BENEATH THE SURFACE

Part One

*** This is the third part in the "Derranged Marriage" story trilogy. It should be noted, as with the last two stories, you should expect references to child abuse (as this was a huge part of the storyline). If these things do bother you I'd recommend not reading further as I wouldn't like to think I'd upset anyone, that was never my intention. Also eventually there may be the odd sexual situation or reference to situations (so if you're sensitive to that either, perhaps this might not be for you).

I hope you're all having a wonderful December, and I hope everyone will enjoy this story (which is still currently in progress).

Remy LeBeau stared at his new bedroom feeling a strange sense of defeat. Four walls, a hardwood floor, a pristine white ceiling and a large twelve panelled window. It was simple, there was nothing exceptional, nor fancy about it considering the place was a mansion. The furniture was the kind of replaceable fare that massive stores such as Ikea dealt in, Remy supposed that was deliberate considering the this place probably saw more damage than most schools did. There wasn't going to be an endless supply of antique dressers and fancy rugs when kids with powers ran around this place the way he'd heard they do.

The bed was a single and rather narrow looking disappointment, depressingly thin looking mattress on a wrought iron base, it reminded him of a prison bed from old movies. He thought that probably appropriate, living here in comparison to his old life wasn't going to be all that different, he supposed.

"Is something wrong?" asked Ororo Munro; she stood at his back, the scent of her perfume was crisp and sweet, tones of citrus and vanilla, maybe. It'd have perhaps been a pleasant scent any other day, but on the tail end of his rather persistent hangover, it was sickly. Her voice was like honey, thick and strangely melodic; there was something soothing about it, when she spoke, he almost felt himself fall into a haze.

"No," he replied quietly, trying to focus. Today he didn't have the attention to deal with a new place, it was a struggle even to listen without somehow tuning out. It felt like all his concentration was being spent just on breathing rhythmically enough to keep himself from being sick; he'd felt that way since the tail end of the plane ride. "Jus' wonderin' where the outlet is t' plug in my phone," he lied.

"Oh," said Ororo, she moved in front of him, "right here, behind the nightstand," she tapped a long well-manicured fingernail against the plainly painted pale beige coloured wall. "The room is a little bare at the moment, this room was just recently redecorated," she explained, she moved to open the window; the warm late Bayville summer breeze spilled in.

"Yeah, I can still smell the paint," Remy replied; it was one of the first things he'd noticed when he'd entered a moment ago. He supposed it would be impolite to mention he'd wanted to paint his room something other than somewhere between beige and magnolia. Holding his tongue, he moved over to the bed and stared down at it. He wondered if this bed – which judging by the slight flaking beneath what was clearly a new coat of black metal paint was absolutely second-hand – had ever seen any kind of action other than a good night's sleep.

Ororo turned to him, she seemed to study him for a moment, "you seem a little disappointed."

"I'm used t' sleepin' in a double bed is all," Remy replied, "I sleep corner t' corner...toss and turn a lot...kind of hard t' do that in a bed this small."

"I am sorry," Ororo forced a smile, although he could tell she wasn't impressed by his complaint so soon in arriving. "This bed was the only available bed we had in storage. Furniture tends to get...damaged...in this house regularly."

"I gathered that," Remy responded quitely.

"We thought this would be adequate enough for now until something could be arranged."

"Would I be able t' replace it myself?" he asked, he sat down on it, the thing was a little creaky. He had the feeling that any sneaky activity under the blankets (whether with someone or solo) would make the bed squeak and clang. Maybe that was the point, maybe it was to prevent the want to do things. Not the ideal for a newly married man, he realised and he wouldn't have been surprised if Logan had it sent to the room to make sure there would be no hanky panky.

"You would need to take that up with the Professor, but I shouldn't see it being a problem," Ororo replied, she looked at her watch. "I am afraid I have somewhere to be very shortly and you would probably like to familiarise yourself with your room and unpack."

"Yeah," Remy quietly responded. Unpack what? The all of five outfits I got and two pairs of shoes and a pair of flipflops? I could probably empty the entire contents out int' one drawer.

"I've left you a print out of the floor plans for the mansion, you should be able to find your way around easily enough. Any rooms that are highlighted in red on the print out are off limits – bedrooms are absolutely off limits," Ororo opened the drawer to the small nightstand and pulled out the print out, she held it out to him.

"Thanks," Remy said, he gazed at the print out (or rather the four sheets of it). There were a lot of rooms that were highlighted in red. Nearly all of the upstairs rooms were off limits, other than rooms marked 'M-BR'. "What's an M-BR?"

"Men's bathroom," Ororo said, hovering at the door, "When using the bathrooms, please try to be as tidy as you can, they are communal. And when it comes to mornings, the bathrooms do get rather busy."

"First come, first served, I guess," Remy supposed.

"I'll have some towels brought up for you that you should keep as your personal towels, but if you need a towel in the mean time there are some in a closet across the hall. You'll also find clean sheets and blankets in there."

"Why ever woul' I need to know where the blankets and sheets are kept, Storm?" he asked smartly. He understood perfectly why she would have to of course. Night time accidents were probably bound to happen in this place, perhaps some even might not be so accidental.

"For when you participate in chores," Ororo said quickly, her cheeks didn't even blush, which he thought pity. It might have briefly amused him. He wondered if she'd been prepared for that kind of suggestion to be made. In a house full of teenagers, he supposed she'd have to be.

"I...guess I should have expected that," Remy grimaced.

"There's a rota, you'll be added to it soon."

"Fair enough, I suppose if I'm gon' live here rent free I'm gon' be expected t' contribute."

