Gambit wasn't talkative as they headed for North Salem. Before, conversation flowed freely between them; now, the air was uncomfortable, tense. Lauren tried to ignore the wall building between them by watching the upper New York landscape passing by. The forest with trees full of golden and crimson leaves had gradually grown closer to where they became a tunnel. She couldn't see anything past the serene trees.

When a road sign said North Salem was ten miles away, she turned to confront him.

"Alright, I know you're upset about Mr. Kavel's kiss, but why?"

"I'm not upset about the kiss, I'm—"

She interrupted. "Liar. Nothing else has happened to make you shut off from me other than that, so Mr. Kavel's the reason. Try again."

His grip tightened on the wheel but didn't answer.

"Your problem's with Mr. Kavel, then?" she guessed.

Gambit refused to look at her. "I suppose."

That wasn't it; Lauren would play along until he got around to the real reason. "Why?"

"Do I need a reason for not liking the man?" he snapped.

"Yes, because I like him."

"Do you even know him?"

"Of course I do!"

"Do you truly know him, besides as your boss?"

"You can't tell me who I can and can't date!"

He opened his mouth to immediately respond, but then closed it. His mouth opened quite a few times, but he always thought better of what he started to say. Finally, he sighed in defeat. "You're right; I don't."

"I know I am," she stated. "I'm just wondering why you're moping about this."

"Moping?" he repeated, and scoffed. "Hardly."

"Seems like it to me. Care to explain what you think you're doing?"

Gambit took a moment to answer. "Call it concern, but I just want you to be sure he's what you want. He's a playboy; I could see that immediately."

"And you're not?"

He winced and again he didn't have an immediate comeback. "Is that how you see me?" he asked quietly.

"No, that's not the only thing I see about you. But you do enjoy flirting with women just to see their reactions; you can't deny that."

"Non, I'm not going to try to. I have always attracted females, and I learned to use it, sometimes to my advantage. I don't... particularly like flirting, but with a face like mine, I'm expected to."

Her thoughts flashed back to the waitress he had flirted with to lower their bill. Lauren had seen him do the same countless times, all to assist them in some way. But she had also noticed the edge come into his eyes as his face remained charming every time he did it, like he was tired of putting up with the act. Gambit didn't find pleasure in flirting, but the charade had helped them, and he knew that.

"I'm not trying to throw you under the bus for being you. I'm just making you realize I know what I'm getting into from being around you. What makes him so different from you? Other than the obvious being he's not a mutant," she added in.

Gambit shrugged. "You know him better than I do."

"Not really," she admitted. "I just know his flirty side; I don't know what he's like beyond that." Now that she stated it, Lauren realized that she didn't know Mr. Kavel that well. He could be a completely different person outside of work.

"Can you trust him?"

She thought about it. "I believe I can. Now we've just circled back to my original question: why are you concerned?"

"I don't want you to get hurt, chérie."

"Mr. Kavel's not going to hurt me, Remy."

He sighed. "Well then, if you're absolutely sure, then I guess there's nothing I should be worried about."

Lauren just looked at him—his flippant attitude wasn't fooling her. "Tell me the truth, Remy. I know it's not Mr. Kavel that you're worried about. You know you can talk to me, so what's really bothering you?"

Gambit didn't say anything for a while. "Je t'aime bien," he said quietly.

That bit of French she couldn't figure out. "Sorry?"

"I like you, Lauren," he translated. "Even though I care about you, I have no claim on you. Because I'm..." —he hesitated— "jealous... shouldn't keep you from seeking your happiness. You are a woman of your own mind; you're capable of making your own decisions—I hold no position telling you what I think."

She blinked. Did he just admit that he had feelings for her? And 'in no position' to tell her what he thought? What kind of crap was that? She always wanted to know what he thought. He was the first thing she thought of when waking and the last when falling asleep. He never left her head for a second and he couldn't see that she was enamored with him?

"For being such a charmer and a master at cards, you sure do suck at reading people."

He looked at her sharply.

"Remy," Lauren began as she shifted to face him better. "Why do you think I've stayed with you all this time? Honestly? I could've gone to the police long before Nitall sent out our descriptions and explained while you got away. I don't want to leave you, and I don't want you to leave me.

