Author's note: Short little story, just for fun, because I enjoyed writing Polaris, Gambit, and Quicksilver together so much, though Lorna and Pietro only make brief appearances.

Truthfully, I'm not a huge Avengers fan, I have only read bits and pieces, mainly Rogue's run in Uncanny Avengers, so forgive me if my Avengers' details are not all dead on. I'm sure I take a lot of liberties in this story with the setup of Stark Towers and how Tony runs things, but it's all in good sport. This takes place somewhere off-panel around Uncanny Avengers 5 or 6, Volume 1, Rogue has control of her powers, with no Simon in her head, and Serval Industries' X-Factor is still a thing.

Rated PG-13 for language and barely suggestive innuendo. As always, I write my characters with minimal accents, feel free to apply the appropriate level of New Orleans or Mississippi in your own head. Enjoy!

Chapter One

"Hello, sir. Welcome to Stark Towers."

Remy LeBeau stepped lithely from the limousine, thankful the dark sunglasses he wore shielded his eyes from the explosion of camera flashes that greeted him. He nodded his thanks to their driver and snapped smooth the collar of his tuxedo jacket. The mutant thief and current member of the superhero team X-Factor was impressed. Really impressed. The crowded Manhattan streets were lined with stretch limousines and security details that snaked through the skyscrapers as far as he could see. Throngs of spectators and paparazzi pushed against barricades rimming the edge of a well-lit plush red carpet pathway that ended at the entrance to Stark Towers. The futuristic structure was spotlighted against the night sky, its lights a shimmering reflection of every building on the island. Small groups of the elaborately dressed slowly made their way forward, pausing and posing for fans and photographers.

Turning back towards the darkened interior of the vehicle, Remy gallantly stretched out his hand. "Ready, chere?" he grinned and bowed slightly.

"You're damn right I am!" Remy's teammate Lorna Dane excitedly clasped his hand, but her sheepish smile told him that she was grateful for his assistance. The voluminous skirt of the crimson gown she wore was gorgeous, but difficult to maneuver, and had gotten stuck in the doorway of the limo when they had left their hotel. He could see the look of apprehension on her face at a repeat performance in front of the cameras. Remy stooped lower in his bow and swept his hand down the side of her skirt, skillfully freeing it from the vehicle. An upbringing in New Orleans had seen him present at more than a few masquerade balls; the man knew his way around outlandish gowns. Lorna smiled gratefully at him as he stood to his full height. Remy smiled back, admiring the stunning view of his squad leader in her formal wear.

Her gown was strapless, gathered at the waist by a small bow in the front. The bodice was fairly simple and fitted, made from a stiff chiffon, but that was where its simplicity ended, as from there it spread out in an enormous floor length skirt covered in tulle netting, the skirt three times as wide as Lorna, rustling noisily with her every move. The vivid color contrasted sharply with the young mutant's long neon green hair, tonight twisted into an elegant ballerina bun on top of her head. She took a step away from the limo and smoothed her skirt nervously. Her eyes widened and trailed over the waiting crowd.

"Stark goes all out, I guess. I feel like I'm at the Oscars!"

"Well, you may end up on the worst dressed list if you don't fix this…" Lorna's half-brother and fellow teammate emerged from the limo behind her. "Your slip is showing back here." Pietro looks bored already, Remy thought. A side effect of his power apparently. Quicksilver wasn't much older than Lorna, but his hair was a prematurely shining silver. The hair, combined with his permanently surly disposition, made Remy think of Pietro Maximoff as a grumpy old man.

Lorna twisted and looked over each shoulder frantically. "Pietro, fix it, please!" she hissed, unable to reach the bottom of the dress herself.

"Oh for the love of…!" Pietro grumbled and bent to finesse the train. "This is ridiculous. This is not in my job description. Why you insisted on wearing such a tremendously impractical gown…!"

"Impractical! This is Tony Stark's Costume Gala! If anything, I might be under-dressed!" Lorna indignantly yanked the train of her dress away from her brother. A petite brunette in a simple blue sheath gown holding a clipboard motioned for them to begin their walk down the red carpet.

