Adrian: Well, here's chapter three! In which Remy continues in his dastardly plots to stop his daughter from dating boys. Only now, he's got help. Gambit, Pyro, AND the Scarlet Witch all plotting together? Clearly, nothing good can come from this.

Oh, also any mistakes in language can be blamed on online translators. My French, Italian, and Spanish aren't that advanced (although why my Spanish isn't, I have no excuses. I'm just a slacker. I've learned it for too long and been around too many fluent speakers to not know it by now, but I still don't. At least I've only been learning French for a short while, and it's been a while since I seriously tried studying Italian).

So, yeah, basically what I'm saying is that if anyone wants to correct me, please go ahead.

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything except this laptop.

The Fatherhood Chronicles: Step Two—Foundation

"You're up to something." Rogue announced this without preamble when she walked into one of the mansion's many entertainment rooms to find her husband sprawled out over the couch and marathon-ing Star Trek: The Original Series without her. Or waiting for her, she wasn't quite sure.

Remy's head jerked away from the screen. His mouth gaped open, the straw from his drink half hanging out, as he stared at his wife in shock.

"Roguie!" he greeted enthusiastically, once he realized what she'd just said. "Ah set all dis up f' just de two of us. Stormy took de kids off our hands f' de night, 'n' Ah blackmailed Scooter into lettin' us have de next couple days off."

Rogue frowned. On one hand, this could be one of those nice, sporadic romantic gestures he popped out with every now and again just to keep their relationship alive. On the other hand, it could be one of those seemingly nice, sporadic romantic gestures he popped out with every now and again just to bribe something out of her.

"What do ya want, Swamp Rat?" she demanded, hopping over the back of the couch to sit next to him.

Remy pouted as he shifted, plopping his legs in Rogue's lap. "Anna, y' insult my inner-Trekkie. Ah can't just watch m' favourite show?"

"Sugah, if you didn't want anything, we'd be watchin' Buffy."

"Okay, okay, y' caught me," the Cajun admitted forlornly, a sigh on the edge of his lips. "So Ah talked t' Logan de other day, see? An' de hypocritical lil' Canadian tells me Ah need to let go! Can y' believe 'im? All dose times he nearly dismembered lil' Remy, and he tells me AH need a' let go. Does dat even—"

"Look, sugah, do you got a point with all o' this?" Rogue cut in, shooting her man a very pointed look. Remy laughed nervously.

"Yeah. Basically, Ah got t' thinkin', and decided dat maybe dere's somet'in' to lettin' Nai date. But only under very, very controlled circumstances. So Mikey's comin' t' family dinner in two days."

Rogue blinked. Remy was relenting? Letting Nai'lah and Mike date? The only answer that the multi-coloured haired woman could deduce was that her (charming, sweet, adorable) cunning husband was up to something. If it had been back with Jimmy, Rogue might not have been suspicious, but Gambit and Angel had had it out for each other ever since that one time in the Danger Room when Warren hadn't managed to get out of the way in time, and an Ace of Spades happened to leave his wings incapacitated for days. Warren blamed Remy, Remy blamed Warren, and the two had been at constant war with each other for years.

There was absolutely no way the vindictive thief would ever relent, especially when it came to the fruits of Angel's loins spending an inordinate amount of time around his daughter…but for now, for Nai'lah's sake, Rogue would play along.

"Rems, we don't have family dinner. We live in a giant boardin' school with hundreds o' students. We eat cafeteria food, sweetums. Our kitchen don't even have a stove in it, just a microwave."

Remy quirked an eyebrow, mouting 'sweetums?' to himself before responding. "Dat blackmailin' Ah told y' 'bout? Yeah, let's just say I 'convinced' ol' one-eye into lendin' us de boat house. It's all arranged, Anna. Ah told Nai'lah, she okayed it with Mikey, Ange pouted, Betsy relented, an' Pyro, Wanda, and Zen are comin', too."

Rogue blinked again. Her husband was being rather…thorough about all this. Either he really was serious, or he was even more definitely up to something. The Southern Belle was betting on the latter.

Narrowing emerald eyes at the only serious relationship in her entire life, the powerful mutant gave a slight nod. "Ah'm almost one hundred percent sure you're up to somethin', dear, but Ah'm willin' to give ya the benefit of the doubt, Swampie, with the knowledge that should you be plannin' somethin' that's gonna ruin our daughter's life in any way, this marriage will turn abusive. Got that, sugah?" the suspicious woman questioned.

Her husband laughed, relaxing even further in his seat. "Dis relationship been abusive. De way y' hurt poor ol' Remy here, 'tis a rotten shame. Give nos enfants a complex. Make 'em go 'round school tellin' les professeurs 'bout how maman been' beatin' up on papa. Really t'ink y' should have de Prof work on dese anger problems y' have, chérie. It just breaks dis Cajun's heart de way y' hurt 'im sometimes." Here the red-eyed man faked a sniffle.

