"Nakamura BioGen," Calypso repeated. Logan nodded. She ran a hand through rainbow dyed hair. "No way, Wolvie. Outta my league."
"Who can do it?" She sighed. She knew she'd probably never see Wolverine again. Not on business at any rate. She mourned the money loss.
"There's a kid. Goes by Gambit. He's in the top five. He can do it, if you can find him."
"Can ya help me find him, Darlin'?" She gave him a small smile. She still had her pride. She had the brat-prince's email.
"Last I heard he was in Paris."
"Thanks, Callie." He kissed the back of her hand.
"Goodbye, Wolvie. It's been fun." He looked at her oddly. She just smiled and left the table. He watched her saunter away.
Logan's nose twitched. "Sabretooth," he snarled as he surveyed the roof of Notre Dame. There was only one body reported. Rumors said that the person he was looking for had left town.
Logan hated flying. He hated being cramped. He despised talking his way through airport security. It was a damn good thing that Hank McCoy had supplied him a medical explanation. He was stiff. He was frustrated. He missed his partner. Scott would've found a way to relax him. He needed a drink. Madripoor was an old haunt for him. He dropped his bags at the hotel and headed for the seediest, most dangerous, and anonymous bar he could think of. Hopefully, he'd be able to finish up the night with a bar-fight.
"Whiskey." The bartender slipped the bill into his pocket and poured the first shot, leaving the bottle. Logan glanced around the room. There were only two people he didn't recognize. One was a blonde woman in a red pantsuit. The other was her companion, a chestnut haired boy. She slammed her glass down and stood up. She leaned down to whisper in the boy's ear. She caressed his cheek, then left.
Her companion sighed. He poured himself another shot of vodka. He seemed oblivious to the sharks that were starting to circle. Kid had to be a complete idiot to be here alone. They might have left him alone if he'd gone with the girl. He was too pretty for this crowd to let go.
What the fuck are you doing, Logan? He asked himself. It's just the glasses. He doesn't look that much like Scott. You're a sentimental fool.
Suddenly, the boy moved. He threw the alcohol into the face of one of the men and snapped a lightening fast groin kick at the one on the opposite side. He spun up and out of his chair, using it as a blunt object against the man who'd been behind him.
It's just that he's out-numbered, Logan told himself and I wanted a fight. The pack was circling. The boy was braced. He'd stopped attacking. He had a wide grin on his face.
The first swing of the pool cue should've cracked his skull. It didn't connect and the fools had just given him a weapon. Logan couldn't sit on the sidelines as they attack en masse. One on one, two on one, he'd've been able to walk away. Ten on one was too much.
He waded into the fight with fists and legs. Not using his claws made it more of a challenge and a hell of a lot more fun. The kid dropped the cue and surveyed the damage. He knew it wouldn't stop the man who'd, well, come to his rescue was the only way to put it. "Guess dat means he wins," he said, mostly to himself.
"What's yer name, kid?" Logan asked, hearing the English.
"Most people, dey call m' Gambit."
"Well, don't that figure. I been lookin' fer ya." The bartended frowned at them. "Let's get outta here before anymore of these clowns get ideas."
Gambit shrugged. What did he have to lose? Besides, he supposed he owed the man now.
Logan knew the kid had to be staying in the same hotel he was. Most of the pros did. They settled at a back booth. It was dark, but the kid still kept his shades on. "So," the Cajun purred. "What do dey call y', cher?"
"Wolverine." The young man nodded.
"And what y' be wantin' wit' dis one?" Logan glowered over his whiskey.
"Been told yer the only one who can get me into Nakamura BioGen." The young man studied his scotch.
"Dat depends on de price, cher."
"Half a mil, if ya get me in and out unnoticed. And room and board." The boy's head snapped up.
"Gambit be dere when y' need him."
Logan pressed. "Accordin' to talk ya ain't got a base of operations. Figure my partner might have a couple jobs to throw yer way."
"Learned not t' take candy from strangers a long time ago, mon ami. Not wit'out knowin' de price," Gambit drawled acidicly.
"Just do the job, kid. No strings," Logan lied.
"Bullshit," Gambit responded cheerfully.