Standing and straightening his own bow tie, Pietro rolled his eyes. "I freely admit that I do not get the concept of this event. A public superhero throws what he calls a costume gala, but from what I can see, no one is wearing a costume. We're wearing tuxedos and ball gowns."

Lorna took hold of one of Pietro's arms and one of Remy's as they began to walk the red carpet towards the entrance of Stark Towers. Remy lowered his sunglasses and winked at the brunette, the sight of his red on black eyes nearly causing her to drop her clipboard. "It's Tony's biggest charity event, and each year has a different theme people are expected to incorporate into their outfits. Think of this year's dress-code as superhero couture. If you take a look around at everyone here and inside, most of them won't be wearing what you would wear to a normal black tie event, their outfit will have some little nod to superhero costumes on them, say, like a cape, or a mask. Heroes with a public identity and Tony's other famous friends come and mingle with normal people who have made a donation to Tony's charities. Their donation gives them the chance to stand shoulder to shoulder with heroes and movie stars! I'm sure the black tie nod to superhero costumes was the Wasp's idea." She smiled broadly and the three paused for a skinny looking nerd who was a photographer for the Daily Bugle. "I can't wait to see what Janet is wearing! I'm sure it will be fabulous!"

"Fabulous? If I know Janet, I am sure atrocious will be a better adjective," Pietro scoffed.

Remy snickered and squeezed Lorna's arm with his other hand. "Are all of the Avengers coming to this thing? I thought it was a just few public heroes rubbing elbows with New York's rich and famous so Stark could fleece their pockets. I mean, some of them got to be out saving the world, right?"

"He's hardly fleecing them. This is for charity, not Stark's corporate endeavors. People pay money to interact with celebrities and heroes, but I'm not sure all of the Avengers are here…I assumed Alex's Unity Squad wouldn't be because of their recent publicity troubles…but maybe Stark wants them here anyway? More heroes, more money from the donors." Lorna struck a pose and the photographer motioned for Remy and Pietro to stand back so he could snap a solo picture of the young woman.

Pietro stepped closer to Remy. "Pathetic. You didn't come just to spy on your ex, did you?" he whispered. Remy sighed and ignored him as they continued their tedious walk towards the towers. Most of the photographers seemed less than enthused to take their picture, instead focusing on the shapely woman in the red dress in front of them. Remy was more than happy to let her have the spotlight, she positively glowed under the flash of the cameras, radiant and beautiful. Remy understood that a good showing was invaluable PR for their fledgling superhero team, as unlike more clandestine operations, X-Factor was working through the auspices of a corporation, Serval Industries, owned by one Harrison Snow. This was treading new ground for Gambit. Growing up as a member of the New Orleans' Thieves' Guild it had always been in his best interests to keep a low profile, but in recent years he seemed to be failing miserably at keeping his image out of the public sphere. He knew when he joined X-Factor that he would sacrifice a lot of his privacy, but better to not go out of his way to make the Daily Bugle social page. Most of the Avengers seemed more than happy to ditch the concept of a secret identity, and the world didn't penalize them for it, embracing them as heroes. Far cry from life as an X-Man, as a mutant, hated and feared and hunted for what you were. A lousy double standard he was hoping X-Factor could change.

Lorna rejoined them when they neared the entrance. "I honestly didn't think to call Alex to see if his squad would be here, not that we really have talked lately. Can you say awk-ward?" she laughed uncomfortably and turned to Remy. "Did you call Rogue?"

Remy shrugged and reached into the inner pocket of his tux, handing their embossed invitations to the smiling blonde at the tower's entrance. Does Stark only employ beautiful ladies? Remy thought to himself, drinking in her bubbling cleavage and tanned skin. Not usually his type, but didn't hurt to take in the scenery. Two mountains of muscle that were apparently security guards flanked the woman. "Slipped my mind, cherie," he said. Pietro snorted, and Remy raised an eyebrow and burned a glare through his sunglasses at the speedster.

