Who: Gambit (1610) & Rogue (616) What: A bit of playing doctor. When: After a few days of fighting. Where: Outside on a bench. Rating: High for Language and Gambit Status: Closed - Complete
According to the Cajun thief, the only team that mattered was Team Gambit. Sure, he’d joined a team once upon a time (and joined was such a strong word.. more like he was purchased by the team) but it’d only been to gain something of his own. His powers were nearly impossible to control and while another time and universe had offered him a surgical solution, this Southern boy had no choice but to make due with what he had and find a solution for himself. And thank goodness he had, else he could have ended up like the New Son.
Those gloves on his hands kept his powers in check. He’d gotten the entire suit from those brothers, but in the end it turned out that it was the gloves that had the power to control his kinetic energy, keep it bottled inside of him until he was ready to let it out. His time spent with them had been worth the prize he’d gotten out of it.. especially if you considered Rogue as part of that prize.
Sure, he and Rogue hadn’t been together that long, not even an entire year.. But they’d been surprisingly happy. No rules, no one to tell them what to do, what do say, or more importantly.. What not to do.
So they had done whatever they wanted.
Gambit still lived in that mindset, just like he lived in the mindset that Rogue-- his Rogue-- was still his. Was still around. He’d seen her only a week ago and he was still adjusting to not waking up to her face every morning. They’d taken care of one another.
He was alone now.
And somewhere in his brain, he reasoned that if he was alone, she must be alone, too. So when he’d heard that she was back from the strike, he’d gone searching for her. It didn’t take long to find the Southern Belle and Gambit would approach with slow, measured steps. Graceful as ever and perhaps just a bit cautious in the way he stepped as he came nearer. After all, the first time he’d met his Rogue, she’d tried to kill him.
“Doin’ okay, Chere?” He asked from a few feet off, that Cajun drawl more of a purr than anything else as it escaped his chest in a low rumble. Even as he asked, aviator-shielded eyes roamed over her form, looking for any severe damage.
Rogue knew she probably would have been better off not running off to the ground fight like she had - she wasn’t really in a state yet to be in any sort of fight but, she was too used to it. Too many years of that being the normal made it too hard to just turn it off simply because she hadn’t been able to… take things for a test drive yet. Her trip down to Louisiana had been nice, it had been… she’d need to just sit on the water like that - just meditate for awhile and calm that tingling in her skin. And it had… It had sort of worked - but she still wasn’t used to the quiet, it was so… honestly Rogue had forgotten what having an empty mind felt like and it made being out there, fighting (even if she wasn’t using her powers) something… different. Something sort of wonderful. She could just, do what was needed and even if she mostly helped with
Going had been cathartic in its own way - being out there again, even if she didn’t dare use her powers, the familiarity of it; it was nice in a place like Knowhere where she didn’t know what else was going on, where there were alternate versions of people and everyone was from all over the breadth of any given timeline, on top of that people she knew to be works of fiction were real and… well, it was a lot to take in even for Rogue.
And with everything she’d seen over the years? That said somethin’.
She definitely wasn’t heavily injured by any definition of the word - no more than the bumps and bruises and a few light cuts and scratches that you’d expect from someone with no powers that actually did anything on their own, well, in so far as being useful in that sort of fight. Her power did one thing and one thing only and when you couldn’t afford to be a man down for a bit? It wasn’t worth the risk, she got that from a tactical standpoint and in many ways it was what made her powers… unique in their own complicated, restrictive way. All of that didn’t aide in her decision to not consider using them either.
There wasn’t a trust there in her powers yet, let alone a trust in most of the people here. She just needed more time. She just needed…
Well the drawl that brought her out of her thoughts and made her quickly turn around was familiar, the accent was at least. The words were at least. The tone? Not so much. There was a hint of familiar there but, the difference was weird. She hadn’t been sure what she’d been expecting, knowing there were two of him here but, well. Never mind she didn’t really have an answer for that. “Its Rogue.” She answered, giving him a once over. He was younger that her’s, not that she should really have been using that word even if… well Rogue had no idea what to make of anything right now so words were just a bad idea. But he was younger, maybe more her age? And he was different, there was definitely something different, a little darker about him.