"Everyone contributes. Logan likes to consider it a discipline," Ororo smirked just a little, her eyes – so unbelievably blue – twinkled just a little.

Remy found himself pondering what other disciplines Logan liked the students here to practise. He almost thought to make a snarky comment about such things but decided against it feeling Ororo would not appreciate or either miss the comment intention entirely. He wasn't going to waste his breath.

"When you've finished unpacking and feel settled...please feel free look around. Try to acquaint yourself with the hallways as best you can and try to memorise where the exits and the fire extinguishers are...they're needed far more than you'd realise. You'll find the quickest exit is a back stairwell hidden in a panel on the wall at the end of the hall on your left side as you leave. Your nearest fire extinguisher – which I hope you will never have reason to use – is across the hall. All bathrooms contain a small medical kit and there is a large medical cabinet in the double closet down the hall, but for any injury you should immediately go to the medical bay which you will find in the basement area."

Remy had almost expected a tour rather than the idea of being left to his own devices to find these things. In fact, he'd expected a slightly bigger welcome than this. The place was strangely quieter than he'd anticipated and somehow the absence of welcoming people made his apprehensions about coming here at all seem slightly foolish. Ororo had been the only person to welcome him, which was almost disappointing oddly enough. He hadn't even been there two minutes and she'd decided he needed to be shown to his new room, something which Logan had highly encouraged and something that Rogue had not fought on his side to prevent. It had felt less like a welcome and more like being dismissed.

"It's...real quiet here. Quieter than I thought," Remy admitted, more of a thought to himself than making conversation with Ororo.

"For now," Ororo agreed, "many of the students are on leave to visit their families over summer vacation. They'll be back in a few weeks, then you will find the institute far from quiet."

He wondered how many already knew he was going to be joining the team. Would his appearance be a shock to the others? He assumed it would, he certainly still felt shocked at his own being here.

"Where can I find Rogue?" Remy asked. It'd barely been fifteen minutes since he'd saw her, but already, the distance between them felt somewhat excruciating.

"I'm not sure at this moment," Ororo paused at the door, "I'm sure you will see her at dinner."

Dinner was hours away, the thought of having to wait until then in a place he didn't know with these strangers didn't sit well with him.

"There is a list of rules also in that drawer," Ororo said, hand poised on the door handle, "I suggest you read it and make yourself familiar with them. If you need help with anything, there's a communicator in there too. Channel one should get you through to an instructor."

Remy opened the drawer, he'd expected the rules to be on a few printed sheets, instead it was on a small notebook, practically a novella. He picked up the communicator and examined it in his hand.

"Is there anything you need to ask before I leave?" Ororo queried, she brushed her long white hair from her shoulder.

"Yeah...when does trainin' start," Remy replied, looking up at her hopefully. Training was the only thing right now he was actually looking forward to about living here. He'd heard the X-Men trained like no others, both from Rogue and Magneto.

"You won't be training for a while," Ororo said, she had paused again, he wondered why there was so much hesitance with her. "You'll need to learn about the Danger Room first, and Logan will want to assess your skill before even putting you in there with others."

"Joy," Remy muttered miserably. It had been bad enough spending seven hours in a jet with the man (especially when there was a strange diluted smell of urine about him which was inexplicable). The thought of him being in charge of his clearance to train was utterly disappointing.

"Logan is a wonderful instructor, Gambit," she looked down at him. Remy wondered right then as she had her eyes on him just how much she knew about him, how much had Logan and Rogue been divulging about his secrets and his troubles? The thought left him uneasy, he didn't like the idea of people knowing his darkest shames, and he didn't like the idea of their pity either.

"Yeah," Remy stood up and moved towards the window, "I've...heard."

Ororo gave a little smile, "make yourself at home. Dinner is at six. Welcome to the institute."

And like that, the woman was gone. No grand tour of the sub-basements, no private welcome from the Professor, no joyful welcome party. An anti-climatic end to his arrival with no fuss made. He supposed that wasn't what he'd expected. If he were honest with himself, he wasn't sure what he had expected. Just...not something as quiet, nor as strangely lonely as this. He was almost certain if it had been noisier, he'd have been far more comfortable.

Sighing, he kicked off his sneakers and lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Well, here y' are, Remy, he thought to himself. Welcome t' the institute.

Rogue shifted uncomfortably on the couch of the Professor's private study. The Professor was speaking over the phone at his desk – in impeccable French – with the owners of the Villa that they had just left back in St. Tropez. Remy had been hungover still when they had left – Logan had been in a hurry to get back, already having taken far more time from Bayville than he'd intended to. It had struck them all later that they probably should have left some money to deal with any damage and cleaning. Just before they had parted company in the hangar, Logan had gotten the information from him before passing him over to Ororo and promised to have it dealt with.

It was funny, Rogue thought after everything else going on in Remy's life, that the mess of the bedroom in the villa would have been the least of his worries. Especially when they'd never have a way of tracing him back to the states.

"Are they mad?" Rogue asked quietly to Logan who was standing by; his sensitive hearing was sure to pick up the voice on the other end of the line.

"Sound it," Logan said, "I ain't that good with French, especially not spoken at that speed...woman sounds upset...like someone pissed in her hush puppies. And then left a dump in the right one for good measure."

Rogue may have laughed if the whole situation hadn't felt so serious and depressing. There was nothing funny about the situation, nothing funny about what had caused it, and she was certain that Logan meant no jest by what he'd said either. His tone was far too serious and grouchy for that.