Rogue fake scowled, barely able to contain her laughter at her husband's antics, as she swatted the legs in her lap. "Of course, ya deserve it. Unfortunately, Ah'm too far gone for even a telepath lahke Xavier to help. So you just gotta put up with me an' all my abusive tendencies." A slight giggle escaped before she noticed that her husband was no longer paying her any mind, instead focusing entirely on the television that played their favourite show.

"Shush, woman, you know dis is de best part o' de episode."

Rogue just sighed, shaking her head, and settled in to join her thief of a husband.

(Two Days Prior)

"This is what we're going to do," the Scarlet Witch began, a determined look on her heavily made-up face. She sat in the middle of the room, cross-legged, adding an element of terror to the otherwise already scary room that was decorated in all manner of reds, blacks, and—was that a human skull? Remy LeBeau would never understand this woman. Or his best friend, for marrying her. He instead took the only chair in the room, which was upholstered in red velvet. He felt a very 'vampirish' theme going on here. Or witch-y. And he doubted it was because Halloween was approaching. "We are going to systematically undermine Na'ilah's relationship while making it appear that we are supportive of it. You, Remy, will be the perfect father. You will be supportive. You will be understanding. You will not give your daughter a sex talk—as accurate as it would probably be, your various sexcapades would probably traumatize the poor girl. And I know it is your goal to turn her off of sex for life—"

"Damn straight," Remy interjected. The glare he received silenced him immediately. Wanda Maximoff was even scarier than his wife.

"—But doing that," the woman continued as if she hadn't suffered an interruption, "would not only alert Rogue that something was wrong, it would also make her kill you and then I'd have to put up with that idiot's moaning about how he misses you." She nudged her head in Pyro's direction, where the other mutant stood against the wall playing with his fire and generally not paying attention at all.

"Okay, but Ah knew all dis before, woman. What y' got f' me dat's new?"

Another dark-eyed stare, but this time the red-eyed man held his ground. Wanda sniffed angrily before just continuing.

"Here's what you do first…"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"Alan, honey, go get y' sister," Remy commanded, walking into the suite his family shared at the mansion. The twelve-year-old boy looked up from the table where he was completing his homework and tilted his head in his father's direction.

"Mommy's not going to be too happy with whatever you're up to, papa," the overly-perceptive preteen commented, eyes identical to his father's peering deeply in much the same way, instantly knowing that whatever his dad was doing was No Good. Remy had never been as unhappy about his son inheriting his empathic senses as he was now.

"Child, Ah said t' get y' sister. Ah don't need y' questionin' mah motives. If y' maman got a problem, she'll take it up with me herself. Now, go, 'fore Ah decide t' not let y' and James hang out tomorrow. And den Stormy be mad at me, and dat just ain't worth it, garçon."

Alan sighed, curling a finger in the white stripe that decorated the front of his hair as he often did when frustrated before getting up to go do his father's bidding. This was just going to end badly.

Remy plopped himself down in the chair his son had just vacated, waiting for his older child. He glanced briefly at the textbook the boy had been using and nearly had a conniption. Algebra II? Since when was his seventh grade son taking Algebra II? The Cajun didn't even know they offered math that high in middle school.

"Ah, damn it. Ah seem t' be missin' out on so much in dese kids' lives. Nai's datin', Alan's doin' math. When did all dis happen? De boy could barely count just a bit ago!"

"Um, actually, papa, Alan's been able to count since he was two. Just saying."

Remy looked up to see his pride and joy, the light of his life, his very favourite darling daughter plop down across the table from him, that pout she'd had since she was a toddler on her face, the one that said she was upset with her father and needed to be spoiled in order to make it all better.

Rogue had always gotten mad at him for giving in to that face.

It was hard to resist, though. With her mother's green eyes and two-toned hair, it was almost like staring into a young, adorable Anna-Marie's face, and the thief had never been able to deny his wife anything—well, not since that one time he kidnapped her, that was.

"Na'ilah! We need t' talk," the over-protective father began, sitting up straight in the hard-backed chair.

The pout on the girl's face scrunched up into a look of abject horror. "Oh my god, papa, please don't tell me you're giving me the 'talk'. I'm sixteen, I know everything I need to about the mechanics of sex that I need to. Beast gives everyone a pretty detailed description of how it all works when we hit puberty, and mama covered everything that was left over. I really promise you that I do not need to hear that from you!"

Remy was tempted. He was really tempted. Looking down at his too pretty, very young daughter with her…her boobs, and her hair, and her…her womanly body, the father was very tempted to go against everything his best friend's wife had told him to do and regale his daughter with so many tales of his younger days that she would be turned off of sex for life. He managed to restrain himself, though.

Barely.

"Actually, petite, Ah jus' wanted t' talk t' y' 'bout y' new friend. Ange's boy. Dat telepathic lil' prat y' seem so inclined t' date."

And now came the defiant glare he had taught her himself when she was six—the one that usually got Rogue to sigh and go along with the girl's whims.