"From what you've said, I don't think I'm the only one that has imagined us either."

Gambit was speechless for once.

"You really need to keep your eyes on—"

A loud bang as something popped a front tire cut her off. The remaining tires squealed as the car fishtailed. On impulse, Gambit jerked the wheel to the right, then fought against the complaining vehicle to keep from over-correcting and flipping them.

"Remy!" she screamed in warning as they careened toward a tree.

His foot slammed on the brakes, but they crashed head-on into the thick tree. Her seatbelt and the airbag kept her from slamming into the dash or the windshield, but the force of the impact shattered the glass and the front end of the car had practically wrapped around the trunk; her head still banged into the dash and the shards cut into her skin, anyway.

Lauren sat there slumped over the deflating airbag for a while, listening to the hissing radiator before her body registered what just happened. Her right temple throbbed so much from hitting the dash it felt like someone was relentlessly pounding a wedge into her skull. Wetness ran down the side of her face and her arms stung from the glass slicing her. She would probably have a rash from where the seatbelt had cut into her. Sharp needles stung her neck from the whiplash and her legs hurt from having the dash pressed down on her since the front end had folded back.

She just wanted to give in to that luring beckoning into unconsciousness, but she fought her body to stay awake. She had to check on Remy—see if he was okay.

It took a lot of effort to open her eyes; even then, she could only peer through her lashes. Gambit was slumped against the steering wheel with his head turned toward her, eyes closed but breathing. Accomplishing her goal of seeing him alive, her mind nearly shut down for the blackness of sleep to comfort her. But the distinct rumble of a man's voice kept her from passing out—whoever it was could help.

She strained to open her eyes again; through her lashes, she saw two dark blots appear at the driver's window. With scraping metal and glass crunching, Gambit's door opened. Lauren began to ask them for help when they immediately pulled Remy out, not being gentle in the slightest with his limp form. Her vision cleared enough to where she saw them attach Power Locks to his arms, then hauled him out of view.

Nitall's men didn't come back for her. Lauren heard the slam of a sliding door, then a black van drove past, also disappearing out of her line of sight.

They had failed; they were so close to safety only to be caught. The men hadn't even glanced at her, not caring about her safety at all—she was a non-mutant. Remy was their sole focus. If she had to guess, she bet the men had caused the blowout with spike strips or something to make them crash. And Avaleyn would kill Remy by taking his powers and she was left here to die.

Lauren wanted to cry: she would never see Remy again; she could never tell him that she loved him. But crying got no one anywhere. She tried to move her legs in the hope they weren't broken and she could wriggle free, but she was pinned down. Even if she somehow got free, though, she wouldn't know how to rescue Remy—she didn't even know where they were headed. Best just to stop fretting and accept her hopeless situation.

Just as she began to slip under, she heard the rumbling of a motorcycle. Hope fought to reawaken her that whoever could rescue her, but her energy spent keeping awake was almost gone. She didn't hear the motor rumble past, so maybe they had stopped to investigate the crash.

Through her lashes, she saw a dark, blurry blot appear at the opened driver's door. The figure's head turned like searching for something, and she heard quick inhales of air. Was the person sniffing the air?

"Help," she said weakly.

The blot disappeared then a few seconds later, the passenger door was ripped open in more crunching glass and screeching metal. She felt a warm hand touch her back as they observed her predicament, then retreated; next, she heard the scraping of metal like a blade was unsheathed. She felt the seatbelt being sliced, then a horrible crunching sound as the dash was cut into. Whatever weapon they used was strong because the weight lifted off her legs.

With a sheathing of the blade, the hands came back; whoever eased her out of the destroyed Camry and cradled her against their chest. His chest, to be exact; the man radiated heat like a space heater and, he smelt of whiskey and the smoky hint of a cigar.

"Don't worry, kid; I'll get you some help," a deep, gravelly voice rumbled through his chest.

He was extremely gentle as he carried her in his arms. She barely registered the swaying motion of being carried. Lauren wondered how he could drive his motorcycle with her in his lap; he couldn't—he'd call for help, of course. Then she passed out.