The Professor jotted something down on a piece of paper in front of him, most of the time he was only responding to things with "oui...oui..." and nodding, although no one on the end of the phone was going to be able to tell which Rogue found a little foolish and slightly unsettling.

Rogue supposed she couldn't blame the owners of the villa for being annoyed; the second bedroom in the villa had been practically ruined with vomit. The bed sheets, the wall, the floor. The place would be reeking of it for weeks. They'd probably have to replace those sheets. Probably have to paint the walls...get a new rug.

Ah'm never drinkin' again, Rogue thought dully as she picked at a loose thread on the tip of her gloved finger. The sight of Remy in that mess had turned her off of the idea of ever drinking. She'd rather die than be in that kind of a state. Rather die than have those she cared about see her in such a mess.

The Professor finally hung up, after seeming to make a promise that the damages would be paid for. After a moment, he rubbed his left temple and sighed, "those people are..." he paused, trying to find the right words.

"Assholes?" Logan asked, he had an unlit cigar between his teeth, he was leaning against the wall by the window, looking outside. Rogue was surprised he'd even used that language in front of her and the Professor simultaneously. It wasn't like him.

"Over-reactive...I was going to say over-reactive," the Professor cleared his throat, giving Logan a rather warning look.

"To be fair," Logan cleared his throat a little, "you didn't see what Gumbo left behind...it was like a scene from the exorcist, Charles. I'm not really surprised they're mad. I got a pretty strong stomach, and even I felt sickened."

"What's the damage?" Rogue asked quietly, "is it bad?"

The Professor held up the piece of paper to Logan only, well out of Rogue's sight.

Logan eyed it up and then gave a laugh, "That's what they want paid for the damages? For puke?"

Rogue blinked, "what is it?" she leaned forward to try and get a look at the balance.

"Never mind," the Professor folded the piece of paper away quickly and deposited it in a drawer. "I'll have it dealt with swiftly following this discussion."

"You're not actually going to pay that?" Logan snorted, "My last car wasn't that much."

"The mattress they have to replace was an expensive memory foam one...the vomit has stained it and cannot come out."

"Oh come on," Rogue groaned, "there were mattress protectors on that bed, Ah saw it myself when Ah went in to make the bed one mornin'."

"The wall apparently also needs repainted, and there was something about vomit on an expensive hand-woven rug. The sheets that were ruined were rather expensive Egyptian cotton...very high thread count. That woman tried to tell me that the thread count was something in the region of two thousand, which I find to be rather an exaggeration...I don't think I've seen anything over a thousand or so," the Professor shook his head in dismay. "I could have misheard or mistranslated, but I don't think I did."

"Still seems extortionate," Logan commented.

"Yes, well, they've also estimated how much money they will lose from not being able to rent the villa out while those repairs are taking place."

"They're just price gougin'," Rogue muttered.

"I don't doubt it," the Professor seemed to agree, "but what's done is done. The damage is there and it must be dealt with by someone."

"Remy will pay for it," Rogue responded.

"I will pay for it," said the Professor calmly, "and no more will be said about it. Let us just put all this unpleasantness behind us, shall we?"

Rogue looked away. She was certain Remy wouldn't be comfortable with the idea of this, he hadn't been all that comfortable with the Professor paying for minor repairs to his house back in Louisiana just so it was presentable to guests at the funeral. She was sure it would be a blow to his pride if the Professor had to pay for the mess he'd left from his worst binge yet.

There was a good moment of silence, the only thing breaking it was the loud ticking of a clock on the cabinet. Rogue felt almost mesmerised listening to it, it lulling her into a strange sense of numbness.

"I'm confused why you felt you couldn't come to us with his drinking problem, Rogue," Professor Xavier said finally. She'd been waiting for it since she'd come into the study a while ago. It had surprised her that he hadn't opened with that kind of a question.

No matter how much she had expected it to be said, it hurt to hear it phrased like that and it didn't matter how long it took for the question to come out, there was never a good time for it to be said, no tact could have made it sound any nicer. Drinking problem...it was like admitting Remy was an alcoholic. She didn't think he was. "Remy doesn't have a drinkin' problem, he-"

"How many nights durin' your vacation did he get drunk?" Logan queried, not giving her time to finish.

Rogue paused, "four...maybe? Ah mean...the night before last he had a few but...he wasn't...you know...drunk."

"You had alcohol on your breath, I noticed it when I arrived," Logan said quietly, his expression was slightly clouded with disappointment. "Didn't mention it at the time, had bigger fish to fry."

"It's not illegal there," Rogue commented coolly. "And this isn't about me," she swallowed hard, she tried to avoid the disappointment in the Professor's eyes. He was rather surprised to learn about this, she supposed he'd assumed she'd know better than to drink while watching someone who had a problem with it themselves. Then again, she supposed she'd thought the same about herself too.

"If you're drinking, then you're not on the ball when he is," Logan reminded, his expression was hard. "You can't pay attention and watch out for him if you're getting wasted too."

"Look...Ah know it was stupid, okay?"

"You don't say," grunted her mentor.

"Ah had to! Ah was drinkin' Remy's drinks...Ah just...wanted to make sure he didn't get drunk that night."

"So you admit he has a problem."

"No! He's not an alcoholic!"

"Maybe you'd just like to believe he ain't," Logan reasoned.

"He's not," she reiterated.

"Perhaps," said the Professor, "but this is something we have to be rather careful about. I'm sure you know why."

Rogue looked away guiltily. This was such a horrible conversation to have with anyone. Especially behind Remy's back. It felt unfair to speak of such things while he wasn't even there to defend himself against such accusations and assumptions.