“An’ ah’m jus’ fine, thank ya very much.” If there had ever been a situation she didn’t know how to prepare for, this was definitely one of them - even though she’d known it had been inevitable and she probably should have thought about it a little more, she hadn’t, her mind had been elsewhere (justifiably on controlling the trembles, that feeling that crawled under her skin, the weirdness of timelines, the fighting… she could go on and on, really). She knew better than to be unprepared for a situation like but here the hell she was staring it in the face - lips still pulled back into a taut little look as she arched an eyebrow.
“Damn, girl.” His purring tone was dropped off into a rumble of a chuckle deep in his chest and those thieving hands pressed into the back pockets of his jeans-- yeah, he’d managed to find some jeans, and even a white t-shirt to go beneath his long over-coat that he refused to let go. The boots had remained, knee-high, reminding anyone who knew him (or knew the other him) that he was exactly the cat-burglar that he’d looked like when he’d arrived here. “Don’ gotta lookit me like ‘dat,” though he paused there, he soon elaborated so she wouldn’t get the wrong idea, “Like m’ some kinda bug y’ ain’ sure if y’ shoul’ run ‘way from, er squash.” Because that was exactly how he felt. Like he was being given the once over. Like she was judging. Like she was deciding if he could be trusted, kept around, and even allowed to remain here at all.
Rogue could have easily been his judge, jury and executioner.. And suddenly he was very glad he’d found a place to sleep in the Doctor’s TARDIS, because at least if there was an angry mob of villagers and their pitchforks and torches, they’d have to go through that crazy old man first. That was a little comforting, as the Doctor seemed very keen on his new young friend.
Gambit, after all, wasn’t a stupid man. He hadn’t lived this long (could 26 be considered long? It was in his profession..) because he didn’t know who to make friends with. The Doctor. Sabo. He’d even tested the waters with Jason Todd, and he thought he could get some wiggle room in there so long as he watched his P’s and Q’s.
“Y’ sure y’ doin’ okay? Looks like y’ got’cha self uh lil’ bange’ up, non?” Slinking forward like some sort of feral alley cat, graceful but unsure, willing to trust just far enough for a scrap of food, but never willing to allow that warm, gentle hand to show him a bit of love and attention that he so desperately wanted. Instead, he remained aloof, because it was better to be alive and left outside in the cold, than seduced by those loving hands and taken inside only to be slaughtered when it became convenient to do so.
There was no trust in this Cajun, not like in the elder. No Storm. No Xavier. No one to teach him that not all reaching hands were there to hurt him. He was far more prone to run than to fight, also a stark difference in the two-- something that could be seen with his light footedness and the way he leaned just so to the side, so he might get a better headstart if he needed to take off.
“C’mon now, m’ pretty good at lookin’ af’er pretty girls.. Lemme help.” Hands withdrawn from his back pockets, his coat swung forward a little and he fished around in one of those pockets to pull out the cloth and few bandages he’d brought along. It was clear he hadn’t just happened upon her, but had come looking for her. He’d brought medical supplies along.
The reality wasn’t too far off - though, given the situation Rogue never would have attacked someone here, not unless they put their hands on her, but she had no idea what to make of this situation so looking him over? It was decidedly a move of judgement. It wasn’t like she was concerned he was a Skrull at least, that - that would have provoked a totally different set of reactions, one that likely would have involved a punch square to the jaw, but given that there was just… just enough different about him to the Remy she knew? She was at least willing to trust that he was a real person and that this wasn’t that sort of threat. Wasn’t a sort of threat she knew all too well and was all too okay with not having to ever face again. Skrulls were a hell of a thing and that had all been such a hot mess and, it almost made her skin crawl for a moment - the muscle memory of actually changing shape, because the voices and the crowded feeling in her head may have been gone but there were things that surged through her muscles that, well, Rogue knew what they were. They were the little reminders of what once was - the only little hint she had left of all that had once been locked up in there.