"All right, gentlemen," Lorna chastised, "let's behave. Serval Industries pulled a lot of strings to get us in tonight. The least we can do is make a good impression." She took their arms again and they entered the massive lobby, joining the hundreds of people swirling through the open space.

"Indeed," Pietro raised his chin and surveyed the crowd. He dropped Lorna's arm and tugged on the sleeves of his tuxedo. "Time to fraternize with the human elite. My heart quivers in anticipation. Don't wait up..." He waved and disappeared into a sea of tulle and tuxedos.

"Pietro!" Lorna called after him over the rush of noise. He was gone in an instant, swallowed from view. Remy gripped her arm tighter and maneuvered her and her dress into the ballroom. The space was as large as a football field, the ceiling easily four stories high, and a wall of windows lined the outer edge, draped with creamy swags of luxurious fabric covering strings of what appeared to be fancy Christmas tree lights. The floor was an expensive looking marble, so highly polished Remy wondered if he would be able to catch a glimpse up someone's skirt on the floor.

Remy released Lorna's arm and pocketed his sunglasses. "I'm going in search of some champagne, see who's here. Make sure to mingle a little bit with the squares, cherie, make us look good. I'll find you later." He nodded slightly at her, smiling to himself as she looked around the room, eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape.

"Remy!" he laughed at the slight note of panic in her voice. "You're leaving me? Don't you dare leave me! I can hardly move in this dress!" He waved and melted into the background, there one second, gone the next.

Remy chuckled, gliding through the crowded ballroom. Lorna was a nice girl, but he wanted to see what else the room could offer him in female company. Hot female company. The thief in him took note of each piece of jewelry, each expensive pair of shoes while he circled the room. Handfuls of moneyed New Yorkers decked out in Armani tuxes and heavily embellished gowns were sprinkled amongst heroes he had fought beside and against. Each comrade he recognized seemed surrounded by an entourage of 'normals' all oohing and ahhhing over the super-powered individual. Not how Remy wanted to spend his night. Their incarnation of X-Factor was fairly new to the scene; he hoped he could coast through the evening without being recognized. Let Lorna and Pietro do the PR work, he had come to flirt and drink, but he was kidding himself if he denied who he was really looking for, why he had really come.

An orchestra was tucked into the corner, and he skirted the edge of a small parqueted dance floor full of swirling dresses. Servers effortlessly maneuvered trays of hors d'oeurves and flutes of champagne through the throngs of people. Remy snatched a glass and downed it in one smooth drink as he spotted the man, Tony Stark himself, in a white dinner jacket and black tie, surrounded by star-struck donors that all laughed in unison at one of Stark's joke. Tony's right hand gal, Pepper Potts, was in her usual place at his side. Pepper's silky white column dress had thick black stripes running up the sides of the garment, making her waist appear incredibly tiny. It reminded Remy of those optical illusion drawings that looked like a candlestick or a face depending on how you blurred your eyes. A black cape was draped across one of her shoulders. Ah-ha, Remy thought. Superhero couture is starting to make a little more sense, though he wasn't sure what Lorna's nod to superheroes was with her dress. Maybe her green hair is enough of an accessory? He grabbed another glass of champagne, deposited his empty, and sauntered towards Stark and company.

"Bonsoir, M'sieu Stark, Mademoiselle Potts." Remy raised his glass at the startled Avenger.

Stark's forced smile was all porcelain veneers. "You? Who let you in? Did we let him in?" He inclined his head at Pepper, his representative in all things practical. "Should we count the silverware?" In his few interactions with the trillionaire genius, Remy had been left with the impression that Stark drank way too much coffee. He was almost more hyper than Pietro, which was really saying something. The man needed to take a page from the Big Easy and learn to relax a little.

Pepper smiled graciously at Remy, who bowed and kissed her hand. "Mr. LeBeau is here representing Harrison Snow's Serval Industries. I believe the team has taken on the name of X-Factor?"

