#soft gambit

You flicked the stove off and set the kettle down onto a different burner, grabbing the honey out of the cabinet and dutifully stirring in a spoonful and making sure that it was fully dissolved before placing the tea bag into the lightly sweetened water, giving it a lackluster stir.

“There you are, been lookin’ for you. Welcome back, cher.” Gambit’s cheerful voice rang out right as he wrapped his arms around your waist, the man wasting no time burying his nose against the back of your neck in order to breathe in the scent of your shampoo for a moment before giving a sigh of contentment and peppering little kisses across your shoulders. 

You let go of your cup, letting it sit on the counter to steep, and placed your hands over Gambit’s, which were resting on your midsection as he gently rocked the two of you. His clinginess wasn’t anything new –Gambit was naturally a very tactile person after all, especially with people he liked– but his needy behavior always seemed to escalate whenever you two were separated for more than a day.

This time, it was you that had been sent out on a mission –one that ended up lasting a total of three days– which meant that it’d been four days total since you’d seen Gambit, and that was reflected in the borderline desperate way he held onto you, like you’d suddenly disappear if he let go.

“I'm okay.” You said, only to immediately wince when your voice came out noticeably hoarse, like you hadn’t used it in awhile. You tried to clear your throat, but the attempt immediately devolved into a coughing fit –your lungs crackling in a concerning manner– and you shoved Gambit away from you so that you could rush over to the sink, leaning over the edge as you hacked up some phlegm and spit it into the metal basin with a look of disgust.

“Tu te sens bien? Somethin’ wrong, mon cœur? You bein’ real quiet.” Gambit murmured against your shoulder  and you braced yourself for him to implement his usual tried and true method of needling at you until you gave in and told him what was bothering you.

“Alright, fine, you caught me. I'm sick.” You admitted defeatedly once you realized that there was no hiding it anymore, your shoulders slumping as you miserably shuffled back over to where you had left your tea, pulling the bag out and throwing it away.

“Sick? Why didn' you say somethin' earlier?” Gambit repeated as he stared at you with visible concern, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out and take you back into his arms, but he didn’t. Whether it was because he didn’t want to catch whatever you had or because he was upset with you, you weren’t sure. “Have you seen the doc, uh, Jean?” He continued as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his hip against the counter as he waited for your response.

“Um… no?” You replied slowly, a nauseating mix of guilt and defensiveness bubbling up your throat as you watched Gambit’s expression instantly morph into one of mild disappointment. “It's not like I planned on taking a dip into freezing cold water, but Logan fell in and needs must.” You snapped, frowning at the memory of watching Logan sink beneath the waves after being tackled into the water, the panic you’d felt when you realized that he was falling fast and you might not reach him in time.

Who knew that having a metal-coated skeleton made it a bit difficult to swim. If you hadn't gone in after him like you did, Logan would have most likely drowned, unable to get back to the surface by himself.

“Mon dieu, you stubborn idiot.” He muttered under his breath as he shook his head, reaching up to briefly pinch the bridge of his nose between two fingers before finally letting his hand brush against your back, rubbing up and down your spine soothingly until the tension in your body –which you hadn’t even noticed– eased.

“Yeah, well, you’re not any better.” You said petulantly, though most of the righteous anger you’d felt had already dissipated since you knew rationally that Gambit was right… as he usually was when it came to your recklessness and inability to properly take care of yourself, the man having had first hand experience with your self-destructive tendencies.

You swallowed hard, your lips pressing into a thin line as you tried to ignore how talking so much agitated your raw, scratchy throat as you picked up your mug and took a slow sip of your tea, hoping to help ease the discomfort since it didn’t seem like Gambit would be willing to drop the subject anytime soon, being the overprotective boyfriend that he was.

“But we not talking ‘bout Gambit right now, cher. We talkin’ bout you.” Gambit stated and, despite his words, there was no real bite to them. If anything, he sounded more affectionate than anything else as he spoke, his hand never faltering as it continued to idly glide over your back. “You and Wolvie should’ve been more careful.” Gambit added on as an afterthought as he pulled away, making his way over to the fridge and pulling it open in order to look at the contents.

