Lips Like Morphine

Sorry about the delay in chapter postings, I like to research a subject before writing about it to give it some depth. You may be aware the X-men history is a long, involved process. I didn't realize there was so much - seeming - disorganization of the X-men universe, but I suppose it's because of all the different writers they had for the series. I don't know if I like all the alternate reality craziness I read about, but since I haven't actually kept up with it over the years, so I don't really feel that I have the right to criticize. Anywho, for any of you out there who wish to know more about what I'm rambling on about, I suggest reading from this site:

(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xmen)

It has pretty much something on everything even remotely related to X-men. I found it very not just interesting and inspiring, but very helpful in finding out whose-who and who has what power or who like peanut butter...whatever you need to know about a character, they seemed to have it. Oh yeah, Wikipedia rocks...

About those reviews....anything would be appreciated. I like getting suggestions, (even if I don’t use them) random comments, challenges, ANYTHING! Also, they give me the incentive to write faster, since if left up to my lonesome I’d prolly just take my time. If I feel like I’m on a time line then I tend to put more effort into completing it quicker. Call me crazy.

Refresh often!

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Rogue, grumbling to herself, belted her fuzzy robe as she made her way down to the kitchen for coffee and breakfast. The sound of thumping feet as they ran past her door had awoken her much too early, in her opinion, and she hadn’t been able to return to sleep after that so had grudgingly climbed out of bed. She squinted at the sunlight from the open window above the sink, and set about banging things around to broadcast her general displeasure with mornings. Catching her hip on an unclosed drawer, she swore and nearly dropped the milk she had retrieved from the fridge, slamming the drawer and taking grim satisfaction that the silverware inside was now probably a mess.

Reaching for her favorite mug from the cabinet, she was surprised to find it missing. She checked all inside, and in the sink, but was still unable to find it. Incensed, she snatched a random one from the shelf and angrily scooped sugar and creamer into it and then mixed in equal parts milk with the steaming coffee. Taking a sip, she was somewhat mollified by the warm liquid warming its way into her tummy. Sighing loudly, she turned and promptly stubbed her toe and spilled hot coffee all over her bare hand.

“This just ain’t my day,” she fumed, wiping her hand on her robe, and leaning on one foot to wait for the throbbing to subside. After a moment, she continued on her way to the dining room and to the welcoming aroma of breakfast, carefully watching her footing and the cup in her hand to avoid anymore bad karma.

Upon making it into the room, she relaxed and took another large drink and looked up to see who she’d be joining at the table. Her eyes widened, and the coffee in her mouth was redirected to her wind-pipe, from whence her body violently rejected.

Gambit had looked up the first time Rogue had ambled by, not even looking up at anyone in the dining room, and had smiled at her when she reappeared. He regarded her curiously as the girl began chocking and sputtering. He watched as she glared at him, trying to yell and yet unable to due to her chocking.

Finally she was able to manage a few words. “What the- *cough* the fuck *cough, cough* is HE doin’ here!” Her eyes watering, she slammed her cup down on the table, sloshing most of its contents onto the table and a little on Kitty, and looked around accusingly.

“Said you’d be seeing me around more,” Remy said, then took a bite of sausage speared on his fork.

“Here, Rogue,” Kitty said quickly, eyes darting from her friend's heated gaze to Remy's oblivious one, and pulled out the chair next to her. “Why don’t you, like, sit down?”

“The professor’s lettin’ him stay,” Wolverine answered upon entering the room with his own steaming cup of coffee. The older man took up a plate, helped himself to some eggs and bacon, then took a set at the head of the table. “Guess we’ll just have to wait till Monday for that little DR session, bub. The professor seems to think you need time to ‘settle in’ a bit.”

“But why?” Rogue demanded again, still not sitting down at Kitty's insistance.