"Fine. I been thinkin' we need a full-time thief. Thought we might offer ya the chance. Make this a trial run."
"Got t' admit dat I be sorely tempted, but Gambit ain't no good at teamwork."
"Think about it. Flight leaves tomorrow night. Meet ya here by four if yer comin'."
"Meet y' in DC, Wolverine," Gambit contradicted. "Oui, Gambit knows where y' operate from. Summers Consultin'. Two weeks, cher. I get y' in an' out. Half up front." Logan couldn't argue with that. He demanded the same. "Use dis account."
"Fine. Call me here," he handed over their main business number. "Offer's still up."
"Merci f' de drink, Wolvie. Gambit see y' in two weeks."
Logan tracked the young thief's scent to his room not half an hour later. The door was kicked in. Logan recognized the second scent. "Creed," he snarled.
"Well, well, if it ain't Weapon X. Knew the kid was holdin' out. Punk's gone. You'll do though." The fight was fast, furious and brutal. Blood splattered onto the floor, bed and walls as the two tore into one another, wounds healing quickly.
Logan left Creed bleeding on the floor. He was only half surprised to find the thief tearing a towel into shreds with a switchblade. There was an open bottle of peroxide on the sink.
"Weapon X, non?" he snapped. "Coulda warned me 'bout M. Chatton." He bound up the scratched on his leg and moved to the still bleeding claw marks on his side.
"Here, let me." The boy stiffened at his touch. "I ain't the one that hurt ya. The sooner it gets bound the sooner we can get the fuck out of here. How'd ya get away?"
"Poisoned him. Nicotine. Sapriste!"
"Put yer hands on my shoulders." Logan felt the slight tremor in the boy's fingers. He was still wearing his shades and Logan had to ask. "Yer a mutant, ain't ya? Ain't gonna hurt ya kid. I'm one."
"Oui," Gambit admitted.
"That why ya wear the shades?"
"Oui." Logan was as gentle as he could be, but he didn't like leaving the cuts bleeding. The kid needed to see a doctor. "Merci," he said and stood up. "I be goin' now. Y' best move on. Chatton, he don' give up easy." The kid pulled up his ripped jeans and pulled on his ripped shirt. There was practically no visible blood on the fabric. He pulled on his coat.
"Hang on a second, Kid. Ya got a place ya can go?"
"Plannin' on keepin' movin', 'til I can get outta town."
"Just like Paris?" Logan could smell the pain and grief.
"Don't know what y' talkin' of, homme." And he could smell the lie.
"We both know Creed wasn't after that necklace. He was after you."
"Ain't de first assassin t' take a shine t' moi." Gambit slung his tools across his back and his duffel over his shoulder.
"Goin' back to that blonde?" Gambit paused. He shook his head.
"Can't. Bye, cher. See y' in two weeks." Logan buried a hand in auburn hair and twisted. Gambit's knife flicked, cutting deep and hitting the bone. That might have worked on an ordinary opponent, but Logan ignored it, grabbing ahold of the boy's wrist. He pushed the boy down to his knees.
"Stay," he ordered. "Don't make me hunt ya down, Cajun." The thief snarled but settled back. Logan let go. In less than ten minutes they were on the move.
They settled in the hard plastic seats of the smoking lounge in the airport. Logan wasn't even going to ask the kid if he was legal to be smoking. Instead he asked, "how long ya been waitin' fer that fix?"
"'bout two hours. Do me better t' have t' wait f' it." The lounge was empty. The next flight to anywhere wouldn't leave for four hours.
"Take off the shades."
"Non, don' dink so, cher."
"Lemme see what yer hidin'." He felt something brush his mind. "Yer a spook?"
"Ain' no 'path."
"I ain't gonna hold it against ya." The boy looked confused. "Lemme see." Gambit's fingers reached up hesitantly. He revealed red on black eyes, and a shiner. Logan nodded and the shades slipped back on. "Who hit ya?"
"The blonde," Gambit muttered. "Didn't figure ya were into that."
"We were sparin'." Logan didn't have to see the rolled eyes. "She don' dink I'm good 'nough yet." Gambit shrugged.
