Thick as Thieves

[Nine to Sixteen]

by Lori McDonald & Valerie Jones

[Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] Part Nine [Valerie Jones] Jean Gray Summers sighed to herself and raised a hand to scratch her forehead. The tiara that went with her costume always itched when she was annoyed. She wasn't sure why she kept the stupid thing anyway. Nostalgia, she supposed. But on mornings like this one, nostalgia didn't have much of a voice. #REMY!!# she roared mentally. She was standing in the Danger Room with Scott and the others gathered around. A few were still trickling in, but that was normal for early morning sessions. As was having to drag a certain Cajun butt out of bed. Normally, she had a more tolerant view of Gambit's tendency to hibernate until noon. But she'd been up late herself last night, and if *she* had to get up this early then so would he. Unfortunately, she couldn't just dump her thoughts into his head like she could with any of the others. He was a telepathic ghost, impossible to grab hold of. So all she could do was aim her thoughts in his general direction and shout. Most of the time that was enough to wake him, if she threatened enough mayhem. #REMY LEBEAU, I SWEAR IF YOU DON'T GET OUT OF BED I'M COMING UP THERE WITH A BUCKET OF ICE CUBES AND ALL THE TELEKENESIS I CAN MUSTER.# She felt his sleepy chuckle. You don' tell Scott, den neither will I. And then he was gone again, burrowing back under the warm covers. Jean growled some rather unlady-like curses, making Scott's eyebrows rise. "Problem, Jean?" She smiled grimly. "Nothing that an experienced Den Mother like myself can't handle," she assured him. Then she turned. "Bishop!" The mutant in question turned away from a conversation with Beast and Logan. "Yes?" "Would you mind very much fetching Gambit for practice this morning?" Her tone was saccharine. Bishop's expression didn't change, but Jean imagined that she saw a glint of humor there nonetheless. It was obvious to her that Bishop bore some strange but deep affection for Gambit. She was at a loss to explain it, but on mornings like these, it came in handy. Gambit was the only person in the house that Bishop would treat so disrespectfully as to drag him bodily out of bed. "Phase Two," she muttered to herself as Bishop left the room. "Is there a Phase Three?" her husband asked. Jean glanced at him and smiled. "I'm sure I can invent one if Phase Two ever fails." Her expression elicited a chuckle. "Remind me to stay on your good side." Jean's smile widened. "Well, you know, I can always be bribed with sexual favors." Scott laughed, slightly embarrassed. "I'll remember that." Then he looked around. "Are we missing anyone else?" "Bobby's not here yet." Logan adjusted the fit of one long blue glove. "Perhaps his alarm failed this morning," added Beast. Jean made a quick pass through the house, searching for the Iceman. She found him where she expected to-in bed, still asleep. She shrugged. "I'll have Bishop knock on his door while he's up there." A terrific booming noise dragged Bobby out of darkness. Then a thunk. And a thud. It sounded like someone was breaking furniture. But just as he was about to wake up enough to get alarmed, a voice added to the mix, cussing someone in a mix of languages. Bobby relaxed and let the sleepy dark reclaim him. That was Gambit. And if he was making that much noise, he wasn't in any serious trouble. Bobby drifted off into a dream of snowflakes. Big, fat snowflakes, the kind that would fill up the yard in no time, filling the world with white. And Diedre in the midst of it, laughing. BAM! BAM! BAM! The booming noise was back with a vengeance. Bobby groaned and rolled over as the sound resolved itself into someone banging on his door. "Go `way," he mumbled and tried to get comfortable again. He didn't want to lose his dream. And besides, it couldn't have been more than ten minutes since he'd lain down. "Bobby, you are supposed to be in the Danger Room," said Bishop through the door. Bobby absorbed the meaning of the words after a few moments and then groaned again. He'd forgotten about that completely. He and Remy hadn't gotten in until after three, and the practice session was scheduled for seven. He cracked an eyelid and was dismayed to find that sunlight was, indeed, streaming through his window blinds. Bishop's fist pounded on the door again, and Bobby winced at the noise. He was stiff and sore from the workout Gambit had given him-they'd broken into some kind of office building that had more security than Bobby would ever have imagined-and his head ached from the lack of sleep. All the racket Bishop was making just made his headache worse. "Okay, okay, I'm up already!" he told the door. The words had the desired effect. The noise stopped. With a sigh, Bobby closed his eyes again. When he next opened them, it was to find Bishop's face less than ten inches from his own. "It's time to get up," Bishop told him calmly. Deciding that he wouldn't win an argument on the issue, Bobby rolled slowly into a sitting position and put his head in his hands. He tried to wave Bishop away. "I'm coming. I promise." He felt Bishop move away. "I will wait outside for you." Bobby was glad his hands covered his expression. Bishop was like a glacier. Big, solid and inescapable. When Bobby was finally dressed and feeling at least partly human, he opened the door to find Bishop leaning against the wall, facing away. Bobby glanced down the way to see what Bishop was watching, to discover Gambit just emerging from his own room. He didn't look any better than Bobby felt, though he did appear to have taken a shower, at least. "After you, mon ami," he said to Bishop, gesturing for the big man to precede him. His tone was studiously neutral. Suddenly Bobby wondered what all the racket he'd heard earlier had been about. Bishop glanced at Remy, then back at Bobby, and Bobby could almost imagine the gears turning over. He grunted once, and then did as Gambit had suggested. Bobby darted a look at Remy behind Bishop's back Does he suspect? he wanted to ask, but dared not. Remy shrugged lightly. It was a gesture Bobby had come to know meant something like "Maybe yes, maybe no. It's not important either way." Still nervous, Bobby followed the other two down to the Danger Room. He was beginning to wonder who would find him out first-the Guild, or the X-Men. And he wasn't entirely sure which one might be the better option. One. Two. One. Two. Stop. Turn. One. Two. Duck, cause he'll be coming from your blindside. Bobby dodged the blow, stepped back. One. Two. He counted his steps, sticking doggedly to the rhythm Gambit had taught him. And again. Turn. Block. They were dancing back and forth across the grass, and for once, Bobby was doing a pretty good job of holding his own. Of course, he knew this wasn't anywhere near the limit of what Gambit could do-not with those reflexes-but they were at a normal person's equivalent of full speed. "Arret!" Gambit stepped back, held up his hand. Bobby slid to a stop, breath ragged. Gratefully he bent down, bracing himself with hands on knees as he gulped the sweet early-morning air. Almost unconsciously, he spotted the vicious kick aimed at his head and dove to the side, rolling to his feet in a ready crouch. Gambit looked pleased. "You payin' attention." Bobby straightened. "Yeah, well, I figured it was good for my health." Remy had given him several painful bruises as the result of his inattention. He seemed to have a knack for knowing when Bobby's mind was wandering, and that was when he was most likely to spring something like that kick on the unsuspecting young X-Man. Bobby had been surprised to discover that his training was going to include hand-to-hand fighting. He'd learned the basics, of course, with the X-Men, but he'd never put much emphasis on it because his powers were so much more useful in a fight. But the "no powers" rule made him glad that he was getting a chance to sharpen up. He was beginning to feel like he could take on a skilled opponent without having to resort to his powers to save his hide. "C'mon. Let's get cleaned up." Remy started off across the park. It was midmorning now, but he and Bobby had beaten the sun there and had been able to spar in relative peace. Central Park was never completely deserted, though, unsurprisingly, no one had approached them. Bobby was incredibly curious as to what could have enticed the Cajun out of bed at such an early hour. They fetched their bags from the very un-Gambit sedan that they'd taken from the mansion. Bobby hadn't asked about it. He knew if he stayed with Gambit he'd probably get the answer eventually. And Remy was more willing to volunteer information if Bobby had put some effort into figuring it out for himself first. They walked across the street to one of the many skyscrapers that surrounded the park. On the second floor was a rather exclusive gym that Remy was a member of. Bobby had been there several times already-apparently a great deal of business was conducted between the cross-country ski machines. It never ceased to amaze Bobby that Remy knew all these things. He knew where to go and who to see for just about everything. They passed the doorman who greeted them both by name, and went directly to the stairs. Bobby spent a fleet moment wishing that he would get enough time to soak in the hot tub for a bit, but he had the feeling that Remy had other plans for them for the rest of the day. Bobby hummed the Army theme "Be All That You Can Be" as he changed into the suit Remy had suggested he bring. He snugged the tie into position and turned around to find Remy standing quietly behind him, impeccably dressed and apparently waiting. Having gotten used to that sort of thing, Bobby simply asked, "So where are we going?" Remy's expression didn't change. "De bank." Well, that explains the suit, at least, Bobby thought. He followed Gambit back to the car, wondering silently if he weren't also trying to include a little fashion sense in his training. Bobby had always thought that he had pretty good taste-at least for a man. But after spending some time in a few of the upper-class places Remy favored, he had begun to realize that there was a whole other level to these sorts of things. Even a nice suit from Sears looked shabby next to designer silk. Bobby kept his sigh to himself as he spotted his reflection in a storefront window. There were some drawbacks to not stealing for real. They walked into the bank twenty minutes later. It was one of those massive stone buildings, and the interior was enough to take Bobby's breath away. The ceiling was a full forty feet above their head, and from it hung two chandeliers the size of automobiles. The floor was marble, veined with gold. Dark paneling covered the walls, which matched the antique-looking furniture exactly. Their footsteps echoed in the massive space, and Bobby found himself trying to step more lightly. "Relax, mon ami," Remy commented with a smile. "Dey make it intimidatin' on purpose. Even gets t' me, an' I could break dis place." "Is that what we're doing?" Bobby asked in an undertone. A fairly alert-looking security guard was watching them, so Bobby tried to keep his expression easy. Remy chuckled. "Not today. I jus' need t' get some cash." "What? You couldn't use the ATM?" Remy didn't answer as they approached the reception desk and the very lovely blond seated there. "Good morning, Mr. LeBeau," she said with a blinding smile. "What can we do for you this morning?" "Withdrawal, please." She took a ledger from her desk, opened it to a half-filled page and scribbled something. "The amount?" "Two million. Cash." Bobby tried not to choke. "U.S. currency?" "Oui." She finished writing and turned the ledger around. "If you'll just sign-" she indicated the spot with the pen, "I'll let Mr. Raymond know you're here." "Merci." Gambit accepted the pen and signed the book. The receptionist laid that brilliant smile on them again as she reclaimed her ledger. Then she gestured toward the waiting area, a cluster of leather couches and hardwood tables. "Please have a seat. Can I bring you coffee? Tea?" "Non," Gambit declined, apparently for both of them. As they walked over to the couches, Bobby hissed, "Two million?" Remy sat down, crossed his legs and picked up a copy of the Wall Street Journal from the side table. Bobby blinked in surprise. It was like he'd suddenly switched personalities. This was a high- power executive, a lawyer. Maybe a commodities trader. Not the somewhat scruffy ex-thief and general troublemaker that Bobby was familiar with. "Remy, sometimes you scare me." Remy glanced at him over the paper. "Really? Why's dat?" Bobby only shook his head. "So what's the money for, anyway?" "We got business t' do tonight. Gon' need it." Bobby bit back his curiosity. This wasn't the place to discuss details, even if Remy were willing to. He settled himself to wait. It turned out to be a good thing, too. The process of prying that much cash out of a bank was a long and boring one. They spent a total of four hours at the bank, most of them waiting to see someone or another, before an armed guard set a black briefcase down in front of Remy. Remy flipped the catches and opened the case. Bobby tried not to stare at the neat rows of crisp, new fifty dollar bills. It was definitely the most money he'd ever seen at one time. Remy nodded and closed the case. "Do you want an armed escort, Mr. LeBeau?" the banker asked. Remy shook his head, and Bobby tried not to smile. "No t'anks. I c'n manage." They walked out into the midday sun and Bobby heaved a sigh of relief. "I'm glad that's over." Remy grinned that disconcerting grin of his. "Dat was de easy part." They pulled into the drive of a truly spectacular mansion just as the sun was setting. The flaming orange and red of the sky was reflected in the windows, almost making it seem as if the place were on fire. It was a huge house that, honestly, was the closest thing Bobby had ever seen to a castle in the United States. He continued to stare at it as they pulled to a stop in front of the wide marble steps leading up to the front door. "It's jus' a house," Gambit commented as they stepped out of the car. Bobby glanced at him over the car's roof. "Who lives here?" All he knew was that they were Upstate somewhere. He'd dozed too much of the trip to know more than that. "Let's go inside." Remy handed his keys to the valet that approached him. Then he started up the stairs, and Bobby followed. He had the briefcase, Bobby noted. They were met at the front door by two men in suits. Both were large and solemn, and Bobby had no trouble recognizing their type. Not that the noticeable bulges under their jackets wouldn't have given them away also. Bobby had learned enough about what to look for that he knew that those bulges were much too big for simple handguns. They had to be sporting some kind of uzi-like small automatics. Remy handed the briefcase to the first, then spread his arms wide and allowed the rather thorough weapons search without visible reaction. Bobby tried to copy his detachment when it was his turn. But he absolutely hated the process. It was. . . violating. But Gambit had drilled it into him-if you're going to let them search you, let them search anything they want. Never react. So he stared at the wall and forced himself to be still until it was over. The goon that had searched Remy also examined the briefcase. He had Remy open it, and then made a careful search of the money and the case. Finally satisfied, he relocked it and returned it to Gambit. The goons turned them over to an assistant of some sort, who led them into the house. The foyer emptied into an immense gallery that appeared to run the full depth of the house. Bobby tried very hard not to gawk, but it was more impressive than the Smithsonian. He didn't know enough about art to know how much the paintings were worth, but he could guess. Statues and sculptures lined the walls in individual niches, and there were occasional pedestals displaying smaller pieces. There was even an airplane hung above their heads, though Bobby wasn't certain what it was or what historical significance it might have. Gambit noticed him staring up at the single-engine plane. "It's a Zero," he said. "What?" "A Japanese Zero. World War II fighter. De Kingpin's an airplane buff. Dat one's his favorite." "Oh." Then Bobby registered the statement in full. "Wait a minute. The Kingpin? The Kingpin?" The X-Men had files on the Kingpin, master of organized crime in New York. But even they didn't know where he lived. They left the gallery and stepped out into the crisp evening air. They were in some kind of covered colonnade that crossed through a garden area on its way to another part of the building. Their guide had said nothing up to this point, and continued the trend as they went through the door at the far end. Bobby was surprised to find himself in a pool room. The pool itself was lilypad-shaped, with a multitude of slides and diving boards ranged around it. A fully-stocked wet bar occupied a small island at the center of the pool, but none of that was what grabbed Bobby's attention and refused to let go. The pool was in use. By something close to a dozen of the loveliest women Bobby had ever seen, X-women included. And every one of them was completely naked. They sported in the water, laughing and splashing. An occasional playful shriek echoed across the room. Sometimes someone would climb out of the water to go to one of the slides, bouncing all the way. Bobby felt like he had walked into the middle of a porno flick. The sharp elbow Remy planted in his ribs brought Bobby out of his reverie. "Let's go." "But--?" "Dey wallpaper, Bobby. Ignore dem." Bobby stared at Gambit in surprise, but his expression was as flat as his voice. He turned and followed their guide without so much as a glance at the pool. Not certain what to think, Bobby tried to copy him. "Hello, Remy." The Kingpin's voice was a deep, resonant bass. Not surprising, Bobby thought, considering all the room it has to echo around in there. The Kingpin was not a small man. Bobby estimated him at about four hundred pounds. "And you must be Bobby Drake." Bobby's heart froze at the sound of his name. The Kingpin knew him? How? From the X-Men? Had he somehow given Remy away? Bobby tried to control his sudden burst of panic. He nodded in response to the question, forcing himself not to look toward Gambit. "Bonsoir, Kingpin," Remy replied. If there were any reason to panic, Bobby couldn't tell it from his voice. The Kingpin sat behind a truly monstrous desk. It seemed to have been custom fit to his bulk. Remy walked up to the desk, set the briefcase on top and opened it, turning it around so that the Kingpin could see the contents. The Kingpin nodded and Remy closed the case again, pushing it off to the side. Then the Kingpin reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a large manila envelope. He slid it across the desk to Remy, who picked it up. "So how's the day job?" the Kingpin asked conversationally as Remy opened the envelope and began examining the contents. It appeared to hold several official-looking documents, though Bobby couldn't tell what type. Remy shrugged without looking up from his reading. "De usual." The Kingpin steepled his fingers in front of his lips, his expression amused. Bobby wondered why he was the only one who felt like panicking. The Kingpin had to be referring to the X-Men. Did he know that Gambit was an X-Man? Worse yet, did Remy give out information he learned as an X-Man to people like the Kingpin? The Kingpin's gaze shifted to Bobby. "They call you Iceman, correct?" Bobby couldn't help but look toward Remy. How was he supposed to play this? But Remy was still engrossed in that cursed envelope, and didn't seem to be listening. "Yes, they do." The Kingpin's expression of amusement had not faded. "You don't look like a thief." Bobby could only stare at him, completely at a loss. Was the Kingpin trying to trick him into giving something away? Or was it just an innocent observation? "Dat makes him perfect, non?" Remy quickly folded up the papers and returned them to their envelope. He tucked the package inside his coat. "Never seen a security guard look twice at him." The Kingpin chuckled. "Maybe so." He paused, changing subjects. "I hope that is satisfactory." His nod seemed to indicate the mysterious envelope. Remy didn't seem very eager to talk about it. "It's as much as I was expectin'," he said. Bobby had become familiar with the guarded expression on his face. Remy began to turn away, but the Kingpin went on, "Then I'll add this to it for free." Remy turned back, and Bobby found himself tensing in expectation, though he had no idea what kind of trouble might be brewing. "You're stepping in over your head on this one." The Kingpin said simply. "I know how much you value this mutant crusade of yours, but I doubt that even the X-Men can tangle with this and emerge unscathed." Remy watched the Kingpin without expression. "You got interest in Draxar?" he asked, and Bobby was left wondering who or what "Draxar" might be. "Not enough that I will take sides." The Kingpin leaned back in his chair. "I'm giving you this warning because I appreciate the way you do business. Do with it whatever you like." And with that, he pulled out a folder and opened it, apparently dismissing them. They left without further conversation. Bobby was never so glad to get out of anyplace in his life. The Kingpin's manner had set his skin to prickling, and set off every warning instinct he had. And, unfortunately, had also set him to wondering why such a powerful criminal knew so much about the X-Men. "How much does he know about the X-Men?" Bobby asked the moment they were in the car. Remy shrugged. "As much as he wants to." He put the car in drive and started away from the house. The casual way he spoke, combined with Bobby's growing suspicions, ignited a small fire of anger deep in Bobby's stomach. "Do you - do you sell him information out of our files?" Remy looked over at him for a moment, then slowly nodded. "Sometimes." Bobby's anger blossomed into full-blown fury. He thought he'd begun to understand Remy. He'd certainly begun to trust him. And now to find out that he had betrayed the X-Men's secrets to someone like the Kingpin. . . . He was unaware as he transitioned to his ice form, spreading out into a sort of spiderish shape that gave him excellent balance and mobility in the car seat. Gambit slammed on the brakes and the car skidded to a controlled stop on the side of the driveway. He turned to stare directly at Bobby, apparently unaffected by his sudden shapechange. The hand that Bobby could see glowed with power, though Gambit wasn't currently holding anything. "Where y' wan' go wit dis, Bobby?" Remy asked softly. Bobby understood in that moment that Gambit would meet him on whatever terms he set. If he wanted a fight, he would get it. If he wanted blood, he would get it. He was stunned to realize that Remy would kill him, if pushed to it. "I just want an answer," he finally said. Remy stared at him. Then, "Do y' have any idea what's really important t' a man like de Kingpin?" he asked. "Money," Bobby answered promptly. "Exactly." Bobby watched him warily. "What does that have to do with you selling out the X-Men?" Real anger flickered behind Gambit's eyes and Bobby watched him warily. He thought he had the advantage in this tight space, but Gambit was just so unpredictable that he wasn't going to count on it. His heart was pounding in pure terror at the thought of taking Gambit on. Not so much out of fear for his own safety, though he knew he'd need an advantage like the last time they'd fought or he'd never be able to take the Cajun. It was more from the realization that he would be destroying the tenuous friendship they had developed. Bobby hadn't imagined until then that it might be important to him. Remy seemed to relax slightly, as if reading Bobby's reluctance. The glow of his hand faded and then disappeared. "De Kingpin don' like trouble-from mutants or anybody else," he said in a fairly normal tone of voice. "It's bad f' business." He shrugged. "Sometimes, de trouble c'n best be handled from dis side o' t'ings. A little pressure from someone like de Kingpin. A little money. A favor here or dere." Remy paused to dig a cigarette out of his coat. He didn't bother with a match, but simply flicked the end with one finger. The flash of pink was immediately drowned in a flare of orange as the tobacco lit. "If it's mutant trouble, de Kingpin's boys usually come t' me. If I t'ink he's got de means t' keep t'ings from getting out a hand, I'll sell him de info he wan'. Den his boys c'n do de X-Men's work for dem, business stays good, an' everybody happy. N'est-ce pas? I even make a little off de deal." Bobby stared at him, uncertain what to believe. Remy sighed, blowing smoke, and shook his head. "I wouldn' give him anyt'ing dat give him a handle on de X-Men. Don' worry. I'm not stupid." Bobby found himself relaxing. What Gambit said made sense, in a certain kind of way. "That's o.k., Remy," he found himself replying. "I was only questioning your loyalty, not your intelligence." He had the satisfaction of seeing