If she had to deal with a bit of tingling for awhile? If that was the trade off for what Charles had done for her? Hell, she’d take it every day of the week and twice on Sundays if it meant she got to get a chance at… whatever the hell she was going to get a chance at in a damn space head feeling like a baby mutant, feeling like one of her own damn students standing there having no idea as of yet if she actually had control or not. The fact that she’d not taken the gloves off yet? That probably didn’t help either.
“Don’t think the dog’d much appreciate any squashin’, it’d set a bad taste in ev’ryone’s mouths.” It was the truth as much as it was a deflection as she watched him walk closer to her. There was something decidedly more… she couldn’t put her finger on a word for it right now, but the way he walked was different too. It was… almost cautious but she didn’t want to use that word. It was… almost timid, but not quite. It did dawn on her as she watched him that it was entirely possible that in his timeline she’d never had control, or her powers had been even more unstable, or any number of other options that would have explained it. At the least she figured she probably had just as much a likelihood of punching him there as in her own, if the way he talked on the network and the way he’d had the gall to approach her like this were any indication.
Taking half a step back, she just sort of watched as he pulled out the few medical supplies. She shoulda just stopped by and got some herself and he wasn’t wrong, at least a few of the smaller cuts on her face and neck (the only real part of her body that was exposed, a habit she definitely wasn’t going to give up in a firefight where it made sense to retain the habit) at least needed some cleaning, she’d just figured to do it once she got back up to her apartment with some regular soap and water. She’d survived worse, had no doubt she’d continue to survive worse. “Ah ain’t like to be touched, can’t ‘magine you ain’t damn well ‘ware of that. Alternate realities or not.” Rogue wasn’t really sure why she was being snippy, really, she should have been defaulting to polite, good little Southern Belle, let herself figure the situation out. Instead? She was defaulting to spitfire, but that may just have been her default with Remy, as it stood. No matter which version.
“‘De Rogue I know, she controls ‘dem powers well ‘nuff. Gotta suit-- got some gloves.” He lifted his free hand, cased entirely in black leather, and wiggled his fingers. “Helps. Keeps ‘dem powers in check.” Just like they did for him. Rogue and Gambit, such an unlikely pair, such a devastatingly powerful pair, the two of them barely managing to control themselves through gifted (and stolen) technology. They’d kept to themselves mostly, they’d shared a little flat in the city, they’d stolen together, they’d robbed together, and it’d been a fantastic life, really. One that Gambit found he sorely missed now that he no longer had it. But the way this woman looked at him? He didn’t need to ask her a bunch of questions to figure it out-- those eyes told the story. This wasn’t his Rogue. And that meant she could be incredibly dangerous and he needed to watch his step.
Gingerly, he’d take up a seat beside her on that bench and flash her an incredibly familiar, charming smile. Now that at least, was identical to the smiles Remy LeBeau gave her, all flash and Southern charm and no-good Cajun glory. “M’ real good at ‘dis.” He promised her in a softer voice, so careful to keep enough distance between them that he could be sure not to touch her while simultaneously being near enough that he could reach forward and touch a leather-encased finger beneath her chin and urge her to turn her head towards him.
“Still ‘de mos’ beautiful woman on ‘de planet, non?” His grin was impossible to hide, even if those mirrored aviators were able to hide his eyes.
Hand removed, he’d pick through the supplies he’d stolen borrowed and came up with a little bottle of hydrogen peroxide. Top cracked open and lid set aside, he’d pour some onto the clean towel there and lift it towards her face, hesitating just a bit before he smiled once again and lifted his eyebrows above those glasses. “Gonna sting uh lil, Chere.” Forgive him, Rogue, he’d continue to call you that. But at least he wasn’t calling you by your name-- or, well, some other girl’s name. “Jus’ hol’ still f’ Gambit, non?” And with that, he’d press that towel to one of the cuts along her cheek and hold it for a moment, before carefully wiping to clean up the blood there.
