|
I think this particular
story needs a little bit of an explanation. Earlier this year, I wrote a story titled "Looking at a Woman", wherein Bobby came down on Gambit for driving Rogue away. I figured that story would be the end of it, but Valerie read it and liked it so much that she asked me if she could write a sequel and invited me along for the ride. I figured "What the heck" and said yes. So, together, we hashed out a plot and broke it up into chapters (we even got to meet in person during this part) for each of us to write. I got the even numbered chapters, Valerie got the odd. The end result turned out pretty well and I hope all of you like reading it as much as we did writing it. Enjoy Lori :) Hmmm. Well, I'm supposed to add something here. I guess I should let you know that the story is set somewhere after X-Men #45 and before Onslaught. As for why I liked "Looking at a Woman" enough that I wanted to write a sequel. . . . I think I was fascinated by how powerful Iceman really is, if he (and Marvel!) would decide to make full use of his powers. Lori and I had a short discussion back when I first read her story about whether Bobby could take down Magneto. We eventually decided that he could, given a reasonable set of circumstances and some intelligence on Bobby's part. "Thick as Thieves" doesn't have anything to do with Magneto (sorry to all the fans :) but it is supposed to be a study of Bobby's personality and the reasons that he doesn't make anything close to full use of his powers. I wanted to use Gambit as the person to contrast Bobby with, one, because I like Gambit (no surprise there) and two, because they are very much opposites in terms of using their powers. Gambit makes full use of a couple of non-earth-shattering powers, adds some intelligence and craft, and comes out a lot better than he probably ought against the really big guns. Bobby has the potential to maybe be one of those big guns, but he's usually considered one of the least powerful of the X-Men instead. O.k. Enough deep thought. I hope you enjoy the story. Valerie Bobby Drake stepped out of Che Merrin, hoping he didn't look as much like a loser as he felt. It was nearly eleven, and he had realized nearly an hour ago that Clarissa wasn't going to show. He should have known better than to let Jean set him up on a blind date. He stood under the tasteful burgundy awning and watched the rain. He didn't really feel like going back to the mansion, even though it was likely he wouldn't run into Jean at this hour. Mostly, he just didn't want to admit that the night was a complete failure. The valets watched him, but didn't approach. They knew they hadn't parked a car for him when he'd come in. Bobby imagined he saw ridicule in their eyes. Ridicule for the stupidly hopeful young man who'd gone in alone, and had come back out the same way. Something familiar caught Bobby's eye, and he peered into the rain, trying to identify it. All he saw was a dark shadow, a silouette on the street, that moved away from him with a well-known, cocky stride. Gambit. Bobby stared after the retreating figure, then he stepped into the rain and followed. What could Gambit be up to on a night like this? Bobby chuckled to himself. Almost anything. Gambit always had a hidden agenda. Bobby was one of several at the mansion who were more than a little concerned that that agenda might not include the best interests of the X-Men. Bobby kept his hands in his pockets and his head down, glancing up every now and then to keep his quarry in sight. Gambit didn't seem to be paying particular attention. He had the collar of his long duster flipped up against the rain, and was moving down the street with long, purposeful strides. However, that could only mean that he had someplace to go, and didn't much like being out in the rain. Bobby wondered where his bike was. Of course, considering the rain, he'd probably taken a cab from the mansion. Still, that didn't answer why he was walking to his destination instead of having the cabbie drop him off at the front door. Gambit paused at the street corner ahead and looked around with apparently casual curiosity. Bobby dropped his head a little lower and tried to shuffle his steps. He'd had a rather painful lesson in how much the man knew about the art of hiding in a crowd in that Friends of Humanity debacle. After a single sweep of the surroundings, Gambit turned into the narrow street. Bobby glanced at the signpost, but it was empty of green placards. Lovely. After a moment, Bobby went to the street corner and looked around. He just barely caught a glimpse of the top of Gambit's head as he descended a flight of stairs below street level. It was a basement entrance to the building Bobby had just passed, a brown brick monstrosity that appeared to hold several shops on the ground floor and appartments above, to judge from the small balconies adorned with the occassional wind chime or potted geranium. Curiouser and curiouser. A girlfriend, maybe? Bobby went to the top of the stairs. The door at the bottom was gray, made of badly pitted metal. He paused, debating. How much right did he have to go snooping around Gambit's business? Then he stepped down onto the top step. But just think what an addition it would be to the gossip pool! It would hardly be any less than Gambit deserved anyway. Bobby walked down the stairs and opened the rusted door. It was dark inside, unsurprisingly, and there was a light at the end of the short hall where it turned. Bobby tried to walk as quietly as he could, since Gambit could be just around the corner. He paused just shy of the corner and listened, but didn't hear anything. Hopefully that meant that Gambit was gone, and not waiting to jump out at him and yell "Boo!". That would fit the Cajun's sense of humor. Bobby walked around the corner. He saw a flash of motion that resolved itself into two men. Both were very large, very mean, and very well armed. Bobby was thrust against the wall with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs, and he felt the distinctive pressure of a gun barrel in the hollow beneath his chin. Only a tiny rational voice in the back of his mind held back panic and kept him from transforming to his ice form. It had been drilled into him: Don't show your powers against a human threat unless you absolutely have to. These days, it bred more paranoia than ever. And Bobby wasn't entirely certain that going ice would protect him against a bullet to the head. He thought so. Emma had taught him that he could heal wounds during the transformation, but he wasn't sure he could handle having his brains blown out. So he held still and tried not to let the snarling visage in front of him intimidate him too much. "What're ya doing here, boy?" the man who held the gun on him asked. The pressure on Bobby's throat intensified, nearly causing him to gag. "I'm with. . . . LeBeau," he managed to gasp out. "He just - he just came through." And man is he gonna be pissed. But Bobby kept that thought to himself. The two men exchanged looks, and the other one turned and went through a door at the far end of the hall. "What's your name?" The pressure eased minutely, but the menacing snarl was still at full bore. "Drake. Bobby Drake." There didn't seem to be much point in resisting. As much as it hurt to admit it, the wisest thing was going to be to wait and let Gambit bail him out of this goon's hands. "So, Bobbo, is Mr. LeBeau expecting you?" Before he even registered the question, Bobby thought, "Mr." LeBeau? But then he gathered up his wits. "Geez. I was late, o.k.?" He tried to put as much attitude into it as he could. "And the name's Bobby. Or Robert. Or Drake." The goon didn't seem impressed. Just then, the door opened again and the second goon returned, followed by Gambit. Gambit's eyes narrowed to angry slits, then, just as quickly, the expression vanished. "Oui, he's mine," he said, sounding disgusted. He glanced at Bobby. "Y' late." Then he turned and walked back through the door. Goon One released Bobby and stepped aside. Trying to hide his nervousness, Bobby walked past them and opened the door. He found himself in what looked for all the world like a coat check. A pretty young woman sat at a small counter with racks of coats, primarily raincoats, hung behind her. The view was ruined, however, by Gambit, who leaned against the wall, scowling. "Y' want t' leave y' coat?" he asked in a deceptively mild voice. "Uh, sure." Bobby started to shrug out of his very damp sports coat. What in the world? But he decided not to push it. He'd already stepped in it big, and the expression in Gambit's eyes was decidedly unfriendly. The coat check girl smiled at him when he handed her his jacket. "Inside." Gambit stepped up right behind him, making it impossible for Bobby to try to start a conversation with the girl. "Right." He went to the door on the far end of the small room and opened it. He was