Remy's eyes widen, as if he weren't certain whether to take the comment seriously or not. Unfortunately, Bobby couldn't' quite hold a straight face, and Remy's lips quirked into a wry smile. The last of Bobby's tension drained away. He leaned his head back against the rest, suddenly exhausted. "Let's just go home, all right?" Remy continued to watch him for a moment longer. Then "Right," he agreed, and put the car in gear once again. They made the long drive home in silence. It was only long after they had arrived back at the mansion that Bobby realized that he'd never asked Gambit what was in that envelope that was worth two million dollars. Bobby yawned hugely as he stepped out the front door of the mansion. He'd actually gotten a chance to sleep in for once, and had enjoyed taking full advantage of it. "What's going on?" Bobby came up beside Hank and glanced at his friend. Hank grinned and waved toward the large truck that was parked in front of the house. "I believe Gambit's car has arrived." "And everybody came out here to watch?" Nearly all of the X-Men were gathered on the front porch. "Doesn't anybody have a life anymore?" "Oh, hush," Jean made shushing motions at him. "Besides, we've got a pool going as to what kind of car it'll be." "Considering all of the trouble Gambit has gone to in bringing it here," Ororo added, and Bobby turned to stare at her. "You're in the pool?" Ororo chuckled. "I could not resist." Bobby was beginning to feel a bit excluded. "So why didn't I hear about this?" "Probably because you're never around these days," Scott said, staring at Bobby over his wife's head. "Scott!" Jean elbowed him lightly. "Be nice." "I am being nice. It's true." "So? Bobby is entitled to his own life." "Thank you Jean." Bobby gave her a mock bow and she smiled at him. "It's about time," Logan growled from where he leaned against one of the columns that supported the porch roof. Bobby turned to follow his gaze and saw that the workmen were lowering the ramp on the truck. When it was down, Gambit climbed nimbly up the steeply sloped surface and disappeared into the dark interior. After a moment, they heard the roar of an engine. Well, it sounds fast. Bobby leaned over to Beast. "So did you bet in this pool?" "Indubitably." That had to be Hank's favorite word, Bobby thought. "What'd you pick?" Hank grinned. "Something classic. A restored treasure." Bobby simply raised his eyebrows. "A 1967 Corvette Stingray." "Geez, you picked years?" "And colors. Red." Bobby couldn't help but laugh. "I really haven't been around enough." The metallic clanking of the ramp as the car's tires hit it brought Bobby's attention back to the truck. He watched in mild shock as Gambit backed the car slowly out of the truck and onto the mansion's drive. He pulled over to the edge of the pavement, then killed the engine and stepped out. There was nothing but silence on the porch for several seconds, but then it was broken by a snort from Wolverine. Logan walked down the steps and approached Gambit. "Ya mind?" he asked, waving at the front of the car. Gambit shrugged. "Help y'self." As the other X-Men, including Bobby, drifted down the stairs, Logan went around to the driver's side, reached in, and popped the latch on the hood. Like every expensive European sportscar, the hood was hinged at the nose. Logan pushed it open, then busied himself examining the engine beneath. Jean stopped several paces from the car and crossed her arms. "Remy, I do believe that that is absolutely the. . ." She paused, searching for the appropriate term. "Yellowest?" Sam supplied helpfully. Jean grinned. "-- car I've ever seen." "You should have warned us to bring sunglasses." Scott was, indeed, shading his eyes. "You're already wearing sunglasses," Bobby reminded him. "I do not believe that `yellowest' is a real word, Sam." Hank put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Hey, it fits don't it?" "Well. . . yes." Hank, too, shaded his eyes as he studied the car. "Though I must admit that once one recovers from the color, it's quite attractive." Chuckling to himself, Bobby walked over to Gambit. "Do I dare ask why you own the world's only neon yellow Ferrari?" It really was an obnoxious color, especially with the bright sunlight reflecting off it like that. Gorgeous car, though." "Hey Gumbo!" Logan's voice echoed slightly beneath the hood. "Who built this engine for ya?" He straightened and looked questioningly at Gambit. Remy grinned. "TRD." "Who?" Bobby asked. "Toyota Racing and Development." Bobby almost laughed at the idea of putting a Toyota engine in a Ferrari, until he saw the respectful lift to Logan's eyebrows. "Nice work," he said. "Toyota?" Bobby couldn't help but ask. Logan carefully lowered the hood. "Best engines in the world, boy. `Specially a custom job like this." "I didn't know that yellow was a favored color," Beast said as he stepped up behind Remy. "It's not," Gambit answered. Hank's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Really? Then why not have the vehicle repainted? Red, perhaps?" "I'm sensing a theme here, Hank," Bobby muttered to his friend. Gambit gave Hank a particularly sly look. "Let's jus' say dat it's. . .. highly visible, an' leave it at dat." "And here I thought that'd be the last thing you'd want in a getaway car." Warren had come up next to Scott. His expression said that he was impressed and hating it. Gambit's lips thinned. "A getaway car? Dat what y' t'ink dis is?" "Isn't it?" To Bobby's surprise, Gambit began to laugh. "Non. A getaway car's f' some sorry excuse f' a t'ief dat don' got de skill t' get out clean." He patted the sleek yellow car. "Dis is an alibi." "I don't get it." Scott was frowning. Bobby had to admit that he didn't understand either. Remy shook his head. "Look, it's simple." He sounded like he thought he was explaining something to children. "Dere's only one a dese in de world. De plates are custom, even. It's a great big flashin' sign dat say `Remy LeBeau be here'." He pointed to an imaginary spot on the hood. "And apparently this is a good thing." Hank's brows were drawn together in a thoughtful frown. Bobby had the feeling that he was trying to puzzle out the reasoning before Remy explained it. "'Course." Remy was getting that Cheshire grin again. He was enjoying the chance to brag a little. "I'd go to a party, mix it up f' a little while. Make sure t' talk t' everybody. Den, once t'ings in full swing an everybody's gettin' boozed up, I could leave quiet-like. Leave de car in de lot. Come back in a couple hours, an' start makin' de rounds again. Everybody assume dey jus' didn't see me f' a while. An' anybody at de party asks where I been, I c'n smile an' say `Hey, had a private invitation, n'cest pa?'. Dey c'n decide f' demselves who dey t'ink I was wit." Scott frowned, but his tone was light. "Now, this was before you retired, right?" Bobby shot him a startled glance. Scott teasing? Remy gave Scott a dirty look, but didn't interrupt his story. "Later, when it all said an' done, de cops c'n ask anybody who was dere about me an' dey'll all swear up an' down dat I was dere de whole night. Dey'd be tellin' de truth, least as far as dey concerned. An' since de car's been dere de whole time. . . " He grinned. "Voila! De perfect alibi, non?" "That is absolutely despicable," Warren said after a moment. Something in the superiority of his tone touched a nerve in Bobby. Warren didn't have the faintest idea how Gambit lived. He certainly didn't have the right to call him "despicable". "Actually, it's slicker than snot," Bobby told him. "You just don't have any imagination." Then he brushed by the startled X-Man and walked back into the house, completely unaware of the stares that followed him. Part Ten [Lori McDonald] With a thunderous sneeze, the bodyguard began to shiver, trying to stay warm in his thick coat, scarf, gloves and boots. "I think Frank is cold," Diedre giggled. Bobby grinned. "Then maybe he'll leave." Diedre smiled up at him, her eyes shining. They were at Michael's penthouse in the outdoor swimming pool that had been emptied for the winter. After two months of showing her little tricks in the Club, enough people had complained about the cold that Michael had finally relented and ordered Bobby to come and train his wife here. Gambit had almost had a fit, all but telling him not to do it, that it was too dangerous, but Gambit still didn't know that Diedre was the woman Bobby was in love with. Even if the Cajun had flat out ordered him, Bobby wouldn't have obeyed, and the older man had finally given in as well, after three straight hours of arguing hadn't gotten him anywhere. It was the first time Bobby had really won a serious argument with him without feeling like he'd only done it out of luck, and in fact, he'd left Remy wondering why teaching the Guild Master's wife could be so important. Seeing confusion on the Cajun's face had actually caused him to laugh out loud, then get hit in the face with a lightly charged pillow. Gambit was at home on 12 hour monitor duty right now, as punishment from Scott for skipping out of his last three assigned duty sessions, and to make up for the time he owed. Remy hated nothing worse than sitting in front of a screen doing nothing. Bobby would have felt sorry for him if he wasn't so happy right now. "Be nice," Diedre whispered, glancing up at the shivering Frank where he paced along the edge of the pool. "Frank is my friend." Bobby struck a gallant pose. "But does he know about us?" She giggled again. It was a wonderful sound. "Of course he does. He's empathic." Bobby deflated, suddenly envisioning Michael descending on him for daring to be in love with his wife. "He is?" She nodded and tapped his nose. "And exactly what us are you talking about, Teach?" Her words almost caused him to deflate further, but there was a shy glimmer in her eyes, a glow he knew was reflected in his own. Oh, God, I want her, he thought. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I want to make love to her right now. Somehow, though, he doubted Frank would let anything that obvious just slide by. It was far better to concentrate on business and not let himself touch her at all, or else he'd lose all control. Some teacher I'd be then. Stepping regretfully away from her, he held up his hand, and slowly grew a icy candle out of the center of it, complete with dancing flame. "Try this." Diedre nodded and concentrated. She wasn't as powerful as he was, or her powers were stunted from lack of practice, and he'd found that she wasn't really capable of creating any of the elaborate sculptures he was. Nor could she cover herself with ice. The below freezing temperature in the pool was his work, to make it easier for her to use what powers she could. As she worked, Bobby let his eyes drift over her. Unlike her bodyguard, she was dressed in a black miniskirt and a white camisol. She'd taken the accompanying black jacket off before they got into the pool, and while the black made her look drained, the white shimmered nicely with her hair. She was prettier than he'd seen her since the library. Yellow would be the perfect color for her, he thought happily. Yellow or maybe pale blue, but definitely yellow. I'd kill to see her in that color. "I did it!" Bobby shook out of his reverie to see she'd created a little stub of a candle in her palm, only a few inches high and definitely slanted to one side, but with a tiny flicker at the top. A little haze of snow fell around her, settling into her hair. "Good work," he congratulated her. He'd been able to do better since before he joined the X-Men, but for her, it was a real accomplishment. She laughed, something he never saw her do in the club. "That was hard. That's the closest I've gotten to making something look like I want it to." She blushed. "Most of the time I wind up with mutated icecubes." He laughed too. "Icecubes are good. That's what I started with too." He turned his hand over and icecubes rained out from it to the bottom of the pool, changing to a polygon shape. "Here you go, diamonds for my lady." Her breath caught and for a moment, she looked so beautiful Bobby almost fell to his knees in awe. "Oh, Bobby, thank you." "You're welcome," he stammered, and on impulse, reached out to her, tracing a finger along her collarbone and leaving a trail of ice diamonds behind, forming a necklace for her. "I wish I could give you the real thing." She shook her head, trembling. "No. These are just perfect. I don't want any of the real ones, they're not... cold enough." For a long minute, the two stared at one another, blue eyes to blue eyes as snow fell around them. Bobby noted happily that her breath didn't mist in the cool air any more than his did. She was as cold inside as he was. He thought of holding that icy cold body and shook himself. "Uh, do you want to learn anything more tonight?" She smiled dreamily. "I want to turn to ice, the way you did at the library." He chuckled. "I think that's a little advanced for you yet, but we'll get there." She pouted for a moment, then smiled again. "Then I want to play," she decided and threw a snowball at him. Bobby sputtered, spitting out the snow as she laughed and ran, though of course the ladder was too high for her to get out of the pool without help unless she went to the shallow end. She was headed for the deep end though, and Bobby took that as permission to chase her. Whooping, he did so. Diedre was fast, though, kicking off her heels and running around in her bare feet, dodging away every time he tried to grab her. He wasn't sure what he'd do with her if he did catch her, but for the moment it was good enough just to run, to feel the cold and to chase the woman he loved. Finally, he had her backed into a corner, though he wasn't sure if that was because of his skill as an X-Man or because she'd let him. He desperately hoped it was the latter. She giggled at him as he advanced, hunching over with his hands outstretched and hooked like claws. "I've got you now, little girl," he boomed in a mock deep voice. She gasped in pretend horror and suddenly bolted to one side. He lunged for her and suddenly slipped and crashed to the ground. "You froze the floor!" He cried, inordinately pleased. "I had a good teacher," she yelled, headed for the other side of the pool. "Then learn this!" he cried and sent ice shooting after her, a forest that towered out of the pool as it raced after her, forming itself into curves and swirls in a thousand shades of blue and white. It was as if the entire surface of the pool had suddenly exploded with thousands of icy hands that raced after Diedre in a tumbling wave that mutated and changed, reforming itself as it went. Diedre shrieked as it surrounded her, catching her around the waist and lifting her off the ground. The crystalline hands wove together as they rose, building an incredibly elaborate, whorled structure, so complex that it almost seemed to take on a life of its own. Sunlight reflected from a million icy facets, filling the air with rainbows. Without thought, Bobby transformed to his ice form. An ice slide brought him to the base of the structure while it was still rising, and it was almost easy to join it. He melded his slide into the ever- changing lattice and let his own form behave similarly. Elongated, twisting and turning, he rose inside the structure, weaving around and through the geometric perfection. He reached the top of the tower and returned to the more familiar human ice-shape. Diedre was cradled by the ice in a little pocket that was hidden from the sky, though the ice refracted the glow from the pool lights so that it was as bright as day. Brighter even, though neither of them were bothered by the glare that shone off of the ice. Diedre sat quietly in the midst of the chrysalis, her expression awed. "Oh, Bobby," she whispered. "What?" He asked, a little self-conscious. "You're so beautiful." There was very little room in the pocket, and she made no move to resist as he knelt over her, the cold rising off of him. "Thanks. No one's ever said that to me before. But I'm nowhere near as beautiful as you." She smiled. "Silly." Forgetting where he was, who she was, he bent over her. "Am I?" He whispered. Only a inch from his own, her lips parted slightly and she swallowed. "We shouldn't be doing this," she whispered. "Why not?" "I'm married." He reached down to hold her hand. She didn't pull away, the only woman who ever hadn't when he was in his ice form. How can I feel so hot when I'm so cold? He wondered. "I don't care," he whispered back. His ice lips barely brushed hers and she clutched his hand tightly. They heard Frank cough from somewhere above them on the pool edge. "Michael's coming." Instantly, Diedre went absolutely white. Bobby collapsed the ice tower with such speed that it felt like they were plummeting into the empty pool below. Diedre barely seemed to notice. Struggling away from him, she squirmed out of the ice and out of the pocket, climbing up toward the edge of the pool where Frank helped her out. Sighing, Bobby turned back to flesh and blood and followed her. He'd just gotten out of the pool himself when Michael walked out onto the patio and stopped. "Cripes, why is it so bloody cold out here?!" Blushing, Bobby gestured at the pool and the ice he'd created dispersed back into water molecules in the atmosphere. The temperature quickly climbed back to normal and Michael walked over to kiss Diedre sparingly on the cheek. "I take it you've managed to learn something of value?" Diedre blushed and held out her hand. Proudly, she recreated the candle she'd made earlier, complete with flame. Michael barely glanced at it. "A cheap party trick," he commented and turned to Bobby as she wilted behind him. "Why haven't you taught her anything useful?" There was nothing more Bobby wanted to do than freeze him solidly into place, but behind him, he saw Diedre shake her head no and he resisted the urge. "She has to learn the basics and build up her strength," he told the thief. "But she's making real progress. You should be proud of her." Michael frowned and he thought desperately. "Uh, I think it may be possible that she'll be able to learn to supercool metal, and do things like shatter locks and maybe vault doors." Diedre looked stunned, but Michael nodded. Michael lifted his chin. "Very well. You may leave." He turned his back. "Didi, we have an engagement at the symphony tonight. I expected you to be dressed already." "Sorry, Michael," she apologized. "I lost track of time. I'll be ready in a minute." She hurried into the house, and without another look at Bobby, Michael followed her. Frank looked at him sympathetically and did the same. Left alone, Bobby sighed and did the only thing he really could. He went home. Remy stared mindlessly at the monitor screen, elbow on the table, head on his hand. Dis is what I get for f'getting t' show up f' monitor duty t'ree times in a row, he thought with a snarl. Scott had offered to let him make up the time over several nights, but no... he had to decide to do all three sessions at once. Least I got an 'xcuse f' bein' a basketcase t'morrow morning, he thought. Leaning back in his chair, he thought of the reasoning behind twelve straight hours staring at a computer which he was sure would function just as effectively without him being there. Dis is all Bobby's fault. He's de one who should be sittin' here. The thought was somewhat petty, but he was cranky enough he let himself revel in it. He'd skipped out on monitor duty so he could train the younger man, and he was sitting here now so that he wouldn't miss out on working with him for the rest of the week. Why you tryin' so hard t' make him a t'ief, miseur LeBeau? he wondered to himself. It not like he goin' t' be makin' a livin' at dis. When it came down to it, he trained Bobby because he enjoyed it. He'd had no idea how much he'd enjoy it, passing his skills on to someone else, just as his father did with him. It was something he'd already concluded to himself he'd never be able to do, what with turning his back on stealing himself when he joined the X-Men. As well as the increasing likelihood that he'd never have any children to pass anything on to. Remy sighed. Bobby may have only been a little younger than him, but he was willing to learn, for his own reasons, and Remy wanted to teach someone. Just as he had been teaching Storm before she remembered she wasn't a little girl and that she'd sworn not to steal. It'd hurt when he saw his little protege transformed back into her adult form. Until that moment, she'd been his immortality, the repository of everything he'd learned. Now he had Bobby. The reasoning was different than his own, but the knowledge was still being passed on. Bobby would be able to continue on after him. He smiled. Y' ain' dat old yet, y' fool. An' Bobby prob'ly won' see it de same way. Still, it felt good. He had to admit that. The computer blipped and he glanced at the screen. Sam was walking across the patio in the backyard. Whoopee. Briefly, he considered turning on the defense grid and giving the boy an impromptu Danger Room session, but he sensed that Scott would disapprove. Prob'ly have m' balls hangin' by breakfast, he thought with a grin. It might be fun though. Getting into trouble just to see what happened was one of his favorite pastimes. It also landed him in the hospital most too. Boredom decided him against it. Yawning, he slouched down in his chair and closed his eyes. He was a man capable of staying awake for days at a time, of holding still without moving for hours and of having the patience to get past a motion detector by moving slowly enough that it didn't sense him. But monitor duty always put him to sleep. It wasn't a big deal, he mused to himself as he nodded off. He was a light sleeper. He'd know Scott was coming long before he caught him. Though, he didn't actually know for sure if Wolverine was in the mansion. "Women are wonderful." Remy leaped out of a sound sleep at the sound of that voice, his heart hammering like the Blackbird's engine at full throttle. "I'm awake!" He cried before the tone and the words sank in. He turned the chair around. "Bobby?" Iceman looked at him skeptically from the doorway. "You know, Scott will have you on monitor duty for the next month if he finds you sleeping at your station." To cover the fright he'd had, Remy stretched and grinned. "Nah, he won' catch me. 'Sides, who wants someone who sleep sittin' in here?" "Uh huh. I know Scott. He'll stand right behind you for your whole shift just to be sure you stay awake." Remy considered that and his grin faded. He knew Scott too. "Yeah, yeah. Well, you look happy," he said to change the subject. "Y' see y' ladyfriend t'night?" Bobby's face melted into a sappy smile that Remy was getting very used to seeing. "Yeah. It was great." The Cajun raised an eyebrow, feeling very much in a teasing mood. "If it so great, why you home so early?" Just as he'd expected, Bobby turned red. It was a little harder to make him look like a beet than it used to be, but it could still be done. "She's not that kind of girl!" "Uh huh." Remy suddenly didn't have the heart to tease him, not about this. He'd romanced a lot of women in his time, without really caring for most of them, and the only one he'd truly loved was the only one he hadn't slept with. Thinking of her still hurt and he wondered if he'd ever gotten Bobby's goofy grin on his face when she still lived in the mansion. "Y' still sure y' love her, neh?" Bobby came over and sat in the other chair. "Completely. You can't know how it feels to love someone so totally." Remy raised an eyebrow and he blushed again. "Sorry. But I do love her. I want to spend the rest of my life with her. But I don't know if I can." He stared at his hands. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to even touch her," he murmured. "You know how that feels?" In a moment of complete understanding and totally open camaraderie, Remy reached out and gripped his shoulder tightly. "Yes, I do," he said. Part Eleven [Valerie Jones] Bobby settled into his seat with a sigh. It was only ten o'clock, and already it had been a long night. But the amphitheater Remy had brought him to was enough to make him forget his tiredness for a while. The room was enormous-he had once taken a girl out to see a ballet in a similar-sized place, but this one was more than three hundred feet below street level. Even the rumble of the subway was almost entirely muted. The cavern was at least partly natural, judging from the stalactites, and had been filled with rows upon rows of seats. Light in the seating area was provided by gas lamps on tall iron posts, but the center of the amphitheater was lit by halogen spotlights. More than anything, Bobby felt like he was going to the thieves' version of Wrestlemania. Only the ring in the center wasn't a standard boxing arena. It was just an area of dark sand ringed with a low iron fence. Cases of electrical equipment sat at intervals around the ring, and Bobby guessed from the projection disks he saw that they were force field generators of some kind. They had a great view. Gambit's rank of Master gave him-and his apprentice, thankfully-a spot on the raised platform near the ring. Michael and Diedre were already seated when they arrived, along with two of Michael's apprentices. Alexi had greeted Bobby warmly, and Bobby had tried to let the younger man distract him from the blond angel who sat with her head down and her fingers clasped together in her lap. Diedre had barely looked up at their arrival, but Bobby understood her terror that Michael might realize what was going on between them. And just what is going on between us? he asked himself as he stared down into the empty arena. To all but an astute observer, he was fairly certain they would appear to just be friends. But the expression in her eyes when she looked at him was a lover's gaze, not a friend's. Bobby did not understand why she stayed with her husband. If she loved Michael at all, it wasn't in the same way she loved Bobby. He was torn between respect for her loyalty to her marriage, and fury that she wouldn't leave a man that treated her so cruelly. Not that you've actually asked her to leave him, Bobby reminded himself. He wanted to, but he was afraid of the consequences. He hadn't even kissed her. And he would be asking her to leave everything, and everyone, she knew. And then, there was Michael, who wasn't likely to just let his wife walk away. The noise level in the amphitheater was rising as the seats filled. Bobby guessed that there were about three thousand people in the cavern. He shook off his earlier train of thought, and leaned over to Gambit. "Are these people all thieves?" "Non." Gambit shook his head. "They all part of de clans, but only a fraction actually trained t'ieves." "Well, that's a relief." The idea of an organized group of thieves, three thousand strong, was a little intimidating. Gambit said nothing. He seemed to be wrapped up in his own thoughts. Come to think of it, he'd been quiet all evening. Not that Bobby had to guess why, or which particular green-eyed, flame-haired beauty was on his mind. Knowing his own feelings for Diedre, Bobby couldn't blame Remy for his occasional bouts of anti-sociality. But, he also felt like he should be doing something to snap Remy out of it. "So, just what are we doing here?" He tried to keep his voice down to avoid Michael's notice. Remy seemed to come back to himself with a start. "What? Oh, dis is called Blood Match. `Bout twice a month, people come here t' settle dere grievances, if dey can' manage t' work it out peaceably." "They just duke it out?" Remy nodded. "Dis de only place violence `gainst anot'er t'ief is allowed. Otherwise, y' risk bein' noticed by de cops, and de Guild can' afford dat." Bobby mulled that over for a bit. "I guess that makes sense. Why haven't we come to this thing before?" Bobby had been a regular at the Club for more than two months now. Remy's grin was empty. "Dis ain' my idea of a good time, neh?" "Doesn't seem like it's much different than going to the fights at the Garden." "Dey don' let people kill each ot'er at Madison Square Garden." Bobby stared at him in disbelief. "You're kidding." Remy's expression was flat and empty. He could have been talking about the weather. "Don' happen very often, but it's not against de rules." A sudden noise over the loudspeaker system distracted Bobby. He looked down to see that a man had stepped into the fenced ring. He was dressed oddly, in a long cloak that swirled about his feet. The design on the cloak was a white wolf with sparkling blue eyes. Sapphires, perhaps? The rest of the man's dress seemed archaic as well-the tunic, pants and boots all seemed to date back to a much earlier century. But he seemed comfortable with the microphone in his hand, and proceeded to announce the contestants for the first Blood Match. "Are we supposed to know what they're fighting about?" Bobby asked. He hadn't recognized either name, though the face of one of the men now entering the ring seemed familiar. "Most folks don' care, but if y' pay attention, y' can usually pick up on de gossip." Bobby scowled. Remy never missed an opportunity to chide him about paying attention to his surroundings. A low hum filled the auditorium as the field generators were powered on. They formed a translucent shimmering dome over the ring. "What's the force field for?" "T' protect de audience. Now hush an' watch." Remy stared down at the circling contestants with his usual intensity, and Bobby wondered what he was really seeing. He had the feeling that Remy's mind was somewhere in the past, and that he was answering Bobby's questions by reflex more than anything else. One of the contestants made a move toward the other, dancing lightly across the sand and jabbing at the other's face. The second man blocked the blows and ducked away. They circled again, then closed. Bobby looked away irritably. He could tell already this was going to be boring. Boxing had never been one of his favorite sports, though since Beast liked it, he'd been dragged to a number of matches. He found himself looking over to where Diedre sat in silence. As always, she was dressed in something short and tight- and dark. This dress, at least, was green, which was kinder to her than black. But the multiple straps that formed an "X" over her breast bone before crossing her shoulders looked tight enough to leave marks in her delicate skin. Bobby had gotten a glimpse of the back of the dress, which was completely open to the base of her spine. The straps criss-crossed the entire length of her back, making it look as though she were laced into the dress. It was a daring, showy style. Bobby detested it. A sudden flash of light from the arena drew his attention. One of the contestants staggered back, one hand raised as if he had been blinded by the flash. That gave his opponent an excellent opportunity, and he landed several hard blows before the other managed to break away. They returned to their wary circling as the one who had been blinded blinked away the spots in his vision. The next time they closed, Bobby saw the flash of light again, and realized that it was coming from the palm of the one man. "Hey, he's a mutant," Bobby said in surprise. Remy glanced at him oddly, but didn't respond. On his other side, Alexi chuckled. "You're not used to meeting a lot of mutants, are you?" "Meeting them? Uh, not really." Bobby wondered what Alexi might think if he knew that Bobby lived in a house full of mutants. Alexi's grin was friendly. "Well, get used to it. Most of us are." "What, mutants?" Alexi nodded and Bobby couldn't help but stare at him. He had always thought that mutants were a rarity. Even the Professor and Beast had said that mutant births were only one in a thousand or less, and that most of those weren't alpha class. "You mean that most of the people in this room are mutants?" he demanded in a low hiss. "Take it easy!" Alexi looked a little taken aback. "Most of the thieves are. Not so much in the clans." He studied Bobby. "Are you all right?" Bobby forced himself to relax before he made Alexi any more suspicious. "Yeah. Sorry. I didn't mean to jump on you like that. I just. . . didn't realize there were so many mutants around. I thought I was-I don't know-- one of the only ones, I guess." Alexi's easy grin returned. "Well, you'll never see it on the news, but we're here. A lot more mutants than anyone suspects." His voice turned conspiritorial. "Can you imagine what would happen if people found out about us?" Images filled Bobby's mind-Genosha, Graydon Creed, Sentinels, the Friends of Humanity. He paled. He could imagine just fine. A roar from the crowd saved him from a response. He looked back to the ring to see that one of the men was lying on the ground, either unconscious or unwilling to get back up. To his surprise, Alexi leapt to his feet to cheer with the rest of the onlookers. Bobby looked over at Remy, wondering if he'd overheard the conversation, but Gambit stared stonily into the ring and ignored the young man beside him. Still, Bobby was certain that Gambit knew exactly how many mutants there were in the New York Guild. "Did either Bobby or Gambit tell you where they were going?" Scott asked Hank as he settled on the couch next to his wife. Jean tucked her arm into his and laid her head on his shoulder. Hank looked up from the instruction manual he was reading and frowned lightly. "No. Is there any reason that he should have?" The DSS dish and all of its parts lay scattered on the low table between them. Not that they couldn't have brought in any TV signal in the world with the Shi'ar equipment buried beneath them, but it had seemed prudent to use more conventional means while the mutant hysteria was climbing to such radical highs. Scott sighed. "It's almost twelve." "And you are afraid that Bobby will turn into a pumpkin if he doesn't make it home in time?" Jean couldn't help but giggle at the gentle sarcasm. "He's old enough to take care of himself," she added. "I know." Scott picked up the pieces he had been assembling before he went to refill his glass. "I guess it just makes me nervous that he's out with Gambit." "Really?" Hank slid his glasses down his nose so that he could look at Scott over the rims. "I find it reassuring." "How so?" Scott's expression was always hard to read behind his opaque quartz glasses, but his puzzlement was obvious from his voice. Hank shrugged lightly. "I believe that Bobby has been feeling the need to establish his independence, to sow some wild oats, as the expression goes." "Wild oats?" "He's looking for some trouble to get into, Scott." Jean straightened to look at her husband. "He's been living here, fighting with us since he was fifteen, and as far as I know, he's never so much as gotten into a bar brawl unless it was something to do with the X-Men. I think he's tired of his clean-cut image." Hank nodded. "Rebellion is a very normal stage for a young man to go through, though Bobby does seem to be hitting it a little late." Scott's mouth quirked wryly. "Well, I guess that makes Gambit a natural choice for him to hang out with." He took a drink. "But I'm not sure why you two seem to think this is a good thing." Hank smiled. "Remy is many things, but he is not naive. I do not think that Bobby can get himself into anything that our Cajun friend cannot get him back out of." Scott considered that, then finally acquiesced with a nod. "I suppose you're right, there." Jean patted his arm. "Don't worry so much, honey. Besides, I think it's good that Bobby is starting to try to define himself. Haven't you noticed how much more confident he is these days?" Scott chuckled. "I would have said `belligerent', but yes, I've noticed." "And he is becoming more effective with his mutant powers as well," added Hank. "True." Then Scott wagged a finger at Hank. "But if he gets his ear pierced and starts wearing those ripped jeans all the time, I swear I'm going to shoot myself." Hank chuckled. "Yes, well, Remy's taste in clothing does leave something to be desired." Jean raised an eyebrow. "Really? I think it's kind of sexy." "Jean!" Jean burst into laughter at her husband's appalled expression, but bit back any further reply. She knew not to push too hard. Even Scott harbored a little jealousy for Remy's easy James Dean appeal. She wasn't at all surprised that Bobby had started imitating him. Gambit straightened and stared down into the ring as the fourth set of opponents was announced. For once, Bobby recognized both names. Lance Derrick was one of Michael's apprentices, an obnoxious, overbearing bully of a man. Bobby had done his best to keep his distance. The other was a thief that Bobby had run into on occasion. His name was Larry Something-or-other. He was a solid, uncommunicative sort, but Bobby had gotten the impression that he was fairly well respected. "Can a thief and an apprentice fight?" Bobby asked. There was usually a sharp division between the two. Apprentices enjoyed few of the privileges that went with being a thief. "Oui." Remy had not taken his eyes off the ring where the two men now circled warily. "Dis is not good," he muttered to himself. "Why? What's wrong?" Bobby kept his voice low. Remy nodded toward the fight. "Larry's been givin' Michael trouble lately `bout how loose some a the t'ieves been gettin' wit' de rules. He's a stickler f' doin' t'ings right. He was asked t' sponsor Lance dere into de Guild, but he refused b'cause de boy uses powers on de job." "And now Lance is looking for some payback?" Bobby was a little surprised that other thieves, especially the Guild leader, were not so strict about the no-powers rule. It was beginning to seem like the only thing that protected these mutants from public notice. "Dat he is, but Michael set dis up when he asked Larry t' be de sponsor." "Geez, politics." Bobby hated the convoluted game of power and one-upsmanship that seemed to pervade everything and everyone Gambit knew. "So Michael's trying to punish Larry for questioning him, without letting people know that that's really what he's doing." Bobby's already abyssmal opinion of Michael dropped a bit lower. "I hope so." The simple statement sent a shiver down Bobby's spine. Uncertain what else to say, he turned to watch the fight with a feeling of apprehension. The two men circled warily. Larry held a long knife in one hand, and a small, clear shield in the other. It looked like a small version of the riot shields that the police sometimes carried, and Bobby guessed that it was bulletproof. Lance held a short staff, like a billy club, that he swung with arrogant ease. Larry leapt forward, slashing at the younger man with the knife. Lance blocked the blow, then brought the club around to strike Larry in the side. Bobby winced, but when the two separated, he saw a thin line of red that snaked down Lance's shirt. Larry was limping slightly from the blow, but that didn't seem to slow him as they closed again. This time, he caught Lance's upraised stick with his shield, and cut low, slicing the other man across the thigh. Lance cried out in pain and staggered back. He dropped his club, and held both fists out in front of him at chest height. His hands glowed white for a moment, then something shot out of them. Larry raised his shield, and the white streak bounced off of it, toward the ceiling where it was absorbed by the force field with a tiny flash and hiss. Some kind of energy projectile, Bobby guessed. "Is Lance an alpha mutant?" Bobby asked. Remy shrugged. "Borderline. He could do about as much damage with a handgun, `cept dat de supply of bullets is unlimited." Larry swiped at the outstretched fists, and Lance was forced to pull them back in, which, Bobby guessed, made him unable to fire another one of the white projectiles. Unfortunately, Larry overreached and Lance grabbed his knife hand. They struggled for several moments until Larry managed to twist away, though he nearly lost his hold on the knife in the process. Lance brought up his fists again to fire, then shook his head sharply and raised one hand to his temple. "Mild telepathic spike," Remy commented. The two men maneuvered for position, and Lance fired several more of the little missiles, which Larry was able to dodge. Bobby was beginning to relax, feeling confident that Larry was managing very well, when he missed deflecting one of the white streaks by a fraction. It struck him in the side and he fell back, just as if he'd been shot. Lance took the opportunity to pick up his fallen stick and walked up to where Larry lay on the sand, one hand cupped over the wound in his side. His knife lay several feet away where he'd dropped it. Lance didn't even pause, but swung heavily at the other man's head. Larry raised his shield with both hands, absorbing the impact. Lance continued to rain blows on the other man, many of which Larry managed to deflect to some extent, but he was slowly being beaten to a pulp. Bobby turned to Gambit in alarm. "Isn't anybody going to do anything?" In response, Gambit looked past him to where Michael was sitting. "You gon' call him off, mon capitan?" The sarcasm in his voice was thick enough to cut. Michael didn't look at him. His gaze was fastened on the beating below, a tiny smile playing about his lips. "It is within the rules." "So's callin' him off." Michael glanced over at Gambit. "Has anyone ever told you that you're rather squeamish, Remy?" Bobby sucked in his breath as Gambit's eyes narrowed. His mind immediately began to plan how to get to Diedre and get her out of harm's way. He had heard that Michael, too, was an alpha mutant, though he had no idea what kind of powers he had. If he and Remy decided to go at it, things would get more than a little hairy for those who were sitting in the vicinity. The loud roar of the crowd dipped suddenly, breaking the tension between the two men. Both looked down. Lance had stepped away from the prone form, and Bobby could clearly see blood in the sand. The crowd remained remarkably quiet as Lance raised both arms over his head, declaring victory. They, too, did not approve of Lance's actions. "Is he dead?" Bobby asked. A man and a woman that Bobby thought were probably doctors of some kind had already gone into the ring and were kneeling over the still form. Then the man gestured hurriedly to others outside the ring, who brought a stretcher. The crowd began to cheer at this sign that he was still alive. Together, the men transferred Larry to the stretcher and carried him swiftly away. Bobby let out his breath in a sigh. He felt cold and shaken. What in the world kind of insane people had he gotten himself tangled up with? Michael stood up, and Diedre rose hurriedly beside him. They left together, and Bobby wondered why he didn't just freeze Michael's heart solid in his chest rather than let Diedre spend another moment with him. Alexi rose a moment later, and, giving Bobby an uncomfortable shrug, followed after Michael. People in the crowd were also beginning to leave, and Bobby guessed that the Blood Match was over, though whether this was the planned ending point or not, he couldn't tell. Remy simply sat in his chair, staring at the blood- stained sand. "Remy?" Bobby asked after a moment. The Cajun didn't appear to have heard him, but after a long stretch of silence, he said, "You wan' know why Xavier's dream gon' fail?" He gestured toward the ring. "Well, dere it is, right dere." "What do you mean?" Remy picked some of the strangest times to get maudlin, and he hadn't even had anything to drink. "Ain' never gon' be peace between humans and mutants because dere too many people like Lance around. Jus' mean, even when dey don' need t' be. An' too many people like Michael who know how t' use dem." "That doesn't mean that prejudice and discrimination against mutants is always going to exist like it does today." Bobby found Remy's analysis of humanity disturbing. "Look how much discrimination against African Americans has changed since the Civil War. I mean, it's not gone completely, but things have gotten a lot better." Remy gave him a vaguely disgusted look. "Dere's no difference between black people an' white people, Bobby. Dere's a big difference between humans an' mutants." He paused. "If people can' get along when dey got no real reason t' hate each ot'her, what d' you t'ink dey gon' do when dere are reasons?" Unable to find a suitable answer, Bobby just gathered up his jacket. "I don't know, Remy," he finally admitted. "But at least we're trying to make things better." He knew he sounded defensive, but he didn't care as he walked toward the nearby exit and the elevators that would return him to the sane world above. In learning the thief's ways, Bobby had seen a much darker side of life than he'd realized existed before. It frightened him to think that that might be a truer view of the world than what he saw as an X-Man, and he did not want to lose the hope that things could get better. It startled him to realize that that was the one thing that set Remy apart from the other X-Men. All of them, including Wolverine, hoped for better days ahead. They believed that by enduring today and never backing down from what was right, they could somehow influence tomorrow. Remy seemed to see everything as being the same-yesterday, today, and tomorrow. The only difference was in how you dealt with it. Anymore, Bobby wasn't sure what to think. But rather than dwell on such a disturbing topic, he tried to push the questions aside in favor of more pleasant things. He desperately wanted to wash away the memories of Lance trying to beat a man to death, and the knowledge that it was really Michael sending a warning to anyone who would dare to defy him. Bobby was unsurprised when Remy stepped into the elevator with him, but they rode to the top in silence. Part Twelve [Lori McDonald] Smiling, Bobby admired himself in a mirror. Always a little too thin, with constantly messy hair and too much baby fat on his face to look mature, he'd never really liked his appearance. But he had to admit, in a five thousand dollar suit, he looked good. Turning slightly, he looked at the cut of the splendid jacket. It made his shoulders look broader than they were. Even his baby fat was diminished. "Please stand still," the tailor said politely, kneeling down and holding the cuff of one of his pant legs. "Oh, sorry." A low chuckle sounded behind him. Remy was lounging in a chair in a corner of the private fitting room, tapping the cigarette he wasn't allowed to smoke against the hard oak of the arm. Unlike Bobby, he was dressed in ripped jeans and a leather jacket, with his scuffed biker boots and sunglasses. The store owner had almost turned him away at the door, until he pulled out his charge card. "Be patient, homme. Let de man finish." Bobby grinned at him. "I can't believe this suit. I can't believe you're buying it for me." Remy chuckled again. "Ain' not'in', an' y' needed somethin' decent t' wear." "Hey, I've got suits." He smiled, a smile Bobby had once thought was arrogant, but now only saw as friendly. "Dose are suits an accountant would wear. I'm tired of y' embarrassin' me in public wit' y' clothes." Bobby looked pointedly at his jeans. Remy grinned wider. "Don' get flip wit' me, boy. I ain' paid for dat t'ing yet." The tailor stood up, coiling his measuring tape. "I have the measurements I need. If you will remove the suit, I will have it ready for you by tomorrow afternoon." Bobby blinked at him. "But it fits." Remy shook his head. "Chil'en. Dey don' know nothin'. Dis ain' de local suit shop, Bobby. Dat's an Armani. Dey get fitted t' y' 'xactly." Bobby sighed and hopped off the pedestal he'd been standing on. The tailor took the jacket and went out of the changeroom as Bobby began unbuttoning his shirt, stepping behind a screen so that Remy couldn't see him. The Cajun chuckled again. "I can't wait to see Hank's face when he sees me in this," Bobby said as he changed back into clothes to match Remy's. "Or the rest of the X-Men either." "Ain' gonna see you in it." Bobby looked around the screen at him. "But I look great in it! Why not?" "'Cause dere no reason an' no way f' de X-Man Bobby Drake t' go 'round in a $5000 silk suit. Y'd stand out like a sore thumb. I t'ought y'd learned dat bein' discrete de name of de game. Why you t'ink I train Bobby an' not Iceman?" Bobby flushed. "But you wear suits like this." "Not at de mansion I don'. T' de X-Men, I'm jus' a scruffy Cajun wit' a problem wit' author'ty." Yanking on his sneakers, Bobby walked back out to him. "Why is that? Why make them think you're something you're not? Why hang out with the Thieves Guild if you're not a thief anymore?" These were all questions he'd wanted to ask for a long time, without knowing how. "Why always pretend to be something you're not?" Remy tilted his head to one side as he regarded him, thinking. Bobby faced him squarely, waiting for his answer, if one came. He'd gotten to know Remy well enough to know that he didn't answer anything he didn't want to. Finally, the Cajun sighed and pulled his sunglasses off, his red on black eyes squinting in the bright overhead lights. "Why you t'ink I do it, Bobby?" "What?" The Cajun's grin gleamed in challenge. "You tell me why I keep secrets an' hang wit' de Guild, an' if y' right, I'll tell you." He wants me to play twenty questions? Bobby wondered and looked at him. No, he wanted him to think rationally, take what he knew of his personality and his actions and come up with a hypothesis. It was another lesson. And like all the lessons the Cajun taught him, it was one the younger man couldn't afford to let himself fail. "I think I need to think about that one for a while." "Take all de time y' need." He stood. "C'mon, I bought you clothes, you can buy me lunch." "Great, McDonalds it is!" Remy looked at him in hopeless despair, then shook his head and laughed. "Y'know, when I was a kid, I used t' have nightmares 'bout workin' in a fast food place, wearin' a stupid hat on my head an' askin' ev'body if dey wan' fries wit' dere meal." Remy looked at his burger in disgust. "Used t' get nightmares 'bout eatin' de food too." Bobby glanced at him over his shake. "So ask them to cook it Cajun style and burn it." "Ha ha. Ver' funny." "Thanks, I thought so." Remy shook his head at him, wrapped the half eaten burger up and tossed it across the room, right past a startled diner's head and into the garbage can. "You be awful playful t'day. T'ings