Gambit said something else as he rummaged around the shelves, but it fell on deaf ears, your focus turned inward as the wording brutally reminded you of the fact that the last time you spoke with Gambit, it was during a pretty intense argument about how you needed to be more careful. An argument that luckily just ended in you promising to not put yourself in needless danger –if not for your own sake, than for Gambit’s continued peace of mind– before you left on the mission with Storm and Wolverine. 

A promise that you hadn’t hesitated to break the moment that someone’s life was on the line.

“Cher?” You heard Gambit call out to you and you blinked as you came out of the dark place your thoughts had led you to, glancing up to meet Gambit’s worried gaze. And whatever he saw in your face had his expression softening as he reached out to gently cup your cheek, brushing a calloused thumb under your eye.

“Sorry.” You mumbled quietly while sniffling miserably, your fingers twitching where they were wrapped around warm porcelain as remorse made your already congested, aching chest feel tight. 

“Don' do that. You got nothin’ to apologize for.” Gambit reassured, his tone light as he set the labeled container he’d been in the middle of scrutinizing back into the fridge in order to give you his full attention, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that never failed to make you feel like prey.

“But I broke my promise? To be more careful? You must be mad at me.” You said nervously, your eyes welling up with frustrated tears as you stared down at your cooling cup of tea in order to avoid meeting Gambit's gaze, terrified of the disappointment that you might see there since you weren’t in a good enough headspace to emotionally handle Gambit being upset with you.

The air in the kitchen shifted and an involuntary shiver rolled down your spine at the tension that had abruptly filled the room, looking up to find Gambit suddenly standing right in front of you without having made a sound.

You waited for the inevitable fallout now that you’d pointed out that he had every reason to be furious with you, but he remained silent. He didn’t scold. Didn’t sigh or roll his eyes or crack a joke to deflect like he normally would have when the conversation became too heavy. Instead, he gently pried the mug from your hands in order to set it aside and then cupped both of your cheeks with warm palms until you had no choice but to hold his gaze.

“Listen here, mon amour,” He murmured, pausing for a moment to make sure that you were paying close attention before continuing. “You jumped into arctic water to save Logan’s thick skull from sinkin’ to kingdom come… after promisin’ me you’d take care? Yeah, that stings a little.” He admitted with a little laugh, a half-smile tugging at his mouth that somehow looked sad and proud all at once as he stared into your eyes, his thumbs dutifully sweeping away the occasional tear that slipped past your waterline.

“But mad? Non, cher. Never.” Gambit whispered like a confession as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against yours with a gentleness that felt like forgiveness. Your eyes drifted closed and you reached up to cling to his wrists, not because you wanted him to let go or because you wanted to get away, but to simply ground yourself as you matched his steady breathing. “You slipped on one promise while on the job. Shit happens, mon amour. I know dat as well as you do… don't mean it don't scare me near stupid.”

You let out a weak chuckle when he pulled away just far enough to plant a light kiss on the tip of your red nose, his own quiet huff of laughter blowing out across your face. You opened your eyes and your heart did something funny in your chest when you were met with Gambit’s boyish smile, the one that was reserved for you and only you; raw and real and nothing like the usual charming grin he used to get out of trouble.

You both took a moment to recover from the emotional moment you’d shared before Gambit pressed one last kiss to your forehead before stepping away, returning to the fridge in order to collect the container he’d been looking at earlier and bring it over to the stove before squatting down and searching one of the lower cabinets for a pot.

“Now sit down before you fall over and let me make you somethin'. Might even let you have some sweet potato ice cream if Gambit’s feelin’ generous.” Gambit said with a lopsided grin, and you took his advice and sat down at the breakfast bar, watching his long fingers reach for the various ingredients on the counter with practiced ease. “But you better not shut me out next time, hear? Ain't nothin' you go through I ain't willin' to face beside you, even if it's just a damn head cold.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” You agreed with a small smile, lifting your cup back into your hands so you could breathe in the steam before taking a long sip, watching Gambit begin puttering around the kitchen over the rim of your mug.

