ground, distant, as though she hadn’t even heard him. A cold weight settled in Remy’s chest. Rogue always had something to say. The femme was a spitfire through and through, even when she was pissed or exhausted.

His throat went dry. “Rogue, talk to me.”

Rogue sucked in a sharp breath, refocusing on the world around her. She swallowed thickly and cleared her throat, “Sorry. Yeah, he’s the buyer.”

“Bon,” Julien said, stepping forward and drawing his gun.

“Wait.” Rogue stepped between the Assassin and the fallen man.

“Assassins don’t leave loose ends, fille,” Julien warned.

“Where’ve I heard that before?” Rogue muttered. “Matteo’s still got a body on board. And a federal agent.”

“Howard’s been after the Marconi Family for years. He’s too incompetent to actually connect a murder to them, even if it was on their boat.” Julien rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I know,” Rogue replied, but the words came out dull and muted. She bent, grabbed Duncan by the collar, and started dragging him toward Tribune. “Give me a hand. Remy—rope?”

“Way ahead of you, Chere,” he answered, pulling some zip ties from his suit pocket—never leave home without them.

Julien groaned in disgust, but he sheathed his knife anyway. Reaching down, he leaned the man forward so that Remy could secure Tribune’s hands together. Tucking Tribune’s gun back into his shoulder holster, Julien stood.

“So, I’m taking it we’re leaving him here with the murder weapon for Howard to find?” Julien asked.

“And this,” Rogue pulled off the earrings, dropping one into Tribune’s jack pocket. “The other goes in Natalie’s room.”

“Not bad,” Remy grinned.

 Rogue gave a faint, mechanical smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Dropping her gaze, she shuffled over to grab her evening glove and slipped it back on. Her hands were trembling.

“We should get back. He should be out for a while, but I’d rather not risk it.” Rogue said quietly, looking down at the man.

Remy nodded and offered his arm, shooting Rogue a sidelong glance. Something was eating the girl alive. But with Julien watching, he couldn’t ask. The wood planks creaked underfoot as they wove their way through the maze of docks back toward the Crescent Belle.

“Where’d you get a pair of earrings that matched Natalie’s?” Julien asked, breaking the silence.

Remy tensed. Merde.

Of all the damn questions…he and Rogue had kept Irene and her abilities a secret from the Thieves Guild. Julien finding out would be even worse. A dozen lies were already forming on his lips, but Rogue beat him to the punch.

“Madame LaCour gave them to me when I saw her earlier this week.”

Remy blinked in surprise. It was a flawless cover story. She’d had Julien’s ear for years now.

Julien nodded. “Madame tends to know things.”

“I’m starting to get that impression,” Rogue sighed.

And just like that…crisis averted.

Remy exhaled, but the tension didn’t leave him.

It wasn’t the lie that got him—it was how clean it was. Every word was technically true. Rogue had seen Madame LaCour earlier this week. And Madame LaCour had been the one to hand over the earrings.

But the earrings weren’t from her.

It was the kind of lie a thief would tell.

Remy wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

XOXOXOXOX

Best Enemies

I will never understand how X-Men Evolution gave us a Southern goth Rogue, a California-cool Jean Grey, and a preppy Scott Summers.  But also gave Remy "Ladies Man" LeBeau and Julien "Pretty Boy" Boudreaux a bowl cut and mullet, respectively. 

Originally this piece was supposed to be just a redesign of Julien. But I was watching 'Lucifer' last night and saw Tom Ellis in the white tuxedo and thought... 'Y'know what? We deserve to see Remy LeBeau in a rumpled tuxedo with his sleeves rolled up, smoking a cigarette.' 

Chapter Text

It had taken some cajoling, followed by some outright threats, to convince the staff to let them back on the boat through the staff entrance.  Eventually, Rogue, who had been quiet for most of the argument, got fed up and snapped that she’d be happy to march through the main entrance of the boat if that would suit Matteo better.

The staff took one look at her torn evening gown, bruises, and disheveled hair and decided discretion would be the better option.

Following one of Matteo’s men back to his office, Remy mentally willed the man to walk faster. Rogue was wilting by the second. He was half-certain the man was taking the scenic route, just to prove he could.

As they neared a side room, low voices bled through the wall. Passing by the open door, he caught sight of Delphine.  She was seated in a chair. She wasn’t bound, but two men stood over her.  For a moment, wide, frightened eyes caught Remy’s before the wall cut off his line of sight.

Remy’s mind spun. In a few seconds, they would be in Matteo’s office.  Remy eyed the man leading their group.

“Chere?” Remy murmured, just loud enough to catch Rogue’s attention. “You still got dat earring?”

Rogue nodded, opening her fist. The peacock earring glinted in the overhead lights.

“Keep it hidden. I got a plan.”

Rogue tilted her head in askance.

“Please, Chere. Trust me.” 

Rogue’s inhaled quietly. Remy wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been watching her like a hawk. She didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. Just stared at him, eyes wide in recognition, though for the life of him, Remy couldn’t guess why.

Then, without a word, she clipped the earring back on, smoothing her hair back into place as their group reached Matteo’s door.

Their guide opened the door to the empty room. Silently, Rogue entered, heading for one of the seats. The silk of her gown rustled as she dropped into it.

Remy moved to stand next to her chair.  He didn’t think that Matteo would start anything, but he was still on edge from the fight, and Rogue’s subdued behavior wasn’t helping to ease his nerves.

Julien leaned against one wall as Matteo’s man took up position by the door.  Behind the desk, a clock ticked away, the only noise in the room.

Well, isn’t this a charming way to spend an evening? Remy scoffed.

The door flew open, and Matteo stalked in. “Did you find him?”

Remy stiffened. He and Rogue weren’t Matteo’s Associates to bark orders at. Swallowing down a smartass remark, Remy reminded himself that he had more important things to worry about.

“Oui,” Remy answered, keeping most of the snark from his voice. “He and some men were trying t’ make an escape on a boat stationed at de far end of the marina.”

“Did he have the blueprints?”

“Oui,” Reaching into his jacket, Remy pulled out the tube and held it up, then tucked it away again. He didn’t trust a single person in this room other than Rogue.

Rule number two of thieving: don’t lose possession of the mark after you’ve got it.

“Were you able to determine if he killed Ms. Sterling?” Matteo asked.

“Yeah. He and Natalie cut a deal for the prints, but she tried to raise the price at the last second,” Rogue answered flatly. “It didn’t go well.”

Matteo paused, looking at Rogue like he was seeing her for the first time. Like he’d finally caught on to what Alden had tried to tell him.

“You’re a mutant, aren’t you?” Matteo tilted his head. “That’s what Alden was talking about when he said you were good at interrogating people. You’re a telepath?”

Rogue exhaled heavily and lifted her hand, wiggling her fingers. “No. I can’t read people at a distance. I have to touch them.”

“She read Tribune,” Remy stepped in, voice firm. “We’ve got a first-hand account of tonight’s events.”

Matteo’s eyes sharpened. Now he looked at Rogue like something precious and dangerous all at once. Remy felt his pulse spike.

“Interesting.” He murmured, but before Remy could dissuade Matteo of any notions he might be getting, the man turned his attention to Julien. “Is Tribune dead?”

Julien snorted. “I wish. Mon Ange had us keep him alive.”

“May I ask why?” Matteo shot Rogue a look, like she was a particularly dim child.

Remy bristled. Business be damned, if Matteo didn’t cut that shit out, Remy was going to have to explain to Jean-Luc why he popped Giovanni’s son in the mouth. 

Rogue didn’t seem to take the same offense, yet another thing that had worry gnawing at him. Normally, if a homme looked at Rogue like that, Remy would have to pull her off the poor SOB before she flattened him into a pancake.

Rogue snorted inelegantly, the most energy Remy had seen from her since they’d gotten back on the boat.

“You still have a dead body and a Federal Agent on board,” she pointed out.

Matteo narrowed his eyes. “What are you suggesting?”

“We planted one of Rogue’s earrings on Tribune,” Remy answered, pulling Matteo’s attention away from Rogue. “You can put de other in Natalie’s room. Even Agent Howard should be able t’ close the case if he finds the bad guy with the murder weapon and the victim’s jewelry in his pocket.”

“Ms. Sterling had very expensive taste.”

“Chere?” he turned toward Rogue. Silk rustled as she reached up and pulled off the remaining earring, holding it up for Matteo to see.

Matteo’s eyes widened. Reaching over, he yanked open the top drawer of his desk. “How did you—”

“It’s not Natalie’s. It’s mine,” Rogue sighed. “It’s a high-end replica.”

“Only a jewel thief would be able t’ tell the difference.” Remy took the earring from Rogue and she slumped back in her seat.

Matteo sat frozen for a moment, then snapped around toward his men. “Get me Delphine.”

The man with the emerald pinky ring rushed out of the room.  Not a minute later, he returned with Delphine. This time keeping his hands to himself the way a gentleman ought to. Delphine nodded politely to the occupants as she entered, but her shoulders were stiff and her posture was rigid in a way that set Remy’s nerves on edge.

“What is your opinion on these?” Matteo asked. 

Remy moved to set Rogue’s earring down next to Natalie’s on Matteo’s desk.  Delphine glanced at Matteo, then at him, probably hoping for some hint about what was going on. Remy watched her steadily, keeping his face smooth.

Aware of the room’s eyes on her, Delphine moved forward nervously. Picking up Natalie’s set, she turned the earrings over in her hand, sharp eyes inspecting the jewels.  Setting them back down, she moved to Rogue’s earring.  Her eyebrows rose in surprise.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Delphine said finally. Setting Rogue’s earring down, she pointed at Natalie’s earrings, “These are obviously Ms. Sterling’s earrings. But this replica is almost identical.”

“Good enough to fool an FBI agent?” Matteo asked.

“Good enough to fool most appraisers,” Delphine said firmly. “Only when you have both sets side-by-side can you spot the difference.”

Matteo made an indistinct noise in the back of his throat, still examining the jewelry on the table. Remy smirked.

Time to lay out the bait.

“Perhaps we could make a trade,” Remy suggested, snatching up Rogue’s earring.

Matteo’s head snapped up to look at him. Remy could feel Rogue’s gaze burning into the side of his face, but he didn’t dare turn to look at her. Tossing Rogue’s earring into the air, Remy caught it again with ease and smirked at Matteo.