"We have students to protect, Rogue. I have no issues with letting Gambit stay here, and join the team eventually, but I have to take the situation very seriously if he may be a risk."

"He's not a risk," she almost spat defensively.

"What was it you told me about him beatin' some guy up?" Logan raised an eyebrow.

Rogue instantly regretted she'd told Logan that, she realised it might have been more prudent to keep her mouth shut on such matters. She'd probably only made things more difficult for her fake husband.

He'd have found out anyway, Rogue thought dully. Remy caught a few bruises from that fight in the club...Logan would notice.

"That...that doesn't count-" Rogue tried.

"He has a violent streak," Logan pointed out.

Rogue almost laughed at the absurdity of the statement, "so do you."

"I know how to handle it," Logan reminded.

Again, it was more absurd to hear than before; she'd seen quite a few of Logan's 'close calls' with his rage and it hadn't seemed to her then he knew how to handle it all that well. She thought it rather hypocritical he would pick up on Remy's.

"What happened?" asked the Professor, his expression focused.

"He...Ah guess got mad at this guy. We ran into the guy twice...some skinny jerk from England...made me pour coffee over myself a few days ago...and Remy lost the head at him. Ah thought he was gonna rip the guy's head off for somethin' so stupid, but the guy took off. Then we were in this club...this huge nightclub...and Ah was tryin' to get through the crowd and Ah ran into the same guy...ended up gettin' beer or somethin' all over us both. The guy used some...pretty mean words and...Remy lost it. Ah mean, Ah've seen him get mad at people, but he just lost it..."

"Like I said...a violent streak," Logan pointed out.

The Professor paused for a moment, his expression deep, almost distant, "A violent streak and a drinking problem are two very serious things we must be vigilant about. We have students to protect. We also have to protect him."

Rogue was caught between wanting to argue, thinking it a little cruel of the accusations to a man who wasn't even in the room, and wanting to agree with it because she'd seen those things first hand. She felt a sense of loyalty to Remy (despite he'd discarded her fairly swiftly after using her on the yacht) that she should fight in his corner while at the same time wanting to side with the Professor and Logan because she understood he did need help and did need supervising.

It was going to make things so very hard to deal with, she realised. She was going to have to be two sides of a coin sitting on it's side, spinning between them both. How was that going to be possible? She couldn't balance herself forever never picking a side.

Logan took the unlit cigar from his mouth, "Rogue...we need you to be real straight forward with us," he said, "if there's anythin' we should know..."

"Like what?" she asked, looking between the two. Panic surged through her at the thought they might suspect she'd actually been with Remy in ways that previously they might have never assumed she could have been. How disgusted would they be? How disappointed?

"Like...has he ever been that way towards you?" Logan asked, his voice was firm but there was a delicateness about it, he was being so careful about the way he said it. Despite the care he took to put it delicately, Rogue still heard the way it had been intended. Does he ever smack you around.

She gaped at Logan, she couldn't believe he'd even ask that. Remy may have a temper towards men who he felt had done wrong, but he'd never hurt her that way. The implication of it hurt more than the implication that he might be an alcoholic.

"He...he never," Rogue shook her head in disbelief, "how can you ask that! You know how he is with me..."

"I know how he is," said Logan, "But...when I came out to see you last week you had a broken nose and black eyes..." he reminded.

"Ah told you-"

"I know what you told me, Rogue."

"You know he cares..." Rogue frowned.

"Yeah, I've seen a lot of men in the past who say they care about their wives and girlfriends, kid," Logan sniffed indignantly, "sayin' it before and after givin' em a good smack afterwards for one thing or the other. I want to hear you say that he's never touched you like that."

The Professor looked at Rogue, she felt that critical gaze, thick and heavy, painting her like judgemental tar.

"Like Ah said," Rogue folded her arms stubbornly, "Ah got hit in face with his elbow tryin' to stop a fight between him and his jerk of a brother and it was an accident, Ah got behind him and he caught me in the nose. That's it."

"Promise me that's all he's done," Logan looked at her.

"Ah promise," Rogue nodded. "He'd never hurt me...you know that."

The Professor looked at her, "for the moment, I think it would be wise if you distance yourself from him. I'm aware you're in a relationship and this could be considered cruel or rather awkward but I think it might be for the best."

Rogue looked away, she wasn't sure she'd have to distance herself. Since the yacht, Remy had practically begun distancing himself immediately since the moment he'd withdrawn from her.

"I'm not suggesting you break off your relationship with him by any means. Although I must insist on the annulment of this marriage..."

"Ah don't see why," Rogue admitted, "Ah mean...it's fake so...why annul it?"

Logan and the Professor exchanged another glance; it was Logan who answered. "Lets face it, Rogue...you're not comfortable with the idea...you never were."

Rogue sighed, she hated the idea of admitting she wasn't completely comfortable with the idea. It wasn't that she was against the idea of being married, but being married before even really properly establishing the relationship was rather daunting. They had to build foundations before putting up those kinds of walls and a roof.

"Listen..." Rogue sighed, "Ah've had nothin' but weeks thinkin' about this, can Ah have some time to just get over the vacation before we got to figure this out?"

"If you wish," the Professor supposed, "but with annulment, the sooner the better."

"Ah know that. In the meantime Ah'd rather keep it under wraps...Ah don't want the others knowin'..." Rogue admitted, she hugged herself insecurely, "it's too complicated, they'd never understand."

"Wise for now, but they may learn the truth eventually," the Professor supposed, "if Remy cannot keep a secret."

"Remy can keep a secret."

"Not when he's pushed," Logan reminded.