Though, it wasn’t long before the tea alone wasn’t enough to keep you warm, your incessant cold rearing its ugly head and making you shiver in your over-sized hoodie, suddenly freezing despite the comfortable –bordering on warm now that Gambit was cooking– temperature of the kitchen. And you silently cursed when you realized that the sudden chill that you couldn’t shake was a surefire sign of a developing fever.

You debated the merits of getting up and making the exhausting trip to the living room in order to take one of the throws from the couch to wrap up in but, before you could even get up, Gambit turned away from the stove, pausing when he noticed that you were shivering. He abandoned the pot bubbling away on the burner and crossed the room in two quick strides, hurrying over to your side in order to press the back of his hand against your forehead, checking your temperature.

“Merde, cher, you’re far too warm.” He tutted under his breath when he felt the heat radiating off you, the Cajun brushing a strand of damp hair from your temple. Then, in one smooth motion, he took off his signature trench coat and swung it around your shoulders like a cape, fussing with it like a mother hen until he was satisfied. “Dat should do for now.”

You pulled the coat tighter around yourself as Gambit returned to the stove, waiting until his back was turned to you before caving into the urge to bury your nose into the collar of his coat to inhale the scent of cologne and musk that lingered on the fabric, staying like that until a new scent began to fill the air.

You emerged from Gambit’s coat and perked up with thinly veiled interest as the delicious smell of something smoky filled the kitchen, your stomach giving a grumble of complaint as it reminded you that you had had nothing to eat but some applesauce all day due to your throat being sore. You eagerly leaned forward in your seat in order to try and get a better look at what it was that Gambit was cooking on the stove.

“You best be jokin’…” Gambit said without inflection and you shrugged in response since anything you could say at that point would only succeed in working the other man up further, and you did want to cuddle with Gambit later which would require remaining on his good side.

“Remy–” You began, gearing up to begin handling damage control, but Gambit was quick to cut you off before you could get more than a word out.

“Non,” Gambit snapped as he held up a finger –strict as a schoolteacher now– and you obediently shut your mouth with an audible click. “You said all Gambit need to know.” He said as he stalked over to the fridge like a man on a mission and yanked it open, sending condiments rattling in their slots. 

Then, in what seemed like one blink and the next, he was multitasking between stirring the bubbling pot of stew on one burner, frying up two eggs on another, cutting up an avocado into thin slices and watching the two pieces of sourdough bread he'd popped into the toaster to make sure that they didn't get too brown.

“You unbelievable sometimes, you know dat?” Gambit muttered as he pulled the bread from the toaster and put it on a plate, the Cajun slathering a healthy amount of butter onto both slices with far more aggression than necessary while you brought your shoulders up to your ears, wishing that the ground would just open up beneath you and swallow you whole.

By the time Gambit had taken your lukewarm tea from your grasp and set down the golden toast layered with sliced avocado, a sprinkle of pink Himalayan salt and perfectly runny eggs in front of you, his tone had softened again –just enough to let you know that his ire came from a place of concern– but his eyes were still fierce when they locked onto yours.

“Eat.” He said simply. “All of it.” And, because you knew better than to argue with Remy LeBeau over something like this when he was already worked up, you picked up one of the slices of toast without another word of protest and took a bite.

Your stomach let out a loud growl as you chewed, like a beast waking from its slumber, reminding you that it had been far too long since you last had a proper meal. And, while you were unable to experience the full effect of the flavors all together –since your palate was messed up due to you being sick– you still let Gambit know that you appreciated the meal by letting out little pleased hums every few bites until it was gone.

You frowned down at the crumbs on your plate, your stomach giving another demanding gurgle now that your hunger had come back in full force after getting a taste of good cooking but, before you could act on the growing urge to lick the plate, Gambit was taking it away and placing a bowl of steaming stew in front of you.

You looked up and gave Gambit a toothy smile as you took the utensil that he offered you, impatiently scooping up a spoonful before bringing it up to your lips. Though, you paused with the spoon hovering mid-air somewhere between the bowl and your face when Gambit placed a cool hand over your mouth, keeping you from finishing the motion. You made a questioning noise from behind Gambit's palm, watching him with wide, incredulous eyes as the Cajun leaned down to gently blow on the spoonful of stew.