Remy nodded at the petite red-head. "Oui, cherie." Pepper was a beautiful woman, no doubt about it, but a little too business for his taste. Still, she put up with Stark's crazy. You had to respect that.

"Oh." Tony pursed his lips. "Well. Welcome. Eat. Drink. Be merry. Pepper, tell security to keep eyes on this one. LeBeau, listen to me closely, this is very important. You are not to go wandering around my tower. Do you understand? Stay at least…fifty feet away from the labs. I've upgraded security since the last time you were here. Lots of noises and alarms. Lasers. In fact, now that I think about it, everything but this room is off limits. Well, maybe the restrooms…" He took on a distracted look, his eyebrows drawn together. "No. On second thought, not even the restrooms…"

"Upgraded security? That sounds like a challenge," Remy smiled and winked at Pepper. "Excuse me, folks. Have a wonderful evening."

"Seriously, stay away from my lab, LeBeau. Fifty feet away! LeBeau! I am not joking…!" Remy laughed to himself, happy to ruffle Tony Stark's feathers. He was pretty sure there were few people who could, he hoped Pepper had gotten a kick out of it.

Weaving back through the crowd, he tried to ignore the jewelry and look for the superhero couture touches. The dresses were all shapes and shades, and most, like Lorna said, with a modest nod to superhero costumes like a cape or mask. A few were dressed decidedly more avant-garde, but none, he soon discovered, more so than Janet Van Dyne, the Wasp. Remy wasn't sure how he had missed the diminutive founding member of the Avengers on his first trip through the crowd. Her gown, mounds and mounds of gauzy fabric, swallowed her petite frame. It was gold in color, strapless and floor length, but the skirt was nearly double the width of even Lorna's dress, keeping people a good five feet away from her on all sides. The bodice was sharply structural, coming to long triangular points that stuck out and above her collarbone. Attached to the back were broad translucent wings reminiscent of her Avengers' costume. It was garish and ugly to Remy, and he had been to enough Paris couture shows to be well-versed in edgy fashion.

He swallowed hard. Janet being here don't mean the whole Unity Squad is here. She was a very publicly recognized figure and she was considered a fashionista. Of course she would be here. It didn't mean Anna was here. A cold feeling crept up his chest. He and Anna were friends now, but they'd never been good at that. The woman was the absolute love of his life, and he had let her go, hoping, stupidly, that she would realize how much she loved him. It had backfired spectacularly so far, and the two were barely on speaking terms. If he were honest with himself, it hurt too much to be near her when they weren't together, and he had purposefully kept his distance to spare himself the torture of being unable to take her into his arms. She probably isn't even here. Knowing the idiots that ran the Avengers, they probably sidelined her after her little public…incident…to keep her out of sight.

He steered clear of Janet, not that he was sure she even knew who he was. He sucked in a sharp breath as he passed her. Remy had almost convinced himself that the Unity Squad wouldn't be here. The incident, as he had taken to calling it, had been a recent press conference to introduce the Unity Squad, the newest Avengers' team, to the public. Mixing mutants and super-powered humans, the hope had been to bridge an otherwise shaky gap. The group's first showing had been a miserable failure from a public relations' standpoint. Their leader Alex Summers, the sometimes X-Man Havok, had delivered a cringe worthy speech on mutant kind which had been bad enough, but Anna Raven, Rogue, his ex-girlfriend and newly christened Avenger, had accidentally murdered a supervillain on camera. The tragedy had hardly endeared the mixed squad of Avengers and X-Men to the normals.