immediately engulfed in a wave of noise. Half was music, the other half, voices. He would have paused for a moment to adjust, but Gambit nudged him rather forcefully from behind, and he stumbled forward into the room. How did Gambit find these places? Bobby looked around in mild awe. He was standing at the entrance to a very large casino in full swing. He saw craps, card tables, roulette wheels, pool tables. Two giant tv screens dominated two corners of the room. One displayed a boxing match, the other—and Bobby had to doublecheck—ping pong. The competitors were asian, and the commentary, Bobby thought, was in Japanese. There were people everywhere. Most were dressed to the hilt. It was a sea of black ties, happily interruped by mostly lovely and highly be-sequined ladies. It was only then that Bobby realized that Gambit was dressed for the party. Except for Scott and Jean's wedding, Bobby couldn't think of another time that he'd seen the Cajun in a monkey suit. Unfortunately, he wore it pretty well, judging from the covert, and not-so-covert, looks the nearby ladies were sending his way. Dressed more casually, Bobby suddenly felt like a gawky country cousin. "Now, y' want t' explain what y' were doin' followin' me?" Gambit stood slightly behind Bobby and to his left. Bobby wondered, if he turned around, would he find a gun, or perhaps a charged playing hard, aimed at his back. That was certainly what Gambit's tone implied. What was normally a nagging dislike coalesced. Bobby absolutely hated it when Gambit took that superior tone with him. He was an odious, obnoxious, lowlife scum criminal, and Bobby would never understand why the Professor let him stay. "I'll bet this place is highly illegal, eh, Gambit? What else goes on here, huh? Drugs, maybe? How many of these women are whores?" A spike of pain shot through his elbow and up into his shoulder as Gambit's fingers clamped on his elbow. "De only reason I didn' let dose boys outside blow you away is 'cause you're an X-Man, hear? Don' give me reason t' change m' mind." Bobby glanced over at him and was startled by the expression in his eyes. It was anger, mixed with fear. Bobby almost crowed. There was something here that Gambit definitely didn't want the X-Men to know about "Fine," he agreed shortly. Let Gambit think he was cowed. Gambit seemed to buy it. His grip relaxed. "I got business t' do here, an' den we be gone. So you jus' sit over dere at de bar an' stay out o' trouble. Dese folks don' take too well t' outsiders." Genuine curiosity caught Bobby for a moment. "Tell me one thing, Gambit. What is this place?" Gambit snorted. "A playground o' de New York Thieves Guild. Now will y' behave?" "Yeah. Sure." Bobby tried to hide another stab of triumph. Gambit was still stealing. Wait til the prof heard about this one. So much for his "Great Success". Almost happy, Bobby made his way to the bar. Gambit went the other way, and stopped to talk with a slim man who bore an alarming resemblance to a knife blade. He was sharp faced, and had his dark hair greased back, showing a prominent widow's peak. He could have been wearing a flashing sign that said "criminal" across his chest and it wouldn't have been any plainer, Bobby thought. The man nodded at something Gambit said, and then the two of them disappeared through an archway into another room filled with gamblers. Bobby shrugged and turned around to face the bar, silently debating whether to try to follow Gambit further. He finally decided against it. Gambit was going to be in plenty of hot water as it was already. Personally, Bobby couldn't wait. Remy was still muttering curses to himself as he stepped into the brightly lit office behind Shrew. Shrew was called Shrew because he looked like one, and because he was just about as bright. He walked all the way up to the monolithic desk that dominated the room and said, "Gambit's here, boss." The man seated at the desk looked up at him slowly. "Thank you, Shrew." If he was annoyed, he didn't show it. In fact, he was completely expressionless. But Shrew bobbed, obviously pleased by the notice, and then left. That left the man and Remy to face each other across the wide expanse of mahogony. Remy was always amazed at how much Michael reminded him of a shark; cold, slick, alien, and driven by a hunger that couldn't be reasoned with. He was one of the most dangerous men Remy had ever met. Michael's lips curled upward in a smile that came nowhere near his eyes. "Bad night, Remy?" Remy sighed. "Don' get me started." "Who is he?" Remy was expecting that. "Jus' a kid I got saddled wit." Which was true enough. If you looked at it a certain way. "You don't look too happy about taking on an apprentice." Remy snorted. "Apprentice? Not hardly." At Michael's curious look he added, "One, de boy got no sense. Two, he hates me. Three. . ." He was ticking the points off on the fingers of one hand. Michael threw back his head and laughed. That was another thing about Michael. His moods could be mercurial sometimes. Remy had seen him put a knife through the heart of a man he had been hugging a moment before. He had made it a point to keep his relationship with the New York guild on a purely business level. Michael had no mistaken impression that they were friends. After a moment, Michael's laughter died. His face became still once more. "So what did you want to see me about, Remy?" he asked. Remy crossed the short distance to the desk and took a brown folder out of his jacket. He turned it around, and laid it down in front of Michael. Michael picked up the fairly thick folder and began to examine it. Remy simply crossed his arms and let him read. He read quickly, scanning the forms with practiced ease. When he was done, he looked up. "I see." Remy nodded. "Y' gon' have t' put a stop t' dis, Michael. De police are puttin' de pieces together. Dey know dey got a group o' mutants pullin' off high-dollar jobs. How long until dey start seein' de real picture?" Michael considered him gravely. "I'll take care of it." "Good enough." Remy was eager to be gone. The longer he was away from Bobby, the more nervous he felt. But as he turned away, Michael stood. "Is anyone else beginning to suspect?" His hands rested casually on the desktop, the perfectly manicured nails reflected in the lusterous surface. Remy cocked an eyebrow. "Your X-Men, for example?" Remy shook his head. "Dey blind t' everyt'ing dat don' fit dere 'dream'. Don' worry, Michael. We a long way from bein' discovered. . . so long as you c'n control y' guild, neh?" Bobby ordered a beer and sat down at one end of the bar. The bartender set the amber bottle down in front of him with a thunk and a scowl. Bobby tried not to stare. The man had a scar that ran from the corner of his eye all the way out to his ear, which was mangled, and the scowl made it twist like a living thing. "Thanks," Bobby said. The bartender only grunted. Must be a union job Bobby thought. At least he'd popped the top on the beer. Bobby examined the label curiously. He'd ordered an obscure microbrew—one he'd never heard of, in fact. The name on the label was Hefeweizen. It was a strange looking beer. Cloudy, almost. He took an experimental sip. Well, it was different, but not too bad. Then he chuckled to himself and took another drink. After all, Hefeweizen was better than no weizen at all. As he lowered the bottle, his eyes met those of a woman who sat just around the corner of the bar from him. He paused. A line from a song wandered through his mind without identifying itself. "Cerulean blue eyes, so fair and so shy." She was stunning, though Bobby wasn't certain he would call her beautiful. Her hair was nearly as white as Storm's, but much finer. It fell to just below her shoulders in a wispy pageboy. The blue eyes were framed by lashes of the same color, which somehow stood out against her pale skin. She had a short nose and pink lips, though Bobby didn't think she was wearing lipstick. A dusting of freckles crossed her cheeks, which was good because they were the only thing that made her look like a human being instead of a china doll. Bobby realized he was staring and tore his gaze away. But the wall behind the bar was lined with mirrors, and Bobby found himself studying her more covertly. She didn't seem to notice as she ran one finger through the condensation from the base of her glass. He risked a direct glance in her direction. She was dressed in one of those really mini-dresses - the kind that looked painted on. Black. It was a horrible color for her, he thought. She was pale enough as it was, and the dress was so. . . cheap. A thought occurred to him then: she might be a prostitute. He looked away again. What would she do? Ask him to dance? Or would she be more direct? Maybe he would be better to move down the bar a ways. Then she would have to follow him if she wanted to make a proposition. Bobby snorted to himself in disgust. Yeah, right, he could