“‘Dere we go, ‘das better.” One down, a handful to go. That was, if she could stomach him doing this. His own Rogue hadn’t liked it at first, but she’d soon realized it was easier to just let him do it than to fight him about it.
The fact that this other version of herself controlled her powers, was interesting to her (the fact that he didn’t sound like he had control was something that’d flit through her thoughts when she was alone resting, later). Even if it sounded like it was thanks to a suit, much like she’d always done - she thought it was interesting that he used the word controlled, she never would have called the suit something that controlled them. Just something that… kept them at bay. It wasn’t like her suit or the gloves she still wore for… no reason other than a bit of hesitation she was far from willing to admit to mixed with some reasonable form of it just being such a habit actually controlled her powers, they just meant that she could brush up against a teammate, pat them on the shoulder, and she wouldn’t risk hurting them or worse. It meant that she had to keep a distance from everyone she cared about, it meant even giving someone a hug was dangerous because even a sweep of her cheek against their’s… That fact had been such a crux of so many of her problems and here she was, no longer in risk of that and she still didn’t feel any less hesitant about someone touching her.
Even if he did have gloves on.
It’d figure, at any rate, that the smile and the accent would be the things that remained the same. The hair was different, the height was a little different, the Remy from her timeline (Rogue was still… hesitant to call her his, that was too complicated a statement and the way she’d flirted with him and been such an idiot already really didn’t help that, saying from her timeline was probably just going to become her default, at any rate) walked with nothing short of an ego that you could read on every inch of his body. But that smile, that she damn well recognized, and of course that’d be one of the things (besides powers, of course) that they shared. That obnoxiously charming smile. The obnoxiously charming smile coupled with the statement which was damn well something the one from her timeline would have said, something he would have said even if he was livid at her. It caused nothing short of an unflinchingly blatant roll of her eyes with the little huff to match. “Ah ‘magine ya get yourself punched a lot, don’t ya.” It was’t question, rather, it was definitely a statement.
None of this seemed to deter him from his mission to clean her damn face though and, without any thought behind it, she leaned back slightly as he moved closer - even flinching when he touched her, and it wasn’t from the familiar sting of iodine, it was from the fact that someone was touching her at all. Gloved hand or not, the touch made her… uncomfortable, anxious… She didn’t stay still, not at any rate, the way being touched made her feel… a combination of emotions that couldn’t be simply summarized would have been easy enough to figure out.
“Could jus’ gimme the stuff an’ I can go do this in the quiet of my apartment ya know.” Not that she actually thought he’d take the out, not with the way persistence just breathed off of him. But she’d said it nonetheless.
“C'est ridicule, ma belle fleur.” The same cat-like purr rumbled up, even as he lowered his hand as she pulled back. “Do ‘dis all ‘de time f’ mon Rogue.” He sat unmoving for a moment, attention focused on the blood-stained rag trapped between his fingers. The Cajun gave it far too much consideration before he looked back up at her and made a vague gesture with his free hand, indicating she lean forward a bit again. “Ain’ gonna hur’cha. Ain’ never hur’cha ‘fore, ain’ gonna start now. C’mon ‘den, know you an’ me ain’ ‘xactly makin’ out like school kids, but don’ mean y’ can’ trus’ me. ‘De ot’er you, she trust Gambit-- can’t trust me, least y’ can trust her, non?”
The hand not holding that rag would reach out and capture one of her hands, holding it in a reassuring manner-- one he hoped was at least a little bit comforting-- as he lifted that rag once again and brought it forward to clean up yet another small scrape on her face, dark eyes intent on his job. He didn’t need to stare at her face, he knew every line, every curve, and every slight color change.. From the tint of her lips to the paler shade of her skin. He knew it all.