“The real earrings for the match t’ the one in Tribune’s pocket,” He offered.

Matteo raised an eyebrow. “Ms. Sterling’s earrings are worth a hundred thousand dollars.”

“And this one is worth whatever price you attached t' neatly explaining away a murder on your boat to a federal agent,” Remy grinned.

“This feels like price-gouging.”

“I prefer the term supply-and-demand.”

Remy stood across the desk, letting the earring weave through his fingers, catching the light. It was possible that Matteo could still pin this on Tribune, but that would open up his boat to the FBI’s scrutiny. 

His offer had rattled Matteo—good. That’s what Remy wanted. 

Matteo’s jaw tightened. He glanced at the earring in Remy’s hand, warring with himself. Remy loved it. He let the moment drag a little longer, just enough for the tension to really settle in deep.

“Or, if you really want t’ keep both sets…” Remy paused, “I’ll buy out Delphine’s debt t’ you in exchange for the earring.”

Delphine and Rogue inhaled sharply. Matteo narrowed his eyes, but Remy met his gaze evenly. 

Matteo broke the stare first. “You got a lot of balls, LeBeau.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Remy smirked.

“Yeah, fine. Sure.” Matteo waved a hand, “Delphine can escort you to the pickup area. There are cars waiting to take our guests back to the City.”

Remy bowed his head in acknowledgment. It was a dismissal.  Matteo wanted them off his boat, but Remy didn’t have half a mind to complain about it. Handing over the earring to Matteo, Remy quickly waved a hand towards the door for Delphine and Rogue.  Herding the two women into the hallway, Remy didn’t bother to wait to see if Julien followed. 

Maybe if he were lucky, Boudreaux would trip and fall into the water.

The night air was thick with the scent of the river, damp and heavy as Remy led Rogue and Delphine down the gangplank. A few of Matteo’s men followed, breaking off to head in the direction of Tribune.  Remy watched them disappear into the darkness. Hopefully, they found Tribune, but he had no intention of sticking around to find out.

Rogue stood beside him, still oddly quiet.

“The cars are this way,” Delphine pointed towards a lit area, where a line of dark sedans were parked.

“Mind tellin’ me how you ended up eighty thousand in debt to Marconi?” Remy asked, offering Rogue his arm.

“Ashley got sick. Cancer. Even pulling off some major jobs, there wasn’t enough business to cover the cost of her medical expenses,” Delphine explained. “It’s not like thieving comes with health care.”

“Ashley?” Rogue asked.

“My girlfriend.”

“I get you needed cash, but getting a loan from Marconi was stupid,” Remy grumbled, but his heart wasn’t in it.

He was in no position to talk. He’d do far worse things if it meant keeping Rogue safe. Hell, he nearly had tonight.  Instead, Lady Luck had smiled on him, giving Remy a chance to get Delphine and Rogue to safety.

“I know. I thought—”  Delphine swallowed. “I thought I was done for.”

“Ya almost were,” Remy muttered, not breaking stride. “Let’s move before Matteo rethinks his generosity.”

They crossed the dock toward the waiting cars. The drivers stood nearby, chatting and smoking under the flicker of a streetlamp. Remy exhaled, feeling the tension ease out of his shoulders.

Then he heard footsteps on the damp pavement behind them.

“Aw, leaving without me?” Julien’s voice carried over the sound of lapping water. “That’s low, Thief. Even for you.”

Remy didn’t turn around. “Get your own car.”

Julien caught up anyway, grinning as he fell into step beside them. “Sure, but I wanted to see the daring escape. Or is this just another night in the glamorous life of Le Diable Blanc?”

Remy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you ever shut up?”

Julien smirked. “Non, I enjoy watching you suffer.”

Delphine glanced between them and leaned towards Rogue. “Are they always like this?”

Rogue sighed. “Unfortunately.”

Remy’s jaw ticked as he picked up the pace. He’d planned for a clean exit—get Delphine out, get Rogue to safety, and leave Julien to his own devices. Yet, somehow, that damn Assassin was still here, still talking, still making everything ten times worse.

They reached the nearest car. The driver quickly opened the door for the two women.

“Don’t you have a ride to catch?” Remy asked pointedly.

“Of course,” Julien said smoothly. “But I had to say goodbye.” He turned to Rogue, flashing her a charming smile that made Remy want to punch him in the throat. “Or should I say, see you soon? If you ever tire of LeBeau, you know where to find me.”

“I’d rather take my chances with Matteo,” Rogue rolled her eyes, then winced. Reaching up, she massaged under her right eye.

Remy yanked open the passenger door. “Then let’s make sure ya don’t have to.”

Remy didn’t wait for Julien to answer and slipped into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut. As the driver started the engine, Remy reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill to tip the man in advance.  He wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and Matteo’s operation.

As their car pulled away from the dock, the headlights on Julien’s car flicked on behind them, following at a leisurely pace.

Rogue glanced out the rear window. “He’s not really planning to follow us back to the port, is he?”

“All the cars are required to return to the port, Miss, so that the guests can pick up their personal vehicles,” the driver answered politely.

Remy’s fingers twitched. He balled his hand into a fist to keep himself from reaching for his cards.

“I hate him.”

It had taken them well over an hour to get back to New Orleans. Far longer than Remy would have liked. He spent the entire ride on pins and needles, alternating between watching Rogue’s slumped form in the backseat through the side-view mirror and catching glimpses of her reflection in the glass.

He desperately wanted to talk to her. But there was no way to be sure Matteo wouldn’t grill their driver later. So he bit his tongue and counted the miles until they pulled back into the parking lot at the port.

Once the sedan pulled away and turned back onto the main road, Remy looked around the parking lot. “Do ya have a ride, Petite?”

“Yeah, it’s over there.” Delphine gestured toward a nearby car.

“You gonna be okay?  You’re welcome at de Guild Hall or at any of our safe houses,” Remy offered. 

Delphine shook her head. “I might have gotten mixed up with the Marconis, but I managed to convince them to let me keep an apartment in the Garden District.  Matteo’s not stupid enough to come after me in your family’s stronghold. I’m flying out first thing in the morning. Back to Colorado.”

“Text me your address. I’ll send some men over t’ keep watch anyway,” Remy was glad to hear she was getting out of town.

“Once I get home and make sure Ashley is doing okay, I’ll hit up some of my old contacts to see if they have any jobs. I’m gonna pay you back as soon as I can.” Delphine promised firmly.

Remy chuckled. “Mais, there’s no debt. Only said that so that de Marconis would leave you alone.  You’re right that Matteo and Giovanni won’t go messing with ya since I technically ‘own’ your debt.”

Delphine blinked. “But—”

“The Thieves Guild don’t deal in people. You know that,” Remy replied firmly.

He felt Rogue move to stand beside him.

“Better give up now, Sug’. Besides his Tante Mattie would kick his ass if she found out Remy was keeping a gal away from her Lady Love.” Rogue smiled softly. Remy wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“But—” Delphine tried again.

Remy clucked his tongue. “Ma Cherie is right. You don’t want to be the reason this ol’ Cajun catches a whoopin’, do ya?”

Delphine swallowed, blinking rapidly. After a moment, she huffed out a wet laugh. “No, we definitely wouldn’t want that. Thank you, Remy.”

“Bien sûr.”

Delphine turned to Rogue. “I hope you know you’ve got the best man in the whole wide world right there.”

“Yeah, I know,” Rogue answered softly. “He tries to hide it sometimes, but it always shines through.”

Her eyes stared up at him like he’d just hung the damn moon and hoo-boy if it wasn’t making his heart kick up a fuss in his chest.

Delphine waved her farewells before heading for her car, still promising to text when she got back to her apartment as she went.  Rogue exhaled a long, tired breath and pressed her fingers beneath her right eye, gently massaging the spot. She shivered, and Remy pulled off his jacket, draping it over her shoulders. 

“You doin’ okay?” he asked, resting a hand on the small of her back as he guided her toward their car.

“No,” she admitted quietly. “But I’m not ready to talk about it. Not yet anyway. Let’s just head for the Guild Hall.”

Remy bit his tongue, swallowing down about a dozen questions.  Pushing her right now wouldn’t help anything. He knew that.

As he pulled the car out of the lot and turned onto the road in the direction of the Crescent City Bridge, he watched her from the corner of his eye. Rogue stared out the window dully, watching the street lights pass.

Remy pressed harder on the gas. 

He’d get Rogue back to the Guild Hall and give her some time to relax.  If he still couldn’t get an answer out of her by tomorrow morning, he’d call in the big guns and have Logan come get them early. 

Chapter Text

Heaving herself out of the passenger seat of the car felt like a herculean effort. Rogue groaned.  Her shoulder was killing her, to say nothing of her head.  Straightening, her vision swam as unwanted memories played across her mind.

Waking up to find her mother gone one morning.  Staying in the apartment, cold and hungry, waiting for her to come back until it finally dawned on her that her mother wasn’t coming back. Wandering the streets.  Drunks stealing what little money she had.  Rich men with fake smiles offering her a warm bed to sleep in for the night. A kind German man seeing her and offering her an honest job.  Returning to the United States. Starting her first business.  A newscaster announcing that mutants walk among us.

Hate.

So much hate.

Shuddering, she yanked back from the memories and gripped the roof of the car. Rogue gritted her teeth, trying to separate her thoughts and emotions from her newest resident. His memories weren’t hers. His hate wasn’t hers.

Except Rogue knew that hate. It was as familiar as her own gloves.  She’d felt it the day Kurt had begged her to save Mystique. Causing all the rage and hurt Rogue had ever felt for the woman to bubble over as she sent Mystique flying over a cliff.

Kurt’s devastated face as he knelt by the shards of their mother would forever be seared into her mind. Rogue swallowed.

Hate like that only destroyed.

“Chere?”

“I’m here,” she murmured, pushing the memories down. Judging by the concern etched across Remy’s face, she didn’t sound convincing.

“You want t’ go inside?” he asked.

Rogue nodded, grateful when Remy offered his arm. They cross the dark lawn in silence, heading for the back door. As they stepped onto the porch, the door swung open.

Emeric strode out, a go-bag slung over his shoulder. His expression was one of smug satisfaction. Rogue’s stomach sank.