be chased away by a woman who was, as far as he could tell, completely ignoring him. If Gambit were there, he'd probably be laughing so hard he'd have fallen off his stool by now. Bobby stared at his beer, ears burning. But something touched his senses, made him look over at the woman once more. He was shocked to realize that a line of frost followed her finger across the polished wood, swirling in an intricately beautiful design. "Hey, you're a mutant!" he said before he could think about it. The woman's head snapped up and she snatched her hand back into her lap. Luckily, it was loud enough in that place that it was unlikely anyone else had heard him, Bobby thought angrily. What a stupid thing to say! "No, it's o.k.," he tried belatedly to reassure her. "So am I." He touched the rim of her glass and froze her drink solid, despite the alcohol content. The woman stared at her frozen gin, eyes narrowing. Bobby couldn't begin to guess what was behind that expression. Then she looked over at him. "How do you do that without breaking the glass?" she asked. Her voice wasn't anything like Bobby expected. It was much lower. Not masculine, but throaty. It was gorgeous. The bartender set another drink down beside the frozen one without a word, and turned away. The woman seemed to withdraw into herself. She picked up the new glass and slid off of her stool. She didn't even glance at Bobby as she walked away. Bobby hmphed and took another drink, annoyed. He could now say that two - count them - two women had stood him up tonight. Just then a hand clamped down on his shoulder and he jumped about three feet. He whirled to find Gambit standing right behind him. "Man, don't do that!" he groused. He was sure Gambit just loved scaring him out of his skin. "Let's go," Gambit said. Bobby levered himself to his feet. "Yeah, sure." He would be more than glad to get out of this weird place, and put an end to a rather miserable night. But he couldn't quite shake the first image he'd gotten of that woman— piercing blue eyes staring into his. And she had ice powers! He knew he should tell the Professor about her, but felt oddly reluctant to. As he followed Gambit to the door, he decided that it might be to his advantage to keep this little secret for a while. At least until he knew more. And it certainly wouldn't hurt his feelings to have a hole card to play against the Cajun. For the first time since the evening had begun, Bobby smiled. [Lori McDonald] For a week he'd debated what to do. Tell the Professor that Gambit was up to something or not. It was the lack of decision that finally decided him. After a week of not saying anything, if he talked now, people would wonder why he kept it quiet for so long. The last thing he wanted was to have everyone think he was in on it. Not too likely a result, but he'd been spending a lot of hours thinking of the worst that could happen, as well as the best. Besides, Remy had been behaving himself, as far as he could tell. At least, he hadn't made any snide comments near him since they came home. In fact, he'd been avoiding him entirely. Probably afraid I will tell, he thought smugly. Smiling to himself at the thought of the Cajun actually fearing him, Bobby leaned against the counter in the kitchen, running his finger around the lip of his glass. A touch of ice rimmed it and he found himself remembering the woman from the bar that he'd followed Gambit to, and the way she'd created ice crystals on her own glass. She'd definately been a mutant, he was sure of it. She'd been pretty too, though he still cringed at the thought of such a pale woman in that much black. Why am I thinking about some whore? he wondered. Because she's a mutant with powers like mine and she's a woman, that's why. He sighed. Jean had apologized profusely, explaining that Clarisa had missed the date because her old boyfriend decided he wanted her back, but he wasn't convinced. Not that he thought Jean would ever lie to him. She wouldn't. But Clarisa, he was sure, lied to her, and Jean wasn't one to use her telepathic powers on a friend. Probably saw me sitting in the restaurant and ran for it, he thought sourly. More ice filtered into his glass and it cracked. Muttering to himself, Bobby picked up the glass and tossed it into the garbage, careful that it wasn't obvious to anyone who looked in. Then he went to the freezer and pulled out half a loaf of bread and some jam. Getting the jam out of the jar and onto the bread was awkward, since it was too cold to spread easily, but he sighed with pleasure once he bit into it. He liked cold food, the colder the better. A chicken leg with ice crusting it was his idea of a favourite snack. Gotta admit, it makes cooking easy. Sometimes, he froze whatever dinner the others made. They thought he was nuts when he did it, so most of the time he only iced his snacks. A hum sounded from the door and the Professor came in, seated in his high-tech hoverchair. He was dressed in an exercise suit with a sweatband around his head. Having the chair do everything for him was really convenient, but it meant his body got no exercise at all. To compensate, he usually tried to spend an hour exercising each day, with the X-Men taking turns coaching him. Today had been Bishop's turn and the man tooked like he'd been sent through a wringer. "Good morning, Bobby," he said wearily. "Morning, Professor. You look wiped." Charles smiled faintly. "Yes, well, Bishop is thorough." He pulled a book out of his lap. "If you're going into Salem today, would you please return this to the library for me?" Bobby took the book. "The Real Humans, by Graydon Creed," he read. "You actually read this?" "Know your enemy, Bobby. Knowledge gives you strength." Bobby shrugged, thinking again of what he knew about Gambit, and all the different ways he'd thought of to use it, if he only had the nerve. "You got that right. Yeah, I'll take it back for you." "Thank you." Charles got himself a glass of water and turned to go. "You might want to consider checking something out of the library yourself." Bobby nodded without saying anything. Over twenty years old, and the Professor still treated him like a kid. Finishing his sandwich, he went to find the keys to one of the mansion's cars. The Salem library was in an old building, now labelled a heritage site, which meant it couldn't be torn down no matter how useless it became. It was nowhere near large enough to hold the library's contents comfortably, but as Bobby went in through the old wooden doors, he had to admit it had a certain level of charm. Dropping the book in the drop box, Bobby wandered into the library. It seemed kind of a waste to come all the way out here just to drop off one book and head back, and he was feeling nostalgic. He'd spent a lot of hours here when he was still taking classes at the mansion, usually bored out of his mind. He remembered shooting paper clips at Hank a lot, or snowballs if he thought he could get away with it. Hank had put up with it silently, determined not to break the unspoken 'no fun' rule of the library, until he finally had enough. He'd locked Bobby in the men's room for about three hours. The doors there were so thick, no one heard him scream for help, and he didn't understand his powers well enough at the time to free himself. Hank went on to get yet another A on the history test they'd been studying for. Come to think of, so had he, since he had nothing to do in the bathroom except study. Bobby smiled as he took the stairs up to the mezzanine two at a time. He'd used to have a favourite spot in the library to curl up with a good book. It was a cubicle desk in the far end of the mezzanine, where he could see out over the entire library, but was hidden himself. It'd become 'his spot' and he'd committed his first act of vandilism there by carving his initials into the wood. I wonder if they're still there? He wondered and wandered down the halls. A lifetime of training with the X-Men stopped him before he walked around the final turn. Stopping just at the end of a stack, he peered curiously through the shelves. There was a man standing at the end of the hall, just before his cubicle. He was a big man, dressed in a cheap suit with his hair slicked back and a no-nonsense attitude on his face. He had the word 'goon' written all over him. I wonder what he's guarding? Bobby wondered, since it was obvious that was what he was doing. Peering a little closer, he saw there was someone in the cubicle, but he couldn't see who at this distance. Here's where all those extra hours with Storm pay off, he thought with a grin. Holding up his forefinger, he grew a thin shaft of ice from the end of it, the end enlarging into a circular lens. The ice shifted like a living thing, growing clearer and smaller until he finally had a servicable binocular. Grinning at his success, and wishing there was someone around to show it to, he put it to his eye and looked