“Play nurse a lot.” He’d begin conversationally as he cleaned up her face with delicate motions. He thought perhaps if he rambled on, it would give her something else to focus on besides what he was doing. He’d used this tactic on her successfully before.. But again, that had been his Rogue, not this one. “Keep t’inkin’ ‘dat girl’s gonna make me put on one ‘dem silly caps wit’ ‘de big red cross an’ prance ‘round in uh sexy nurses outfit jus’ t’ take care o’ her.” His words were very clearly a joke, followed up with that charming grin. “She say I got ‘de legs for it.” He and his Rogue were very playful. They were close.
They had no one but one another. She’d walked away from the X-Men. For him.
They were very close.
“Tell me ‘bout where y’ come from, non? Wha’cha do? How y’ know Big Red?” The nickname he’d picked out for his elder counterpart. Remy LeBeau. A name that Gambit still was unwilling and not ready to put out there for public consumption. It was Gambit, thank you very much, and it’d stay that way until he decided otherwise.
Rogue rolled her eyes again, but it didn’t come with a huff this time. As much as he was… different, the platitudes? The constant little quips and comments and flirts even when she wasn’t doing it back? Oh, that, that was another thing she was used to. She was coming to figure out that there were some universal qualities to people, things that spanned the mutliverses - the Ororo’s personality, she was so the same but apparently, this version didn’t even know her? That was odd to Rogue, but she was dealing with it. With two Gambits running around, she was pretty sure things were going to go right to hell in a handbasket and she was… well she was actually a little surprised that things hadn’t yet, maybe she should have figured it was because there was a firefight going on. She damn well knew the Remy from her timeline was out on the ground somewhere but she’d been avoiding him a little bit since she made an ass of herself without really meaning too. This one? Didn’t look like he had a scratch on him, clearly hadn’t been out there at least and he did look younger so… maybe he was just younger? Really, Rogue had no way to tell and knowing Gambits? And there was definitely an enthusiastic pluralization of that word in the way it ran through her mind… there was a better way than just asking to go about figuring that all out.
It was unlikely he’d just tell her, unless it involved something to do with this other version of her. That was a good play on his part, leaning on the likelihood that she’d at least hope no version of her was stupid enough to go running off with someone who wasn’t worth it, then again it wouldn’t be the first time she’d made a very regrettable or at the least selfish, in Erik’s case, choice about a man. At least, that’s where her mind sat on thoughts about that right now, as it stood, her opinion on that choice was such a revolving door she didn’t even know what she thought about it some days. But that didn’t really matter right now, what did matter? Putting the pieces of this puzzle together so she’d know how to act around him. “Fine.” She said, her tone dripping with that drawl that really made Rogue who she was. The way she spoke was as much a part of her as a person as any other part of her personality. If he wanted her to trust someone, she’d trust this other version of her, she guessed. At least for now. At least until she’d figured things out for herself and could make a proper decision on the matter.
If anyone else but one of the Gambits made a joke like to her? She probably would have punched them, but she expected as much. She expected that sort of thing even if she didn’t know this other version, basically well… at all when it came down to it. That had been something she’d assume would be a universal truth before he’d even opened his mouth. You couldn’t have a Gambit and not have that certain level of… diable may care. She was pretty sure no universe worked like that.
“That ain’t my story to tell, sugah.” She said with a light laugh, the idea of her talking about Remy’s past? No way, it amused her enough for a little of that resolve to drop. Just enough for her to make a joke of her own, at least. “Right now? Ain’t doin’ much of nothin’.” As much as it may have sounded like she was avoiding the more personal parts of his question, it was true. She’d went and fucked off to Australia after all. She wasn’t teaching at the school right now. She wasn’t one of the X-Men right now. She’d been on her own until Danger had shown up. But she had no doubt in her mind that the statement would come off as a game, just as much as it was a willingly vague way to answer the question, of course.