Jean-Luc had sent him on a job.

Emeric was back in favor.

Emeric paused just long enough to give them a once-over. He smirked. “You look like hell. Did you have to shoot someone this time?”

Remy’s eyes flared. “Watch ya mouth, homme.”

“The night’s still young,” Rogue muttered, shifting her weight. Every inch of her ribs protested.

“Relax, Princesse. Just making an observation,” Emeric shrugged. “I heard the job got done. Guess speaking up at the Boucherie paid off.”

He took a step toward the stairs, then paused.

“Funny thing, though.” His tone turned lazy. “Not everyone would’ve had the guts to speak up at the Boucherie. Jean-Luc must see something in you.”

Emeric gave her a sideways glance and smirked. “Or maybe, he just likes a little theater.”

He slung the bag higher on his shoulder and stepped past them. “Either way, it worked out for all of us.”

Rogue felt Remy tense beside her, his fingers curling into a fist.  Rogue exhaled, shaking her head.  She was too damn tired to have this fight at…actually, she had no idea what time it was. “Leave it be, Sug’. It’s not worth it.”

Remy exhaled sharply through his nose as he stared after the cocky thief, but he didn’t argue. Emeric didn’t even look back as he disappeared into the night.

Stepping into the kitchen, only the light over the stove was on. Remy hung his keys on the hook by the door and moved to the fridge, pulling out two bottles of water. Handing her one, he glanced back at the fridge.

“You want something t’ eat?”

A yawn took over Rogue’s face before she could answer.  Getting her face back under control, she tried again. “Nah. I just want to get changed and go to sleep.”

“We need to at least get a band-aid on that cut on your neck,” Remy replied as they moved through the kitchen. Turning the corner, the lights were still on in the living room.

“Remy? Rogue? Dat you?” Jean-Luc asked, appearing at the doorway. Behind him, Rogue could see Henri.

“Bon Dieu. What happened?” Henri asked, taking in the sight of them.

“Misadventure,” Remy answered. Reaching into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, he pulled out the black tube Rogue had seen earlier. “Got it done, though. All de documents are present and accounted for.”

“Do ya need t’ see Tante?” Jean-Luc asked.

“Chere?”

“I’m fine. I’m pretty sure mine are mostly bruises.” Rogue tried to wave the men off.

“Petite, there’s dried blood on your neck,” Jean-Luc pointed out.

Oops.  She’d forgotten about that. Rogue glanced at a mirror hanging nearby and swore. No wonder Matteo’s staff hadn’t wanted her to go through the main entrance.  Her reflection looked like a crime scene.

A hideous black and purple bruise covered her left shoulder. Rogue had a sneaking suspicion her ribs would be in the same condition once she got the dress off.  The neckline of the bodice was stained a dark purple from where a small trail of blood had dripped down from the cut on her neck.

“Oh geez,” Rogue sighed. “Yeah, no. It’s fine. The cut’s not deep. I just need a band-aid.”

“Petite—”

“Chere—”

“It’s fine,” Rogue snapped, cutting off any argument.  Honestly, all she wanted was an aspirin, to get out of these shoes, and to fall face-first into her pillow.

“Were you able t’ determine who Natalie’s buyer was?” Jean-Luc asked.

“Natalie was killed before we got there by Mr. Tribune, another Regular on the boat. We managed t’ corner him in the marina when he tried to escape, but he brought some muscle with him, so it ended up being something of a fight,”  Remy explained quickly.

“Is Matteo aware that Natalie was killed?” Jean-Luc asked.  Rogue could already see him calculating moves in his head depending on Remy’s answer.

“Oui. Informed him as soon as we found out.  Howard was also on board, so we left Tribune and one of his men tied up in de marina.  As we were leaving, Matteo’s men were going out t’ collect ‘em,” Remy replied. 

Jean-Luc nodded, satisfied for the moment.

“Bon. I’m sure there’s a lot more t’ it than that, but it can wait till later this morning.  We can discuss it after you’ve both gotten some sleep.” Jean-Luc said. “We have t’meet with de Runners at some point.”

If Alden had burst in at that moment, demanding a full recount, Rogue wouldn’t have given a single solitary damn. As the conversation lulled, Rogue seized the opportunity to say goodnight. That seemed to signal to everyone else it was time for bed. Behind her, she heard the men following her up the stairs.

Closing the door behind her, Rogue sagged against it for a moment, first aid kit in hand.  She was only half sure that Remy had walked the dozen or so steps down the hall to his room and wasn’t still standing outside the door waiting for her to say something.  Not that Rogue had anything to say.  There was just so much. She couldn’t do it. Standing there, as Remy stared at her with questions in his eyes that she couldn’t answer yet—maybe not ever.

Except she would have to answer them.  That was the whole point of this, wasn’t it? To bring back information to the X-Men and now…now she wanted to forget everything she knew.

Pushing off the door, Rogue peeled off Mercy’s shoes and reached for the zipper on the back of the dress.  Catching a glance in the mirror, Rogue winced.  The dress was beyond repair.  The silk fabric was torn, the hem ripped loose, and one of the straps was nearly torn through.

She’d have to apologize to Mercy for that.  Maybe she should offer to replace it.

Yanking off the garment, followed by the rest of her clothes, Rogue dropped everything into a pile at the foot of the bed. Reaching for her yoga pants and tank top, she pulled them on.

Moving to the nightstand, she picked up her phone and opened her messages. She quickly tapped out a message to Logan to let him know they were back at the house.  To her surprise, her phone immediately dinged in reply.

Logan (03:26): You okay?

Rogue (03:26): Yeah. We’re good

Logan (03:27): Get everything sorted out?

Rogue (03:28): Yeah. We’ll need to talk once Remy and I get back though

Logan (03:29): Did you get shot at?

Rogue (03:30): No

Rogue froze, staring at the screen.  She hadn’t even thought about it before she hit send.  Because she hadn’t gotten shot at. Not really.  They’d been aiming at Remy, and she’d just been in the line of fire.  It was the truth. Only it was a lie. 

Not something she would have done a year ago, maybe not even something she would have done a week ago.

It was the type of thing a Thief would do, not an X-Men.

Rogue darkened the screen and sat on the edge of the bed. What had Remy told her?  She had the line between X-Men and Thief all figured out?

Yeah, not so much.

Is there even a line anymore?

She shoved that thought away.  Jerking upright, she ripped back the covers. Sliding into bed, she snapped the lights off and screwed her eyes shut, willing herself to sleep.

Rogue stared blankly at the dregs at the bottom of her coffee mug.  Sluggishly, her mind battled itself on the pros and cons of another cup.  Her eyes felt like sandpaper had been dragged across them. Even the thought of standing, scooping the grounds, and refilling the water reservoir made her want to lie down on the cool tile floor and not get up.

She hadn’t slept. Despite being bone-deep exhausted, her mind had refused to shut off. Finally, at six, she had crawled out of bed and come downstairs.  She’d been sitting on a stool at the counter, working her way through a pot of coffee like it was a personal project ever since.

She had no idea what time it was. Turning to check the clock in the breakfast nook felt like too much work. The daylight outside was no help either. Thick, heavy clouds filled the sky, dimming the sunrise. If Rogue had to guess, she’d probably been down here at least an hour or two, but it could’ve just as easily been twenty minutes.

“Petite? What are ya doing up already?”

Rogue blinked. Jean-Luc, Mercy, and Henri entered the kitchen wearing matching frowns.

“Did ya get any sleep?” Henri asked, moving to sit on the stool next to her.

Rogue shook her head and scrubbed a hand over her face, avoiding Henri’s gaze. “No, I gave up around six. Came down here and made coffee.” She glanced at her cup. “But I think I drank it all.”

“Mais, ain’t no big thing, Petite,” Jean-Luc waved a hand and moved to fix a new pot. “Tante says Henri and I ain’t worth a lick in de kitchen, but we both know our way around a coffee pot.” 

He moved with an ease that made Rogue feel heavier in contrast. She watched him press the start button and then glance over his shoulder, “Speaking of, do ya need anything?  Tante can still have a look at ya.”

Rogue shook her head again, and her shoulder twinged in protest. “No. It’s fine.  I don’t suppose there’s any chance I could miss the meeting with Alden today.”

Jean-Luc winced like she’d asked for a kidney. His. Not a black market one.

“Non, ‘fraid ya can’t do that.”

A short, dry sound escaped her throat, halfway between a laugh and a sigh. She hadn’t really expected a yes, but she’d still held out a little hope.

Go get Remy, Chere.  He’ll take care of it, the whisper curled around in her mind, warm and Cajun and familiar.

Remy’s psyche had been louder than usual, trying to drown out the venom of her newest unwanted passenger. It was the first time she’d been genuinely grateful to have the Swamp Rat riding shotgun in her head.

Rogue threaded her fingers into her hair and tugged at the roots, the sharp pain helping to ground her. Just enough to keep the rest at bay.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Henri asked gently.

Rogue dropped her head into her hands and offered a helpless shrug. She should. She knew she should. Everything was eating her up inside. But there was just so much. It exhausted her overtired brain to even think about how to begin to explain it.  

Her ribs ached. Her shoulder throbbed. Her mind felt like a cluttered room with no doors. What she wanted—needed—was to sleep for a hundred years and just not be for a little while.

The backs of her eyelids began to burn.  Rogue shoved the heels of her palms into her eyes until she saw sparks.

“Chere?”

Dropping her hands, Rogue blinked as her eyes tried to refocus from the pressure.  Remy stood in the doorway with Mercy. He was still wearing his sleep clothes. Heat crept up the back of her neck.

“You didn’t have to go wake him up,” Rogue muttered.

Remy ignored her comment.  Stepping into the room, he moved to stand beside her stool.

“Is it Tribune? Is his psyche bothering ya?” he asked.

Rogue rubbed at the back of her neck, jaw working as she tried to find the right words. Glaring at the stupid cartoon alligator on the side of her coffee mug, frustration crawled under her skin.

Giving up, she jerked her head sharply.

“D’accord. It’s fine. We can have Logan come get us, and then de Professor can lock up his psyche.” Warm hands found her shoulders and started rubbing softly. “Remember? He said he can still do that.”

“Hold on now,” Jean-Luc cut in. “We have t’ meet with de Runners today.”