"Why don't ya catch some sleep? I'll watch over ya."
"Sleep on de plane, cher. No reason t' sleep here. Y' play cards?"
"What ya got in mind?"
"Gin?"
"Sure, kid."
Logan shook his head as he studied the young man next to him. He looked even younger asleep in spite of the stubble on his chin. Gotta stop picking up strays, Logan mused. Could get expensive.
Scott looked the thief up and down. "Tradin' me in for a younger model already?"
"What the fuck're ya talkin' about, Slim?" Scott shook his head. The thief looked back and forth between them.
"Gambit just gonna head round de corner t' de hotel."
Logan growled deep in his throat. He hated it when Scott started acting oddly. Gambit moved towards the front door. "Your new pet, asshole. What street you pick him up off of?"
"Found him in a bar fight. What's yer problem?" Gambit was reaching for the handle when a small hand wrapped around his wrist.
"It's electrified," she warned. "You going to be joining us?"
"Just a one time deal, Petite." She frowned.
"Don't call me that."
"Electrified?"
"Yep. Can't figure out how they do it."
"Buried TENS unit, probably," Gambit said absently. He wrapped his coat around his hand. He froze at the sound of a cocking gun. He looked at the girl.
"Sorry. They want ya here."
"Non, y' boy wit' de glasses be happier if Gambit leaves." She shrugged. He slumped against the door. "What y' do t' deserve dis, boy?" he asked. "Anot'er baby assassin. Y' a fool, boy." He banged his head against the door.
He heard coughing. The girl stiffened. She gestured with the gun. They joined the two men in the living-room. The younger man was bent over coughing. Gambit shook his head. "Nasty case of bronchitis."
"Yeah, I noticed," Scott snapped as the fit ended.
"Ya called Hank fer meds, right? Right?" Logan pressed when he got no response. "Damn it, Slim!" He grabbed the phone off the wall and dialed the number room memory.
"What's wrong wit' furry, 'tite?"
"Slim's got scar tissue from pneumonia. Bronchitis gets bad really easily. I thought he'd already called." The gun never wavered. She was aiming at his knee. He wasn't going to risk that shot.
"Sit down, Slim." Scott crossed his arms and glared. "Hank? Slim's got bronchitis again. You'll call it in? Thanks." He hung up.
"It's just bronchitis," Scott stated calmly. Logan growled.
"Ya got caught out in the rain or somethin' didn't ya? I warned ya about that." Scott ignored him.
"Welcome to the Hotel California," Scott said putting out a hand.
"An' me dinkin' it were a roach motel. Cyclops, oui?"
"That's me. But around here it's Scott."
"Gambit." Scott raised a brow.
"Jubilee," the girl with the gun said. She put it back into its shoulder holster. "Yer stuck here. May as well come clean," she counseled. Gambit glowered at her.
"Remy," he mumbled.
"I missed that," Scott said.
"Remy LeBeau," Gambit said a little more firmly.
"And that's Logan. Logan, why don't you get your new pet settled in a room? I'll call for dinner."
"Does this mean no dog?" Jubilee asked.
"Yes. For now. Only one new pet at a time. We have to housebreak him."
"Damn." Remy looked mournfully at the door as Logan led him up the stairs. Remy blinked at the room. It was larger than he was used to. There was a sturdy bed, a dresser, a desk and a nightstand. There was an overhead fan and light.
"All yers, kid. The sheets're clean and there's an extra blanket in the closet. And the window's electrified too. If ya try to go out of it, I'll know and I'll track ya. Bathroom's second door on the right." Logan shut the door behind him. He heard the duffle hit the floor. Gambit stowed his tools in the closet. He leaned against the wall then slid down to a seated position, legs drawn up. He rocked as the events caught up with him. He didn't know which was the worst, Sabretooth's attack, the meeting with Belladonna, or getting kidnapped by a collector.
"Y' get some rest. Den get de hell outta here, pup," he told himself. "Saints help me."
Logan's sharp ears picked up the soft words. Scott was waiting for him. He had to go. Scott ignored Logan for all of thirty seconds. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why bring that home with you?"