Remy had given Anna a wide berth since their most recent breakup. She had helped him out with some personal business a few months ago, but the last time he had seen her was...his heart sank and he stopped walking. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen her or talked to her. His stomach twisted with guilt. He almost hoped she wouldn't be here so he wouldn't have to deal with the way his guts churned around her. He loved her, and he wanted her back, but they had always made such a big mess of things…he ran a nervous hand through his hair. Damn, it would be nice to see her pretty face. He saw it often enough in his dreams, be nice to see it in person. And that ass…

"Keep it in your pants, Cajun." A familiar rumble, like a throat full of gravel, roared next to Remy. "I just got her calmed down. Don't need you riling her up again." Logan. Remy turned to greet his friend and sometime teammate, but started in surprise. He whistled low and looked the Wolverine up and down, waggling his eyebrows. "Hey!" Logan snapped, his trademark scowl on his brow. "Eyes up here, LeBeau. This ain't some free-for-all."

"Just paying you a compliment, mon ami. Didn't know you cleaned up so well." Remy meant every word, even though it earned him a snort from his burly companion. It's not like it was the first time Remy had seen Logan in a tuxedo, there had been enough weddings, formals, and funerals being a part of the X-Men that one could hardly avoid getting dressed up at some point. This was different. Before, Logan always looked so damn uncomfortable, like someone had shoved him into a suit two sizes too small. The man had to be a bitch to dress. He was short, like, five three, and was about three hundred fifty pounds of solid muscle over adamantium laced bones. Whoever the Avengers' tailor was had done a masterful job. The dark tuxedo, crafted of a very rich looking fabric, fit Logan like a glove. His friend's usual feral hairstyle was combed back from his face and…Hot Damn! He had shaved off his sideburns! Remy always thought he couldn't shave them, like the muttonchops were part of Logan's mutant powers or something. Classy as always, the Wolverine was drinking a Molson beer directly from the can. Oh well, 'A' for effort. If Remy ran into Pepper Potts again, he'd have to ask for the number of the Avengers' stylist.

"How much beer did they bribe you with to get you to come to this thing?" Remy asked, gesturing to the can.

Logan rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Stark made a donation to the school. Besides, they made your girlfriend come and she threw a tantrum, said she wouldn't come unless I did." He took a long sip of his beer.

Inwardly, Remy's guts clenched and twisted. "So Rogue's here?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

Lowering his beer and glaring at him, Logan laughed a short, harsh laugh. "Course she is. You think Stark would miss out on the opportunity to pimp her out to New York's rich and famous? She's one of the hottest pieces of ass on the damn team. That really opens up the checkbooks." He shook his head and pursed his lips until they were a thin white line. Remy worried Logan was going to squeeze his brew so hard it would crumple. "Tried to talk them out of it. Last thing she needs is to be paraded around like some show pony. What the girl needs is a break. She's not acting like herself. Things have been real hard on her lately. She took Chuck's death a lot worse than I originally thought. There have been some real fucked up things going on…" Logan grimaced, shifted his feet uncomfortably and moved his eyes around the room. "Not that she makes it any easier. So goddamn stubborn and disagreeable all the time, picking fights with everyone." He waved his drink in the direction of the full service bar. "Needless to say, I got overruled. But tell her if she doesn't start behaving herself, I'll drag her out of here and back to Westchester before she knows what hit her." He slapped Remy's shoulder a little harder than necessary. "Watch her," he said as he walked away, leaving Remy rubbing his surely bruised skin.

"She's not my girlfriend," Remy mumbled belatedly after the vanishing Wolverine. Well, shit, Remy thought. She was here and now that he had ran into Logan he couldn't try to avoid her all night without looking like a total asshole who was trying to avoid her. The guilt crept up his throat on the bubbles of champagne. She was having a hard time. He exhaled loudly and closed his eyes. When he had last seen her, Anna had spent a lot of time trying to talk him into joining her in the Avengers, going on about how great it was and how he would absolutely love it and how much fun they would have together. She had apparently been trying to sell it too hard. Remy looked up towards the bar. It was so thick with people that it was hard to see exactly who was standing there, but he assumed she was in that general direction from Logan's beer can wave.