“This Cajun is turning over a new leaf, chere,” Gambit said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Same as what I told you last night." Rogue just looked plain mutinous, as she searched back and forth between the red-eyed mutant's face and Logan's, hoping it would turn out to just be some kind of sick joke. But when Logan nodded grudgingly, she knew she had no such luck....and then she spied her favorite coffee mug.

“Aren’t you hungry, Rogue?” Kitty asked hopefully from her elbow, hoping to stave off her friend’s anger. Rogue barely noted what was asked her, and instead focused on the mug in Remy’s hand as he raised it to his lips and took a long drink from it.

“No thanks, Kit-kat, I’ve lost my appetite,” She stated, turned, and stomped away from the table. It just so happened that at that same moment Kurt chose to show up for breakfast, and he collided with his adopted sister.

“Sorry, sis!” The German teen apologized, steadying Rogue as she fanned the smoke out of her face.

“It’s okay...this mornin’ just keeps gettin’ better and better,” she fumed, and shoved past Kurt and continued on up the stairs.
Puzzeled, Kurt watched her go. Scratching his head, he spied the empty seat next to Kitty and seized upon it. As he helped himself to food lain out, he casually glanced around the table at his fellow housemates.

“So what was she so upset about?” He asked Kitty, salting his eggs and shoving a whole one into his mouth.

“Uh, well...” The girl started, her eyes darting to Remy seated a few chairs down. Kurt missed her look and continued to shovel food into his mouth.

“Well, what is it, Kaetzchen?” He finally looked up as Logan cleared his throat. That’s when he noticed all the tension in the room, and searched the faces of his comrades.

“Bonjour, mon ami,” Remy saluted him over his coffee. He watched as Kurt’s fork dropped, and thought to himself, “A long day indeed...”

***

Hours later in the day, Remy found himself outside in the gazebo secluded behind the overwhelming mansion. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lips as he sat deep in thought. Rogue’s question was still ringing in his ears, just as it had been since breakfast that morning, and he was now going over just why he *was* there invading their peaceful lives. Soon he lost himself in the memory:

Remy glanced at the scrap of paper in his hands, squinting to make out the directions scribbled near-illegibly across it. Slowing the motorcycle on which he rode, he turned at a fork and continued off the blacktop onto a narrow dirt road. The road reached far back into the swampy wood, and in several places the water threatened to wash away the rocky roadway. After several moments of traveling, he spied a dwelling not too far off. It was a crude establishment, with no signs of modernity such as electricity. He stopped his bike a small distance away and killed the engine. Out of the corner of his eyes he caught movement on the porch, and looking up he saw an old black woman sweeping the porch. The hag eyed him suspiciously as he moved to stand before her. He raised the sunglasses from his face to answer her obvious question.

“Ah,” she smiled then, a knobby, toothless grin, and cackled. “I was wonderin’ when you would be a showin’ up, Le Diablo Blanc (1).”

He flinched a bit at the name, but otherwise maintained his cool composure. Still cackling, the woman waved him onto the porch and toward an old wooden bench in the shaded corner. As she disappeared into the house, he removed his trench coat and sunglasses and casually draped them over his lap. Idly, he pulled a pack of cards from his pocket and shuffled it in a way only those closest to him would recognize as a sign of unease.

Presently, the woman returned with a pitcher of lemonade and two cups. She took a seat opposite him and poured herself a cup, then filled the other. “Now lets get down t’ this business. No sense in wasting what little time we have.”

He took the cup she offered him and drank deeply, suppressing a grimace as the tart liquid stung his dry lips and throat.

“What is it exactly you think I can tell you?” She asked him sharply, setting her glass down and laying her hands palms-up in her lap. Studying him closely, she answered herself. “Ah, you think you want to know things of your past. Sorry, boy, but I deal only with things of the future. However, I see there is much confusion in your head...you think you have achieved something, something you were born for, but I’m afraid you are mistaken.”

“But there is peace, now,” He argued. “Julien’s death and my exile has fulfilled that part of your prophecy, at least.”

