Celeste sighed and shifted around, gingerly sitting up so that ahe could check the time. They'd managed to knock the objects on the night stand to the floor sometime during the course of their activities. She glanced down at it, reading blinking green numbers when her vision cleared. It was 2:00 in the morning. She slid from the bed, careful not to wake Logan. He'd put up a good fight, but the poor man really didn't stand a chance. The last time, Logan had showed no signs of slowing down. . .until she'd established a link that doubled their sensation, his for hers. After he had passed out, Callie checked his pulse once or twice just to be safe. Yep, she smirked to herself, Kipling was right. The female *is* deadlier than the male.

She tested her legs, stumbling around in the darkness a bit until she hit her stride. She was sore in a few places, but that was perfectly all right. She dropped onto the top of the vanity and regarded her pale, silver-sheened face in the few stray shafts of moonlight. Something twitched in the vicinity of her abdomen, and Callie dropped her hands to her stomach. Heat flowed into her fingers as she checked up on the little ones. Logan Jr. was fighting with his sister, and the girl was putting up the battle her fetal pride demanded. Celeste sucked in a gasping breath while the two switched positions. Logan was now on the left, having shoved his sister to the right. Her teeth clenched as she felt the sharp stabbing motions raking the walls of her womb. She closed her eyes and mentally bellowed at them to knock it off or she'd never bring them to bear. Logan Jr. slowly retracted his tiny claws, and the mass of energy that surrounded his tiny, vague form went dim while he sulked.

Celeste sighed, grateful that the pain was gone, and stood up slowly. The muscles of her abs and thighs were knotted tightly in response. She would have to find someplace to stretch herself out and work off extra energy. She wandered over to the bed and pulled the covers up over Logan, brushing the hair back from his forehead tenderly before slipping out into the hall.

Gambit found her in the Workout Room, hanging upside down in mid-air, doing sit-ups.

"Bon soir, Pichouette. I figured you'd be fas' asleep by now, chere." He pulled a t-shirt over his head and finished buttoning his jeans. He got a perverse satisfaction out of the fact that she was watching from the corner of her eye.

"Bon soir, Remy. Je ne suis pas dormir parce que j'ai beaucoup plus d'energie."

"Too much energy?" he smirked at that, "You and Wolvie been goin' at it all day an' you got *too much energy*?" He shook his head ruefully.

"Yeah," she stopped exercising for a moment, hanging upside down, arms crossed over her chest. "Tu n'avez pas un excuse?"

"My excuse is dat I got a lot on my mind."

"Oh?" Callie flipped over, jumping down to stand in front of him. "Anything interestin'?"

"Oh, definitely, pichouette. I'm thinkin' 'bout you."

"Moi?" She glanced at him from under her eyelashes, already walking to a pair of uneven bars at the far end of the room. She leaped up and grabbed the high bar before saying more, "Porquoi?"

"Why? Well, pichouette, it might have somethin' to do wit' de fact dat you got Gambit all worked up and den left."

He watched her vault over the bars, back and forth, high to low, for a few minutes, and the intensity of his burning red gaze was beginning to irritate Callie. "So go find pick up one of your usual dates off the street and make her an offer."

"Ouch, pichouette. Dat's harsh."

"The truth hurts."

"Yeah, I figured as much. Which is why I kept dis letter so dat your man wouldn't see it." He took the paper in question from his pocket and waved it at her.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Celeste swung off the high bar and turned a few flips, landing flat-footed in front of him again. She snatched the letter and stared at it for a minute. It was plain paper, so it wasn't from any Lord of the Empire. The name 'Celeste Leveau' was scrawled across it in angry red lettering, and the thing was sealed with a bit of wax, stamped with a very old emblem.

She'd hoped to never see it again.

"You recognize the seal?" she asked, hoping to God he would say no.

No such luck. "You t'ink *I*, of all people, wouldn' recognize the seal of de Thieves Guild?" She swore under her breath and tore open the letter, reading it quickly.

Gambit took advantage of the shift in her attention to look her over. Small feet melted upward into slim, lithe legs that flared into womanly hips, and an alarmingly flat stomach for a pregnant woman. To say that she was generous would be blasphemy; Gambit would bet his last five that she'd won a few wet t-shirt contests in her life. Finally, he lifted his eyes to her face with its small nose and razor-sharp cheekbones, dominated by arching, elegant brows and large, cat-like green eyes, which blazed a peculiar gold when she jerked her gaze from the letter to find him scrutinizing her. "If you want to keep those pretty eyes of yours, I'd suggest you look at something else," she hissed.

"I could be lookin' at dat letter," he returned easily.