If she was having a hard time, why didn't she call him? Charles's death had been devastating to all of the X-Men, they were family, for some, the only family they had known, and despite everything, the Professor was the patriarch that had brought them together. Remy should have known she was tore up about Xavier's passing. Passing? Murder? He still wasn't sure himself how he saw it. Professor Charles Xavier, mentor and friend, had been killed by Scott Summers, his first and best student. Scott was a man Remy maybe didn't like personally, but had learned to love as part of his extended family and team. At the time, Scott had been out of his mind, consumed in the flames of the cosmic force known as the Phoenix. Xavier had been in the way of the Phoenix, as simple and as complicated as that. The X-Men would probably, sadly, never recover from the loss of their teacher. Professor Xavier had saved Rogue from a life of crime and hardship, bordering on what Remy saw as abuse at the hands of her maniacal stepmother Mystique, by allowing her sanctuary in his home despite the protests of the team at the time. That act of kindness had completely changed the trajectory of the girl's life. Charles Xavier had made her a hero. Remy steeled himself for a fight he hoped wouldn't come, stood a little straighter, and set off to find Anna.

He expertly wove through the crowd and spied his prize. She was standing at the bar with her back to him, staring a little too intently at her drink. She was dressed in a floor-length black dress, her hair long, loose curls with the sides swept back and clipped away from her face. The white stripe danced among the auburn waves and trailed to the center of her bare back.

She heard his approach and glanced over her shoulder. "Hello, Remy," she said softly as he walked towards her. She turned, drink in hand and Remy's greeting caught in his throat.

The woman always took his breath away, but tonight was special. Where nearly every woman in the room was intentionally over-the-top, his ex-girlfriend was understated elegance, no superhero traces required. The strapless dress had a sweetheart neckline that tastefully framed her ample cleavage and long, graceful neck. The black silk skirt of the gown fell perfectly to the floor, accentuating every curve as if made for her. Her ivory skin contrasted exquisitely with the inky fabric, and as she turned, a slit in the dress revealed a long creamy leg that Remy's eyes followed up to scandalous heights. Emerald earrings, each the size of a small plum, dangled from her ears and were the only jewelry she wore, the color a perfect match to the color of her own eyes. He'd never been prouder that she had been his, had never seen her more beautiful. He fought the urge to sweep her into his arms and run a hand up that leg…

Composing himself, he stood next to her. "Next round on me?" He smiled and leaned towards her, resting his elbows on the polished mahogany bar.

She raised her glass and downed the amber liquid in one swallow. "Next round on Tony, sugar. Open bar."

"Even better," he returned, his unique red on black eyes glinting mischievously. "What are you drinking?"

Rogue furrowed her brow and looked at her empty glass. "Whiskey, I think."

Remy blinked a few times and looked at his gorgeous companion a little closer. He had been so lost in how beautiful she looked tonight that he hadn't noticed her speech was a little…off. Logan had been right to think she wasn't acting like herself. "You think?" he asked incredulously. "You don't know what you're drinking?" If he didn't know her better, she sounded drunk. He had never actually seen her drunk. Sure, she had been nigh invulnerable for most of their relationship, which tended to put a damper on any toxic substances except those consumed in vast quantities, but even after she lost those powers she just wasn't a drinker. Oh come on, Remy thought. Logan put the thought in your head and now you're thinking because of Charles's death she's a big stinking drunk? Get a grip.

She smiled devilishly and raised two fingers at the bartender. The young man, buff and tan with a head of thick black hair, nodded at Rogue, but eyed Remy warily, apparently miffed at the newcomer for butting in on his territory. Rogue could be as incorrigible of a flirt as Remy, and he pitied any man caught in her wake. "It's his fault," she chided as the server placed two drinks in front of them. "I told him something strong, something good, and to keep them coming."

Remy sniffed the glass. "What ARE we drinking?" He raised an eyebrow at the bartender.

"Macallan. 1926." The bartender smiled icily through gritted teeth.

Remy's eyes bulged from his head. "Macallan 1926? Are you kidding me!?"

"Cheers, sugar." Rogue kicked back the drink in a single swallow again.