“Nuh-uh, not so fast, cher. It’s hot.” Gambit murmured as he reached out with his other hand in order to steady the spoon so that you wouldn’t spill while keeping the other over your lips. “You wanna burn that pretty mouth? Huh? After all the trouble Gambit go through cookin’ for you?” Gambit shook his head in mock exasperation as he blew a few more soft puffs of air across the steaming stew –slow, deliberate– his breath ghosting over the spoon like he was cooling it for a child.

Then, once he deemed it safe, he pulled his palm away from your mouth and used the light grip he had around your hand to guide the spoon up to your lips with a mischievous look in those sharp red-on-black eyes.

“Open wide…” He sang with a smug smile when you didn’t immediately take the offering and you narrowed your eyes at him in silent refusal even as he swept the spoon side to side under your nose like that would make the stew more enticing… like the food was what you had a problem with. Idiot.

You held out against his insistence but, once it became apparent that Gambit wasn’t going to let up without you indulging him at least once, you parted your lips and allowed him to guide the spoon into your mouth. Though, once it passed your teeth, you bit down onto the metal to keep him from withdrawing it and snatched the utensil away from him as you bared your teeth at him in warning, hoping to discourage him from trying a second time since your pride wouldn’t allow him to feed you like some dribbling toddler.

Gambit acquiesced to you with a polite little bow before pulling out the chair next to you so he could sit with his arm propped up on the counter top, resting his chin on his palm as he watched you eat with a fond smile, the only sounds filling the kitchen being the clink of metal on ceramic and the disapproving click of Gambit’s tongue every now and then when you didn’t blow on the stew long enough for his liking before shovelling another spoonful into your mouth.

You finished the stew much slower than you did the toast Gambit had made you, savoring each spiced bite of tender meat and soft vegetable, the hearty broth soothing your agitated throat and settling heavy in your finally satiated belly, warming you from the inside.

“So good.” You mumbled as you took the last bite, placing the spoon into the empty bowl before leaning back in your seat with a satisfied sigh, patting at your full stomach that was hidden beneath several thick layers of clothing as you resisted the siren song of a falling asleep right there at the breakfast bar.

Gambit chuckled at your obvious and –admittedly– quite pitiful attempts at staying awake, his dark eyes dancing with mirth as his thumb swiped across the corner of your mouth in order to clean up a spot of thick broth at the corner of your mouth as your vision blurred with the threat of sleep, each blink feeling like a herculean task.

“Bedtime, cher.” Gambit said softly as he helped you out of his seat, practically being forced to hold you upright as he guided the two of you out of the kitchen –leaving the dishes to be dealt with later– and down the hall back to the adult dorms where your room was located when you vehemently refused to stay over at Gambit's while sick as a dog.

Gambit eventually gave up on practically dragging you down the hall when you tripped over your own feet for the third time, the Cajun letting out an exasperated sigh before he swept your legs out from under you and lifted you into his arms in a bridal carry.

You grumbled under your breath but ultimately wrapped your arms around his neck and rested your weary head on his shoulder –since you were practically half asleep as it was– too tired and dizzy to protest against him manhandling you with your usual vitriol. You dozed for a few minutes, lulled by the rhythmic beat of Gambit's heart and measured steps, only coming back to awareness when he would carefully dodge the occasional rambunctious student racing down the halls on their way to class.

You cracked your eyes open when Gambit slowed his steady pace, before stopping entirely, and you pressed closer to him –burying your face against his shoulder– with a low grumble to dissuade him from trying to put you down since you were comfortable. He gently hushed you and readjusted his grip to free one of his hands in order to open the door and push his way into your room.

You heard him kick the door shut behind him and snuggled closer with a low sound of disapproval when Gambit brought you to the bed and –after flicking on the lamp on the nightstand, bathing the room in an unobtrusive golden glow– began to try and pry you off him with very little success.

“C'mon, mon cœur, no need to be difficult.” Gambit murmured as he pressed little kisses to your hair, slowly coaxing you into releasing him so he could gently lower you down onto the mattress before pulling the blankets out from under you and then off the bed entirely so that you were only left with only your top sheet.