"Don't gimme dat look, fille, it ain't gon' work on me. Ah invented dat look. But dis ain't what y' t'ink, anyway. Ah've decided t' give dis you datin' thing a shot. And as such, Ah'd really appreciate it if you were to invite y'…boyfriend and his family over f' dinner on Thursday. Cuz dis t'ing ain't gonna work if Ange an' me still hate each other. 'Sides, y' Aunt Wanda and Pyro are comin' back t' town for a bit because dey suddenly remembered dey had a child."

Na'ilah giggled, at that, before exclaiming, "Thank you, daddy! Thank you so, so much. Mama said you'd never go for it, but I knew you would! You're the best!" And the girl looked like she was about to launch across the table to hug him, so Gambit put on his sternest face as he stared at her once more.

"But there will be rules."

-x-x-x-x-x-x-

"No way in hell," Warren Worthington announced when he heard the offer. Na'ilah and Mike, the ignominious little punk, looked crestfallen.

"But, dad—!" the blonde-haired brat tried to protest, only to be cut off with a stern glare from the inappropriately-named Angel.

"I said no and that's final. I might put up with you dating Na'ilah—because she inherited all her good qualities from her mother—but there is no way I'm purposely subjecting myself to a meal with that devil!"

"Dat 'devil' is standin' right here tryin' t' do good by our kids, connard," Remy snarled in return. "And if y' gonna insult me in front of mah child, de least y' could do is speak a different language. Oh, wait. Forgot. Y' only know English!"

"Yo sé más idiomas que usted," the angel-winged freak shot out in Spanish. Mike blinked at his girlfriend.

"Um…what'd he just say?" he whispered.

"I know more languages than you," she whispered back, completely unconcerned with the way the two men were practically growling at each other.

"Dubito fortemente che," the thief returned in Italian.

"And that was?" Mike requested once more.

"I doubt it," the multilingual girl translated.

"This is never going to work, is it?"

"Well, your dad is being kind of stubborn. Honestly, I'm surprised that mine even suggested it. I guess mama's talk got to him."

"What exactly is going on here?" A new, posh voice interrupted, the thick British accent interrupting the two grown men from their rapidly deteriorating argument.

"Mom!" Mike exclaimed. Betsy Braddock-Worthington, the purple-haired once-British-now-Asian telepathic ninja more commonly known as Psylocke stood in the doorway, looking like she was about to kill someone (but then again, that was the look usually on her face).

"Hi, Mrs. Worthington," Na'ilah waved. Psylocke spared the girl a brief nod before turning to the two men in the room.

"I asked you both a question."

"Ehh," Remy began awkwardly while Warren floundered for an answer.

"Mr. LeBeau was inviting us over for dinner on Thursday night, but dad started insulting him," the blonde teen popped in ever so helpfully. His father shot him a dirty look.

"Of course we'd love to come to dinner," Betsy replied evenly, "it's probably a good idea considering our children's…relationship."

"Dat was de general reasoning, yeah," the Cajun agreed.

The woman narrowed her eyes, examining the thief. Remy smirked, completely aware of the fact that she couldn't read his mind no matter how hard she tried. There was no way the woman was going to uncover his real intentions.

Like hell he was going to have Warren Worthington the III as a future in-law. There was no room for thirds in his family. Dinner this weekend was going to go splendidly.

(Present)

Remy watched Rogue saunter away from the sofa, the Star Trek marathon over and done with. He loved the way her hips swayed as she walked, that tight butt of hers shown off completely through the body-hugging black spandex. It was one of the joy's in being married: ogling his beautiful Anna without fear of retribution. It had been an amazing day when Wolverine realized he could no longer attempt to kill the Cajun for groping the skunk-haired girl. The feral Canadian's head had nearly exploded.

Gambit laughed out loud for a second before concentrating. He followed Rogue's mind with his until he felt his lovely wife move a suitable distance away and whipped out his cell phone. Punching a few numbers, the red-eyed man who some called devil allowed a grin that would've convinced them of that truth to creep over his face.

"Yeah?" the person on the other line answered.

"And dinner is a go," he all but cackled into the receiver.

"Okay, you're talking to me, not my idiot of a husband. The whole wannabe-evil thing just doesn't cut it. Although I will say that I'm impressed. I didn't think you could pull it off without screwing something up," the Scarlet Witch relented.

"Well, Anna is a tad suspicious, but everyone else seems perfectly on board."

"Of course she's suspicious. It'd be suspect if she weren't suspicious. This is you we're talking about, after all."

"Merci f' de vote o' confidence, petite. Dis ol' Cajun really appreciates it. Really."

"I'll see you Thursday," the woman concluded, the line going silent almost immediately.

Remy grinned to himself and stretched out further on the couch before aiming the DVD remote at the TV. It was good to have friends, sometimes. Especially when your friends had crazy powerful wives who loved your kids. The only think left to do was celebrate this good fortune with a marathon of Buffy. A click and it was starting.

Gambit was lucky Rogue didn't see this, though. Else, she'd be really suspicious.

TBC…

Adrian: One last thing to say-I have no idea when the next chapter will be up. It'll be up before the new year, though. But November approaches and with it comes the wave of fanfiction writers turning to write novels in a month. I'm joining them this year, so I'll try to keep my stories going, but nothing promised.

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