goin' good?" "Things are going great." Bobby sighed dreamily. "Diedre is great." He heard the familiar Cajun chuckle. "Sounds like I'm gonna have t' meet dis woman someday." Bobby sucked on his shake noisely. "And watch you use your Cajun charm to steal her away? No chance!" Remy smiled, a little sadly. "Don' worry, homme. I ain' lookin' t' get involved wit' nobody right now." Bobby put his shake down. "Are you alright?" "Yah." He was looking out the window, a sure sign in the Cajun of approaching depression. Bobby knew exactly why, too. He'd once tried to freeze the man on a rooftop because of it. "She'll be back," he said softly. "Maybe." The word was barely a whisper and Bobby struggled to think of what to say to him. Finally, he shoved his fries at him. "Here, have a fry. They'll make you feel better." Remy blinked at the fry and laughed, already looking more like himself as he took one. "Maybe it will at dat." After lunch, the two X-Men wandered out of the restaurant and down the sidewalk. Bobby didn't know where they were going, or even if they were going anywhere at all. It was just nice to walk down the street pointing out good looking women and idiots with a friend. He'd used to do the same with Hank, but Hank was too busy in his lab now, and even when he had time, he tended to wax philiosphical about beautiful women in a way that was not only confusing, but a little embarrassing, since it was out loud and often overheard. Remy was far more subte, indicating the passing of a beauty with a quick elbow in the ribs and an incline of his head. There also seemed to be more of the beauties around as well. Strolling down the sidewalk with the Cajun definately got more womens' attention than being with Hank did. Even with an image inducer, Hank looked a lot like himself. It suddenly occured to him that, on one level, he was closer right now to Gambit, who had time for him, than his best friend, who didn't. Passing by them, he saw a gorgeous woman in elaborate makeup and a strapless dress walking a trio of afghans on a leash. He looked back over her shoulder as she passed. "Now, that is a woman I wouldn't mind chasing," he admitted. "If I didn't have Diedre that is." She didn't even compare, but she was still pretty sexy. "Dat woman would eat you f' lunch. Hey, watch it, homme!" Bobby turned to see a scruffy man in a torn coat bump into the Cajun, almost dancing around him to try and get past. "Sorry," he apologized. Suddenly, Bobby saw the man pass Gambit an envelope. It was subtle. If Remy hadn't drilled him for so long on noticing little things, he never would have seen it. He was sure no one else did. A moment later, the man was past them and continued on out of sight. There was no sign of the envelope as Remy kept walking down the sidewalk, just as he had been before. Bobby looked back the way the man had vanished, then hurried to catch up to the Cajun. "What did he just pass you?" He whispered. "Shush," Remy hissed. Immediately, without resentment, Bobby shut up, actually embarrassed that he'd forgotten himself and asked such a question in a public place. Then he blinked and smiled. The Cajun had definately had an effect on him, and obeying his orders was becoming second nature. Suddenly, a frightening thought occured to him. What if Scott and Remy each were to give him contradictory orders? Scott had been his leader in the X-Men for years, but Remy was his master and mentor, as well as his only way to get to Diedre. Who would he obey? Chewing on that thought, he followed Remy across the street and into a park. The Cajun led the way down the jogging trails into the woods, then off the path into the bushes. They reached a clearing and he closed his eyes, turning around slowly. Bobby's eyes widened. Remy was using his spacial awareness sense to detect if there was anyone watching them or in the area. He almost never used his powers outside of the X-Men, so whatever this was, it was serious. Finally satisfied, Remy looked at him coldly. Bobby hesitated, then dropped his head. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "For what?" Bobby flinched. "For drawing attention to the envelope." He was blushing bright red. "Good." There was no recrimination in the Cajun's voice, no sign that he held it against him once he apologized. He just wanted to make sure the younger man understood, and Bobby did. If anyone had been tracking them or that man, they may have missed the pass, until he stupidly pointed it out. He'd potentially put them into a lot of danger, but this was the last Remy would mention it unless he were so incredibly stupid as to do it again. If it was Scott, however, he'd have to sit through some long lecture. Still, he wasn't sure which of the two men he'd rather be chewed out by. Both of them left you feeling like a little patch of dirt on the ground, Scott more so than Remy, but at least Scott didn't have a mental tally in his heads on how many times he'd let you screw up before he gave up on you. Remy pulled out the envelope and opened it and Bobby sucked in his breath at the sight of the thick wad of green bills in it. He didn't think he was a newbie in regards to seeing large amounts of money anymore, but certainly not large amounts received like this. Remy removed out a folded letter and tossed him the envelope. "Count dis," he ordered and proceeded to read. Bobby blinked at the money he held and proceeded to count it. There was five thousand dollars there, in new, unmarked bills. He looked at the Cajun, who was just finishing off the letter. "Why would a scruffy drifter give you five thousand dollars?" He asked. A sudden thought occured to him. "He was just a messenger, wasn't he?" Remy tapped the folded letter against his cheek. "Yup. F' someone who wants t' remain nameless. My guess be de Kingpin or some ot'er big crime boss, but dat's jus' a guess. He's pretty good at coverin' his tracks, an' I don' got no reason t' ferret him out." Bobby's eyes narrowed. "He isn't buying more information off you, is he?" That still bothered him. Gambit grinned at him. "Nah. He wants me t' stop a gang war." "What?!" The Cajun sighed. "'Cordin' t' dis, the Pythons an' de White Cranes are goin' t' have a rumble t'night. Dis money be payment f' me to go an' negotiate a peace 'tween dem." "Why would they listen to you?" "'Cause I got a reputation f' bein' fair, neutral, unbribable an' havin' de power t' beat de shit outta anyone who cross me." Bobby sniggered in spite of himself. He'd seen Remy fight, he could believe it. "Are you going to do it?" He grimaced in disgust. "F' five t'ousand? Dis guy's cheapin' out on me." Bobby gaped at him. "But, people could get hurt!" He cocked his head to one side and regarded him. "So? Gangs ain' nice, Bobby. Dey loot an' steal an' sell drugs, 'mong other t'ings. De man who be tryin' t' pay me wants dem at peace so dey can keep workin' f' him. He don' care if dey live or die normally. I'm a little surprised dat he don' just let dem fight it out an' sell dem guns in de process, den put de winner under his foot. Somet'ing mus' be up." He looked thoughtful. Bobby bit his lip. The Cajun was serious. He'd turn his back on this if Bobby couldn't convince him otherwise. Worse, he saw a lot of reason in what he'd said. "Remy, what about the innocent bystanders?" He tried to sound logical when he just wanted to grab him and shake him. He knew that wouldn't go over at all well though. Remy had a serious problem with people telling him what to do at the best of times, and as his apprentice, Bobby wasn't even supposed to be questioning him. "If the gangs fight, they won't just keep it to themselves. It'll spread out and a lot of people who aren't even involved will get hurt. Sure, they do a lot of shitty things, but there's always the chance they'll learn to change, and you can't do that when you're dead. It's just like the X-Men stopping mutants from fighting before they destroy a city or something." Remy seemed to be considering his words, but Bobby detected a faint smile on his lips. "You bastard, you already plan to stop them!" Remy laughed. "Yeah. Jus' wan'ed t' see what you t'ought 'bout it." Bobby groaned. "Does everything has to be a lesson?" Remy looked sad for a moment. "When everyt'ing in life a struggle, den yeah." He stuffed the letter in his jacket, along with the money. "I got 'til ten but I wan' t' get dere early an' get de lay a de land. You go back t' de mansion an' play dumb. You don' know where I went to." Bobby nodded. "Right. What time will you pick me up, or do you want me to meet you there?" "You ain' goin' on dis one, Bobby. Take de night off." The younger man blanched at that. "You're not going alone, I'm coming with you," he decided. Remy suddenly seemed cold and distant, as intimidating as Magneto, or Apocalypse. Bobby had to quench a sudden urge to run. "Dis ain' Gambit asking Iceman. Dis is Remy LeBeau, Master T'ief, orderin' his apprentice t' go home. You goin' t' challenge me on dis?" Bobby closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at that overwhelming presense. He knew if he didn't acquiese right now, the training would be over. Diedre... he thought desperately. He wanted to, but he couldn't. For all his skill, Remy wasn't all that powerful a mutant. If two gangs decided to kill him, he'd die. Bobby owed him too much for that. And perhaps there was a way to reason with him and not lose everything he'd worked for. The Guild was steeped in ritual and tradition, Remy had made sure he understood that. And while an apprentice had no say in the decisions of a master, especially not his own master, there were ways for one to ask for the right to plead his case, though it would require him to swallow his pride. With the mood Remy was in, though, it was the only thing he'd be likely to listen to. "Please, Master," he said softly, words he'd heard other apprentices speak to Michael. "Let me speak." He kept his head bowed and his eyes closed. Gambit hesitated. "The apprentice may speak," he said at last, formally. Bobby took a deep breath. "It isn't my place, I know, but I have to disagree. If anything goes wrong, you'll need backup. I can give you that, watch your back. Please let me come. I won't shame you, I swear it." There was silence for a long moment, then Gambit sighed. "Lift y' head, Bobby." He did, to see to his surprise that the Cajun looked ashamed. It was an expression he'd never seen on his face before. "I'm sorry, mon ami," he said, and he knew it was sincere. "I spent so much time trainin' Bobby dat I forgot he still Iceman. I won' give you orders like dat again an' you can come." His face hardened. "But you gotta keep silent an' 'bey me instantly." Bobby grinned. "Whatever you say, Boss." "Jesus, Remy. They look like they're going to start World War Three! Why aren't we down there?!" "Easy. Dey won' start until dere leaders get here." Bobby stared at the Cajun's intent face, then down at the floor of the old warehouse where the rumble was to take place. It'd been abandoned for years, all the windows smashed and garbage clogging the corners, but the main floor was relatively clean and it was filled with angry men. The White Cranes were Asian, dressed in unripped fatigue-type baggy pants and military boots, some with quilted vests over long sleeved shirts with the sleeves pushed up, others with t-shirts. Fingerless gloves were common and many of them carried motorcycle helmets in one hand, weapons in the other. The Pythons were Black. They wore lots of leather and denim, with lots of rips and holes. The bandanas they wore over their heads were all of the same color and pattern. The Pythons outnumbered the Cranes, but from the look of it, the Cranes were better armed. They stood down there and hurled insults at each other. Bobby whistled. "It's a race war." "Jus' like mutants an' humans." "How are you going to stop them?" The Cajun's smile was cold. "Dis is a fight to see who de biggest kid on de block. I'm gonna show dat I'm bigger dan either of dem. Den I'll reason." The younger man gaped at his mentor. "You're not powerful enough to take them all on!" "Dey don' know how powerful I am." He turned blood red eyes on dem. "'Sides, how you know I'm not?" "I've seen you fight." He smiled. "Not when I don' gotta worry 'bout who's gonna get up later." Bobby felt his blood run cold. Suddenly, the front doors to the warehouse opened and Remy straightened a little where he crouched behind a crate on the walkway just below the warehouse roof. "Dis is it. De Python leader here. De Cranes' not be far b'hind." He shifted slightly. "Now, I'm gonna go down dere alone. You stay here and stay outta sight. If I need y', I'll let y' know. Un'erstand?" Bobby nodded, his heart racing. This wasn't like what the X-Men did. That tended to be straight action, immediate attack and withdrawal. There was little waiting and certainly no one would hold back while one of their members walked in among overwhelming odds. It felt positively unnatural. "Be careful," he whispered. Remy grinned. "Never." Below, the door opened a second time as Remy slunk away into the shadows, vanishing as silently and quickly as Wolverine would. Bobby hunkered down to wait. "Fuckin' goddamn motherfuckin' asshole, thinkin' y' can come in my territory an' interrupt my business..." The leader of the White Cranes smiled. "If you were so good at business, there wouldn't be room for me, now would there?" Remy stood in the shadows around the stairs and watched them. He'd seen it a thousand times. Both groups hated the other and wanted them out, while refusing to see any other alternative. He'd grown up in that kind of environment, when he and the other New Orleans Thieves fought the Assassins. They'd at least tried to settle their differences. He had no doubt that he wouldn't stop any hatred between these two groups tonight. At best he'd keep them from killing each other for a while. Which was something, he supposed, if he didn't know he'd see at least some of their bodies in the future. He narrowed his eyes, peering at them. They were angry, their body temperatures up like a bright red glow in the torso of each of them. It was time. "Gentlemen!" He called. Immediately, they all spun towards where he still stood hidden in the shadows, only his glowing red eyes visible, and he found himself the target of close to fifty guns. "Who's there?" One of them demanded. Hoping that Bobby wouldn't panic and flash freeze them all, he walked forward, his arms held slightly away from the sides of his trenchcoat. Startled by his presence and his eyes, no one stopped him as he walked over to a crate partway out to the centre of the warehouse, gang members making way for him uncertainly. "Who the hell are you, white boy?" The Python leader demanded. Remy smiled slightly and hopped up onto the crate. Raising his voice so that they all could hear him, he called. "I am Gambit." Murmurs and whispering started up. He cocked his head at the two leaders, both of whom stood a wary distance away from each other while they stared at him. "I see some of you have heard a me." He let his red eyes sweep over the crowd. "I am here t' listen t' ye beef an' keep y' all alive." "Bullshit! Gambit is a legend." He raised his hands and they began to glow. "I seem t' fit de description pretty well, n'est pas?" Gang members began backing away. The leader of the White Cranes spat on the floor. "We didn't ask for any arbitration." He pinned him with his gaze. "Neverdeless, I been paid t' give it an' I will." "And what if we refuse?" Remy shrugged and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with the tip of one glowing finger. "Den a lot a people are gonna die t'night who don' have to, and dere's a very good chance de two of you be 'mong dem." He looked at them intently until one swallowed and the other took an involuntary step back. He had them now. He hopped off the crate and walked over to the two frightened men. "Killin' an wars don' do business no good. Dey jus' get valuable people killed an' waste money an' ammo, plus riskin' de loss of territory t' any third party dat come in. I give y' my word dat if you talk wit' me, both of you walk out of here alive." The Crane looked at him critically and nodded a fraction of a second before the Python growled a low "Whatever, I got time." The Cajun smiled. "Excellente. Now, wait here a moment an' I be right wit' you." He turned to face the assembled gangs. "I see y' grouped y'selves on either side of de warehouse already. Dat's good." He walked down the open area between the two gangs to the warehouse doors. "Why don't we just kill him?" Someone asked. Someone else snorted. "Either that guy's seriously fucked in the head or he has something we don't. Either way, I'm not messing with him." Remy reached the doors and bent over, tracing his finger along the dusty floor as he walked backwards towards the opposite wall. The men stared at him without speaking, and especially at the glowing line he left behind him. When he reached the wall, he made another parallel line, leaving a 20 foot wide strip between the two gangs, with the leaders and himself in the middle. He raised his voice again. "If anyone cross dese lines," he called. "I will kill him." He saw a flicker in the upper levels as Bobby reacted to that. "If he cross in person, fires a bullet, t'rows a knife or hurls an insult. Not'ing cross dese lines. Any problems wit' dat?" He swept his gaze over the crowd, but no one said a word and he deliberately turned his back on them, trusting to his powers to let him know if anyone tried to put something sharp between his shoulderblades. He rejoined the leaders. "Let's talk." Jesus, they're terrified of him! Bobby crouched in the shadows and stared down at Gambit as he and the two gang leaders sat down on some crates to talk. He couldn't hear what they were saying and considered trying to sneak closer and overhear, but Remy had done a thorough job of intimidating him as well. With that kind of presence, he could run the X-Men. Hell, he could run half the world. If Remy wanted that much power, though, he'd have it already, and he breathed a sigh of relief for small favours. For the first time since the gangs entered, he began to have real hope that they weren't going to start killing each other, and all because of one man. One special man. Bobby had no illusions that he could do what Gambit had just done. Then again, he used to believe that his powers were limited to ice slides and snowballs, and that he was a loser. Remy had already shown him the lie in that. Maybe he had other potentials he hadn't tapped as well. Quietly, he sat there and began to smile. It was about territory. The White Cranes were being pushed out of part of theirs and were retaliating by trying to take over the Pythons. It was simple and familiar, but something bothered him about it. "How come y' not fighting f' y' space? Why move out t' new areas dis quickly?" "Because they're cowards," Cliff, the Black, said. Remy looked at him. "What I tell you 'bout bein' polite?" The man flushed and he sighed. "I heard y' problem. Y' should take y' people home." Cliff glared at him. "Not 'til I know that motherfucker ain't gonna try and push into my business anymore!" "I said I'd handle it!" Remy was annoyed that he'd had to raise his voice and Cliff seemed to sense it. Quickly, he stood and left, taking his gang with him. The other gang, wary of Remy's warning, didn't make a sound. Remy turned to Han, the Asian gang leader. He was more polite than Cliff, but in his mind, somewhat slimier as well. Still, he could tell that something was seriously scaring him. "Why y' not fight?" He asked again. "You think we haven't tried?" Han hissed. "There's a goddamn three block radius in my territory where anyone who goes in doesn't come out. No bodies even. They just vanish." Remy raised an eyebrow. "Dis don' sound like gang work or even family. What 'bout de peope who live in de area?" Han snorted. "Nobody lives there now. It was all condemned and bought up by some company called Draxar months ago. They're the ones killing my people and the cops don't even care worth shit." Remy stared at him, feeling cold. "Draxar. You sure dat's de name of dem?" "It's the name on the trucks I see going in." Draxar. That company again. I gotta get off my butt an' finish checkin' dese people out. Dey're startin' t' make me nervous. He'd been spending too much time with Bobby, and too much time in the Guild trying to keep Michael from exposing their powers for profit. He'd learned a lot from the Kingpin about Draxar, but only enough to realize how deep their roots went, and how well hidden their real owners were. He had some contacts he could use, world class hackers. Maybe he should set some of them loose and see what they could come up with. But first he'd take a little firsthand look himself. Han looked at him suspiciously. "You know what they're doing?" Remy smiled at him. "Nope. Jus' a li'l weird is all. You got no clue what dey're doin' in dere?" "None. They got goons telling people politely to keep back. If you don't, you vanish. So we're moving into Python territory." He stared at him defiantly. Remy sighed. "Fightin' de Pythons get as many people killed as dese Draxar characters. Pull back an' I see what I c'n do." "Why should I?" "You really want me t' answer dat?" Han hesitated, then shook his head. "I'll give you six months, then it's war." "Dat'll be fine." Remy watched Han and his gang leave. Six months was plenty of time, especially when his gut was telling him time would run out long before then. "I think I've figured it out." Remy looked at Bobby as they both walked back to where Remy had hidden his car. "What's dat?" Bobby frowned. "Why you do it. Why you stay a thief even though you aren't one anymore." The Cajun smiled. "And why dat?" He stopped and looked at him. "Because you're in a position to help people in a way no one else really can. You can stop gang wars because people have heard of your skill. You have the political clout and know how to keep an eye on the Guilds, to make sure the mutants in them stay safe." He felt like a light had gone off inside him. "The Professor knows you're doing this, doesn't he?" Gambit looked surprised. "What make you say dat?" Iceman shook his head. "You've been feeding information to Kingpin in exchange for his info and dealing with mutant threats." His mind raced to keep up with the realization it was coming to. "But all of our information is kept in the Ready Room and you have to be a telepath to get to half of it. The Professor has to be helping you. But why?" A final realization came. "It's because the Guilds are mutants. Mutants banding together for protection who wind up on the wrong side of the law because there's no other way for them. So much on the wrong side of the law and so determined not to let anyone know they're mutants that they'd never respond to anything like the Xavier Institute or the X-Men. So you're the Professor's only link to them." He shook his head again, in stunned disbelief and awe. "I'm right, aren't I? It takes a thief to talk to a thief." Remy looked at him intently, then smiled. "You're becomin' a very wise man, you know dat?" "Thanks!" He swallowed. "Uh, does the Professor know about me?" The Cajun grinned at him slyly. "I don' know, but if he calls y' t' his office..." "Yeah?" "Start t' sweat." "Great..." Remy just laughed and led him the rest of the way back. Part Thirteen [Valerie Jones] What are you doing, Bobby? Remy is going to kill you if he finds out about this. The young man know as Iceman took a deep breath and carefully snipped the wire he was holding. He watched the small meter he had attached, looking for a spike in the system current that would give him away. But the needle only quivered, and Bobby released his pent breath in a silent sigh. His hands were much steadier than he felt as he unclipped the meter and put it away, along with the wire cutters. That should be the last circuit. Should be. This was the first time he'd ever gone solo, and he found himself wishing for Gambit's steadying presence, and the stupid jokes that were so good for distracting Bobby from his fear. With the alarm circuit re-routed, Bobby checked the window and then slid it upward with a gentle scrape. He froze, waiting for an alarm from the guards he knew were inside. After several minutes of silence, he climbed through the window and crouched in the darkness, studying the room. A grand piano dominated the floor, opposite a huge, but currently unused fireplace. Bobby rose and walked soundlessly across the lacquered tile floor. The stairs were off to his left. He took them one at a time, placing his feet near the edge since that was where they were least likely to creak. But it was really a matter of balancing his weight properly and not moving too fast that would let him climb like a ghost up the spiraling staircase. He remembered vividly doing this at the mansion in the middle of the night-up and down, again and again-until he could run the stairs without making a sound. He emerged on the upstairs hallway and hesitated. There would be at least one guard outside the room. Bobby expected him to be sleeping, which, as he peered down the hall, he appeared to be doing. That was good. Bobby reached into his bag and