“Henri and you can handle passing off de blueprints,” Remy argued. 

Rogue didn’t bother to look up from her coffee mug, hearing the low burn in his voice. She already knew Remy would be glaring at his father. Then Jean-Luc would frown at Remy like he was being unreasonable.  Then Remy’s eyes would start glowing. Every time. Like clockwork.

“She still has t’ explain what’s going on,” Jean-Luc moved back towards the counter.

“Tribune was the buyer. She told me and Julien as much last night—”

There it was again.

Tribune.

The psyche in question cursed and lunged, shoving forward with all the spite of a tantruming toddler. Her mental grip held, barely. It was like pinning down a wild thing trying to bite its own leash.

Pain lanced behind her right eye and rocketed toward the base of her skull. Rogue let her head drop to her crossed arms, breathing through her teeth.

“Wait, Julien was there?” Jean-Luc’s voice cut through the fog.

“Oui, de coullion was underfoot all night,” Remy scoffed. “But my point is that Rogue’s deal with Alden was t’ find out who Natalie was planning t’ sell de blueprints t’. And since we already know it was Tribune—”

“His name wasn’t Tribune,” Rogue snapped, jerking her head up.

She was at her wits’ end with the two men in front of her, and the pulsing below her right eye had begun to throb. Catching the room’s collective stare, she sighed and dragged her hands over her face before trying again.

“His name wasn’t Tribune.  It was an alias. Just like everyone else on that damn boat,” She explained tiredly. “His real name was Creed. Graydon Creed.”

Remy stiffened. “You mean like—”

“Victor Creed, yeah. Graydon is his son.” Rogue nodded.

“Désolé, but who’s Victor Creed? Henri asked.

“He’s a mutant and a mercenary. Ya might have heard of him. He goes by the codename Sabretooth.” Remy explained. Henri’s and Mercy’s breath hissed through their teeth while Jean-Luc let out a low whistle. Remy chuckled and shook his head, “Mais, I can’t believe there was a femme crazy enough to sleep with that homme.”

Something in Rogue’s chest snapped like a wire pulled too tight.

“Really?” she said, jerking to her feet. Her stool scraped back behind her. Shouldering her way past Remy, she headed for the coffee pot. “Really? You can’t think of one woman crazy enough to spread her legs for Creed? I can. Tell ya what, I’ll give ya three guesses, and the first two don’t count.”

Reaching for the coffee pot, she flung a sharp look over her shoulder at Remy. “Here’s a hint: she’s a psychotic bitch of a shape-shifter who managed to screw over all her children.”

Hot coffee sloshed over the rim of her mug, soaking her glove. Hissing, Rogue yanked the glove off to inspect the skin underneath. At the sight of the newly formed red patch on the back of her hand, her vision turned watery.

Her breath hitched.

Arms came around her, pulling her back into a warm chest. Reaching down, Remy gently plucked the coffee mug from her grasp, careful not to let their fingers touch.

For once, Rogue didn’t argue or try to squirm away. Remy knew the dangers of her skin. If he was willing to shoulder the burden, then she didn’t have it in her to fight him on it.

“What am I going to tell Kurt, Remy?” she choked out.

A tear leaked from the corner of her eye at the thought of her good-hearted brother. Reaching up, she swiped at it before it could streak down her face. No. Not here. She didn’t want to be like this in front of Remy’s family.

Arms tightened around her in response.

“We’ll figure something out, Chere,” Remy said softly. “I swear.”

The words, quiet as they were, settled something in her chest. Rogue let out a shaky breath. Then two more. Her shoulders dropped as she stepped away, though she stayed close enough to still feel the heat radiating off the man next to her. It was too soothing to give up, and she was feeling greedy this morning.

Glancing at the rest of the room’s occupants, the LeBeaus watched them discreetly while busying themselves with other things. Surprisingly, their quick glances didn’t weigh on her like those at Xavier’s.  There were no gleeful stares or poorly disguised questioning looks demanding answers Rogue wasn’t ready to give yet.  They seemed content to let her and Remy have this moment to themselves.

Maybe that’s the difference between married folks and people who are dating, Rogue mused.

Taking another sip of coffee, Rogue grabbed Remy’s hand with her still-gloved one and tugged him back towards the counter. Mercy had curled up on Henri’s knee, and Jean-Luc was flipping through the Personals like nothing had happened.

“Sorry, ya’ll,” Rogue muttered as she reclaimed her seat.

“Pas de problème,” Jean-Luc waved her off, reaching for his coffee. He took a sip before shooting her a caddish grin, “”Fraid I’m a little fuzzy on the details, though. Ya mind walking an ol’ man through what happened?”

“Oh, please, ya ain’t old.” Rogue rolled her eyes.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Petite.”

“I’m sure,” Rogue muttered, but managed a small smile. The man might be as slippery as a water snake, but it was easy to see where Remy got his charm from.

Settling herself on an empty stool, she started again. “So yeah, Mr. Tribune, or Graydon Creed, is the son of two mutant mercenaries, Sabretooth and Mystique.  Mystique is Kurt’s biological mother and my adopted mother.  Apparently, she had Graydon a decade or so earlier, but when he didn’t develop any powers by the time he was thirteen, she abandoned him on the streets of Europe.”

“Dieu,” Henri breathed, “Ya mere sounds like a nasty piece of work.”  Mercy nodded vehemently.

“Oh, that’s nothing. She must have gotten pregnant shortly after that with Kurt.  She tossed him over a cliff after he was born. We never did figure out if it was an accident or not.” Rogue answered. “Thank god, he could teleport at birth, or he would’ve hit the rocks.”

“She—Désolée. She did what now?” Mercy boggled at Rogue before breaking off into rapid French. Rogue couldn’t understand most of it, but did catch a large amount of profanity pouring out of the blonde’s mouth about unfit mothers.

“Yeah, it wasn’t great, but Kurt and I don’t talk to her anymore.” Rogue tried to calm the pregnant woman on the other side of the counter. Mercy looked ready to go tearing off to look for Mystique.

“Mon Amore, let’s let Rogue finish, hein?” Henri soothed. Mercy settled down again, but not before muttering something dark under her breath about having a talk with Mystique 'mama-to-mama.’

“Anyway,” Rogue continued, trying to get things on track. “Graydon got a job at the Garzweiler mine and started working his way up the ladder.  Eventually, he got back to the United States and opened several mines here, including the one near Bayville. When mutants were outed, he started a group called Friends of Humanity.  They’re a radical anti-mutant group.”

Rogue looked over her shoulder at Remy, “His first recruits were some of the guys from Bayville High. After high school, none of them had the grades to go to college, least of all Duncan, and it was easy to blame the mutants for all the interruptions that happened at the school.  Graydon was the one who put in a good word for Duncan after he got sent to jail.”

“How did he know Natalie?” Jean-Luc asked.

“He met her through Senator Krane, back when Krane was supporting anti-mutant legislation.  When Krane flip-flopped on the issue, Creed was furious.” Rogue answered.

Actually, furious was putting it lightly.  From what she’d seen in Graydon’s memories, the man had torn apart his office, utterly enraged by the betrayal.  Rogue shivered. The hatred the man felt for mutants was terrifying. To say nothing of the number of followers he’d been amassing right in their own backyard.  How had the X-Men missed it?

“Natalie contacted him once she found out de Runners had possession of it?” Jean-Luc guessed.  

Rogue frowned, shaking her head. “It gets a bit fuzzy there. Graydon really was trying to convince the Governor to open up a salt mine in Louisiana and was using the Governor’s love of gambling as a form of schmoozing.  I think Natalie running into Graydon after being let go by Krane was sheer dumb luck.  Either way, once Natalie knew the Runners were going after the blueprints, she reached out to Graydon to sell them.”

“Except she jacked de price at de last second, and Graydon decided killing her would be easier,” Remy added.

Jean-Luc shook his head in disgust. “Never raise de price on the client at de last second.”

“Why did Graydon want the blueprints?” Henri asked.

Rogue pursed her lips in frustration and glared down at the countertop. 

“Chere?” Remy prodded.

“I don’t know,” Rogue admitted. “I was up most of the night trying to wade through his psyche’s vitriol and got nothing.”

“Ya should have woken me up,” Remy chided softly.

Rogue shrugged a shoulder. She’d thought about it.  Hell, she’d even gotten out of bed a half-dozen times only to stop before she got to Remy’s door. What was the point of depriving him of sleep just to sit with her while she battled some hateful psyche in her head?

“Maybe,” Rogue said finally, too mulish to say anything else. It’s not like she could take it back now.

Remy must have realized that was the best he was going to get out of her and patted her shoulder gently. “Probably doesn’t matter if we don’t have de exact details. He was de leader of a hate group and had followers to arm.  It’s not hard t’ put two and two together t’ get four.”

“Julien’s psyche mentioned that the gun can be 3D printed and modified to use a fuel source instead of bullets.  There’s a sports drink, Pow-R8, that is deadly to mutants to even touch. Maybe there’s something there?” Rogue offered.

“Is dat right?” Jean-Luc frowned. “And this is de first we’re hearing ‘bout it?”

Remy bristled at the insinuation, shooting Jean-Luc a glare, but Rogue let it slide. If she’d learned anything, Jean-Luc hated being caught off-guard…especially when it came to his family.

“Julien’s psyche mentioned it right before the Boucherie. I might be a fool, but I ain’t stupid. I wasn’t about to drop that little tidbit in front of the real Julien.” Rogue answered, massaging the spot under her right eye.

The crease between Jean-Luc’s eyebrows melted away like it had never been there. Instead, a pleased look—pride, maybe?—flitted over the older man’s face.

“Bon.” Jean-Luc nodded. He paused, looking her over. “Ya sure you don’t want Tante t’ look at ya?”

“Nah. My shoulder and left side are bruised to high heaven, and I’ve got a killer headache, but that’s about it.”

“D’accord, but if ya change your mind, just say de word.” Jean-Luc shifted on his stool. Bridging his hands, his Guildmaster mask slipped over his face. “Remy and I can handle most of de meeting. And we’ll try t’ answer most of Alden’s questions, but I’m afraid you’re still gonna need t’ show ya face.”

The regret in his voice was real, and Rogue could see it. But it didn’t change the reality. Rogue wearily nodded in understanding as any hope of getting back to bed slipped away. 