It was hard not to be resentful at that moment, because if Logan hadn't pushed Remy to admit things he had, the situation might have never gotten worse. If not for Logan's prodding after the funeral, Rogue wondered if she'd have gone on vacation with a completely different Remy LeBeau, one with a completely different mindset.

"That will be all for now, Rogue," the Professor sighed, "you look tired, and I'm sure you'd like to settle back in."

"Actually..." Rogue sighed, "Ah think Ah'm gonna go work out for a lil' bit...feel a little tense right now."

"Good time to get it all out," Logan nodded, "go down, I'll come down a bit, train with you."

Rogue got up slowly from the couch, she still hurt from her encounter with Remy, although it was ebbing away slightly; she wasn't about to let either man know about the pain though and she tried her best to hide it.

She left the office and stood at the door for a moment, rubbing her head. All this stress was giving her a headache. She waited a few minutes, trying to gather her thoughts. It was hard to believe this was all happening. A month ago, her life had been relatively normal for a mutant. Now...everything was upside down.

Just as she was almost about to turn and leave, she heard the muffled voices of Logan and the Professor speaking in the study, and she pressed her ear to the wood to listen, closing her eyes and focusing.

"Is it all as she says it is?" the Professor was asking.

Logan paused, he seemed to pace a little, "I'm not sure she's tellin' us everythin'. Then again, I'm not sure she really knows everythin' either."

"What do you mean?"

"Charles, that boy is a lot more messed up than I figured he was at first. Should have seen it...he was drunk as hell and a wreck. Ready to get behind the wheel of a convertible and drive off quite the thing. Talkin' cryptic about things...what that asshole did left him with a real mistrust of people. Men, specifically."

"I don't blame him, Logan."

"I feel bad for the girl," said Logan after a moment, "she has no idea how bad it is..."

"How bad is it?"

"It's..." Logan paused, then it all went silent. Rogue heard footsteps and she quickly shifted from the door and turned the corner, tiptoeing away. She heard the study door opening, Logan lurking at the doorway but saying nothing. He'd sensed her there or heard her, perhaps smelled the threat of her tears. Rogue turned quickly into the foyer and went upstairs. She wished she hadn't listened in.

Remy sat up as the door as there was a soft knock at his door; he'd almost been close to dropping off, finding the bed strangely comfortable despite it's small size and inadequate mattress. He rubbed his head – which still throbbed a little from the hangover – and gazed towards the door, "yeah...?"

The door opened slowly; he had hoped – and not hoped – for Rogue. Instead, there was the rather grim face of tall Scott Summers standing there, his ruby quartz glasses catching the light coming from the window, making them gleam and almost seem to sparkle strangely.

"Hi," said Scott, looking a little out of place, hovering, "I'm-"

"I know who y' are," Remy said, "Cyclops."

Scott seemed to give a sigh of frustration, "You...can call me Scott. It's preferable out of the field, actually."

"Fair enough," Remy replied, although he didn't correct himself and neither did he offer to allow the boy to call him by his first name. That was a little too familiar for him.

"I...just wanted to welcome you to the institute," Scott said; there was something almost put out about the way the boy stood there. As if he'd rather be somewhere else. Remy wondered if he'd been asked to check on him, asked to welcome him.

Remy said nothing, just eyed him up, trying to determine what it really was about the boy that Rogue had found so fascinating and loveable. He was good looking, certainly, although more in a pretty-boyish and rather grim sort of way. He had the body, the height, the clean cut style, the neat hair. It didn't make sense to Remy that someone like Rogue would fall for someone so...Scott Summers-ish.

"I...was surprised when they said you were coming," Scott said, Remy got the distinct impression the boy was examining the bruises on the left side of his cheek, his jaw and face still felt tight on one side every time he spoke or yawned.

"Who's they?" asked Remy, raising an eyebrow, wondering if Scott was trying to decide how those bruises had been gotten.

"The Professor...Logan. They mentioned it during a meeting a week ago but..I didn't believe it, really. I mean...you're not the first Brotherhood kid we've had show up, but-"

"Lets get one thing straight," Remy stood up slowly after slipping his shoes on and tying them quickly. "I'm not Brotherhood, nor was I ever Brotherhood, I was Acolyte."

Scott tilted his head, "is there much of a difference?"

"As much of a difference 'tween the X-Men and the group of X-Babies y' got here."

"I assume you mean the New Mutants," Scott folded his arms.

"They could do wit' a better team name," Remy supposed.

"X-Babies certainly isn't an inventive one," Scott confessed.

"Appropriate though," Remy moved to the window and gazed outside, it was a beautiful day out there, birds were singing, slight breeze stirring the rose bushes in the gardens. He couldn't fully appreciate right now, he was too up tight to care about anything today. He was too tired and still too hungover to want to care.

"So in your opinion, the Acolytes were major league in comparison."

"You catch on fast," Remy responded rather dully.

"What...made you decide to join?"

Remy turned to look at Scott, eyeing him critically. He wasn't sure what the question referred to, whether it was to what had made him join the Acolytes, or what had made him want to join the X-Men. Either way, he felt slightly defensive in his response, "is this an interview? Am I bein' assessed t' determine whether I get to join the X-Men? Should I be takin' the time to properly consider my answers before givin' any?"

"No...I'm...just making conversation."

"I see."

"I was just curious is all. You never seemed the type to want to join us."

"I joined the Acolytes 'cause the money was good. I come here 'cause everyone else disbanded. Ain' much work out there f' someone like me," Remy remarked, "Not much else t' say. Rogue said this was the place t' be for people like us. It is, ain' it?"