“Y’ happy?” He asked as he dabbed away at another cut, this one on her neck, until it was clean of blood and dirt. And with all those cuts now cleaned, he was setting the rag aside and plucking up the butterfly bandages, for those cuts that really needed to be tugged shut properly. Just call him Doctor Gambit, MD. Bandage pulled loose from its casing, he’d gingerly apply it to the cut above her eyebrow and briefly allow those gloved fingers to linger before he moved them back for a second bandage. “Doin’ nothin’, I mean. Soun’s kinda nice.” That final bandage was lifted up, carefully applied, and Rogue was given her space once again.
Sure, his body stayed close, but now he was at least keeping his hands to himself as he crumpled up the trash left over from his doctoring and tucked it all away into his pocket. With the garbage disposed of, he tugged out a pack of smokes and offered one out to her, eyebrows raised above the aviators.
He didn’t expect her to take one (his own Rogue hated that he smoked), but it was only proper to offer. Then again, he’d been decked a handful of times for offering a smoke to Marian, who stole them whenever she had the chance and crushed them up.
He loved that girl.
“Not doin’ nothin’ all ‘lone, are y’?” She wasn’t by herself. She at least had Big Red with her? Or some other boyfriend.. Then again, maybe not. She acted a little like she didn’t have her own powers under control and that got him thinking. In fact, the longer he watched her and her skittish nature, the harder he considered his next move.
The question came suddenly, and out of the blue, as the woman beside him answered that first question.
“Y’ wanna try ‘dem out?” The way he splayed his fingers and held up his hands slightly was enough to say he meant those gloves. The gloves that could, apparently, help a mutant control their power. And here he was, offering out his own means of controlling his own abilities, so that she might have an opportunity to get a grip on hers, temporary as it might be. For while Rogue’s powers became dangerous upon touching someone else, Gambit’s were dangerous upon touching anything else.
Two peas in a pod.
Happy, could she even answer that? Rogue had had plenty of points where she was content, where she was just fine with the way things were, but happy? That was a loaded question for the brunette. When she had her powers things tended to… plateau? Having her powers but not having control over them kept her from one thing or the other and she supposed she absolutely, without a doubt had happy moments, but actually hitting that peak of things where she could just say she was without a doubt happy? She was pretty sure she could count those moments on one hand. “Ah’m relieved, an’ that’s good enough for me - though havin’ my vacation interrupted ‘s somethin’ I coulda gone without.” She answered casually with a light little shrugged. Happy might actually come now for her - it wasn’t like she’d been stripped of her powers and had a few months of no mutants, no powers, just New Orleans and the beach and just some well earned calm, before Sage had shown up. It was… relieved was accurate at least and Rogue wasn’t about to go and put on a show. Not when she didn’t damn well need to. People overused the word happy in her opinion. It was something, if you asked her, that should have a more sincere, special meaning than most people put behind it. The way she saw it? People said happy too much, too often just to make themselves feel better - and that wasn’t within her scope of acceptable behavior.
Rolling her eyes once more she swatted the pack of cigarettes away. “Not ev’ryone needs to constantly be doin’ somethin’ with their hands, ya know.” She brushed it off - she’d gotten over that aversion years, or at least it felt like it must have been years. Rogue had a, frankly, poor concept of time. A really poor concept of time, either way it’d been a hell of a long time since she’d gotten over that aversion, she’d sort of just had to. It was one less thing for her and Remy to argue about and so she just sort of rolled her eyes and kept away from the habit herself. She knew damn well better than to ask him not to do it though.
Having this other Remy, this other Gambit, patch her up was weird. It wasn’t like she hadn’t brushed up against people at all since she arrived here - she’d had to just to walk through Starlins after all. But having someone actually touch her on purpose and not mid fight or just because she had to brush by them? It made her uncomfortable. It shouldn’t have made her uncomfortable - nothing would happen she repeated to herself, even if he hadn’t had his own gloves on nothing would happen. There was no way to mask her discomfort, however, and the fact that he made quick work of the bandages and wiping her cuts off a bit? She could at least appreciate that. If he’d gone too slow with it she might have been tempted to shove him off and tell him to fuck off and go bother someone else.