again. There was a girl in the cubicle, reading a book. She was dressed in a soft, thick pullover, the kind women wore that were ten sizes too big for them, with jeans and sneakers. She wore no makeup, and it took him a minute to recognize her. Hey! It's the hooker from the club! The one with the ice powers! He blinked, belatedly making the realization that if she were being followed by a bodyguard, then she obviously wasn't a hooker. Bobby, you idiot! Why didn't you ask her out! Or even what her name was! Kicking himself mentally, he peered at the girl. She was really quite pretty, soft and delicate, like an ice crystal, but warm. Bobby found himself wanting to meet her quite a lot, if he could only get rid of the bodyguard. But freezing him in a block of ice would probably not put him on her good side. Man, she'd never want to talk to me. The girl leaned back in the chair, her lips moving silently while she read. She pushed a lock of hair back from her face and Bobby found himself fascinated by the sheer delicacy of her fingers and how she tucked the hair back behind her ear just so. I don't care. I gotta meet her. The girl shifted in her seat, frowning, and looked up at the goon. She said a few words and he nodded. She stood and he walked ahead of her down the corridor. No! She can't be leaving! Bobby ducked back amongst the stacks as the two passed, then found himself sneaking after them. He watched her walk towards the stairs with a lump in his throat, wondering if he had the nerve to just jump out and ask her who she was, goon or no goon, before she left. Then she passed the stairs. Yes! We have another chance! And the crowd goes wild! Whooping mentally, he watched her go into the ladies room while pretending to go down the aisle looking for a book. The goon stood outside the door, looking like he planned to break a few bones of anyone who tried to pass him. Well, she's alone, Bobby thought. I guess it's now or never. Just as quickly came the thought, I can't go into a woman's bathroom! He remembered the last time he'd tried that, dared to back in grade school by some boys he'd tried to impress. The bathroom had been cleaner than the boy's room, with less grafitti and no urinals, opting instead for more stalls. There'd been no girls either, a great disappointment though at the time he'd not been too sure what the great attraction was. Instead he'd run into Mrs Ross. The oldest, meanest and ugliest teacher in the school. She'd marched him off to the principal, his parents had been called and he wound up spending the next week in his room without television, plus a sore butt for the first night. The memory was old, but it was still strong. Some places were inviolate, like churches. Gambit would be in there in a flash, he thought, remembering when the Cajun had taken him to a church that'd been converted into a dance club. The memory of how the other mutant humiliated him there turned his fair cheeks red and he clenched his fists. "Okay," he muttered. "I'm going for it." Concentrating, he let the ice take him, but not all the way. His skin froze and melted, turned white with frost, then transparent, and soft. Storm had trained him to understand that it was not only ice that he controlled. He could create ice shields and snowballs with ease, but it'd never occured to him that the temperature needed to make those two things was different. He could control his own temperature and he controlled it now. It was hard, harder than making the binoculars, but he made himself into only water, not ice. Transparent, cold without freezing, maintaining his form only through sheer force of will. Had he had an actual head in this form instead of the memory of one, it would have been throbbing. Instead he felt something like pollution would feel in a river. That this was wrong. It was the ice he wanted, the freeze of it. This was too warm, too unnatural. But he resisted the urge and let himself go, maintaining his awareness as he poured into a puddle on the floor. At first, the sensation terrified him. He'd never done this outside the Danger Room before, and in there he had only gone to slush, and kept his shape as well. Storm said it was possible for him to take any shape, but he hadn't been willing enough to try it. The idea of not being able to pull himself back together terrified him. A puddle on the floor, Bobby's perceptions changed. He heard as though he were underwater, and saw as though he were that way as well, with his whole body. Spread across half the mezzanine floor at an inch deep, he saw the door with the goon, and all that he passed at any point in his flow. Bizarre, he thought, curiousity overcoming his nervousness. I wonder how deep I can get. The thought of filling something like a pothole and waiting for someone to step in him amused him briefly, until he wondered what splashing some of him away from himself would cause. Careful not to let any part of himself get away, Bobby stretched out thinly, barely coating the floor as he flowed along the tile to the bathroom, past the goon and under the door. It took a while for him to get all the way in, though it was hard to perceive time this way. Once inside, he flowed together into a puddle and began to rise out of it, taking on human form again as he did so. He looked around at the bathroom as he did so. Everything was bigger, but essentially it looked the same as the bathroom he'd been caught in back in grade school. Instead, this bathroom didn't have a Mrs Ross. Instead it had a beautiful blond girl who was gaping at him with her mouth open. Bobby smiled at her sheepishly. "Um, hi," he managed. Is that ALL you can say to her? You idiot! She blinked, and slowly her face brightened into a fragile little smile. "How did you DO that?" She gasped. "That was wonderful." The young mutant gaped back at her. "Really?'' She giggled and clapped her hands, looking for an instant like a little girl. "Really. Oh, I wish I could do that." Bobby grinned. "I could show it to you. It's really easy." "Oh, no, the best I can do is make an icecube." They both stared at each other in silence again, then, on cue, they laughed. "Why are you in here?" she asked. "Toilets in the men's room were flooded," Bobby answered immediately. Her eyebrow raised and he stammered. "Uh, I mean I wanted to see in here. I mean, see you. I mean meet you." She looked confused. "Why in here?" Blushing, Bobby gestured at the door. "Uh, I figured your friend wouldn't like me talking to you otherwise." She smiled, and it was like a light went off in Bobby's heart. It started beating like mad and he wondered if this was what love felt like. As though he was going to yell with joy and throw up at the same time. He found himself wondering how he ever thought she was a hooker. "I suppose you're right," she admitted, a little sadly. "What's your name?" "Bobby Drake." "Bobby." She smiled again. "I'm Deidre. I saw you at the guild meeting last week, with the Cajun." "Um, yeah." Her eyes sparkled. "You must be good to be his apprentice. I've heard about him. He's supposed to be the third best in the world. Only two masters beat him." Bobby puffed up in spite of himself. There was just something about her that screamed Brag, boy, brag! "Yeah, I know." Third best? Yeesh, we're lucky we still have a house! There came a heavy knock on the door and she started. "Um, I have to go." "What, already?" A definate whine crept into his voice. "Will you be back here again?" She shook her head, moving towards the door, her head down so her long hair hid her face, her arms up before her chest. "I won't be back. It was kinda just luck that I came at all." He caught her arm. It was chilly, like his, wonderfully cold. "Can I meet you again somewhere?" "N-no, I don't go out much, and I'm always watched." She caught the door handle and looked back at him for a moment with shy, lonely eyes. "I'm always at the club meetings. Ask your mentor to take you. Just- don't say you met me here. I might get in trouble." Then she was gone. Bobby stared at the door, smiling. I'm in love, he thought happily. This is it, the real thing, the big kahuna, true and all. He watched the door open and a librarian equally as old and tempermental as Mrs Ross walk in. And I am in serious shit. [Valerie Jones] "I am impressed," Storm said as Bobby restored his human form. It was easier, this time, to turn himself completely to water, spreading out into a nearly invisible film on the danger room floor. "Thanks." Bobby tried not to blush. "I've been. . . practicing." Storm nodded. "So I see. I believe this would be a good time to end today's session. You have made significant progress." Bobby felt his smile widen. Storm didn't hand out praise lightly. He really was becoming more powerful, more capable. It was a tremendous feeling. Not that he wasn't floating already, but he had at least managed to banish thoughts of Diedre long enough to finish the