“Remy… I'm cold.” You complained, shooting him a look of utter betrayal as he dumped your blankets into the laundry hamper, which was on the other side of the room. You blindly reached up and clumsily pulled your hood over your head and dragged the thin sheet up to your nose to try and ward off the chill in the air, weakly glaring at him when he returned to your side and began fussing over you.

“Nuh-uh, don't you look at Gambit like that, you.” Gambit murmured in a mock-scolding tone as he tucked the sheet in close to your body with firm tenderness, seemingly unsatisfied until you were all but swaddled in it, before briefly making a detour to the adjoining bathroom in order to wet a washcloth and bring it back over to you. “You think Gambit's gonna let you suffocate under ten pounds of fabric while runnin’ a fever? Non. Not happenin’.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as he placed a knee on the bed in order to lean over you and tug your hood up so he could press the damp washcloth against your forehead, batting your hand away without even looking when you shivered and reached up to try and take it off.

He brushed a hand through your damp hair –taking note of the heat still lingering on your skin, but thankfully not as fierce now– and, once he was sure that you wouldn't try and remove the cloth while he wasn't looking, he turned a scrutinizing eye to the mess that was your room.

You blinked against the exhaustion that was threatening to pull you under and watched him raise a brow at the stacks of books you had on your desk, the articles of clothing that were haphazardly strewn about the floor, the half-unzipped duffel bag spilling balled-up socks and toiletries… and the single stuffed animal peeking out from under the bed.

“...I tried to unpack.” You said defensively, frowning as embarrassment flooded you at the state of your room. You had already been in the thick of it –experiencing the peak of the symptoms that came with a head cold– when you got off the jet and, when you went to unpack your things and tidy up a bit after your absence, you only managed to get through maybe a quarter of your bag before you ultimately gave up and crawled into bed to lay down for some much needed rest.

You had ended up sleeping for several hours, which was why you didn't search out Gambit right after getting back in order to reassure your lover that you were alive and well, like you normally did.

“Gambit ain't judging you, cher.” Gambit said softly, sounding fond as he nudged the plush back into view with the toe of his boot before crouching down to grab it. “But dis fella might be. Just look at dem beady lil’ eyes.” Gambit teased with an affectionate grin, wiggling the stuffie at you before laying it on the bed next to you.

You resisted the urge to coo at him when he gave its fuzzy head a few friendly pats before drawing away in favor of checking on the washcloth, which –while still slightly wet– had warmed significantly while it had been in contact with your flushed skin.

“You’re cooler already.” Relief softened his voice and you cracked your bleary eyes open –unsure of when you'd even closed them– when, instead of leaving to the bathroom and running the cloth under the faucet to cool it off again like you had expected him to, you heard the telltale click of Gambit flicking the lamp off before the mattress dipped as he sank down onto the edge of the bed with a soft huff.

He leaned down to deftly untie his boots before swinging his legs up onto the bed and laying down next to you on top of the thin sheet, keeping about an inch of space between the two of you –since he knew that his unnaturally high body temperature wouldn’t help bring your fever down– as he lounged back with one hand behind his head and the other trailing down your arm until he reached your inner wrist.

He pressed two fingers to your pulse, humming in approval and lacing your fingers together after a minute had passed, squeezing gently before drawing your linked hands up to his mouth so he could kiss the back of yours. 

You rolled over onto your side to face Gambit –moving carefully so that you wouldn’t accidentally separate your hands– and your eyes began to drift closed, the fatigue that had been dogging your every move since you’d gotten up that morning finally catching up with you now that you were relaxed, fed and comfortable. You hummed softly, already barely hanging onto consciousness as it was, when Gambit set your interlocked hands onto his chest, which vibrated as he spoke. 

“One day, cher…” He murmured into the dark room, his voice low enough that you almost missed what he said, his hand lightly squeezing yours before he continued. “One day Gambit will get you to take care of yourself properly.”

You didn’t answer –couldn’t have even if you wanted to– not when you were already pretty much gone, your body lax and your mind blank as your chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. But, before you went completely under, you felt him shift around to face you, his nose brushing against yours in an adorable eskimo kiss that made you internally melt. 

Then he spoke again, his smooth Cajun drawl like a lullaby, and the words followed you into your dreams.