pulled out the small syringe he had taken from the mansion infirmary. Hank had been more than happy to let his old friend help with restocking the emergency medical supplies, and Bobby had simply filled an extra for himself. It was just a sedative, but it was extremely fast acting because it was intended for use on mutants who could do significant amounts of damage in a few moments of delirium. Bobby slipped closer to the sleeping guard. He started to bend over the man, then paused in sheer terror as he became suddenly aware of where he was and what he was doing. What if the guard woke just then? Don't think, man! Just do it! he snarled at himself and covered the guard's mouth with his hand. The man's eyes flew open. Bobby jabbed the syringe into the base of his neck and felt the rigid form relax almost instantly. Bobby allowed himself a short moment to close his eyes and catch his breath, but then he went past the sleeping guard and rapped very gently on the door. "Yes?" Bobby opened the door a ways and peeked around it. "Hi." Diedre's eyes flew open in surprise. "Bobby! What are you doing here?!" Her expression was a mixture of delight and alarm. She came to the door and grabbed his arm, nearly dragging him inside. Her gaze fell on the sleeping guard. "What--?" "He's just sleeping," Bobby hurried to reassure her. She looked up at him, then back at the guard. Quickly she shut the door. Bobby was amazed at how natural it felt to draw her into his arms and hug her tightly. Diedre returned the hug with enthusiasm, but then she pulled back to look up at him. "Are you insane?" she asked, her blue eyes wide and wild. "What if Michael found you here?" "Michael is out of town." Bobby gripped both her shoulders. "And I had to see you." Slowly, Diedre began to shake her head. "You shouldn't have come here." She pulled away from his grasp, tightening her robe around her as she did so. The robe was silk, the color of warm chocolate, and although it made her look pale, it also brought out the color in her hair and lips. "Why not?" Bobby felt betrayed. Breaking the security on Michael's private residence had not been easy. "I thought it might be nice to have a little time alone." Diedre stared at him, lips trembling. Then she came back to him in a rush, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face against his chest. Bobby simply held her, wondering at the feel of it. "Why don't we sit down." There was a divan in the room, and Bobby guided her toward it. That seemed much more appropriate than sitting down on the bed. Diedre settled next to him, and with a small smile, twined her fingers into his. Bobby wondered if he looked as dizzy as he felt. He squeezed her hand, and her smile widened. "I can't believe you broke into my house." Bobby felt his cheeks redden. "Yeah, well. . . " Neither can I. "Let's just not tell anybody, o.k.?" "O.k." She curled her legs up on the divan, tucking her bare toes beneath the hem of her robe. After a moment, she giggled. "What is it?" Diedre patted his hand and sighed. "Bobby Drake, what am I going to do with you?" Her blue eyes were full of mischief and laughter. Bobby began to laugh himself. "Do you want suggestions?" It was her turn to blush as her smile faded. "No." She turned to look directly at him. "That would hurt too much." "Diedre?" She untangled her hand from his and stood up, crossing her arms over her breast as she walked toward the center of the room. When she turned back toward him, her eyes were shining with tears. "I haven't felt. . . the way you make me feel for so long, I'd almost forgotten what it was like." She made a helpless gesture. "But I'm married, Bobby. I can't do this." Bobby stood up and walked over to her, but didn't try to touch her. "Why do you stay with him, then? Michael doesn't love you." Diedre flinched and turned her face away. "I guess. . . I guess I knew that. Almost since the day I married him." Bobby had never felt so much helpless rage. It boiled around inside him, but it didn't threaten his sanity or his self-control. It simply made him sick inside to see how much Michael had hurt this woman Bobby loved. "Why did you marry him?" Silent tears spilled down her cheeks as Diedre turned to look at him. "Because I fell in love with him." Slowly, she hung her head, and Bobby could see her shoulders quivering. "Now, he doesn't even use me for sex." It was barely more than a whisper. Bobby felt like a knife had been driven straight into his heart. He wrapped his arms around Diedre, swearing to himself that he would never let her go. She jerked like a startled deer in his embrace, then stood still, rigid within the circle of his arms. Bobby could feel her swallowing convulsively against the sobs locked in her throat, and hugged her harder, until he was afraid her would hurt her. But then the strings on her heart snapped. They sank to the floor together as violent sobs wracked her. Bobby pressed his lips against her hair as she clung to him and finally released the anguish she had held inside for so long. Bobby had no idea later how long he sat in the middle of her floor. Diedre eventually fell asleep as her sobs diminished to small, shuddering breaths. Bobby stroked her hair, his mind empty. Eventually, he rose with Diedre in his arms. He took her to the bed and laid her down in it, then pulled the covers up around her, tucking her in with all the gentleness he possessed. She stirred only slightly, her lips curving into a sweet smile. Nearly in tears himself, Bobby leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips. "Good night, my love." In a small, windowless room at the other end of the house, Frank reached over and pushed a button beneath the TV monitor. The picture of Bobby kissing Diedre goodnight disappeared in a flash of snow as the videotape popped out of the recorder. Frank pulled the tape out and slid it into another slot. The high speed rewinder whirred like a tiny jet engine as it cranked the tape backwards. When it was finished, Frank retrieved the tape and pushed it back into its original slot. "Oops, sorry boss," he murmured to himself as the image returned, this time of Diedre sleeping peacefully, alone. "I guess I got the tapes mixed up and put the old one back in." He grinned. "Wasn't nothin' on it though. I was watchin'." Professor Charles Xavier scrolled once more through the Danger Room program commands for the next session, then closed down the window. Scott, who had been leaning over his shoulder to read the list, straightened and looked down into the Danger Room as Charles started the loading process. Five X-Men were currently in the room below. They were taking advantage of the opportunity to rest, stretch and prepare for the next session. This morning, they were doing round-robin four-on-one scenarios, which meant that each of the five took a turn being singled out and assaulted by four of his fellow X-Men, along with whatever else Charles decided to throw against them. It was an attempt to train the X-Men to react properly when cut off from the rest of the team. The door behind Charles and Scott slid open and Gambit walked in. He was in uniform, and still sheened in sweat from the last round. At Charles request, Bishop had just taken his place in the Danger Room. Charles glanced up as Gambit came up beside him at the console. He did not need his powers to identify the defensive anger crackling in the young man's eyes. Gambit's gaze flicked between Charles and Scott. "Y' wan' tell me why y' pulled me out?" Scott's jaw tightened. "We thought it would be best for Bobby if you weren't in on this one." Charles winced mentally. These two never missed an opportunity to take a shot at the other. What Scott said was true, but he'd managed to phrase it in as insulting a manner as possible. Gambit's red irises lit with that unsettling glow as the barb struck home. But before he could retaliate, Charles jumped in. "I wanted you to be free to observe the session, Remy. I was hoping that an additional perspective might help me to determine the best direction to take with Bobby's training." The anger dimmed as Gambit considered his words. Then his mouth quirked into a wry smile. "Time t' see how much he's learned, eh?" "Yes. Storm has been very pleased with his progress." Gambit didn't answer, but turned to look down into the Danger Room. Charles had grown used to his abrupt silences, and was not offended. But Scott, he could sense, was annoyed. He didn't show it, though, as he also turned toward the window, clasping his hands behind him in a casual parade rest stance. Charles observed both men surreptitiously. So different in personality and appearance, he wondered which would be most disturbed by the remarkable similarities Charles saw in them. The mental image that thought conjured brought a smile which he quickly hid as he busied himself at the controls. With a final typed command, he started the next scenario. The four facing Iceman in a loose semi-circle were Phoenix, Storm, Bishop, and Wolverine. They waited as their surroundings shimmered and darkened, slowly filling with the ruins of a city. Mounds of rubble supported the remains of skyscrapers. Wrecked vehicles lined the street on which the five X-Men stood. It was a desolate scene, one filled with shadows and corners. A perfect place to hunt down a lone mutant. The area just behind Iceman was piled high with scraps of rusted metal and huge chunks of cement. They leaned drunkenly against each other, leaving just enough space between the misshapen pieces for a person to crawl through. Charles had designed the acre-long pile as a kind of maze. There were dozens of entrances, and a true warren of tunnels throughout the junkpile. As if on cue, Wolverine took two steps to his left and disappeared into the shadows between buildings. Jean began to rise in a telekinetic bubble, Storm following on her winds just a few yards away. Bishop moved in the opposite direction as Wolverine, his gun held ready. To Charles' surprise, Iceman did not immediately switch to his ice form. Instead, he noted the movements of the other X-Men, and ducked into the maze of wreckage. He quickly became invisible to the naked eye, though the Danger Room thermal sensors painted him as a clear red form on Charles' console. Charles was pleased. The maze seemed like an easy place for Iceman to become trapped, but it was also gave him access to several parts of the Danger Room environs that might be more favorable to his powers. Charles had purposefully set the X-Men in an area almost entirely hemmed in by broken buildings, where Bobby would have limited room to maneuver. Wolverine and Bishop spread out toward opposite ends of the maze, climbing nimbly over the wreckage. Charles could tell from their postures that they felt that Bobby had neatly trapped himself. Jean and Storm formed the other two points of a square with their grounded teammates. They both circled the ruin slowly, searching. Charles waited quietly, allowing the combatants a few minutes to maneuver. Then he hit a switch, sending a flight of robots armed with lasers and miniature missiles after Iceman. They made their first run past the piles of twisted cement and metal, raining explosive darts. Charles felt Bobby flinch as the missiles tore chunks out of his shelter, but he could sense no panic from the young man. That in itself was unusual. More often than not, Bobby maintained a state of barely contained terror in combat. But right now, he continued to work his way through the maze, making slow but purposeful progress. He seemed to be headed for an open area beyond the ring of buildings, where a section of a broad street cut through the ruins. "Can ya spot him, Jeannie?" Wolverine's question came to the observers through the comlinks the four searchers were wearing. Charles' display put Wolverine nearly a hundred yards from Iceman's position. As he watched, Wolverine hunkered down for a moment, sniffing. "He's in the western quadrant of this pile somewhere, but I can't pin him down better than that." Jean pointed to indicate the place when Logan looked up at her. He nodded and moved that direction at a jog. Bishop saw her signal as well, and started working his way from the other side. Mentally, Charles shook his head. Bobby had stayed in there too long, and was quickly losing his advantage. Charles had the horrible suspicion that they would flush Iceman like a rabbit once he realized how close they were getting. Nor was he wrong. "There!" A lightning bolt followed Storm's pointing finger as Bobby darted out of the sheltering ruin. It struck just behind his crouched form as he sprinted toward the opening that would give him access to the street area. He dove around the corner of the building, disappearing from sight once more. Then the thermal image of him went blank as he transitioned to ice. No more than thirty yards away, Bishop and Wolverine increased their pace to follow him. Momentarily blocked by the highrise building that Bobby was using for cover, Jean and Storm split up, circling the structure to take up positions on the far side. Jean's voice through the comlink was full of surprise. "Where'd he go?" "Is there a problem, Jean?" Bishop asked. Charles could see her bobbing midair as she studied the far side of the building intently. "I don't think so, but I don't see Iceman anywhere. He has probably gone ice since I can't sense much from him any more. You and Logan be careful." Scott turned to Charles, his frown hinting at hidden worry. "I don't like this, Professor." "Why not?" Charles was feeling stirrings of alarm himself. Despite his fear, or perhaps because of it, Bobby was always quick to jump into a fight. "It's not like Iceman. Can you sense anything from him?" Charles touched the controls before him, switching the displays to a new set of cameras that clearly showed the street Iceman had turned onto. Bobby was, indeed, nowhere in sight. "I don't sense anything unusual," Charles said. "He seems to have some kind of plan." And he did. Charles could not pry that deeply while Bobby was in ice form since the transformation vastly modified the operation of his brain, but even on the surface Bobby's thoughts were organized and purposeful. Storm dropped to hover only fifteen feet above the street. She turned a slow circle, her iris-less eyes scanning every detail of the scene. Wolverine reached the corner of the building and looked up at her, but she only shrugged. Cautiously, he started down the street, claws extended. He moved with the fluid grace of a predator, his head swinging from side to side as he searched the empty street for signs of his quarry. Bishop followed a short distance behind, walking backwards to keep the area behind Logan covered. They were smart. They were careful. They never stood a chance. In the observation room, Gambit began to chuckle. It was a surprisingly gleeful sound from the normally solemn young man. Charles glanced over at him, curious. "Care to share the joke?" Scott asked sharply. Gambit didn't take his eyes off the scene below. "Jus' watch, mon ami." For once, he didn't take Scott's bait. He seemed entirely enthralled by the two mutants who moved in disciplined unison down the center of the street below. Just then, the street seemed to ripple, as if seen through a heat mirage. Charles glanced involuntarily at his readouts, thinking that the holographic projection equipment had failed. But then his gaze jumped back to the street as it gave a mighty heave, tossing Wolverine and Bishop into the air like mismatched dice. A wave of ice rolled beneath the uprooted surface, making it crack and shudder. Charles was a bit surprise by how forcefully Iceman had ripped up the section of cement, but he was pleased by how effectively Logan and Bishop had been thrown off guard. The two men curled up midair in anticipation of a hard landing, but before they had even reached the top of their trajectories, tentacles of ice tore through the remaining chunks of the street, wrapping around the two mutants until they were completely hidden from view. The bundles looked like strange cocoons, each one sitting neatly atop a pillar of ice. Ice spread around the base of the pillars, and from this surface Iceman rose with fluid grace, taking shape directly out of the thin layer of ice. A white bolt of light struck the pod holding Bishop. Ice chips exploded from the surface in a cloud of vapor, but when the mist cleared the surface appeared to be only slightly damaged. As Charles watched, the gouge seemed to repair itself. Iceman created an ice slide, rising quickly to Storm's level, but keeping a cautious distance. "Tag! You're it!" he called to her. With a gesture, he sent a flight of ice arrows shooting towards her, forcing her to defend herself. A sudden gale shattered the arrows, but Bobby was already diving away from her, leaving a trail of ice across the sky. Storm turned and flew after him. The two pods shattered under Jean's telepathic assault, and she lowered both men to the ground. Both were unconscious, which Charles had known since the moment it happened. He was impressed. Bobby had lowered both men's body temperatures just far enough to put them out without harming them. And with one simple stroke, he had eliminated two of his pursuers. Jean gave each man a cursory inspection, then she looked up toward the observation booth. "Bishop's temperature is already back to normal. Logan is still cold. His healing factor seems to have kicked in to keep frostbite at bay, but Bobby was actually holding him unconscious with the temperature." She sounded impressed herself. Scott turned to Gambit. "How did you know he was going to do that?" Remy shrugged. "Easy. De street looked wet." "The street looked wet?" Scott repeated in disbelief. "Since when has Bobby been turning himself into water? That's the only way he could have fit beneath the street without deforming it." Gambit shrugged again, apparently unaffected by the vague accusation in Scott's tone. "Dunno." Then the smug grin that had been fading from his face returned in full. "But if I had ice powers, dat's exactly what I would have done." He turned back to the windows, leaving Scott fuming silently. Charles reached over and put a placating hand on his arm. "Relax, Scott. You must admit, it's a creative solution." Scott glanced down at him, and Charles could feel his disapproval. "I'd call it cowardly. It was an ambush." Gambit snorted. "So? It worked, didn' it?" "Yes, but that's not the point." Gambit's eyebrows quirked comically. "'Not de point'? Den what is de point if it ain' survivin'?" Scott sighed. "Forget it, Remy. You wouldn't understand." Gambit's eyes flared to life as he stared at Scott. "Try me." His expression was dangerous, and the eerie red glow to his eyes only made him seem more threatening. Briefly, Charles wondered just how much control Gambit had over that effect. His eyes tended to glow whenever he was angry or upset, making it seem like an involuntary response, but Charles knew how effectively he could use his appearance to intimidate. When it came time to fight, Remy tended to look more like a prince of Hell than a mere mutant, and Charles was curious how much he'd done to cultivate that. Events in the Danger Room distracted Charles from his musings. Bobby had brought his slide to a stop near the roof of the Danger Room. He stood on the lip of the slide, watching Storm as she hovered a short distance away. Ororo gathered lightning around her hands in two glowing balls. Specifically with her in mind, the ceiling of the room was made of non-conductive material, so she was unhindered as she threw twin bolts of electricity at him. One was aimed at the ice slide beneath Bobby's feet. The other was aimed directly at his chest. In the split second as Storm fired, Charles saw Iceman's normally opaque form become translucent and take on an oddly shimmering quality. The lightning bolt struck him squarely and then disappeared, save for a puff of vapor where it hit. Charles smiled. Storm had been telling him how much control Iceman was gaining over his state. And now, as he maintained himself as a being of water instead of ice, he became a perfect conductor of electricity. Storm's lightning was no longer a threat to him. The second lightning bolt, however, shattered the ice slide. Bobby's human form lost definition as he suddenly plummeted toward the floor in a cascade of water. #Charles!# Jean's mental voice was tight with alarm. #Should I catch him?# Charles paused, uncertain. But he answered, No, Jean. Then he watched in mild terror as the amorphous ball of water struck the ground. It splashed down, spreading out across the street in a widening circle that darkened the cement as it ran toward the lowest places. Silence reigned in the Danger Room as the two women settled on the ground just outside the limits of the circle of dampness. Jean dropped to her knees, extending a hand so that her fingers almost, but not quite, touched the wet ground. Charles, too, spread his mind wide, searching for Bobby's presence on the astral plane. If he hadn't so recently seen Iceman pull himself out of the pores of this very street, he would have believed him dead. But now he was almost certain that the young mutant somehow remained a living entity despite his current scattered form. A hand of ice reached out of the street and grabbed Jean's wrist. She yelped in surprise as it dragged her forward, unbalancing her. Then a foot materialized out of the ground, completing the maneuver and throwing her bodily across the street. Jean protected herself with a telekinetic shield as she slammed into a car parked on the curb. As she regained her footing, Iceman seemed to roll out of the cement. He came to his feet in a crouch, then slowly straightened. Behind him, Storm drew her hand across her throat in the universal signal, and Charles shut down the Danger Room. Scott glanced over at the Professor. "Why is she stopping the session?" Instead of answering, Charles touched the control that would patch them into the comlinks. "Storm, is something wrong?" he asked. He found himself very curious what Ororo's answer might be. "No, Charles." She looked up toward the observation booth. "Then would you like me to restart the scenario?" Storm cocked her head. "I do not see that it would serve any purpose, Charles." There was something almost. . . sad? in her voice. And when he brushed her mind, he felt a sense of joy, of pride in the accomplishment of a friend, but also a deep-seated melancholy. Charles made a mental note to ask her about it later, when they had an opportunity to talk privately. "Very well. If Bishop and Logan are ready to rejoin us, we'll go on to the next rotation in a few minutes." He turned to the men who stood on either side of him. "Reactions?" Scott shook his head. "Amazing." Gambit turned to Scott, his expression one of surprise. His tone held a note of mockery. "What? Didn' y' know de boy was invulnerable?" Charles felt Scott's general annoyance with Remy crystallize into anger. "Of course! I've known for years." "An y' jus' never said anyt'ing?" Remy's expression had grown skeptical. Scott took a deep breath, fighting for control. "We didn't think that Bobby was ready to cope with the real extent of his powers." He managed to sound reasonable, though his jaw remained tight. Charles didn't think Gambit liked that answer very much, true as it was. Charles himself had been much in favor of shielding Bobby from too much awareness of his powers, in the hopes of introducing them to him slowly, over time. Gambit had crossed his arms, and was looking between Charles and Scott as if he didn't entirely believe what he was hearing. "Let me get dis straight. You-" he pointed at Scott, "have been purposefully tellin' de boy he's not'ing special b'cause y' didn' t'ink he could handle his powers?!" There was outrage in the gaze that suddenly snapped to Charles' face. "An' you been approvin' o' dis?" Charles met his blood red gaze and realized that the words stung. He had done what he thought was best for Bobby, but it was difficult to have that belief challenged. Especially when he was being confronted with true, righteous anger from a man that Charles did not consider to be particularly moral. But Remy was a mass of contradictions that Charles had not yet figured out, and his reactions were sometimes very puzzling. "Please, Remy," he tried to placate the young man's anger. "Try to see this from our point of view. Bobby came here as a very young man. A very insecure young man who was inside terrified of the powers that had been given to him. We had hoped to allow him the time to mature before he was forced to take on the full burden of his powers. It is a tremendous responsibility and we," he motioned to Scott, "did not want to see him harmed by trying to take it up too early." Gambit's expression had not changed. "So f' de last six years y' both been tellin' him not t' try too hard so he won' figure out how much power he's really got. An' den y' disappointed in him when he don' keep up wit de rest o' de team." Charles shook his head slowly. "I have never been disappointed with Bobby's progress." Gambit's look was one of pure disgust. "I bet Bobby don' see it dat way." He turned and stalked out of the control booth, his