"Of course."

"So here I am," Remy pointed out.

"Fair enough..." Scott seemed troubled by the admission but didn't contest it. "I was asked to give you a tour of the place. I've been here longer than most so..."

Remy glanced towards the floor mirror in the corner, a dark silhouette had caught his eye, right behind himself. He could only see half of it, the angle was too diagonal to see the rest, but Jean-Luc was there all right, lurking at his back. His heart skipped a little, his neck tightened.

He's here...followed me all the way, can't even go t' my room alone but he there, Remy panicked, somehow managing to stay as composed as he could. "Fine. Show me what there is t' see."

It was tedious, following Scott Summers around and listening to the history of the mansion, the history and stories behind of some of the rooms. None of it was interesting – at least not in Remy's own opinion. Remy only cared about where Rogue was, and so far, he'd been in nearly every downstairs room and still not happened upon her. He'd hoped the tour would lead him to her eventually.

In the recreation room Scott was going on about rules about television privileges while Remy glanced around at the various photos on the wall. The X-Men certainly liked their 'family outings', their fun picnics and barbecues from what he could tell. Although they fought and argued (as far as he'd seen during his spying days) he could see in the photographs the smiles, the glimmering eyes, the way they enjoyed each others company. He could see the kind of relationship dynamics just from looking at a group photo, the way arms were around each other, the way cheeks would blush or smiles would be slight or wide. In most of those photos, Rogue was almost always on her own, standing off to the side somewhere.

Remy ran his finger across a large group photo on the wall, them sitting at a long table that looked to be as if it might be at a Pizza hut, half-eaten pizzas, garlic bread and an array of drinks littering the table. There was a little speck of dust on Rogue's face and he swept it away. He saw the look on her face, she looked hurt and he could only feel it was because Scott Summer's arm was around Jean Grey, the two fairly close, their cheeks almost pressed together.

Scott stopped to look at what Remy was observing, "Oh...that was the last time we all went for Pizza..."

Remy thought it odd, that people needed to take photos of themselves at places like Pizza hut...when had eating together become such an important photo worthy event? He'd shared many meals with Rogue now and hadn't ever thought to take a picture of them together. He wondered if perhaps he should...if that would be the norm.

It's the kind of things families do, I suppose, he thought dully. Take photos of borin' shit to look back on..documentin' their relationships.

He tried to remember the last photo that had been taken of himself...not the photos from the wedding in Las Vegas, but a real photo, a candid. Had he ever had a photo taken with Jean-Luc? The thought came out of nowhere and he cringed a little inwardly.

"How well do you know Rogue?" asked Scott, watching Remy brushing the dust away from Rogue's shape in the photo, which was in the far corner, furthest away from the others.

She's my wife. I took her virginity, he was tempted to say, just to annoy the young man, just to torment him. He was almost certain that Scott had feelings for Rogue that had just never been requited. The boy may be unbelievably in love with Jean Grey, that was certain, but his head could always be turned, especially if he discovered that there was a work around Rogue's powers.

Don't give it away, Rogue is already pissed with me enough, I don't need this drama right now, Remy reminded himself dully. Jus' play nice like she asked, after yesterday...whatever I did...best t' play along wit' whatever she ask of me...even if that includes bein' civil with one-eye.

"Well enough," he replied, feeling the answer to be neutral, neither confirming anything nor denying anything. Rogue couldn't ask for fairer than that.

"You spent...what...three weeks with her? You must know her about as well as we do by now," Scott supposed.

Remy took his hand away from the photo of Rogue, he for one moment almost imagined perhaps Jean-Luc might appear there too in that photo. He took his eyes away from it. "Still waters run deep," he said quietly.

"Oh?" Scott replied.

Turning to look at the boy, Remy examined the expression as best he could, it was hard to tell without seeing someone's eyes. "Rogue is Rogue, what else can I say?" he corrected himself, he tried not to be too obvious about it.

"Yeah...Rogue is Rogue," supposed Scott.

"Y' used t' have a thing for her, didn't y'?" Remy eyed him.

Scott looked momentarily confused, "hmm?"

"You...y' used t' spend a lot of time with Rogue," Remy said, he held his tongue from adding before y' decided y' liked red bush much better.

"Rogue is my friend..." Scott turned away for a moment, seeming to be distracted or rather, in Remy's opinion, feigning distraction to seem rather innocent.

"Never anythin' more?" Remy asked, trying not to sound too interested.

"It's..." Scott faltered.

"Complicated?" Remy raised an eyebrow.

"No...not complicated. Rogue is my friend. Simple as that. Why?"

"Y' used t' spend a lot of time with her is all," Remy shrugged, "Before y' start goin' with the redhead, anyways."

"Oh..." Scott mouthed the word.

"Always figured you and Rogue would end up t' gether."

Scott looked at him curiously – at least Remy read it as curiously...it was so hard to tell with those eyes hidden. "Why are you so interested in my friendship with Rogue?"

"Not interested," Remy remarked, "Jus' curious, is all. Jus' tryin' t' establish what's what, here, who's who...who's wit' who. After all, wouldn' wan' be accused of tryin' t' hit on anyone's girl or anything."

"I wouldn't suggest you hit on anyone, Gambit. This is a school...not a singles bar."

Remy shrugged and looked away, he picked up another photo from the cabinet by the wall, examining it, it was off the New Mutants. He couldn't remember half of their names, and vaguely only remember half of their gifts.

"Besides," Scott said, "Looks like you're already attached."