training session. "Robert?" "Huh?" Bobby jerked out of his reverie, flushed in embarrassment. "Sorry." "Is everything all right?" Bobby simply couldn't help his smile. Diedre's blue eyes danced before him, momentarily obscuring Ororo's own. Storm studied him for a moment, her lips quirking ever so slightly. Then she turned on her heel, smiling secretively over her shoulder at him. "It is time for breakfast. Are you coming?" "Yeah. Sure." He trotted a few steps to catch up with her. Storm strode through the metal hallways, her eyes fixed straight ahead. Bobby was left wondering what she was thinking about. As always. Storm was inscrutable. For a brief moment, he wondered if he should tell her about Diedre, but then he decided against it. She was too observant, and might very well ask him questions he couldn't answer without embarrassing himself. Where did I meet her, Ororo? Oh, well, in the women's bathroom at the library. Yes, the women's. What was I doing there? Um, y'see. . . Better yet, Actually, it was in a club run by the New York thieves' guild. I was spying on your favorite Cajun. Yeah, right. He wasn't going to be able to tell anyone about Diedre until he'd come up with a pretty good story. The elevator door slid aside, and they emerged into the first floor hall. It was panelled in wood rather than metal, and accentuated with a subdued Victorian print. Personally, Bobby thought it was atrocious, but he was no interior decorator. Everyone else seemed to like it. Well, the women, at least. He'd never yet heard one of the men comment about wallpaper. His train of thought was broken by the sounds of an argument. It was obviously coming from the other end of the house, and someone was doing an awful lot of yelling. Storm's brow creased in concern. She said nothing, but her pace increased Bobby broke into a trot to keep up. After a few moments, he realized why she was so disturbed. The voice belonged to Gambit. As they drew nearer, Gambit's voice became clearer, but Bobby still couldn't make out what he was saying. Or who he was yelling at. There were occasional pauses in the tirade, but no other voice filled in the spaces. It was unnerving. Bobby couldn't imagine anyone in the house taking that without some kind of response. When they reached the scene, Hank was standing just inside the doorway, a stack of papers cradled in his arms. He was watching the loud argument with a rather bemused expression. Bobby's alarm faded some. If Hank wasn't disturbed, it couldn't be too bad. Bobby stepped into the room just behind Storm and stopped beside Hank. He had to cover his mouth to suppress a snigger. Gambit was yelling into a phone. All that worry, and he wasn't yelling at an X-Man at all. And the reason he couldn't make out the argument was because it was in French. Bobby glanced at Hank, then leaned over to murmer, "Any idea what that's about?" Storm, too, looked to the Beast. Hank grinned. "I'm afraid my knowledge of the language has been well exceeded at this point. But I belive our cajun friend is having a disagreement with the French government. Something about an export tax." "An export tax?" Hank shrugged. "Funny, that's exactly what Remy said. Though the conversation has obviously deteriorated since then." He waved in the direction of the fuming Cajun. On cue, Remy slammed the phone back into its cradle, then stood there for a moment, glaring at it. "Remy?" Storm took several steps toward him. He glanced over his shoulder at her, then turned abruptly. "Two hundred an' fifty thousand francs, Stormy! Dey wan' two hundred an' fifty thousand francs t' release my car!" She raised an eyebrow. "Dat's outrageous! It's extortion! Plain an' simple!" Bobby couldn't resist the opening. "For a con man, Remy, you seem awfully surprised." The red eyes snapped to him, and Bobby sucked in his breath as the man's anger transferred momentarily to himself. But then Gambit seemed to catch himself. A thin smile appeared on his lips. "Gov'ment's de best scam of all, sure `nough," he said in a tight voice. "Don' mean I like bein' taken." He paused for a moment. "Not gon' be, neither." "Remy?" Ororo's brows were arched in curiosity. "I'd pay half dat in bribes, chere." He gestured wildly. "I admit it's a sizable sum of money," Professor Xavier said in a mild voice. Gambit's gaze snapped to him in surprise and Bobby realized that he hadn't noticed the Professor's approach. Bobby had seen him, but he had a wider field of view from his position by the door. "However," the Professor continued, "I would be willing to supply the other half. I would rather not have anyone bribing government officials of any country while a student at my school." Bobby nearly choked trying to hold in his laughter. The Professor had really stuck it to Gambit this time! Gambit simply blinked at him, his expression frozen in a flat mask. After a moment, he crossed his arms. "Nevermind, Professor," he said quietly. "I'll take care of it." His voice, too, was studiously neutral. Without another word, he turned and left, his long coat snapping about his boots as if that were the only way he could express his chagrin. Bobby and Hank joined the other two. "Remy is not much for government, is he?" Hank inquired with a smile. Ororo regarded him cooly. "Remy is. . . something of a closet anarchist. It comes of being a thief." Professor Xavier studied her with interest. "And you disagree?" She gave him an oddly enigmatic smile. "No, Charles. I find I often agree with Remy's politics." Why do I get the feeling I've been missing the more interesting conversations around this place? Bobby thought, but aloud he said, "You do?" Ororo turned to him. "You forget, Robert. I used to be his partner." And on the heels of that odd statement, she, too, left. Bobby could only stare after her retreating figure. After a moment, he turned to the Professor. "Isn't Gambit going to get into any trouble over this?" The Professor cocked his head. "Is there any reason he should?" Bobby gaped at him for a long second. "But. . . but you and Scott and everybody else would rip me up one side and down the other if I said something like that!" Xavier frowned as he considered, and then agreed, "Yes, we would. But you are not a trained thief." Bobby was starting to get angry. "What difference does that make?" he demanded. "The difference. . . " the Professor paused as he considered his reponse. "The difference is that Remy's value cannot be measured against our normal standards." He began to turn away. "I believe it's time for breakfast, if either of you would like to join me." "But--" Bobby glanced at Hank for support. Hank only shrugged and then went to join the Professor. Effectively cut off, Bobby could only stare at their retreating forms in sullen anger. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all. Diedre ran the brush through her straight hair in a steady rhythm. Her gaze was fastened on her reflection in the mirror, but she wasn't really looking. She had learned the trick of appearing attentive when, really, her mind was far away. Noises from the hallway beyond her door brought her back to herself. She tensed, but the door didn't open. After a moment, she forced herself to relax. She still had a few minutes. She studied her reflection in the mirror, for once managing to ignore the chromed metal tube that formed the mirror's frame. She hated techno. But Michael had given her the vanity, and he would have been angry if she hadn't kept the tangle of chromed steel and glass. Delicately, she adjusted the shoulder of her dress. It was new, and she was nervous about wearing it. She knew it was too frilly for Michael's taste. But maybe it would be all right. It was tight-the pale yellow material hugged her like a second skin. A small triangle of lace bridged the gap where the neckline dipped dangerously low, and she angled her shoulders for a moment to study the effect in the mirror. She smiled a real smile that died at the sound of the doorknob being turned. Michael walked into the room. He was dressed in his black Armani, and Diedre couldn't help but admire his clean, graceful lines. He was still one of the most beautiful men she's ever seen. She stood to meet him, self-consciously smoothing her short skirt. Michael looked her over, and she knew instantly that he didn't like the dress. "Take that ugly thing off," he told her. Diedre tried to hide her disappointment, and turned toward the walk-in closet. Yellow was her favorite color, perhaps because it looked so good on her. Any pastel was flattering to her pale features, but Michael like the dark colors-black, navy and verdant-that made her look like death warmed over. Diedre closed the closet door behind her, careful to do so gently. But once safely away from Michael's hawklike gaze, she kicked off her shoes with vehemence and stripped off the dress in one motion, dumping it in a heap on the floor. Her eyes began to burn, and she