Once he moved back and continued with the personal questions, she arched an eyebrow. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with doin’ anythin’ alone, ya know, sometimes its actually nice.” Her tone was actually combative, but the reasoning behind that? Not something she’d think about right now. Not something she was going to bother with in the current moment - it was just too complicated to let her brain go there without just reminding herself she was a damn idiot. “Ain’t need any fancy gloves, ah’m all in control.” It was said purposefully, almost with an egotism to it that she didn’t normally possess. It wasn’t incorrect, more so it was just… She didn’t really want to talk about how that’d happened and how it’d only just happened and how she wasn’t really sure exactly how much control she had because, well, she hadn’t been up to test subjects yet - still wasn’t sure she was up to test subjects yet, either.
The Cajun just smirked as she swatted away those cigarettes, taking one for himself and pressing it between his lips before the box was once again stowed away. His attention wandered back to her once he’d lit the thing-- just a fingertip to the end of it, before puffing a few times to get it burning nicely. Ah, there it was. He let out a slow breath through his nose, accompanied by smoke.
“Guess so.” He’d remark about ‘alone’ being ‘nice’. What more could he say? He’d enjoyed being alone, until he hadn’t been anymore, and now it was like an addiction, he just wanted more. But here? Well, here he was alone again. At least now he had a place to stay with someone who seemed to want him around, which was an improvement upon everyone treating him like he had the plague. But then again, he was used to that.
He took another long drag from the cigarette and blew the smoke out away from Rogue, before turning those mirrored sunglasses onto her once again, a slow smile covering his face as he considered her words. She had her powers under control? Without the use of any type of suit, or gloves?
“Je vois.” His purred response, before the cigarette was once again pulled away from his lips and lowered. “If ‘dats ‘de case, Chere, shoul’ t’ank Docteur Gambit f’ his services wit’ uh kiss, non?” The way his eyebrows lifted over his glasses was suggestive. The sultry tone of his voice was forward. But the placement of his body was relaxed. A walking contradiction, that younger Cajun. He said one thing with his mouth while his body said another. It was called survival. He might have asked for that kiss, in a way that may even be considered to be playful, but he hadn’t leaned in-- he hadn’t even turned his body towards her. He expected to be shot down (he knew his girl well, after all), and would most certainly have no idea what to do if she actually said yes. But this was a little dance he knew well, they both knew it well. He chased, she ran, and that as just how it worked.
It worked well for them.
Despite the nature of Rogue’s mutation she’d never actually spent a lot of time alone, sure, she may not have had a good run of luck when it came to being able to be physical (even if that just meant a friendly pat on a shoulder) with the people around her, but that was all fine and well with her most of the time. Or well, it wasn’t really all fine and well but she made up for a lot of the lack of physical with other sorts of relationships - though it definitely put a damper on anything more serious than just a friend and on that note it had caused plenty of problems.
That all being said, she’d still never really been alone. Not after Mystique and Destiny took her in at least. First she’d had the Brotherhood, then she’d had the X-Men, and in her downtime from them? She’d usually had Remy. Australia had been one of the only times she was ever totally alone. Even here she wasn’t really alone, Remy was here and so was Emma and some version of Storm and… okay she could count Jean and Wanda… she guessed? There was no Logan though, she was sort of glad there was no Erik, and then any other number of her friends weren’t here either. For Rogue? Alone had very rarely ever actually meant alone and it hadn’t been until his comment that she’d really thought about that - thought about the fact that it just felt more alone when you were around people and yet had to be so careful. Not that it changed the sentiment of what she said, not in the slightest. It was still good to have genuine alone time, everyone need that if you asked her.