"Ya keep sayin' we need a thief."
"You are aware that this is kidnapping right?"
"Ain't no one gonna be lookin' fer him. Hard enough to find him to hire."
"He could be working for a crime syndicate."
"No way. Not where he was. He's an independent."
"Fine. He's your pet. You take care of him."
"I will." Scott coughed. "But right now, I'm takin' care of you." Logan went to the kitchen to boil some water for tea. He came back with a steaming mug. He settled on the couch and patted the seat next to him. Scott resisted for a moment, then curled up next to him. Logan put an arm around him and handed him his tea.
"Hey, Remy, food's here!" Jubilee said, popping her head into the room. He was standing on the bed, removing two of the lightbulbs from the fan. He was still wearing his shades, she noted.
"Merci, 'tite. Ain't really hungry. Jus' gonna catch up on m' sleep."
She stared at him. "Food's here. You're expected for dinner," she stated firmly. "Don't make me threaten extreme force." He grinned and shook his head. "Logan!" Jubilee yelled. "Yer pet won't come down."
"Petite!"
"I told ya not to call me that, bub."
"Je suis desole, short-stuff."
"Ooooooo!" Logan came in. He gestured to the ground. Remy got down, lightbulbs still in hand. He put them into the drawer of the nightstand. Logan pointed at the door.
"Ain't hungry."
"Then sit there and watch." Logan stalked over to him and took his arm. Remy reacted predictably and twisted out of the grip. "Stop it. Yer still hurtin'. Yer tired. Ya need food. There ain't nothin' to ya." Remy glowered at him. He realized that he had one hand pressed to his side. Logan slowly reached out and removed the sunglasses.
Jubilee watched silently. She noted the slow motion movements as Logan moved carefully closer. "Ya know I ain't lyin' to ya," he said more gently. "Give Scott a chance to irritate ya fer real. And fer Jubilee to tell ya about a normal school. Not that she ain' odd, but ya need somethin' normal in yer life."
"Normal ain' always better."
"Ain't always worse either. Yer bleedin' again." Logan looked at Jubilee. "Need some gauze, peroxide and tape." She fetched them as Logan pushed Remy's tee up and started peeling away the bloody towel strips. "Gonna scar." Remy shrugged.
"Shit," the twelve year old said when she saw the cuts. "You didn't?"
"Sabretooth," Logan stated.
"Ouch. I'll tell Scott to put dinner in the oven for a few." Jubilee disappeared. Scott appeared a minute later.
"You didn't tell me it was hurt. Should I call Doc Bassley?"
"Ain't dat bad, cher. Just bandage it. Heal just fine. Been hurt plenty worse, me."
"I'm gonna need yer leg too." Logan said unbuttoning the fly of the thief's jeans. Remy caught his hand.
"In front of y' lover too. So bold."
"Take 'em off." Scott shook his head.
"Want me to close my eyes?"
Remy sighed. "Don' matter none t' me."
"Liar," Scott said leaning against the wall. Remy slid the jeans down and started peeling away the makeshift bandages. "Creed?"
"Yeah." Scott started coughing and Remy was glad of the momentary distraction of Logan. That way he could let his pain show. Fuck the peroxide was cold and stung like hell. Sweat beaded his brow. Logan steadied him. "Hands on my shoulders." Scott watched critically. Logan stroked gently against the pulse in the wrist he was positioning. Scott pressed his lips together. Logan bandaged the slashes. "All done." He patted the boy's undamaged hip. "I'm gonna wash up. Meet ya downstairs fer dinner."
As soon as he heard the water turn on, Scott said in a soft, cold voice, "Remember he's mine."
"He ain't m' type."
"You're his." Remy shook his head.
"I ain't an assassin."
"Trust me on this one."
"Don' worry. Remy ain' goin' after y' boy. M' honor on dat."
Scott accepted that. "You need to eat."
"Remy keeps dis weight on purpose, cher."
"Logan doesn't like skin and bones."
"Dat ain't m' concern. M' only concern be how t' get him in an' outta Nakamura BioGen. Den Remy be outta dis place."
Scott let him believe that and led him down to the kitchen.
FINIS
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