fought back the tears by holding her breath and focusing on the line of dresses hanging in front of her. After a moment's indecision, she grabbed one and slid into it. She adjusted the fit, then took a few calming breaths, though her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. This one was Michael's favorite. He'd bought it for her birthday. Maybe he would forget about the yellow dress. Then she could quietly return it, and he would never see it again. With one last deep breath, she squared her shoulders and stepped out of the closet. Michael's expression of annoyance hadn't changed. He looked at her and then nodded once. "Much better. You look beautiful, Didi." Diedre let her breath out slowly, relieved. For once, the nickname didn't bother her too much. "Let's go. We're late." Michael gestured for her to come, and then turned away. Diedre followed him out the door, trying to be as invisible as possible. All she'd managed to do tonight was annoy him. Now, all she wanted was to get to the club so he would get involved in business and forget about her for a while. The club was in full swing when they arrived, and the noise hit Diedre like a hammer. She winced invisibly. For once, she was grateful for the people who converged on Michael, dragging him away to take care of whatever their particular emergency was. He went without a glance in her direction. Diedre sighed and made her way toward the bar. She climbed onto one of the tall stools, crossed her legs. "The usual?" Yosa asked, and she nodded at the scarred barman. Ice tinkled musically against the side of the glass as he set the gin tonic down in front of her. Diedre drained it as quickly as she could stand to. She set the glass down and tried to ignore the burning in her throat as she waited for the first flush of the alcohol to hit her. It was good to be numb, she thought. Like ice. Cold, hard, beautiful ice. Like diamonds, only better. She'd said that to Michael once and he'd laughed at her. What can you buy with ice? he'd asked scathingly. Yosa refilled her glass, but this time she sipped it. Michael would be mad if she got too drunk. The ice in the glass captured her attention again. No one understood. Except maybe that sweet young man she'd met. Bobby. She'd been absolutely astounded to see him appear like that. She was still amazed-he could turn his whole body to ice! And when he was flesh, he had been so cute. She couldn't remember the last time a man had looked at her like that. The memory made her smile. Unconsciously, she scanned the crowd, searching for a familiar blond head. She was disappointed when she didn't find him. But, she reminded herself, if he was with the Cajun he wouldn't be there very often. Gambit had his own business. He came and went. She knew that Michael didn't like him very much. Diedre herself had no real basis on which to judge the man. She'd hardly said hello to him. And Michael was always edgy if she were anywhere near him. She'd always thought it might be because of his reputation for womanizing, but he'd never been anything but politely distant with her. At least Bobby hadn't treated her that way. Like she had a "Do Not Touch" sign plastered to her forehead. For a few precious minutes, she'd felt like an ordinary girl again. If she ever saw him, she decided, she'd have to thank him. The thought of his reaction if she simply walked up and planted a great big thank-you kiss on him made her giggle. Considerably heartened, she drained the last of her drink and waited for Yosa to fill it. [Lori McDonald] Quietly, Bobby stood in the doorway to the X-Men's laboratory and watched his best friend work. It wasn't something he could do with any great regularity, as Hank's experiments went way above what he remembered in science class. In fact, Hank's whole mind was beyond what he could comprehend. It amazed him that his old spit ball partner could look into a microscope and find things that would never occur to him in a million years. Of course, Hank was so smart, he'd realized he had no hope of matching him long ago, so he never tried. Never trying meant never failing and Hank stayed his closest friend. Still, he couldn't watch him without becoming incredibly bored and needing to say something. Today was no exception. "What are you doing?" He asked. "Hmm?" Beast looked over at him, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose under his glasses. It was something he always did when he'd been thinking too hard and lost touch with reality, though he denied it vigourously. "Oh, I am examining the viroid which causes one of the many strains of the Legacy Virus." Bobby had been listening to Hank speak for so long that he understood exactly what he was saying. His vocabulary had to improve for them to communicate, even if he didn't use it himself. On Hank, it was a personality trait, on him it'd just look silly. "Right. Um, can I ask you something?" "Indubitably ." Bobby came into the lab, stuffing his hands into his pockets selfconsciously. "Hank, do you remember when we were kids, and we had the treehouse in the woods behind the mansion?" Hank grinned. "Of course, with the secret handshake and passwords designed to keep it hidden from girls." "Except the only girl we had to worry about was a telepath who knew about it anyway." "And in the first rain, it all fell down?" Hank sighed. "I had forgotten about that. Ah, childhood memories. They make me feel SO old." He chuckled. Bobby smiled. "Um, do you remember the promises we made to each other?" The big blue mutant leaned back in his chair. "Besides the resolve to stand up to the local bullies, which I believe we backed out of at the last minute, and put snow in Scott's bed? If I remember, it was to tell the other the moment one of us experienced 'love at first sight'. I think we felt it must be something akin to stomach discomfort." Bobby shrugged. "Yeah. I just don't want it getting around that I broke any promises to you other than not running from Brian Hathaway at the mall." Slowly, Hank's eyes widened. "Bobby, are you telling me that you have experienced l'amoure? The big arrow in the heart? The pizza with all your favourite toppings and your name on it? Bobby, are you in love?!" His head ducked, he nodded quickly. "Iceman! You devil!" Before Bobby realized what had happened, Hank scooped him up into his arms and danced around the lab with him, white coat flapping, singing at the top of his lungs and somehow managing not to crash into anything. Laughing, Bobby struggled to get down, but Hank was taller than him and his feet wouldn't touch the floor. "Hank, put me down! Come on, please?" Finally, as the song either ended, or more likely, Hank couldn't remember the words, he put him down. Or, more precisely, he plopped him down so he was sitting on the edge of a table and they were eye to eye. "So, tell me," he asked in a conspiratorial whisper. "Was it like we hoped? Was it like walking on air with an angel at your side, or more like you swallowed your gum?" Bobby sputtered with laughter. "More like the angel thing," he gasped. "Hmm. No wonder Warren always had so much luck with the ladies. So, where did you meet this flower of womanhood, this lady love? The movie theatre, in line for postage? Dare I say it, at the checkout stand with the week's groceries?" "In the ladies room at the library." Hank's jaw dropped open and stayed that way for a few seconds before he closed it. "Obviously, I've been trying in the wrong spots. Is there any particular reason you met her in the ladies room, or is there something about your weekend activities you haven't been telling me?" Bobby turned red. "That's twisted, Hank." "Oh, I don't know. You'd probably look quite fetching in a nice summer dress and pumps." "Hank!" "Sorry, sorry," the Beast said, not looking sorry at all. "So, tell me, what is the name of this vision of loveliness?" Bobby hesitated. He really wanted to talk about Diedre, but he was afraid to tell too much. He didn't want anyone knowing about the club, because he didn't really have a good explanation for why he'd been there. Or why he couldn't go back. He'd tried earlier that night to get in, but had been refused admittance. He'd demanded to see the manager without luck and actually been thrown onto the sidewalk by a bouncer he was convinced was a mutant with superstrength. The only piece of information he'd been able to get out of them was that apprentices weren't allowed into the club without their master's permission. Besides, he'd finally come to the conclusion that he'd left talking about it too long. He didn't want to deal with the questions of why he followed Gambit, then didn't tell anyone. He didn't want to deal with the looks he'd get. The whispers of how maybe he was involved. The look of disappointment on the Professor's face, and on Scott's. He knew exactly how Scott would react, and he wanted to deal with one of his lectures even less. More, he