Shrugging it off she gave him a little look, “Guess so? Ain’t good to never get ya’self some time to have a proper sit down an’ a think, little time to meditate. Its good for ya, ya know.” She’d needed it the other day, when she’d went down to Earth - that’d basically been the purpose, get some good quiet time in. But she damn well knew not everyone appreciated that sort of thing - especially people so prone to being fidgety like the Gamits.
The laugh that escaped from Rogue’s lips was half the result of mock-disbelief (frankly, she expected nothing less that forward from this version of Gambit, between his age and what she’d seen on the network, she would have been more surprised if he wasn’t) and sheer sarcasm. “Ya want what now?” She said between laughs, “Ya know, the otha one of y’all is crazy but ya might actually be beatin’ him in that category if ya think you’re pullin’ that off that easy like.” She couldn’t help but be damn near amused by the situation - maybe it was coming down from the fight, maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was just that the situation was too weird for her to just handle like she normally would - with a solid punch to his mouth for even the suggestion when she damn well barely knew him… or well, damn well barely knew this version of him? Actually, that thought was damn well complicated and she shoved it away easily as her laugh trailed off with a not-so-subtle roll of her eyes.
“Can’t blame uh guy f’ askin’.” He insisted with a soft chuckle of his own, that cigarette lifted again and pressed between his lips. The younger version of the thief sucked on it for a few moments in silence before letting out another breath through his nose, the smoke rushing out like some sort of temperamental dragon. “Jus’ wanna make sure y’ doin’ okay, Chere.” Admitted after that long silence.
He let a gloved hand fall to her thigh and he gave it a pat, then a small squeeze just above her knee, before he was pushing up to his feet and brushing his coat back so it’d lay properly. Turning to face her once again, he’d give the Southern Belle a flourish of a bow.
“Gonna leave y’ t’ y’ meditation ‘den.” That same gloved hand swept out to take up one of hers, lifting it so he could brush a kiss along her own gloved knuckles, peeking up at her over the top of those sunglasses. He’d give her a wink as he allowed her fingers to slip free and stood up straight again. “Know y’ won’t.. But if y’ need anythin’, can always jus’ ask.” Because this young Cajun? He’d give her the world if she asked.
Much as she was loathe to admit it at some level, she couldn’t blame him for asking - if anything it just proved he was definitely a Gambit. Anything less than the peacocking and the brash questions and the flirting and she might have started questioning if he was really just a different version of the same. But there was really no doubting it, even if there were clearly differences…
Rogue was stuck in a damn space head with two God damn versions of Remy LeBeau. Just her luck. Actually, frankly, that either made her the luckiest or the most unlucky woman in the world and at this point… she was figuring it was sort of both.
“Feelin’ ya ain’t gonna be surprised when I tell ya I was doin’ just fine, even without the doctorin’.” She could have thanked him, but that wasn’t really her place. Not right now. She’d probably thank him after everything was over and said and done and the fighting had stopped and they’d hopefully won. Because she wasn’t an impolite person, just not always the best person to deal with when she’s been taken off guard.
Eyes darted down to his hand when it hit her leg, she didn’t pull away - but was clearly taken back by the situation, for a mixture of reasons she wouldn’t even begin to try and deconstruct for herself right now. Not with everything else going on. “Ah’d tell ya to keep out of trouble.” She said, watching him get up, “But ah ain’t up to wastin’ my time right now.”
“Just uh waste of breath, chere.” He assured her, agreeing with that cool, charming smile that stretched across his lips, slow as honey in the morning. “Merci f’ lettin’ me take care ya.” Because he felt better now that he had. Less responsible, somehow.
Straightening up, he swept his coat back again and hooked gloved thumbs into his belt loops. “M’ gonna see y’ later.” She could certainly imagine that he was giving her a wink beneath those mirrored sunglasses-- but then he’d turn on the heel of a booted foot and head back off in the direction he’d come. He’d succeeded in what he’d tracked her down to do. And he knew he was pushing his limits with her.
Keep them wanting more, that was the name of the game, he didn’t want to overstay his welcome. The Cajun had a brain between his ears after all.