Remy blinked, "Pardon?" he turned to look at Scott strangely. Had Rogue mentioned something to him already? Had he overheard something being said?

"That's a wedding ring, isn't it?"

Remy dropped his eyes to his left hand, true enough he had forgotten to take off his wedding ring. It hadn't occurred to him to remove it and he supposed even if he did try to remove it now, there would most likely be a white band on his skin cutting through his deep tan. "This?" he asked, "It's jus' a plain ol' ring I found in New York a while ago...decided t' keep it. Only finger it fit on, really. Brought me a bit of luck when I went t' Vegas."

"You hit the jackpot?"

"Could say that," Remy supposed. Yes, he supposed the biggest Jackpot he could have ever left Las Vegas with had been his wife. "Ring don' come off now," he said, "It's my lucky charm."

"You don't think it's going to cramp your style?" Scott seemed almost bemused.

Remy gazed down at the ring thoughtfully, "got lucky wit' a married woman while I was wearin' it, so don' seem t' affect much."

"Okay then," Scott didn't seem to know how to take the comment. "Come, let me show you the rest of the mansion."

Remy followed Scott through the rest of the halls, feeling barely tolerant of being in his company. He wasn't sure if it was because of his previous ties to Rogue, or simply because he wasn't in the mood and still feeling quite hungover. And then there was Jean-Luc...more than once he was almost certain he sensed the presence of his adoptive father lurking at his back, and he was determined to not look over to check; the less he saw of the bastard, the better.

The tour was concluding in the basement floor of the mansion, which to Remy's disappointment, wasn't one of the Sub-basements, which despite his reluctance to really be on a tour at all, he felt almost enthusiastic to see merely because of the things he'd heard about the rooms hidden far underground. "When am I gon' see the base?" Remy asked, walking at Scott's side, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"The base?" Scott turned and looked at him critically, "You mean the sub-basements?"

"Whatever y' call the secret hideout," Remy shrugged, Scott had led him into a rather large laundry room, two washing machines were on a spin cycle, the other three empty. Remy felt slightly befuddled why Scott would feel a laundry room to be an interesting place to tour.

"You don't have clearance to be down there yet," Scott replied, the way he put it seemed rather simple, as if it should have been obvious.

"Clearance? Y' all actin' like this the FBI or CIA or somethin'..."

"It's like you said, it's a base...and there's a lot of things down there that you have to have clearance to see."

"In other words, y' don' trust me," Remy leaned casually upon an ironing board.

"I don't have an opinion on the subject," Scott replied.

"And...if y' did?" Remy dared to ask.

"Even if I did...I'm not the one in charge..."

"Thought y' were a team leader," Remy contested, feeling a little miffed by the evasion of a proper answer.

"I am, but it doesn't give me authority to dictate who gets to go where. That's the Professor's decision. And right now, he's stipulated that he wants you on the mansion floors only."

"That's it?"

"I wouldn't take it too personally," Scott advised, "it's the rules with all of us."

"How long for?"

"I don't know," Scott replied truthfully.

"How am I gon' train if I don't get t' go down there?"

"You'll be chaperoned when the time comes. But you won't get the clearance codes, you won't be authorised to go alone."

I guess when y' a thief and known t' work wit' the enemy, y' shouldn't be surprised when people don' trust y', Remy tried to see it logically, tried to push away the slight unsaid accusation of mistrust that seemed to be implied. I probably could jus' find a way t' get down there myself, find out all the codes. How much shit would that get me int' wit' them? I suppose I should jus' play nice like Rogue wants though.

Thinking of Rogue only made him wonder why Rogue wasn't the one showing him around his new home. It seemed wrong, and he felt so oddly abandoned thinking of it.

"Okay, so," Scott patted a washing machine, "Laundry room, you'll need to know how to use this stuff. Straight forward, most washers have a standard set wash, the instructions are printed on the wall here..." Scott gestured to a laminated instruction leaflet hanging from the wall, "You probably already how to do a laundry, most likely I don't need to stand here and give you a tutorial."

"Y' all do your own laundry then?" Remy raised an eyebrow. He'd almost thought perhaps that a place this size might have cleaning staff. He wondered if this was where child labour was put into play.

"Yes," Scott replied.

"I see."

"How do you get your laundry done? Your mom?" Scott scoffed.

Remy frowned, "I ain' got any parents," he admitted, he almost wished he hadn't – the less anyone knew about him the better - but he couldn't resist the urge to embarrass the boy.

Scott's cheeks seemed to flush, his expression shifted to guiltily, "sorry, I know how that goe-"

"Room service," Remy interrupted, he merely had wanted to embarrass the guy, he didn't need nor want his sympathy. "Hotels...get the staff t' do it f' me."

"I...see," Scott sighed, "Well...you'll do your own here...plus when it's your turn on the chore rota, you'll need to do bedding and towels."

Remy wondered if he'd be able to pay off someone to do his for him. He wasn't above chores but he hated laundry, he usually always ruined something, whether it be his jeans getting shrunk, his t-shirts getting dyed or ruined or his socks going missing. That was why he almost always got hotel staff or dry cleaners to do his laundry for him when he could. "I always assumed y' had maids t' do this shit."

"You mean to say you spied on us all that time and it didn't occur to you that you never saw staff enter the house?"

"Could have had live in staff," Remy shrugged.