"Anna! Are we supposed to be drinking this? This stuff is like seventy-five grand a bottle!" Remy held the glass up to the light carefully, admiring the dark brown liquor. Why does a recovering alcoholic have the best of the best booze?

She leaned towards him. "Open bar is open bar. S'not like I stole it from his stash. You know on a night like this an egomaniac like Stark likes to show off the goods." She ran a hand along her neck and Remy's eyes followed it hungrily in spite of himself. "These earrings? From his private collection. Got to make a good impression," she said bitterly.

Reaching out, he laid a hand over hers. "They're only half as beautiful as your eyes, Anna." Remy reveled in the simple feeling of her skin under his, at the chance to banter with her, to be in each other's presence. Their last breakup had sort of been his idea, even though it hadn't really been what he wanted. He had been anxious for the chance to convince her, and himself, that it had been a mistake. Time stopped for a few heartbeats as they held each other's gaze. Rogue broke eye contact first and pulled back, motioning to the bartender for another. "Anna, take it easy, chere." Remy kept his voice low.

She scowled and avoided his gaze. She set her jaw, but looked like she was fighting tears. "What?" she replied thickly, "You, too? Afraid I can't control myself?" She raised the new drink to slam it back, but Remy placed his hand on her wrist to stop her. Her eyes flashed at him, and she tried to twist from his strong grip.

Remy was ready to make a biting, smart ass remark, but stopped himself. The last thing he wanted was to cause a scene and embarrass her. "Let's take a walk, chere." He grabbed her drink with his other hand and set it back on the bar. He kept ahold of her wrist, tucking it underneath his arm, and started to weave them back through the crowd. She refused to look at him, but he could see her blazing green eyes staring straight ahead, her jaw stubbornly clenched while she continued to try to pull her hand away. "Stop it," he hissed and held her tight.

The lobby was too public for the conversation he wanted to have with her. A bank of elevators was guarded by security officers, and the outside entrance still looked like an Oscar's pre-show. If Stark had been serious and security was watching him, they would soon find out. He pulled them down a less crowded corridor, Rogue's heels clicking furiously on the glistening marble floor. They wound through a maze of passages and came upon a single elevator near a surprisingly empty security station. Remy punched the up button and practically shoved her inside. The roof sprang to mind, and he jabbed the button with the highest number. From the digits, they would have a few minutes' ride.

A computerized voice that sounded remarkably like Pepper Potts flooded the elevator. "Security clearance required for the selected floor. Authorized personnel only."

Rolling his eyes, Remy ran his fingers over the elevator panel, hoping to pop it open and hot wire the damn thing. He had purposely left most of his working tools at home out of respect for his host, but he did have his trusty set of lock picks hidden in a place always missed in your standard pat down. Never leave home without them, he thought wryly as he pulled the small pouch out and laid it open on his left hand.

"Oh, Jesus H. Christ…" Rogue muttered and elbowed him aside. She placed her palm on a touchscreen aligned next to the panel of buttons. A light pulsed under her hand.

"Identity: Rogue. Access granted."

Remy smiled sheepishly as she folded her arms, leaned back against the elevator and looked away from him. The futuristic interior of the elevator reminded Remy of a Shi'ar battlecruiser, the glossy walls were composed of polished foreign metal alternating with banks of lights. The styling wasn't anything like the entrance or ballroom. This was utility, technical. He leaned back next to Rogue, their shoulders touching.

She was pouting. He usually loved when she pouted, all puffy lips and scrunched eyebrows, but there was a low simmering anger emanating from her that he hadn't seen in a long time, and he found it troubling. "Thought we were taking a walk," she said and scooted away from him so she wasn't touching him anymore.

"Going up to the roof. You looked like you need some fresh air." He scooted towards her until his shoulder touched hers again. He felt her try to move away further, but she ran herself into the corner of the elevator. Nowhere to go now, chere, he thought.