was afraid of what the X-Men might do. The club was obviously a spot for illegal activites, so what would they do? They may report on it, which would bring the police in. The thought of a raid being made on the club, of Diedre being arrested because he was an idiot who couldn't keep his mouth shut, worried him. Besides, she'd asked him not to tell anyone he'd met her. She was obviously shy and he had no desire to make her a topic of mansion gossip. Hank took his hesitation as meaning something very different, though. "Um, she is a vision of loveliness, is she not?" He flushed, though you could barely tell through his thick fur. It quivered a little though, showing his embarrassment. "Not that that is important. I'm sure she has a wonderful personality." His fur quivered even harder. Bobby glared at him. "She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, if you must know." Hank looked as though he didn't know whether to be even more embarrassed or relieved. Obviously, he decided to drop the whole thing and go on to more questions designed to embarrass Bobby instead of himself. "So, what's her name? Porticia, Daisy-Mae, Tito...?" In spite of himself, Bobby laughed. "Where do you come up with this stuff?" "It is a calculated attempt to make you still your guts, figuratively speaking. My next technique will be the tickle attack if you do not start talking." Bobby threw his hands up in mock defense, wondering how far he could go, how much he could tell him. "Okay, okay, her name is Diedre." "Diedre." Beast grinned and stepped away, flopping down in a chair expectantly. "A beautiful name, how it rolls off the tongue, how it..." "Beast?" "Yes?" "You're laying it on a little thick." Beast barked a laugh. "Come now, how often is it my best friend comes in here to tell me he's in love? Don't answer that." Bobby rolled his eyes. "What does she look like?" Bobby hesitated again. This was a normal question, he decided. He could answer this one. "Um, kinda innocent-looking." Beast's eyes widened. "She isn't a minor, is she?" "No!" "Wonderful! Define 'innocent'." "Ur, blond, thin, pretty." "Excellent. Can you give me any more detail than that? Come now, I need to know for the mansion gossip pool. Does she live near here? where does she work? Does she like you? Has she agreed to have your children? Is she allergic to cats? I do hope she isn't, otherwise she's going to have a bad reaction to my fuzzy blue self. When are you bringing her here?" Bobby blanched at the words 'mansion gossip pool'. How could he have forgotten how Beast loved to talk, about anything and everything to just about anybody? He'd have news of Diedre over the house in an hour, and the second Jean heard, she'd light into him for even more details. He'd never be able to keep knowledge of the club away from her. Then she'd tell Scott and he'd have the place busted. Scott was not one to allow any place he knew was illegal alone. And unlike the Hellfire Club, he didn't think that little club had enough power to defend against him. Also, it'd probably get him on Gambit's bad side, even more than he already was, which was a realization that surprised him. Still, with his failure to get back into the club on his own, he knew that Gambit was his only link to Diedre. He had to stay in his good graces. The thought of that left a sour taste in his mouth, but Diedre was worth it. She had to be. No other woman made him feel the way she did without even trying. "Um, look, Hank. I'm kinda new at this falling in love business, and I don't want to ruin it. Can you please not ask me any more, and especially not tell anyone?" He couldn't look at him as he said it, and there was no force in his voice. Beast was silent for a few moments, then Bobby felt his hand on his shoulder. "Of course, Bobby. I've always respected your wishes." Bobby breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Hank. Um, I'll leave you to your work now." Without looking at him, he turned and hurried out. Bobby went upstairs, wondering what to do. He was in love with a woman he couldn't get to and couldn't talk about without endangering her. And the only man who could get him together with her was one he couldn't stand being near. Love sucks sometimes, he thought. An image of Diedre's face filled his mind's eye, as she'd been in the bathroom, surprised and pleased, and genually happy to see him. But it's worth it! Grinning, he went to find Gambit, determined to get him to take him back to the club. So what if he had to swallow a little pride to do so. It wasn't as if he cared about the Cajun's opinion. He was still scum. He heard voices in the living room and looked in the door. Gambit was sitting on the couch across from Warren, talking about... investing?" "Non, mon ami," the Cajun said. "Real estate ain' no good. I prefer more port'ble assets." Warren nodded in slow agreement. "Yes, but without real estate, you don't have anywhere to go." "Well, I will grant y' dat one." Bobby's jaw dropped open in surprise. He had a degree in accounting and he knew when someone was bluffing about finances. The Cajun wasn't. Warren looked at his watch. "My tea must be boiling by now. Do you want some?" "Merci." Warren walked past Bobby, who quickly followed him to the kitchen, his surprise still on his face. "You're talking investments with Gambit?" Warren started pouring hot water in a tea pot. "Yeah. I must admit, Remy may turn my stomach most of the time, but he knows money. I've made a tidy bundle off some of his suggestions. I think he's taken some of my advice too." "But, how?" "I dunno. He's close mouthed, but he's let a few hints drop. I think he has as much money as I do. He may have as much as the Professor." He grabbed two cups, some sugar and cream, and put them all on a tray. "I haven't asked where he got it all in the first place, though. I don't really want to know." Warren headed back to the living room as Bobby sat down. Pulling out his wallet, he looked at his pitifully small ATM statement and wondered about the financial rewards of theft versus obedience. [Valerie Jones] Bobby fidgeted outside the closed door, trying to convince himself to go in. He raised his hand to knock, then lowered it. For a strange moment, he had the inexplicable feeling that he was crossing a threshold that, once past, he would never be able to return. Then he shook it off. Geez, it was just Gambit's room. All he wanted was a little favor-in exchange for not telling the X-Men about the New York guild. He raised his hand again and knocked. "Oui?" came the muffled response. "Remy?" It was time to be friendly. "It's Bobby. You mind if I come in?" "Door's open." Bobby grimaced. Great. Here he was bearding the lion in its den, and the lion was grumpy. But he couldn't walk away. As much as he disliked it, he needed Gambit's help. Cautiously, he poked his head around the door. Gambit was dressed only in jeans, and was in the process of toweling his long hair dry. Bobby was surprised to see the dark bruises that decorated the majority of his back and shoulder. "What happened to you?" Gambit glanced at him, expression neutral. But Bobby had the distinct impression that the eerie red eyes were seeing straight through him. Then he shrugged, though only with the uninjured side. "Got a little carried away in de Danger Room." Yeah, like I believe that. But Bobby kept the thought to himself. Gambit almost never got hurt training. "Did y' wan' somet'ing?" Gambit asked after a moment. His accent was especially thick, and he sounded tired. "Yeah, I. . ." Bobby forced himself to speak. This was obviously a bad time, but he just had to get Gambit to help him. "I. . . wanted to ask a favor." That got the Cajun's attention. His eyes narrowed. "What kind of favor?" "I need you to talk to someone at that club we went to." If he weren't so nervous, Bobby would have chuckled at Gambit's suddenly baffled expression. He hurried on to explain, "You have to get me onto the list to get in. I tried to go there a couple of nights ago, but they said I'd have to talk to you." His ears still burned when he thought about that. The door goons remembered him, all right, but they weren't about to let him through without Gambit's express approval. Gambit's expression remained baffled. "Why in de world y' wan' t' be goin' t' a place like dat?" Inexplicably, his reaction made Bobby angry. "I just. . . do, all right? Look, I haven't told anyone about you being up to your neck in thieves when you're supposed to be retired." Gambit's eyes narrowed to slits, but Bobby pressed forward. "I thought that might be worth some kind of . . . consideration." Bobby held his breath. He'd actually done it. Played his little hole card against Gambit. He could feel his heart pounding as the Cajun studied him, lips drawn into a thin line. After a moment, Gambit cocked his head to the side, his expression sliding from angry to appraising. "I s'pose it is," he