"You could also be lookin' at your own intestines. Neither *should* be necessary." Gambit detected a fine thread of desperation in her voice.

He switched tactics. "What's wrong, Pichouette?" he moved closer, part of him wondering what the hell he thought he was doing, crowding Logan's woman like this.

The other part of his was doing what he'd been wanting to do ever since he'd felt her small white teeth sink into his thigh earlier that morning. Ever since she'd pressed her pretty little self against him and brushed her lips against his. He'd felt hot and itchy all afternoon.

"Nothing's wrong. And stop calling me 'little girl'," she snapped, "I'm a woman."

"I know."

He knew more than he thought he did on that subject, Callie thought hysterically. He had, after all, helped to make her one. A woman, that is. "Since you know so much, there really is no need to shove. So back off, Cajun," she returned smoothly.

He stayed where he was. "What's in de letter?"

"It has nothing to do with you," she told him. Except for the fact that it had everything to do with him. She turned her back on him and walked from the room, slowly and easily.

She ditched the pretense when she cleared the corner of the hallway, and ran up the stairs and through the West Wing of the mansion. She opened the door and slipped inside, her heart heavy with the fact that her words to Logan had been so right. . . "I can't stay here! I have no right to be here!". . .There were other reasons she couldn't afford to stay in this world. But she'd chosen to ignore the odds and toss the dice.

Snake eyes. Damn. And now the Thieves' Guild was calling in the marker.

Worst of all, Logan was going to kill her when he found out. At the very least, he would probably ask for a divorce; he might expect it, even.

Gambit was never going to look at her the same again, that was for sure.

Celeste pulled a thick sweatshirt over her jeans. Ankle boots with four inch heels followed after. She pulled the collar of the shirt up, searching with one hand for a pair of onyx-framed sunglasses she'd hidden under the bureau, in case of emergencies. Logan rolled over and mumbled something in his sleep. Celeste sat up in a guilty, fast move, banging her head on the underside of a drawer that was still open.

"Fuck!" She glanced nervously at Logan. He was still sleeping, his breathing deep and even.

"Such unladylike language, Pichouette." Gambit spoke from behind her. She didn't have to look back to know he had been leaning against the door jamb, watching her scantily-clad bum as she scrambled around on the floor.

"Blow me, Remy."

"I've heard worse offers."

"I can believe that," she muttered as she sailed past him. She made it all the way across the yard with Gambit trailing along silently, no doubt watching her easy, fluid gait. His sneakered feet made no sound as he followed her across the yard to the forest. A tiny smile curved her mouth. He wouldn't be trying to sneak up on her, would he?

He caught up with her at the edge of the pond, slipping off her boots. "What're you doing, chere?"

"Guess." She pulled open the belt of her jacket, rolling her shoulders to get it off. She stripped her gloves off with her teeth, one finger at a time. She reached for the hem of her dress and suddenly focused on him, as though she had forgotten his presence. "Turn around."

"What for?"

"Because I told you to."

"What are you doing, anyway?"

"I have to ask somebody a question."

He looked doubtful. "And dis somebody lives in the pond?"

"Yes, God damn it, now *turn around*!"

"Who is it?"

"Look," she snarled, "This letter-" she held it up, "-says that someone very important is missing. I am going to ask the Elementals of water, the undines, if they have seen him. Since 70% of this worthless pebble *you* call Earth is water, I have a better chance of finding this person." She tossed the letter into the pond with an angry flick of her wrist. "If they do not know anything, I'm going to ask the Air Elementals, the sylphs. Get it?!"

"So why are you undressing?"

She glared at him, mentally slamming his head into a nearby tree, "Because the undines respond best to purity and simplicity. If I get naked and channel the bitches while I'm in their element, it might not take as long to get an answer."

"Purity? I doubt you have dat anymore, chere."

You would know better than most. "Not that kind of purity, you twit. Purity, as in, in my most natural state. Naked."

She glared at him pointedly, her teeth clenched so tightly she was aware of the sound of her jaw cracking. "Are you going to turn around?"

He crossed his arms over his chest, one eyebrow raised as though daring her to keep going. Her lips thinned to a white line, her eyes narrowed to gleaming slits. "When I get finished, I'm going to dig your eyeballs out of your face with a spork." Callie took a fortifying breath and drew her sweater up over her head.

Remy's eyes grew huge in his face as he got an eyeful of her naked form. He almost swallowed he own tongue as he feasted on the sight of her pale flesh, gilded silver by the dim moonlight. "I hope you choke," she mumbled before she dove into the water. If she got a good answer, she was going to pull her clothes back on and get the hell of Dodge, while she still had the chance. Leaving Logan was going to kill her, but she couldn't risk endangering him.