Remy’s fingers twitched against her shoulder. Rogue sighed. She’d bet anything that if he wasn’t still in his pajamas, he’d be shuffling his cards right now.

Sensing the brewing storm, Henri jumped in. “Pere, how about we go up to your office and get Rogue’s copy of the blueprints made now? I don’t trust Alden not to find some means of dragging his feet when it comes to handing them over.”

Rogue blinked in surprise. It was a solid idea and one that hadn’t occurred to her.  Stupidly, she’d expected Alden would keep his word. Simple as that. 

“Ouias,” Jean-Luc agreed with a sigh. “Wouldn’t be surprised if he tries t’ hold off handing over de copy ‘til after his auction.  By the way, do we have any information on that?”

“Not yet,” Henri replied.

“Alright, I’m sure we’ll hear something soon.” Jean-Luc stood.

As the two men headed for Jean-Luc’s office, Rogue sighed and looked down at her bare hand. The skin on the back of it had begun to pink and tighten where the hot coffee had hit. She’d need to dry the glove or grab a fresh pair from her suitcase. Maybe both.

Remy hovered beside her, clearly debating whether to follow his father or stay behind. She gave his hand a light squeeze and forced a small smile.

“I still smell like shrimp traps and river brine,” she said, trying for dry humor, but probably landing closer to ‘faintly pathetic.’ “I’m gonna grab a shower before we meet. Meet you up there?”

Remy nodded. “Take ya time, Chere.”

Rogue didn’t respond. Just stepped past him, heading for the family wing. She’d grab a shower and a fresh set of clothes.  Then she’d be right as rain.

And, if not, well, it’s not like anyone would know if she cried a little bit in the shower.

Chapter Text

As Jean-Luc pulled the car up to the curb, Rogue did a double-take.

The bar that served as a front for the Runners Guild sat barely a half block off Canal Street.

Well, ain’t that a bold little choice, she thought. Privately, Rogue wondered if Alden was pushing to be as near to the French Quarter as possible. Close enough to the neutral zone for safety, but not close enough to start a war.

A valet appeared almost instantly, dashing down the steps to collect Jean-Luc’s keys and whisking the car away to God knows where.

It only took a few steps to pass under the building’s classic double wrought-iron balcony and cross the threshold, but they might as well have crossed into another country.

Rogue wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Maybe something akin to Rambling Cup or the jazz club she and Remy had visited all those years ago. But certainly not…this.

The walls were painted a bold vermilion, and the polished marble floors gleamed in a black-and-white checkerboard pattern. Around the room, gold Art Deco fixtures winked at her as they caught the light, while expensive-looking art and Blue leather chairs with damask backs sat in small groupings around the room, accompanied by low tables for patrons to sit and enjoy their drinks.

Not that there were any free chairs.

Standing by the podium next to the door, Rogue could spot no less than three separate bachelorette parties holding court, mimosas and bellinis scattered across their tables. The other tables and barstools were crammed full of young, attractive couples, all trying to start their morning off in proper New Orleans fashion.

Behind the bar, the lone bartender worked furiously. The poor man’s shoulder looked like it was about to give out from shaking cocktail after cocktail.

Rogue’s eyes landed on a bar menu and choked as she saw the prices.

Good Lord, Alden must be making money hand over fist.

She suddenly wished she’d slapped on a little makeup before leaving the house.

A man in a crisp white shirt and black vest spotted them and hurried in their direction. “Messieurs. Mademoiselle. Apologies for keeping you waiting,” the host spoke in a low tone. “Mr. Hoffman is in his office with a few of his men. Please, follow me.”

The man turned and slipped through the crowd as easily as a cat between a porch railing, expertly dodging drunk bridesmaids and selfie sticks as he went. Rogue pressed herself between Jean-Luc and Remy, using them as a human shield. She might trust the Thieves Guild’s reflexes when it came to her powers, but she did not trust the city’s drunk revelers to show the same discipline.

The two men seemed to understand their unspoken duty and stuck to her like glue. Jean-Luc shoulder-checked one man whose wandering hands outpaced his survival instincts.

Turning the corner, they passed the restrooms before heading down a flight of stairs.

“A basement?” Rogue asked.

“Oui,” Jean-Luc answered. “The Runners figured out how t’ build tunnels and lower levels, even with de city sitting below sea level. This one connects t’ de Warehouse District, de ports, and up t’ The Roosevelt.”

“The Hotel?” Rogue blinked. She remembered Alden mentioning the Runners used a network of tunnels to get around. But hearing it and walking through it were two different things.

“Ouias, it was built by Louis Grunewald, a German immigrant who had family ties t’ de Runners but decided t’ go straight instead. Mostly.”

They came to a stop outside a sleek black door. The host quickly knocked and opened the door. “The Messrs. LeBeau and Mademoiselle Rogue to see you, Mr. Hoffman.”

Compared to the raucous carnival of color upstairs, Alden’s office screamed modern with a capital’ M,’ filled with black furniture with wood accents backlit by LED lighting.

On a low coffee table, a partially disassembled rifle lay in neat, clinical pieces.

Rogue glanced around the office. This place had all the warmth of an airport lounge. Suddenly, she felt nostalgic for the wood and leather comforts of Jean-Luc’s office back at the Guild Hall.

Alden stood from where he’d been sitting behind a large, sleek desk and waved them into the room. “Thank you, John. Jean-Luc, Remy, Rogue, please come in. I trust everything went well.”

“Bien sûr,” Jean-Luc replied smoothly, reaching into his coat. Pulling out the black tube, he placed it on the desk in front of Alden. “Perhaps you would care to have a look. Make sure everything is as it should be.”

“I’m sure that’s not necessary,” Alden said automatically.

“I insist,” Jean-Luc replied courteously, gesturing to the tub again. “Please.”

Alden smiled, hand already reaching for the tube. “Very well, if we’re going to stand on ceremony,”

Pretty sure there are Operas less scripted than this, Rogue groused, only to want to slap herself a moment later.

What was it Ree had said about Outsiders not bothering to pay attention to what was going on around them? That the Underground’s etiquette wasn’t just fluff and social niceties. This wasn’t theater.

Idiot, Rogue cursed her own stupidity and turned her attention towards the men still standing around Alden’s desk.

Alden slid the blueprints out and laid them across the desk. For all his earlier insistence about trusting Jean-Luc’s word, he examined each document carefully, his eyes tightening with concentration. When Alden finished, he waved for Louis to do the same.

Only when Louis finished his inspection did Alden roll them back up, capping the tube.

Around the room, the energy shifted.

Now that their property was back where it belonged, the rest of Alden’s men relaxed. Rogue would have missed it if she hadn’t been paying attention.

The important business taken care of, Jean-Luc and Remy took seats in the chairs in front of Alden’s desk, launching into a recap of the night’s events involving Natalie, Matteo, and Tribune. Rogue moved to one of the empty sofas at the edge of the room, happy to let the two men dominate the conversation, only adding the occasional nod or noise of agreement as needed.

Jean-Luc and Remy recounted all the events meticulously, while carefully sidestepping any details linking Mr. Tribune to Graydon Creed.

“We left Mr. Tribune tied up with de murder weapon and some of Natalie’s jewelry in his pocket. Even Agent Howard will be able t’ connect de dots on who Natalie’s killer was.” Remy finished.

“Yes, what a terrible waste of life. Such a shame,” Alden shook his head, managing to form his features into some semblance of woe, then clapped his hands together. “Well, it appears that everything is as it should be. Not that I’m surprised by the Thieves Guild’s success, of course.” He smiled pleasantly at the two Master Thieves.

Turning towards her, Alden continued, “I’m afraid I don’t have the means here, but I can have a copy of the blueprints made for you as soon as we get back to Canon House. You’re welcome to stop by and pick them up before you leave, or I can drop them off at your home in the Garden District. Whichever is easiest for you.”

“We already took care of makin’ Rogue a copy. No need t’ put yourself out,” Remy said lightly, before she could answer.

Alden’s smile never left his face, but it no longer reached his eyes. “Oh, wonderful. Then I suppose everything is already in order.”

Rogue nodded rapidly in agreement. She wasn’t about to set foot in the Runners’ Guild Hall, and she had less than zero intention of letting Alden into Irene’s house. Mentally, she made a note to get Henri something nice for having the foresight to make the copy before they left.

Alden opened his mouth again. “If you don’t mind me asking, my Dear—”

A knock on the door cut him off.

The door cracked open, and John stuck his head in, looking uncertain. “The Messrs. Boudreaux to see you, Mr. Hoffman.”

The men in the room shifted at the announcement. Whatever ease had begun to settle over the room vanished. Alden’s and Jean-Luc’s faces smoothed over instantly.

“Let them in, John,” Alden said calmly.

John stepped aside, holding the door as Marius and Julien entered. Julien’s blue eyes landed on her instantly. He smirked. Rogue rolled her eyes only to regret it as the pain under her right eye surged.

Julien didn’t bother to wait for Alden to offer him a seat and settled himself on the loveseat beside her. The Master Assassin casually draped an arm over the back of the couch behind her shoulders.

Marius shot his son a warning look.

Remy was already out of his chair. Vaguely, the Cajuns waved a hand offering his seat to the Assassins’ Guildmaster as he stalked past Marius, eyes glowing. His hand was already reaching into his pocket when Jean-Luc’s sharp glance stopped Remy cold.

Jean-Luc shot his son a warning look.

Alden looked like a man who had just realized his office was now a powder keg waiting for a match. Moving to diffuse the situation, he smiled at Marius. “Marius. What a surprise. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I understand that the Thieves Guild was successful in recovering the blueprints last night,” Marius nodded toward Jean-Luc in polite acknowledgment. “I’d like to put forth an offer to purchase them now.”

“I see. While I appreciate your interest, you know how I do business, Marius. Nothing builds anticipation like an auction. Bidders drive the price up, and desperation makes men reckless. It’s profitable,” Alden pointed out.

Rogue stared, gobsmacked. The weaselly little man was actually standing toe-to-toe with one of the world’s most dangerous men—like he’d never heard what happens to folks who play chicken with a freight train.

Hell, he’d probably try to sell to sell ya the train tickets afterward, Rogue rolled her eyes.