boots clacking on the metal floor. The door closed behind his retreating figure, leaving Charles and Scott in silence. Scott stared at the door. "That man really worries me sometimes." Charles raised an eyebrow. "Why is that?" Scott chewed on his lip for a moment as he sorted through his thoughts. "Because I think he would be willing to toss Bobby off the top of a building in the hopes that he would figure out he's invulnerable before he hit the bottom." Part Fourteen [Lori McDonald] "Okay, lift and turn and kick and stretch..." Diedre giggled wildly as Bobby exaggerated an exercise routine, pretending that there was music playing. Diedre had seemed down, so he'd been trying to cheer her up, and becoming silly had seemed to be the easiest way to do it. "Stop it," she gasped, clutching her sides. "I'm going to hurt myself!" He stopped with a grin and bowed to her. "As my lady demands." She laughed and shook her head. "You goof." "But of course! Still, I think we'd better get some more practice in." They'd been training in the pool again. Diedre was improving greatly and she'd even created a small ice slide today. It was too weak to carry her weight and it took her close to an hour to form it completely, but it was far more than she'd ever done before. The smile on her face as she looked at it was beautific. Now, however, she groaned. "What, more? But I'm so tired. I feel like my fingers are going to fall off." She wiggled them for emphasis. He shook his head. "Quitter," he teased. Immediately, her chin jutted out into the cutest pout he'd ever seen. "I am not. I merely want to take a break for lunch." His heart started to pound. "You want to eat here or go out?" Was this a date? Was she actually asking him out on a date? God, I hope so! She blushed looking nervous herself. Maybe she was having the same thoughts. His pounding heart felt like it was going to jump out of his throat and strangle him. "Can we go to a restaurant or something?" He nodded and swallowed. "Sure." Frank followed them, of course. Discretely walking about fifteen feet behind them as they strolled along the sidewalk, not touching. Close enough to interfere if anything went wrong, but not so close that they didn't have the illusion of privacy, or as much as one could get on a New York street at noon. Bobby had gotten so used to him that he didn't pay attention to him anymore, which a small part of him warned could be a mistake. Frank wasn't stupid enough not to realize there was something going on between himself and Diedre, which gave him a lot of power over him. Remy had warned him not to let himself get into such a position where another could blackmail him, but Bobby didn't see any way to avoid it, not if he wanted to see Diedre again. Diedre looked around herself at the buskers, and panhandlers, and the crush of people hurrying in every direction on the sidewalk, as well as the mass of cars trapped in traffic on the street. "This is so incredible," she sighed. Bobby looked at her sideways. "Haven't you ever walked down the street before?" He asked. To his surprise, she shook her head. "Not since before I was married. Now I go everywhere in a limo. I forgot how much I loved to walk." Bobby felt the familiar anger grow in him. The rage that any man who'd sworn to love and cherish a woman would treat her like so much garbage. In response, the temperature around him dropped a few degrees. Diedre stared at him, sensing his mood, and tried to diffuse the moment by pointing at a nearby store window. "Look, isn't that a lovely dress?" For her sake, since he knew there was nothing he could do about Michael, Bobby looked. The store window had a series of anorexic mannequins in it, with perfectly coiffed plastic hair. They were displaying the latest summer dresses, in a variety of colours, from white to a dark blue. Diedre was pointing at the darkest one. "I think that would look nice at the club, don't you?" Bobby frowned, turning to the one beside it, a pretty white and yellow checked dress with a short, flowing skirt that fell straight but was tucked a little at the waist with spaghetti straps and a swoop neck. "I think that you'd look better in that one." She blushed, an expression on her face Bobby couldn't quite read. Was it hope, satisfaction, or despair? "Do you really think so?" Impulsively, he grabbed her arm. "Come on, I'll prove it to you." Amidst her giggling, he dragged her into the store. It was much like the one where Remy had bought him his suit. Expensive, refined and biased. He saw the saleslady come towards him with an expression of distaste on her face, and looked down at his jeans and tee-shirt, then at Diedre's black shorts and halter top that made her appear so pale and washed out. Neither of them looked rich at all, and he had the distinct feeling they were about to have their butts hit the sidewalk. That irritated him, where once he would have meekly left as he was asked, then bitched about how he was treated for weeks. Now, however, he straightened his spine and put on the same arrogant, don't-mess-with-me expression Remy had had in the other store, that regal demeanor which made him look like a king even with his torn jeans and leather coat. He was sure he couldn't do it as well, but the saleslady hesitated, her determination to throw them both out before they sullied her merchandise weakening in uncertainty. Diedre stared at him, surprised, then hid her shock and smiled at the clerk with faint boredom. Bobby was so proud of her he wanted to spin her around and hug her. In a mirror, he saw Frank walk up behind them and cross his arms patiently, the quintessential bodyguard. The clerk wilted further and was actually polite by the time she reached them. "May I help you, sir?" She asked. Bobby almost choked on the first sincere 'sir' he'd ever heard used in reference to himself, without it being a rub-off of the respect Gambit got, then nodded. "Yes. Would you please get the yellow dress in the window for my friend?" "Of course. Come with me, dear. I do believe we have that one in your size back here." She led Diedre towards the rear of the store. Bobby trailed behind them. "Thanks," he said in an undertone to Frank. The empath merely nodded and took up position near the door, where he could see everything that happened. By the time Bobby reached the back, Diedre had already been whisked into the changing room with a half dozen dresses, each one of them yellow, he noted. "I sent her in with some different styles," the clerk explained. "so she could see which suited her best." Bobby nodded. "Thanks," he said and sat down on one of the antique chairs provided for bored men helping their females shop. There was a nice tee-shirt hanging on the front of a rack beside him, a short cotton thing, so idly he glanced at the price. $150.00 "Would you like some water?" The saleslady asked as he began to choke. He managed a nod and she hurried off. One hundred and fifty dollars for a frigging t-shirt?! They're nuts! The clerk brought him some water in a small glass and he gulped it down. A moment later, Diedre stepped out of the changeroom and he almost brought it back up again. She was wearing the dress from the window, and the yellow made her skin and hair glow as she turned, the light skirt swirling around her pale legs. "What do you think?" She breathed. He thought she was the most beautiful thing in the world. He thought he was so in love with her the universe could die and he wouldn't care, as long as he was with her. He thought he wanted to make love with her, and make her his wife, and to hell with Michael and his guild. "It's nice," he croaked. She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling. "I've got to try the others on," she admitted and was gone in a swirl of yellow. Bobby slumped down in his seat, wondering how much more he could take. Bobby was almost a basket case by the time she was done trying on the dresses and posing for him. Finally, though, she came out again in her horrid black, carrying the dresses. She lovingly stroked the fabric of the top one, then regretfully handed them to the clerk. "Thank you," she said softly and walked towards the front of the store. Bobby blinked at her. She's not going to buy them? He stared after her, then impulsively went over to the clerk. "How much is the top one?" He asked softly. The clerk smiled at him, sensing a sale. "Twelve hundred dollars, sir." He swallowed. "And the rest are the same?" "More or less, sir." Diedre needed a wardrobe. She needed colours that made her look alive, not the black that gave her the impression of a walking corpse. But twelve hundred dollars... where was he going to get enough money to buy a twelve hundred dollar dress? The Professor gave them money for expenses, but twelve hundred? "Hold the top one for me," he said softly. "I'll pick it up later." "Of course, sir," she agreed and he hurried to catch up to Diedre, praying to himself that Professor would be in a really generous mood tonight, because he wasn't sure he had the nerve to steal for real. Calmly, Michael walked into his penthouse, tossing his sunglasses on the table, though he kept his keys with him. It'd been an annoying morning. Gambit had been talking to the Guildmembers. Nothing overt, nothing he could use to drag him by his Cajun ears into the blood ring and rip out his heart, but he was talking. Letting the Guild know that he, master thief, felt that they shouldn't be using their powers on jobs. He snorted, his lip curling into a snarl. They were listening, too. Damn him, he thought. Damn him to hell. With the powers of the Guild, he'd had the resources to gain control of the entire city, even throwing down the Kingpin himself, instead of cowering in hiding and trying to eke out a living with talents any fool off the street could be trained into. Being mutants had promised them power, and him the chance to control that power. Months he'd spent setting up the Guild to defy the old traditions, and truly take its place in the underworld. Then Gambit walked in. The only thief east of the Mississippi who had the authority to question him. Damn him! All that work gone. All because an interfering Cajun with the power to charm mentioned that now was no time for a mutant to show off his powers. He crossed the room to the bar and poured himself a drink. He'd have laughed in Gambit's face if he could, but the man had a reputation that even he couldn't ignore. And even Guildless, he could draw on resources Michael would be hard pressed to match as quickly. He'd proven that many times, most especially with his new 'apprentice'. Michael's eyes narrowed. Apprentice. An upper level Alpha class, and the most powerful one he'd ever seen. A boy obeying him without question while he had to make do with the arrogant low level Betas born or recruited into the Guild nowadays. When he saw the dragon that boy made from ice the first night they spoke- he'd been impressed. He didn't like being impressed when he had nothing to counter with. Alexi's luck power with the tables? Toby's ability to lift objects under one hundred pounds with his mind? That was nothing. That boy could make cold live. Shatter steel, crumble stone, kill. And he belonged to Gambit. Gods! that irritated him. He wanted that child in his employ. To use his powers as he directed. To show up Gambit, who thought he knew best, and used Michael's own rules to tie him. No more. He would have what he wanted and Remy and his warnings be damned. Bobby would be bound to him, and LeBeau would be shamed. Humiliated. And if that wasn't enough to get rid of him, there was always the ring. Michael smiled slightly, then turned, the smile fading as the door to the apartment opened and Didi came in, followed by Bobby and Frank. He'd had the limo today, and the porshe was in the shop being detailed. Not that Didi had ever learned to drive the stick shift and Frank knew better than to touch his car, save to open the door for him. "Where have you been?" He asked coldly. Didi looked up at him, her face mirroring surprise for a moment. Bobby's had gone blank. It wasn't as good a mask as Gambit's, but it kept him from knowing what he was thinking, which irked him more. "W-we went out to lunch," Didi said uncertainly. "I was hungry from my training." He sipped his drink. He'd always been used to Didi being deferential to him. His rank deserved it from her. But now he wondered if there was something else behind her stammer. "You walked?" She swallowed. "Well, yes. It was such a lovely day and-" "My wife," he told the apprentice coolly. "Does not walk. Ever. Is that understood?" Bobby's face was like stone. "Yes." "Yes, what?" "Yes, Guildmaster." Irritated, he studied the boy's face. Young, round, with unruly blonde hair grown almost to his shoulders. He was trying to turn himself into Gambit at his scruffiest. Michael sipped his drink. Stupid boy. He'd have him cut his hair and dress in better clothes. He'd never have the full presence he needed to succeed in the Guild, but with his powers, it wouldn't matter. People would bow to him out of fear. He saw how close the two were standing, but discarded any idea of his wife being unfaithful to him. Not Didi. She knew whom she belonged to and he knew what her type was. She was into men with power, men like himself, or Gambit. His eyes narrowed again in thoughtful suspicion. Gambit had a reputation for the ladies even more than he did for being a thief. It'd be just like him to attempt to steal his wife. Michael found himself wishing to a degree that he had. Adultary was more than enough reason to call someone to the ring. "How is Gambit today?" He asked the apprentice. If he'd taken Didi to some kind of illicit rendezvous with his master, he wouldn't be able to hide it. Bobby, however, only blinked. "Fine, I think. I haven't seen him." Too bad. Michael turned and set down his glass. Didi hadn't cheated on him with the Cajun. Still, if it ever were to become necessary, a false accusation would be just as useful as a real one if the accused was dead before any proof was called for. God, do I want to freeze him from the inside out, Bobby thought while he stoically kept on the poker face Remy had taught him and watched Michael deride the woman he loved. He'd kill him where he stood, but he knew he wasn't a murderer, and that's what it would be. Besides, it wouldn't be fair to Didi, who he could see still loved him. Why? He wailed silently. Why do you still love him? He'll never love you. I love you. He wanted to tell her that, but not now, not in front of Michael. "Go to your room," Michael told his wife. "You need rest after your exertions." "Of course, Michael." Without even a glance at him that would be far too dangerous, she walked away. At a nod from Michael, Frank went out of the room. Bobby found himself being examined by Michael. He felt like a bug being stared at under a microscope. He braced himself for anything, then Michael said the last thing he expected. "Would you like a drink?" Bobby blinked. "Uh? Sure." Michael nodded and went back to the bar. He didn't ask him what he wanted, but poured him a scotch on the rocks. He picked his own drink back up and handed him his glass. "How is Didi's training coming?" Keep it simple! His mind screamed at him. "Good. She's developing faster than I thought she was going to. She's already able to do things she couldn't before." "Such as?" Bobby thought back to the lesson. "She's able to create a film of ice over about a quarter of the pool. It's not very thick or strong, but it's solid." "Will she be able to do as much as you can?" "I'm... not sure. Maybe." He doubted it. She was a definate Beta. She had a useful power, but not a dangerous one. The worst she could do was give someone frostbite. It was still impressive, but he doubted Michael would agree. Michael nodded. "How is your own training coming?" He asked suddenly. Bobby blinked at the sudden change of topic, wondering how to answer. Remy had said it was considered rude to ask about the progress of someone else's apprentice, but Masters were supposed to be exempt from some rules. He couldn't remember whether this was one of them though. Remy just told him that, when in doubt, keep his mouth shut. "Pretty good," he told him. For Michael, that wasn't enough. "Have you made your first real pinch?" Officially? He wasn't sure that breaking into every museum in the city and out again was real in Guild terms. Nor would be putting groucho glasses on Michaelangelo's David, on loan from Europe. Remy had a very silly sense of humour at times. "Um, not yet." Michael's eyes widened in a surprise too great to be wholly genuine. "You haven't? I'm surprised. A thief of your talents should have a sponsor by now." He put his drink on the table and put an arm around Bobby's shoulders. "Personally, I think it's time you did, and I am happy to volunteer. Be here tomorrow night at 10 and I'll take you on a job with my apprentices." He steered him to the door. "But... but Gambit..." "Can handle being alone for one night." Michael's lips twisted faintly. "All Guild masters do have the right to request an apprentice's assistance at any time." That was true. Bobby remembered Remy mentioning that, but it'd been mixed in with so much other stuff he needed to know that he couldn't remember if that was all of it. "Uh, okay." "Excellent." Michael steered him out the door and closed it in his face. Oh God, what have I gotten myself into this time? Quietly, Bobby walked into the mansion, lost in thought. He went up to Remy's room, but the Cajun wasn't there, nor was he in the kitchen, or on the roof. Quietly, he walked into the living room to see Bishop oiling one of his many guns. "Have you seen Remy?" He asked him. The big man regarded him stoically and Bobby found himself wondering, as usual, what he was thinking. Bishop was so good at hiding his emotions that even Remy's training wasn't enough to give him an insight into his feelings. He got the impression that Remy could read him like a book, though. Suddenly, he realized he and the big man had something in common. They'd both started out hating Gambit, then wound up among his closest friends. "He's outside helping Storm weed the garden," Bishop told him. He always knew where everyone in the mansion was. "Thanks." He went out back. Behind the mansion there were dozens of flower beds, all carefully tended by Storm and whoever she could rope into helping her weed. Right now it was Remy, kneeling on the grass with an expression of disgust mixed with friendship on his face. Bobby grinned. There was a distinct odor of fertilizer in the air. He stood by the side of a bush, out of their line of sight, and watched them for a moment. Storm was tending the plants lovingly while Remy bitched, yet he was almost as careful as she. He felt nervous all of a sudden. If he asked Remy for the money, the Cajun would want to know why, and Bobby didn't want him to know that he was in love with Michael's wife. He wasn't stupid. He knew the politics of the Guild well enough by now to know that what he was doing was incredibly dangerous, for both of them. Remy was his master. He was responsible for his actions, and what he was doing with Diedre, innocent as it was, could not only get him killed, but Gambit as well. Guilt filled the young man. Remy had gone well out of his way for him, teaching him, supporting him, and not even asking any questions. He hadn't realized it until now, but Remy had never asked him anything about Diedre, other than how the relationship was going. He respected his privacy like no one ever had. He didn't know how he'd react if he knew the truth, and he didn't want to involve him any more than he already was. Or put him in any more danger. He also didn't know if telling him about his being asked on a training session with Michael was good either. Michael was up to something, he was sure of it. It couldn't be because of any great interest in him; he had to be after Remy. But if Remy knew about it, he might get caught in that trap. Confused, he decided to handle it on his own. Remy had taught him well and he wasn't gullible. If Michael did have a trap ready, he was not going to be the bait for his master. Quietly, Bobby turned and walked away before the two X-Men saw him. He'd ask the Professor for the money instead, and tell him some story as to what it was for. It was ironic indeed, that it would be easier for him to lie to a telepath. "Why I gotta help wit' dis, Stormy?" Remy bitched as he weeded. "Because you were available," was the reply. "And do not call me Stormy." Remy frowned. "I don' call fast asleep in m' bed bein' available." Storm smiled. "You were not. You were in the kitchen eating frozen pop tarts." "Close enough." She shook her trowel at him. "Besides, you did agree." "Dat's b'fore I find out y' gonna be mushin' horse shit into de dirt, den makin' me kneel in it." The Wind Rider sighed. "It is not horse shit, Remy. It is cow manure." He grinned at her. "It's brown an' it comes out a de wrong end of a stinky animal. Close 'nough." "You are impossible." "Yup. An' it's gonna get worse if y' don' let me go." With a smile, she regarded him out of her blue, cat like eyes. "Feel free to complain, Remy. I am very used to dealing with small children." "Hah!" He dug his trowel into the flower bed they were working on, savaging a weed. "I know more 'bout kids dan you do. Raised y' in N'Awlins, didn' I?" He yanked the weed out, along with what he was sure was some sort of flower bulb, and tossed them over his shoulder before she could notice. Storm was rather defensive of her plants. "It was fun den, wasn' it?" Storm was a woman of tremendous dignity and personal morals. To look at her, no one would be able to conceive of the idea that she was an expert pickpocket and a not half bad thief. Remy had met her when they both were robbing the same house, though she was in the body of a child, and he'd seen the potential for greatness in her right away. The same potential was in Bobby, too, and he idly wondered which of the two was better. Ororo, he decided, was the better pickpocket, but Bobby was better at B&E. He, of course, was better than both of them, he thought with a grin. Though Storm did give him a serious run for his money in snitching wallets. Storm may not steal anymore, but she had enjoyed it while it lasted and her smile widened. "I seem to remember being the one taking care of you at times. I do not ever remember coming home drunk, or being captured by Nanny and the Orphan Maker in the middle of a Mardi Gras parade." Remy blushed. "So I was havin' a bad day. Still, y' did good savin' my butt. First time I really see y' use y' powers, ot'er dan when y' lifted dat whole ol' plane an' flew it down de Mississippi on y' winds." He grinned at the memory of the people they'd seen below them, running from what they thought was a UFO. There were still stories about it being told in those parts. To his surprise, Ororo sighed. "What's wrong, Padnat?" "I was truly innocent then," she said as she softened the earth with her own trowel. "I had no idea what power I wielded." "So? Y' c'n control it. T'aint no big deal, neh?" She shook her head. "It is a big deal, for my emotions influence the weather. I feel that I have lost something with that realization, just as Bobby is losing something with the development of his powers." He blinked, completely caught by surprise. "Bobby? What 'bout him?" She delicately removed a weed with the same care she would use in planting a seed. "Bobby is very powerful, more so than any of us realized at first. I think his powers are almost at a level high enough to be classified as Omega." Remy whistled. Omega classes, like Magneto, had powers which could affect the world as a whole. "Dat's pretty impressive." Storm shook her head. "He is not that powerful, but he is one of the most powerful X-Men, if not the most powerful. I am at an equal with him, and only Rogue is stronger." She saw his jaw clench. "Forgive me, Remy. I did not mean to bring up bad memories." "T'ain't not'ing, padnat. De memories not all bad." He dug irritably at the garden. "So, you agree with Cyke dat he should be kept in de dark 'bout what he can do." "I do not know. I do know I do not like to see Bobby lose his innocence." "Dat innocence won' do him much good if it wind up gettin' him killed by someone he coulda iced if he were better wit' his powers." Storm shook her head. "You cannot be so negative, Remy, even with our lives the way they are. Bobby does not need to use all of his powers, or lose his innocence." Remy didn't answer her out loud, still digging at the garden, though it was now weed-free. Yes he does, now dat he's walkin' in my world. Part Fifteen [Valerie Jones] Bobby leaned back against the cool brick of the storefront, waiting patiently. Just beyond the edge of the awning, rain fell in a steady patter. It was just enough to make the night cold without sending people in search of cover. Bobby had lowered his body temperature slightly to keep from feeling the chill, but only someone touching him would be able to tell. Or someone watching us through a thermal scope. Say, mounted on a sniper rifle. Bobby shoved the thought aside. The last thing he needed was to pick up any more of Gambit's paranoia. Not