There was a thickness in her voice, from sadness or from the whiskey, Remy couldn't tell which. "I wish people would stop telling me what I need." She moved forward to try and squirm out of the corner and away from him, but Remy was quicker than she was. He spun and trapped her between his outstretched arms and the elevator walls, their chests touching. The look in Anna's eyes was absolutely murderous, and Remy tried to remember how dangerous she could be, but it was hard, really hard to ignore what her deep breaths were doing to her breasts heaving against him.

His arms surrounded her like bars in a cage. "What do you think you need? Another drink? Don't really think that's the answer, chere. May feel good, real good right now to numb the pain, drown it all to make it go away." Her eyes flicked away from his, but he kept talking. "But, I guarantee that is not what you need. The Anna I know would be real disappointed in herself if she jeopardized this fancy new job she got…"

"You think I give a shit about this job?" she hissed angrily.

Remy was taken slightly aback. "Yeah. I do. Me, Logan, everyone, we've never been so damn proud of you. Mutant girl makes good, playing in the big leagues." He lowered his face to try to make her look at him.

"Logan needs to mind his own damn business."

"Chere, you are his business. The man is worried about you, said you're having a real hard time." Remy dropped an arm and grabbed her chin to force her to look in his eyes. "I thought he was just being his usual paranoid self, but then I find you downing whiskey like there's no tomorrow. I mean damn, I know it's an open bar girl, but you would have been on the floor if I hadn't pulled you out of there. Is that really what you need?"

Her eyes flashed at him and she raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at him. "So, Logan told you to come check up on me. Figures. Did Captain Buzzkill also tell you that he already dressed me down for drinking too much, and made me absorb his healing factor?" There was the angry pout again.

Remy blinked a couple of times. "Wait, what?" He shook his head and tried to hide the small smile that crept onto his face. It wasn't a good idea to provoke a pissed off Rogue.

"Don't you dare laugh at me, Remy LeBeau! I was propped up at the bar, doing my best to ignore all the rich idiot's that were coming up and hitting on me…Y'know, for a charity event, Tony's little party has a creepy swinger vibe going which I am so not into…I was having a little too much champagne with that gorgeous hunk of beefcake behind the bar, and I guess somebody ratted me out to Tony that I wasn't working the donors or something, because Papa Logan had to come over and lecture me…" Remy stepped back slightly, and Rogue crossed her arms under her breasts in irritation.

The smile kept creeping back on his face despite his best efforts to wipe it away. "He made you absorb his healing factor? You're not drunk?" If he started laughing, she was probably going to knee him in the groin.

"Stone cold sober. He lectured me like I was some damn teenager caught after curfew! I couldn't get drunk right now if I tried, at least not for a couple of hours. Figured I'd stick it to Tony by cleaning out his bar a little in the meantime…" He couldn't hold it in any longer as the pent up laughter spilled out of him. The scowl lifted from Rogue's face, and she started laughing, too. "I guess it is pretty ridiculous. I was kind of acting like an ass…"

Remy had to wipe tears from his eyes as he imagined Logan and Tony Stark giving lessons on discipline. With effort he brought himself under control and leaned in close to her again. "I agree it sounds pretty ridiculous, but this is more than just tonight. I can tell you're angry, petite. Logan said you've been dealing with some pretty crazy things. You know you can talk to me about anything. This party downstairs isn't my thing either. We're almost to the roof, why don't we relax a little, enjoy each other's company and have a little talk…"

She opened her mouth as if to argue, but the overhead lights flickered. Remy stared into her startled face, and the elevator groaned and screeched, metal on metal. He grabbed her and pulled her down into the corner and shielded her with his arm while the car shook violently.

"What the hell?" Rogue started, but the elevator shimmied fiercely, and Remy winced when she dug her fingers into his upper arms. The lights ceased their disco strobe and died, leaving them bathed in the red cast of the emergency beacons. Their eyes met in a confused heartbeat, and Remy smiled lopsidedly, hoping to ease the tension.

"Maybe we should…" the thought died on his lips when the sliding doors flew apart in a burst of sizzling energy, flaming metal shrapnel barely missing his head.