“Profitable, yes. Predictable? No,” Marius said evenly. “Forgive me, but I prefer certainty.”

“Certainty is for men who don’t like a little risk. But you?” Alden’s voice took on a flattering note. “I’d expect you, of all people, to enjoy watching your enemies sweat.”

Rogue glanced at Jean-Luc. Surely Alden wasn’t so stupid as to try to stir up trouble between the Thieves and Assassins while both Guildmasters were sitting right next to each other. Jean-Luc watched silently, his face completely smooth.

“You misunderstand.” Marius’s voice turned sharp. “I am not concerned with what my enemies do. I am concerned with what is mine.”

Alden tilted his head. “Yours? You haven’t bought anything yet.”

“No. But I will.” Marius answered.

Alden blinked in surprise. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you? You’re not just interested. You’re invested. Enough to forgo your usual patience.” Alden narrowed his eyes, “That’s not like you.”

Marius leaned forward in his seat, the leather creaking under him. “You deal in greed, Alden. I deal in legacy. I am more than willing to make this sale worthwhile, but these blueprints belong to my family. Whether you sign them over willingly or not. Five million dollars.”

Rogue froze in her seat. Marius didn’t care about the blueprints. Or, maybe he did, but that wasn’t why he was here. Julien must have acted without his permission last night. Marius only wanted to buy the blueprints to keep Julien from doing something reckless again.

“It’s an impressive offer, I’ll grant you,” Alden’s eyes gleamed. “But money’s just one piece of the game. Territory. Now, that’s something you can hold onto.”

Marius raised an eyebrow. “You want territory?”

“Just a few blocks between Esplanade and Elysian Fields. It’ll give my men access to the Wharf,” Alden said, like he was discussing possible dinner plans or something.

Rogue’s eyes swung between the men, her heart slamming against her ribs. Territory was worth more than gold to the Guilds.

Alden’s suggestion would give him a foothold on Canal Street and Esplanada, flanking either side of the Quarter along the waterfront. Add in his existing hold on Algiers across the river, and he’d have the South side of the Quarter locked down.

“You overestimate your position,” Julien replied coldly, “There’s still bad blood between the Runners and the Assassins. Or have you forgotten?”

Alden’s smile hardened as his men around the room shifted uncomfortably. Rogue watched as Alden tapped a finger against his desk, calculation in his eyes. Finally, he shifted back in his seat. “Five million, then. And no more talk of bad blood.”

“Good,” Marius said with a curt nod. “Julien will handle the transfer.”

Julien rose, pulling a sleek ledger from his jacket. Rogue’s shoulders slump, grateful that Alden’s office wasn’t about to become a reenactment of an ol’ time saloon shoot-out. Rogue looked at Remy and Jean-Luc, trying to gauge their reactions.

Fury burned in Jean-Luc’s dark eyes.

Rogue’s breath hitched.

He was pissed.

The balance had just shifted…and not in the Thieves’ favor.

Inhaling slowly, Rogue made another mental note to make a copy of her blueprints once they got back to the Guild Hall. Balance seemed to be the key factor that kept the Guilds from tearing each other apart.

Maybe she could leave it with Henri to use only in case of emergency? Rogue disregarded the thought as quickly as it came. Doing so would only put Henri in a bad position as the Heir to the Thieves Guild, and Jean-Luc should be kept aware as the Guildmaster.

As the men finished up, Alden asked for Jean-Luc to act as a witness to the transfer, leaving Rogue to question once again if Alden was stupid or brilliant. Claiming her head still hurt, and she needed some air, Rogue excused herself.

Making her way through the now mostly empty bar, Rogue slipped back onto the sidewalk. The brunch crowd was long gone, leaving the street in a lull before the dinner rush. Moving to stand in the sunbeam at the edge of the covered walkway, leaning against a wrought-iron column. Turning her face up toward the sun, Rogue closed her eyes and enjoyed the sun’s warmth on her skin. It was still chilly, despite it already being early afternoon.

“Hello, Dearie.”

Opening her eyes, Rogue turned to find Madam LaCour standing there clad in a dark wrap dress with a woven straw bag under one arm.

“I understand you had quite the adventure last night,” the older woman continued.

“Something like that, I guess,” Rogue shrugged, not sure what else to say.

“Will you be leaving soon?”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

Madame hummed in acknowledgment. Reaching a manicured hand into the pocket of her dress, she pulled out two tarot cards.

The Magician and the Fool.

Handing them over, the older woman gave Rogue a look that made her feel like a child standing in front of the schoolteacher.

“Take these with you,” Madame said. “If what I have heard is true, you’ve already begun to embrace the Magician’s untapped skills, though I venture you have many more you’ll need to learn. Don’t let the fear of the unknown hinder you from your new journey.”

She tapped a manicured finger against the white dog at the Fool’s feet. “I would wager you have yet to learn when to ask for assistance, though.”

Rogue stared at the cards fanned out in her hand blankly. “You mean Remy.”

It wasn’t a question.

“He would certainly be a great assistance to you.” Madame LaCour nodded, “But, perhaps, there may be others who would be too.”

“Who?”

“That’s for you to decide.” Madame LaCour offered Rogue a faint smile. “But sometimes in life, we find ourselves walking several paths simultaneously. And to do so, we need to draw on those around us.”

Rogue snorted humorlessly and looked away, eyeing the traffic rolling down the street. That sounded like a bunch of prophecy nonsense if she’d ever heard it. Slipping the cards into her back pocket, Rogue scrubbed a hand over her face.

“Are you ever planning to tell me how you knew Irene?” she asked.

“One day, but not when we have an audience,” Madame LaCour’s ice-blue eyes flicked over Rogue’s shoulder.

Rogue turned—and a second later, the door behind her opened. Remy and the others stepped out onto the sidewalk. Spotting Madame LaCour standing there, the men stopped short.

No one spoke at first.

“Madame LaCour,” Julien greeted, stepping forward to kiss the back of the older woman’s hand, “It’s always good to see you. Have you been shopping?”

“Oui, down at the farmers’ market this morning,” Madame LaCour answered, a smile pulling at her lips. “But I’m afraid I must be on my way. I have things I need to get into the fridge.”

“Of course,” Julien smiled and stepped aside.

“Guildmasters,” Madame bowed her head in farewell. “Please give Augustine my regards.”

Rogue frowned, recognizing the name. It belonged to the man who headed the High Court. Before anyone could say anything else, Madame LaCour turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

XOXOXOXOX

Chapter 21 - Alternate Scene

Rogue stared at the two bickering men locked in battle, like there was an Olympic gold medal in sarcasm on the line. Glancing down at her glass, she drained the last of her Champagne. It’s probably tacky to ask for a third, but somehow she didn’t think anyone would judge her right now.

She turned slowly to the two men standing beside her.

Marius and Jean-Luc watched their sons—one with stoicism, the other with the weariness of a man who’d lived through this exact headache far too many times.

“Can y’all explain to me,” Rogue began, looking at Jean-Luc, “how you manage to raise the world’s best Thieves…”

She shifted, pointing toward Marius, “...and you train the world’s deadliest Assassins. Globe-trotting. Clandestine missions. Rubbing elbows with the rich, the powerful, and the elite. All of it.”

She pointed back at Remy and Julien, now circling each other like cats in heat.

“And yet somehow, every time these two idiots land in the same damn zip code, all they want to do is throw hands in the parking lot like a couple of drunk good ol’ boys at Waffle House.”

Jean-Luc didn’t miss a beat. “Sounds 'bout right.”

Marius nodded. “Oui.”

Rogue scrubbed a hand over her eyes. “Is there any more Champagne in the bottle?”

Chapter Text

Rogue could feel the tarot cards burning a hole in her back pocket all the way back to the Guild Hall, as Madame LaCour’s words replayed over and over in her mind.

As the car pulled into the carriage house, Rogue caught Jean-Luc’s gaze in the rearview mirror. The man had been watching her from the corner of his eye from the moment Marius cut the deal with Alden for the blueprints. No doubt biding his time until he thought he could approach her for a copy of her blueprints.

That was fine with Rogue.  She had a bone to pick with Alden.

“How’d it go?” Henri asked as they entered the kitchen.  Mercy and Emil sat at the kitchen table, a laptop open in front of them.

“Remind me t’ skin Hoffmann alive,” Jean-Luc spat, hanging his keys up on the hook next to the door.

“What happened?” Mercy asked, looking up.

“Marius cut a deal t’ buy de blueprints off of Alden,” Remy answered.

“Merde,” Henri muttered, massaging the bridge of his nose, “Well, they were bound to get a hold of the blueprints sooner or later.”

“Oui,” Jean-Luc agreed, “But if Alden had auctioned them off, there was a chance someone else could have bought them. By de time de Assassins managed t’ get their paws on a copy, de blueprints would have been public knowledge. Now, they got de originals, or they will once de wire transfer is complete.”

“What’d they buy ‘em for?” Emil asked.

“Five million,” Remy answered, leaning a hip against the counter.  Emil made a sound of appreciation at the figure.

Rogue listened quietly as she fixed herself a cup of coffee. She could almost feel the moment Jean-Luc’s eyes landed on her.

“So, Petite—”

“Pere…” Remy warned, straightening.

Rogue’s eyes snapped towards him, cutting Remy off. Remy paused. Tilting his head, black-and-red eyes slid over her, taking her measure. Whatever he saw, Remy must have liked, because a smirk tugged at the corner of the Swamp Rat’s mouth and he relaxed back against the counter again.

The floor was hers.

Turning her attention back to the older man, Rogue raised an eyebrow. “Whatever could be on your mind, Jean-Luc?” she asked, pulling out her best ‘Gone with the Wind’ accent.

“How would ya feel about letting de Thieves make a copy of those blueprints of yours?” Jean-Luc smiled, looking every inch the charming cad.

Rogue let her other eyebrow rise to meet the first.  She’d give the man credit. At least he asked her outright instead of trying to con her into offering them up.

Maybe the old dog really has learned a new trick, she mused.

Playing up the moment, Rogue hummed thoughtfully. “Might be able to come to some sort of agreement, but there’s something I want in exchange. How about we go up to your office and see if we can make a deal?”

Remy’s jaw dropped as his head snapped around to stare at her wide-eyed.  Clearly, he hadn’t expected her to open up negotiations with his father. Reaching for Remy’s hand, Rogue dragged the stunned Cajun toward the door.