that Gambit didn't have a right to be paranoid. . . Bobby wasn't certain what he himself might be like if his name was on a few assassins' `kill him if you get the chance' list. Of course, they couldn't want Remy too badly-he'd been living in the same city for two years now and as far as Bobby knew, no one had come looking for him. Oblivious to Bobby's train of thought, Remy stood a few feet away watching the street. Or, more specifically, watching the continuous passage of people along the sidewalk across the street from them. Against the backdrop of pedestrians who walked by with their heads down, intent on their destinations, the hookers stood out in clear relief. The brightly dressed women stood in groups of two or three, and from his vantage, Bobby could hear them calling out invitations and occasional obscenities to the cars that slowed as they passed by. A group of teenage boys lounged around the hood of an ancient black caddy parked a little further down, but they didn't look like real trouble to Bobby. Wannabe hoods, maybe, but nothing he would be worried about. Several other kids lurked in the background of the scene, nearly invisible. Most were teenagers, both male and female, and their ages ranged widely. They didn't talk to each other, but seemed simply to wait in the shadows, unnoticed. Occasionally, one of them would come out to talk to the driver of a car that pulled up, and a few moments later retreat. Bobby saw one girl get into a car, and he wished he understood what he was watching. The girl looked like a refugee from the grunge movement, her form hidden by layers of shabby flannel and her hair hanging lank and stringy around her face. She obviously wasn't in the trade, or she would have been dressed like the loud women congregated at the corner. Just as he was about to ask Remy about it all, Gambit seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, the tiny orange glow from the tip accentuating his angular features. Again Bobby got the feeling that something was bothering him. There was nothing he could identify that Remy was doing differently, but it was just that feeling he got sometimes that Gambit was highly disturbed by something. "See de boy dere," Remy nodded toward the people across the street. "dark hair, fatigues jacket?" Bobby searched the scene until he found him. He was a teenager, perhaps fourteen or fifteen years old. He stood a little ways away from any of the others, hands in pockets, as he watched the passing traffic. There was something hollow about him. . . something hungry that immediately grabbed Bobby's attention. An intensity that was somehow part of his cool detachment rather than being hidden by it. Bobby was stunned that he hadn't noticed the boy before Remy pointed him out. Now that he'd seen him, he found it hard to tear his gaze away. "His name is Toby Mather," Remy said before he could ask. As they watched, a silver BMW pulled up to the curb. Toby sauntered forward and leaned down to look in the passenger side window. After a moment, he straightened, and Bobby had the distinct impression of both disappointment and relief. The BMW pulled away and Toby went back to his position in the shadows. Gambit's expression darkened. He dropped his cigarette to the pavement and ground it out with the heel of his boot. "C'mon." Bobby kept his sigh to himself. He still had no idea what they were doing out here tonight, and if he wanted to keep his appointment with Michael, he was going to have to lose Gambit sometime in the next few hours. He still wasn't sure he was doing the right thing, but the decision was made. The Guild had rules about ignorance that he hoped would protect Gambit if he'd made the wrong choices. Bobby might have to suffer the punishment of an apprentice who lied to his master, but that was better than setting Remy up for Michael. Together, they walked to Remy's car. Bobby was relieved. Maybe this little trip to the city to stare at hookers in the rain was all Gambit was going to require of him tonight. It was no more and no less strange than some of the other things they'd done over the past few months. Bobby settled into his seat and closed the door. "So, do I dare ask- -?" "No." Remy turned the engine over. It picked up immediately, settling into that growling purr that made Bobby insanely jealous. This time, though, he didn't pay attention. The curt dismissal was annoying. He knew better than to say anything, though. Not in this kind of situation, when he was student and Gambit was master. He counseled himself to patience, which was the best way to deal with the man when he was in a bad mood. Remy pulled away from the curb, immediately doing a U-turn to send them back past the street corner they'd stood and watched for nearly two hours, and hopefully then on toward Salem Center. Bobby was just about to start relaxing when he pulled over sharply, coming to a stop right in front of that same stretch of sidewalk that seemed to fascinate him so. Beside Bobby, the window began to roll down as Remy manipulated the controls on his side of the car. The sudden burst of air was cold and wet. Bobby turned up his collar against the rain drops that occasionally found him, wishing pettily that they were in England so that Gambit could sit in the rain instead of him. A figure approached the car. Bobby recognized the nonchalant walk before he saw the boy's face. Toby. The one Gambit had been watching. He approached the car and leaned down to peer in the window, his darting gaze taking in the both of them before settling on Remy. They stared at each other, Remy cool, the boy defiant. Bobby took advantage of the moment to look Toby over more closely, but all he could discern was that the boy was badly in need of both a haircut and a bath. Finally, Toby spoke. "Cost ya extra for two." Gambit nodded sharply. "Get in." A dozen questions popped into Bobby's mind, but he held his tongue. Questions had to wait until they could talk privately. He slid his seat forward, giving Toby room to climb into the Ferrari's tiny rear seat. Remy pulled out into traffic without another word, or even a glance in Bobby's direction. That wasn't too unusual anymore. Remy tended to simply go about his business, leaving it to Bobby to keep up, both mentally and physically. They drove in silence, pulling up in front of one of New York's many Hilton hotels. To Bobby's surprise, Remy parked the car himself rather than using the valets like he normally would. He opened the trunk and grabbed his workout bag, tossing it over his shoulder as they headed toward the entrance. It was becoming obvious to Bobby that he was trying not to draw too much attention. They walked into the hotel lobby. Bobby surveyed the room automatically, noting the multiple exits and guessing at where they would lead. Hotels were all laid out basically the same, and in moments he had worked out two routes that should take him out of the building. He didn't see any security, and didn't expect to. "Stay here." Remy walked over to the main desk and spoke briefly to one of the women behind it. Bobby watched the transaction in bemused silence-money for room key, signatures on various sheets of paper. He began to worry that Remy was going to keep him all night. He wasn't sure he'd be able to come up with an excuse to get him out of that. But, maybe that was for the best. Maybe. There was a part of him that did not want to let Michael do whatever he had planned tonight without at least one of them seeing it. Remy returned to where he and Toby waited in silence. The kid was a little creepy, Bobby thought. He stood with his head down, his hands in his pockets. He was the picture of teenage boredom, except that he hadn't moved. Not one millimeter. Any other boy his age would have been wandering around, or at the very least fidgeted in place. Then it clicked. Remy had taught him that the way to become invisible to someone scanning a room was to be completely still. That kind of searching gaze picked up on motion more than specific shapes or patterns. So you became part of the background-a piece of the furniture rather than something that might stand out. Toby was effectively making himself invisible. Following Gambit, they made their way to the third floor and a very nondescript room. It wasn't even a suite. Two double beds and a gigantic entertainment center filled most of the room, and there was a small round table with two chairs by the window. Remy tossed his bag on the bed and unzipped it, rummaging through it and coming out with a pair of sweats and the LSU t-shirt he often exercised in. He tossed them both at Toby who barely caught them. "Clean up." He jerked his head toward the bathroom. His voice was still that same flat monotone. Toby looked down at the clothes in his hands, then over toward the bathroom door. Without a word, he went. "Make sure y' wash y' hair," Remy called after him. He still did not look at Bobby. Instead, he surveyed the contents of the little nightstand between the beds and plucked what looked like the room service menu from the midst of a batch of various brochures and flyers. He opened the menu and began to read through it. "Hungry?" he asked, and this time shot Bobby a quick, unrevealing glance. "Not really," Bobby answered. "You want to tell me what we're doing here?" Actually, he was starved, but he was willing to trade dinner for some answers. Behind them, the shower came on. Remy turned toward the sound for a moment, and Bobby had the feeling he was tracking Toby's movements with his mutant power. Then he relaxed some and tossed the menu onto the bed in front of Bobby. "Do y' know what de boy t'inks he been hired for?" he asked quietly. He sounded incredibly tired all of a sudden. Bobby frowned and tried not to let his frustration show. "Not a clue." Remy's smile was completely humorless. "He t'inks he's been hired to have sex. Wit' us." Bobby blanched. "You're kidding." For a moment, he couldn't think of anything except that Remy had to be wrong. It was just too sick. Remy read his reaction easily and shook his head. "Pick somet'ing t' eat." He walked over to the table and collapsed into one of the padded chairs, stretching his long legs out and crossing them at the ankle. Uncertain what else to do, Bobby picked up the menu and settled on the edge of the bed. He looked through it without really registering what he was seeing. Finally, he put it down. "So what are we doing here?" Remy stared at his toes, and for a moment, Bobby thought he wouldn't answer. But then he looked up. "Most o' de kids like dat one-out on de street-dey runaways, maybe orphans, maybe dere folks on de street, too. Dey got a lot o' reasons f' bein' dere." He shrugged. "Some too stupid t' go home. Some got no place t' go home to." He straightened a little in his chair and looked toward the bathroom for a moment. "He's one a de strong ones. Got a whole pack a kids he takes care of-makin' sure dey get somet'ing t' eat, a dry place t' sleep now an' den." Remy's stare bored into him. "An' he tricks so de others don' have to." Bobby thought about that for a while. What would it be like to have no place to live? To be on his own so young? For all the faults he found with his parents, they had always taken care of him, always loved him and tried to give him the best they could. The shower cut out abruptly and Remy stood. He walked over and picked up the phone. "You decided what y' want?" Diedre wrapped her arms more tightly about herself as the cool breeze off the water curled around her. The sand beneath her bare feet was deliciously chill, and she scrunched her toes with a self- conscious smile. She had decided to take a couple of days and come out to the beach house. She needed to get away from Michael. She needed to think. The waves rolled gently into shore, coming up almost to her toes before sinking back into the great, dark body of water. Diedre loved the ocean. It was hypnotic, soothing, but somehow violent and powerful at the same time. She often wished that she had a boat and she could just climb in and sail away, never to be seen again. Sighing, she sat down in the sand. The sun was already invisible beneath the horizon, though the sky still glowed with reds and oranges. She admired it for a moment, but then her thoughts reclaimed her. More than anything, she wished she could figure out how she'd gotten where she was. "Are you all right, Mrs. Tyre?" Diedre hid a small frown. Frank always called her "Mrs. Tyre". No matter how many times she tried to get him to use her first name. But despite that, he was just about the best friend she had. The only friend she had. Except for Bobby, and she didn't have any idea what to think about him. Just hearing his name tied everything inside her into knots. She didn't know it was possible to feel so much anguish. "Frank? Will you. . . will you tell me something?" She stared out at the rolling ocean. "If I can." Diedre knew that was a yes. Frank didn't like to make absolute statements. He said it was because he didn't like lying to people, even unintentionally. "Am I . . . pretty?" Frank was silent for several moments, and Diedre bit her lip. She knew he wouldn't lie, and his silence seemed like a confirmation of her worst fears. To her surprise, he stepped up beside her and then squatted down so they were nearly at eye level. "Why do you want to know?" he asked. Diedre turned to stare at him. Because I want to know if it's true. She remembered the boys she went to school with. None of them had wanted to talk to the shy, pale, gawky girl until she'd started wearing her skirts so short and quit wearing a bra. They'd called her "pretty girl" and flirted with her and carried her books. At least, until she'd given them what they wanted. The first time, she thought it was just Tommy Carlyle being mean and that he would quit after a while. But he didn't. And so she thought maybe someone else would be different. But they weren't. If she offered, they'd have sex with her, but they still wouldn't talk to her at school. Eventually, they started calling her "whore" instead of "pretty girl". It wasn't until she'd met Michael that she'd even considered the idea that a man could really love her. Michael was amazing. He was so beautiful, and when he looked at her it was like he was looking only at her, like the rest of the world didn't matter. He brought her flowers and told her that she was beautiful. He bought her expensive dresses, and took her dancing in the glittering fairylands of private clubs. And even though he was a busy man, he'd made time to have lunch with her. He was even there in the morning sometimes when she woke, and the servants would make breakfast for them both. She almost didn't believe it was true when Michael asked her to marry him. She wanted so badly to find someone to love and spend the rest of her life with. To be faithful to, so that no one could ever call her "whore" again. And someone who would fill the aching void inside her. She'd said yes without hesitation, and her wedding day had been the happiest moment of her life. But now, she didn't know what to think. Marriage wasn't what she thought it would be. Somehow, she had failed to be a good enough wife to Michael. He was always mad at her for something or another. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't seem to make him happy. Frank sighed softly, and she jerked out of her thoughts. "Michael will never love you," he said matter-of-factly, "because he is incapable of loving anyone but himself." He paused, his expression softening. "Bobby, on the other hand, loves you with all his heart." Diedre could only stare at him. Bobby loved her? The thought sent warm shivers all through her, but she wasn't sure she believed it. She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to, but she'd been down this road too many times. And he didn't act like he loved her. He was sweet and kind, and she would call him a friend without hesitation. But he didn't. . . well, he didn't want her. He'd even come to her bedroom and nothing had happened between them. At the time, she'd been mostly grateful because she didn't want to do anything to mess up her marriage, but oh how she'd wanted him. Whore she thought angrily. She was married to one of the most powerful, amazing men on the planet, and still she was thinking about someone else. Michael had a right to be angry with her. She wasn't much of a wife. "You're wrong." Frank was always soft-spoken, but now she thought she heard a hint of anger in his voice. It hurt to think that even Frank was mad at her now. "And stubborn," he added, sounding more irked now than angry. "About what?" she finally asked. "About Michael. Remember, I can feel what you're feeling. It's almost as good as reading your mind." He smiled as he admitted listening in on her. "So I know that you think you're not good enough for Michael." Diedre lowered her eyes. That was very much how she felt. "But you've got it backwards," Frank went on and Diedre was compelled to look back up at him. "Michael isn't good enough for you." Diedre could only stare at him. Frank wouldn't lie. He wouldn't. So why was he saying such a crazy thing? Frank watched her with disappointment written on his face. "I can tell you don't believe me," he said after a minute. "But maybe you should start paying more attention to what Michael really does for a living. Maybe then you'll start to see what kind of man he is." He straightened and looked out at the ocean. Diedre leaned back to look up at him, the questions churning inside her. "If you don't like Michael, why do you still work for him?" she finally asked. He laughed, a short bark of bitter amusement. "Because of you. I work for Michael because of you." Toby wolfed down the sandwiches Remy had ordered for him, though he kept a wary eye on both men while he did so. Clean, and dressed in the oversized clothes, he looked much more like the boy he was supposed to be. Bobby could imagine having a little brother that was a lot like him. Bobby picked at his own food, distracted by his thoughts. He was very curious what exactly Remy was going to do. He felt rather unprepared to play along, but knew that that was what Remy would expect of him. Oh well. After seven years with the X-Men and these last couple of months with Mr. Unpredictable, I ought to be able to improvise. Remy finished up his meal and tossed his napkin onto the plate. Then he reached into his jacket, emerging with two well-worn fifty dollar bills which he laid on the table between himself and Toby. The boy froze for a moment, but then went back to eating like nothing had happened. Bobby was a little confused by his reaction. A hundred dollars was well below market value for a trick, though he had to admit he had no idea how different this kid's market might be. He pushed further thoughts along that line aside before they gave him a serious case of the shivers. He had the feeling that Remy was offering more than Toby was used to getting. After a moment, Toby reached for the money but Remy pinned it to the table with one forefinger. Toby froze, hand partly outstretched, and Remy slowly pulled off the black Ray-Bans he habitually wore, tossing them nonchalantly on the table. "Better listen to de offer b'fore y' take de money." Toby paled under the eerie stare, but slowly he nodded. Bobby was impressed by his self-control. Remy simply nodded. "Good. You work White Crane territory, eastside by de border wit' de Ravage, right?" Bobby knew it was a rhetorical question, but Toby nodded anyway. At least he recognized the names of the gangs and knew about where the territory Remy was talking about was. "You seen de Black Hole out dere? Folks go in, dey don' come out again?" Toby nodded again. Bobby didn't think he was ever going to say anything. He also wondered if this had anything to do with that gang squabble Remy was trying to resolve. It seemed like it might. Remy nodded. "I wan' know who goes in. An' I wan' know if anyone comes out again." He tapped the money. "Dere's more of dis, every week. If I get useful information." He leaned back in his chair, pinning the boy with one of his more intimidating stares. The boy swallowed convulsively, but then slowly reached out to take the money. His eyes never left Remy's face. "They're digging," he said quietly. Remy's eyebrow quirked, which Toby seemed to take as an encouragement. "The dump trucks come in empty, an' go out full." "How many?" Remy seemed genuinely interested. Toby shrugged. "Ten, fifteen a day." Remy flashed a smile. "Somet'ing I didn' know. You earnin' dat money already. Now get." Toby didn't need to be told twice. He slid out of his chair and went to the bathroom to gather up his old clothes. Then he was gone. The door closed behind him with a heavy click and Bobby looked over at Remy. "What are you expecting to get from him?" It seemed strange for a man who dealt directly with the Kingpin to be gathering information from a street kid. Remy shrugged. "Prob'ly nothing. Don' matter. F' now, he's got enough t' keep him and his fed wit'out trickin'." Comprehension dawned. "This was all just charity. But, why make such a production of it?" Remy's eyes unfocused, and Bobby wondered what he was seeing. "Boy's too proud t' take handouts, neh?" There was something about his expression that said he knew that from experience rather than observation. Belately, Bobby remembered that Remy had grown up on the streets himself, before becoming a thief. "When you were on the streets, did you . . . uh. . . ?" He broke off and flushed violet, berating himself thoroughly for asking such a rude question. It wasn't any of his business. What in the world had possessed him to just blurt something like that out? He'd just gotten used to asking Remy whatever questions happened to come to mind. Remy didn't seem to take offense. But the smile he gave Bobby was caustic. "New Orleans' not so cold in de winter as New York, neh? Difference between livin' an' dyin' ain' whether y' got a warm enough place t' sleep." He shrugged then, as if acknowledging that he really hadn't answered the question. "Couple, three times, maybe. Could usually get by wit'out goin' dat far." His expression was flat, almost daring Bobby to react. For once knowing better, Bobby held his tongue. He found himself unable to look Remy in the eye, though, and after a moment, he stood. He barely had enough time to get to the club before ten, and he wanted to get away from there very badly. "Where y' goin'?" The question was friendly, as if the past few minutes had never happened. Bobby pulled his jacket up tightly around himself. "To buy my mother some flowers." He was rewarded by Remy's chuckle as he walked to the door, but he didn't look back. Part Sixteen [Lori McDonald] Quietly, Remy walked down the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets and his head down against the falling rain. His car he'd left behind, since this was not the sort of neighbourhood it should be brought into, not without guaranteeing that everyone on the block remembered it. He wanted to be secretive tonight; he just wished he'd been secretive enough. Why did y' tell him, y' fool? He thought to himself angrily. Sure, Bobby, I used ta turn tricks 'til I was eleven. No biggie. He snorted. Least I didn' tell him I used t' jus' rob dem in dere rooms an' go out de window. Only had t' really pay up t'ree times. Those were bad memories, things he'd tried for a long time to forget. Bobby was the first person he'd ever told and he shook his head at the irony. Bobby was the total opposite of him, with nothing really in common even after all the training he'd given him, yet he'd told him one of his deepest secrets without batting an eye. Why? The Cajun didn't even look up as he crossed a busy street, trusting to his spacial awareness sense to let him know where the cars were. He didn't know how he felt about Bobby anymore. He'd figured at first Bobby would wimp out and quit, just like he did with everything else, but he hadn't. He'd stayed with it and he was excelling. Yet he didn't fit in. Remy had never seen anyone who stuck out in a crowd more than Robert Drake. It was probably his inherent goodness, he mused. Bobby was the sort of person who'd see a boy on the street hustling his ass and never even consider the idea that he was a hooker. Sometimes Remy wished he could be so innocent. I guess y' right after all, Stormy, he thought. Maybe Bobby is gonna lose somet'ing from de life he lead, and maybe it is somet'ing he shouldn't. He remembered himself, just like Toby, standing on a street corner hoping and fearing for a car to stop, so he could get enough cash to feed himself and his friends. It definately was something he shouldn't lose. I can't believe I'm doing this. I must be a total moron! Nervously, Bobby knelt in the shadows of the alley next to Andre and another of Michael's apprentices named Shasta. She looked - and acted - like a bubble headed blonde, and even where they were, he could hear her snapping her gum like a cheerleader, just as she had for every second of the last twenty minutes. Remy had taught him that gum chewing on the job was for idiots. Forget yourself in a moment of tension and you could be proverbially screwed to the wall. He would have told her to stop, but Michael was right behind him and he could feel his hot breath on his neck. What is he waiting for? He wondered. Unlike with Remy, Bobby doubted this was much of a training mission. Michael had made it perfectly clear that he was the one in command and they would do whatever he said without question or delay. Bobby had a feeling he was just along for the ride, which made him wonder why. Why take him along? Michael, he suspected, was up to something, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what. Remy would know, he mourned. But of course, Remy could never know. It was the only protection he could give his mentor. Finally, Michael leaned over his shoulder. "Frightened yet, Drake?" He whispered. Bobby almost jumped, but years of being hunted in the Danger Room by Wolverine had taught him not to leap in terror at the first surprise. Of course, Logan could smell his fear and would just stalk off chuckling, but Michael didn't have that option, and he leaned back again with a noncommital grunt when Bobby calmly replied. "Of course not, Guildmaster." Andre looked over at Bobby and winked while Shasta spit out her gum under a look from Michael. "All right, apprentices," Michael said coldly. "It's time to move, and if anyone fucks up, I'll take it out of their hides." Bobby swallowed and nodded with the others. As he neared the area he'd referred to as a 'Black Hole' to the boy, Remy started to notice subtle things. The neighbourhood was no more grimy and dark than the ones before it, but there were no people out. He could sense them inside, but they stayed inside and there was a definate aura of malice in the air. Gambit stopped in an alley. Something was wrong. For a long time, he waited, listening. Silence. An alley cat, a distant car, a crackle of a poorly wired streetlight. No hookers, no winos, no beggars. And there was NOTHING from the next block on. Just a sign saying that the area was under construction and no unauthorized personnel were allowed. There were demolished buildings and a chain link fence, but no sign of guards. After a few minutes indecision, Remy bowed his head and closed his eyes. Professor? Almost immediately, Xavier's voice sounded in his mind. #Yes, Gambit?