“Oh, has it now, you think? You think it all that easy? You ain’t done yet, boy,” she cackled. “This truce is but a farce...a house a’cards just a’waitin to come tumblin’ down... No my boy, you ain’t done yet...not by a long shot.”

Angrily he stood and began pacing. It was a show of emotion he would not have shown in front of anyone else, but somehow he knew this woman could not be fooled by any of his trickeries, and as such he didn’t feel like hiding his frustration at the moment. So it was all for naught, his silent suffering...and the saving of his father...everything had been in vain. But she wasn’t telling him everything...there was one key she was willing to hand him, and he knew it. He stopped in his tracks and looked into her deviously smiling face.

“What would you have me do?”

She stood slowly, and took a broom from behind her chair and began sweeping the porch again. Thinking he misjudged something in her demeanor, he downed the remains of his drink and then stood and placed the glass on the wooden bench. She was still sweeping the porch when he snatching up his glasses and coat, then turned and made his way down the steps out to his motorcycle. He was just slipping his leg over his bike when next she spoke.

“You are only the catalyst, boy! The real anser lies in the t’ most powerful thief in the world,” She called out to him. “Only with her help can you find a way to bring peace. Tame her, and you will have all the power you will ever need.” And with that, the madwoman went back to her sweeping, pausing only to wipe her brow with her apron.

Remy, being born in the supernatural center of the world, knew the rules of predictions were clear: give nothing away but the barest of hints. The outcome balanced delicately on the edge of a fine blade...move too quickly and one could throw the whole thing in limbo, but fail to move quickly enough... Remy shuddered at the depth of the it all, then kicked his bike to life and sped away, not even bothering to look back......

Remy returned to the present when he saw a troop of laughing Jamie’s rush by, being closely tailed by a very water-drenched Rahne in dog form. The teen boys were holding what looked like arm fulls of water balloons, all of which were popped when one of the Jamies tripped, causing them all to fall in a tangled mass of arms and legs. Rahn was laughing so hard she got stuck in mid-transformation.

Remy grinned, but otherwise remained hidden as the young girl helped her friend to his feet. He pulled out his lighter after they had ambled off, still laughing, and lit the cigarette, inhaling the sweet cinnamon and clove smoke. It was so nice here, he hated himself for wanted to mess it up with his own war. The peace of his home had nothing to do with these people, but once again he knew he’d have to use someone to get what needed to be done. Break a promise to someone else just to fulfill another. What kind of man had he become?

Feeling no better than his “father,” he stubbed the black-papered cigarette (2) out on his boot heel and leaned back against the cool cement. All the while trying to get the image of a smokey-eyed dancer out of his head.

***


Rogue paced back and forth in her room. The blaring music did little to distract her warring thoughts, but occasionally when she stopped to stare sulkily at her image in the mirror her foot tapped along with the beat. After the disastrous breakfast she had stormed back up to her room, slammed the door, and had commenced her pacing. Tucked into the crease of the mirror atop her dresser was a playing card, mocking her, she thought through narrowed eyes.

“I’m being retarded....” she groused to no one in particular. Sighing deeply, she plopped down on the small seat in front of her vanity and began smearing on her make-up. After applying her heavy foundation and powder, she stopped and rested her head on her hand. As her stereo paused before the next track, her eyes found the reflection of the card. The soft sway of the song seemed to match her sudden change of mood.

Remy was back.