Jean-Luc chuckled and shook his head, following them.

As they passed through the door heading for the stairs, Rogue heard Emil mutter, “If she asks for Remy’s hand in marriage, Jean-Luc is gonna book St. Louis Cathedral tonight.”

A loud ‘thwack’ followed by Emil’s indignant sputtering was the only thing that kept Rogue from turning back around to give Remy’s cousin a piece of her mind. Not that Emil was wrong.

Messing with his son’s love life was Jean-Luc’s love language. His morally and ethically grey, vaguely threatening love language.

Groaning mentally, Rogue kept her eyes turned forward, refusing to look back at the two men behind her.  There was no way that Jean-Luc and Remy hadn’t heard that.

Still, she kept her grip on Remy’s hand, refusing to let go.

If Rogue had any hesitation about summoning Jean-Luc to his own office, it vanished the moment the older man lowered himself into one of the armchairs, arms crossed, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth.

Remy looked less happy as he dropped into the seat beside her on the couch. Still, the flicker of humor in his eyes as she bossed Jean-Luc around his office was enough to keep Rogue charging forward with her plan.

“Alright, Petite. What’s on your mind?” Jean-Luc asked.

“I’m more than happy to hand over a copy of the blueprints, but I want some information in exchange,” Rogue explained. Jean-Luc sat up at her answer.

“What kind of information?”

“When we were on that boat last night, every enforcer, associate, and capo over the age of fifty seemed to know exactly who I was. I know that introductions can be important in this world.” Rogue paused, trying to figure out how to phrase it. “Let’s be honest. There’s a reason that Alden wanted to be the one to introduce me to Matteo.”

“And ya think he’s been spreading your name around,” Jean-Luc guessed.

“I don’t know. Maybe? Fury has kept the kids at Xavier’s off of SHEILD’s files since Logan talked to him.  I don’t think you or Marius are gossiping about me. Alden seems to…,” Rogue gestured helplessly.

“Wheel and deal with anyone that’s got de cash?” Remy offered. Rogue huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah…that. I don’t know. I might be barking up the wrong tree entirely,” Rogue wavered.  Making accusations about a Guildmaster to a Guildmaster was probably a big deal. Maybe she should have thought this through more. 

“It’s fine, Rogue,” Jean-Luc cut off her train of thought before it could spiral out of control. “Last time you were here, we put ya under our protection. Remember?”

Rogue nodded.

“Bon. So asking for our help ain’t something ya have t’ negotiate for.”

Rogue smiled. She believed him…mostly. “Same to you, Jean-Luc.”

The older man flashed her a smile that made Rogue feel like she was once again seeing the real Jean-Luc. But it slipped away just as quickly. Replaced with what Rogue had mentally dubbed his ‘charming cad’ grin as Jean-Luc leaned back in his chair.

“Gotta admit, though, Petite, I was really expecting you t’ kick up more of a fuss about me asking for a copy of de blueprints.  Not that I’m complaining, mind ya.” He winked.

Rogue rolled her eyes.  Of course, he wasn’t. “I’m learning quickly that maintaining the balance of power is the best way to keep the people you care about safe in the underground.”

Jean-Luc’s eyebrows flew to his hairline. 

Remy whipped around to stare at her.

Rogue froze as her brain caught up to her mouth, realizing that she’d just told the two Cajuns that she cared about Remy and, by extension, the LeBeaus.

Jean-Luc looked every inch the fox who’d just found the key to the henhouse. “Is dat right?”

“Um…yeah, something like that. I suppose,” Rogue muttered, looking anywhere but at the two smug Cajuns. Sweet Jesus, could her face fire up any more?

Jean-Luc grinned wider. “Bon. I’ll have my men look into Alden’s connections.  We’ll see what they can dig up.”

“Cool. Thanks,” Rogue jerked to her feet, pulling Remy with her. Backing towards the closest exit—one of the French doors leading to the porch—she reached blindly for the doorknob. “Well, anyway, um, you and Henri can make the copy and just get the blueprints back to me whenever before we leave. So we’ll just get up out your way.”

“You two kids have fun now,” Jean-Luc called after them.

Rogue didn’t dignify that with an answer. Shutting the door, she turned, stomping down the porch. Her cheeks were burning. That damn smirk of Jean-Luc’s was going to haunt her dreams.

 A low chuckle behind her was all the warning she got before an arm wrapped around her waist.

“So…people ya care about, hien?”

“Well, yeah…I mean…” Rogue looked around and huffed out a laugh. Raking her fingers through her hair, she peeked up at him from under her lashes. “Yeah, Sug’…people I care about.”

“Mais, that’s good t’ know,” Remy said. “Been having a hell of a time getting a read on ya lately.  Got this ol’ Cajun running every which way trying to read the signs.”

“I’m not great with directions. Giving or taking, for that matter.”

“Who? You, Chere?”

“Hush yourself, Swamp Rat.” Rogue nudged him with her shoulder. “You’d get bored if I made it too easy on ya.”

“Ain’t never gonna get bored of you.”

“Ya sure about that?” she asked, trying to ignore the way her heart felt too big for her chest even as his words soothed some of the ragged edges around it.

Remy nodded, taking another step forward until his hand found her hip. His fingers hooked through her belt loop, anchoring her to him.

“Mais ouais. Talk t’ me, Chere.  What’s going on in that head of yours? I know something’s bothering ya.”

Rogue snorted.  Of course, he did. “Can we go back to my room? Or, your room? Whichever. I just don’t want people to hear us?”

“You’re just begging for me t’ make a joke about getting loud with ya,” Remy leered. 

She laughed, knowing he’d done it on purpose to settle down some of her nerves. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he guided her down the porch, stopping one door past her own.

Rogue stepped into Remy’s room. Inside, it smelled faintly of cologne and clean laundry. It wasn’t that dissimilar to hers, with cream walls and elegant furnishings.  But her room didn’t have a bookshelf of well-worn books and DVD sets intermingled with framed pictures. Nor did her room have a desk with lockpicks and playing cards scattered over it.

Are those Star Trek action figures? Rogue bit back a smile at the sight of a tiny Captain Kurt action figure hidden among the clutter.

Next to it sat a picture of a much younger Remy and Henri standing in front of a Mardi Gras float.  Rogue picked up the frame as arms wrapped around her from behind.

“That was about two years after Jean-Luc adopted me,” Remy rested his chin on her shoulder.

“You were adorable. What happened?”

“I grew into this sexy Cajun you see before ya today.” Remy stepped back, holding out his arms and spinning slowly so she could get a full view.

“Oh, Lord. Get over yourself.”

“Now, I know you’d just love to spend the next hour admirin’ all this,” Remy grinned, “but I’m hoping you brought that pretty little head in here to tell me what’s been eatin’ at you.”

“It’s stupid,” she said quickly, crossing to the bed. Her hands fidgeted with her gloves. “I mean, not stupid, just... hard.”

“You let me be de judge of that,” Remy said, flopping back against the pillows and pulling a card from his deck, weaving it between his fingers.

Rogue hesitated. She knew she just needed to open her mouth and ask. It was simple. But the words were already stalling on her lips as something inside her locked up. She never asked for help. Not like this. Not for anything that made her feel vulnerable.

Remy sighed and tucked the cards away. “You’re gonna wear a hole in de floor, Rogue. I can read body language, not minds. What’s got ya pacing like a caged barn cat?”

Rogue stopped short and glared at her feet. Traitors

She turned to face him. “I need—Or, I guess I want…” She broke off again, blowing out an irritated breath.

Damn it. Why was this so hard?

Remy raised an eyebrow but didn’t interrupt. He just waited with that infuriating patience of his. It made Rogue want to throw something.

Rogue sucked in a breath. “Can you help me learn how to touch?”

“Pardon?”

“The Professor thinks I’m ready to start trying to turn off my powers,” she said. The words came out in a rush now that she’d gotten started, “but that means I need someone to practice with.”

Remy’s eyes lit up, Cajun Casanova smile already sliding over his face. “If you want t’ touch, this here Cajun is more than up to de task. In fact, if ya want t’ start right now—”

“Please don’t,” she said quietly.

Remy blinked. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t joke. Not right now.” Her voice barely carried across the space between them. “I need you to hear me.”

He sobered instantly. “Alright, Chere. I’m listening.”

Rogue took a deep breath. She could do this.

“I’m scared, Remy. All my life, I’ve had to be in control. I’ve been holding everything so tight for so long, I don’t even know what relaxed feels like anymore.” Her voice broke a little, but she kept going. “But now, if I want to move forward, I’ve got to let some of that go. I won’t get control right away. You’re gonna get hurt helping me.”

“Ain’t afraid of a little pain.”

“Well, I am.” She snapped. “My biggest fear is…you getting hurt.”

It was a lie, a boldface half-truth that barely scratched the surface of what lay beneath. That he’d change his mind. That he’d decide helping her wasn’t worth his trouble. That he’d leave. And after that, she’d…well, she wouldn’t be okay.

Rogue shoved those thoughts away, burying them before they could climb up her throat.

Remy stared at her silently. Dozens of questions burned in those red-and-black eyes of his. He was testing her. Waiting for her to see if she’d tell him anything else.  Hell, he probably already knew that wasn’t even half of the story. 

Rogue looked down at the bedspread, praying he’d leave it be. If he pressed her now, she wouldn’t be able to answer him. This was already too much. She already felt like a raw nerve.

Remy studied her a moment longer. Then his expression softened. He shifted forward, reaching for her hand. “What do ya need?”

“I need to know you’ve got this. That you’ve got a plan. Measures. Countermeasures. Contingencies. All of it. Henri said you’re one of the best planners in the Guild. On Matteo’s boat, you had backup plans stacked six deep. Matteo didn’t know which way was up.”

She paused. “I need that version of you, Remy. The Swamp Rat who can pull a safety net out of thin air.”

Rogue snorted humorlessly. “I’m tired, Sugah. I can’t carry the weight of every what-if anymore. My brain never shuts off. I’m always tracking, always bracing in case something goes wrong. I just need someone else to hold that weight for a while. To plan for the what-ifs so I don’t have to.”

Rogue looked away. “I know that isn’t exactly the most romantic thing, but it’s what I need.”