# Remy's lip curled in distaste. Like all X-Men, Xavier kept a mental link to him, which would let him know immediately if he were hurt or if he died. Normally, Remy forced it down to a faint tickle in the back of his mind, denying Xavier access to even his pain. When he'd fallen down the air shaft earlier that year, Xavier hadn't known. If he had, a squad of X-Men would surely have shown up to rescue him and Remy wasn't one to want rescues. Most of the time. I'm at de construction site I tol' y' 'bout, he told him. Dere's somet'ing wrong here. #Do you want me to send Cyclops?# He'd rather dive head first into a pool of pirahna, actually. Scott made his skin crawl. Non. Jus' keep in contact. If I get into trouble, y'll know. More importantly, if he died, Xavier would know what had killed him. He didn't usually entertain the idea of his own death, but there was something about that site... #Remy, I'd prefer you wait for backup.# Non. You ask me t' do dese t'ings, I do dem my way. Dat's de deal. Xavier fell silent and he nodded in satisfaction. He knew for a fact that Storm had told the Professor she would never steal for him again. Remy'd never stopped and he was the best information source the Professor had. He wouldn't risk that. With the Professor's touch on his mind a little stronger than usual, Remy backed down the alley and ducked down a side street, coming towards the fence from one of its sides. He still couldn't sense guards, but twenty feet away, while he was still on a public sidewalk, he found a laser operated trip wire. If he broke the beam, his presence would be detected. Remy's eyes narrowed. He'd never heard of anyone setting up detectors like this outside. The damn thing would trip a hundred times an hour during the day. But it only needed to do so once now to get him killed. With even more caution than he usually used, Remy slipped past the sensors, bypassed the motion detectors right before the fence, climbed over it and made his way into the construction site. He still didn't see anyone, or sense any movement, but he still felt as though something was wrong. It was nothing he could put his finger on. Just a feeling. #Are you all right, Remy?# Xavier asked suddenly. Remy stopped, eyes scanning the shadows. Don' do dat, he thought. #Do what?# Walk in m' mind uninvited. If I need y', I scream. Xavier seemed somewhat miffed as he withdrew. Remy didn't care. For once, he was wishing he did have more immediate backup. In the form of a young mutant named Iceman. Silently, the four mutants crept around the side of the building, Bobby right behind Michael, Andre and Shasta behind him. Letting me and Michael take the grief if something goes wrong, he thought bitterly. Ahead of them, they could see the edge of the alleyway. Before it was a street, and across that was a big stone building with large glass windows in front. A jewelry store. Bobby swallowed. "All right, Drake," Michael said coolly. "You get to earn your spurs by breaking us into that building." Bobby looked at him. Is he out of his mind?! Michael's smile was so cold even he felt it. "Do you think you're up to it?" There was a threat in that voice, and Bobby licked his lips nervously. He had to be up to it, to prove he was a thief, or Michael might just try and come down on Gambit. He couldn't allow that. He also couldn't take even the slightest chance of never being allowed to see Diedre again. Diedre... he thought softly and managed a smile. "Yes, Guild Master," he said, and Shasta giggled. Michael silenced her with a glare. "Then quit stalling," he ordered him. Trying not to look insulting, Bobby turned his back on him and looked towards the building. The front lobby lights were on, and even from here he could see the guard sitting inside. There was absolutely no way that he'd ever get them inside that way, not without using his powers. Yet Michael seemed to want him to try. Screw him, he thought. I'm going to use my brain for this one. "Follow me," he whispered and moved back the way he'd come. After a moment's hesitation, the others followed. Bobby skirted the building, careful to not let anyone see him and cautious not to get too close to any outside cameras. He worked his way around the building until he saw an employee's enterance, his backpack heavy on his back. Thank God he'd brought it. Gambit's second set of tools was in it. The complete set of a Master Thief. He hadn't actually said Bobby could use them, but he hadn't said he couldn't either, and Bobby had decided not to take the chance that he wouldn't need them. He checked the sight of the cameras while still out of their field of vision. They had a continuous look on the door. This is a stupid way to break in, he thought. I don't know dick about the inside of that building. He didn't dare look at Michael. Remy had said to never head into a building blind, but for Bobby it was just one more trap he had to skirt and hope he didn't spring. Careful that there was no one around to see, he unslung the backpack and reached into it for a jammer. It was a neat little toy, running on battery power for a limit of twelve minutes only. But in those 12 minutes, it would send out enough interference to make any motion camera so thick with snow it was useless, and without making it seem like they were being jammed. Just a tidy little surge in the circuits. "What is that?" Andre whispered. Bobby allowed himself to smile at him. "Always bring the right tool for the job." Michael snorted. Quickly, Bobby set the jammer on the ground where it wasn't likely to be seen and aimed the transmitter at the camera. God, please let me be doing this right, he thought and turned it on. The little light on it turned to green, signifying it was working. Bobby let the breath he'd been holding out, set the cover over the light to hide it, and ran to the door, praying all the way. Nothing happened, so he grabbed lockpicks and got to work on the door. The others joined him a second later. "Jeez, trusting, aren't you?" Shasta muttered. "I'd never trust a machine that much." "Then you'll never break into anything major," Bobby retorted as he felt the tumblers move into place and the door unlock. He kept it closed though, and rummaged in his back for a tripper. There had to be motion detectors inside. What this toy would do is trip them, but in the wrong area, sending the guards running to check there while he and the others got in to the diamonds. This was a sloppy way to work. Gambit would have his butt if he tried it with him, but Michael seemed to want speed, and Bobby had to give him what he wanted. More, speed was vital when you hadn't even timed the local police cruisers on their standard drivebys. Gambit would know what they were, he thought. Even if he turned it all over to me, he'd know. I wonder if Michael does, or if he figures he can just fight his way out with his mutant powers? His thoughts hesitated. What is his power? He didn't want to think on those lines. Setting the tripper against the door, he set it to far range and hit the ON button. Immediately, it sent out a beam that triangulated the alarms in the building and selected the one farthest away from them, setting it off. Andre and Shasta jumped as an alarm went off. "You idiot!" Andre hissed, ready to run. Bobby ignored him. Grabbing the trigger, he set off another jammer and ran into the room. The alarm hadn't gone off where he was thanks to the jammer, but that wouldn't hold long. The alarm panel was in the most likely place, according to Remy's teachings. Unscrewing the cover with an electric screwdriver, he rewired it in record time and the alarm went off again. Only then did he allow himself to breathe, but only for a second. "Hurry," he whispered. "We've only got a few seconds until they come in here to check the alarm." His tools gathered, he shut the door behind them and led them into a nearby closet. He'd suspected the alarm controls would be by the door the employees used, or else they wouldn't be able to turn the alarm off in time when they came in in the morning. Now he crouched in the tight closet with the others and listened through the door as the guards came, muttering all the while, and checked on the alarm panel, which blinked a happy green even though it wasn't working at all. In the center of the construction area, hidden by old, condemned buildings that had been left standing, was a cleared section with a low, flat windowless building built on it, one no more than a block wide and maybe two stories high. Remy crouched in the shadows and stared at it, wondering. Why would Draxar go to so much trouble to build what looked like a bunker? His lips narrowed. Maybe it was a bunker. Silently, the Cajun padded over to it, and knelt in the shadows. He knew he was unseen, but he waited a few moments to be sure of no reaction before he pulled his tools out of an inside pocket of his trenchcoat, his hand brushing one of his two guns as he pulled it out. Two minutes later, he was inside. He'd been expecting a lobby, much like in any normal building. There wasn't one. Instead there was a cement room, with a lowered floor and a walkway seperated by a railing around it. There was a balcony along the second floor, the ceiling right up by the roof, and hundreds of windows on the inside walls. It was all unfinished though. What de hell is dis place? he wondered and spent a few seconds sending the image to Xavier before he moved on. The entire top floor seemed to consist of small empty offices, without any furniture in them yet, nor windows. The doors hadn't been installed yet and there was no carpeting on the floor. There were also labs, with heavy security on them already, even though there was nothing in them yet. Remy peered into one, but didn't enter. Some well honed instinct told him he didn't have the time. At the back of the building was a large elevator. Remy went through a panel in the floor and lowered himself down the cable to the lower floors. He counted ten before he reached bottom. The bottom floor was much like the top. Empty, unfinished rooms with concrete walls. This floor had some warehouse space as well though, and he cautiously went up towards a machine that looked much like a dishwasher. As he got within ten feet though, in spite of all his precautions, the green light on the front turned to red and it began to wail an alarm. Without even hesitating, Remy turned and ran, back to the elevator and up the cable. He could sense movement now, coming from everywhere. Yet he couldn't see anything and hadn't sensed anyone before. No human alive could hide themselves from him this well. And certainly not the dozen he sensed coming at him. Alarms screamed everywhere. Professor! He shouted mentally. Keep on me! #I am, Remy. I'm about to dispatch an X-Men team.# For some reason, his instinct warned him that that would be even worse. Non! He cried. Hold dem back. I don' have time t' wait anyway an' I don' know what we're gettin' into. He reached the elevator and pulled himself up through the hatch. He could hear footsteps running towards him and the gasping of an overexerted human. He couldn't see anyone in the pitch darkness yet though, and his eyes involuntarily glowed red as he tried to see. Immediately, the rhythmn of the running changed, becoming heavier, and the breathing stopped. He could also sense someone or something coming up the cable below him. Remy never hesitated. Grabbing half a dozen cards in each hand, he charged them all, dropping half down the shaft and throwing half before him down the corridor. They exploded almost simultaneously. Flame shot up out of the open panel in the elevator as the hall before him was rocked by explosion. Remy bolted into it, holding his breath so the superheated air couldn't sear his lungs, eyes closed to protect them from the glare, hands over his face. He sensed whoever had been charging him lying on the floor and dove over him. Something grabbed his ankle, and the Cajun pitched to the floor, landing on his knee painfully. Gasping, he spun, reaching into his coat at the same time. He was too close to use his cards, so he grabbed his gun, aimed, and fired it point blank at a shadow he could see moving in the flames. More shadows were coming up behind it. The grip on his ankle released and he ran, ignoring his knee as he sprinted down the hall to the enterance, dropping more cards behind him as he did so. Flames leaped up behind him and chased him down the corridor. So did whatever was after him. Remy raced out of the building and hightailed it for the fence two blocks away, dodging to avoid any incoming fire. He didn't sense any, but he could detect movement. Presences that changed. He saw flashes of men running to catch up to him, but what was behind him didn't feel like men and he could sense the humans he saw changing to become like them. The fence was only fifty feet away, and they were right behind him, outrunning him in fact, though he still had a lead, and the cards he dropped behind him increased that by a small margin. He didn't look back though. He was already running full out on an uneven surface. If he fell or stumbled, they'd have him, and he seriously doubted he'd survive them. The fence was right in front of him. Suddenly, someone dodged in front of him, and for an instant, he saw emotionless eyes below a bush of white hair stare at him while hands reached out to grab him. Remy shot him right between the eyes and leaped. As the man went down, he used him as a launching pad to throw himself right over the fence. His landing was one to make even Scott proud and he ran on, losing himself in the darkened alleys and back streets that made up New York city. It wasn't until dawn, when he had backtracked and doubled over his own trail and was ten miles away that he felt it was safe enough to go home. And even that took him by a route that needed six hours to travel. Five agonizing minutes later, the guards finished checking the alarm and left. Bobby was glad they hadn't been spotted, but disgusted at the same time. Those guys were lousy. They hadn't even checked the closet. Yeah, right, like I'd be happier if they had. Silently, Bobby opened the door and stepped into the room again. No alarms went off, no guards leapt out at him. He listened, but heard nothing. With a grin, he gestured for the others to join him. The two apprentices looked annoyed at the scare he'd given them, but Michael's face was impassive and Bobby resisted the urge to swallow. He had no idea how well he was doing in the Guild Master's eyes. Even Gambit was easier to read than this guy. Then again, he wasn't worried that Remy would shoot him in the back. Without a word, Bobby went to the door into the main part of the jewelery store and pulled another tool out of his pack, this one a tiny camera on the end of a long, flexible cord. Quickly, he unscrewed the bolts on the doorknob and lowered the half on his side of the door to the ground. Then he pushed the knob on the other side forward, just enough that he could push the camera through the gap to see the other side on a tiny display screen. The door led to the main room of the jewelery store, filled with cases of jewelery and at least five cameras on the wall. Bobby switched the view to ultraviolet and winced at the sight of the lasers crisscrossing the room. He didn't have the option of hanging from the ceiling the way Remy had in the museum. Or maybe he did. He certainly didn't want to touch that floor. The others were crowded around to see the screen, but they kept silent, and Bobby managed to forget they were there for a while as he went into what Remy jokingly called "thief mode". A state of total concentration. It worked in combat too, but Bobby hadn't managed to master it while enemies were trying to blow his head off. While Michael and the others watched, Bobby reeled the camera in and put the doorknob back in place. Then he pulled another jammer out of his pack, the same as the one outside, and set it next to the door. Here was where he had to depend solely on luck. The jammer wouldn't work unless it were actually in the room. Which meant he had to get the door off, and pray that the idiots guarding the place weren't looking at the cameras when he did. Praying to himself, he unscrewed the hinges on the door, breathed deeply, and lowered it to his side with one hand while he slid the activated jammer into the main room with the other. Then he waited, ready to bolt. Nothing happened. Oh, thank God!! Adjusting his mask on his face, he lowered the door the rest of the way and pulled on a pair of goggles to see the lasers. They were bulky and turned everything green, and for a moment he envied Remy. With his unique eye structure, he could see the lasers without any tech, though he wore the goggles anyway to throw people off the trail in case he were filmed. There was a laser directly in front of the door. Bobby strapped some special suction cups to his hands and knees and belted on some climbing gear, then stepped over it and proceeded to shimmy up the wall. The cups would leave horrendous marks, but that couldn't be helped. He couldn't get through the lasers any other way. At least not quickly. When he reached the ceiling, he bolted the climbing gear to the ceiling and began to cross it. There was no way he was going to trust those cups to support his full weight while upside down. He ony went a few meters though, over to the first case. It held more diamond necklaces than he thought he'd seen in his entire life, and he imagined one of them around Diedre's smooth neck. Pay attention, idiot! He thought savagely. There was a spot in front of the case about three feet wide that was free of lasers. Bobby lowered himself to it, and got to work on the alarm on the case. By the time he'd bypassed it, he was sweating. The jammer had to be running out of power. The case opened, he started shoveling jewels into his pockets, not caring how they tangled in his growing fright. He was a sitting duck if a guard looked in. None did, and he raised himself up to the ceiling again, quickly moving over to the door again. He was undoubtably rushing too much, but he was starting to freak, trying not to think of what he'd just done and how long he'd sit in jail if he were caught. Once in the room, he screwed the door back into its hinges, the jammer still on the other side. The risk of retrieving it was too great, but he'd hit the self destruct as he passed. In two minutes, it would suffer an interior meltdown, he'd been damned sure not to touch it with his hands and he knew Remy would never have been so careless to. Once the door was back up, he went and wired the alarm back to normal. He had to leave as few clues as possible and he really wished he could save the jammer. He finished the wiring and set the alarm. In thirty seconds, it would activate again as normal. Turning, he gathered his back and equipment and went out the back door, the two apprentices, if not Michael, following in silent respect. He locked the door, gathered the jammer he'd left out there, and all three of them vanished into the shadows. Quietly, Bobby ate dinner, glancing discreetly at the empty chair across the table and down a few places. It was getting late and no one had seen Gambit since the previous day. Bobby was getting worried, wondering if what he'd done last night had gotten the Cajun into trouble anyway. If he's gotten hurt, I'll never forgive myself. He still wasn't sure he'd done the right thing and now that it was over, he wanted so very much to talk to Gambit about it. He'd tried looking for him at the club, but there'd been no word. No one there cared, used to Remy's comings and goings, and he was trained well enough by now not to let his own concern show. Everyone at the mansion seemed to be treating his absence with the same lack of care as well. Am I the only one who gives a damn? He thought sulkily. #Of course not, Bobby,# the Professor said in his mind. #Gambit is alive and well and on his way home now.# Bobby started choking on the food in his mouth and had to grab a glass of water and swallow while Hank enthusiastically thumped him on the back. Did Xavier know? He started to panic, then forced himself to calm down. Remy had taught him not to let his emotions get the better of him. So he sipped his water and glanced in Xavier's direction, but the Professor was talking to Scott and seemed to be ignoring him completely. He must have just sensed my concern, he thought, understanding now why Remy didn't like telepaths. Suddenly, the front door banged open and he heard a heavy, limping step come into the foyer. "Excuse me," he said and left the table. All conviction to give Remy hell ended once he saw him. The Cajun was halfway up the stairs, limping as he helped himself along with one hand on the railing. He was filthy, like he'd been crawling in garbage, and he looked utterly exhausted. Bobby ran up to take his other arm. "What the hell have you been doing?" He whispered. "Running around in a sewer?" Gambit grinned wearily at him. "Duckin' inta sewers a myth. Dey're not ventilated, an' wit' all de shit down dere, dere's no oxygen either. You ever have t' duck into a sewer, make sure y' take an air tank." He winced and leaned on Bobby as he led him down the hall to his room. "What happened?" Bobby asked quietly. "I twisted m' knee." Bobby opened the door to the Cajun's room. "I can see that. How?" Suddenly, he felt incredibly guilty, thinking that his master had gotten into trouble while he was showing off for Michael. He thought of his share of the take hidden under the mattress in his room and winced. Remy sighed and let go of him, heading for the bathroom. "Lookin' inta somet'ing dat was worryin' me." Bobby sat on the bed. It was immaculately made up, and made him wonder if Remy ever slept in it. "Is it something with the Guild?" He asked apprehensively. The shower started inside, but the door was still open so he could hear the Cajun. "Non. Dis more t' do wit' de X-Men, I t'ink." "Some kind of mission?" The Cajun took a few minutes to answer, splashing water instead as he took a shower. Then he came back out, a robe on while he toweled his wet hair. He still looked tired, but far less bedraggled. "Not yet. I wan' more inf'mation first. I'm gonna talk t' some a my hackers, see what dey can't dig up." He yawned. Immediately, Bobby stood. "I should let you rest. Whatever it was you went through," he added as he went to the door. "I wish I could have been there." Remy grinned. "Me too, act'lly." Suddenly feeling inordinately pleased, Bobby went out to his own room. He closed the door and leaned against it, wishing he'd had the nerve to tell the Cajun what he'd done. He'd just have to wait until he was rested. He heard a low hum then and curiously opened his door a crack to see, of all things, Professor Xavier letting himself into Gambit's room, then locking the door behind him. Send Lori McDonald (sorry, no current email addy) and Valerie Jones feedback! Visit Lori McDonald's homepage, Lori's Corner, and Valerie Jones' homepage. [On to parts 17-24]