As Rogue began applying her make-up again, she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. It had been so elating to dance with him. Most of the other guys at the club were not her type. They were either prep or disgusting, or an odd mix of the two. No one she’d ever encountered had ever had that edge of mystery, an edge of sexiness and danger, as Remy had. A man who smelled of cinnamon and whisky, who danced like a devil and who had a smirk to match. His mutation had certainly been to his advantage, she thought, trying to picture the orbs of swirling red on black that seemed to glow and bore their way into the mind. The man practically radiated sexual fantasy, she decided, much chagrined. How she hated the word “sex.” She was no stranger to the concept. Her personal library was full of stories of it...not to mention the few late night shows she’d seen. Also, there was the almost daily gossiping about it with the girls of the mansion, but those topics usually tended to be a bit too flower-y and girlish for her. She really had no interest in what they were doing, but at the same time she was hurt that she was not able to partake of it. Being a sensible individual, she had to wonder if she really had missed out on anything during her teenage years. Her better sense told her no, that it was really for the best...there were, after all, the horror stories of unwanted pregnancies and STDs. But then there was the angry side of herself that argued that *she* would have known better and would have taken precautions against those things. Rogue shook her head to clear those thoughts. Either way, she wouldn’t have been able to do anything even if there had been any offers thanks to her damn mutation.

As she finished up with mascara, she couldn’t help but realize she had become bitter. She had always thought that by this time in her life she would have control over herself. Xavier maintained that patience was going to be her only cure, and that she’d just have to keep working and training and practicing. It all seemed so futile. The endless days of DR sessions and the meetings with Jean to help her sort out her head. Jean’s work seemed to helping her the most. The telepath/telekinetic had ultimately helped her make a small advancement; however, it was limited to the uncontrollable manifestations of the powers she’d absorbed. Thankfully after several months with Jean she’d been able to suppress the emotional baggage that came with those outbursts. Still, it haunted her that she didn’t know the extent of her capabilities.

With pressing things like this to worry about, she wondered why in the world her brain kept returning to that damn Cajun. Standing, she made her way out onto her balcony. It was nice and chilly this time of year. Everything was beginning to turn to shades of gold and rust, and she took a deep breath of fresh air as she leaned against the stone railing. At least she had a peaceful home here. It was incredibly dull, considering what her days consisted of and that they had limited time off, but at least it was relatively safe. Over the years the mutant-hating seemed to have lessened, so she’d managed to put most of the horrors she’d endured behind her. She’d decided to hold off on college for the time being, instead staying at the mansion and helping out whenever she could while also taking a few classes from Storm or the professor or even a few online courses from the local college. Mostly she kept to the DR, hoping that maybe something would trigger her control.

Looking out over the expanse of the mansion grounds, she watched Jamie and Rahne having a row, and smiled at their antics. Those two were something else. As the two kids moved on to some other mischief-making, she noticed a shadow in the gazebo, and sighed in defeat when she realized just who was the occupant.

She had an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach as she stared down at him. Since she’d absorbed him, she knew he had no real evil intent in him. After the breakup of the Acolytes she had sometimes wondered what had become of them all. She knew the Russian had gone back home...something about his sister and other family issues. But of the others she had no clue, nor did she really care to know. The only one she’d really had any dealings with was Gambit...or Remy, as he’d requested her to call him back in the swamps so long ago when they’d rescued his father. Thinking back on that, she realized her outburst earlier had been very rude. Feeling somewhat ashamed, she decided to go down and apologize. He wasn’t really that bad. She had no idea why she’d freaked out at his appearance. Of course, he had got her into a heap of trouble when he’d kidnaped her. And there was the issue of the pilfered coffee mug. Perhaps that was why she’d been so angry...

Slipping out of her sleep clothes, she donned a pair of jeans from the floor and took a hoodie from the closet. On a whim, she pulled her hair up into a bun on top of her head. Stepping into her tennis, she bent and laced them, then made her way out.


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(1) Le Diablo Blanc - means “White Devil”...and no, it’s not from Ace Ventura...this bit of info was taken from Wikipedia’s entry on Gambit, one of his local names.

(2) Djarum Black....for some reason I see Remy smoking these...they’re Kretek cigarettes, and I find them a totally gratifying experience...especially the cappuccino ones... But don’t smoke! That shit’s bad for you, especially if you’re under-aged.