The last part came out as a whisper. She felt childish now that she’d finally said it out loud. It was a logical request, after all. Who gets so worked up over such a stupid little thing?

She half-expected him to laugh.

“Alright.”

Rogue sighed in relief, the knot of tension in her shoulders loosening. “Okay. Good.”

Remy’s lips quirked. “Ya act like I was gonna say no.”

“It’s not that. I just—” She glared at the bedspread. “I don’t like asking for help.”

Remy smirked but didn’t tease her. Instead, he tugged her sideways into his chest. “Ya don’t have to. I got you.”

Something warm curled up in her chest, looping around her heart. Rogue bit the inside of her cheek. “Thank you, Sugah.”

“Ya got people in your corner, Rogue… me, Wolvie, that furball brother of yours, Kitty.”

Rogue deflated at the reminder of her brother. “What am I going to do about Kurt? This whole thing with Graydon is going to kill him.”

“He knows how Mystique is.”

“That’s the worst part.” Rogue sat up, pulling away. “He cut Mystique out for me after the whole Apocalypse thing, but I know he wishes we could be a family. Now, I’m gonna have to tell Kurt that Mystique screwed up another kid to the point that he hates mutants on sight. I’m gonna break his heart.”

“This isn’t your fault.”

“I know, but I’m still the one who’s gonna have to tell him. I just don’t know how I’m gonna do it,” Rogue sighed again.  At this rate, she was going to suck all the air out of the room.

“We’ll figure it out. Like I said, you got people. If ya want support, I can be there with ya, or if you want t’ handle it alone, I’ll make sure de others stay away.” Arms reached for her again, tugging at her back.  Rogue allowed him to drag her down until she was sprawled across his chest.

“You’ve gotten pretty good running interference on the gazebo for me.” She grinned into his shirt.

“You know ’bout that?”

“When a girl finds herself getting thirty-plus minutes of reading time all to herself, she tends to notice.” Rogue quirked an eyebrow at him. “Thank you, Sugah. Again.”

“Not keeping score,” Remy pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Now, lay your head down and get some sleep. I’m tired just looking at the bags under your eyes.”

“You’re a jerk,” Rogue grumbled, even as her face lost the battle with a yawn.

Remy chuckled and patted her head, “Sleep, Chere.”

“My powers—”

 “I’ll be awake. Don’t worry. Now sleep.”

Rogue grumbled under her breath about high-handed Swamp Rats, but even to her ears, it lacked any snark. Fingers traced slow, absent-minded patterns across her back. Rogue let out a slow breath as she nestled closer.

The weight of the conversation they’d had still lingered, but it didn’t feel sharp or heavy anymore. Instead, it had settled into something softer. She wasn’t alone in it. For once, there was no need to be strong, no need to hold everything together.

Her eyelids slid shut, her body sinking against him, feeling weightless. Just as sleep began to pull her under, Rogue heard Remy’s voice, quiet against her hair.

“I got you, mon cœur.”

Rogue stretched her arms over her head as she made her way toward the living room. Voices drifted in from the other family members already gathered there.

Earlier, the smell of garlic and spice had woken her up.  True to his word, Remy was still awake, one arm wrapped around her.  When he noticed her eyes were open, Remy paused his game of solitaire and asked if she felt up to joining the others or wanted him to bring her a plate.

Rogue decided to stand on manners and be social.  Dinner passed in the usually organized chaos she’d come to expect, with Jean-Luc and Tante Mattie doing their best to control things from either end of the table.

Now, stepping into the room, Rogue spotted Theo and Henri setting up for a game of poker. She took a sip from her wine glass and shook her head, wondering if this was going to be a friendly game or if someone would end up betting their shoes.

Across the room, Remy stood next to Jean-Luc’s armchair, the pair laughing at something Mercy said.

“So, Bele,” Emil called, waving towards Remy. “You ever gonna tell us what happened that made your brother nearly kill my dear cousin here.”

“Nope. Never.” Rogue shook her head.

“Why? Was it bad?”

“No!” Rogue scoffed, though it came out a bit more of a squawk than the indignant denial she’d hoped for.

Emil turned towards Theo with a grin, “Oh, that means it was really bad.”

“Twenty bucks says it wasn’t,” Theo smirked.

“It wasn’t anything bad,” Rogue insisted, looking around the room as everyone stared. “It wasn’t.”

“So, if it wasn’t bad, why won’t you tell us?” Emile wheedled.

“’Cause you’re gonna make it into something it wasn’t.”

“No, we won’t. Scout’s honor.”

Rogue gave Emil a flat look. “Were you ever a Scout?”

“Maybe?”

“Sweet Jesus,” Rogue huffed. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Obviously. Now spill, or I’ll find out myself.”

“He ain’t bluffing,” Henri warned, “Better give in now and tell it on your own terms.”

Rogue looked at Remy, but the Swamp Rat only offered a lazy shrug and moved to join the others at the poker table. Rogue exhaled through her nose, setting her glass down with a soft ‘thunk.’ “Fine.”

Emil dropped into the nearest chair and propped his chin on his fist like an eager schoolboy. Rogue pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Alright, look. When you have powers that don’t let you touch, it generates a lot of… speculation on certain aspects of your life. Got it?”

Emil’s face turned apologetic, but Rogue held up a hand.

“It’s fine. It’s been that way since I turned fifteen. I don’t like it, but it is what it is. Anyway, a few months back, Remy was teaching everyone about lock picking, and I decided I wanted to learn more specifically, getting out of restraints. Ya know, for missions.”

Henry snorted. “Right, missions.”

Rogue rolled her eyes. “It was for missions! The problem is that the Danger Room wasn’t going to work. Because I know my luck. The second we get started, a bunch of fourteen-year-olds would’ve walked in to find me strapped to a St. Andrew’s Cross by their sex-ed teacher.”

Emil grinned. “This already sounds promising.”

Jean-Luc chuckled. “Go on.”

“The problem is there’s not a lot of privacy at Xavier’s,” Rogue explained. “Just the bathrooms and the bedrooms, and clearly, the bathrooms weren’t gonna work for this.”

Emil was nearly bouncing. “I’m likin’ my odds here.” 

“Shut up.” Rogue glared. “Anyway, we go up to Remy’s room. And obviously, there’s really only one place you can use, which is the bed—shut up, Emil.”

The red-head wheeze-laughed before slumping forward to rest his head on his arms, causing the card table to shake under him. Around the room, the others weren’t doing much better.

“So there I am,” Rogue continued, “struggling with the lockpick. Remy’s leaning against the dresser, being his usual smug self, making some very unhelpful comments—”

“Sounds right.” Mercy giggled.

“—then ‘BAMF’ my brother teleports into the room. Mind you, my brother had never had so much as a one-on-one conversation with Remy at this point, despite all the months he’d been living there. But, apparently, today was gonna be the day.”

Henry whistled. “Oh, merde.”

Theo fell halfway out of his chair. “Your brother walked in to find you tied to a bed with Remy looming over you?!”

Rogue pointed at Remy. “And this asshole, do you think he even tried to explain?”

“Non.” Mercy laughed weakly, fanning her face.

Rogue smacked a hand on the table. “Oh, hell no! He just glances over and goes ‘bonjour mon ami,’” Rogue mimicked Remy’s yat, frowning at the man in question.

Remy smirked and shrugged his shoulders. “Timing’s everything.”

Rogue shot him a glare that could have stripped paint. “Oh, shut up.”

Jean-Luc gasped for breath in his armchair. “And your frere?”

Rogue groaned. “Next thing, I know, he teleports out of the room only to reappear a few seconds later with three swords. I didn’t even know he owned swords until that moment!”

Mercy made a sound like an asthmatic seal.

Theo leaned on his arm for support. “I wish I could’ve seen your brother’s face.”

“Oh, trust me, it was murderous.” Rogue took another sip of wine. “Meanwhile, I’m still tied to the damn bed trying to explain that no, Remy is not torturing me, this is just a training exercise. But by then, Kurt is already reaching for his sword.”

Henri groaned. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.” Rogue sighed. “This idiot just goes, ‘D’accord. Here or on the front lawn?”

Jean-Luc wiped at his eyes. “Bon Dieu, I raised a menace.”

Henri looked at his brother. “Wait.. you wanted to duel him?”

Remy shrugged and picked up a poker chip, weaving it through his fingers. “Would’ve been fun.”

“You almost died,” Rogue gawked.

“I almost won a duel.”

Rogue scrubbed a hand over her eyes. “So, yeah, I ended up having to dive between them to stop my brother from running Remy through. But, hey, at least we know that Guild training techniques work well under pressure because I got those restraints off in under thirty seconds.”

Silence.

Absolute stunned silence.

“I’m sorry,” Emil said slowly. “You think starting with a four-point restraint…on a horizontal surface…is a Guild training technique?”

Emil turned towards his cousin, grinning like the devil. “Oh, you sneaky bastard!”

Rogue blinked. “What?”

Jean-Luc chuckled. “In all my years, I’ve never heard of ‘training’ by tying your femme to a bed and watching her wiggle as you smirk at her.”

Mercy snorted. “Yeah, no one learns like that.”

Rogue slowly turned toward Remy, eyes blazing.

The Swamp Rat was gone.

The cushion still held the faint impression of where he’d been sitting. The poker chip he’d been toying with was still spinning next to his glass, wobbling on its edge before tipping over with a soft ‘clink’.

A breeze slipped through the room.

The French door creaked open just enough to betray the path of a fleeing no-good sneak thief.

Rogue’s eye twitched.

Henry laughed. “Oh, he ran.”

Jean-Luc shook his head, grinning. “Smart boy.”

“Jean-Luc,” Rogue said through gritted teeth, “I swear to God, I’m gonna kill your son.”

Rogue pressed her lips together, glaring at the door, already imagining the death and dismemberment she was going to inflict on that damn Swamp Rat.  If she concentrated hard enough, maybe she could summon him back just to murder him properly.

An arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“Tell ya what, Petite,” Jean-Luc smirked at her. “You marry him first, and then that ’til death do you part’ can be as quick as ya need it t’ be.”

Rogue groaned as she looked around the room, seeing the matching grins on every damn LeBeau. Rogue buried her face in her hands.

Dang Swamp Rats.

They were all in cahoots to drive her crazy.