answered. "But I can' let y' go t' de club. Sorry." "Why not?!" "B'cause dey'd see right t'rough y'. Y' ain't no t'ief. An' den it'd be bot' our butts on de line." His accent was thick enough that Bobby was having some trouble understanding him. He realized suddenly that Gambit must be on the verge of falling over. He also realized that this was probably the best chance he would have of convincing him. It was a pretty fair bet that Bobby could make himself obnoxious enough that Gambit would agree to anything just to get him to go away. "So? You could show me how to act like a thief, right? I mean, it's just a nightclub. It's not like they're going to expect me to do anything while I'm there." Gambit snorted in disgust and tossed the damp towel over the back of a nearby chair. "Y' can' act like a t'ief. It's somet'ing y' are. It's a-" he struggled to find a word, "a-mindset. A way o' t'inking." He gave Bobby a direct stare. "It's not somet'ing y' can fake. Not around dese people." Bobby was beginning to feel desperate. He'd thought that Gambit would have to do this for him. But instead, he kept sliding around the issue. He wasn't actually saying no, but he was telling Bobby that it was impossible, and implying that it was because of Bobby, not because of his own refusal to cooperate. And that, Bobby realized with a start, was an extremely slick way to argue. If he hadn't been completely determined to get back into that club, Gambit would have talked him out of it already. Bobby countered the slick argument with the only thing he could think of-sincerity. "Remy, please. I have to go back there." "Why?" Bobby felt himself blushing. Normally that would be bad, but this time, it would only add to his appeal. "Because, I . . . met someone." He couldn't quite meet Gambit's gaze. Which was probably good, because Gambit began to laugh. He sank onto the bed and laughed raggedly, one hand pressed against the ribs on his injured side. "A woman? A t'ief woman?" Bobby nodded and tried to ignore the fact that Gambit was laughing at him. But after a moment, Gambit's mirth died. Bobby looked at him, and was surprised by how solemn his expression was. "Bobby, dese people are de real t'ing. Dey'd tear y' apart if dey found out what y' are." "Then show me how to be a thief." Bobby wasn't sure who was more surprised by his words. Gambit simply blinked at him. "F' real?" "If that's what it takes to walk into that place, then yes. For real." A cold pit was starting to form in Bobby's stomach. He'd just jumped into some deep water, and he had no idea yet whether he was going to be able to swim. There was a strange ache in Gambit's eyes that Bobby couldn't identify. "Is she worth it?" he asked softly. Bobby formed an image of Diedre in his mind's eye, and he knew the answer instantly. "Yes." Gambit stared at him, his red gaze intense. Slowly he nodded. "Den I do what y' ask. On one condition." Bobby's heart had leapt into his throat. "What's that?" he asked, not really caring what it might be. "Dat y' do what I say, when I say it, an' y' don' ask questions. Understood?" Bobby started to nod, but Gambit cut him off. "I wan' y' oath. By whatever c'n bind y'." Bobby was taken aback. He felt suddenly like Gambit was asking him to sell his soul. But the momentary chill passed, and he couldn't help but feel elated. He was going to get to see Diedre on a regular basis. It was going to be more work than he expected, but that was o.k. He would swear to Gambit on anything he wanted for that. "All right. How's this? I swear, on my honor as an X-Man, that I'll do my best to learn how to be a thief." Gambit gave him another one of those appraising stares, but then he nodded. He almost seemed amused, but all he said was, "Go `way, Bobby." Bobby was too happy to be insulted by the abrupt dismissal. And Gambit looked like he'd been run down by a truck, so it wasn't really something he could hold against him. That thought brought back an earlier question. At the doorway, Bobby turned. "What really happened to you tonight?" Gambit flashed him a humorless smile. "Y' find out soon enough, neh?" Remy settled quietly into the overstuffed chair that fronted Professor Xavier's desk, trying not to let his stiffness show. Serves me right f' fallin' two stories down an air-conditioning shaft. Least I got away. And what he had gotten away with was what brought him to the professor this morning. Normally, he would be more subtle, but this one wouldn't wait for the right time. "Good morning, Remy." The professor was pouring himself a cup of tea from the service perched on the corner of his desk. "'Mornin', Professor." "Tea?" "Non." He declined with a small shake of his head. The less he moved, the better. And the less likely it would be that the X-Men would know he'd gotten hurt. Except Bobby. Remy cursed himself yet again for that particular bit of stupidity. What in the world had possessed him to invite the boy in before putting a shirt on? But he'd simply been too exhausted to think straight. Yet it seemed that a quirk of fate had saved him this time. Bobby wanted to learn the dark ways-to get to a woman. And like a fool, Remy had agreed. He still wasn't sure why, except that the expression in Bobby's eyes had been so full of yearning-of desire, and hope- that he simply couldn't refuse. "Remy?" Remy came back to himself with a start. "What? `M sorry Professor, I was-" "A million miles away." The professor smiled. Remy cleared his throat, uncomfortable. He found himself letting his guard down a little too much around the professor. They had a certain. . . understanding, to be sure, but Remy kept finding himself wanting to treat Charles as a friend. If Charles noticed his discomfort, he didn't let it show. But Remy wasn't fooled. Charles took a sip from his cup and sat back in his chair, waiting for Remy to speak. "A couple o' weeks ago, y' asked me what I thought about Draxar Technologies, an' `bout dem wantin' y' t' chair dere new foundation." Charles had said almost exactly that. He had called Remy into his office and described Draxar Technologies and their newly established Genesis Foundation, for which they wanted Charles as their Director. Remy had said that he didn't know anything about Draxar and didn't have an opinion. But that was how those conversations between them always went. It was Charles' oblique way of asking Remy to look into it. It also meant that Charles had his own doubts about the company already, or he wouldn't be looking for information of the sort Remy could provide. Charles said nothing, only nodded. Remy decided that this wasn't the time to be edging around the subject. There were a lot of things Charles didn't know about him, but his abilities at espionage weren't on that list. Remy had much bigger secrets than that to keep, and this gave Charles the illusion that he knew the "truth" that Remy worked so hard to keep buried. Still, as intelligent as the man was, Remy often wondered who was playing who. Remy sighed despite the pang in his side, and got on with it. "On de surface, Draxar checks out. Dey got several big government contracts for biotech research, but dere f' t'ings like bacteria t' eat up oil spills an' improvin' livestock. De Genesis Foundation's supposed t' be devoted t' improvin' de quality o' life through genetics. Even t' developin' way t' predict mutations an' maybe control dem." Remy couldn't help his acid smile. "Parents could pick dere kid's powers before dey even conceive him." That elicited a frown from Charles. "That sounds. . . dangerous." "Yeah, well, de real danger's in dere black bag. It runs real deep, if y' get my drift." "How deep?" Charles knew the terminology well enough to know that a "black bag" referred to money that was never officially declared on the income statement. "Four hundred million a year." Charles drew in a sharp breath. That was a lot of money, even for a corporation the size of Draxar. "And they're using it for . . .?" Remy shrugged. He'd gotten the figure. Finding out what was really going on behind that great big dollar sign would be a very risky venture. He'd need a lot more reason than the professor's curiosity to try it. But the odds were good that it involved mutant research. Remy knew perfectly well that he'd just put Draxar on the X-Men's top ten list of interest. Even if Cyclops would never know how Charles knew there was trouble brewing there. Charles thanked him, and Remy excused himself quickly from the room. The last thing he wanted was to get caught in a casual conversation with the professor. Mostly because he hated hiding things from the man. But even Charles would never understand the reasons for some of the things Remy did. Sometimes, he wondered himself. Still, he had the opportunity to walk away from it all. He could devote all of his time to the X-Men and never step into the darker side of life again-but he knew that his conscience would never let him do that.
|