"No. We don't have staff here, it's too complicated, too...well, you know how it goes. So many secrets, too much could be passed along, could get us into a lot of trouble. Besides, I don't think a lot of staff could handle this place," Scott chuckled as turned the light off in the laundry room as they left, "try to turn lights off when you leave rooms, this place costs a fortune to power and the Professor is trying to be environmentally friendly, everything is energy saving here...but don't leave lights burning if no one is in there..." he led the way down a long narrow hall, "last room on this floor...dojo..." he pushed the door open, the lights were on inside and there was the sounds of a woman's grunting. "Oh...sorry, didn't know anyone was in here..."

Remy peered over Scott's shoulder, Rogue and Logan were within, sparring. Rogue looking lithe and toned in yoga pants and a tank top over some kind of mesh body-stocking. The way she looked caused his blood to rise just a little, his heart to throb. It almost felt like an eternity already since he'd seen her last. He sighed inwardly.

Yeah, that's why she ain' showin' y' around, Remy, he thought at himself bitterly. She wanted t' get back t' trainin' with Wolverine. Couldn' wait.

Rogue stopped what she was doing, turning to look at the intrusion. Remy took the briefest moment to examine the flush in her cheeks from the exercise, the way the sweat made her shine. He moved his eyes swiftly from her, not wanting to make eye contact. Being so close to her right now was excruciating. Part of him wanted to reach out and touch her merely for the sake of it, the other part of him shuddered at the thought in case Jean-Luc should crop up once again.

Logan swept sweat from his brow, his muscles (exposed by a rather tight tank top) gleamed under the harsh strip lighting, every bulge glistened, hard and defined, veins popping, chest hair pushing it's way out of his collar. Remy found himself thinking perhaps it was no surprise Rogue admired the man so much...in addition to that rather cold demeanour, the gruff voice, the steely eyes, he was rugged, rough round the edges and burly, a good centre of gravity about him and the way he moved, everything about his appearance alone and his confidence probably made him irresistible to some of these girls.

"It's okay," Rogue said, her voice was thick and tired, she sounded frustrated as she picked up her towel from where it had hung on a nearby beam, and wiped her neck with it. Remy noticed she wasn't looking at him, noticed that she seemed to flush far pinker at his presence. He drew his eyes from her, feeling that tightness in his chest again, the thick fog of Jean-Luc's presence seemed to close around him.

She can't look at me much either right now, guess she's still pissed off wit' me.

"I was just showing Gambit the layout," Scott explained, he stepped further in.

Logan eyed Remy and Remy eyed right back, neither said anything. There was an awkwardness for a moment, Remy decided to break the silence, fake his way through this like he did everything else.

"When do I start trainin'?" Remy asked Logan, wanting to get straight to the point rather than work his way around asking.

"Not yet," Logan replied.

"Why?"

"You're not ready."

"Says who?"

"Me," Logan snorted, "You've got a few injuries you'll need to rest up."

"My face?" Remy touched his cheek with his left hand absently, "It's fine..."

"Your hand," gestured Logan, he grabbed a hold of Remy's wrist roughly and held it up, "it's swollen. When did you do that? It wasn't like this yesterday."

"Trapped it in a door," Remy lied, he straightened up a little, and tried not to yank his hand away too quickly for fear of showing his aversion to letting the guy touch him, "caught it in the door before we left."

"Why didn't you say?"

"It didn' hurt. Doesn't hurt now."

Rogue's eyes were right on him now, he could see the look of doubt from his peripheral vision but she didn't fight him on it, he wasn't sure if it was in attempt to seem less concerned about it to hide her feelings, or simply because she didn't want to try and bring up the reasoning behind the injury.

"You can move it?" Logan asked, he pressed his fingers lightly on the hand, Remy flinched back and then tried to pretend that it was more to do with frustration rather than anxiety and pain.

"Yes," Remy held his hand within his open left. "It's jus' swollen is all."

"Looks like it hurts to me," Logan decided. "Scott, maybe you should take him to see Hank...get that checked out," Logan suggested.

"Sure, I still have to show him where the medical bay is anyway," Scott supposed.

"I'm fine, Jesus, it's a lil' swellin', not anythin' to worry about."

"All the same...you need to have that checked," Logan said, "You can't train and spar with an injured hand. It your dominant hand?"

Remy looked away, shaking his head inwardly at the disgust of the fuss being made.

"He's right handed," Rogue spoke up, it was too quickly that she said it, and far too knowingly. She quickly elaborated, "when he swings with his bo-staff, it's usually from the right."

Remy flicked his eyes to her briefly, it hurt to look. He could still sense her anger with him over his getting drunk again, over the mess he'd made of the room, over his being ill with a severe hangover. He could also sense her anger in his inability to connect with her right now after what had happened on the yacht. He wondered when they were going to be able to talk it out privately.

Even if we do get time...how am I supposed t' explain it? He wondered. I can't tell her about Jean-Luc, if I did, that'd be it for us...she'd never look at me the same again.

"Yeah, you're not training until that's checked and healed," Logan said, "if there's any fractures there, you're likely just going to break something; you'll be out of commission longer."

"A broken hand wouldn' stop me from-"

"Yes, it would," Logan interrupted, Remy disliked the way he was so interruptive and commanding on everything. He wasn't sure he was going to be able to stand that kind of attitude on a near daily basis.

"We don't put injured people out in the field," Scott spoke up, "come on, let me show you where the medical bay is."

Remy tried to give Rogue a meaningful look, hoping she'd fight for him that he didn't need help with the hand. It hurt to look at her still, he just couldn't do it and even though he tried he could tell Rogue wasn't even looking at him. She wasn't about to fight in his corner right now.

Yeah, I guess I deserve that, he supposed. He realised there was probably no guessing about it.

End of Part One

I hope you all enjoyed the first part and I hope you're all having a nice weekend.